conspicuous by introducing the bloomer arrangement in the nether
latitude.[2] This, as you may well suppose, was regarded as a scandal;
but these ladies, who were never known to speak to any one, or to each
other out of doors, went on their way quite unruffled. Years and years
after this, you may imagine my surprise at meeting them in Exeter, old
and grey, but the same singular silent pair. Then, after an interval of
a year or two, only one appeared. I assure you, it gave me pain to look
at that poor lonely, very lonely soul; but it was not for long. Kind
Heaven took her also, and so a tiny ripple was made, and there was an
end of the Alphington Ponies.”
MARIA FOOTE
“If there was ever a creature who merited the sympathy of the
world, it is Maria Foote. If there was ever a wife who deserved its
commiseration, it is her mother.” With these words begins a notice of
the actress in _The Examiner_ for 1825.
About the year 1796 an actor appeared in Plymouth under the name of
Freeman, but whose real name was Foote, and who claimed relationship
with Samuel Foote, the dramatist and performer. He was of a respectable
family, and his brother was a clergyman at Salisbury. Whilst on a
visit to his brother, he met the sister of his brother’s wife, both
daughters of a Mr. Charles Hart; she was then a girl of seventeen,
in a boarding-school, and to the disgrace of all parties concerned
therein, this simple boarding-school maid was induced to marry a man
twenty-five years older than herself, and to give great offence to her
parents, who withdrew all interest in her they had hitherto shown.
Foote returned to Plymouth with his wife, a sweet innocent girl. He was
at the time proprietor and manager of the Plymouth Theatre; and as, in
country towns, actors and actresses were looked down upon by society,
no respectable family paid Mrs. Foote the least attention, and although
the whole town was interested in her appearance, it regarded her simply
with pity.
Deserted by the reputable of one sex, she threw herself into the
society of the other; and in Plymouth, her good humour, fascinating
manner, long silken hair, and white hat and feather made havoc among
the young bloods. The husband was too apathetic to care who hovered
about his wife, with whom she flirted; and she, without being vicious,
finding herself slighted causelessly, became indifferent to the world’s
opinion. Her elderly husband, seeing that she was not visited, began
himself to neglect her.
The produce of this ill-assorted union was Maria Foote, ushered into
the world without a friend on the maternal, and very few on the
paternal side, who took any interest in her welfare, and she was
brought up amid scenes little calculated to give her self-respect,
sense of propriety, or any idea of domestic love and happiness.
From the disappointment and weariness of mind that weighed on the
slighted wife, Mrs. Foote sought relief in attending the theatre
nightly and acting on the stage. Daily and hourly seeing, hearing, and
talking of little else but the stage, as might be expected, a wish to
become an actress took possession of the child’s mind at an early age.
When Maria was twelve years of age, her mother was so far lost to all
delicacy of feeling, and her father so insensible to the duties of a
father, that he suffered his only daughter to act Juliet to the Romeo
of his wife.
Plymouth was disgusted, thoroughly disgusted, and whatever claims
Mr. Foote had before to the notice of some private friends, they now
considered these as forfeited for ever. From this moment a sort of
reckless indifference seemed to possess the whole family. Nothing came
amiss, so that money could be obtained; and Foote, who had been brought
up as a gentleman, and his wife as a lady, took a small inn in
Exeter, in 1811, lost his wife’s fortune, became the dupe of rogues,
and was ruined.
[Illustration: MARIA FOOTE, AFTERWARDS COUNTESS OF HARRINGTON
_From an engraved portrait in the collection of A. M. Broadley, Esq._]
The fame of Maria Foote’s beauty and charm of manner had reached
London, and in May, 1814, she made her first appearance at Covent
Garden Theatre, and personated Amanthis in “The Child of Nature”
with such grace and effect that the manager complimented her with an
immediate engagement. Young, beautiful, intelligent, and with natural
refinement, she was almost the creature she represented. A liberal
salary was assigned to her, and the managers always considered the
announcement of her name as certain of obtaining for them a crowded
house. That she had no pretensions to a rank higher than that of a
second-rate actress must, perhaps, be allowed. “I was never a great
actress,” she used to say in later life, “though people thought me
fascinating, and that I suppose I was.”
