“Let him, if he dares!” cried Madame Duval; “but I shan’t stay to answer you no more; you are a vulgar fellow;-and so, child, let us leave him to himself.”
“Hark ye, Madam,” cried the Captain, “you’d best not call names; because, d’ye see, if you do, I shall make bold to shew you the door.”
She changed colour, and saying, “Pardi, I can shew it myself,” hurried out of the room, and I followed her into a hackney-coach. But, before we drove off, the Captain, looking out of the parlour window, called out “D’ye hear, Madam, don’t forget my message to Monseer.”
You will believe our ride was not the most agreeable in the world; indeed, it would be difficult to say which was least pleased, Madame Duval or me, though the reasons of our discontent were so different: however, Madame Duval soon got the start of me; for we had hardly turned out of Queen Ann Street, when a man, running full speed, stopt the coach. He came up to the window, and I saw he was the Captain’s servant. He had a broad grin on his face, and panted for breath. Madame Duval demanded his business: “Madam,” answered he, “my master desires his compliments to you, and-and-and he says he wishes it well over with you. He! he! he!-”
Madame Duval instantly darted forward, and gave him a violent blow on the face; “Take that back for your answer, sirrah,” cried she, “and learn not to grin at your betters another time. Coachman, drive on!”
The servant was in a violent passion, and swore terribly; but we were soon out of hearing.
The rage of Madame Duval was greater than ever; and she inveighed against the Captain with such fury, that I was even apprehensive she would have returned to his house, purposely to reproach him, which she repeatedly threatened to do; nor would she, I believe, have hesitated a moment, but that, notwithstanding her violence, he has really made her afraid of him.
When we came to her lodgings we found all the Branghtons in the passage, impatiently waiting for us with the door open.
“Only see, here’s Miss!” cried the brother.
“Well, I declare I thought as much!” said the younger sister.
“Why, Miss,” said Mr. Branghton, “I think you might as well have come with your cousins at once; it’s throwing money in the dirt, to pay two coaches for one fare.”
“Lord, father,” cried the son, “make no words about that; for I’ll pay for the coach that Miss had.”
“O, I know very well,” answered Mr. Branghton, “that you’re always more ready to spend than to earn.”
I then interfered, and begged that I might myself be allowed to pay the fare, as the expense was incurred upon my account; they all said no, and proposed that the same coach should carry us to the opera.
While this passed the Miss Branghtons were examining my dress, which, indeed, was very improper for my company; and, as I was extremely unwilling to be so conspicuous amongst them, I requested Madame Duval to borrow a hat or bonnet for me of the people of the house. But she never wears either herself, and thinks them very English and barbarous; therefore she insisted that I should go full dressed, as I had prepared myself for the pit, though I made many objections.
We were then all crowded into the same carriage; but when we arrived at the opera-house, I contrived to pay the coachman. They made a great many speeches; but Mr. Branghton’s reflection had determined me not to be indebted to him.
If I had not been too much chagrined to laugh, I should have been extremely diverted at their ignorance of whatever belongs to an opera. In the first place they could not tell at what door we ought to enter, and we wandered about for some time, without knowing which way to turn: they did not choose to apply to me, though I was the only person of the party who had ever before been at an opera; because they were unwilling to suppose that their country counsin, as they were pleased to call me, should be better acquainted with any London public place than themselves. I was very indifferent and careless upon this subject; but not a little uneasy at finding that my dress, so different from that of the company to which I belonged, attracted general notice and observation.
In a short time, however, we arrived at one of the door-keeper’s bars. Mr. Branghton demanded for what part of the house they took money? They answered, the pit; and regarded us all with great earnestness. The son then advancing, said “Sir, if you please, I beg that I may treat Miss.”
“We’ll settle that another time,” answered Mr. Branghton, and put down a guinea.
Two tickets of admission were given to him.
Mr. Branghton, in his turn, now stared at the door-keeper, and demanded what he meant by giving him only two tickets for a guinea.
