Among my other friends, Lady Yea frequently inquired by what means my husband supported his household disbursements. Our table was elegantly, though not profusely, served. Mr. Robinson seldom attended to his profession, and I was too young, as well as too inexperienced, to look after family affairs. My younger brother George, whom, upon my marriage, Mr. Robinson and myself adopted as our own, now finding his health impaired, my mother attended him at Bristol, so that I had no friend to advise me who felt any real interest in my welfare. Dress, parties, adulation, occupied all my hours. Mr. Robinson’s easy temper was influenced by the counsel of his friend Lyttelton, and he every hour sunk more deeply in the gulf of dissipation.
Among the most dangerous of my husband’s associates was George Robert Fitzgerald. His manners toward women were interesting and attentive. He perceived the neglect with which I was treated by Mr. Robinson, and the pernicious influence which Lord Lyttelton had acquired over his mind; he professed to feel the warmest interest in my welfare, lamented the destiny which had befallen me in being wedded to a man incapable of estimating my value, and at last confessed himself my most ardent and devoted admirer. I shuddered at the declaration, for, amidst all the allurements of splendid folly, my mind, the purity of my virtue, was still uncontaminated.
I repulsed the dangerous advances of this accomplished person, but I did not the less feel the humiliation to which a husband’s indifference had exposed me. God can bear witness to the purity of my soul, even surrounded by temptations and mortified by neglect. Whenever I ventured to inquire into pecuniary resources, Mr. Robinson silenced me by saying that he was independent; added to this assurance, Lord Lyttelton repeatedly promised that, through his courtly interest, he would very shortly obtain for my husband some honourable and lucrative situation.
I confess that I reposed but little confidence in the promises of such a man, though my husband believed them inviolable. Frequent parties were made at his lordship’s house in Hill Street, and many invitations pressed for a visit to his seat at Hagley. These I peremptorily refused, till the noble hypocrite became convinced of my aversion, and adopted a new mode of pursuing his machinations.
One forenoon Lord Lyttelton called in Hatton Garden, as was almost his daily custom, and, on finding teat Mr. Robinson was not at home, requested to speak with me on business of importance. I found him seemingly much distressed. He informed me that he had a secret to communicate of considerable moment both to my interest and happiness. I started.
“Nothing, I trust in Heaven, has befallen my husband!” said I, with a voice scarcely articulate.
Lord Lyttelton hesitated.
“How little does that husband deserve the solicitude of such a wife!” said he; “but,” continued his lordship, “I fear that I have in some degree aided in alienating his conjugal affections. I could not bear to see such youth, such merit, so sacrificed—”
“Speak briefly, my lord,” said I.
“Then,” replied Lord Lyttelton, “I must inform you that your husband is the most false and undeserving of that name! He has formed connection with a woman of abandoned character; he lavishes on her those means of subsistence which you will shortly stand in need of.”
“I do not believe it,” said I, indignantly.
“Then you shall be convinced,” answered his lordship; “but remember, if you betray me, your true and zealous friend, I must fight your husband; for he never will forgive my having discovered his infidelity.”
“It cannot be true,” said I. “You have been misinformed.”
“Then it has been by the woman who usurps your place in the affections of your husband,” replied Lord Lyttelton. “From her I received the information. Her name is Harriet Wilmot; she resides in Soho. Your husband daily visits her.”
I thought I should have fainted; but a torrent of tears recalled the ebbing current of my heart, and I grew proud in fortitude, though humbled in self-love.
“Now,” said Lord Lyttelton, “if you are a woman of spirit, you will be revenged!” I shrunk with horror, and would have quitted the room. “Hear me,” said he. “You cannot be a stranger to my motives for thus cultivating the friendship of your husband. My fortune is at your disposal. Robinson is a ruined man; his debts are considerable, and nothing but destruction can await you. Leave him! Command my powers to serve you.”
I would hear no more, — broke from him, and rushed out of the apartments. My sensations, my sufferings were indescribable.
