fortune at this moment of public peril, I might create some reproaches
in many families of the fashionable world. Among others who offered most
liberally to purchase my indiscretion was the late Duke of Rutland; a
settlement of six hundred pounds per annum was proposed as the means of
estranging me entirely from my husband. I refused the offer. I wished to
remain, in the eyes of the public, deserving of its patronage. I shall
not enter into a minute detail of temptations which assailed my
fortitude.
The flattering and zealous attentions which Mr. Sheridan evinced were
strikingly contrasting with the marked and increasing neglect of my
husband. I now found that he supported two women, in one house, in
Maiden Lane, Covent Garden. The one was a figure-dancer in Drury Lane
Theatre; the other, a woman of professed libertinism. With these he
passed all his hours that he could steal from me; and I found that my
salary was at times inadequate to the expenses which were incurred by an
enlarged circle of new acquaintance, which Mr. Robinson had formed since
my appearance in the dramatic scene. Added to this, the bond creditors
became so clamorous, that the whole of my benefits were appropriated to
their demands; and on the second year after my appearance at Drury Lane
Theatre, Mr. Robinson once more persuaded me to make a visit at
Tregunter.
I was now received with more civility, and more warmly welcomed, than I
had been on any former arrival. Though the assumed sanctity of Miss
Robinson's manners condemned a dramatic life, the labour was deemed
profitable, and the supposed immorality was consequently tolerated!
However repugnant to my feelings this visit was, still I hoped that it
would promote my husband's interest, and confirm his reconciliation to
his father; I therefore resolved on undertaking it. I now felt that I
could support myself honourably; and the consciousness of independence
is the only true felicity in this world of humiliations.
Mr. Harris was now established in Tregunter House, and several parties
were formed, both at home and abroad, for my amusement. I was consulted
as the very oracle of fashions; I was gazed at and examined with the
most inquisitive curiosity. Mrs. Robinson, the promising young actress,
was a very different personage from Mrs. Robinson who had been
overwhelmed with sorrows, and came to ask an asylum under the roof of
vulgar ostentation. I remained only a fortnight in Wales, and then
returned to London, to prepare for the opening of the theatre.
We stopped at Bath on our way to town, where Mr. Robinson met with Mr.
George Brereton, with whom, at Newmarket, he had some time before become
acquainted. Mr. Brereton was a man of fortune, and married to his
beautiful cousin, the daughter of Major Brereton, then master of the
ceremonies at Bath. At a former period Mr. Robinson had owed a sum of
money to Mr. George Brereton, for which he had given a promissory note.
On our arrival at Bath we received a visit from this creditor, who
assured Mr. Robinson that he was in no haste for the payment of his
note, and at the same time very earnestly pressed us to remain a few
days in that fashionable city. We were in no hurry to return to London,
having still more than three weeks' holidays. We resided at the "Three
Tuns," one of the best inns, and Mr. Brereton was on all occasions
particularly attentive.
The motive of this assiduity was at length revealed to me, by a violent
and fervent declaration of love, which astonished and perplexed me. I
knew that Mr. Brereton was of a most impetuous temper; that he had
fought many duels; that he was capable of any outrage; and that he had
my husband completely in his power. Every advance which he had the
temerity to make was by me rejected with indignation. I had not
resolution to inform Mr. Robinson of his danger, and I thought that the
only chance of escaping it was to set out immediately for Bristol, where
I wished to pass a few days, previous to my return to the metropolis.
On the following morning, as we were quitting the inn in Temple Street,
to visit Clifton, Mr. Robinson was arrested at the suit of Mr. George
Brereton, who waited himself in an upper room in order to see the writ
executed. I forget the exact sum for which Mr. Robinson had given his
promissory note, but I well remember that it was in magnitude beyond his
power to pay. Our consternation was indescribable.
In a few minutes after, I was informed that a lady wished to speak with
me. Concluding that it was some old acquaintance, and happy to feel that
in this perplexing dilemma I had still a friend to speak to, I followed
the waiter into another room. Mr. Robinson was detained by the
sheriff's officer.
On entering the apartment, I beheld Mr. Brereton.
"Well, madam," said he, with a sarcastic smile, "you have involved your
husband in a pretty embarrassment! Had you not been severe toward me,
not only this paltry debt would have been cancelled, but any sum that I
could command would have been at his service. He has now either to pay
me, to fight me, or to go to a prison; and all because you treat me with
such unexampled rigour."
I entreated him to reflect before he drove me to distraction.
"I have reflected," said he, "and I find that you possess the power to
do with me what you will. Promise to return to Bath--to behave more
kindly--and I will this moment discharge your husband."
I burst into tears.
"You cannot be so inhuman as to propose such terms!" said I.
"The inhumanity is on your side," answered Mr. Brereton. "But I have no
time to lose; I must return to Bath; my wife is dangerously ill; and I
do not wish to have my name exposed in a business of this nature."
"Then for Heaven's sake release my husband!" said I. Mr. Brereton smiled
as he rang the bell, and ordered the waiter to look for his carriage. I
now lost all command of myself, and, with the most severe invective,
condemned the infamy of his conduct. "I will return to Bath," said I;
"but it shall be to expose your dishonourable, your barbarous
machinations. I will inform that lovely wife how treacherously you have
acted. I will proclaim to the world that the common arts of seduction
are not sufficiently depraved for the mind of a libertine and a
gamester."
I uttered these words in so loud a tone of voice that he changed colour,
and desired me to be discreet and patient.
"Never, while you insult me, and hold my husband in your power," said I.
"You have carried outrage almost to its fullest extent; you have
awakened all the pride and all the resentment of my soul, and I will
proceed as I think proper."
He now endeavoured to soothe me. He assured me that he was actuated by a
sincere regard for me; and that, knowing how little my husband valued
me, he thought it would be an act of kindness to estrange me from him.
"His neglect of you will justify any step you may take," added he; "and
it is a matter of universal astonishment that you, who upon other
occasions can act with such becoming spirit, should tamely continue to
bear such infidelities from a husband." I shuddered; for this plea had,
in many instances, been urged as an excuse for libertine advances; and
the indifference with which I was treated was, in the theatre, and in
all my circle of friends, a subject of conversation.
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."