The reason was, that hitherto I had performed before spectators ever smiling or ready to smile, and the success of my experiments made no difference to me. Now, I was about to appear before a real audience, and I trembled at the thought of “the right they purchased at the door.”
On the appointed evening, at eight precisely, my friends having duly arrived, the curtain rose, and I appeared on the stage. Half a dozen smiles greeted my appearance, which rekindled my courage and even gave me a species of coolness. The first of my experiments was performed very decently, and yet my address was very badly repeated. I recited it like a schoolboy who tries to remember his lesson, but the good favor of my spectators once acquired, I continued famously.
To explain what follows, I must mention that, during the whole day, heavy clouds had hung over Paris; and the evening, far from bringing any relief, wafted into the room puffs of heated air, which seemed to issue from a stove.
Well, I had scarcely reached the middle of the first part, when two of my spectators had yielded to the soporific influences of the weather and my “patter.” I could excuse them, however, for my own eye-lids were beginning to droop. Not being accustomed to sleep standing, however, I held my own.
But it is well known that nothing is so contagious as sleep, hence the epidemic made rapid progress. At the end of a few moments the last of the survivors let his head fall on his chest and completed the sextet, whose snoring, continually crescendo, at length drowned my voice. My situation was disagreeable, and though I tried to arouse my audience by speaking in a louder key, I only succeeded in causing one or two eye-lids to open, which, after a few insane winks, closed again.
At length the first part of the performance was over and the curtain fell, and with much pleasure I stretched myself in an arm-chair to enjoy a few minutes’ rest! Five minutes would be enough, and I was asleep before I could repel the invader. My son, who helped me on the stage, had not waited so long; he had laid himself on the ground and was sleeping like a top, while my wife, a busy, courageous woman, though struggling against the common foe, watched near me, and, in her tender care, did not disturb a sleep I required so much. Besides, she had peeped through the hole in the curtain, and our spectators seemed so happy, that she had not the heart to disturb them. But, insensibly, her strength betrayed her courage, and unable to resist the temptation of a nap, she fell asleep too.
The pianist, who represented my orchestra, having seen the curtain fall, and hearing no movement on the stage, thought my performance was over, and determined on going. As the porter had orders to turn off the gas at the main when he saw my pianist go out, and was most anxious to be exact at the beginning of his engagement, he hastened to obey my orders, and plunged the room into utter darkness.
We had been enjoying this delightful sleep for about two hours, when I was aroused by a confused sound of voices and shouts. I rubbed my eyes and wondered where I was, but seeing nothing, I grew quite alarmed. “Can I possibly have gone blind?” I exclaimed; “I can see nothing!”
“Hang it, no more can we see anything!” said a voice, which I recognized as Antonio’s. “For goodness’ sake, give us a light!”
“Yes, yes, a light!” my five other spectators repeated in chorus.