I immediately took a hackney-coach, and proceeded to Prince’s Street, Soho, — Lord Lyttelton having given me the address of my rival. Language cannot describe what I suffered till I arrived at the lodgings of Miss Wilmot. The coachman knocked, a dirty servant girl opened the door. Her mistress was not at home. I quitted the coach and ascended to the drawing-room, where the servant left me, after informing me that Miss W. would return in a very short time. I was now left alone.
I opened the chamber door which led from the drawing-room. A new white lustring sacque and petticoat lay on the bed. While I was examining the room, a loud knocking at the street door alarmed me. I reëntered the front apartment, and waited with a palpitating bosom till the being whose triumph had awakened both my pride and my resentment appeared before me.
She was a handsome woman, though evidently some years older than myself. She wore a dress of printed Irish muslin, with a black gauze cloak and a chip hat, trimmed with pale lilac ribbons; she was tall, and had a very pleasing countenance. Her manner was timid and confused; her lips as pale as ashes. I commiserated her distress, desired her not to be alarmed, and we took our seats, with increased composure.
“I came to inquire whether or not you are acquainted with a Mr. Robinson,” said I.
“I am,” replied Miss Wilmot. “He visits me frequently.” She drew off her glove as she spoke, and passing her hand over her eyes, I observed on her finger a ring, which I knew to have been my husband’s.
“I have nothing more to say,” added I, “but to request that you will favour me with Mr. Robinson’s address; I have something which I wish to convey to him.”
She smiled, and cast her eyes over my figure. My dress was a morning déshabille of India muslin, with a bonnet of straw, and a white lawn cloak bordered with lace.
“You are Mr. Robinson’s wife,” said she, with a trembling voice. “I am sure you are; and probably this ring was yours; pray receive it—”
I declined taking the ring. She continued, “Had I known that Mr. Robinson was the husband of such a woman—”
I rose to leave her. She added, “I never will see him more, — unworthy man, — I never will again receive him.”
I could make no reply, but rose and departed.
On my return to Hatton Garden, I found my husband waiting dinner. I concealed my chagrin. We had made a party that evening to Drury Lane Theatre, and from thence to a select concert at the Count de Belgeioso’s, in Portman Square. Lord Lyttelton was to join us at both places. We went to the play; but my agitation had produced such a violent headache that I was obliged to send an apology for not keeping our engagement at the imperial ambassador’s.
On the following morning I spoke to Mr. Robinson respecting Miss Wilmot. He did not deny that he knew such a person, that he had visited her; but he threw all the blame of his indiscretion on Lord Lyttelton. He requested to know who had informed me of his conduct. I refused to tell; and he had too high an opinion of his false associate to suspect him of such treachery.
At one of Mrs. Parry’s card parties I met Mrs. Abington.16 I thought her the most lively and bewitching woman I had ever seen; her manners were fascinating, and the peculiar tastefulness of her dress excited universal admiration. My imagination again wandered to the stage, and I thought the heroine of the scenic art was of all human creatures the most to be envied.
About this period I observed that Mr. Robinson had frequent visitors of the Jewish tribe; that he was often closeted with them, and that some secret negotiation was going forward t
o which I was a total stranger. Among others, Mr. King was a constant visitor; indeed, he had often been with my husband on private business ever since the period of our marriage. I questioned Mr. Robinson upon the subject of these strange and repeated interviews. He assured me that the persons I had seen came merely upon law business, and that in his profession it was necessary to be civil to all ranks of people. Whenever I urged a farther explanation, he assumed a tone of displeasure, and requested me not to meddle with his professional occupations. I desisted; and the parlour of our house was almost as much frequented by Jews as though it had been their synagogue.
Mr. Robinson’s mornings were devoted to his bearded friends, his evenings to his fashionable associates; but my hours were all dedicated to sorrow, for I now heard that my husband, even at the period of his marriage, had an attachment which he had not broken, and that his infidelities were as public as the ruin of his finances was inevitable. I remonstrated — I was almost frantic. My distress was useless, my wishes to retrench our expenses ineffectual. Mr. Robinson had, previous to our union, deeply involved himself in a bond debt of considerable magnitude, and he had from time to time borrowed money on annuity, — one sum to discharge the other, — till every plan of liquidation appeared impracticable. During all this time my mother was at Bristol.