“Only two, Sir!” said the man; “why, don’t you know that the tickets are half-a guinea each?”
“Half-a-guinea each!” repeated Mr. Branghton, “why, I never heard of such a thing in my life! And pray, Sir, how many will they admit?”
“Just as usual, Sir, one person each.”
“But one person for half-a-guinea!-why, I only want to sit in the pit, friend.”
“Had not the ladies better sit in the gallery, Sir; for they’ll hardly choose to go into the pit with their hats on?”
“O, as to that,” cried Miss Branghton, “if our hats are too high we’ll take them off when we get in. I sha’n’t mind, it, for I did my hair on purpose.”
Another party then approaching, the door-keeper could no longer attend to Mr. Branghton; who, taking up the guinea, told him it should be long enough before he’d see it again, and walked away.
The young ladies, in some confusion, expressed their surprise that their papa should not know the opera prices, which, for their parts, they had read in the papers a thousand times.
“The price of stocks,” said he, “is enough for me to see after; and I took it for granted it was the same thing here as at the playhouse.”
“I knew well enough what the price was,” said the son; “but I would not speak, because I thought perhaps they’d take less, as we’re such a large party.”
The sisters both laughed very contemptuously at this idea, and asked him if he ever heard of people’s abating any thing at a public place? I don’t know whether I have or not,” answered he; “but I am sure if they would, you’d like it so much the worse.”
“Very true, Tom,” cried Mr. Branghton; “tell a woman that any thing is reasonable, and she’ll be sure to hate it.”
“Well,” said Miss Polly, “I hope that aunt and Miss will be of our side, for papa always takes part with Tom.”
“Come, come,” cried Madame Duval, “if you stand talking here, we shan’t get no place at all.”
Mr. Branghton then enquired the way to the gallery; and, when we came to the door-keeper, demanded what was to pay.
“The usual price, Sir,” said the man.
“Then give me change,” cried Mr. Branghton, again putting down his guinea.
“For how many, Sir?”
“Why-let’s see,-for six.”
“For six, Sir? why, you’re given me but a guinea.”
“But a guinea! why, how much would you have? I suppose it is’n’t half-a-guinea a piece here too?”
“No, Sir, only five shillings.”
Mr. Branghton again took up his unfortunate guinea, and protested he would not submit to no such imposition. I then proposed that we should return home, but Madame Duval would not consent; and we were conducted, by a woman who sells books of the opera, to another gallery-door, where, after some disputing, Mr. Branghton at last paid, and we all went up stairs.
Madame Duval complained very much of the trouble of going so high: but Mr. Branghton desired her not to hold the place too cheap; “for, whatever you think,” cried he, “I assure you I paid pit price; so don’t suppose I come here to save my money.”
“Well, to be sure,” said Miss Branghton, “there’s no judging of a place by the outside, else, I must needs say, there’s nothing very extraordinary in the stair-case.”
But, when we entered the gallery their amazement and disappo
intment became general. For a few instants, they looked at one another without speaking, and then they all broke silence at once.
“Lord, papa,” exclaimed Miss Polly, “why, you have brought us to the one-shilling gallery!”
“I’ll be glad to give you two shillings, though,” answered he, “to pay. I was never so fooled out of my money before, since the house of my birth. Either the door-keeper’s a knave, or this is the greatest imposition that ever was put upon the public.”
“Ma foi,” cried Madame Duval, “I never sat in such a mean place in all my life;-why, it’s as high-we shan’t see nothing.”
“I thought at the time,” said Mr. Branghton, “that three shillings was an exorbitant price for a place in the gallery: but as we’d been asked so much at the other doors, why I paid it without many words; but, then, to be sure, thinks I, it can never be like any other gallery, we shall see some crinkum-crankum or other for our money; but I find it’s as arrant a take-in as ever I met with.”
“Why, it’s as like the twelve-penny gallery at Drury Lane,” cried the son, “as two peas are to one another. I never knew father so bit before.”
