The saying that ‘history may not repeat but, at least, rhymes’ is well-illustrated by the four times since 1588 when England has stood essentially alone against a single power seeking to dominate – or which already had dominated – continental Europe. Against the Spanish Armada, against Louis XIV, against Napoleon, and against Hitler, England stood, for various lengths of time, completely, or almost completely, alone. It is a curiosity, in some sense, that this pattern has recurred with some regularity. Perhaps it is the result primarily of geography, which almost requires that a continental power first conquer most of the western portion of the continent before attempting to traverse the channel to subdue England. Crossing the channel in wartime, faced with the prospect of an engagement with the British fleet, has been justly considered a tremendous military undertaking in its own right, let alone if a would-be conqueror had not first consolidated control over those areas, such as France and the Low Countries, from which his cross-channel lines of supply would originate. It is for this simple reason why Antwerp had such strategic importance to the British since the 17th century onward.
Britain by the end of the 18th century had acquired a global empire, policed and defended by its navy. The British navy’s growth and development and the support it received from the public throughout most of modern British history were consequences of its economic importance to the Empire. A country can only justify the upkeep of a powerful navy if its economic well-being is primarily dependent on maritime trade. In historical terms, large commercial fleets usually precede, and, as in the case of the Dutch, often augment national navies. Even in countries where, for the most part, state policy – such as the decision to build a navy – is not dependent on popular political support, if the geographic conditions are not conducive to reliance on maritime trade, strategic and ideological concerns alone are unlikely to justify the upkeep of a navy over the long term. This was arguably the case with Imperial Germany. Germany’s economic well-being depended on the large industrial bases it was able to cultivate and not on control of the sea, or sea power. Wilhelm’s preoccupation with sea power, borne out of his reading of Mahan, admiration for the British navy, and desire to establish a colonial empire, was incongruent with Germany’s economic and strategic situation. By choosing to develop a navy, Wilhelm triggered an arms race with Britain – whose core interest was, as it had been for hundreds of years, the maintenance of sea power – and prompted a series of diplomatic arrangements, such as the Entente, that arrayed most of Europe against Germany in the lead up to WWI. For all of this, he acquired a navy that was practically unable to leave port for most of the war, bottled up in Wilhelmshaven by the Grand Fleet.
Had Britain not possessed a global empire, the prosperity of which depended on control of the sea, the British Navy would never have taken on the historical significance that it did. Ultimately, the struggle against the Armada excepted, Britain did eventually need to field an army on the continent to gain an acceptable peace in all of the wars where it stood alone for some period of time. The Navy, in truth, has always taken on a defensive character, in terms of its overall impact on any given war’s direction and outcome. The psychological significance of this is notable, insofar as the British Navy never supplied the means of direct victory over a continental foe, whose territories would eventually need to be captured and occupied – something a navy cannot do. The British Navy, instead, was the last line of defense, the only thing preventing the destruction of Britain – with its singularly free institutions – at the hands of a European despot. The British Navy, in this sense, symbolized freedom over tyranny rather than victory over defeat.
The theme of Britain standing alone to preserve free institutions reflected political realities more or less depending on the opponent. If not precisely as a struggle between freedom and tyranny, we at least view the defeat of the Armada as a triumph of Protestantism over Catholicism and, therefore, a wholly necessary preliminary step for England’s subsequent constitutional development toward possessing increasingly free institutions. Louis XIV was a despot, certainly, but the weakness of the French Navy challenged France’s ability to ever shift the theater of operations to the sea, where England would ultimately have needed to be overcome for Louis to outright win the conflict, away from the Low Countries and Germany, where Marlborough acquired his reputation. This struggle was less one of England alone, relying desperately on the success of the fleet, than a more traditional war for the rearrangement of territory on the continent, albeit one in which Britain rendered critical support on the battlefield by fielding an army and not just by funding allied governments.
Against Napoleon, Britain stood alone, but it was, by this period, already able to draw on its colonial resources to a significant extent, and its navy was preeminent. In part as a consequence of this, Napoleon found himself engaged in essentially endless war for the domination of the continent. The shortcomings of his diplomacy and the revolutionary nature of his regime prevented the monarchical states of Europe from accepting him as legitimate. He was therefore unable to fully direct his energies toward the conquest of England, rendering the British situation in some ways less precarious than its lack of allies at times might have suggested. Even when France found itself at peace, it must reasonably have expected the renewal of hostilities at any time by the ideologically antagonistic governments of Europe’s monarchs.
Finally, against Hitler, Britain was practically alone from June 1940, when France fell, to June 1941, when Germany invaded Russia. The Battle of Britain, in particular, represents the utter fragility in military terms of England’s posture in relation to the, by this point, almost hegemonic continental power that was Germany in late 1940. Yet, from a diplomatic standpoint, Britain might have reasonably anticipated significant American support, if not direct involvement in the war. If Britain had lost the Battle of Britain, the government would probably have retreated to Canada in an effort to continue the war. The strategic situation for America, in such a geopolitical environment, would probably have justified substantial military buildup to bring the US military at least to a point of reasonable size to cope with the German threat. It seems unlikely to me that a lasting accommodation between Germany and the US could have been reached in such circumstances, notwithstanding the non-interventionists and pro-German elements of American society. Britain could count on this in the last extreme and, I think, we must consider America as a sort of ally in 1940-41, even if its direct involvement in operations against Germany would have required a complete collapse and withdrawal of Britain to the Western Hemisphere.
