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 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 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