Metropolitan Opera Archives

This, believe it or not, is the department of no complaints. If all opera had the stature, the brilliance and the style of Bruno Walter's performance of "The Masked Ball," this column would exude sweetness and possibly even light. Staged at the Civic Opera House yesterday afternoon, Verdi's melodious tale of sorcery, intrigue and innocent love betrayed was the high spot of the season, the nick in time rescuer of the Metropolitan's tottering reputation.

It had some glorious singing from what may well be the best cast available. It was intelligently staged, considering the welter of the plot, and it was sumptuously caparisoned, tho I hope you don't think I confuse the sumptuous with the beautiful. Say it was a Swedish eyeful, right down to the royal purple and ermine cape Gustave III had handy even when he went slumming. But what counted most of all was the coordinating master in the orchestra pit, who made the score both sumptuous and beautiful - who even made it make sense.

Flowing Sense of Continuity

Altho "The Masked Ball" is studded with stellar song that more than once stopped the show, Mr. Walter gave it coherence and a flowing sense of continuity in style. The texture of the performance was ominous for all its buoyancy, ideally keyed for sudden death in the bouffant gaiety of a masked ball. Everything fell effortlessly in place.

When Leonard Warren won Chicago stardom by singing "Eri tu" with the haunting splendor of a baritone just rounding into greatness, that was merely a highlight, tho perhaps the most gleaming one of a luxurious afternoon. When Zinka Milanov scored her major triumph by singing Amelia in the grand style, with a sustained richness and purity that gave the aria at the gallows unforgettable beauty, that, too, was but a means to the full realization of music drama.

Triumphs in Two Scenes

In the same way Kerstin Thorborg's opulent singing of Ulrica, Frances Greer's unmistakable success as the joyously coloratura page, and the return of Virgilio Lazzari to one of his great roles, as the laughing conspirator - these were as much triumphs of ensemble as of stardom.

Since Caruso and Martinelli, who is to sing Riccardo? Jan Peerce's lyric tenor is light for the score, but it is flexible and beautiful, and Mr. Walter never drowned him out. He didn't look royal, of course, neither did Napoleon. As I have said before, this is the department of no complaints. For it was finer opera than I have heard in seasons, and if I ever heard the scherzo quintet more beautifully done or the laughing cavaliers more exquisitely timed as sardonic undercurrent to tragedy, then I was hearing another Bruno Walter - and I hope I knew I was lucky.

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