She was always dressed tastefully, looked charming, and was a universal
favourite among the lobby loungers. A writer in _The Drama_ for 1825
says: “To those who know nothing of a theatre, it may be new to tell
them that an interesting girl is in the jaws of ruin, who enters
it as an actress, unless watched and protected by her family and
friends. Constantly exposed to the gaze of men--inflaming a hundred
heads, and agitating a thousand hearts, if she be as Maria was,
fascinating and amiable--surrounded by old wretches as dressers, who
are the constant conveyers of letters, sonnets and flattery--dazzled
by the thunders of public applause, and softened by the incense of a
thousand sighs, breathed audibly from the front of the pit or the stage
boxes--associating in the green-room with licensed married strumpets,
because she must not be affected! Or supping on the stage, after the
curtain is dropped, with titled infamy or grey-headed lechery!--Let the
reader fancy an innocent girl, from a country town, plunged at once
into the furnace of depravity--let him fancy her father sanctioning her
by his indifference or helping her by his example, and then let him
say, if she be ultimately seduced and abandoned, whether it ought not
to be a wonder she was innocent so long.”
In spite of an education that never cherished the best feelings of a
child, Maria had a far sounder understanding than her parents, and
an instinctive modesty that withstood the evil with which she was
surrounded.
In the summer of 1815, Maria Foote was engaged as a star to perform at
Cheltenham, and there attracted the attention of Fitzharding Berkeley,
better known as Colonel Berkeley. This gentleman was the son of
Frederick Augustus, fifth Earl of Berkeley, by Mary Cole, the beautiful
daughter of a butcher at Gloucester, to whom he was married in 1796.
The Colonel was born in 1786. The Earl, indeed, affirmed that a private
marriage had taken place in 1785; the House of Lords disallowed the
proofs, in consequence of which one of the Colonel’s younger brothers,
born after 1796, became entitled to the earldom; he, however, always
refused to assume the title. Colonel Berkeley was an enthusiastic
amateur of the stage, and he offered his services to perform at the
benefit of Miss Foote, and she accepted his offer. The house was full
to the ceiling, and Maria, of course, felt grateful for the aid thus
lent her. After thus ingratiating himself, he seized the opportunity
to plead the passion with which she had inspired him. The old Earl,
his father, had died in 1810, and the Colonel was endeavouring to
establish his claim to the earldom. He pleaded with her, that till his
claim was allowed he could not well marry her, as such a marriage, he
asserted, would prejudice his suit to recover the forfeited earldom of
Berkeley, but he solemnly vowed his intention to make her his wife the
moment that he could do so without injuring his cause. By this means
he deluded the unfortunate girl into a connexion with him that lasted
for five years, and during all that time he made her no allowance
beyond the payment of those expenses which he himself had led her
to incur, and the presents he made to her did not in all that time
amount to £100. In 1821, Maria bore the Colonel a child, and had again
expectations of becoming a mother in 1824, and in the June of that year
all connexion ceased between them.
In the spring of 1823, Mr. Joseph Hayne, a young man of fortune,
commonly known, from the colour of his coat, as “Pea-green” Hayne,
saw Maria Foote at Covent Garden Theatre, was struck with her beauty,
called at her house in Keppel Street, and invited Mr. Foote to spend
some days with him at Kitson Hall in Staffordshire, one of his seats.
The invitation was accepted, and there Hayne informed the father that
he desired to pay his addresses to his charming daughter. Mr. Foote
hurried back to town, and as Maria was expecting her confinement,
sent off his wife with her into the country under the feigned name of
Forbes, to remain in concealment till after that event.
In the following January, Hayne again called at Keppel Street, and
announced to Mrs. Foote that he seriously desired to be united in
marriage to her daughter. Mrs. Foote informed him that Maria was
engaged to be married to Colonel Berkeley, and that her daughter
could not listen to his suit unless the Colonel failed to fulfil his
promise. Hayne then said that he was about to go into the country,
and asked permission to escort Mrs. and Miss Foote to the opera, and
to tender to them his private box. To this the lady consented. As it
happened, Colonel Berkeley with a Mr. Manse happened to be in the pit
that evening, and the Colonel at once dispatched his friend to the box
to request Hayne to speak with him in the pit. When the young buck
came to him, Berkeley asked him for an explanation of his conduct with
respect to Miss Foote, and desired a meeting on the following day.
