Tài liệu Beaux and Belles of England ppt

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the days of her brilliancy, amongst them being the Prince of Wales and his brother the Duke of York.
Possibly, for the former, memory lent her a charm which years had not utterly failed to dispel.
J. Fitzgerald Molloy.
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
The Attempted Abduction
Lady Lyttleton
William Brereton in The Character Of Douglas
The First Meeting of Mrs. Robinson and the Prince of Wales
Mrs. Robinson
The Prince of Wales
Georgiana, Duchess of Devonshire
MRS. MARY ROBINSON
At the period when the ancient city of Bristol was besieged by Fairfax's army, the troops being stationed on a
rising ground in the vicinity of the suburbs, a great part of the venerable minster was destroyed by the
cannonading before Prince Rupert surrendered to the enemy; and the beautiful Gothic structure, which at this
moment fills the contemplative mind with melancholy awe, was reduced to but little more than one-half of the
original fabric. Adjoining to the consecrated hill, whose antique tower resists the ravages of time, once stood a
monastery of monks of the order of St. Augustine. This building formed a part of the spacious boundaries
which fell before the attacks of the enemy, and became a part of the ruin, which never was repaired or
re-raised to its former Gothic splendours.
On this spot was built a private house, partly of simple, and partly of modern architecture. The front faced a
small garden, the gates of which opened to the Minster Green (now called the College Green); the west side
was bounded by the cathedral, and the back was supported by the ancient cloisters of St. Augustine's
monastery. A spot more calculated to inspire the soul with mournful meditation can scarcely be found amidst
the monuments of antiquity.
In this venerable mansion there was one chamber whose dismal and singular constructure left no doubt of its
having been a part of the original monastery. It was supported by the mouldering arches of the cloisters, dark,
Gothic, and opening on the minster sanctuary, not only by casement windows that shed a dim midday gloom,
but by a narrow winding staircase, at the foot of which an iron-spiked door led to the long gloomy path of
cloistered solitude. This place remained in the situation in which I describe it in the year 1776, and probably
may, in a more ruined state, continue so to this hour.
In this awe-inspiring habitation, which I shall henceforth denominate the Minster House, during a
tempestuous night, on the 27th of November, 1758, I first opened my eyes to this world of duplicity and
sorrow. I have often heard my mother say that a mare stormy hour she never remembered. The wind whistled
round the dark pinnacles of the minster tower, and the rain beat in torrents against the casements of her
chamber. Through life the tempest has followed my footsteps, and I have in vain looked for a short interval of
repose from the perseverance of sorrow.
Beaux and Belles of England [with accents] 5
In the male line I am descended from a respectable family in Ireland, the original name of which was
MacDermott. From an Irish estate, my great-grandfather changed it to that of Darby. My father, who was born
in America, was a man of strong mind, high spirit, and great personal intrepidity. Many anecdotes, well
authenticated, and which, being irrefragable, are recorded as just tributes to his fame and memory, shall, in the
course of these memoirs, confirm this assertion.
My mother was the grandchild of Catherine Seys, one of the daughters and co-heiresses of Richard Sey's,
Esq., of Boverton Castle, in Glamorganshire. The sister of my great-grandmother, named Anne, married Peter,
Lord King, who was nephew, in the female line, to the learned and truly illustrious John Locke a name that
has acquired celebrity which admits of no augmented panegyric.
Catherine Seys was a woman of great piety and virtue a character which she transferred to her daughter, and
which has also been acknowledged as justly due to her sister, Lady King.[1] She quitted this life when my
grandmother was yet a child, leaving an only daughter, whose father also died while she was in her infancy.
By this privation of paternal care my grandmother became the _élève_ of her mother's father, and passed the
early part of her life at the family castle in Glamorganshire. From this period till the marriage of my mother, I
can give but a brief account. All I know is, that my grandmother, though wedded unhappily, to the latest
period of her existence was a woman of amiable and simple manners, unaffected piety, and exemplary virtue.
I remember her well; and I speak not only from report, but from my own knowledge. She died in the year
1780.
My grandmother Elizabeth, whom I may, without the vanity of consanguinity, term a truly good woman, in
the early part of her life devoted much of her time to botanic study. She frequently passed many successive
months with Lady Tynt, of Haswell, in Somersetshire, who was her godmother, and who was the Lady
Bountiful of the surrounding villages. Animated by so distinguished an example, the young Elizabeth, who
was remarkably handsome,[2] took particular delight in visiting the old, the indigent, and the infirm, resident
within many miles of Haswell, and in preparing such medicines as were useful to the maladies of the
peasantry. She was the village doctress, and, with her worthy godmother, seldom passed a day without
exemplifying the benevolence of her nature.
