England's Mistress_ The Infamous Life of Emma Hamilton - Kate Williams [147]
James Gillray's A Cognocenti Contemplating the Beauties of the Antique. Emma's pregnancy was the definitive evidence that Sir William had been cuckolded.
Soon Emma had a second problem to deal with. The Prince of Wales had decided she had “hit his fancy.” He had admired Emma for years and, to Nelson's intense jealousy, owned portraits of her. “I know his aim is to have you for his mistress,” moaned Nelson to Emma on February 4. The prince was separated from the Princess of Wales, and his only other regular lover was modest Mrs. Fitzherbert, who lacked the sexy, blowsy allure he adored. There was a definite vacancy for a new and glamorous celebrity woman in his life. Emma was just his type: strong-minded, stylish, and adored by the public. Nelson was terrified. It seemed to him that Fanny's insinuation that Emma was incapable of the fidelity needed to be his partner might well prove true after all.
CHAPTER 40
The Prince and the Showgirl
Oh God, why do I live?" Nelson wailed about a week after the birth of Horatia. "I am mad, almost dead…. God strike him blind if he looks at you." Even the newspapers were beginning to hint at the Prince of Wales's passion for Nelson's Cleopatra. "I am in tears, I cannot bear it."
Emma was the most famous woman in England, and the prince wanted her. The prince could give Emma anything she desired: a Mayfair mansion, her own carriage with six white horses, showers of diamonds, court dresses, and introductions to anyone she desired. An affair with the prince would turn her into a megawattage celebrity: courted by aristocrats, mobbed in her carriage, the toast of dressmakers, the star of every fashion plate. Nelson mournfully decided himself a poor prize in comparison. He wrote self-pityingly, "I am only fit to be second or third, or four" in Emma's heart. It was obvious to him—and to the newspapers—that becoming the prince's mistress would be Emma's revenge on the royal family for not inviting her to court, and it would also solve her financial problems. Even worse, she might have her eye on marriage. Nelson rued, "You would grace a Court better as a Queen than a visitor." The prince was a fabulous prize. As Nelson whimpered, "No one, not even Emma, could resist the serpent's tongue."
Emma was still uncomfortable after the birth, longing to be with her child, and trying to play hostess while pandering to a fretful Sir William. Even worse, a nurse, probably one of the wet nurses, was threatening to talk and had to be bribed. And now Nelson, only a few days after he claimed to be dancing with joy, was bombarding her with frantic letters full of explicit references to her as the prince's courtesan. Most women did not resume sexual relations until at least four weeks after giving birth. And Emma was in no state to be making love with anybody, let alone the party-loving Prince of Wales.
But Nelson could not think rationally. Suffering from stress and searing eye pain, which he could only dull with opium, he implored, "I cannot, will not believe you can be false. No, I judge you by myself; I hope to be dead before that should happen, but it will not. Forgive me, Emma, oh, forgive your own dear, disinterested Nelson." In a muddle of feelings, he scribbled she was "kind and good to an old friend with one arm, a broken head, and no teeth,"1 and then later, "Hush, hush my poor heart keep in my breast, be calm. Emma is true!" He declared that his cooled alter ego, Mr. Thompson, "is almost distracted; he wishes there was peace," so that he could "instantly quit all the world and its greatness to live with you a domestic, quiet life," because he "doats on you and the child." Nelson even promised to sacrifice the chance to beat Bonaparte just to be with Emma.
The prospect of the prince coming to dinner tipped him into hysteria. He had visions of Emma performing suggestive songs to her royal guest that she had once sung to him. "I could bawl with my whole strength and my last breath should say do not suffer him into your home. "2 Late at night he scrawled, "Will you sing for the