the part of Cleopatra herself.
On Thursday, 30 April 1778, she played Lady Macbeth for her benefit (having originally been advertised as Cordelia). The afterpiece was a new musical farce called The Lucky Escape. Mary did not appear in it – but she was its author. It seems to have impressed the audience more than her performance as Shakespeare’s ‘fiend-like queen’. The Morning Post recorded that the operetta ‘was well got up, and all the players acquitted themselves with credit. There is a prettiness and sentiment in the language strongly characteristic of the author.’ The Morning Chronicle was more cynical: ‘The Lucky Escape is evidently one of those hasty escapes from the brain, which are from time to time served up at each theatre, during the course of the benefit season, with a view to engage the attention of the publick, on the score of novelty, but which, for want of solid merit, are rarely, if ever, heard of again.’22 But even this churlish reviewer praised the music.
A few days later, there appeared on the London bookstalls (‘printed for the author’) The Songs, Chorusses, etc. in The Lucky Escape, a Comic Opera as Performed at the Theatre-Royal, in Drury-Lane. Mary was proving her versatility, moving with fleetness of foot from comic heroine to tragedy queen to composer of a musical. Her salary had risen to £2. 10s. a week, with the takings from the benefit night on top. She rounded off the season with a reprise of her Juliet.
It would be foolish to seek for biographical revelation in a light musical confection such as The Lucky Escape, but one cannot help wondering whether there is any significance in the fact that the heroine is called Maria (the name under which Mary had signed the dedication to her recent volume of poems). The heroine’s father is called Steadfast – which is something that Nicholas Darby was not. Another character is Venture, ‘a Sharper’, who sings that the attractions of a ‘comely lass of gay fifteen’ (Mary’s age when she married Tom Robinson) quickly pall in comparison to the allure of money:
The comely lass of gay fifteen,
May make a silly lover languish,
But the pain that lurks unseen,
Often fills the heart with anguish.
Beauty once the heart possessing,
Charms the sense and drowns our reason;
Gold the spring of every blessing,
Finds a friend in every season.23
Robinson answers rather well to Dr Johnson’s dictionary definition of a ‘Sharper’ as ‘a tricking fellow’ or ‘a rascal’: in creating the character of Venture, Mary may well have smiled to herself and thought of her husband.
Mary’s commitment to continue her writing career was of a piece with her decision not to follow the usual actor’s pattern of undertaking a gruelling tour in the provinces when the major theatres were closed for the summer. She was determined to cut a figure in London rather than wear herself out in provincial obscurity. She accordingly remained in her London lodgings in the summer of 1778. Early in August, Sheridan called on her to relay the sad news of the death of his brother-in-law Thomas Linley, 21 years old and the most promising composer in the land, in a freak boating accident.
Around the same time, Sheridan called again with a proposal that she should accept an engagement to play the short summer season at the Little Theatre in the Haymarket. She agreed, on condition that she should have control over her casting. She wanted to maximize her impact by only playing a few choice roles. Top of her list was the part of Miss Nancy Lovel in a comedy called The Suicide by Garrick’s friend George Colman. This was a cross-dressed ‘breeches role’, a daring opportunity for an actress to show off her legs. Mary received her copy of the part and waited for rehearsals to begin. But then she was startled to see a playbill advertising Miss Farren for the part. Elizabeth Farren was the beautiful low-born actress who would later marry into the aristocracy, becoming the Duchess of Derby. Mary wrote to the manager of the Haymarket demanding an explanation and was told that he had already promised the role to Farren and would not risk offending her. Mary responded that she must either be given the part as originally agreed or released from her contract. The manager refused to sign her off the books, she refused to play another role, and so an impasse was reached: ‘the summer passed without my once performing, though my salary was paid weekly and regularly’.24 It was a highly unusual occurrence for a player to be paid for not acting. Mrs Robinson was proving herself a determined manager of her own career.
She added several new roles to her repertoire during the following season at Drury Lane. Some were histrionic tragic performances dripping with sensibility. In Mahomet (an English version of a tragedy by Voltaire), reported the Morning Post, ‘Mrs Robinson performed Palmira with spirit, and discovered stage powers that should be more frequently called forth by the managers.’25 Others were lighter, among them Lady Plume in The Camp, a musical entertainment put together by Sheridan, and Miss Richly in The Discovery, a comedy by Sheridan’s mother Frances, in which Mary engaged in a coquettish double act with Elizabeth Farren. For her benefit in April 1779 she was Cordelia in Lear – tickets were available from her new residence in the Great Piazza on the corner of Russell Street, Covent Garden. Receipts were £210, of which she received half, following the deduction of the theatre’s ‘charges’ for expenses. By now she and Tom were leading separate lives, although he took her money. He was supporting two women in one house at Malden Lane, which was also in Covent Garden. One was a figure dancer from the Drury Lane company, the other ‘a woman of professed libertinism’. The bond creditors, meanwhile, ‘became so clamorous’ that the whole of Mary’s benefit was ‘appropriated to their demands’.26
On 10 May 1779, Sheridan presented Mary as Jacintha in The Suspicious Husband by Benjamin Hoadly, a comedy that had been premiered by Garrick thirty years before. It involved many exits and entrances through windows at night, and some risqué small talk. More to the point, it was her first cross-dressed role. ‘Last Night,’ the Morning Post informed its readers, ‘Mrs Robinson wore the breeches for the first time (on the stage at least) in the character of Jacintha in the Suspicious Husband, and was allowed to make a prettier fellow than any of her female competitors.’27 ‘On the stage at least’ seems to imply that Mary might have appeared in breeches off the stage some time before. That is certainly what she did two weeks later, when she attracted great attention by wearing Jacintha’s breeches at a masquerade in Covent Garden. This created a stir in the fashionable world, though at considerable risk to her reputation. To appear cross-dressed on stage was one thing; to do so in society quite another.
Five days after playing Jacintha for the first time, Mary took on another breeches role, Fidelia in Isaac Bickerstaffe’s reworking of William Wycherley’s comedy The Plain Dealer – the part is in the tradition of Shakespeare’s Viola, in which a young woman follows her beloved to sea dressed in man’s clothes. But it is a darker play than Twelfth Night: in Wycherley’s original Fidelia is almost raped on stage.28 From this point on in Mary’s career both on stage and in society, it is hard to avoid the subject of sex. Breeches roles were tremendously popular – they afforded male audiences their only public glimpse of the shape of a woman’s leg – but they reinforced the old prejudice that women who disported themselves on stage were little better than prostitutes. Actresses were required to lead exemplary lives if they stood a chance of earning respectability, and very few did, exposed as they were to the temptations of the rich patrons who
