Evelina

by Frances Burney

  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 chuse 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 Play-house.’

  ‘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 no,’ answered he, ‘but I’m 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 sha’n’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’ve given me but a guinea.’

  ‘But a guinea! why how much would you have? I suppose it i’n’t half a guinea apiece here too?’

  ‘No, Sir, only five shillings.’

  Mr Branghton again took up his unfortunate guinea, and protested he would 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 may 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 staircase.’

  But, when we entered the gallery, their amazement and disappointment 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 hour 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 sha’n’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 more 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 twelvepenny gallery at Drury-Lane,’ cried the son, ‘as two peas are one to 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 langu1ge 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 any thing!’

  ‘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, whic
h was slow and pathetic, caught all my attention, and I lean’d 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’s 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 dropped, 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 is n’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 should 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 wou’d 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 any where. 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 am 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, Madam, 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 expence 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 we 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 chuse 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 in his chariot, and told him I believed I had best return to my party up stairs.

  He would not hear of this; and earnestly entreated 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!’

  I now most severely felt the folly of my plan, and the awkwardness of my situation; however, I hastened to tell him, though in a hesitating manner, that I was waiting for Mrs Mirvan: but what was my disappointment, when he acquainted me that she was already gone home!

  I was inexpressibly distressed; to suffer Lord Orville to think me satisfied with the single protection of Sir Clement Willoughby, I could not bear; yet I was more than ever averse to returning to a party which I dreaded his seeing: I stood some moments in suspense, and could not help exclaiming, ‘Good Heaven, what can I do!’

  ‘Why, my dear Madam,’ cried Sir Clement, ‘should you be thus uneasy? – you will reach Queen-Ann-Street almost as soon as Mrs Mirvan, and I am sure you cannot doubt being as safe.’

  I made no answer, and Lord Orville then said, ‘My coach is here; and my servants are ready to take any commands Miss Anville will honour me with for them. I shall myself go home in a chair, and therefore – ’

  How grateful did I feel for a proposal so considerate, and made with so much delicacy! I should gladly have accepted it, had I been permitted, but Sir Clement would not let him even finish his speech; he interrupted him with evident displeasure, and said, ‘My Lord, my own chariot is now at the door.’

  And just then the servant came, and told him the carriage was ready. He begged to have the honour of conducting me to it, and would have taken my hand, but I drew it back, saying, ‘I can’t – I can’t indeed! pray go by yourself – and as to me, let me have a chair.’

  ‘Impossible!’ cried he with vehemence, ‘I cannot think of trusting you with strange chairmen, – I cannot answer it to Mrs Mirvan, – come, dear Madam, we shall be home in five minutes.’

  Again I stood suspended. With what joy would I then have compromised with my pride, to have been once more with Madame Duval and the Branghtons, provided I had not met with Lord Orville! However, I flatter myself that he not only saw, but pitied my embarrassment, for he said, in a tone of voice unusually softened, ‘To offer my services in the presence of Sir Clement Willoughby would be superfluous; but I hope I need not assure Miss Anville, how happy it would make me to be of the least use to her.’

  I courts
ied my thanks. Sir Clement, with great earnestness, pressed me to go; and while I was thus uneasily deliberating what to do, the dance, I suppose, finished, for the people crowded down stairs. Had Lord Orville then repeated his offer, I would have accepted it, notwithstanding Sir Clement’s repugnance; but I fancy he thought it would be impertinent. In a very few minutes I heard Madame Duval’s voice, as she descended from the gallery; ‘Well,’ cried I, hastily, ‘if I must go – ’ I stopped, but Sir Clement immediately handed me into his chariot, called out ‘Queen-Ann-Street,’ and then jumped in himself. Lord Orville, with a bow and a half smile, wished me good night.

  My concern was so great, at being seen and left by Lord Orville in so strange a situation, that I should have been best pleased to have remained wholly silent during our ride home: but Sir Clement took care to prevent that.

  He began by making many complaints of my unwillingness to trust myself with him, and begged to know what could be the reason? This question so much embarrassed me, that I could not tell what to answer, but only said, that I was sorry to have taken up so much of his time.

  ‘O Miss Anville,’ cried he, taking my hand, ‘If you knew with what transport I would dedicate to you not only the present but all the future time allotted to me, you would not injure me by making such an apology.’

  I could not think of a word to say to this, nor to a great many other equally fine speeches with which he ran on, though I would fain have withdrawn my hand, and made almost continual attempts; but in vain, for he actually grasped it between both his, without any regard to my resistance.

  Soon after, he said that he believed the coachman was going the wrong way, and he called to his servant, and gave him directions. Then again addressing himself to me, ‘How often, how assiduously have I sought an opportunity of speaking to you, without the presence of that brute, Captain Mirvan! Fortune has now kindly favoured me with one, and permit me’ (again seizing my hand) ‘permit me to use it, in telling you that I adore you.’

  I was quite thunderstruck at this abrupt and unexpected declaration. For some moments I was silent, but, when I recovered from my surprise, I said, ‘Indeed, Sir, if you were determined to make me repent leaving my own party so foolishly, you have very well succeeded.’