animadversion, while the newly invigorated shafts of my old enemies, the
daily prints, were again hurled upon my defenceless head with tenfold
fury. The regrets of Mr. Robinson, now that he had lost me, became
insupportable; he constantly wrote to me in the language of unbounded
affection, nor did he fail, when we met, to express his agony at our
separation, and even a wish for our reunion.
"I had, at one period, resolved on returning to my profession; but some
friends whom I consulted dreaded that the public would not suffer my
reappearance on the stage. This idea intimidated me, and precluded my
efforts for that independence of which my romantic credulity had robbed
me. I was thus fatally induced to relinquish what would have proved an
ample and honourable resource for myself and my child. My debts
accumulated to near seven thousand pounds. My creditors, whose insulting
illiberality could only be equalled by their unbounded impositions,
hourly assailed me.
"I was, in the meantime, wholly neglected by the prince, while the
assiduities of Lord Malden daily increased. I had no other friend on
whom I could rely for assistance or protection. When I say protection, I
would not be understood to mean pecuniary assistance, Lord Mailden
being, at the time alluded to, even poorer than myself,--the death of
his lordship's grandmother, Lady Frances Coningsby, had not then placed
him above the penury of his own small income.
"Lord Maiden's attentions to me again exposed him to all the humiliation
of former periods. The prince assured me once more of his wishes to
renew our former friendship and affection, and urged me to meet him at
the house of Lord Malden in Clarges Street. I was at this period little
less than frantic, deeply involved in debt, persecuted by my enemies,
and perpetually reproached by my relations. I would joyfully have
resigned an existence now become to me an intolerable burthen; yet my
pride was not less than my sorrow, and I resolved, whatever my heart
might suffer, to wear a placid countenance when I met the inquiring
glances of my triumphant enemies.
"After much hesitation, by the advice of Lord Malden, I consented to
meet his Royal Highness. He accosted me with every appearance of tender
attachment, declaring that he had never for one moment ceased to love
me, but that I had many concealed enemies, who were exerting every
effort to undermine me. We passed some hours in the most friendly and
delightful conversation, and I began to flatter myself that all our
differences were adjusted. But what words can express my surprise and
chagrin, when, on meeting his Royal Highness the very next day in Hyde
Park, he turned his head to avoid seeing me, and even affected not
to know me!
"Overwhelmed by this blow, my distress knew no limits. Yet Heaven can
witness the truth of my assertion, even in this moment of complete
despair, when oppression bowed me to the earth, I blamed not the prince.
I did then, and ever shall, consider his mind as nobly and honourably
organised, nor could I teach myself to believe that a heart, the seat of
so many virtues, could possibly become inhuman and unjust. I had been
taught from my infancy to believe that elevated stations are surrounded
by delusive visions, which glitter but to dazzle, like an unsubstantial
meteor, and flatter to betray. With legions of these phantoms it has
been my fate to encounter; I have been unceasingly marked by their
persecutions, and shall at length become their victim."
[Illustration: Mrs. Robinson From a painting by Gainsborough]
Here the narrative of Mrs. Robinson breaks off, with some reflections to
which the recital had given rise. Though diligent search has been made
to elucidate the obscurity in which the preceding events are involved,
but little information has been gained. All that can be learned with
certainty is her final separation from the Prince of Wales in the
year 1781.
The genius and engaging manners of Mrs. Robinson, who was still very
young, had procured her the friendship of many of the most enlightened
men of this age and country; her house was the rendezvous of talents.
While yet unconscious of the powers of her mind, which had scarcely then
unfolded itself, she was honoured with the acquaintance and esteem of
Sir Joshua Reynolds, Messrs. Sheridan, Burke, Henderson, Wilkes, Sir
John Elliot, etc., men of distinguished talents and character. But
though surrounded by the wise, the witty, and the gay, her mind,
naturally pensive, was still devoured by secret sorrow; neither could
the blandishments of flattery, nor the soothings of friendship, extract
the arrow that rankled in her heart. Involved beyond the power of
extrication, she determined on quitting England, and making a tour
to Paris.