In sum, overall, Britain’s situation in 1940-41 was not more perilous than it was at various times against Napoleon, particularly from the collapse of the Treaty of Amiens in 1803 until the Battle of Trafalgar on 21 October, 1805. This was the critical period and Britain’s survival was in no small measure because of Horatio Nelson.
That Lady Hamilton, which was released in April 1941, begins with an elderly Lady Hamilton, played by Vivien Leigh, getting thrown into debtors’ jail in Calais, France. She meets another woman in her cell, who asks her name. The woman is skeptical on hearing the reply ‘Emma Lady Hamilton’, but nonetheless asks Emma to tell her story. She describes her arrival at the court of Naples in the early 1790s, where she meets the British ambassador there, William Hamilton, a middle-aged aficionado for antique sculptures and art. William’s appreciation for Emma’s beauty – an appreciation he is especially capable of rendering because of his artistic interests – prompts him to marry her, despite her past, which is suggested to have been that of a prostitute. She quickly takes to life at Naples and becomes a talented and effective hostess, until the story resumes approximate three years later.
It is at this point that we come to learn that the Kingdom of Naples is in danger, following the arrival of a British ship, the Agamemnon, and its captain, Horatio Nelson. Nelson meets with the ambassador and requests that he meet with the King to organize a company of a few thousand soldiers to defend the Kingdom from the French. Sir William assures Nelson that such a task will take time – at least several days; time, Nelson is convinced, Naples does not have to mount a defense. It is after this interview – at which Lady Hamilton was also present – that Nelson is approached by Emma and told that she will be able to get the troops he requested by talking with the Queen. After she successfully does raise the troops, Nelson appreciates her achievement as furthering the war effort against Bonaparte, whom, the film’s dialogue makes clear, Nelson is obsessed with defeating. It is, perhaps, illustrative that Emma succeeds by appealing to a woman, who has no actual power – the Queen – where the ambassador failed by appealing to a man who does have actual power – the King. The scene also demonstrates Emma’s decisiveness and bias for immediate action, characteristics shared by Nelson, but not her husband, who expected the raising of troops to require several days and subtle diplomacy.
The next significant scene, and the first time we are given a clear suggestion that the film has particular lessons to impart for the British public of early 1941, is where Emma entreats her husband to explain the causes of the war. The ambassador lays out the narrative that Britain had spent centuries constructing a commonwealth, in which all elements have their special role in maintaining peace and prosperity. Occasionally, to defend that commonwealth, the ambassador continues, Britain must send out ships to defeat those, who, ‘for the sake of their insane ambition, wish to destroy what other people build.’ This is clearly an attempt to draw parallels between Bonaparte and Hitler, while supplying the moral basis for Britain’s wars against both as being to ensure stability against unjust, revolutionary elements of the international system.
The elder Emma narrates that ‘then came five years of war. We fought alone with no allies’ and that ‘only a few ships and Nelson’ were what prevented Napoleon from conquering the world. Here, we see very clearly the theme discussed earlier of England fighting alone, despite tremendous odds. The length of time – five years – is notable insofar as it is an appeal to the British of 1941 to continue the struggle, as Churchill said, ‘if necessary for years, if necessary, alone’ by supplying an example from British history to emulate. We also understand this to be a summons to heroism for the individual, as well as for the entire people. The suggestion is that to defeat a powerful adversary – such as a Napoleon or a Hitler – it is necessary, but not sufficient, to muster the energies of the nation; leaders must emerge who show themselves equal to the tremendous moral, physical, and intellectual task of winning a war. Nelson was such a leader and war, in general, is the theater in which heroic personalities most obviously assert themselves.
The theme that begins to take on increasing importance from this point onward in the film is the growing affection and, eventually, love between Lady Hamilton and Nelson. Nelson, for his part, seems to be initially attracted by Emma’s determination and strong will; he is grateful to her for facilitating his efforts to prosecute the war, first by supplying the aforementioned troops, and, again, by nursing him back to health after his physical collapse following the campaign which culminated with his defeat of the French fleet at the Battle of the Nile. It is worth considering whether Emma’s effort to procure the troops can be viewed as the decisive step, without which Nelson’s subsequent achievements would have been impossible, in the same way we can view Bonaparte’s success at Toulon as key to his rise. The film’s dialogue suggests that Nelson felt this, even if this is probably dramatic license. Yet, if understood in this way, Emma’s help inextricably links her with Nelson’s glory – without her, there could have been no Nelson. Indeed, it reflects the adage that ‘behind every great man is a great woman.’
