No sooner had the carriage pulled up at the great door, than there
flew out the most beautiful woman I ever saw, gracefully dressed in a
cool muslin robe of the Turkish fashion, and with a jewelled chaplet
bearing the inscription "Nelson and Victory" in the curly hair, so
full of auburn lights that at times it looked of the gold colour Mr.
Romney was so fond of painting. I needed not to remark the perfect
oval of the dimpled face, nor its fairness and rosiness, so
marvellously blent that people refused to believe it genuine till her
fondness for sea-bathing parties set it beyond doubt, nor the most
exquisite smile ever preserved on canvas, to know that it was My Lady
Hamilton; for no sooner had she seen the Admiral than her laughing
eyes grew moist and tender, and the corners of her mouth began to
droop pitifully, and in a moment she had her arm round the Admiral's
back and under his right shoulder, with such a gentle, sympathetic
touch that he moved from the carriage into the door almost without
pain. Behind My Lady was a tall, somewhat bent, elderly gentleman,
wearing his Order of the Bath and sundry Neapolitan decorations, like
the Admiral, in full Court dress. This was, of course, Sir William
Hamilton, K.C.B., his Britannic Majesty's Ambassador and
Plenipotentiary at the Court of the Two Sicilies. It has often seemed
to me, since, mighty significant that the reception of the Admiral
into the palace of the Hamiltons should have been conducted with so
much ceremony. You can hardly imagine the procession of coaches and
servants sent to bring us up from the albergo, and the army of
servants drawn up by the gate and courtyard and grand staircase of the
palace; for seldom has the entry of a conqueror into a fallen city
been attended with results that have led to more writing. I must say
that, as she supported the Admiral from his coach to the suite
prepared for him on that day she might have been a goddess: she was so
far beyond any woman that I had seen in beauty and graciousness and
tenderness, and soft, floating movement.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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