QI The Book of the Dead

as a model for George Romney and Sir Joshua Reynolds, she developed what she called her ‘Attitudes’, a series of evolving tableaux in which she transformed herself into great women from history. With SirWilliam providing a narrative and accompanied by music, she began her performances draped in Indian shawls,gradually divesting herself till she was revealed in only a figure-hugging ‘chemise of white muslin, her fine black hair flowing in ringlets over her shoulders’. Ariadne would merge into Medea, Medea into Cleopatra, and so on. For some it was little more than a classy striptease; for others, it was as if the history of Western painting had come to life. In his Italian Journey Goethe writes of being captivated by this ‘young English girl … with a beautiful face and perfect figure’.
    The spectator can hardly believe his eyes. He sees what thousands of artists would have liked to express realised before him in movements and surprising transformations, standing, kneeling, sitting, reclining, serious, sad, playful, ecstatic, contrite, alluring, threatening, anxious, one pose follows another without a break … As a performance it’s like nothing you ever saw before in your life .
     
    Lady Hamilton’s ‘Attitudes’ caused a sensation. The grace and presence that had distinguished her from the other tarts capering around the Celestial Bed in London’s red-light district propelled her to international stardom. She became one of Europe’s most popular tourist attractions, inspiring copycat performances all over the continent. Even her critics were impressed: the society diarist Mrs St George noted how ‘graceful and beautiful’ Emma’s costumes were, though she couldn’t help adding caustically, ‘her usual dress is tasteless, loaded, vulgar and unbecoming’. Vulgar or not, back in London, Lady Hamilton fever took hold. Her trademark white crepe and satin dresses were all the rage. The Times bemoaned the padded bosoms that went with them, blustering that they had ‘lowered the character of many young ladies’. People were at once fascinated andappalled and the gossip-mongers and caricaturists had a field day. But, for Emma Hamilton, it had only just begun.
    She met Horatio Nelson by chance in 1793. He was forty, already renowned for his leadership and tactical flair, but not yet a commander of the fleet. Europe, still reeling from the shock of the French Revolution, was on the brink of war. Captain Nelson had been sent to recruit troops from King Ferdinand IV of Naples to reinforce the port of Toulon, then held by the British but threatened by a French force that included a young artilleryman called Napoleon Bonaparte. Nelson hit it off splendidly with the Hamiltons and Emma flirted with him as she did with everyone else. But a definite impression was made on both sides.
    They weren’t to meet again for five years. By then, Emma had grown seriously porky. In 1796 Sir Gilbert Elliott, the Viceroy of Corsica, remarked: ‘Her person is nothing short of monstrous for its enormity, and is growing every day.’ The famous hostess, Lady Elgin was crisper: ‘She is indeed a Whapper!’ A Swedish diplomat was distinctly undiplomatic: ‘She is the fattest woman I’ve ever laid eyes on, but with the most beautiful head.’
    When Nelson returned to Naples in 1798, he was a hero. His victory at the Battle of the Nile had saved the city from a French invasion. Emma wrote to him in breathless anticipation:
    I walk and tread in the air with pride, feeling I was born in the same land with the victor Nelson … For God’s sake come to Naples soon … My dress from head to foot is allaNelson … Even my shawl is in Blue with gold anchors all over. My earrings are Nelson’s anchors; in short, we are be-Nelsoned all over .
     
    The ‘be-Nelsoning’ grew ever more fervent as the victor approached and the outpouring of joy as his ship enteredharbour was close to hysterical. Nelson’s travails had aged him visibly; one eye was damaged beyond repair and he was suffering from the effects of a head injury. If Nelson noticed that Emma was plumper than he remembered, he never mentioned it. She assumed the role of his nurse, SirWilliam threw him parties and the three of them quickly became inseparable. So began a ménage à trois (they preferred the more sophisticated Latin, tria juncta in uno ) that would last until Sir William’s death in 1803.
    By the end of the 1798 King Ferdinand’s Neapolitan army had