Newspapers / The Caduceus (Charlotte, N.C.) / July 27, 1918, edition 1 / Page 18
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18 THE CADUCEUS. SEEING AIDA SERGEANT WRITES ABOUT RE CENT TRIP TO METROPOLITAN. “Main 9,000, please: extension five nine. Arthur, Jack speaking. There is a popular concert at the Metropoli tan tonight—Aida, with Martinelli and star cast.” “That suits me. I’ll meet you at 6 o’clock at the Times Square sub. station, uptown side.” That evening found us at Broadway and Thirty-ninth street, outside the Metropolitan Opera House; and we found a line of wait ing people extending around the four blocks surrounding the opera house. A spectator approached us with a hand ful of tickets and offered us two “at $1.75 a throw; front row, family cir cle.” Arthur looked at me, and we both looked at the long line—we bought two tickets from this philan thropic ticket vender. Arthur consult ed his Ingersoll—8:l5. Automobiles arrive and pull up to the curb in front of the Broadway entrance to the Metropolitan. Men and women, in for mal evening dress, step out from these cars, and as the women pass by us, the air was saturated with dreamy essences. So close to the roof were oiir seats that I could touch it with my hand. I looked from my lofty perch down on a sea of heads filling the main floor. Tlie orchestra seemed the size of pigmies. In the first balcony were seated the elite. Box One, I noticed by the program, was occupied by Mrg. Vanderbilt and party; Box Two, Mr. Gould and family. I was surprised to see how closely they resembled, ex cept for a certain nonchalance, ordi nary human beings. The house lights went out, and the trench across the stage lighted up with a blue glare. Palocco emerged from underneath the stage, and, with the aid of his wand drew from his orchestra music of the kind I had nev er before heard. Nothing startling oc curred in the first act. Indeed, I hadn’t the slightest Idea of what was going on, for the singers shouted in Italian. With the opening of the sec ond act, the plot (as far as I knew. It might have been a conspiracy) pro gressed. Arthur had read the libretto of the play and posted me as to what was ipipending. I looked on now with a new Interest. The asbestos ascended slowly for the second act, and warriors trooped in amid the blare of trumpets. Fol lowing them, the multitudes came crowding in, taking the~opposite side of the stage from where the soldiers were in formation. They had no soon er come to a standstill, when a bugle was heard faintly as if from the inner most recesses of the opera house. The assembled multitudes and legions look ed expectantly out of the open gate way. A chariot, drawn by four spot less white horses was rolled in, its occupant, head high, standing firmly inside. Arthur leaned over and whis pered something about a returning vic torious general, but what he whisper ed was drowned in the sudden deluge of applause, shouting and stamping— a deafening musical roar, which was the tribute of the assemblage to the returning hero. The king and queen are seated on the throne. To the left are the sol diers, armed with spears; opposite them is the populace in holiday attire and spirit; in the center are the shackled captives, hostages from the countries the victor subjugated in the far east.' The victor himself is kneel ing at the foot of the throne, and pre sents in a most respectful manner the fruits of his victories to his king. What an impressive spectacle! The potentate offers the hand of his daugh ter to this new popular idol. The gen eral refuses her hand, and the as semblage gasps. Beckoning one of his captives, Aida, to his side, the hero makes known the object of his love. The king is enraged and condemns the two lovers to die by suffocation in the dungeon in the depths of the palace. Agents of the king approach the hero in the dungeon, with a view of hav ing him cast off his captive sweet heart, but he is resolute and will not yield. The air is shut off, and Aida isi los ing her strength. Her faithful lover supports her tenderly, but she is fad ing fast. She becomes limp in his arms, and he lets her slip gently to the floor, suffocated. He sings softly to her as she lies there—a sweet, do lorous swan song; he clutches his threat, reel, and falls lifeless. To the end he was a man, with ideals and principles; and one who valued more than his life these incomparable treas ures. —By Sergeant J. Rosenberg, Regent Garage W. A. FARR PROPRIETOR Standaircl Ice and Fuel Company W AUTOMOBII.E REPAIRING FINE MACHINE WORK AND WELDING 203 South Church Street CHARLOTTE, N. C. PHONE 331 DO YOUR PART By Ttirift and War Savings Stamps ^eVeivetMnd” The cream of ice creams
The Caduceus (Charlotte, N.C.)
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July 27, 1918, edition 1
18
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