My box book remained blank. The evening arrived, but no
audience. The music struck up to a tolerable pit and gallery, but no
fashionables! I peeped anxiously from behind the curtain, but the time
passed away; the play was retarded until pit and gallery became
furious; and I had to raise the curtain, and play my greatest part in
tragedy to "a beggarly account of empty boxes."
It is true the Fantadlins came late, as was their custom, and entered
like a tempest, with a flutter of feathers and red shawls; but they
were evidently disconcerted at finding they had no one to admire and
envy them, and were enraged at this glaring defection of their
fashionable followers. All the beau-monde were engaged at the banker's
lady's rout. They remained for some time in solitary and uncomfortable
state, and though they had the theatre almost to themselves, yet, for
the first time, they talked in whispers. They left the house at the end
of the first piece, and I never saw them afterwards.
Such was the rock on which I split. I never got over the patronage of
the Fantadlin family. It became the vogue to abuse the theatre and
declare the performers shocking. An equestrian troupe opened a circus
in the town about the same time, and rose on my ruins. My house was
deserted; my actors grew discontented because they were ill paid; my
door became a hammering-place for every bailiff in the county; and my
wife became more and more shrewish and tormenting, the more I wanted
comfort.
