I've probably spoken about it either here on my instagram before, but I my optional module this term is called 'Sex and Sensibility: Women, Writing, Revolution' and is all about recognising forgotten women writers and asking why they have been forgotten. It's easily one of my favourite modules from through my time at university, not only for the focus on the subject but for the wonderful atmosphere created and the willingness of people to contribute to discussions. I could wax lyrical about this class, but the reason I mention it today is because it has introduced my to a fascinating figure: Mary Robinson. It's a name I had never heard before but the more I read about her, the more interesting she became. So today we're going to have a bit of a history lesson!
Growing Up
Born to merchant sailor Nicolas Darby and his wife Hester in 1757 (she gives it has 1758 in her memoirs but the consensus seems to be '57), Mary grew up in Bristol as the third of five children. When she was seven, Mary's father deserted the family to attempt to establish a whaling station in Labrador, taking with him his mistress. This was a difficult period for the family; Nicolas' endeavour in America failed, there was a deeply affecting loss of affection for the family, Mary's six year old brother died, and the family were forced to sell their house. In her Memoirs, Mary is insistent that his ' deviation from domestic faith was the only dark shade' of her father's character, and that he was otherwise a good person.
Mary's father returned only to tell his family that he wished the children to be educated in London and his wife that he would pay her board. After that, he returned to America. Before long it became obvious that there would be little financial support from him (a running theme with the men in Mary's life), and her mother set up a small boarding school in order to support her family. By 14, Mary was teaching there.
Frustratingly, the return of Nicolas' father disrupted the potential in this scheme. Offended by the independence which his wife had shown, he made her close the school - though he didn't return to the family and continued to live with his mistress. Mary's father was the first of numerous disappointing men in her life.
Lovelife (or, Men Are Pricks)
Mary Darby was introduced to Thomas Robinson, an articled clerk, after he had lived opposite herself and her mother for a period, at a small gathering in Greenwich. He quickly became a favourite of her mother - a feeling confirmed when he aided with the nursing of Mary's brother George and, subsequently, Mary, when the two contracted smallpox.
At length, the two married - though for a time they lived separately (Mary remaining with her mother) and their marriage was kept a secret. Before long it became evident that Robinson was not 'in that state of expectation which he had represented'. Essentially, he wasn't in line for the fortune he had implied he was. Whilst Robinson's uncle (as he is referred to, though Mary Robinson's Memoirs suggest he was actually Robinson's father, to whom he was an illegitimate son) approved of Mary, friendship with Lord Lyttelton made Mary's husband neglectful of both her and their financial situation. (As a little side-note, I'd just like to mention that Lyttelton also told Mary of her husband's infidelity and implied, in doing so, that he was sorry for leading her husband astray but that if she wished to be revenged he was at her disposal. Which is disgusting.) This behaviour more or less continues throughout their marriage, with Mary at one point finding out that her husband was supporting two women at the same time - and that the money she earned from acting barely covered their expenses.
Eventually Robinson was imprisoned for debt - though he repeatedly tried to avoid it by moving his family around the county. Mary, still believing it her duty to remain with her husband, lived with him in Fleet Prison, also taking their 6 month old child with her. Here she worked hard keeping their apartments clean, looking after her child, Maria, and writing. It was whilst in prison with her husband that Mary first published her poetry in order to earn money for the family; under the patronage of Georgiana Cavendish, Duchess of Devonshire, she published her first volume, Captivity. Mary also took up work that her husband refused, copying legal documents whilst he neglected to work to pay back some of his debts.
The Beginnings of Celebrity
For many years, after meeting the actor David Garrick, Mary had been intrigued in acting. Before her marriage, in fact, Garrick had encouraged Mary in her pursuit and there had been intentions for her to appear on stage. This was not followed through with due to her husband's lack of approval and her mother's worry over what could befall a young girl in the theatre.
After spending time in debtors prison, however, his attitude changed. In need of money because Thomas' 'uncle' refused to help them financially, both Thomas and Mary's mother accepted that acting may be a solution to financial troubles.
