The Prince’s servants had prepared him for his visit to the theatre and very handsome he looked in blue velvet trimmed with gold embroidery. He was particularly delighted by the diamond buckles on his shoes. All the same he must go with his parents and this in itself was an indication of his position. His father had commanded that there should be a royal visit to the theatre, had chosen the play and selected the date.
What fun it would have been to have strolled into the theatre with his chosen companions: to have gone to see a witty comedy such as The School for Scandal. Instead it was to be The Winter’s Tale. He did not share his father’s opinion of Shakespeare, but he would have liked to see a racy comedy of manners all the same, and the fact that his father had chosen the play immediately made him long for something else.
He turned to his equerry Colonel Lake and said: ‘I am ready. Let’s go.’
Together they went to the King’s apartments where his mother received him. Her eyes lit up at the sight of him. This gorgeous glittering creature, her son! She could never see him without recalling the wax image at which she had gazed so often and so fondly. Dear handsome George! In spite of his wildness and all the trouble he caused them he would always be her favourite.
‘You look … splendid,’ she whispered.
‘Thank you, Madam.’ He wished he could have said the same for her. Pregnant as usual, she resembled a barrel; her face was sallow and she looked old. He thought of Mary Hamilton’s rosy face.
Ah, Mary, Mary, I would rather be in my room at the Dower House writing to you than going to the theatre. In one of his pockets he carried the lock of her hair. ‘Toujours aimée,’ he thought. Yes, Mary forever. A pure love. If he could have married her that would have been wonderful, but since they could not marry she was right of course to keep their love pure.
The King was ready to leave.
‘Ah.’ His anxious eyes were on his son. Not so many scandals now, he thought. Settling down, aware of his responsibilities. He could even look with approval on the Prince. He was a handsome fellow, all said and done; and the people liked a handsome fellow. If he would behave reasonably he would do very well.
People cheered the royal cavalcade as it passed through the streets to Drury Lane. The news that there was to be a command performance at the Lane had been circulating for days and since the Prince was to be present this won public approval.
At the theatre Mr Sheridan greeted them. The Prince was interested in Mr Sheridan. He had heard talk of what an amusing fellow he was – one of the most witty in London; and he certainly liked the look of him, and subtly Mr Sheridan managed to show that, honoured as he was to receive a royal visit, it was the presence of the Prince of Wales which gave him particular pleasure.
He conducted the King and Queen to their box and the Prince to his.
The theatre was crowded and every eye it seemed was turned not on the royal box but on that one which jutted out over the stage and in which sat the glittering handsome Prince of Wales with his two attendants, Colonel Lake and Mr Legge.
The curtain went up and the play began.
The Prince was startled. He could not believe his eyes. There on the stage was the most enchanting creature he had ever set eyes on. He could scarcely believe that she was real. He could not take his eyes from her. What a figure! It was perfection! Those eyes. Had there ever been such eyes? That dark hair … those beautiful teeth, the softly smiling mouth. This was not a woman. This was a goddess.
‘Gad,’ murmured the Prince. ‘The most perfect creature I ever saw in my life. This is perfection. This is beauty. She is a goddess. What charm! What grace! What acting! Stab me – but I would not have missed this for the world.’
He was leaning over the side of the box and Perdita was close to him. She could not help but be aware of him. Beside her was Prince Florizel – but she was far more conscious of the Prince in the box than the one on the stage.
It was as though she spoke to him and not to Florizel. It was as though he were down there on that stage … She was his Perdita; he was her Florizel.
He was in a daze of delight. He knew now that he had never been in love before. He would never be in love like this again … except of course that he would be in love with Perdita until he died.
When her presence on the stage was not needed, the play had no interest for him, but actresses waited in the wings for their cue and they often contrived to stand where they could be seen by those who had boxes overhanging the stage. So even when she was not playing he did not lose sight of her, for she stood opposite his box where he might have a full view of her.
It was the custom in the theatre for young men to step up on to the stage while the play was in progress, and make comments on the performance or slip into the wings to exchange a little conversation and perhaps make assignations with the actresses. It was unlikely that anyone would criticize the play while the King was present, but Lord Malden, who greatly admired Mrs Robinson, could not resist the temptation to mount the stage and slip into the wings.
Malden, a handsome twenty-two – one year older than Mary Robinson – magnificently attired in pink satin and silver, with pink heels on his shoes to match the colour of his coat – was completely visible to the Prince as he chatted with the actress and young George could scarcely bear to sit in his box and see the young viscount in that place where he, above all others, longed to be.
Maiden, bewildered by her beauty, was unaware of the jealousy he was arousing, but Mary was fully aware of it and delighted by it. One of the actors had said to her in the Green Room before the performance had started: ‘By Jove, Mrs Robinson, you look more handsome than ever. You will surely make a conquest of the Prince tonight.’ And when he had spoken those words and she had caught a glimpse of her reflection, when she realized that it was true, that never before had she looked so beautiful, she had begun to consider what a conquest of the Prince of Wales might mean and the prospect seemed very alluring.
And sure enough there he was, beside himself with jealousy, leaning over the side of the box, paying no attention to the players on the stage, his eyes on her and Malden in the wings while he muttered to his equerries about Maiden’s great good fortune.
As all eyes were on the Prince, most members of the audience were well aware of what was happening. The King and Queen, however, could not see their son and they were unconscious of his behaviour; what they did realize was the pleasant mood of the audience and the King was congratulating himself that it was a very loyal company.
Perdita came on to play her scene with Florizel and the audience broke into frantic applause, in which the Prince joined, and when she raised her eyes to his box and smiled he was in transports of delight.
‘What a night, what a play, what a goddess!’ he murmured. ‘What beauty! What Art!’ This was said so that she could hear and she blushed becomingly, which delighted him still further.
He could scarcely restrain himself. He wanted to leap on to the stage, to thrust Florizel aside, to cry: ‘I am your Florizel from now on – as long as I live.’
When the play was over and the players assembled for the applause the Prince leaned forward. Perdita lifted her eyes to his and smiled; he inclined his head twice and everything he felt for her was in his eyes.
But it was time to leave the theatre. He was in an agony of despair. What was happening backstage? He imagined amorous gallants like Malden storming her dressing room, daring to approach her, talking to her, paying compliments. It was unendurable.