s
to irresponsible parties, should remember that it is their _pecuniary_
interest to preserve quiet. For not a few amateurs, as already stated,
are driven to the cheaper parts of the house, or discouraged from
going at all, by the annoying conversation; and the losses thus
resulting are of course added to their annual assessments.

Again, it ought to be clear to any one who has the most elementary
knowledge of the laws of etiquette that to disturb others needlessly
in the enjoyment of a dearly purchased pleasure is evidence of very
bad manners. Musical people suffer more from such interruptions than
persons whose ears are not similarly refined can imagine; for the
tone colors of a Wagnerian score are as exquisitely delicate and
refined as the evanescent films and colors of a soap-bubble, so that
the mere rustling of a fan or a programme mars them.

Everybody has heard the story of Handel, who used to get very angry if
any one talked in the room, even when he was only giving lessons to
the Prince and Princess of Wales. At such times, as Barney relates,
the Princess of Wales, with her accustomed mildness and benignity,
used to say: "Hush! hush! Handel is in a passion." And Liszt never
gave a finer exhibition of his wit and artistic courage than when, at
an imperial soiree in the Russian capital, he suddenly ceased playing
in the midst of a piece, because the Czar was talking loudly with an
officer. The Czar sent an attendant to inquire of Liszt why he
stopped; whereupon Liszt retorted that it was the first rule of court
etiquette that when the Czar was speaking others must be silent. The
Czar never forgave him this well-merited rebuke.

This anecdote has a moral for those who talk loudly at the opera; for
it calls attention to the fact that they not only annoy those of the
audience who wish to hear the music, but also insult the artists on
the stage.

The establishment of habitual silence during operatic performances is
only one of the beneficial changes introduced into operatic etiquette
through German opera. The method of applauding has been revolutionized
too. It is no longer customary to interrupt the flow of the orchestral
music by applauding a singer. All the applause is now reserved for the
end of the acts. I remember a performance of "Lohengrin," at the
Academy of Music, at which the music was thrice interrupted by some
ill-bred admirers of Campanini, who applauded him when he first
appeared in sight on the s