Mary's debut was in December 1776, playing Juliet in Shakespeare's Romeo and Juliet. Over her acting career, she played parts as famous and varied as Ophelia in Hamlet, Sir Harry Revel in The Miniature Picture, The Irish Widow, and Imogen in Cymbeline. Mary quickly became a celebrated actress, admired by many and receiving number of, in her own words, 'proposals of libertine nature' from male audience members. The lack of care her husband showed her was an entirely public matter by this time, but so beloved was she that people followed her clothing choices and she her morning levées (a reception of visitors just after rising from bed) were so crowded that she could rarely escape for an hour by herself.
Perhaps Mary's most famous performance is when she appeared as Perdita in The Winter's Tale in 1779. This performance took place in front of the royal family, and it was the first time Mary was to act in front of them. Whilst her memoirs give a clear account of her nerves on the occasion, they also display her awareness of the Prince of Wales: '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.'
Enter George IV
Not long after this performance, a correspondence began between George IV, then the Prince of Wales, and Mary. He addressed his first letter to Perdita, signing it from Florizel. This nickname is one which Mary Robinson is still known by today, famous as the first of George IV's first mistress.
Over the next few months they sent multiple letters back and forth, Mary insisting that the prince needed to think about what he was doing as he was young and barely knew her. Furthermore, she did not wish to leave her profession and her husband to throw herself on the mercy of a prince who may yet incur the displeasure of the royal family. With incredible foresight, Mary knew the public abuse which she would suffer, and the way people would attempt to draw the prince away from her. In return, she received nothing but assurances of his affection.
The continued indifference of her husband combined with the persistent declarations of admiration from the prince inclined Mary to the relationship and at length, she agreed to meet him. Alongside the expressions of difficulty in leaving her husband, Mary Robinson's Memoirs display expressions of real love, both making it evident that whilst this was not an easy decision for her, it also made her perhaps the happiest she ever was in life.
This was not to last. In letter to a friend dated 1783, Mary talks of how the prince sent her a letter telling her they must meet no more. He ended the affair in 1781, initially refusing to pay the promised twenty thousand pounds the Prince had intended to give her so she could maintain herself without acting. After numerous appeals to the prince, her claims were acknowledged and she was given an annuity of five hundred pounds. Having thought the prince would treat her better than her husband, this must have come as a blow to Mary, especially combined with the public nature of her life.
Declining Health and Writing
In 1784, Mary sadly fell sick with an unknown illness, beginning with a fever and leading to six months of confinement in bed, a period rheumatism, and ended in partial paralysis, depriving her of the use of her limbs. Despite this unfortunate turn at 24 years old, Mary did not let it stop her; her acting days were passed, her marriage over, and her affair with the prince finished (though this was not the only affair she had in her life), but her ability to write was entirely unaffected by her illness, in face, my favourite quote from her Memoirs expresses her joy at writing whilst her doctor attempted to have her rest: 'No truant, escaped from school, could receive more pleasure in eluding a severe master, than did Mrs. Robinson, when, the vigilance of her physician relaxing, she could once more resume her books and her pen'.
Sadly, in the spring of 1800, Mary had to give up her literary employments - both those she did in the employment of others and those she partook of voluntarily. She experienced a rapid decline. Just a few days before she died, Mary arranged her poetical works which she requested her daughter would publish, alongside her Memoir. She also gave instructions on where she would like to be buried - Old Windsor churchyard due to its proximity to the place where she and the Prince of Wales had been lovers - and earnestly desired that a part of her hair 'might be sent to two particular persons'. With her daughter by her side, Mary passed away on the 26th December 1800.
I leave you with a quote from the the Preface to Robinson's poem 'Sappho to Phaon', which I feel may be ring true for the woman herself, celebrated in her time for the wrong reasons:
'Many individuals, whose works are held in the highest estimation, now that their ashes sleep in the sepulchre, were, when living, suffered to languish, and even to perish, in obscure poverty: as if it were the peculiar fate of genius, to be neglected while existing, and only honoured when the consciousness of inspiration is vanished for ever.'
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