The Duchess of Drury Lane (11 page)

I was beginning to appreciate the size of the challenge I faced, and the battle Gentleman Smith must have faced to get me taken on. No wonder his offer had been a long time in coming. ‘May I ask what you have in mind for my debut?’

Now Sheridan actually smiled, as if he was about to offer me a rare treat. ‘We have announced to the press that you are to play in a revival of
Philaster
, or
Love Lies Bleeding
as it is often called. It is a tragi-comedy and you will play Bellario, a page who turns out to be a girl.’

I thought about the disaster when first I trod the boards at Smock Alley by being forced, by Daly, to play in a tragedy. My resolve never to allow that to happen again strengthened. ‘May I make an alternative suggestion?’

The two men exchanged a surprised glance but then turned to me as one, offering a polite smile. ‘We are always interested to hear an actress’s view,’ Sheridan said, so charmingly that I warmed to him a little.

Taking a breath I mustered as much tact as I could. ‘I have no wish to intrude upon Mrs Siddons’ territory. She is, as you say, a great actress, the queen of tragedy. In any case, that is not my forte. Nor have I any wish to play the perfect lady parts performed so ably by Miss Farren. I do not possess either her elegance or her dignity. I am much happier playing comedy. And if I am to succeed then I must play to my strengths, not my weakness, do you not agree?’

‘I have no quarrel with what you have said thus far,’ Sheridan said.

‘Nor I,’ agreed Tom King. ‘But if
Philaster
does not appeal, then what do you suggest?’

I leaned forward in my seat, anxious to put my case as well as possible. ‘While in Yorkshire I saw a performance by Mrs Brown in
The Country Girl
, the revised version, and realized the potential of the role of Peggy for myself. Consequently, I studied it with great care and feel I have a full grasp of the lines and character.’

The manager seemed to be giving my suggestion serious consideration, ‘I do agree that Garrick’s adaptation is less outrageous than the original. Even the most scrupulous could find no offence in it. But it is some time since it was revived. Would it work, I wonder?’

‘I am prepared to take the risk if you are,’ I persisted. ‘And if it fails, then I will be the one to bear the greater loss. I cannot think that Mrs Siddons would have any objection to it.’

The two men put their heads together for a little private deliberation, and then Sheridan sat back and actually beamed at me. ‘Very well, we are agreed. Your debut will be in
The Country Girl
. Welcome to the company, Mrs Jordan.’

First night was Tuesday, the eighteenth of October, 1785, and I was aquiver with nerves, as always. Rehearsals had gone well as I had instantly warmed to the rest of the cast, some of whom, like Tom King, remembered Mama from her days as Grace Phillips. And without exception they were all most supportive. Nevertheless, I was a trembling wreck. ‘What if they do not like me?’ I moaned to Hester. ‘What if I am booed or hissed again, as I was at Hull?’

‘That will not happen. For one thing, Mrs Smith is not here to prattle her malice, and for another you know this play inside out.’

‘But my first benefit at Smock Alley was also a disaster, with hardly anyone in the house. And do you remember the riot?’

‘That was because your supporters loved you and thought you’d been unfairly treated. This audience will love you too.’

‘And at least the management at Drury Lane has allowed you to choose,’ said Mama.

‘But nobody will come to see me. Why would they bother?’

‘Stop talking yourself down, Dolly, the house will be a good one this time,’ Mama gently scolded. ‘Now go out there and have fun. Make them laugh as only you can.’

But her optimism on this occasion was ill-founded. When I peeped through a crack in the curtain at the side of the stage it was clear the house was no more than half full. Sheridan had warned me, of course, that the fashionable did not turn out for newcomers, indeed for anyone very often, other than the great Sarah Siddons herself.

Nevertheless, as the orchestra struck up the first notes, I drew several deep breaths to steady my nerves, and when I stepped out on stage there came again that rush of excitement. My heartbeat instantly settled, I stopped feeling sick and ceased even to
be
Dora Jordan. I became Peggy, the innocent young country wife let loose in town.

