The whole theatrical world was excited about the discovery and the play went into immediate production with Mrs Jordan in the part of Flavia and John Kemble as Vortigern. At the first rehearsal Sheridan suspected it was a forgery; and as the company ploughed through their turgid lines it became increasingly clear that it had never been written by the Bard of Avon.
Sheridan considered the position. He had paid a good price for the play. The audience would flock to the theatre to see a new Shakespeare piece. Was he going to let the manager of Covent Garden laugh at him? No. They had been duped; they would feign ignorance of that and see if it were possible to dupe the audience.
Mrs Siddons failed to arrive for rehearsals. A message came to the theatre that she was indisposed and was so ill that she was afraid she must abandon her part.
The play was not going well. Dorothy was aware of that. The memory of Nobody was still fresh. Not another night like that, she prayed.
The actors were cautious. Kemble would doubtless have liked to throw in his part, but as Sarah had already done so, for him to follow in her wake would have proved disastrous.
The uneasy first night arrived. People waited in the streets for hours, all determined to get in to judge Vortigern and Rowena and the house was more than crowded; it was overflowing; many of those who usually went to the pit, finding it full, bought boxes; and discovering them to be already filled climbed down into the pit. Quarrels ensued over the possession of seats. It was a noisy, eager and excited audience when the curtain was raised on the first act.
The theatre audience knew its Shakespeare and did not take long to recognize the fraud. Lines of other Shakespearean plays were recognized with shouts of derision.
‘Be quiet!’ cried a man in one of the boxes who was obviously under the influence of drink. ‘Don’t you know you are insulting Shakespeare.’
There were howls of derision. Someone threw an orange at the man in the box and very soon he had to duck down to dodge a shower of them.
Kemble went on reciting his lines without fire, without enthusiasm or belief, while the audience laughed, jeered and hissed. Dorothy came forward and tried to make herself heard.
‘Take it off!’ screamed the audience. ‘It’s a miserable fraud!’
‘Fraud! Fraud! Fraud!’ chanted the audience. ‘Shakespeare – my foot.’
Back-stage William Ireland was almost fainting with fear.
‘Cheer up,’ said Dorothy. ‘They are sometimes like this.’
‘Little Pickle!’ cried the audience. ‘We want Pickle.’
It was as bad as Nobody; and she could never face such audiences with the nonchalance some could. She felt sick and ill and had to keep running off stage to prevent herself retching.
There was pandemonium; and when the curtain went down on Vortigern and Rowena it was never to rise again on that play.
Dorothy could not help feeling sorry for the frightened boy she found cowering in the Green Room. He dared not go home to his father’s house; he dared not go into the streets. He feared the people would tear him to pieces for what he had done.
He looked so young – not much older than Fanny – and Dorothy said he could have a night’s shelter in her house in Somerset Street and the next morning he would have to disappear and hide himself where no one could find him.
He slipped out of the theatre and when Dorothy returned home she found him already there.
‘You’d better tell me all about it,’ she said. ‘Why did you believe you could get away with such a thing?’
‘It seemed as if I would. My father believed me. Everybody believed me at first. Mr Sheridan bought the play.’
‘But did you really think you could hoodwink us all?’
‘People like what they think they ought to like,’ said young William stubbornly. ‘They go to see Shakespeare and sometimes sleep through the performance, but they feel some merit because they’ve been to something good. Then they will go to a farce and laugh themselves hoarse and apologize for it.’
‘It’s true,’ said Dorothy.
‘I wanted to show that it was Shakespeare’s name they admired as much as his plays.’
Dorothy was thinking of what William had said about the King who when he went to the theatre invariably saw Shakespeare because that was what the people expected, but secretly he thought it was ‘sad stuff’.
‘Tell me how you did it,’ she asked. ‘I suppose we could say it was a clever hoax.’
‘My father was a great admirer of Shakespeare and I wanted to give him a gift. There was nothing he would like so much as a relic of Shakespeare whom he admires more than any man. I had nothing, so I forged a document and put a seal on it from an old one. I work in a lawyer’s office and I can get old parchments and seals easily – and I made up this Shakespeare relic and gave it to him. He went wild with delight. And I thought if I could produce a document like that why not a Shakespeare play? So I wrote the play on paper I got from the office… and I knew it was the right sort because we have documents in the safes going back two hundred years and more. Then I made up this story about the trunk and everyone was so excited. I almost believed it was true myself.’
‘And now you are heartily wishing that you had not been so foolish.’
‘It didn’t prove what I wanted to prove.’
Dorothy looked at him sadly. Poor boy. She did not know what action would be taken against him. Fraud such as this was surely criminal; but Sheridan might not take action because he was going to look rather foolish if he did, and the last thing Sheridan the politician must do – even if the theatre manager did not mind – was to look foolish.
She told the boy this to comfort him. And he went on to tell her how he hated being a lawyer’s clerk; how he longed to be a writer. He had read about Thomas Chatterton the poet who had taken his own life at a very early age. Why? Because he was not appreciated. What chance had people to prove their ability? It was only after they were dead that they were appreciated.
‘And so what you wanted to do was to prove that it was not quality which won approval; that the public likes what it is told to like. Then I would say that you have learned a valuable lesson tonight. If you want the appreciation that is given to Shakespeare you must produce work like his.’
‘Why are you so kind to me, Mrs Jordan? Why do you shelter me here?’
‘Perhaps because you are young, and it is hard for the young. Perhaps because I have a daughter who is headstrong like you and wayward and envious… Who knows?’ She yawned. ‘It has been a tiring night. When you are rested I should leave this house. Go out of Town for a while and then when the affair is forgotten, which it soon will be, go back to your father’s house, confess everything and be a good lawyer.’
‘I shall never forget your kindness to me, Mrs Jordan.’
But she laughed wearily and said she was going to bed.
The next morning young William Ireland had left and she never saw him again.
An important birth
AS THE SUMMER passed into autumn everyone was eagerly awaiting the birth of a child to the Princess of Wales, but none more eagerly than the Prince. In his anxiety he was often at Petersham Lodge and would pace up and down in a state of the most desperate tension.
‘She must succeed, William,’ he would cry. ‘I do not know what I shall do if this fails. I cannot go near her again, and yet they will insist. Oh, how fortunate you are! You don’t know how fortunate. No one could who had not had to marry that… monster.’