“Lord,” said Miss Branghton, “I thought it would have been quite a fine place,-all over, I don’t know what,-and done quite in taste.”
In this manner they continued to express their dissatisfaction till the curtain drew up; after which their observations were very curious.
They made no allowance for the customs, or even for the language, of another country; but formed all their remarks upon comparisons with the English theatre.
Notwithstanding my vexation at having been forced into a party so very disagreeable, and that, too, from one so much-so very much the contrary-yet, would they have suffered me to listen, I should have forgotten every thing unpleasant, and felt nothing but delight in hearing the sweet voice of Signor Millico, the first singer; but they tormented me with continual talking.
“What a jabbering they make!” cried Mr. Branghton, “there’s no knowing a word they say. Pray, what’s the reason they can’t as well sing in English?-but I suppose the fine folks would not like it, if they could understand it.”
“How unnatural their action is!” said the son: “why, now, who ever saw an Englishman put himself in such out-of-the-way postures?”
“For my part,” said Miss Polly, “I think it’s very pretty, only I don’t know what it means.”
“Lord, what does that signify,” cried her sister; “mayn’t one like a thing without being so very particular?-You may see that Miss likes it, and I don’t suppose she knows more of the matter than we do.”
A gentleman, soon after, was so obliging as to make room in the front row for Miss Branghton and me. We had no sooner seated ourselves, than Miss Branghton exclaimed, “Good gracious! only see!-why, Polly, all the people in the pit are without hats, dressed like anything!”
“Lord, so they are,” cried Miss Polly; “well, I never saw the like!-it’s worth coming to the opera, if one saw nothing else.”
I was then able to distinguish the happy party I had left; and I saw that Lord Orville had seated himself next to Mrs. Mirvan. Sir Clement had his eyes perpetually cast towards the five-shilling gallery, where I suppose he concluded that we were seated; however, before the opera was over, I have reason to believe that he had discovered me, high and distant as I was from him. Probably he distinguished me by my head-dress.
At the end of the first act, as the green curtain dropped to prepare for the dance, they imagined that the opera was done; and Mr. Branghton expressed great indignation that he had been tricked out of his money with so little trouble. “Now, if any Englishman was to do such an impudent thing as this,” said he, “why, he’d be pelted;-but here, one of these outlandish gentry may do just what he pleases, and come on, and squeak out a song or two, and then pocket your money without further ceremony.”
However, so determined he was to be dissatisfied, that, before the conclusion of the third act, he found still more fault with the opera for being too long; and wondered whether they thought their singing good enough to serve us for supper.
During the symphony of a song of Signor Millico’s, in the second act, young Mr. Branghton said, “It’s my belief that that fellow’s going to sing another song!-why, there’s nothing but singing!-I wonder when they’ll speak.”
This song, which was slow and pathetic, caught all my attention, and I leaned my head forward to avoid hearing their observations, that I might listen without interruption: but, upon turning round, when the song was over, I found that I was the object of general diversion to the whole party; for the Miss Branghtons were tittering, and the two gentlemen making signs and faces at me, implying their contempt of my affectation.
This discovery determined me to appear as inattentive as themselves; but I was very much provoked at being thus prevented enjoying the only pleasure, which, in such a party, was within my power.
“So Miss,” said Mr. Branghton, “you’re quite in the fashion, I see-so you like operas? Well, I’m not so polite; I can’t like nonsense, let it be never so much the taste.”
“But pray, Miss,” said the son, “what makes that fellow look so doleful while he is singing?”
“Probably because the character he performs is in distress.”
“Why, then, I think he might as well let alone singing till he’s in better cue: it’s out of all nature for a man to be piping when he’s in distress. For my part, I never sing but when I’m merry; yet I love a song as well as most people.”
When the curtain dropt they all rejoiced.