Lord Lyttelton, finding every plan of seduction fail, now rested his only hope of subduing my honour in the certainty of my husband’s ruin. He therefore took every step, embraced every opportunity of involving him more deeply in calamity. Parties were made to Richmond and Salt Hill, to Ascot Heath and Epsom races, in all of which Mr. Robinson bore his share of expense, with the addition of post-horses. Whenever he seemed to shrink from his augmenting indiscretion, Lord Lyttelton assured him that, through his interest, an appointment of honourable and pecuniary importance should be obtained, though I embraced every opportunity to assure his lordship that no consideration upon earth should ever make me the victim of his artifice.
Lady Lyttelton, Engraved by Chas. Townley from the Painting by Richard Casway
Mr. Fitzgerald still paid me unremitting attention. His manners toward women were beautifully interesting. He frequently cautioned me against the libertine Lyttelton, and as frequently lamented the misguided confidence which Mr. Robinson reposed in him. Lord Lyttelton’s shameless conduct toward an amiable wife, from whom he was separated, and his cruel neglect of a lady of the name of Dawson, who had long been attached to him, marked the unworthiness of his character. He was the very last man in the world for whom I ever could have entertained the smallest partiality; he was to me the most hateful of existing beings. Probably these pages will be read when the hand that writes them moulders in the grave, when that God who judges all hearts will know how innocent I was of the smallest conjugal infidelity. I make this solemn asseveration because there have been malevolent spirits who, in the plenitude of their calumny, have slandered me by suspecting my fidelity even at this early period of my existence. These pages are the pages of truth, unadorned by romance and unembellished by the graces of phraseology, and I know that I have been sufficiently the victim of events too well to become the tacit acquiescer where I have been grossly misrepresented. Alas! of all created beings, I have been the most severely subjugated by circumstances more than by inclination.
About this time a party was one evening made to Vauxhall. Mr. Fitzgerald was the person who proposed it, and it consisted of six or eight persons. The night was warm and the gardens crowded. We supped in the circle which has the statue of Handel in its centre. The hour growing late, — or rather early in the morning, — our company dispersed, and no one remained excepting Mr. Robinson, Mr. Fitzgerald, and myself. Suddenly a noise was heard near the orchestra. A crowd had assembled, and two gentlemen were quarrelling furiously. Mr. R. and Fitzgerald ran out of the box. I rose to follow them, but they were lost in the throng, and I thought it most prudent to resume my place, which I had just quitted, as the only certain way of their finding me in safety. In a moment Fitzgerald returned. “Robinson,” said he, “is gone to seek you at the entrance-door. He thought you had quitted the box.”
“I did for a moment,” said I, “but I was fearful of losing him in the crowd, and therefore returned.”
“Let me conduct you to the door; we shall certainly find him there,” replied Mr. Fitzgerald. “I know that he will be uneasy.”
I took his arm and we ran hastily toward the entrance-door on the Vauxhall Road.
Mr. Robinson was not there. We proceeded to look for our carriage. It stood at some distance. I was alarmed and bewildered. Mr. Fitzgerald hurried me along. “Don’t be uneasy; we shall certainly find him,” said he, “for I left him here not five minutes ago.” As he spoke, he stopped abruptly. A servant opened a chaise door. There were four horses harnessed to it; and by the light of the lamps on the side of the footpath, I plainly perceived a pistol in the pocket of the door which was open. I drew back. Mr. Fitzgerald placed his arm around my waist, and endeavoured to lift me up the step of the chaise, the servant watching at a little distance. I resisted, and inquired what he meant by such conduct. His hand trembled excessively, while he said, in a low voice, “Robinson can but fight me.” I was terrified beyond all description. I made him loose his hold, and ran toward the entrance-door. Mr. Fitzgerald now perceived Mr. Robinson. “Here he comes!” exclaimed he, with easy nonchalance. “We had found the wrong carriage, Mr. Robinson. We have been looking after you, and Mrs. Robinson is alarmed beyond expression.”
