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After stubbing its tow with an unfortunate "Faust." The Metropolitan recovered brilliantly last night with a distinguished revival of Verdi's "La Forza del Destino" which had a good cast, smooth staging, and magnificent conducting. Despite the stars on the stage, and they were lavishly chosen from the best voices available today, the great star of the performance was Bruno Walter, working magic in the pit.

In his eloquent hands and uneven opera acquired strength and balance. The opera orchestra took on symphonic texture and tone, yet it never for an instant relinquished the dramatic splendor and the fiery impact of the music drama. Mr. Walter held the orchestra, chorus, and soloists in a singing line of the most extraordinary loveliness, a line that was supple and sympathetic, yet which had as its very reason an unfailing security that sustained the voices, drew them out at their finest, and subtly enhanced their beauty.

As a means of speeding up the opera - and all of us are grateful to the Metropolitan for putting intermissions in their places as brief interludes rather than dreary stretches of boredom - Mr. Walter had placed the overture between the prologue and the first scene. He made it music of such silky sheen and such dexterous weaving of operatic moods that the audience burst spontaneously into an ovation shared by the orchestra.

In reviving "Forza," Mr. Walter took the wise man's way of concentrating on the score as a whole, depending on Verdi's superb sense of the dramatic to rescue the moribund plot from its insane mire of curses, calamities, and coincidences. Mr. Graf's cooperation in stagecraft consisted of making the action as simple as possible, and last night the stage pictures were quite handsome, framed in stately settings borrowed from the Chicago Opera's warehouse.

Except for the matchless Ezio Pinza, whose august presence and superb basso cantante made the Abbott a figure out of the greatest days of opera, most of the roles had been sung here in more luxurious years with more flooding opulence than they had last night. But again the miracle of ensemble came into play and the voices were matched, blended, and contrasted by the conductor's skill until they became genuinely satisfying.

Take Stella Roman, for instance. The young Romanian soprano has a superb voice, but it doesn't always spin out in a singing stream. It was not until the scene at the monastery that her lyric and dramatic qualities were coaxed out in a warm, cumulative line that reached a thrilling climax. Later in the same scene singing with Pinza she was almost a Tribly to Walter's Svengali, singing at the peak of her best voice, which is a combination of mezza voce and pianissimo.

The surprise of the evening, however, was Kurt Baum, the dramatic tenor not heard here in several seasons. Mr. Baum's voice has gained immeasurably in security, style and a radiance that illuminates rather than dazzles a high note. His stage presence is easy and ornamental - in fact, the Metropolitan has discovered a valuable new tenor.

There is no denying the unhappy fact that Mr. Tibbett's beautiful baritone has been damaged, but I stubbornly insist it remains my favorite baritone, in velvet texture and the darkness of its haunting tone. When he and Mr. Baum sang the famous "Solenne in quest'ora" it remained a duet worth Verdi's signature.

Others of note in the excellent cast were Irra Petina, a volatile gamine as Preziosilla, singing in a voice which apparently can handle both soprano and mezzo rangers, and fat Salvatore Baccaloni, the Falstaffian monk, while Alessio De Paolis made Trabucco's role memorable. Altogether it was an evening to do opera-going credit.

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