Does "musical London" ever turn an introspective eye to watch the manufacture of musical opinion? The spectator who wanders from box to box on the first night of a new opera, may see the gentle herd-hypnotism at work.
The Honest Ignoramus, who goes to Covent Garden to see his friends between the acts. "Well, what d'you think of it?"
The Languid Woman who will not give herself away. "I heard it in Monte Carlo, you know, this winter."
A Voice. It's a pure crib from The Barber.
Another. Rossini and water.
Another. It's quite too deliciously old-fashioned.
The Honest Ignoramus strays into the next box, shedding some of his honesty by the way. "Rather Rossini and water, don't you think? I don't know anything about it, of course, but it seemed to me a mere up-to-date Barber."
A Voice. It's very modern certainly. I confess I'm rather old-fashioned....
He moves on. "D'you like all this modern stuff? If we are to have Rossini——"