They Opened the Opera

A Yugoslav, a Greek, a Hungarian, an Englishwoman, two Swedes, several Americans -- and one Italian -- sang an Italian opera in Manhattan one night last week. The assorted nationalities sang to Mrs. Cornelius Vanderbilt, who wore, as usual, a hair ribbon; to Thomas J. Watson of International Business Machines; to Orlando F. Weber, onetime head of Allied Chemical & Dye Corp.; to those sterling spinsters of Manhattan and Newport, R. I., the Misses Maude and Edith Wetmore; to yards of silk and satin; to hothouses of orchids, gardenias and camellias; to bushels of diamonds, emeralds and pearls. They also sang to a few hundred plebeian music lovers roosting in the precipitous galleries who had stood in line, some of them for 15 hours, for their $2 standing room. Thus the Metropolitan Opera once again opened its season.

The opera which Manager Edward Johnson chose for the opener was a new show, and as queer as they come. Un Ballo in Maschera (Masked Ball) was written by Giuseppe Verdi in the 1850s to a play by Scribe which dealt with the assassination of Sweden's King Gustavus III. Because of trouble nearly a century ago with Italian censors, the libretto of Masked Ball was given a U. S. background. Its hero was "Riccardo, Count of Warwick, Governor of Boston" in the 17th Century. He tenoriously fell in love with the soprano wife of his "Creole" secretary. After everyone had consulted a blackface sorceress named Ulrica, the Creole joined a conspiracy headed by two ha-ha-ing bassos, also in blackface, named Samuel and Tom. At a masked ball, the Creole killed his boss.

The Metropolitan had taken a deep breath, returned Masked Ball to its rightful Sweden. Riccardo (Tenor Jussi Bjoerling) was further identified on the program as Gustave III. But the Met's restyling stopped there. The chorus, singing in Italian, hailed the king as "son of England." The conspirators (historically Counts Horn and Warting) were still Samuel and Tom, although no longer black. In three out of Masked Ball's five acts, the scenery (by one Mstislav Dobujinski) was the traditional Metropolitan mud color. But the 18th-Century costumes were excellent. The production cost about $35,000. The opening night was an $18,000 sellout.

But under the circumstances, Wendell Willkie singing Siegfried would have sold as well, or a tenth-rate road company of Pagliacci. The audience gave a burst of applause to a capable newcomer, Hungarian Baritone Alexander Sved, as the king's assassin. For the rest, the audience behaved as if it expected to be applauded itself.

Following nights, the Met noodled through a routine Walkuere, a passable Madame Butterfly. Then it presented Samson and Delilah, with its first U. S.GALLERY-GOERS AT THE MET Also present: orchids and diamonds, born temptress in 22 years: slim, dark Rise (rhymes with Pisa) Stevens, 27, of The Bronx. Contralto Stevens proved a notable addition to the Met's strippers (who had heretofore included Sopranos Helen Jepson and Lily Pons) and in the seduction scene gave Samson (barrel-shaped Tenor Rene Maison) quite a going-over. But critics doubted that the Stevens pleasing midriff and voice were enough to make Saint-Sae'ns' shopworn opera an event.

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