Abstract

As I sit down to begin this essay, the strains of “Tristan und Isolde” are still ringing in my ears; meanwhile, another dozen or so Pakistanian refugees have died for lack of sufficient food, shelter, or medical attention, probably, during the time it will have taken to compose this paragraph. The Isolde in that performance commanded, probably, a fee of four or five thousand dollars; each member of the audience paid, on the average, perhaps ten dollars to see the performance. This works out, probably, to an average of one year’s worth of refugees kept alive and in some sort of health for every two members of the audience, or about two hundred for the wages of the leading soprano for one evening. The arithmetic is doubtless inaccurate: possibly it would require as much as three opera tickets to keep our refugee going, and Isolde could manage but fifty. But the orders of magnitude are about right.