Beaux and Belles of England | Page 2

so briefly treated in the memoirs that explanations are necessary to those who would follow the story of her life.
The performance of the play in which the prince saw her, probably for the first time, took place on the 3d of December, 1779. It was not until some months later, during which the prince and Perdita corresponded, that she consented to meet him at Kew, where his education was being continued and strict guard kept upon his conduct. During 1780 he urged his father to give him a commission in the army, but, dreading the liberty which would result from such a step, the king refused the request. It was, however, considered advisable to provide the prince with a small separate establishment in a wing of Buckingham House; this arrangement taking place On the 1st of January, 1781.
Being now his own master, the prince became a man about town, attended routs, masquerades, horse-races, identified himself with politicians detested by the king, set up an establishment for Mrs. Robinson, gambled, drank, and in a single year spent ten thousand pounds on clothes. He now openly appeared in the company of Perdita at places of public resort and amusement; she, magnificently dressed, driving a splendid equipage which had cost him nine hundred guineas, and surrounded by his friends. We read that: "To-day she was a _paysanne,_ with her straw hat tied at the back of her head. Yesterday she perhaps had been the dressed belle of Hyde Park, trimmed, powdered, patched, painted to the utmost power of rouge and white lead; to-morrow she would be the cravated Amazon of the riding-house; but, be she what she might, the hats of the fashionable promenaders swept the ground as she passed."
This life lasted about two years, when, just as the prince, on his coming of age, was about to take possession of Carlton House, to receive ￡30,000 from the nation toward paying his debts, and an annuity of ￡63,000, he absented himself from Perdita, leaving her in ignorance of the cause of his change, which was none other than an interest in Mrs. Grace Dalrymple Elliott.
In the early fervour of his fancy, he had assured Mrs. Robinson his love would remain unchangeable till death, and that he would prove unalterable to his Perdita through life. Moreover, his generosity being heated by passion, he gave her a bond promising to pay her ￡20,000 on his coming of age.
On the prince separating from her, Perdita found herself some ￡7,000 in debt to tradespeople, who became clamorous for their money, whereon she wrote to her royal lover, who paid her no heed; but presently she was visited by his friend, Charles James Fox, when she agreed to give up her bond in consideration of receiving an annuity of ￡500 a year.
She would now gladly have gone back to the stage, but that she feared the hostility of public opinion. Shortly after, she went to Paris, and on her return to England devoted herself to literature. It was about this time she entered into relations with Colonel--afterward Sir Banastre--Tarleton, who was born in the same year as herself, and had served in the American army from 1776 until the surrender of Yorktown, on which he returned to England. For many years he sat in Parliament as the representative of Liverpool, his native town; and in 1817 he gained the grade of lieutenant-general, and was created a baronet. His friendship with Mrs. Robinson lasted some sixteen years.
It was whilst undertaking a journey on his behalf, at a time when he was in pecuniary difficulties, that she contracted the illness that resulted in her losing the active use of her lower limbs. This did not prevent her from working, and she poured out novels, poems, essays on the condition of women, and plays. A communication written by her to John Taylor, the proprietor of the Sun newspaper and author of various epilogues, prologues, songs, etc., gives a view of her life. This letter, now published for the first time, is contained in the famous Morrison collection of autograph letters, and is dated the 5th of October, 1794.
"I was really happy to receive your letter. Your silence gave me no small degree of uneasiness, and I began to think some demon had broken the links of that chain which I trust has united us in friendship for ever. Life is such a scene of trouble and disappointment that the sensible mind can ill endure the loss of any consolation that renders it supportable. How, then, can it be possible that we should resign, without a severe pang, the first of all human blessings, the friend we love? Never give me reason again, I conjure you, to suppose you have wholly forgot me.
"Now I will impart to you a secret, which must