University of Virginia Library

IN A BOX AT THE OPERA

THE opera differs from the symphony concert, or piano recital, in the same way that the army drill command of "At Ease!" differs from "Rest!" When one of these orders (I never could remember which) is given to a battalion in formation, it signifies that talking is permitted; opera, of course, corresponds to that command.

Before the invention of the phonograph it was often necessary for the opera goer to pay some attention to the performance—at least while certain favorite arias were being sung; this handicap to the enjoyment of opera has now fortunately been overcome and one can devote one's entire attention to other more important things, safe in one's knowledge that one has Galli-Curci at home on the Vic.

In order really to get the most out of an opera a great deal of study and preparation is required in advance; I have not space at this time to cover these preliminaries thoroughly, but would recommend to the earnest student such supplemental information as can be obtained from Lady Duff-Gordon, or Messrs. Tiffany, Técla and Pinaud.

Upon entering one's box the true opera lover at once assumes a musical attitude; this should be practised at home, by my lady, before a mirror until she is absolutely sure that the shoulders and back can be seen from any part of the house. Then, with the aid of a pair of strong opera glasses, she may proceed to scrutinize

carefully the occupants of the boxes—noting carefully any irregular features. Technical phraseology, useful in this connection, includes "unearthly creature," "stray leopard" or, simply, "that person."

Your two magical formulas—the Russian "w" and the sad story about Rachmaninoff's daughter—may, of course, be held in reserve—but the chances are that you will be unable to use them, for during an evening at the opera there will probably be no mention of music.