To desert her country, to fly like a wretched fugitive, or to become a
victim to the malice, and swell the triumph of her enemies, were the
only alternatives that seemed to present themselves. Flight was
humiliating and dreadful, but to remain in England was impracticable.
The terrors and struggles of her mind became almost intolerable, and
nearly deprived her of reason. The establishment of the prince had now
taken place; to him, for whom she had made every sacrifice, and to whom
she owed her present embarrassments, she conceived herself entitled to
appeal for redress. She wrote to his Royal Highness, but her letter
remained unanswered. The business was at length submitted to the
arbitration of Mr. Fox, and, in 1783, her claims were adjusted by the
grant of an annuity of five hundred pounds, the moiety of which was to
descend to her daughter at her decease. This settlement was to be
considered as an equivalent for the bond of twenty thousand pounds given
by the prince to Mrs. Robinson, to be paid on his establishment, as a
consideration for the resignation of a lucrative profession at the
particular request of his Royal Highness. To many persons the assurance
of an independence would have operated as a consolation for the
sufferings and difficulties by which it had been procured; but the
spirit of Mrs. Robinson bent not to a situation which the delicacy of
her feelings led her to consider as a splendid degradation.
About this period, Mrs. Robinson, notwithstanding the change in her
affairs, determined to visit Paris, to amuse her mind and beguile her
thoughts from the recollection of past scenes. Having procured letters
of introduction to some agreeable French families, and also to Sir John
Lambert, resident English banker at Paris, she quitted London, with the
resolution of passing two months in the gay and brilliant metropolis of
France. Sir John Lambert, on being informed of her arrival, exerted
himself to procure for her commodious apartments, a _remise_, a box at
the opera, with all the fashionable and expensive etceteras with which
an inexperienced English traveller is immediately provided.
This venerable chevalier united to the cordiality of the English
character the _bienfaisance_ of a Frenchman; every hour was devoted to
the amusement of his admired guest, who came to him highly recommended.
Parties were, with the most flattering assiduity, formed for the
different spectacles and places of public entertainment. A brilliant
assemblage of illustrious visitors failed not to grace at the opera the
box of _la belle Anglaise_.
A short time after the arrival of Mrs. Robinson at Paris, the Duke of
Orleans and his gallant friend and associate, the Duke de Lauzun
(afterward Duke de Biron), were presented to her by Sir John Lambert.
This unfortunate prince, with all the volatility of the national
character, disgraced human nature by his vices, while the elegance of
his manners rendered him a model to his contemporaries.
The Duke of Orleans immediately professed himself devoted to the fair
stranger. His libertine manners, the presumption with which he declared
his determination to triumph over the heart of Mrs. Robinson, assisted
to defend her against him; and, while he failed to dazzle her
imagination by his magnificence, he disgusted her by his hauteur.
The most enchanting fêtes were given at Mousseau, a villa belonging to
the Duke of Orleans. near Paris, at which Mrs. Robinson invariably
declined to appear. Brilliant races _à l'Anglaise_ were exhibited on the
plains _des Sablons_, to captivate the attention of the inexorable
_Anglaise_. On the birthday of Mrs. Robinson a new effort was made to
subdue her aversion and to obtain her regard. A rural fête was appointed
in the gardens of Mousseau, when this beautiful pandemonium of splendid
profligacy was, at an unusual expense, decorated with boundless luxury.
In the evening, amidst a magnificent illumination, every tree displayed
the initials of _la belle Anglaise_, composed of coloured lamps,
interwoven with wreaths of artificial flowers. Politeness compelled Mrs.
Robinson to grace with her presence a fête instituted to her honour.
She, however, took the precaution of selecting for her companion a
German lady, then resident at Paris, while the venerable chevalier
Lambert attended them as a chaperon.