My mother was born at Bridgwater, in Somersetshire, in the house near the bridge, which is now occupied by
Jonathan Chub, Esq., a relation of my beloved and lamented parent, and a gentleman who, to acknowledged
worth and a powerful understanding, adds a superior claim to attention by all the acquirements of a scholar
and a philosopher.
My mother, who never was what may be called a handsome woman, had nevertheless, in her youth, a
peculiarly neat figure, and a vivacity of manner which obtained her many suitors. Among others, a young
gentleman of good family, of the name of Storr, paid his addresses. My father was the object of my mother's
choice, though her relations rather wished her to form a matrimonial alliance with Mr. S. The conflict between
affection and duty was at length decided in favour of my father, and the rejected lover set out in despair for
Bristol. From thence, in a few days after his arrival, he took his passage in a merchantman for a distant part of
the globe; and from that hour no intelligence ever arrived of his fate or fortune. I have often heard my mother
speak of this gentleman with regret and sorrow.
My mother was between twenty and thirty years of age at the period of her marriage. The ceremony was
performed at Dunyatt, in the county of Somerset. My father was shortly after settled at Bristol, and during the
second year after their union a son was born to bless and honour them.[3]
Three years after my mother gave birth to a daughter, named Elizabeth, who died of the smallpox at the age of
two years and ten months. In the second winter following this event, which deeply afflicted the most
affectionate of parents, I was born. She had afterward two sons: William, who died at the age of six years; and
George, who is now a respectable merchant at Leghorn, in Tuscany.
Beaux and Belles of England [with accents] 6
All the offspring of my parents were, in their infancy, uncommonly handsome, excepting myself. The boys
were fair and lusty, with auburn hair, light blue eyes, and countenances peculiarly animated and lovely, I was
swarthy; my eyes were singularly large in proportion to my face, which was small and round, exhibiting
features peculiarly marked with the most pensive and melancholy cast.
The great difference betwixt my brothers and myself, in point of personal beauty, tended much to endear me
to my parents, particularly to my father, whom I strongly resembled. The early propensities of my life were
tinctured with romantic and singular characteristics; some of which I shall here mention, as proofs that the
mind is never to be diverted from its original bent, and that every event of my life has more or less been
marked by the progressive evils of a too acute sensibility.
The nursery in which I passed my hours of infancy was so near the great aisle of the minster that the organ,
which reechoed its deep tones, accompanied by the chanting of the choristers, was distinctly heard both at
morning and evening service. I remember with what pleasure I used to listen, and how much I was delighted
whenever I was permitted to sit on the winding steps which led from the aisle to the cloisters. I can at this
moment recall to memory the sensations I then experienced the tones that seemed to thrill through my heart,
the longing which I felt to unite my feeble voice to the full anthem, and the awful though sublime impression
which the church service never failed to make upon my feelings. While my brothers were playing on the green
before the minster, the servant who attended us has often, by my earnest entreaties, suffered me to remain
beneath the great eagle which stood in the centre of the aisle, to support the book from which the clergyman
read the lessons of the day; and nothing could keep me away, even in the coldest seasons, but the stern looks
of an old man, whom I named Black John from the colour of his beard and complexion, and whose
occupations within the sacred precincts were those of a bell-ringer and sexton.
As soon as I had learned to read, my great delight was that of learning epitaphs and monumental inscriptions.
A story of melancholy import never failed to excite my attention; and before I was seven years old I could
correctly repeat Pope's "Lines to the Memory of an Unfortunate Lady;" Mason's "Elegy on the Death of the
Beautiful Countess of Coventry," and many smaller poems on similar subjects. I had then been attended two
years by various masters. Mr. Edmund Broadrip taught me music, my father having presented me with one of
Kirkman's finest harpsichords, as an incitement to emulation. Even there my natural bent of mind evinced
itself. The only melody which pleased me was that of the mournful and touching kind. Two of my earliest
favourites were the celebrated ballad by Gay, beginning, "'Twas when the sea was roaring," and the simple
pathetic stanzas of "The Heavy Hours," by the poet Lord Lyttelton. These, though nature had given me but
little voice, I could at seven years of age sing so pathetically that my mother, to the latest hour of her life,'
never could bear to hear the latter of them repeated. They reminded her of sorrows in which I have since
painfully learned to sympathise.
