Beaux and Belles of England by Mary Robinson

M >> Mary Robinson >> Beaux and Belles of England

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Distressed beyond the power of utterance at this new humiliation, I
paced the room with agonising inquietude.

"How little does such a husband deserve such a wife!" continued Mr.
Brereton; "how tasteless must he be, to leave such a woman for the very
lowest and most degraded of the sex! Quit him, and fly with me. I am
ready to make any sacrifice you demand. Shall I propose to Mr. Robinson
to let you go? Shall I offer him his liberty on condition that he allows
you to separate yourself from him? By his conduct he proves that he does
not love you; why then labour to support him?"

I was almost frantic.

"Here, madam," continued Mr. Brereton, after pausing four or five
minutes, "here is your husband's release." So saying, he threw a written
paper on the table. "Now," added he, "I rely on your generosity."

I trembled, and was incapable of speaking. Mr. Brereton conjured me to
compose my spirits, and to conceal my distress from the people of the
inn. "I will return to Bath," said he. "I shall there expect to see
you." He now quitted the room. I saw him get into his chaise and drive
from the inn door. I then hastened to my husband with the discharge; and
all expenses of the arrest being shortly after settled, we set out
for Bath.

Mr. Robinson scarcely inquired what had passed; but I assured him that
my persuasions had produced so sudden a change in Mr. Brereton's
conduct. I said that I hoped he would never again place his freedom in
the hands of a gamester, or his wife's repose in the power of a
libertine. He seemed insensible of the peril attending both the one and
the other.

Expecting letters by the post, we waited the following day, which was
Sunday, at Bath; though, in order to avoid Mr. Brereton, we removed to
the White Lion Inn. But what was my astonishment, in the afternoon,
when, standing at the window, I saw Mr. George Brereton walking on the
opposite side of the way, with his wife and her no less lovely sister! I
now found that the story of her dangerous illness was untrue, and I
flattered myself that I was not seen before I retired from the window.

We now sat down to dinner, and in a few minutes Mr. George Brereton was
announced by the waiter. He coldly bowed to me, and instantly made a
thousand apologies to Mr. Robinson; declared that he had paid the note
away; that he was menaced for the money; and that he came to Bristol,
though too late, to prevent the arrest which had happened. Mr. Robinson
skeptically replied that it was now of little importance; and Mr.
Brereton took his leave, saying that he should have the honour of seeing
us again in the evening. We did not wait for his company, but
immediately after dinner set out for London.

On my arrival in town I saw Mr. Sheridan, whose manner had lost nothing
of its interesting attention. He continued to visit me very frequently,
and always gave me the most friendly counsel. He knew that I was not
properly protected by Mr. Robinson, but he was too generous to build his
gratification on the detraction of another. The happiest moments I then
knew were passed in the society of this distinguished being. He saw me
ill-bestowed upon a man who neither loved nor valued me; he lamented my
destiny, but with such delicate propriety that it consoled while it
revealed to me the unhappiness of my situation. On my return to town the
Duke of Rutland renewed his solicitations. I also received the most
unbounded professions of esteem and admiration from several other
persons. Among the list, I was addressed with proposals of libertine
nature by a royal duke, a lofty marquis, and a city merchant of
considerable fortune, conveyed through the medium of milliners,
mantua-makers, etc. Just at this period my eldest brother visited
England; but such was his unconquerable aversion to my profession as an
actress, that he only once, during a residence of some months in London,
attempted to see me perform. He then only attempted it; for, on my
advancing on the boards, he started from his seat in the stage-box, and
instantly quitted the theatre. My dear mother had no less a dislike to
the pursuit; she never beheld me on the stage but with a painful regret.
Fortunately, my father remained some years out of England, so that he
never saw me in my professional character.

My popularity increasing every night that I appeared, my prospects, both
of fame and affluence, began to brighten. We now hired the house which
is situated between the Hummums and the Bedford Arms, in Covent Garden;
it had been built (I believe) by Doctor Fisher, who married the widow of
the celebrated actor Powel; but Mr. Robinson took the premises of Mrs.
Mattocks, of Covent Garden Theatre. The house was particularly
convenient in every respect; but, above all, on account of its vicinity
to Drury Lane. Here I hoped to enjoy, at least, some cheerful days, as I
found that my circle of friends increased almost hourly.

