The evening world., 1893-11-28
The ITALIAN OPERA SEASON.

loTus anu uukes, ana al tnat bOTt OF
thing. need not yet retire into their shells.
The horses. as above printed. are no
more, but a firm OF enterprising caterers
has brought over shiploads OF singers and
placed them In q handsome building In
the heart OF the city. Singers are Just
as good as horses any day. The dear
folks who love to parade peacockly In
places where men do gather have quite
as many opportunities at the opera as
at the Horse. Show. Tradition favors dis
play: London and Paris made the opera
a fashionable entertainment, and meek
little initiative New York has nothing
to do but to give one more parrot
like initiation. Therefore, / say: The
horses are dead; long live music. Long
live anything, in fact, that will give us
the b~edizened. bedlamonded, low-bodiced,
feather-decked, gem-glitterink crowd hat
was seen at the Metropolitan Opera-House
last night.
II was a gorgeous spectacle, in all
verify. The "supers' were the people
In the boxes, and Abbey. Schoeffel e.
Grau did not provide the costumes. The
real audience vas composed OF the
people at the back of the house, who
paid their money and stood up; who
wore no swell clothes, but had clean
faces and music-loving hearts. The
others-the pictorial ACKNOWLEDGMENT
there to lend a colored loneliness to the
scene. n also to see that their neigh
bors did the same. One might also
call them Abbey's confederates. They
were certainly eminently useful, for is
1t not a fact that IL there had been no
display of plumes and Jewels in the
boxes last night, the opera season would
to-day be set down as a failure? Don't
answer this question instantly with an
indignant negative. Think 1t over.
The Metropolitan Opera-House has GER
tainly been improved. The fire that
" cast a gloom over the community as
the New Jersey novelist would say.
was a veritable boon. The old Met was
getting frowsy and squalid. The new
one is a joyous, sparkling affair that
does the eyes good. The old idea of Pu-
ritanic plainness has been abandoned.
There are curves and artistic roundings
and the most magnificent use OF cleo
tricity for lighting purposes that has yet
been seen IN New York. When in the
full glow of its nine thousand nine hun
dred and ninety-nine electric globules,
the Metropolitan Opera-House is indie
scribably beautiful. II looks like fairy
land-a smile that is always agreeable,
inasmuch as nobody has ever seen fairy
land. Every gallery last night was black
with people, except those containing the
boxes, which were blue and white and
red n yellow and green and golden.
The foyers were alive with a parading
crowd, n men and women sat in the
aisles and made themselves comfortable.
The disgraceful pens into which the
holders Of admission tickets were for
merly ushered have been abolished. The
standing room Is now vast and satisfac-
tory to all.
Faust" was the opera-not that It
mattered much to the Metropolitan pa
irons. They were not there to vent en-
thusiasm over singers and music. They
would have been perfectly satisfied to
look at themselves and at the house. In
spite Of this, Faust" was the opera, and
1t was kind and thoughtful OF Messrs.
Abbey, Schoeffel & Grau to present 1t.
1t was sung with the ideal" cast that
lured the last Italian opera season from
a dreadfully threatening abyss OF failure.
One member of the cast was unavoidably
absent. 1t was Nine. Scalchi, who, as we
all know. refuses to sing when she has
dined too generously. Perhaps she had
dined generously last night. The role of
Siebel was intrusted to a pleasant little
nobody known as OLYMPIA Guercia, whose
notes had to be separated from a tremolo
of no mean proportions. Jean de Reszke
was greeted with much applause, but he
III not oIr1 nc nail M Nrxonr Da,La-.
this was due to a long ~indisposition; per-
haps 1t was due to wear and tear or to
a faultiness in the acoustic properties Of
the new environment. At any rate there
was a muftied quality to his notes. At
first you thought he was saving himself
up for his big scenes, but these big
scenes, although well interpreted, were
not as effective as two years ago. Still,
Jean de Reszke has won his spurs, and
II he chose to stand on his head and
sing with his feet. 10 very stupendous
objection would be offered. Edouard de
Reszke was as imposing as ever. His
Mephistopheles was a splendid piece OF
work, his grandly resonan notes being
Absolutely unchanged. Miss Emma
Eames was a bewitching and a tuneful
Marguerite, cold as Ice. but admirable
just the same. That Miss Eames is not
a "furrin'' artist is evident II she were,
she would be by this time fat n un-
wieldy, rolling over the stage and war
bling with oleaginous fervor. Mile.
Bauermeister was Marta; Jean Lassalle,
more ponderous than ever. Valentine, and
Sig. Vaschetti. Wagner.
The chorus was unusually good. The
old costumes. that looked like the over
flow from a second-act shop on Averue
B. have been replaced by new s~pick-and-
span garbs. 1t seems as though the old
ladies had also been consumed. for there
we're patches OF s~prightly girls, with
voices and appearances The orchestra,
conducted by Sig. Luigi Mancinelli. was
very loud-loud enough, at one time, to
drown the combined voices OF the De
Reszkes. OF course. an orchestra is nice
when there Is nothing else. but when the
main attraction Is supplied by the artists
themselves 1t should be held in check.
Faust" will probably be repeated riany
times, for It's popularity Is undimmed.
There will be less enthusiasm and much