The early hours of boarding-school study I passed under the tuition of the Misses More, sisters to the lady of
that name whose talents have been so often celebrated.[4] The education of their young pupils was undertaken
by the five sisters. "In my mind's eye," I see them now before me; while every circumstance of those early
days is minutely and indelibly impressed upon my memory.
I remember the first time I ever was present at a dramatic representation: it was the benefit of that great
actor[5] who was proceeding rapidly toward the highest paths of fame, when death, dropped the oblivious
curtain, and closed the scene for ever. The part which he performed was King Lear; his wife, afterward Mrs.
Fisher, played Cordelia, but not with sufficient _éclat_ to render the profession an object for her future
exertions. The whole school attended, Mr. Powel's two daughters being then pupils of the Misses More. Mrs.
John Kemble, then Miss P. Hopkins, was also one of my schoolfellows, as was the daughter of Mrs. Palmer,
formerly Miss Pritchard, and afterward Mrs. Lloyd. I mention these circumstances merely to prove that
memory does not deceive me.
In my early days my father was prosperous, and my mother was the happiest of wives. She adored her
Beaux and Belles of England [with accents] 7
children; she devoted her thoughts and divided her affections between them and the tenderest of husbands.
Their spirits now, I trust, are in happier regions, blest, and reunited for ever.
If there could be found a fault in the conduct of my mother toward her children, it was that of a too unlimited
indulgence, a too tender care, which but little served to arm their breast against the perpetual arrows of mortal
vicissitude. My father's commercial concerns were crowned with prosperity. His house was opened by
hospitality, and his generosity was only equalled by the liberality of fortune: every day augmented his
successes; every hour seemed to increase his domestic felicity, till I attained my ninth year, when a change
took place as sudden as it was unfortunate, at a moment when every luxury, every happiness, not only
brightened the present, but gave promise of future felicity. A scheme was suggested to my father, as wild and
romantic as it was perilous to hazard, which was no less than that of establishing a whale fishery on the coast
of Labrador, and of civilising the Esquimaux Indians, in order to employ them in the extensive undertaking.
During two years this eccentric plan occupied his thoughts by day, his dreams by night: all the smiles of
prosperity could not tranquillise the restless spirit, and while he anticipated an acquirement of fame, he little
considered the perils that would attend his fortune.
My mother (who, content with affluence and happy in beholding the prosperity of her children, trembled at
the fear of endangering either), in vain endeavoured to dissuade my father from putting his favourite scheme
in practice. In the early part of his youth he had been accustomed to a sea life, and, being born an American,
his restless spirit was ever busied in plans for the increase of wealth and honour to his native country, whose
fame and interest were then united to those of Britain. After many dreams of success and many conflicts
betwixt prudence and ambition, he resolved on putting his scheme in practice; the potent witchery possessed
his brain, and all the persuasive powers of reason shrunk before its magic.
Full of the important business, my misguided parent repaired to the metropolis, and on his arrival laid the plan
before the late Earl of Hilsborough, Sir Hugh Palliser, the late Earl of Bristol, Lord Chatham (father to the
present Mr. William Pitt), the chancellor Lord Northington, who was my godfather, and several other equally
distinguished personages; who all not only approved the plan, but commended the laudable and public spirit
which induced my father to suggest it. The prospect appeared full of promise, and the Labrador whale fishery
was expected to be equally productive with that of Greenland. My parent's commercial connections were of
the highest respectability, while his own name for worth and integrity gave a powerful sanction to the
eccentric undertaking.
In order to facilitate this plan, my father deemed it absolutely necessary to reside at least two years in
America. My mother, who felt an invincible antipathy to the sea, heard his determination with grief and
horror. All the persuasive powers of affection failed to detain him; all the pleadings of reason, prudence, a
fond wife, and an infant family, proved ineffectual. My father was determined on departing, and my mother's
unconquerable timidity prevented her being the companion of his voyage. From this epocha I date the sorrows
of my family.
He sailed for America. His eldest son, John, was previously placed in a mercantile house at Leghorn. My
younger brothers and myself remained with my mother at Bristol. Two years was the limited time of his
absence, and, on his departure, the sorrow of my parents was reciprocal. My mother's heart was almost
bursting with anguish; but even death would to her have been preferable to the horrors of crossing a
tempestuous ocean and quitting her children, my father having resolved on leaving my brothers and myself in
England for education.