One of those who paid me most attention was Sir John Lade. The
good-natured baronet, who was then just of age, was our constant
visitor, and cards contributed to beguile those evenings that were not
devoted to dramatic labour. Mr. Robinson played more deeply than was
discreet, but he was, at the end of a few weeks, a very
considerable winner.

In proportion as play obtained its influence over my husband's mind, his
small portion of remaining regard for me visibly decayed. We now had
horses, a phaeton and ponies; and my fashions in dress were followed
with flattering avidity. My house was thronged with visitors, and my
morning levées were crowded so that I could scarcely find a quiet hour
for study. My brother by this time had returned to Italy.

Mr. Sheridan was still my most esteemed of friends. He advised me with
the gentlest anxiety, and he warned me of the danger which expense would
produce, and which might interrupt the rising progress of my dramatic
reputation. He saw the trophies which flattery strewed in my way; and he
lamented that I was on every side surrounded with temptations. There was
a something beautifully sympathetic in every word he uttered; his
admonitions seemed as if dictated by a prescient power, which told him
that I was destined to be deceived!

Situated as I was at this time, the effort was difficult to avoid the
society of Mr. Sheridan. He was manager of the theatre. I could not
avoid seeing and conversing with him at rehearsals and behind the
scenes, and his conversation was always such as to fascinate and charm
me. The brilliant reputation which he had justly acquired for superior
talents, and the fame which was completed by his celebrated "School for
Scandal," had now rendered him so admired, that all ranks of people
courted his society. The greenroom was frequented by nobility and men of
genius; among these were Mr. Fox[32] and the Earl of Derby. The stage
was now enlightened by the very best critics, and embellished by the
very highest talents; and it is not a little remarkable that the drama
was uncommonly productive, the theatre more than usually attended,
during that season when the principal dramatic characters were performed
by women under the age of twenty. Among these were Miss Farren (now Lady
Derby), Miss Walpole (now Mrs. Atkins), Miss P. Hopkins (now Mrs. John
Kemble), and myself.

I had then been married more than four years; my daughter Maria
Elizabeth was nearly three years old. I had been then seen and known at
all public places from the age of fifteen; yet I knew as little of the
world's deceptions as though I had been educated in the deserts of
Siberia. I believed every woman friendly, every man sincere, till I
discovered proofs that their characters were deceptive.

I had now performed two seasons, in tragedy and comedy, with Miss Farren
and the late Mr. Henderson. My first appearance in Palmira (in
"Mahomet") was with the Zaphna of Mr. J. Bannister, the preceding year;
and though the extraordinary comic powers of this excellent actor and
amiable man have established his reputation as a comedian, his first
essay in tragedy was considered as a night of the most distinguished
promise. The Duchess of Devonshire still honoured me with her patronage
and friendship, and I also possessed the esteem of several respectable
and distinguished females.

The play of "The Winter's Tale" was this season commanded by their
Majesties.[33] I never had performed before the royal family; and the
first character in which I was destined to appear was that of Perdita. I
had frequently played the part, both with the Hermione of Mrs. Hartley
and of Miss Farren: but I felt a strange degree of alarm when I found my
name announced to perform it before the royal family.[34]

In the greenroom I was rallied on the occasion; and Mr. Smith,[35] whose
gentlemanly manners and enlightened conversation rendered him an
ornament to the profession, who performed the part of Leontes,
laughingly exclaimed, "By Jove, Mrs. Robinson, you will make a conquest
of the prince, for to-night you look handsomer than ever." I smiled at
the unmerited compliment, and little foresaw the vast variety of events
that would arise from that night's exhibition!

As I stood in the wing opposite the prince's box, waiting to go on the
stage, Mr. Ford, the manager's son, and now a respectable defender of
the laws, presented a friend who accompanied him; this friend was Lord
Viscount Malden, now Earl of Essex.[36]

We entered into conversation during a few minutes, the Prince of Wales
all the time observing us, and frequently speaking to Colonel (now
General) Lake, and to the Honourable Mr. Legge, brother to Lord
Lewisham, who was in waiting on his Royal Highness. I hurried through
the first scene, not without much embarrassment, owing to the fixed
attention with which the Prince of Wales honoured me. Indeed, some
flattering remarks which were made by his Royal Highness met my ear as I
stood near his box, and I was overwhelmed with confusion.

