Terence Rattigan's "A Bequest To The Nation" (1970): A Lesson In The Understanding Of Adult Emotions
What I did not know about this dramatic business of the year 1801 and before, is that Nelson was a child of the rectory, and his brother a clergyman, as well. What Horatio (Lord Nelson) did in leaving Frances (Lady Nelson) for Emma (Lady Hamilton) was extremely acute and notorious. It also afflicted his conscience in classic Christians terms.
In Scene II of Act Two, Nelson unburdens himself in the presence of his nephew, George Matcham. What is at issue is a letter, very disturbing to Nelson, that he has received from his wife. He has memorized the letter.
GEORGE. What kind of person do you think I am?
NELSON. ... A nephew I am proud to have... Very well, George. Here it is. Now you may begin your lesson in the understanding of adult emotions.
(Nelson begins to recite from memory the contents of the letter.)
'The eighteenth of December, eighteen hundred and one. My dearest husband, it is some time that I have written to you. The silence you have imposed is more than my affection will allow me --
'and in this instance I hope you will forgive me for not obeying you. One thing I omitted in my letter of July which I now have to offer for your accommodation -- a
comfortable warm house.'
GEORGE, understanding that NELSON has not only read the letter, but in fact knows it by heart, drops his head in misery.
(Continuing gently but remorselessly.)
'Do, my dear husband, let us live together. I can never be happy until such an event takes place. I assure you again, I have but one wish in the world, to please you. Let everything be buried in oblivion, it will pass away like a dream.'
GEORGE makes a gesture for him to stop.
Hear it out. A few more tears tonight won't hurt. 'I can only entreat you to believe I am most sincerely and affectionately your wife, Frances H. Nelson.'
You see that you and she need have had no fears that I didn't read it. ...
GEORGE. But it's a kind and loving letter.
NELSON. It's brutal.
GEORGE. It isn't --
NELSON. Many brutal acts are done out of love and kindness, George. Perhaps most. (Seeing his blank face.) Oh dear God, must I explain? Is this so important to you?
GEORGE. (Simply.) The most important thing on earth.
NELSON. It won't save my honour, which you seem so to cherish.
GEORGE. If it's true, it will.
NELSON. It's true.
He sits beside him, and speaks very quietly.
George, when one has done wrong to someone -- an open wrong, a shameful and humiliating wrong, a wrong on an epic scale, to be forgiven for it is the very hell.He drinks. GEORGE stares at him in silence.
I shock you, of course. You're my Reverend father's grandson and to answer forgiveness by hatred must seem unchristian at the least. But is it? Jesus told us how to answer a blow on the cheek, but he never told us how to answer a kiss. I haven't always been a bad Christian, George. I've even managed sometimes, to love my enemies a little. Not too much, mind you. Moderation in all things. But I do try to save them from drowning, even at risk to our ships, and no one can say I ever treated a prisoner-of-war other than with honour and gentleness. But George --
He seems to find it hard to continue. GEORGE'S eyes are unwaveringly fixed on his, and they are the eyes of his own conscience.
George -- what about an enemy who won't retaliate? Who answers every broadside with a signal gently fluttering at the mast which says: 'Whatever you do to me, dearest husband, I will always forgive you and go on loving you for ever.' What about that enemy, George? In this matter of loving enemies my dearest wife has beat me in the chase. What is there, then, left for me but to hate?
He finishes his glass... There is a long pause.
That ends your opening lesson in a long and difficult course. Human love and human hate. It's a perplexing study for anyone. ...
Have you understood, even a little.
GEORGE. No.
I myself don't know what to do with this scene. Is it a representation of that great old song, 'There's A Thin Line (Between Love And Hate)'? Is it the purest Gospel? Is it a little lame on the part of Lady Nelson, who, in the last line of the play, "hobbles her birdlike way into darkness"? I'm not sure I know.
What anyone can see, however, is the fact of our 'nuanced' Cosmopolitan playwright grasping head-on the impact of forgiving love when its loved object has done its worst, and continues to do so and 'we're loving it'. Fortunately for the dynamic of the play and its great issue, Nelson was killed at Trafalgar.
Labels: Forgiveness, Literature, Mockingbird, Religion, Suffering
posted by Mockingbird at
2:39 PM
4 Comments:
He seems to be following Nietzsche's 'Thus Spoke Zarathusa':
"When you have an enemy, do not requite him good for evil: for that would make him ashamed. But prove that he has done something good to you. Better to be angry thank make ashamed! And when you are cursed, I do not like it that you then want to bless. Rather curse back a little! And would a great injustice be done you, then quickly do five little injustices besides. ... A little revenge is more human than no revenge at all. And if the punishment be not also a right and an honour for the transgressor, then I do not like your punishment."
Either forgiveness is received as a continued judgment (since its what "should" be done and gives a 'holier than thou' impression), or he has rightly understood the involuntarily undermining, dangerous nature of forgiveness.
That is almost exactly the point made in the play, dear Todd.
Lady Nelson makes the 'fatal' mistake of not 'cursing back a little', as Nietzsche puts it; thereby incurring the implacable hatred of her husband.
It is along the lines, probably, of why Christ had to be crucified. Transgressors can come to resent a forgiveness by 'fiat'. It points up guilt and can therefore feel begin to feel unbearable.
Lord Nelson's guilt, in this play at least (and I do not know Terence Rattigan's work, except this excerpt, for which I thank Mockingbird; but have heard about his remarkable and late "Bequest to the Nation"), works itself out in Nelson's desire to commit a form of suicide at Trafalgar by wearing his medals and gold epaulets on deck in full view of the enemy's snipers. His guilt, which Frances Nelson has underlined in the strongest possible way -- and she had no intention of doing that, she really just wished to express her unconditional, unwavering forgiveness of him for rejecting her -- causes him to wish to undergo, by his own act, the final punishment.
As the author of the post writes, 'fortunately' Lord Nelson was killed at Trafalgar. What an interesting commentary this is on guilt, grace, and their many possible consequences.
he was "fortunately" killed!...I think you're right here- what appears at first to be an attack on the Christian concept of forgiveness (Lord Nelson seems to indicate this), in fact points to the need for true forgiveness as understood by the cross.
For forgiveness to be true, it must have a demonstrable cost to the forgiver. A simple declaration of forgiveness without a cost belittles and mocks the unavoidable guilt of the offender. Is it safe to say that Lady Nelson's forgiveness was genuine, but so far as Lord Nelson could tell it was given too soon? He never saw how much his affair hurt his wife, and therefore never knew how deep and miraculous her forgiveness really was.
I agree with that completely, Todd.
It is a profound play, his last,
from a secular author.
(Also, do look at Rattigan's "Separate Tables", Act Two ('Table No. 7'), which is 'core-gospel' in its resolution, and has two, possibly three references to the specifically Christian aspect.)
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