Still the comforts, and even the luxuries of life distinguished our habitation. The tenderness of my mother's
affection made her lavish of every elegance; and the darlings of her bosom were dressed, waited on, watched,
and indulged with a degree of fondness bordering on folly. My clothes were sent for from London; my fancy
was indulged to the extent of its caprices; I was flattered and praised into a belief that I was a being of
superior order. To sing, to play a lesson on the harpsichord, to recite an elegy, and to make doggerel verses,
Beaux and Belles of England [with accents] 8
made the extent of my occupations, while my person improved, and my mother's indulgence was almost
unexampled.
My father, several years before his departure for America, had removed from the Minster House, and resided
in one larger and more convenient for his increased family. This habitation was elegantly arranged; all the
luxuries of plate, silk furniture, foreign wines, etc., evinced his knowledge of what was worth enjoying, and
displayed that warm hospitality which is often the characteristic of a British merchant. This disposition for the
good things of the world influenced even the disposal of his children's comforts. The bed in which I slept was
of the richest crimson damask; the dresses which we wore were of the finest cambric; during the summer
months we were sent to Clifton Hill for the advantages of a purer air; and I never was permitted to board at
school, or to pass a night of separation from the fondest of mothers.
Many months elapsed, and my mother continued to receive the kindest letters from that husband whose rash
scheme filled her bosom with regret and apprehension. At length the intervals became more frequent and
protracted. The professions of regard, no longer flowing from the heart, assumed a laboured style, and seemed
rather the efforts of honourable feeling than the involuntary language of confidential affection. My mother felt
the change, and her affliction was infinite.
At length a total silence of several months awoke her mind to the sorrows of neglect, the torture of
compunction; she now lamented the timidity which had divided her from a husband's bosom, the natural
fondness which had bound her to her children; for while her heart bled with sorrow and palpitated with
apprehension, the dreadful secret was unfolded, and the cause of my father's silence was discovered to be a
new attachment a mistress, whose resisting nerves could brave the stormy ocean, and who had consented to
remain two years with him in the frozen wilds of America.
This intelligence nearly annihilated my mother, whose mind, though not strongly organised, was tenderly
susceptible. She resigned herself to grief. I was then at an age to feel and to participate in her sorrows. I often
wept to see her weep; I tried all my little skill to soothe her, but in vain; the first shock was followed by
calamities of a different nature. The scheme in which my father had embarked his fortune failed, the Indians
rose in a body, burnt his settlement, murdered many of his people, and turned the produce of their toil adrift
on the wide and merciless ocean. The noble patrons of his plan deceived him in their assurances of marine
protection, and the island of promise presented a scene of barbarous desolation. This misfortune was rapidly
followed by other commercial losses; and to complete the vexations which pressed heavily on my mother, her
rash husband gave a bill of sale of his whole property, by the authority of which we were obliged to quit our
home, and to endure those accumulated vicissitudes for which there appeared no remedy.
It was at this period of trial that my mother was enabled to prove, by that unerring touchstone, adversity, who
were her real and disinterested friends. Many, with affected commiseration, dropped a tear or rather seemed
to drop one on the disappointments of our family; while others, with a malignant triumph, condemned the
expensive style in which my father had reared his children, the studied elegance which had characterised my
mother's dress and habitation, and the hospitality, which was now marked by the ungrateful epithet of prodigal
luxuriance, but which had evinced the open liberality of my father's heart.
At this period my brother William died. He was only six years of age, but a promising and most lovely infant.
His sudden death, in consequence of the measles, nearly deprived my mother of her senses. She was deeply
affected; but she found, after a period of time, that consolation which, springing from the bosom of an amiable
friend, doubly solaced her afflictions. This female was one of the most estimable of her sex; she had been the
widow of Sir Charles Erskine, and was then the wife of a respectable medical man who resided at Bristol.
In the society of Lady Erskine my mother gradually recovered her serenity of mind, or rather found it soften
into a religious resignation. But the event of her domestic loss by death was less painful than that which she
felt in the alienation of my father's affections. She frequently heard that he resided in America with his
Beaux and Belles of England [with accents] 9
mistress, till, at the expiration of another year, she received a summons to meet him in London.
Language would but feebly describe the varying emotions which struggled in her bosom. At this interesting
era she was preparing to encounter the freezing scorn, or the contrite glances, of either an estranged or a
repentant husband; in either case her situation was replete with anticipated chagrin, for she loved him too
tenderly not to participate even in the anguish of his compunction. His letter, which was coldly civil,
requested particularly that the children might be the companions of her journey. We departed for the
metropolis.