The prince's particular attention was observed by every one, and I was
again rallied at the end of the play. On the last curtsey, the royal
family condescendingly returned a bow to the performers; but just as the
curtain was falling my eyes met those of the Prince of Wales, and with a
look that I never shall forget, he gently inclined his head a second
time; I felt the compliment, and blushed my gratitude.

During the entertainment Lord Malden never ceased conversing with me. He
was young, pleasing, and perfectly accomplished. He remarked the
particular applause which the prince had bestowed on my performance;
said a thousand civil things; and detained me in conversation till the
evening's performance was concluded.

I was now going to my chair, which waited, when I met the royal family
crossing the stage. I was again honoured with a very marked and low bow
from the Prince of Wales. On my return home, I had a party to supper;
and the whole conversation centred in encomiums on the person, graces,
and amiable manners of the illustrious heir-apparent.

Within two or three days of this time, Lord Malden made me a morning
visit. Mr. Robinson was not at home, and I received him rather
awkwardly. But his lordship's embarrassment far exceeded mine. He
attempted to speak--paused, hesitated, apologised; I knew not why. He
hoped I would pardon him; that I would not mention something he had to
communicate; that I would consider the peculiar delicacy of his
situation, and then act as I thought proper. I could not comprehend his
meaning, and therefore requested that he would be explicit.

After some moments of evident rumination, he tremblingly drew a small
letter from his pocket. I took it, and knew not what to say. It was
addressed to Perdita. I smiled, I believe rather sarcastically, and
opened the _billet_. It contained only a few words, but those
expressive of more than common civility; they were signed Florizel.[37]

"Well, my lord, and what does this mean?" said I, half angry.

"Can you not guess the writer?" said Lord Malden.

"Perhaps yourself, my lord," cried I, gravely.

"Upon my honour, no," said the viscount. "I should not have dared so to
address you on so short an acquaintance."

I pressed him to tell me from whom the letter came. He again hesitated;
he seemed confused, and sorry that he had undertaken to deliver it.

"I hope that I shall not forfeit your good opinion," said he; "but--"

"But what, my lord?"

"I could not refuse--for the letter is from the Prince of Wales."

I was astonished; I confess that I was agitated; but I was also somewhat
skeptical as to the truth of Lord Malden's assertion. I returned a
formal and a doubtful answer, and his lordship shortly after took
his leave.

A thousand times did I read this short but expressive letter. Still I
did not implicitly believe that it was written by the prince; I rather
considered it as an experiment made by Lord Malden, either on my vanity
or propriety of conduct. On the next evening the viscount repeated his
visit. We had a card-party of six or seven, and the Prince of Wales was
again the subject of unbounded panegyric. Lord Malden spoke of his Royal
Highness's manners as the most polished and fascinating; of his temper
as the most engaging; and of his mind, the most replete with every
amiable sentiment. I heard these praises, and my heart beat with
conscious pride, while memory turned to the partial but delicately
respectful letter which I had received on the preceding morning.

The next day Lord Malden brought me a second letter. He assured me that
the prince was most unhappy lest I should be offended at his conduct,
and that he conjured me to go that night to the Oratorio, [38] where he
would by some signal convince me that he was the writer of the letters,
supposing I was still skeptical as to their authenticity.

I went to the Oratorio; and, on taking my seat in the balcony-box, the
prince almost instantaneously observed me. He held the printed bill
before his face, and drew his hand across his forehead, still fixing his
eyes on me. I was confused, and knew not what to do. My husband was with
me, and I was fearful of his observing what passed. Still the prince
continued to make signs, such as moving his hand on the edge of the box
as if writing, then speaking to the Duke of York[39] (then Bishop of
Osnaburg), who also looked toward me with particular attention.