“I am, indeed!” said I. Mr. Robinson now took my hand. We stepped into the coach, and Mr. Fitzgerald followed. As we proceeded toward Hatton Garden, the sky incessantly flashed lightning. I was terrified by the combination of events, and I was in a situation which rendered any alarm peculiarly dangerous, for I was several months advanced in that state which afterward terminated by presenting to me my only child, my darling Maria.17
I had often heard of Mr. Fitzgerald’s propensity to duelling. I recollected my own delicate situation; I valued my husband’s safety. I therefore did not mention the adventure of the evening, particularly as Mr. Fitzgerald observed, on our way to Hatton Garden, that he had “nearly made a strange mistake, and taken possession of another person’s carriage.” This remark appeared so plausible that nothing further was said upon the subject.
From that evening I was particularly cautious in avoiding Fitzgerald. He was too daring and too fascinating a being to be allowed the smallest marks of confidence. Whenever he called, I was denied to him, and at length, perceiving the impracticability of his plan, he desisted, and seldom called, excepting to leave his name as a visitor of ceremony.
I do not recount these events, these plans for my enthralment, with a view to convey anything like personal vanity, for I can with truth affirm that I never thought myself entitled to admiration that could endanger my security or tempt the libertine to undermine my husband’s honour. But I attribute the snares that were laid for me to three causes: the first, my youth and inexperience, my girlish appearance and simplicity of manners; secondly, the expensive style in which Mr. Robinson lived, though he was not known as a man of independent fortune; and thirdly, the evident neglect which I experienced from my husband, whom Lord Lyttelton’s society had marked as a man of universal gallantry.
I was now known by name at every public place in and near the metropolis. Our circle of acquaintances enlarged daily. My friend Lady Yea was my constant companion. Mr. Robinson became desperate, from a thorough conviction that no effort of economy or professional labour could arrange his shattered finances, the large debt which he owed previous to his marriage with me having laid the foundation of every succeeding embarrassment.
The moment now approached when the arcanum was to be developed, and an execution on Mr. Robinson’s effects, at the suit of an annuitant, decided the doubts and fears which had long afflicted me. I was in a great degree prepared for this event by the evident inquietude of my husband’s mind, and his frequent interview
s with persons of a mysterious description. Indeed, this crisis seemed rather consolatory than appalling, for I hoped and trusted that the time was now arrived when reason would take place of folly, and experience point out those thorns which strew the pleasurable paths of dissipation.
At this period, had Mr. Harris generously assisted his son, I am fully and confidently persuaded that he would have pursued a discreet and regular line of conduct. His first involvement was the basis of all his misfortunes. The impossibility of liquidating that debt (the motive for which it was contracted is to this hour unknown to me) rendered him desperate. Indeed, how could a young man, well educated,18 subsist in such a metropolis without some provision? Mr. Harris was a man of fortune, and he ought to have known that necessity is the most dangerous associate of youth; that folly may be reclaimed by kindness, but seldom fails to be darkened into vice by the severity of unpitying natures.
From Hatton Garden we removed to a house which was lent to us by a friend at Finchley. Here I hoped at least to remain tranquil till the perilous moment was passed which was to render me a mother. I here devoted my time to making my infant’s little wardrobe; my finest muslin dresses I converted into frocks and robes, with my lace I fondly trimmed them. It was a sweetly pleasing task, and I often smiled when I reflected that only three years before this period I had dressed a waxen doll nearly as large as a new-born infant.
Mr. Robinson had much business to transact in London, and I was almost perpetually alone at Finchley. Of our domestic establishment there was only one who did not desert us, and he was a negro! — one of that despised, degraded race, who wear the colour on their features which too often characterises the hearts of their fair and unfeeling oppressors. I have found, during my journey through life, that the two male domestics who were most attached to my interest and most faithful to my fortunes were both negroes!
Collected Poetical Works of Mary Robinson Page 58