I was not then quite ten years old, though so tall and formed in my person that I might have passed for twelve
or thirteen. My brother George was a few years younger. On our arrival in London we repaired to my father's
lodgings in Spring Gardens. He received us, after three years' absence, with a mixture of pain and pleasure; he
embraced us with tears, and his voice was scarcely articulate. My mother's agitation was indescribable; she
received a cold embrace at their meeting it was the last she ever received from her alienated husband.
As soon as the first conflicts seemed to subside, my father informed my mother that he was determined to
place my brother and myself at a school in the vicinity of London; that he purposed very shortly returning to
America, and that he would readily pay for my mother's board in any private and respectable family. This
information seemed like a death-blow to their domestic hopes. A freezing, formal, premeditated separation
from a wife who was guiltless of any crime, who was as innocent as an angel, seemed the very extent of
decided misery. It was in vain that my mother essayed to change his resolution, and influence his heart in
pronouncing a milder judgment: my father was held by a fatal fascination; he was the slave of a young and
artful woman, who had availed herself of his American solitude, to undermine his affections for his wife and
the felicity of his family.
This deviation from domestic faith was the only dark shade that marked my father's character. He possessed a
soul brave, liberal, enlightened, and ingenuous. He felt the impropriety of his conduct. Yet, though his mind
was strongly organised, though his understanding was capacious, and his sense of honour delicate even to
fastidiousness, he was still the dupe of his passions, the victim of unfortunate attachment.
Within a few days of our arrival in London we were placed for education in a school at Chelsea. The mistress
of this seminary was perhaps one of the most extraordinary women that ever graced, or disgraced, society; her
name was Meribah Lorrington. She was the most extensively accomplished female that I ever remember to
have met with; her mental powers were no less capable of cultivation than superiorly cultivated. Her father,
whose name was Hull, had from her infancy been the master of an academy at Earl's Court, near Fulham; and
early after his marriage losing his wife, he resolved on giving his daughter a masculine education. Meribah
was early instructed in all the modern accomplishments, as well as in classical knowledge. She was mistress
of the Latin, French, and Italian languages; she was said to be a perfect arithmetician and astronomer, and
possessed the art of painting on silk to a degree of exquisite perfection. But, alas! with all these advantages,
she was addicted to one vice, which at times so completely absorbed her faculties as to deprive her of every
power, either mental or corporeal. Thus, daily and hourly, her superior acquirements, her enlightened
understanding, yielded to the intemperance of her ruling infatuation, and every power of reflection seemed
lost in the unfeminine propensity.
All that I ever learned I acquired from this extraordinary woman. In those hours when her senses were not
intoxicated, she would delight in the task of instructing me. She had only five or six pupils, and it was my lot
to be her particular favourite. She always, out of school, called me her little friend, and made no scruple of
conversing with me (sometimes half the night, for I slept in her chamber), on domestic and confidential
affairs. I felt for her a very sincere affection, and I listened with peculiar attention to all the lessons she
inculcated. Once I recollect her mentioning the particular failing which disgraced so intelligent a being. She
pleaded, in excuse of it, the immitigable regret of a widowed heart, and with compunction declared that she
flew to intoxication as the only refuge from the pang of prevailing sorrow. I continued more than twelve
Beaux and Belles of England [with accents] 10
months under the care of Mrs. Lorrington, during which period my mother boarded in a clergyman's family at
Chelsea. I applied rigidly to study, and acquired a taste for books, which has never, from that time, deserted
me. Mrs. Lorrington frequently read to me after school hours, and I to her. I sometimes indulged my fancy in
writing verses, or composing rebuses, and my governess never failed to applaud the juvenile compositions I
presented to her. Some of them, which I preserved and printed in a small volume shortly after my marriage,
were written when I was between twelve and thirteen years of age; but as love was the theme of my poetical
fantasies, I never showed them to my mother till I was about to publish them.
It was my custom, every Sunday evening, to drink tea with my mother. During one of those visits a captain in
the British navy, a friend of my father's, became so partial to my person and manners that a proposal of
marriage shortly after followed. My mother was astonished when she heard it, and, as soon as she recovered
from her surprise, inquired of my suitor how old he thought me; his reply was, "About sixteen." My mother
smiled, and informed him that I was then not quite thirteen. He appeared to be skeptical on the subject, till he
was again assured of the fact, when he took his leave with evident chagrin, but not without expressing his
hopes that, on his return to England, for he was going on a two years' expedition, I should be still
disengaged. His ship foundered at sea a few months after, and this amiable gallant officer perished.