Emma is attracted to Nelson for his decisiveness and boldness, and, perhaps, for his apparent inexperience and discomfort around women. Their first private interaction is initiated by Emma, who was obviously intrigued by his demeanor in discussing the defense of Naples with her husband after his initial arrival there. Her husband, older, polished, lacking in vigor, perhaps, and frail – he walks with a limp and cane – is the social, intellectual, and physical opposite of Nelson. In his defense – he is the one whose role it is to explain the war’s aims to Emma, not Nelson. In this we see the traditional tension in political-military affairs between the old, who understand things in a grave, sober matter, giving them a firmer grasp of facts than the young, who, being more energetic than the old, have the capacity to command events. Wars require both the old and the young – the old define the war aims, the young prosecute the campaigns.
The love they share for each other soon generates an additional tension by drawing Nelson away from his military duty to be with Emma. We see numerous reflections of this in his decisionmaking; for example, his determination to save ‘his friends’ at Naples from the revolution, disobeying Admiralty orders to proceed to Malta. The tension is brought into relief by the reappearance at various times of the fleet’s silhouette, which seems to have an ultimately irresistible control over Nelson’s fate. The fleet beckons him whenever he seems close to breaking finally away from the service to be with Emma, such as during the scene on New Year’s Eve, 1800, where the two share a kiss, from which the camera is cut away to show us the fleet in the darkness, its crews singing ‘Danny Boy.’ We can understand this in many ways; perhaps, most simply, it is suggesting that the commitment which leads to great results must necessarily carry with it some sacrifice of even the dearest things.
Once the trio – Nelson, Emma, and William – return to London, Nelson is acclaimed a hero. His victories have electrified the British public but his relationship with his wife – whom he hadn’t seen in seven years – is immediately understood as passionless and frosty. His wife’s lack of vivacity in comparison with Emma is obvious and she is portrayed as a nagging, jealous, and generally unsympathetic character. She is hurt by Nelson’s infidelity but not so much as a woman than as a member of a society in which infidelity is unacceptable. That is to say, the love between Nelson and Emma is elevated above convention; it is implied that, because Nelson is a great man, the conventions that frown upon his actions should not apply to him. The film does not give us a definitive answer about whether certain individuals – because of their achievements and abilities in other pro-social areas (winning a war against an opponent who ostensibly sought to destroy the fabric of social life is a pro-social act) – are above the seemingly petty restrictions of convention. We are, however, given the distinct impression that Nelson is almost being persecuted unjustly and to the detriment of the country for something which, even if it be wrong from the standpoint of social norms, is sanctioned by more elemental laws of the human heart and soul.
Ultimately, the tension generated by society’s reaction to the illicit love becomes unbearable to the pair. An ultimate break is apparently inevitable. The renewal of war and the threat posed by Napoleon’s preparations to mount an invasion supply the crisis which pulls Nelson away once more and forever.
The Battle of Trafalgar on 21 October, 1805, is justly celebrated as one of the greatest victories in the annals of war. The immediate consequences of Nelson’s triumph over the combined French-Spanish fleet were Britain obtaining control of the sea for the rest of its struggle against Napoleon – another 10 years – and the creation of a symbol of sacrifice and devotion upon which the British could look back as a source of inspiration in subsequent dark times. The battle itself was the culminating moment of a dramatic and decisive naval campaign in which Nelson kept his opponent, Villeneuve, blockaded until the latter finally broke free, attempted to lure Nelson into a chase to the West Indies, from which, according to Napoleon’s conception, the French fleet would race back toward Europe, outstripping the British just long enough to control the channel straits to facilitate the crossing of the French army to England. Nelson did chase but ultimately Villeneuve was not fast enough to beat the British on the return journey, found himself in port again and soon thereafter sailed out to give battle near Trafalgar. Napoleon’s fleet was finished and he was prompted to thenceforth engage in the series of land wars which would ultimately culminate in the invasion of Russia in 1812 and the destruction of his empire.
The film’s depiction of the battle – its only scene of a military action – begins with Nelson on his flagship HMS Victory giving his famous signal to the fleet, ‘England expects that every man will do his duty.’ The dialogue of the scene is largely consistent with what was actually said, as reported by Pasco, the Victory’s signal officer, testifying to the dramatic nature of great political and military events. The technical aspects of the scene are impressive for a film from 1941; there really are not any moments in this scene – or in any other – that seem exceedingly unrealistic as a result of technical limitations. The model ships, because of the camera angles chosen, never betray their unreality.
The climax of the entire film is reached when Nelson is shot by a french sniper. He is mortally wounded and carried below deck. He receives the report that his fleet has won a great victory, laments what will become of Emma – whose husband had died and left her penniless – and utters his famous last words, ‘thank God I have done my duty.’ Whatever the scene may lack in pathos, I think, is the result of the fact that its details are probably known by the audience in advance. It is difficult for art to dramatize what is not only by nature but also in historical fact already high drama.
The film ends with Captain Hardy bringing the news of Nelson’s victory and death to Emma. It is a touching scene. Hardy is unable to maintain his composure and begins to sob when recounting the event; Emma remains stoic and says nothing. After Hardy departs, Emma closes the curtains and faints.