HUMANITIES: This passage is adapted from the Memoirs of Mary Robinson, published in 1895.
On the day of my first performance, the theatre was crowded with fashionable spectators; the green room and orchestra were thronged with critics. My dress was a pale pink satin, trimmed with crêpe, and
Line 5 richly spangled with silver. My head was ornamented with white feathers and my glorious suit, for the last scene, was white satin and completely plain, except that I wore a veil of the most transparent gauze, which fell quite to my feet from the back of my head, and a
10 string of beads round my waist. When I approached the side wing my heart throbbed convulsively; I then began to fear that my resolution would fail, and I leaned upon the Nurse’s arm, almost fainting. Mr. Sheridan and several other
15 friends encouraged me to proceed; and at length, with trembling limbs and fearful apprehension, I approached the audience. The thundering applause that greeted me nearly overpowered all my faculties. I stood mute and bending
20 with alarm, which did not subside till I had feebly articulated the few sentences of the first short scene, during the whole of which I had never once ventured to look at the audience. On my return to the green room, I was again
25 encouraged, as far as my looks were deemed deserving of approval; for of my powers nothing yet could be known, my fears having as it were affected both my voice and action. The second scene being the masquerade, I had time to collect myself. I never shall forget
30 the sensation which rushed through my bosom when I first looked towards the pit. I beheld a gradual ascent of heads. All eyes were fixed upon me, and the sensation they conveyed was awfully impressive. As I acquired courage, I found the applause
35 augment; and the night was concluded with peals of loud approbation. I was complimented on all sides. I then experienced, for the first time in my life, a pleasure that language could not explain. I heard one of the most fascinating men, and the most distinguished
40 geniuses of the age, honor me with partial admiration. The second character which I played was Amanda, in A Trip to Scarborough. The play was altered from Vanbrugh’s Relapse; and the audience, supposing it was a new piece, on finding themselves deceived, expressed
45 a considerable degree of disapproval. I was terrified beyond imagination when Mrs. Yates, no longer able to bear the hissing of the audience, quitted the scene, and left me alone to encounter the audience. I stood for some moments as though I had been petrified.
50 Mr. Sheridan, from the side wing, desired me not to quit the boards. The late Duke of Cumberland from the stage box, bade me take courage: “It is not you, but the play, they hiss,” said his Royal Highness. I curtsied and that curtsey seemed to electrify the whole house, for a
55 thundering appeal of encouraging applause followed. The third character I played was Statira, in Alexander the Great. Mr. Lacey, then one of the proprietors of Drury Lane Theatre, was the hero of the night, and the part of Roxana was performed
60 by Mrs. Melmoth. Again, I was received with great warmth and approval. My dress was white and blue, made after the Persian costume; and though it was then singular on the stage, I wore neither a hoop nor powder; my feet were bound by richly ornamented sandals, and
65 the whole dress was picturesque and characteristic. Though I was always received with the most flattering approval, the characters in which I was most popular were Ophelia, Juliet, and Rosalind. Palmira was also one of my most approved representations. The
70 last character that I played was Sir Harry Revel, in Lady Craven’s comedy of The Miniature Picture; and the epilogue song in The Irish Widow was my last farewell to the labor of my profession.