On account of the length of the arias and ballets, and the impossibility
of being able to get the lady-singers ready to begin in time, the operas
seldom finished till after twelve o'clock on Saturdays. The Bishop of
London had therefore sent to inform Kelly that if the curtain did not drop
before midnight, the licence should be taken away and the house shut up.
Against this fiat there was no appeal, and for two or three weeks running,
Kelly was obliged, on Saturday night, to order the closing of the
performance in the midst of an interesting scene in the ballet. On these
two or three occasions this was submitted to with unexpected good-humour
by the subscribers and the general public, but such a state of affairs
could not long continue.

"On Saturday, the 15th of June (Oh! fatal night!)," Kelly relates, "the
demon of discord appeared in all his terrors in this hitherto undisturbed
region of harmony. The curtain fell before twelve o'clock, just as
Deshayes and Parisot were dancing a popular _pas de deux_. This was the
signal for the sports to begin: a universal outcry of `Raise the curtain!
Finish the ballet!' resounded from all parts of the House; hissing,
hooting, yelling, (in which most of the ladies of quality joined)
commenced.

"The ballet master, D'Egville, was called for, and asked 'Why he allowed
the curtain to drop before the conclusion of the ballet?' He affirmed that
he had directions from me to do so. I was then called upon the stage, and
received a volley of hisses, yellings, etc. I stood it all, like brick and
mortar; but at last, thinking to appease them, I said the truth was that
an order had been received from the Bishop of London to conclude the
performance before midnight. Some person from the third tier of the boxes
who appeared to be a principal spokesman called out--'You know, Kelly,
that you are telling a lie.' I turned round very coolly and looking up at