By the summer of 1791 Charles Greville had the pleasure of seeing with his own eyes the result of his handiwork and the imminent upset of his cold schemes for his own welfare. Sir William Hamilton and Emma were in London —Emma more beautiful than ever, more assured, more radiant, more accomplished, but not a whit less warm-hearted and impulsive. Of her meeting with the man who had betrayed her trust in him there is no record. But her faithfulness to old friends is shown by the way in which she hastened to cheer Romney with a sight of his " divine lady." On a morning of June she once
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more betook herself to the old studio in Cavendish Square, where she found Romney in a state of dejection and melancholy, which was immediately dispelled by the vision of Emma, fair and kind, once more present to inspire and hearten him. She was " still the same Emma." In spite of her many engagements—for the King's consent had been obtained, and she was to marry Sir William Hamilton before leaving London—she found time to sit to Romney for several pictures, for in the presence of his most exquisite model, Romney's failing powers were reinspired, and he painted once more at his best. In June of this year (1791) he wrote to Hayley—
"At present, and the greatest part of the summer, I shall be engaged in painting pictures from the divine lady. I cannot give her any other epithet, for I think her superior to all womankind. I have two pictures to paint of her for the Prince of Wales. She says she must see you, before she leaves England, which will be in the beginning of September. She asked me if you would not write my life.—I told her you had begun it:—then, she said, she hoped you would have much to say of her in the life, as she prided herself in being my model." A week or two later Romney wrote— " I dedicate my time to this charming lady; there is a prospect of her leaving town with Sir William, for two or three weeks. They are very
LADY HAMILTON AND A DOG-" NATURE
GEORGE ROMNEY
much hurried at present, as everything is going on for their speedy marriage, and all the world following her, and talking of her, so that if she had not more good sense than vanity, her brain must be turned. The pictures I have begun, are Joan of Arc, a Magdalen, and a Bacchante, for the Prince of Wales; and another I am to begin as a companion to the Bacchante. I am also to paint a picture of Constance for the Shakespeare Gallery."
Romney's mind was already clouded by illness, and he was morbidly sensitive about Emma—he would weave himself a tragedy from airy nothings. He fancied, on one occasion, that she was cold to him, and was forthwith plunged in despair.
" In my last letter," he tells Hayley on the 8th of August, " I think I informed you that I was going to dine with Sir William and his Lady. In the evening of that day, there were collected several people of fashion to hear her sing. She performed, both in the serious and comic, to admiration, both in singing and acting; but her 'Nina* surpasses everything I ever saw, and I believe, as a piece of acting, nothing ever surpassed it. The whole company were in an agony of sorrow. Her acting is simple, grand, terrible, and pathetic. My mind was so much heated that I was for running down to Eartham to fetch you up to see her. But, alas! soon after, I thought I discovered an alteration in her conduct to me. A
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coldness and neglect seemed to have taken the place of her repeated declarations of regard for me. They have left town to make many visits in the country. I expect them again the latter end of this week, when my anxiety (for I have suffered much) will be either relieved or increased, as I find her conduct. It is highly probable that none of the pictures will be finished, except I find her more friendly than she appeared to me the last time I saw her."
The wholly imaginary clouds disappeared under the sunshine of Emma's wholesome smiles when she returned to town. Once more to Hayley Romney expressed his content in her, as he had expressed his morbid distress—
" When she arrived to sit, she seemed more friendly than she had been, and I began a picture of her, as a present for her mother. I was very successful with it; for it is thought the most beautiful head I have painted of her yet. Now indeed, I think, she is cordial with me as ever; and she laments very much that she is to leave England without seeing you. ... I was afraid I should not have had power to have painted any more from her ; but since she has assumed her former kindness, my health and spirits are quite recovered. She performed in my house last week, singing