Some days after the celebration of this festival, the Queen of France
signified her intention of dining in public, for the first time after
her accouchement with the Duke of Normandy, afterward dauphin. The duke
brought to Mrs. Robinson a message from the queen, expressing a wish
that _la belle Anglaise_ might be induced to appear at the _grand
convert_. Mrs. Robinson, not less solicitous to behold the lovely Marie
Antoinette, gladly availed herself of the intimation, and immediately
began to prepare for the important occasion. The most tasteful ornaments
of Mademoiselle Bertin, the reigning milliner, were procured to adorn a
form that, rich in native beauty, needed little embellishment. A pale
green lustring train and body, with a tiffany petticoat, festooned with
bunches of the most delicate lilac, were chosen by Mrs. Robinson for her
appearance, while a plume of white feathers adorned her head; the native
roses of her cheeks, glowing with health and youth, were stained, in
conformity to the fashion of the French court, with the deepest rouge.
On the arrival of the fair foreigner, the Duke d'Orleans quitted the
king, on whom he was then in waiting, to procure her a place, where the
queen might have an opportunity of observing those charms by the fame of
which her curiosity had been awakened.
The _grand convert_, at which the king acquitted himself with more
alacrity than grace, afforded a magnificent display of epicurean luxury.
The queen ate nothing. The slender crimson cord, which drew a line of
separation between the royal epicures and the gazing plebeians, was at
the distance but of a few feet from the table. A small space divided the
queen from Mrs. Robinson, whom the constant observation and loudly
whispered encomiums of her Majesty most oppressively flattered. She
appeared to survey, with peculiar attention, a miniature of the Prince
of Wales, which Mrs. Robinson wore on her bosom, and of which, on the
ensuing day, she commissioned the Duke of Orleans to request the loan.
Perceiving Mrs. Robinson gaze with admiration on her white and polished
arms, as she drew on her gloves, the queen again uncovered them, and
leaned for a few moments on her hand. The duke, on returning the
picture, gave to the fair owner a purse, netted by the hand of
Antoinette, and which she had commissioned him to present, from her, to
_la belle Anglaise_. Mrs. Robinson not long after these events quitted
Paris, and returned to her native country.
In 1784 her fate assumed a darker hue. She was attacked by a malady, to
which she had nearly fallen a victim. By an imprudent exposure to the
night air in travelling, when, exhausted by fatigue and mental anxiety,
she slept in a chaise with the windows open, she brought on a fever,
which confined her to her bed during six months. The disorder terminated
at the conclusion of that period in a violent rheumatism, which
progressively deprived her of the use of her limbs. Thus, at four and
twenty years of age, in the pride of youth and the bloom of beauty, was
this lovely and unfortunate woman reduced to a state of more than
infantile helplessness. Yet, even under so severe a calamity, the powers
of her mind and the elasticity of her spirits triumphed over the
weakness of her frame. This check to the pleasures and vivacity of
youth, by depriving her of external resource, led her to the more
assiduous cultivation and development of her talents. But the
resignation with which she had submitted to one of the severest of human
calamities gave place to hope, on the assurance of her physician, that
by the mild air of a more southern climate she might probably be
restored to health and activity.
The favourite wish of her heart, that of beholding her relations, from
whom she had been so many years divided, it was now in her power to
gratify. From her elder brother she had frequently received invitations,
the most pressing and affectionate, to quit for ever a country where an
unprotected woman rarely fails to become the victim of calumny and
persecution, and to take shelter in the bosom of domestic tranquillity,
where peace, to which she had long been a stranger, might still await
her. Delighted with the idea of combining with the object of her travels
an acquisition so desirable, and after which her exhausted heart panted,
she eagerly embraced the proposal, and set out to Paris, with the
resolution of proceeding to Leghorn. But a letter, on her arrival, from
her physician, prescribing the warm baths of Aix-la-Chapelle in Germany,
as a certain restorative for her complaints, frustrated her plans. Once
more she proceeded in melancholy pursuit of that blessing which she was
destined never more to obtain.