I had remained a year and two months with Mrs. Lorrington, when pecuniary derangements obliged her to
give up her school. Her father's manners were singularly disgusting, as was his appearance; for he wore a
silvery beard which reached to his breast; and a kind of Persian robe which gave him the external appearance
of a necromancer. He was of the Anabaptist persuasion, and so stern in his conversation that the young pupils
were exposed to perpetual terror. Added to these circumstances, the failing of his daughter became so evident,
that even during school hours she was frequently in a state of confirmed intoxication. These events conspired
to break up the establishment, and I was shortly after removed to a boarding-school at Battersea.
The mistress of this seminary, Mrs. Leigh, was a lively, sensible, and accomplished woman; her daughter was
only a few years older than myself, and extremely amiable as well as lovely. Here I might have been happy,
but my father's remissness in sending pecuniary supplies, and my mother's dread of pecuniary inconvenience,
induced her to remove me; my brother, nevertheless, still remained under the care of the Reverend Mr. Gore,
at Chelsea.
Several months elapsed, and no remittance arrived from my father. I was now near fourteen years old, and my
mother began to foresee the vicissitudes to which my youth might be exposed, unprotected, tenderly educated,
and without the advantages of fortune. My father's impracticable scheme had impoverished his fortune, and
deprived his children of that affluence which, in their in fancy, they had been taught to hope for. I cannot
speak of my own person, but my partial friends were too apt to flatter me. I was naturally of a pensive and
melancholy character; my reflections on the changes of fortune frequently gave me an air of dejection which
perhaps etched an interest beyond what might have been awakened by the vivacity or bloom of juvenility.
I adored my mother. She was the mildest, the most unoffending of existing mortals; her temper was cheerful,
as her heart was innocent; she beheld her children as it seemed fatherless, and she resolved, by honourable
means, to support them. For this purpose a convenient house was hired at Little Chelsea, and furnished, for a
ladies' boarding-school. Assistants of every kind were engaged, and I was deemed worthy of an occupation
that flattered my self-love and impressed my mind with a sort of domestic consequence. The English language
was my department in the seminary, and I was permitted to select passages both in prose and verse for the
studies of my infant pupils. It was also my occupation to superintend their wardrobes, to see them dressed and
undressed by the servants or half-boarders, and to read sacred and moral lessons on saints' days and Sunday
evenings.
Shortly after my mother had established herself at Chelsea, on a summer's evening, as I was sitting at the
window, I heard a deep sigh, or rather a groan of anguish, which suddenly attracted my attention. The night
was approaching rapidly, and I looked toward the gate before the house, where I observed a woman evidently
Beaux and Belles of England [with accents] 11
labouring under excessive affliction; I instantly descended and approached her. She, bursting into tears, asked
whether I did not know her. Her dress was torn and filthy; she was almost naked; and an old bonnet, which
nearly hid her face, so completely disfigured her features that I had not the smallest idea of the person who
was then almost sinking before me. I gave her a small sum of money, and inquired the cause of her apparent
agony. She took my hand and pressed it to her lips. "Sweet girl," said she, "you are still the angel I ever knew
you!" I was astonished. She raised her bonnet her fine dark eyes met mine. It was Mrs. Lorrington. I led her
into the house; my mother was not at home. I took her to my chamber, and, with the assistance of a lady who
was our French teacher, I clothed and comforted her. She refused to say how she came to be in so deplorable a
situation, and took her leave. It was in vain that I entreated, that I conjured her to let me know where I might
send to her. She refused to give me her address, but promised that in a few days she would call on me again. It
is impossible to describe the wretched appearance of this accomplished woman! The failing to which she had
now yielded, as to a monster that would destroy her, was evident even at the moment when she was speaking
to me. I saw no more of her; but to my infinite regret, I was informed some years after that she had died, the
martyr of a premature decay, brought on by the indulgence of her propensity to intoxication, in the workhouse
of Chelsea!
The number of my mother's pupils in a few months amounted to ten or twelve, and just at a period when an
honourable independence promised to cheer the days of an unexampled parent, my father unexpectedly
returned from America. The pride of his soul was deeply wounded by the step which my mother had taken; he
was offended even beyond the bounds of reason: he considered his name as disgraced, his conjugal reputation
tarnished, by the public mode which his wife had adopted of revealing to the world her unprotected situation.
A prouder heart never palpitated in the breast of man than that of my father: tenacious of fame, ardent in the
pursuit of visionary schemes, he could not endure the exposure of his altered fortune; while Hope still
beguiled him with her flattering promise that time would favour his projects, and fortune, at some future
period, reward him with success.
