Last Good-by

For 24 weeks musical Manhattan has been saying good-by to Giulio Gatti-Casazza. Praised without end for his 27-year record as manager of the Metropolitan Opera, swamped with good wishes for his old age in Italy, massive old Gatti shied from the demonstrations. Last week he was glad to see his trunks packed at last and sent to the boat.

Heavy with presents were the trunks. From the Met's stagehands there was a parchment scroll in a revolving bronze frame. The choristers gave a bronze plaque, the U. S. singers a silver plaque, the orchestramen a gold plaque. From Geraldine Farrar there was a silver loving cup, another from Rosa Ponselle. The administrative assistants chose a silver fitted traveling-case. The Metropolitan directors gave a silver tray with a set of resolutions. Board Chairman Paul Drennan Cravath was more practical. His gift: a bust of Mr. Gatti to be placed in the Metropolitan. Gatti asked only for the name plates from his box and office doors, for the secret desk panel in which he used to hide his seasons' plans.

The goodbys seemed to be over last week with a weepy luncheon at which Geraldine Farrar acted as toastmistress. Gatti was mellow. He bestowed an impulsive, bearded kiss on Conductor Arturo Toscanini, his oldtime colleague and again his friend. Then Rosa Ponselle got up one last party, at sailing time. When Gatti hulked up on deck he found that she had invited hundreds of friends to surprise him. Every opera singer still in town said another tearful goodby, drank champagne toasts. Gatti seemed tired and bewildered. But he replied with "Viva America, Viva Italia, Viva Roosevelt, Viva Mussolini." As the Rex pulled out of dock, Gatti slowly waved his handkerchief so long as he could be seen.

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