During her sojourn at Aix-la-Chapelle, a dawn of comparative
tranquillity soothed her spirits. Secure from the machinations of her
enemies, she determined, though happiness seemed no more within her
reach, to endeavour to be content. The assiduities and attentions shown
her by all ranks of people presented a striking medium between the
volatility and libertine homage offered to her at Paris, and the
persevering malignity which had followed her in her native land. Her
beauty, the affecting state of her health, the attraction of her
manners, and the powers of her mind, interested every heart in her
favour; while the meekness with which she submitted to her fate excited
an admiration not less fervent, and more genuine, than her charms in the
full blaze of their power had ever extorted.
Among the many illustrious and enlightened persons then resident at
Aix-la-Chapelle, who honoured Mrs. Robinson by their friendship, she
received from the late amiable and unfortunate Duke and Duchess du
Châtelet peculiar marks of distinction. The duke had, while ambassador
in England, been the friend and associate of the learned Lord Mansfield;
his duchess, the _élève_ of Voltaire, claimed as her godmother Gabrielle
Emilia, Baroness du Châtelet, so celebrated by that lively and admirable
writer. This inestimable family, consisting of the duke and duchess,
their nephews the Counts de Damas, and a niece married to the Duke de
Simianne, were indefatigable in their efforts to solace the affliction
and amuse the mind of their fair friend. Balls, concerts, rural
breakfasts, succeeded to each other in gay and attractive variety; the
happy effects produced on the health and spirits of Mrs. Robinson were
considered by this English family as an ample compensation for their
solicitude. When compelled by severer paroxysms of her malady to seclude
herself from their society, a thousand kind stratagems were planned and
executed to relieve her sufferings, or soften the dejection to which
they unavoidably gave rise. Sometimes, on entering her dark and
melancholy bath, the gloom of which was increased by high grated
windows, she beheld the surface of the water covered with rose-leaves,
while the vapour baths were impregnated with aromatic odours. The
younger part of the family, when pain deprived Mrs. Robinson of rest,
frequently passed the night beneath her windows, charming her sufferings
and beguiling her of her sorrows, by singing her favourite airs to the
accompaniment of the mandolin.
Thus, in despite of sickness, glided away two agreeable winters, when
the transient gleam of brightness became suddenly obscured, and her
prospects involved in deeper shade.
About this period Mrs. Robinson had the misfortune to lose her brave and
respected father,--a blow as forcible as unexpected, which nearly shook
her faculties, and, for a time, wholly overwhelmed her spirits. Captain
Darby had, on the failure of his fortunes, been presented to the command
of a small ordnance vessel, through the interest of some of his noble
associates in the Indian expedition. Not having been regularly bred to
the sea, this was the only naval appointment which he could receive.
Enthusiastically attached to his profession, he omitted no occasion of
signalising himself. The siege of Gibraltar, in the year 1783, afforded
to him an opportunity after which he had long panted, when his small
vessel and gallant crew extorted by their courage and exertions the
admiration and applause of the fleet. Having fought till his rigging was
nearly destroyed, he turned his attention to the sinking Spaniards, whom
he sought to snatch from the flaming wrecks, floating around him in all
directions, and had the satisfaction to preserve, though at the hazard
of his life, some hundreds of his fellow beings. The vessel of Captain
Darby was the first that reached the rock by nearly an hour. On his
landing, General Elliot received and embraced him with the plaudits due
to his gallant conduct.
In the presence of his officers, the general lamented that so brave a
man had not been bred to a profession to which his intrepidity would
have done distinguished honour. To this eulogium he added, that, with
the courage of a lion, Captain Darby possessed the firmness of the rock
which he had so bravely defended.
To his care was entrusted by the commander a copy of the despatches,
which Captain Darby delivered four and twenty hours before the arrival
of the regular vessel. For this diligence, and the conduct which had
preceded it, he received the thanks of the Board of Admiralty, while on
the other captain was bestowed the more substantial recompense of five
hundred pounds. An injustice so glaring was not calculated to lessen
Captain Darby's distaste for England, which he quitted, after taking of
his unhappy family an affectionate farewell.
