THOSE SYMPHONY CONCERT PROGRAMS

PROGRAM OF THE METROPOLITAN SYMPHONY

Conductor: OTTO CULMBACHER Soloiste of the evening : FÉLICE ELEFANTINE
I. GASTRONOMIC SYMPHONY Kovik-Bordunov

(a) Allegretti (6) Pistachio (c) Chianti (d) Risotto, con aglio
II. LARGHETTO Culmbacher
III. ARIA FROM “IL CAMPANILE" Gondola (SIGNORINA ELEFANTINE)

(The Hardwood Piano is user)

CRITICAL COMMENTS ON THE NUMBERS

II. Larghetto. This étude is by the con

ductor. (He thought this would be a I. Gastronomic Symphony. It is not

It is not good place to work it in, the orchestra and certain when Ptior Kovik-Bordunov was audience being powerless to restrain him.) born. His parents, being thrifty peasants, Herr Otto Fédor Ivan Culmbacher was put him in a basket and left him on the born of noble parents in Hofbräu, Silesia. steppes of Russia. Adopted by a Rus- He was discovered and imported to Amersian Princess, named Caviar Vodka, he ica by the brilliant patronesses of the was raised as if he had been

Metropolitan Symphony Soher own dog. His early

ciety. musical inclination was so

A larghetto is a little larpronounced that he was sent

go-one without a handel. to the Warsaw Conserva

A composer writes a lartory, where he served three

ghetto when he feels someterms. Soon after being re

thing like writing a largo leased from this institution

but is n't, on the whole, he wrote “Samovar,” the

quite up to it. opera that made him famous. “Samovar” so pleased HERR CULMBACHER

III. Aria from "I Camthe Czar that young Bordu

panile.” This opera, though nov was given a pension and

well known in Budapest a bath. But alas! either his sudden success and South America, is practically unknown or the bath so affected his mind, that from in the United States. The aria, “O belli that time on the authorities were obliged spaghetti," is so vocally exacting that to to keep him in confinement. The above sing its bird-like notes a prima donna symphony was written on the walls of his should diet for weeks on bird-seed. Here cell

, from which it was transcribed after are the words- which are repeated fourhis suicide. It depicts the blight of all his teen times in the course of the aria. hopes, the sorrows of Russia, the drowning of his fiancée, the height of the steppes,

THE ITALIAN

THE TRANSLATION and the agonies of indigestion.

The Allegretti opens with an arabesque O belli spaghetti, Had I the wings of tone-poem of somber sweetness, under

a dove, which strange and varied delights are hid- O bianchi confetti. I would Ay, I would den. Then comes the minor Pistachio,

Aly to my love. weirdly oriental in color. This is fol

Bananni, bananni, I would fly, I would lowed by the tempestuous and maddening

fly, Chianti. Last of all comes the terrible

E tutti fruttiRisotto, con aglio. Here we have an ex

Through the sky, ample of the insight of genius! By itself,

through the sky, the Risotto con Aglio would be almost O bianchi confetti! I would Aly, I would mild; but coming as it does on top of the

fly to my love! Allegretti, the Pistachio, and the Chianti, (She waddles off) it is bound to produce a truly tragic finale.

Lawton Mackall.

"An innovation in New York society usage will be introduced to-morrow. A number of prominent matrons will then, instead of waiting for any of the Junior Cotillions or Cinderella Dances, informally introduce their daughters to society at the New York Horse Show. Boxes for this purpose have already been secured by Mrs. Schuyler

Mrs. Van Rennselaer Mrs. Ogden etc., etc.”

The New York T

After reading the abovenote“ Lighter Vein” hurriedly despatched its staff artist to the opening of the Horse Show. Here is our artist's impression of a group

a of the season's most refined, high-bred, and aristocratic débutantes hesitatingly and demurely making their initial bow to Metropolitan Society.

THE SENIOR WRANGLER

CLUB THOUGHTS

a

a

1 - TIFOLD An escaped husband ran into the club last night, came to my window, and sank into a chair, sighing like an exhausted seltzer siphon.

