Music: Openings

In San Francisco. Because trouble is remembered longer than pleasure, men make calendars of their catastrophies. In Tokyo they say “since the Earthquake,” in Johnstown “since the Flood,” in San Francisco “since the Fire. . .” Marcel Journet, famed French basso, has sung in most of the capitals of the world and avoided most of the world’s disasters, but he has not sung in Tokyo since the Quake, he has not sung in Johnstown since the Flood, nor, until last week, had he sung in San Francisco since the Fire. His great voice boomed there last week; other famed singers tuned their notes—Tita Schipa, tenor from the Chicago Civic Opera; Marguerite d’Alvarez, Spanish contralto; Rosina Torri, from La Scala; Fernand Ansseau, Belgian. Fans, neckcloths, puffed and powdered melodies furbished once more the elegant infidelities of Manon Lescaitt; pompous swaddlings adorned the familiar French-Hebrew heroics of Samson et Dalila. The San Francisco Opera Company had begun its season.

In Manhattan. Fortune Gallo has convinced the U. S. public that it is not necessary to pay eight dollars for a seat in order to attend an opera. For half that sum, or a quarter of it, one can share in a holiday that casts no dishonor upon a dinner coat, can offer flowers and shout “Bis!” and strut in the lobby between the acts with a fine air of having bought one’s own cigaret. At the large-sized Century Theatre, Mr. Gallo’s capable traveling company opened with Tosca. A new tenor, Franco Tafuro of Lima, was compelled to repeat Puccini’s ringing lacrimosities upon the stairs; Anne Roselle was an amply emotional heroine.