When they met the Colonel disclosed to Hayne everything relative to
his connexion with Maria Foote, and told him that he was the father by
her of two children. On hearing this Mr. Hayne at once wrote to the
lady to withdraw his proposal of marriage. She, in reply, requested an
interview with him in order to explain the circumstances. This took
place at Marlborough in the presence of Mrs. Foote. The young man (he
was aged only twenty-two) was moved by her sad story, and on his return
to town found that his flame had not been quenched by the revelation.
So he penned a letter to Maria, stating that his feelings remained
unaltered, and begging her to marry him. After some negotiation she
agreed to this, and at Hayne’s advice the children were sent to Colonel
Berkeley, who had asked for them. Hayne proposed to settle £40,000
on Miss Foote, for himself and her to receive the dividends during
their joint lives, and after the death of the survivor of them, to be
distributed equally among the children of the marriage, if any; and
if, at the death of Mr. Hayne, his wife should survive him, but have
no children, then £20,000 was to become the absolute property of the
widow. The day for the wedding was fixed to take place on the ensuing
4th September, and “May God strike me dead,” asseverated the young
man, “if ever I consent to separate myself from you, dearest Maria.”
A few days later, Mr. Bebb, “Pea-green” Hayne’s solicitor, called in
Keppel Street, at Mr. Foote’s house, and left a verbal message to
the effect “that Mr. Hayne would never see Miss Foote again.” Great
consternation was produced in the family, and the young actress at once
wrote to her new lover to entreat an interview and an explanation. The
bearer of the letter encountered Hayne in Bond Street, and he returned
with the servant in a coach to Keppel Street. Hayne informed Maria that
it was not his fault that he had acted in so strange a manner towards
her; that it had been his firm intention to fulfil his engagement, but
that, on his return home on Sunday, some persons had first plied him
with liquor, so as to make him in such a beastly state of intoxication
that he knew not what he did; that they afterwards locked him up in a
little back room, from which he had only that moment made his escape,
which his exhausted appearance would prove, and that when he met the
servant with the letter he was on his way to see his dearest Maria.
The explanation was received, a reconciliation was effected, and as
“Pea-green” was so evidently a weak young man, liable to be swayed
this way or that according to whom he was with, it was resolved that
a special licence should at once be procured, and that the marriage
should take place on the following morning at nine o’clock.
The night passed anxiously enough on the part of Miss Foote, who
realized that there was many a slip between the cup and the lip. At
length the morning arrived, everything was prepared, the bride’s maid
was in attendance, as were also Mr. Gill, the lawyer with the marriage
settlement, and Mr. Robins, the trustee; but the bridegroom did not
turn up, or send any notice that he was kept away. The parties waited
till three o’clock, and then a note was dispatched to him at Long’s
Hotel, where he was staying. The servant who took it was ushered into a
private room, and was there detained, under one pretext or another, for
a considerable time, and was finally informed that Joseph Hayne, Esq.,
had gone into the country, to his seat at Burdeson Park, Wiltshire. For
six days did the young lady wait in anxious expectation of receiving
some communication from the defaulting bridegroom. At length, on the
sixth day, she wrote to him a distressed and piteous appeal. To this
she received an answer: “My dearest Maria, you are perfectly correct
when you say that my heart and thoughts are still with you.” Hayne then
stated that the world was censorious, that he was divided between love
for her and esteem for his friends and dread of their disapproval. The
letter then went on to state, “I am resolved to sacrifice friends to
affection; I cannot, will not lose you.”
After a short interval, Hayne returned to London and called on Miss
Foote, at her father’s residence, and they became perfectly reconciled,
and the 28th September was finally fixed for the day of their marriage.
