Word: last
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Dates: during 1930-1939
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Gypsy Smith began evangelizing New York last month in The Bronx, delivered 13 sermons in rich, old Fifth Avenue Presbyterian Church, moved uptown again last fortnight. He winds up his engagement this week in no less august a fane than the Cathedral of St. John the Divine, with Bishop William Thomas Manning presiding. To his audiences, Gypsy Smith's black eyes have seemed as keen as ever, his voice mellow, his frame limber. (Only last year he married for the second time: a 26-year-old to whom he had long been "my hero.") Never a ranter, Gypsy Smith...
Over Catholic Spain Pius XII was not so happy last week. He had heard that Generalissimo Francisco Franco wished to expel, as hostile to his regime, Tarragona's Francisco Cardinal Vidal y Barraquer, who during the Spanish War was as near to being neutral as any ranking prelate (TIME, Dec. 26). Moreover, Franco wished to re-establish the 1851 concordat, which would enable him to appoint Spanish bishops, whereas the Vatican favored something more up-to-date. Franco appeared to be dunning the Church for payment for having protected...
...Wagner who produced the greatest effect upon me. . . . If Wagner is the most difficult mountain to be observed distinctly, not only due to the lyric vapour in which he so often drowns, but also because of his non prehensible morphology, the contours of the Venusberg, one of the last mountains ascended by Wagner, . . . are much more difficult to delimit. . . . You will see Louis II, Venus, Leda, the Swan, Sacher Masoch and his wife, Lola Montez. You will see the Three Graces, with so many graces attached to their anatomies that it is incredible...
...audience was quite willing to believe it. When at long last the curtain rose on Dali's brand-new setting for the Venusberg Bacchanale scene from Wagner's Tannhäuser they saw what they had come for. At the back of the stage, before a punctured mountain on a windswept plain, an ossified swan spread 15-ft. wings. In and out of its ruptured, bony breast the Ballet Russe de Monte Carlo's ballerinas climbed like the maggoty stuffing of a decayed Thanksgiving turkey. In the orchestra pit the staid Metropolitan Opera orchestra surged and noodled...
...Last week when Marcel Tabuteau sat out in front of the orchestra at a Manhattan concert and soloed in Mozart's Quartet in F Major for Oboe and Strings, hard-boiled critics threw kisses at the ceiling, and at the end of the first movement the audience cheered. Marcel Tabuteau grinned uneasily, but he did not rise to acknowledge the applause. When it was all over he boosted himself out of his chair and hobbled off the stage. Marcel Tabuteau had the gout. For two weeks, on tour, he had been traveling in wheel chairs, ambulances, on crutches...