“How do you like it?”-and “How do you like it?” passed from one to another with looks of the utmost contempt. “As for me,” said Mr. Branghton, “they’ve caught me once; but if ever they do again, I’ll give ’em leave to sing me to Bedlam for my pains: for such a heap of stuff never did I hear: there isn’t one ounce of sense in the whole opera, nothing but one continued squeaking and squalling from beginning to end.”
“If I had been in the pit,” said Madame Duval, “I should have liked it vastly, for music is my passion; but sitting in such a place as this, is quite unbearable.”
Miss Branghton, looking at me, declared, that she was not genteel enough to admire it.
Miss Polly confessed, that, if they would but sing English, she would like it very well.
The brother wished he could raise a riot in the house, because then he might get his money again.
And, finally, they all agreed that it was monstrous dear.
During the last dance, I perceived standing near the gallery-door, Sir Clement Willoughby. I was extremely vexed, and would have given the world to have avoided being seen by him: my chief objection was, from the apprehension that he would hear Miss Branghton call me cousin.-I fear you will think this London journey has made me grow very proud; but indeed this family is so low-bred and vulgar, that I should be equally ashamed of such a connection in the country, or anywhere. And really I had already been so much chagrined that Sir Clement had been a witness of Madame Duval’s power over me, that I could not bear to be exposed to any further mortification.
As the seats cleared, by parties going away, Sir Clement approached nearer to us. The Miss Branghtons observed with surprise, what a fine gentleman was come into the gallery; and they gave me great reason to expect, that they would endeavour to attract his notice, by familiarity with me, whenever he should join us; and so I formed a sort of plan to prevent any conversation. I’m afraid you will think it wrong; and so I do myself now;-but, at the time, I only considered how I might avoid immediate humiliation.
As soon as he was within two seats of us, he spoke to me: “I am very happy, Miss Anville, to have found you, for the ladies below have each an humble attendant, and therefore I am come to offer my services here.”
“Why then,” cried I, (not without hesitating) “if you please,-I will join them.”
“Will you allow me the honour of conducting you?” cried he eagerly;
and, instantly taking my hand, he would have marched away with me: but I turned to Madame Duval, and said, “As our party is so large, Madame, if you will give me leave, I will go down to Mrs. Mirvan, that I may not crowd you in the coach.”
And then, without waiting for an answer, I suffered Sir Clement to hand me out of the gallery.
Madame Duval, I doubt not, will be very angry; and so I am with myself now, and therefore I cannot be surprised: but Mr. Branghton, I am sure, will easily comfort himself, in having escaped the additional coach-expense of carrying me to Queen Ann Street; as to his daughters, they had no time to speak; but I saw they were in utter amazement.
My intention was to join Mrs. Mirvan, and accompany her home. Sir Clement was in high spirits and good humour; and all the way he went, I was fool enough to rejoice in secret at the success of my plan; nor was it till I got down stairs, and amidst the servants, that any difficulty occurred to me of meeting with my friends.
I then asked Sir Clement, how I should contrive to acquaint Mrs. Mirvan that I had left Madame Duval?
“I fear it will be almost impossible to find her,” answered he; “but you can have no objection to permitting me to see you safe home.”
He then desired his servant, who was waiting, to order his chariot to draw up.
This quite startled me; I turned to him hastily, and said that I could not think of going away without Mrs. Mirvan.
“But how can we meet with her?” cried he; “you will not choose to go into the pit yourself; I cannot send a servant there; and it is impossible for me to go and leave you alone.”
The truth of this was indisputable, and totally silenced me. Yet, as soon as I could recollect myself, I determined not to go into his chariot, and told him I believed I had best return to my party up stairs.
He would not hear of this; and earnestly intreated me not to withdraw the trust I had reposed in him.
While he was speaking, I saw Lord Orville, with several ladies and gentlemen, coming from the pit passage: unfortunately he saw me too, and, leaving his company, advanced instantly towards me, and with an air and voice of surprise, said, “Good God, do I see Miss Anville!”
Complete Works of Frances Burney Page 11