This fell on the Tuesday, and Monday was appointed for the execution of
the marriage settlement. On Saturday, Hayne, accompanied by Mr. Foote,
went to Doctors’ Commons, and there procured the marriage licence,
which Hayne himself delivered into the hands of his intended bride,
and solicited leave to wait on her the following morning. But instead
of calling himself, a gentleman named Manning appeared at the house of
the Footes, and brought a letter from Mr. Hayne to the father of Maria,
which stated that poor Joseph was so wretched as to be unable himself
to call, but that the bearer would explain everything, and finally
concluded by breaking off the match.
After this, Miss Foote received another letter from Hayne: “My dearest
Maria,--We know each other well; but with all my faults, you have a
regard for my honour,--my attachment to you is unabated. I entreat you
to grant me an interview in any other place than Keppel Street.”
To this letter the fair Maria replied: “Is this the way of proving your
love and regard for me? To my honour and your shame be it spoken, that
I am now suffering under a painful illness, brought on entirely by your
conduct; but that you are actuated by the advice of bad counsels, I
have no doubt. I will, however, once more consent to see you, but it
must be in the presence of my family: if I am well enough, on Saturday,
at one o’clock, it will be convenient to me to grant you an interview.”
In reply “Pea-green” wrote: “Farewell for ever.--Hayne.”
For his breach of promise, Miss Foote brought an action for damages.
The Attorney-General was retained on behalf of the plaintiff; and Mr.
Scarlett on behalf of the defendant. The case was heard on 21 December,
1824.
It then transpired that Mr. Foote, the father, had been given by Mr.
Hayne, to secure his goodwill, the sum of £1150; that Miss Foote had
received presents from the defendant to the value of £1000. It was
shown that gross deception had been practised on Hayne, at the time of
Maria’s expected confinement, to conceal from him her condition, and it
had been represented to him that she had been taken into the country as
suffering from a pulmonary complaint.
However, after he had learned all the circumstances, and knew that she
had been “under the protection” of Colonel Berkeley and had borne him
two children, he renewed his offer of marriage. Miss Foote demanded
£20,000 damages. The jury, after a brief consultation, agreed to accord
her £3000; a large slice of which sum, if not the largest portion of
it, was eaten up by the lawyers employed in the case by her.
None came out well in the matter. As the Attorney-General remarked:
“He could not trust himself in using language he thought sufficient to
express his detestation of Colonel Berkeley’s conduct.” Joseph Hayne
appeared as a public fop who did not know his own mind from one day to
another.
Mrs. Foote was revealed to be a scheming unprincipled woman, but Mr.
Foote came out worst of all. As _The Examiner_ said of him: “There is
scarcely a family living, or a family dead, that he has not treated
with the dirtiest selfishness, whatever were his obligations--spunging
till he was insulted, lying till he was discovered, puffing till he
was the butt of the town. The people of Plymouth can relate a thousand
instances of this description.”
Maria Foote came out best of all. She, brought up by such detestably
mean parents, without protection, exposed to temptation at every
turn, was more to be pitied than blamed. This the town felt, and
when, on 5 February, 1825, her benefit was given at Covent Garden
Theatre, the house was packed. _The Drama, or Theatrical Magazine_,
says: “The fullest house of this season, indeed of any season within
our experience, assembled this evening. The performance was not
the attraction; the overruling anxiety was to be present at the
reappearance of Miss Foote. A more intense interest could not have
been displayed; it was without parallel in the records of theatrical
history. For many weeks past every seat in the boxes--in the dress
circle--of the first circle--in the slips--all were engaged, and would
have been engaged had the theatre been double its dimensions. Even part
of the orchestra was appropriated to the accommodation of visitors
with guinea tickets; and an additional _douceur_ was in the course of
the evening given even for tolerable sight-room. Not the fraction of
a seat was to be had; and before the rising of the curtain the whole
interior of the theatre was crowded almost to suffocation. During the
first scenes of the performance (_The Belle’s Stratagem_) little else
was heard than the din and bustle consequent on the adjustment and
regulation of places. At length, at an advanced period of the first
act, Miss Foote appeared. The utmost stillness prevailed in the house
immediately previous to her expected entrée; she at length appeared,
and was received with a burst of loud, continued, and enthusiastic
acclamation, such as we never remember to have heard or known to have
been equalled at any theatre. All the persons in the pit and, with
scarcely an exception, in the boxes and other parts of the house,
stood up and welcomed her return to the stage with the most marked and
emphatic kindness. The waving of hats, handkerchiefs, was resorted
to. There was something, too, in the manner of her appearance, which
contributed greatly to enhance, while it seemed to entreat, the
indulgent consideration with which the audience were inclined to
receive her. She advanced with downcast look and faltering step to
the front of the stage, and became affected even to tears. There was
a diffidence, a timidity, and a truly distressing embarrassment in
her mode of coming forward, which, together with her beauty and the
recollection of her sufferings, was calculated to compel pity. It was
a scene which did equal honour to the audience, who duly appreciated
the distress of her situation, and to the object of their sympathy,
who gave such a pathetic attestation of her consciousness of it. Many
ladies--and there were many present--could not refrain from tears.