I have to say that I had the most fun that night. I tripped about the stage delivering my lines with wit and humour, and had them rolling in their seats, crying with laughter. The applause at the end brought tears to my own eyes as the response of the audience seemed so genuine and heartfelt. How joyous, how uplifting it was to be so appreciated, and to give people such pleasure. I hoped they would all go home and tell their friends, so that we would have a better house for the next performance.

Tom King was beaming as he met me when I came off stage, and warmly congratulated me. ‘Sheridan saw the first act before going on to Brooks’s Club, and passes on his good wishes, which I assure you is a rare compliment. As for myself, while I confess to a preference for tragedy, I foresee you will bring new life and prosperity to the theatre.’

I was so grateful for this accolade I impulsively kissed his cheek. ‘Thank you so much for giving me the opportunity.’

The cast and my leading man, John Bannister, plied me with congratulations and a large glass of wine to celebrate. It was all most exciting. Gentleman Smith had also been present and was generous in his praise. ‘Did I not know what a treasure I had bestowed upon this great theatre, which I love? You will be a powerful magnet, my dear, bringing in a new clientele who will most readily come to see you on the nights Mrs Siddons does not perform.’

I could hardly sleep that night for happiness. I had to keep reminding myself that I had actually appeared at the Theatre Royal, Drury Lane, London, for the very first time, and the audience had loved me. Long before Mama had gathered together all the reviews she could find the next morning, I knew that I was a success.

She still insisted on reading snippets to me. ‘Listen to this one: “from first to last the audience responded uniformly in an astonishment of delight.” And this one, “her fertility as an actress was at its height in the letter scene . . . the very pen and ink were made to express the rustic petulance of the writer.” Ah, if only your dear Aunt Maria had lived to see this day.’

‘Enough, Mama, it is all rather alarming and over-exuberant.’ And utterly delicious, I thought. I couldn’t remember ever feeling so happy.

Hester too was combing the papers. ‘This one is not in the least over-exuberant. It says “Mrs Jordan was vulgar”.’

‘Really, Hester,’ Mama scolded. ‘We have no wish to hear the bad ones.’

‘I thought you wished to hear them all,’ my sister sulked.

‘You are quite right, Hester dear, I do need to hear all sides. But that one seems to blame me for the playwright’s wit,’ I consoled her.

‘Here is one by our dear friend, Mrs Inchbald,’ Mama said. ‘“She came to town with no report in her favour . . . but she at once displayed such consummate art, with such bewitching nature, such excellent sense, and such innocent simplicity, that her auditors were boundless in their plaudits.”’

‘I wonder what her stepson George will have to say when he reads that,’ Hester quipped.

‘I sincerely hope he doesn’t,’ Mama sternly remarked. ‘That young man let our Dolly down badly. We’ll hear no more about him. Some of these reviews are merely grudging, but all are most satisfactory. Let us hope they help to spread the word.’

There was no further performance for three nights as Mrs Siddons, who was expecting a child, was eager to put in as many performances as she could before taking a rest. My second night was therefore the twenty-first of October, and whether it was because of the press or word of mouth, I could not say, but the house was packed. I could hardly believe my eyes.

The third performance brought the Prince of Wales himself to the royal box, and I recalled how I had once jested with George Inchbald that I was unlikely ever to set eyes on a royal prince. Now here sat the heir to the throne right before me, far better looking than I had expected with bright blue eyes and a fine figure. Rumour had it that the Prince was at odds with the King because of his scandalous affair with Mrs Fitzherbert, also an actress. With him was his uncle, the Duke of Cumberland, the one who had married a commoner without the King’s consent and prompted the Royal Marriages Act.

‘The Duke of Cumberland was also once sued for criminal conversation,’ Hester, always one for gossip, excitedly informed me. ‘That means adultery. He was discovered
in flagrante delicto
with the Duke of Grosvenor’s lady.’

Mama sighed. ‘The royal family are often beset with scandal, and are reputed to be forever squabbling.’

Also present in the box was Lord North, the Prime Minister. To me it was simply astonishing that these great and powerful men should come to laugh at my antics.

‘You will not long be on four pounds a week,’ said Gentleman Smith, his pale lugubrious face wreathed in smiles.