"In regard to woman," said he, “I have no sympathy whatever with anti-feminist fears of the neglect of the family. If, with the march of mechanical improvement, housekeeping grows easier and easier, what is to be done with the released housekeeping force? Turn it back, say the anti-feminists to the expanding woman, and housekeep more fiercely. Let that great managing talent which once ranged from corn-field to nursery, rocked the cradle, smoked the ham, reaped, spun, milked, stewed, chopped, and sewed up everybody, wreak itself on one man, two children, five rooms, and a bath.

“Think of the households in which domesticity boils in its too narrow channel with a disproportionate force, the souls which go out into wall-paper, the excesses of conjugal scrutiny and child-care, the surplus of anxieties, the many needless strenuosities of wedded life. An active-minded married woman in these days without outlet is bound to overdo her own marriage. Suppose you married a very efficient person, and the only object of that efficiency were you. Take a woman of marked executive, though latent, ability-a

a woman who might have been Zenobia if she had had the chance. Would you, in a small suburban home, care to be Zenobia's Palmyra? Anti-feminists like Mr. G. K. Chesterton and other sentimental epigrammatists have much to say of the home as woman's kingdom and the sanctity of woman's sphere. But would any one of them wish to be a woman's sphere? Husbands of able but old-fashioned wives are worn to the bone by their wives' unduly limited activities. They would gladly see them dissipated in public affairs. Forces no longer needed to rock the cradle may well be turned to the ruling of the state."

ii -:1pnil, ilir, ya Not once in the fifteen years of political discussion that I have witnessed in this club have I seen a political opinion removed from one member by another, yet not a day has passed without some one's trying it.

In some corner of this building, I believe, there has always been a tall gentleman towering over a little one and exclaiming, “What are the facts?" or two stout members, like embattled chickens, revolving beak to beak in simultaneous refutation, or one of those strange colloquies going on, which seem so hopeless to the bystander, wherein the two minds move obviously in parallels, never to meet, how far so ever prolonged. I have had a man tug for five years at one of my political opinions, and it never budged. I have tugged for five years at one of his, and despite my harsh laugh of verbal victory, I knew it was in him still.

As I look back on it, it seems a mad sort of dentistry, and not only barren of results, but cruel in intention. It is well known, for example, that if you plucked his opinion from a certain type of stand-patter, the man would bleed to death. In middle life politics are not a mental acquisition; they are a temperament. If a party mind ever does any thinking, it does it behind closed doors. Nobody changes an opinion in any public room of this club. The rule is, divide facts promptly into friends and foes, and fire at the latter on sight. You have to know only the uniform. Of course some of us do lose opinions as time goes on, but that is because they drop out or decay; no fellowmember has the pleasure of extracting them.

Nor, as things go in this club, is there any safety in those ancient rules about hearing both sides and steering a middle course, and splitting the difference, and medio tutissimus ibis, and so forth. Between Robinson, who is passionately fond of the recall of judicial decisions, and Jones, who passionately hates it, is no safe place for any inquiring mind. The inquiring mind cannot be made up as a mutton-chop is cooked, by broiling it first on one side and then on the other.

a

a

NOWADAYS no properly dressed novel the cashier, or, in some cases, sometimes by leaves its publishers without a Book Jacket. the publisher himself.

A Book Jacket, it may be explained, is So great has been the success of these a sort of loose paper overcoat bearing on abbreviated novels which, dispensing as its cover the book-maker's name together they do with the tedious necessity of turnwith a highly colored picture of the hero- ing the pages, or even of opening the book, ine sitting in a canoe, an opera box, a rail- can be read between swallows at a quickway train, or an airship. She is attired in

She is attired in lunch counter or during the waits at a an inappropriate but fashionable costume moving-picture show, that it is proposed

- an alpine suit for the opera, a décolleté by some of our leading publishers to print dress for an airship, and an “all-over” their book jackets without the novels. white lace gown for a railway train.

Each of these new jackets will cover a This picture (it may almost be called pasteboard box the shape and size of a a pattern) is always accompanied by a book, and containing such articles as bonbrief résumé of the book outlining the plot bons, writing-paper, cigars, breakfast food and the most gripping incidents of the or sardines, according to the class of readstory. This résumé is usually written by ers to which the message of the book is the foreman of the press-room, the wife of likely to make its most forceful appeal.

THE OPENING MIGHT O! THI VETROPOLITAV OPTIA DUSE, NOVEMBER 17, 113

(Drawn by one of “Lighter Vein's” younger and more impressionable artists)