Those parts, and there were several throughout the play, capable of
being applied to Miss Foote’s peculiar situation, were seized on by the
audience, and followed by loud plaudits. At the delivery of the lines
What is your fortune, my pretty maid?
My face is my fortune, sir, she said,
a burst of acclamation was sent forth, almost equal to that which
greeted her entrance. The two lines which succeeded were, if possible,
still more applicable to recent events, which have occupied so much of
the attention of the Bar and of the public.
Then I’ll not marry you, my pretty maid.
There’s nobody asking you, sir, she said.
The good-humoured approval that followed these lines, which was in no
degree abated by the arch air with which Miss Foote gave them, cannot
be conveyed by verbal description. At the expression of the sentence,
‘This moment is worth a whole existence,’ Miss Foote bowed to the
audience in grateful acknowledgment of the reception she had met with.
Altogether Miss Foote’s reappearance has been most gratifying. She has
been hailed as a favourite of the public, who has been basely lured
from virtue, but who is not on that account treated as an alien from
its path.”
The total receipts that evening amounted to £900. 16s. At the latter
end of 1830, Madame Vestris took the Olympic Theatre, and opened it, on
3 January of the following year, with a drama on the subject of Mary
Queen of Scots, in which Miss Foote, who appears for a time to have
been in partnership with her, played the heroine. But she soon after
quitted the stage, and on 7 April, 1831, was married to the eccentric
Charles Stanhope, eighth Earl of Harrington and Viscount Petersham. He
was aged fifty-one and she aged thirty-three. They had one daughter; he
died in 1851, and she, as Dowager Countess of Harrington, lived until
27 December, 1867.
Mrs. Bancroft, in _On and Off the Stage_ (London, 1888), gives us a
pleasant recollection of Maria Foote in her old age as Dowager Countess
of Harrington.
“My father had known her slightly when she was in her zenith, and
would often speak of her as one of the loveliest and most amiable of
women. He would often recall not only the charm she possessed as an
accomplished actress, but her good-nature to everybody, high and low,
in the theatre.... My mother had never met Lady Harrington, but she
soon grew much attached to one who became a true friend to me, and as
time went on seemed more and more endeared to me. She must have been
very beautiful when young, being still extremely handsome as an old
lady. She was as good, too, as she was handsome; and I can never forget
her kindness to me. When I was once seriously ill with an attack of
bronchitis, Lady Harrington was unwearying in her attention to me, and
would, day after day, sit by my bedside reading to me, and would bring
with her all the delicacies she could think of. When I had sufficiently
recovered my strength, she sent me to the seaside to recruit my health.
To record all the kindnesses she bestowed on me and mine would fill
up many pages, but my gratitude is indelibly written on my heart. She
gave me a portrait of herself, as Maria Darlington in _A Roland for
an Oliver_, and by it one can see how lovely she must have been. Among
her other gifts was a beautiful old-fashioned diamond and ruby ring,
which she told me was given to her by the Earl when he was engaged to
be married to her.... Lady Harrington was much attached to (her old
butler) Payne, and also to her maid, who, I believe, had been in her
service since she was quite young, and often spoke of them as Romeo and
Juliet. I recall many a happy visit to Richmond Terrace, and until her
last illness I had no better friend than Lady Harrington.