I now observed one of the gentlemen in waiting bring the prince a glass
of water; before he raised it to his lips he looked at me. So marked was
his Royal Highness's conduct that many of the audience observed it;
several persons in the pit directed their gaze at the place where I sat;
and, on the following day, one of the diurnal prints observed that there
was one passage in Dryden's Ode which seemed particularly interesting to
the Prince of Wales, who--
"Gazed on the fair
Who caused his care,
And sigh'd, and look'd, and sigh'd again."[40]

However flattering it might have been to female vanity to know that the
most admired and most accomplished prince in Europe was devotedly
attached to me; however dangerous to the heart such idolatry as his
Royal Highness, during many months, professed in almost daily letters,
which were conveyed to me by Lord Malden, still I declined any interview
with his Royal Highness. I was not insensible to all his powers of
attraction; I thought him one of the most amiable of men. There was a
beautiful ingenuousness in his language, a warm and enthusiastic
adoration, expressed in every letter, which interested and charmed me.
During the whole spring, till the theatre closed, this correspondence
continued, every day giving me some new assurance of inviolable
affection.

After we had corresponded some months without ever speaking to each
other (for I still declined meeting his Royal Highness, from a dread of
the _éclat_ which such a connection would produce, and the fear of
injuring him in the opinion of his royal relatives), I received, through
the hands of Lord Malden, the prince's portrait in miniature, painted by
the late Mr. Meyer. This picture is now in my possession. Within the
case was a small heart cut in paper, which I also have; on one side was
written, _"Je ne change qu'en mourant;"_ on the other, "Unalterable to
my Perdita through life."

During many months of confidential correspondence, I always offered his
Royal Highness the best advice in my power; I disclaimed every sordid
and interested thought; I recommended him to be patient till he should
become his own master; to wait till he knew more of my mind and manners,
before he engaged in a public attachment to me; and, above all, to do
nothing that might incur the displeasure of his Royal Highness's family.
I entreated him to recollect that he was young, and led on by the
impetuosity of passion; that should I consent to quit my profession and
my husband, I should be thrown entirely on his mercy. I strongly
pictured the temptations to which beauty would expose him; the many arts
that would be practised to undermine me in his affections; the public
abuse which calumny and envy would heap upon me; and the misery I should
suffer, if, after I had given him every proof of confidence, he should
change in his sentiments toward me. To all this I received repeated
assurances of inviolable affection; and I most firmly believe that his
Royal Highness meant what he professed--indeed, his soul was too
ingenuous, his mind too liberal, and his heart too susceptible, to
deceive premeditatedly, or to harbour even for a moment the idea of
deliberate deception.

At every interview with Lord Maiden I perceived that he regretted the
task he had undertaken; but he assured me that the prince was almost
frantic whenever he suggested a wish to decline interfering. Once I
remember his lordship's telling me that the late Duke of Cumberland had
made him a visit early in the morning, at his house in Clarges Street,
informing him that the prince was most wretched on my account, and
imploring him to continue his services only a short time longer. The
prince's establishment was then in agitation; at this period his Royal
Highness still resided in Buckingham House.

A proposal was now made that I should meet his Royal Highness at his
apartments, in the disguise of male attire. I was accustomed to perform
in that dress, and the prince had seen me, I believe, in the character
of the Irish Widow. To this plan I decidedly objected. The indelicacy of
such a step, as well as the danger of detection, made me shrink from the
proposal. My refusal threw his Royal Highness into the most distressing
agitation, as was expressed by the letter which I received on the
following morning. Lord Malden again lamented that he had engaged
himself in the intercourse, and declared that he had himself conceived
so violent a passion for me that he was the most miserable and
unfortunate of mortals.

During this period, though Mr. Robinson was a stranger to my epistolary
intercourse with the prince, his conduct was entirely neglectful. He was
perfectly careless respecting my fame and my repose; passed his leisure
hours with the most abandoned women, and even my own servants complained
of his illicit advances. I remember one, who was plain even to ugliness;
she was short, ill-made, squalid, and dirty; once, on my return from a
rehearsal, I found that this woman was locked with my husband in my
chamber. I also knew that Mr. Robinson continued his connection with a
female who lodged in Maiden Lane, and who was only one of the few that
proved his domestic apostacy.

His indifference naturally produced an alienation of esteem on my side,
and the increasing adoration of the most enchanting of mortals hourly
reconciled my mind to the idea of a separation. The unbounded assurances
of lasting affection which I received from his Royal Highness in many
scores of the most eloquent letters, the contempt which I experienced
from my husband, and the perpetual labour which I underwent for his
support, at length began to weary my fortitude. Still I was reluctant to
become the theme of public animadversion, and still I remonstrated with
my husband on the unkindness of his conduct.