At the expiration of eight months my mother, by my father's positive command, broke up her establishment
and returned to London. She engaged lodgings in the neighbourhood of Marylebone. My father then resided in
Green Street, Grosvenor Square. His provision for his family was scanty, his visits few. He had a new scheme
on foot respecting the Labrador coast, the particulars of which I do not remember, and all his zeal, united with
all his interest, was employed in promoting its accomplishment. My mother, knowing that my father publicly
resided with his mistress, did not even hope for his returning affection. She devoted herself to her children,
and endured her sorrows with the patience of conscious rectitude.
At this period my father frequently called upon us, and often attended me while we walked in the fields near
Marylebone. His conversation was generally of a domestic nature, and he always lamented that fatal
attachment, which was now too strongly cemented by time and obligations ever to be dissolved without an
ample provision for Elenor, which was the name of my father's mistress. In one of our morning walks we
called upon the Earl of Northington, my father having some commercial business to communicate to his
lordship. Lord Northington then resided in Berkeley Square, two doors from Hill Street, in the house which is
now occupied by Lord Robert Spencer. We were received with the most marked attention and politeness (I
was presented as the goddaughter of the late Chancellor Lord Northington), and my father was requested to
dine with his lordship a few days after. From this period I frequently saw Lord Northington, and always
experienced from him the most flattering and gratifying civility. I was then a child, not more than fourteen
years of age.
The finishing points of my education I received at Oxford House, Marylebone. I was at this period within a
few months of fifteen years of age, tall, and nearly such as my partial friends, the few whose affection has
followed me from childhood, remember me. My early love for lyric harmony had led me to a fondness for the
more sublime scenes of dramatic poetry. I embraced every leisure moment to write verses; I even fancied that
I could compose a tragedy, and more than once unsuccessfully attempted the arduous undertaking.
Beaux and Belles of England [with accents] 12
The dancing-master at Oxford House, Mr. Hussey, was then ballet-master at Covent Garden Theatre. Mrs.
Hervey, the governess, mentioned me to him as possessing an extraordinary genius for dramatic exhibitions.
My figure was commanding for my age, and (my father's pecuniary embarrassments augmenting by the
failure of another American project) my mother was consulted as to the propriety of my making the stage my
profession. Many cited examples of females who, even in that perilous and arduous situation, preserved an
unspotted fame, inclined her to listen to the suggestion, and to allow of my consulting some master of the art
as to my capability of becoming an ornament to the theatre.
Previous to this idea my father had again quitted England. He left his wife with assurances of good-will, his
children with all the agonies of parental regret. When he took leave of my mother, his emphatic words were
these, I never shall forget them "Take care that no dishonour falls upon my daughter. If she is not safe at my
return, I will annihilate you!" My mother heard the stern injunction, and trembled while he repeated it.
I was, in consequence of my wish to appear on the stage, introduced to Mr. Hull,[6] of Covent Garden
Theatre; he then resided in King Street, Soho. He heard me recite some passages of the character of Jane
Shore, and seemed delighted with my attempt. I was shortly after presented by a friend of my mother's, to Mr.
Garrick;[7] Mr. Murphy,[8] the celebrated dramatic poet, was one of the party, and we passed the evening at
the house of the British Roscius in the Adelphi. This was during the last year that he dignified the profession
by his public appearance. Mr. Garrick's encomiums were of the most gratifying kind. He determined that he
would appear in the same play with me on the first night's trial; but what part to choose for my début was a
difficult question. I was too young for anything beyond the girlish character, and the dignity of tragedy
afforded but few opportunities for the display of such juvenile talents. After some hesitation my tutor fixed on
the part of Cordelia. His own Lear can never be forgotten.
It was not till the period when everything was arranged for my appearance that the last solemn injunction, so
emphatically uttered by my father, nearly palsied my mother's resolution. She dreaded the perils, the
temptations to which an unprotected girl would be exposed in so public a situation; while my ardent fancy
was busied in contemplating a thousand triumphs in which my vanity would be publicly gratified without the
smallest sacrifice of my private character.
While this plan was in agitation, I was one evening at Drury Lane Theatre with my mother and a small party
of her friends, when an officer entered the box. His eyes were fixed on me, and his persevering attention at
length nearly overwhelmed me with confusion. The entertainment being finished, we departed. The stranger
followed us. At that period my mother resided in Southampton Buildings, Chancery Lane, for the protection
which a venerable and respectable friend offered at a moment when it was so necessary. This friend was the
late Samuel Cox, Esq., the intimate friend of Mr. Garrick, and an honour to those laws of which he was a
distinguished professor.