And he was right. I next played Viola in
Twelfth Night
, then Miss Prue in
Love for Love
, and as audiences continued to flock in over the coming weeks, with lines of carriages queuing up at the door, Sheridan offered to double my salary to £8 a week.

‘Would you consider making it twelve?’ I cheekily asked, and to my astonishment he instantly agreed.

‘Twelve it is. And we must begin to arrange for you to have a benefit in the spring.’

I could hardly believe my good fortune. We celebrated Fanny’s third birthday, and my twenty-fourth, in fine style, all of us in high spirits. By the end of the year Sheridan was offering me a four-year contract. The usual penalties were included: no pay if I was sick, forfeits if I failed to appear at rehearsals or performances when required, but otherwise £12 week and the prospect of a benefit soon.

Our migration to the city had been a far greater success than we could ever have dreamed of.

Ten

‘How I do love to hear of a protégée’s triumph . . .’

In the New Year of 1786 I played Miss Hoyden in
A Trip to Scarborough
, and the King himself came to see me. I was overwhelmed, quite beside myself with shock and delight. George III might well be creating difficulties for his many sons and daughters in their respective marriages, but I felt deeply privileged that he should choose to see
me
. It was an absolute joy to perform before this grey-haired old man, or so he seemed to me, who was our monarch, and see him laughing and enjoying himself as I gave my very best performance.

I was also very slightly embarrassed.

The play, an abridged version of Sir John Vanbrugh’s
The Relapse
, possessed neither dignity nor culture. One character, a Sir Tunbelly Clumsy, was as gross as his name implies. I played the part of his daughter, the kind of wayward, petulant young lady who should never have left the nursery. I wore a blue frock with red flowers that was little more than a petticoat which kept slipping from my shoulders, my hair in disarray, a jaunty little cap atop my curls. But the audience loved it, and the King roared his approval.

‘You are doing well,’ the manager assured me. ‘But, as I have explained, the Lane prefers tragedy, so I think you should try your hand at that too. I’d like you to play Imogen in
Cymbeline
.’

My heart sank at the prospect, but I was far too new to argue. Gritting my teeth I managed a smile. ‘I will do it if I must, but could I at least follow it with a farce, perhaps
The Romp
?’

Fortunately, he agreed, and having given birth to her daughter, even the great Sarah Siddons herself came to watch the performance. She was not greatly impressed by my rendition of Imogen, for which I had to agree with her. I lacked that delicate dignity necessary for the part, let alone an air of tragedy. The reviews were no kinder, but loved
The Romp
, which saved my reputation.

‘Mrs Siddons did reportedly declare herself amused by my Priscilla Tomboy, which sounds faintly condescending,’ I told Mama.

‘The lady is unable to tolerate competition, Dolly. You both have something entirely different to offer, but sadly, she sees you as a rival to her success.’

I worked harder over the following months than ever I had in my life, learning many new plays with barely a day off. As Drury Lane was a busy theatre and Mrs Siddons took precedence, I did not perform every night, but often appeared in both play and farce on the same night. Fans queued at the stage door to catch a glimpse of me, which I found quite astonishing.

I was also called upon to sit for a portrait, which was an amazing experience. The artist was a John Hoppner, and he painted me as the Comic Muse. I wore a pale green, flimsy gown and had to twist my body a little, to look as if I were dancing. There were other figures about me, Euphrosyne, one of the three graces, and a satyr. It was great fun and the portrait was exhibited at the Royal Academy in May, which made me feel very humble.

But I had little time to adjust to my new fame. Spring had passed by in a blur, and I could but be thankful for my own energy. My first benefit came at the end of April, making me a profit of £200. Riches beyond my wildest dreams, that allowed us to improve our lodgings at Henrietta Street. More followed in the form of a purse containing £300 from the Whig Club in St James’s. Apparently I had amused the rich and they wished to show their appreciation. Mama was beside herself with delight. I was simply relieved that money was no longer a problem. Requests for assistance from my brothers were becoming a regular occurrence.

But whether I could maintain this success was yet to be proved.

‘Didn’t I say you would sweep on to the stage and conquer all? You seem to have London at your feet,’ said my sister, with just the slightest trace of envy in her voice.