One afternoon last week a little troupe of four, all wearing the discreet air of superior domestics, filed through the stage door of the Metropolitan Opera House. They went directly to the star dressing room, unwrapped their parcels, and began hanging yellow brocade. By 6 p.m., all was ready for their mistress: the ugly green walls and dowdy dressing table were resplendent with silk. It was the royal treatment, for it is not every day that Maria Jeritza comes back to sing at the Met.
Last week, back she was, for the first time...
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