Fifteen
Marked Attentions
1777…age nineteen
By the time I returned to town, the two licensed theatres, Drury Lane and Covent Garden, were closed for the season. But the Haymarket had a royal patent to operate during the summer months; and it was there, under the direction of Mr. Colman, that Sheridan proposed I seek employment—after I nixed his suggestion to tour the provinces, which had never been my ambition. While the work might be gainful, I had an outright aversion to the notion, as the artistic quality of these touring productions was often spotty at best, and an actress’s reputation—poor enough in the city—was deemed downright licentious once she was labeled a strolling player.
I met with Mr. Colman in a coffeehouse on the Strand and told him that I would prefer a limited engagement, with the right to choose the roles I would play. His disposition was amiable, and in retrospect, his ready assent to my terms seemed too easy.
But thus began my employment with the Haymarket. The first part I was to assay for Mr. Colman was that of Nancy Lovel in the popular comedy The Suicide. I received the written character and was hard at work in our family’s new lodgings in Leicester Square, awaiting notice of the rehearsal schedule. Imagine my astonishment when one morning I opened the Post and saw the name of Miss Farren announced on the bill for that night in the very role I was to perform!
I marched down to the theatre and demanded an interview with Mr. Colman. After letting me cool my heels for several minutes, he timidly stepped out of his office and into the dingy corridor. I rose to my feet and shoved the morning paper under his snub nose. “What is the meaning of this?” I inquired.
“Of what?” replied the manager stupidly.
“Miss Farren is to play Nancy Lovel tonight—evidently. This is one of the roles we agreed upon when you tendered me a contract.”
“Well—b-but I had promised the role already t-to Miss Farren before we met,” Colman stammered, his face reddening without benefit of drink.
Though my knees were shaking with nerves, I compelled myself to hold my ground, playing the role of my own advocate, for who else was there to speak for me? “That is none of my concern, sir. You never informed me of any prior commitment to the part during our original interview.” I felt myself keenly insulted. “I have sat in my rooms for the past several days, studying the role with my customary diligence. You, sir, have not supplied me with the same courtesy I have extended to you.”
“B-but I promised,” insisted Mr. Colman, showing me inside and offering me a seat. “Miss Farren is one of my regular company; this is her second season at the Haymarket. I dare not offend her by changing the casting at such short notice; and I cannot, nor will I, cancel tonight’s performance. What would you have me do?”
I could ill afford to break my contract with him. I desperately needed the income, for our bills were ever mounting, and apart from Mr. Robinson’s occasional winnings at a hand or two of Ecarte, I was the family breadwinner. “Fulfill the engagement or give me leave to quit London and seek theatrical employment elsewhere,” I told Mr. Colman.
He refused to grant me the liberty of either option.
“Then you must tell Miss Farren that we have an agreement,” I said, taking his signed contract from the deep pocket cleverly hidden by a slit in my skirt. Wounded and jealous, I wanted to cry, but willed myself to check my tears. “Sir, by this agreement, my first appearance at the Haymarket Theatre is to be Nancy Lovel in The Suicide. Your partiality for Miss Farren evidently precludes you from honoring this notarized bond and restoring the role to me. Therefore, though my heart is heavy and regretful that I will not tread the boards tonight, you have left me little alternative but to abide by the representations made in this legal instrument. I will refuse to play at the Haymarket until I have given the public my Nancy Lovel. And it would seem”—I laid the document before him—“that by the terms of this contract, you are bound to pay me my salary, regardless.”
I held my breath, awaiting his response. To my total shock, Mr. Colman was more loyal to Miss Farren than to the contract we had drawn up! “M-my treasurer will see to the details, Mrs. Robinson.”
And so it was that I was engaged at the Haymarket for the summer without once performing—and my salary was paid weekly and regularly!
Left with much time on my hands until the autumn performances recommenced at Drury Lane, I occupied myself with daily shopping trips to the popular milliners and mantua makers, and with various entertainments both at home and at concerts and pleasure gardens. Before long, my bills mounted quite in excess of my earnings. I found that my future stage appearances were much anticipated by people from all strata of fashion, from the Conduit Street mantua makers’ assistants to a marquis of some renown who had passed a note to one of the mercers I frequented, suggesting that he would be willing to relieve me of my pecuniary distresses for a certain consideration. The shopgirl awaited my reply. “I’m to give him an answer by week’s end, miss,” she said to me.
I tucked the note into my busk. “Tell him it will be a chilly day in th’ Antipodes before I should accept such a bargain,” I said, and turned on my heel, leaving the emporium with the yardage for a fine woolen cloak.
Such offers of protection continued to plague me after the theatre season recommenced and as I gained more approbation and attention at Drury Lane. To my personal repertoire of contemporary roles, many of them penned by Sheridan, I added those from Shakespeare’s canon: Perdita, Ophelia and Rosalind, Viola, Imogen, and Lady Anne, as