* * * * *

_[The narrative of Mrs. Robinson closes here.]_

CONTINUATION

BY A FRIEND

Among those persons who have at various periods attracted the attention
of the public, there are few whose virtues have been so little known, or
whose characters have been so unfairly estimated, as the subject of the
preceding memoir. To compress within narrow limits the numerous
circumstances by which the later years of Mrs. Robinson's life were
chequered, will be a task of no little difficulty. The earlier periods
of her existence, rendered more interesting as narrated by her own pen,
have doubtlessly been justly appreciated by the reflecting and candid
reader, whose sympathy they could not fail to awaken. That she lived not
to conclude the history of a life scarcely less eventful than
unfortunate, cannot but afford a subject of sincere regret.

The conflicts which shook the mind, and the passions which succeeded to
each other in the breast of Mrs. Robinson, at the period when her
narrative closes, a crisis perhaps the most important in her life, may
be more easily conceived than described. A laborious though captivating
profession, the profits of which were unequal to the expenses of her
establishment, and the assiduities of her illustrious lover, to whom she
naturally looked for protection, combined to divide her attention and
bewilder her inexperienced mind. The partiality of her royal admirer had
begun to excite observation, to awaken curiosity, and to provoke the
malignant passions which, under an affected concern for decorum, assumed
the guise of virtue. The daily prints teemed with hints of the favour of
Mrs. Robinson with "one whose manners were resistless, and whose smile
was victory." These circumstances, added to the constant devoirs of Lord
Malden, whose attentions were as little understood as maliciously
interpreted, conspired to distract a young creature, whose exposed
situation, whose wavering and unformed character, rendered her but too
obnoxious to a thousand errors and perils.

To terminate her correspondence with the prince appeared the most
painful remedy that could be adopted by a heart fascinated with his
accomplishments, and soothed by his professions of inviolable
attachment. She was aware that, in the eye of the world, the reputation
of the wife is supposed unsullied, while the husband, enduring passively
his dishonour, gives to her the sanction of his protection. The circles
of fashion afforded more than one instance of this obliging acquiescence
in matrimonial turpitude. Could Mrs. Robinson have reconciled it to her
own feelings to remain under the roof of her husband, whose protection
she had forfeited, and to add insult to infidelity, the attentions of
her illustrious admirer might have given to her popularity an additional
_éclat_. Neither might her husband have suffered in his worldly
prospects, from being to the motives of his royal visitor a little
complaisantly blind. But her ingenuous nature would not permit her to
render the man for whom she had once felt an affection an object of
ridicule and contempt. She determined, therefore, to brave the world,
and, for a support against its censures, to rely on the protection and
friendship of him to whom she sacrificed its respect.

The managers of Drury Lane Theatre, suspecting that Mrs. Robinson
purposed, at the conclusion of the season, to withdraw from the stage,
omitted no means that might tend to induce her to renew her engagements.
With this view, they offered a considerable advance to her salary, while
to their solicitations she returned undecisive answers. Hourly rising in
a profession to which she was enthusiastically attached, the public
plaudits, which her appearance never failed to excite, were too
gratifying to be relinquished without regret.

During this irresolution she was persecuted by numerous anonymous
letters, which she continued to treat with derision or contempt. The
correspondence between Mrs. Robinson and the prince had hitherto been
merely epistolary. This intercourse had lasted several months, Mrs.
Robinson not having acquired sufficient courage to venture a personal
interview, and bid defiance to the reproaches of the world.

At length, after many alternations of feeling, an interview with her
royal lover was consented to by Mrs. Robinson, and proposed, by the
management of Lord Malden, to take place at his lordship's residence in
Dean Street, Mayfair. But the restricted situation of the prince,
controlled by a rigid tutor, rendered this project of difficult
execution. A visit to Buckingham House was then mentioned; to which Mrs.
Robinson positively objected, as a rash attempt, abounding in peril to
her august admirer. Lord Maiden being again consulted, it was determined
that the prince should meet Mrs. Robinson for a few moments at Kew,[41]
on the banks of the Thames, opposite to the old palace, then the summer
residence of the elder princes. For an account of this incident, an
extract from a letter of Mrs. Robinson, written some years afterward, to
a valued and since deceased friend, who during the period of these
events resided in America, may not be unacceptable to the reader. The
date of this letter is in 1783.

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