It was Mr. Garrick's particular request that I would frequent the theatre as much as possible till the period
fixed on for my appearance on the stage. I had now just completed my fifteenth year, and my little heart
throbbed with impatience for the hour of trial. My tutor was most sanguine in his expectations of my success,
and every rehearsal seemed to strengthen his flattering opinion.
It happened that, several evenings following, the stranger officer, whose name, for motives of delicacy toward
his family, I forbear to mention, followed me to and from the theatre. It was in vain that he offered his
attentions in the box; my mother's frown and assiduous care repulsed them effectually. But the perseverance
of a bad mind in the accomplishment of a bad action is not to be subdued. A letter was written and conveyed
to me through the hands of a female servant; I opened it; I read a declaration of the most ardent love. The
writer avowed himself the son of Lady , and offered marriage; he was graceful and handsome. I instantly
delivered the letter to my mother, and, shortly after, he was, by an acquaintance, presented with decorous
ceremony.
Beaux and Belles of England [with accents] 13
The idea of my appearing on the stage seemed to distract this accomplished suitor. My mother, who but half
approved a dramatic life, was more than half inclined to favour the addresses of Captain The injunction of
my father every hour became more indelibly impressed on her memory; she knew his stern and invincible
sense of honour too well to hazard the thought of awakening it to vengeance.
After a short period, the friend who had presented Captain , alarmed for my safety, and actuated by a liberal
wish to defend me from the artifice of his associate, waited on my mother, and, after some hesitation,
informed her that my lover was already married; that he had a young and amiable wife in a sister kingdom,
and that he apprehended some diabolical stratagem for the enthralment of my honour. My mother's
consternation was infinite. The important secret was communicated to me, and I felt little regret in the loss of
a husband when I reflected that a matrimonial alliance would have compelled me to relinquish my theatrical
profession.
I had, also, at this period, another professed admirer, a man of splendid fortune, but nearly old enough to be
my grandfather. This suit I never would listen to; and the drama, the delightful drama, seemed the very
criterion of all human happiness.
I now found myself an object of attention whenever I appeared at the theatre. I had been too often in public
not to be observed, and it was buzzed about that I was the juvenile pupil of Garrick, the promised Cordelia.
My person improved daily; yet a sort of dignified air, which from a child I had acquired, effectually shielded
me from the attacks of impertinence or curiosity. Garrick was delighted with everything I did. He would
sometimes dance a minuet with me, sometimes request me to sing the favourite ballads of the day; but the
circumstance which most pleased him was my tone of voice, which he frequently told me closely resembled
that of his favourite Cibber.[9]
Never shall I forget the enchanting hours which I passed in Mr. Garrick's society; he appeared to me as one
who possessed more power, both to awe and to attract, than any man I ever met with. His smile was
fascinating, but he had at times a restless peevishness of tone which excessively affected his hearers; at least it
affected me so that I never shall forget it.
Opposite to the house in which I resided lived John Vernon, Esq., an eminent solicitor. I observed a young
inmate of his habitation frequently watching me with more than ordinary attention. He was handsome in
person, and his countenance was overcast by a sort of languor, the effect of sickness, which rendered it
peculiarly interesting. Frequently, when I approached the window of our drawing-room, this young observer
would bow or turn away with evident emotion. I related the circumstance to my mother, and from that time
the lower shutters of our windows were perpetually closed. The young lawyer often excited my mirth, and my
mother's indignation; and the injunction of my father was frequently repeated by her, with the addition of her
wish, that I was "once well married."
Every attention which was now paid to me augmented my dear mother's apprehensions. She fancied every
man a seducer, and every hour an hour of accumulating peril! I know what she was doomed to feel, for that
Being who formed my sensitive and perpetually aching heart knows that I have since felt it.
Among other friends who were in the habit of visiting my mother there was one, a Mr. Wayman, an attorney
of whom she entertained the highest opinion. He was distinguished by the patronage of Mr. Cox, and his
reputation required no other voucher. One evening a party of six was proposed for the following Sunday; with
much persuasion my mother consented to go, and to allow that I should also attend her. Greenwich was the
place fixed on for the dinner, and we prepared for the day of recreation. It was then the fashion to wear silks. I
remember that I wore a nightgown of pale blue lustring, with a chip hat trimmed with ribands of the same
colour. Never was I dressed so perfectly to my own satisfaction; I anticipated a day of admiration. Heaven can
bear witness that to me it was a day of fatal victory!
Beaux and Belles of England [with accents] 14