"Blessed are the peacemakers"
All who were born, as I was, in 1841 must count it an honour to have come into the world in the same year as King Edward the Peacemaker. And the honour appeals especially perhaps to one who owes many of his friends and much of his happiness to the stage, for the stage has never found among Royal heads a firmer friend than was the late King; his gracious words and acts went far to conquer a decaying prejudice.
The first time that either my wife or I met or had speech with the Prince of Wales (as he was for many years) was so far back as in 1868, when he, with the present Queen Alexandra, attended an early performance of one of Robertson's comedies during our managerial career at the old Prince of Wales's Theatre (which he had graciously given his permission, through the Lord Chamberlain, to name after him). On this occasion the Prince came for the first time behind the scenes, and honoured our little green-room with a visit. His love of exactitude in all matters of costume enabled us then, I remember, to correct a slight error in a military uniform.
His Royal Highness was accompanied by Frederic Leighton, then young and handsome, who ten years later was elected President of the Royal Academy; and by Carlo Pellegrini, whose caricatures, bearing the now historic signature "Ape," were then attracting both attention and admiration. The celebrated "originals," I imagine, have now all passed away. Lord Chaplin was the last survivor of the unpublished "set" which enrich the Marlborough Club.
The weather was foggy, and during the performance became so dense that at the close the streets were dangerous. The Royal carriages, after great difficulty, arrived safely, surrounded by a body of police, bearing torches, who escorted our visitors to Marlborough House. In all the years of our management the Prince never came again without asking, upon his arrival, to be informed at which interval it would be convenient for my wife to receive his visit to the green-room.
A domestic drama
One of these visits to our theatre caused, indirectly, the plot of a domestic drama.
The Royal box was constructed by throwing two private boxes into one, and on a certain Friday night news reached the theatre that it was required by the Prince for the following evening. This was before the days of telephones. Both boxes had been taken—one at the theatre, the other at a librarian's in Bond Street—and nothing remained unlet but a small box on the top tier. Not to disappoint the Prince of Wales, it was decided that every effort should be made to arrange matters. The box which had been sold at the theatre was kindly given up by the purchaser, and a visit to Bond Street fortunately disclosed the name of the possessor of the other. The gentleman was a stockbroker; so a messenger was at once sent to his office in the City, only to find that he had just gone. After a great deal of difficulty our invincible messenger succeeded in learning his private address, where, on arrival, he was told that "Master went to Liverpool on business this morning, and won't be back till Monday."
The door of a room leading from the hall was opened at this moment, and a portly lady appeared upon the scene.
"Went to Liverpool!" echoed the messenger. "Nonsense! He's going to the Prince of Wales's Theatre this evening."