[Met Performance] CID:97120



Tosca
Metropolitan Opera House, Wed, November 9, 1927




Tosca (201)
Giacomo Puccini | Luigi Illica/Giuseppe Giacosa
Tosca
Maria Jeritza

Cavaradossi
Giacomo Lauri-Volpi

Scarpia
Antonio Scotti

Sacristan
Pompilio Malatesta

Spoletta
Giordano Paltrinieri

Angelotti
Louis D'Angelo

Sciarrone
Vincenzo Reschiglian

Shepherd
Dorothea Flexer

Jailer
Millo Picco


Conductor
Vincenzo Bellezza


Director
Wilhelm Von Wymetal

Set Designer
Mario Sala





Tosca received eight performances this season.

Review 1:

Review of Samuel Chotzinoff in the New York World

Floria Jeritza in "Tosca"

Madama Jeritza reminds me of Ed Wynn, as extraordinary an exponent of comedy as the lady is of lyric tragedy. The resemblance, for me, lies in the futile attempts of both artists to conceal their identity under the strangest assortment of costumes and make-up. Mr. Wynn's heartbreaking endeavors to conceal his personality under a variety of headgear are as unsuccessful as the celebrated diva's to conceal her in the gowns of Turandot, Violanta and Floria Tosca.

In the Metropolitan's first "Tosca" of the season last night Miss Jeritza exhibited a brand-new wardrobe and a dark wig. The disguise was no doubt accurate and calculated to give one a good idea of what the well-drawn Roman opera singers of the period wore. But it was as futile as one of Ed Wynn's hats. One spotted Miss Jeritza the moment she swept into the Church of St. Andrea della Valle. She entered Scarpia's room in the Farnese Palace in the same manner we had seen her enter her own Venetian Palazzo as the youthful Violanta only last Saturday. It seems that the lovely Austrian operatic idol is quite helpless without a good-sized train to her gowns. Last night she sported one nearly as long as Turandot's, which she swished around Scarpia's room for her own comfort and to the annoyance of Mr. Scotti, who was obliged to do some deft leafing about to get close enough to the proud Roman to communicate his dastardly intentions.

Mr. Scotti, who still looks and acts the part of the ignominious Chief of Police, now contents himself with talking the music. But one piece of business he makes Scarpia do makes up for all his vocal failings. Tosca, having fallen to the floor, begins her great aria, "Vissi d'arte," reclining on her stomach. At her first words, "I have lived for music and love," a look of surprised incredulity passes over his face. As she continues he waves a contemptuous hand at her melodious sentiments and walks over to the table, where he pours himself a glass of wine. From time to time he cast puzzled glances at the prostrate figure. It is possible that he does not believe in the lady's sincerity at choosing such a moment to expose her philosophy of life and art! If that is his thought he had the agreement of at least one person in his audience.

Of singing, there was very little to report in the year's first "Tosca." Yet that mattered not an iota to a house intent upon the carefully contrived melodrama of Sardou; certainly one of the most absorbing "babies" that has ever fallen in the lap of any composer.



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