“I know—I know: there are no places left. I expected it. But be kind enough to let me go in, and I will find some corner to stand in.”
“But, sir, allow me to tell you——“
“No matter.”
“But if, on the contrary——“
“All the better. There, give me a stall-ticket, and I will see if I can find room in the passage.”
Being at the end of his arguments, Génet supplied the ticket.
You can imagine the surprise of the eager visitor when, on entering the house, he found that he formed in his own person exactly a third of the audience.
For my own part, I soon made up my mind. After compounding with my conscience, by granting the usual quarter of an hour’s grace to the laggards, and seeing no one come, I informed my three spectators that, being only anxious to be agreeable to them, I would perform.
This unexpected news produced a triple hurrah in the house in the shape of thanks.
My orchestra consisted of eight amateurs of the town; and these gentlemen, as a compliment to my French origin, always played as overture the “Girondins” and the “Marseillaise,” with the assistance of the big drum, and never failed to terminate the performance with “God save the Queen.”