At sixty-two years of age, he set out to regain in a foreign country the
fortune he had sacrificed in the service of his own. With powerful
recommendations from the Duke of Dorset and the Count de Simolin, he
proceeded to Petersburg. From the Count de Simolin he continued to
experience, till the latest period of his existence, a steady and
zealous friendship. Captain Darby had been but two years in the Russian
imperial service when he was promoted to the command of a seventy-four
gun ship, with a promise of the appointment of admiral on the first
vacancy. On the 5th of December, 1785, death put a stop to his career.
He was buried with military honours, and attended to the grave by his
friends, Admiral Greig, the Counts Czernichef and De Simolin, with the
officers of the fleet.[43]
This honourable testimony to her father's worth was the only consolation
remaining to his daughter, whose enfeebled health and broken spirits
sunk beneath these repeated strokes.
During the four succeeding years of the life of Mrs. Robinson, but few
events occurred worthy of remark. In search of lost health, which she
had so long and vainly pursued, she determined to repair to the baths of
St. Amand, in Flanders, those receptacles of loathsome mud, and of
reptiles, unknown to other soils, which fasten on the bodies of those
who bathe. Mrs. Robinson made many visits to these distasteful ditches
before she could prevail on herself to enter them. Neither the example
of her fellow sufferers, nor the assurance of cures performed by their
wonderful efficacy, could for a long time overcome her disgust. At
length, solicitude for the restoration of her health, added to the
earnest remonstrances of her friends, determined her on making the
effort. For the purpose of being near the baths, which must be entered
an hour before the rising of the sun, she hired a small but beautiful
cottage near the spring, where she passed the summer of 1787. These
peaceful vales and venerable woods were, at no distant period, destined
to become the seat of war and devastation, and the very cottage in which
Mrs. Robinson resided was converted into the headquarters of a
Republican French general.[44]
[Illustration: The Prince of Wales From a painting by Sir Thomas
Lawrence]
Every endeavour to subdue her disorder proving ineffectual, Mrs.
Robinson relinquished her melancholy and fruitless pursuit, and resolved
once more to return to her native land. Proceeding through Paris, she
reached England in the beginning of 1787, from which period may be dated
the commencement of her literary career. On her arrival in London she
was affectionately received by the few friends whose attachment neither
detraction nor adverse fortunes could weaken or estrange. During an
absence of five years death had made inroads in the little circle of her
connections; many of those whose idea had been her solace in affliction,
and whose welcome she had delighted to anticipate, were now, alas!
no more.[45]
Once more established in London, and surrounded by social and rational
friends, Mrs. Robinson began to experience comparative tranquillity. The
Prince of Wales, with his brother the Duke of York, frequently honoured
her residence with their presence; but the state of her health, which
required more repose, added to the indisposition of her daughter, who
was threatened by a consumptive disorder, obliged her to withdraw to a
situation of greater retirement. Maternal solicitude for a beloved and
only child now wholly engaged her attention; her assiduities were
incessant and exemplary for the restoration of a being to whom she had
given life, and to whom she was fondly devoted.
In the course of the summer she was ordered by her physician to
Brighthelmstone, for the benefit of sea bathing. During hours of tedious
watching over the health of her suffering child, Mrs. Robinson beguiled
her anxiety by contemplating the ocean, whose successive waves, breaking
upon the shore, beat against the wall of their little garden. To a mind
naturally susceptible, and tinctured by circumstances with sadness, this
occupation afforded a melancholy pleasure, which could scarcely be
relinquished without regret. Whole nights were passed by Mrs. Robinson
at her window in deep meditation, contrasting with her present situation
the scenes of her former life.
Every device which a kind and skilful nurse could invent to cheer and
amuse her charge was practised by this affectionate mother, during the
melancholy period of her daughter's confinement. In the intervals of
more active exertion, the silence of a sick-chamber proving favourable
to the muse, Mrs. Robinson poured forth those poetic effusions which
have done so much honour to her genius and decked her tomb with unfading
laurels. Conversing one evening with Mr. Richard Burke,[46] respecting
the facility with which modern poetry was composed, Mrs. Robinson
repeated nearly the whole of those beautiful lines, which were afterward
given to the public, addressed: "To him who will understand them."
"LINES
"TO HIM WHO WILL UNDERSTAND THEM