The Indianapolis journal. [volume] (Indianapolis [Ind.]) 1867-1904, 1883-11-17
BEECHER AT THE OPERA.

How He Went to Hear 'Traviata," and Care
fully Refrained from Looking the Bal
let.
New York Correspondence st. Paul Pioneer-Press.
The Rev. Henry Ward Beecher was at the
opera last evening tor the second time in his
life. He net only INDUCED in bath in this
new element of dramatic melody. but he
took dive straight to the bottom, for the par
ucular opera on the boards was "Traviata,"
the very type of musical immortality. After
the second act l called on Mr.. Beecher in
his box.
Yes" he said, in recognition of my ques-
ton. This is our second opera. We saw
'Sonnam bula' last winter. The fact is, con-
tidentially, we have turned over new leaf,
as it were. We have reformed Here, all
our lives, my wife and have conscientiousy
staid away from operas and theaters. For
fifty years we have got along without
them. Now we have arrived at an age
where we consider it proper to let up little
not to be quite so strickland have our
share of the fun. I always felt that should
like it, and do like it, I went first to hear
Salvini and Others, and then | saw jefferson
as Rip Van Winkle-what a tender-hearted
and thoroughly artistic actor he isl ] Won
der if be isn't really the best American actor
to-day?'
I told him what wonderfully pathetic and
beautiful play "The Cricket on the Hearth"
was at the Union Square, and what quaint
and tender Caleb Plummer Mr.. jefferson
made, and he said;
Il must see it. We are going to the play
houses now twice a week, hereafter right
along. l am so old now that think I am
proof against any of the demoralizing effects
of it."
And he laughed, and Mrs. Beecher j,ined
in a concurring smile | reminded hlm
that Henry VIII didn't begin to murder
his wives till he had got we'll along in years,
bft thor ftar rni TO
'What a fine voice Sembrich has" he eX-
claimed, without paying any attention to the
remark that history usually receives; ''in
fact I don't know but it is a shade too fine for
me. However, ] have heard plenty of good
music in my time"
How do you like this opera%' l asked, with
a very straight face.
Beautifully he said, beautifully put on
the stage. The scenery, the costumes, and
everything quite pleases the eye"
But the opera itSelf?' | reminded him.
The curtain was up again now, and 200
people we're on the stage. 1t was convivial
party in Flora's mansion. They are all
richly dressed, except hundred ballet-grls,
who are richly undressed. In their midst is
the terpsicnorean queen, with only just the
least bit of harness left on her-a pink sur
cingle tied around under her arms She is
Nine. Cavalazzi. She spreads her white
arms over the heads of the congregation, as
if pronouncing a benediction. She waves
her long pink legs over the heads of the old
buffers on the front seat till the great house
rings with plaudits. She seems to be kick
ing at butterflies futterng in the chan
delier; | never saw golden slippers
reach such n sublime altitude. She dances
fifteen minutes furiously. There are wild
cheers and cries of Beautifully "Bravs-
simap' and down the center aisles and down
the side aisles and from the boxes came nine
elaborate floral tributes to her magnificent
genius-bouquets, harps, crowns, vessels and
a kind of Oriental pagoda in costlest roses
four times as many as the silver-voiced Sem
brich got the whole evening. think I
blushed. l know Mr.. Beecher blushed. And
be looked frankly up at the dome and ex-
amined it as attentively as if he had never
thought OF anything else in his life, and said:
What lovely effect-that circlet of hun
dred gas-jets, instead Of the abominable
chandelier"