A Second Book of Operas

ely new, and as it appears to me to contain a just estimate and criticism of the work and the school of which it and "Pagliacci" remain the foremost exemplars, I

esistingly on its turbulent current. But the stage-picture is less sanguinary than it looked in the beginning. It seems to have receded a millennium in time. It has the terrible fierceness of an Attic tragedy, but it also has the decorum which the Attic tragedy never violated. There is no slaughter in the presence of the audience, despite the humbleness of its personages. It does not keep us perpetually in sight of the shambles. It is, indeed, an exposition of chivalry; rustic, but chivalry nevertheless. It

uth,' but its eloquence is, after all, in its eager, pulsating, passionate melody-like the music which Verdi wrote more than half a century ago for the last act of 'Il Trovatore.' If neither Mascagni himself nor his imitators have succeeded in equalling it since, it is because they have thought too much of the external devices of abrupt and uncouth change of modes and tonalities, of exotic scales a

his life-history which was printed in the "Fanfulla della Domenica" of Rome shortly after he became

r my condition. But my salary of 100 lire, to which nothing was added, except the fees from a few pianoforte lessons in Cerignola and two lessons in the Philharmonic Society of Canosa (a little town a few miles from Cerignola), did not permit the luxury of a libretto. At the solicitation of some friends Targioni, in Leghorn, decided to write a "Cavalleria rusticana" for me. My mind was long occupied with the finale. The words: Hanno ammazzato compare Turiddu

t chorus of my libretto by post (I composed the Siciliano

t make a large

at

larm

hy

so that I may begin to writ

d to be of no service to me, for in that night a son, the first of a row of them, was born to me. In spite of this I carried out my determination, and in the morning began to write the first chorus of "Cavalleria." I came to Rome in February, 1890, in order to permit the jury to hear my opera; th

of the orchestra, they all raise their arms and gesticulate, as if they were threatening me; and in my soul there awakens an echo of that cry of approval which almost prostrated me. The effect made upon me was so po

which no operatic singer can ever hope to match, was more to the purpose, quicker and stronger in movement, fiercer in its onrush of passion, and more pathetic in its silences than the opera with its music, though the note of pathos sounded by Signor Mascagni is the most admirable element of the score. With half a dozen homely touches Verga conjures up the life of a Sicilian village and strikes out his characters in bold outline. Turiddu Macca, son of Nunzia, is a bersagliere returned from servi

rings which her husband had given her. Opposite Alfio's house lived Massaro Cola, who was as rich as a hog, as they said, and

y these nice things to L

are worth a thousand Lolas; she isn't worthy of wearing your old

s and welcome, for then there

ould like to have a

ut I shall have a dowry as well as Lol

but Santa opened her window to him until the village gossips got busy with her name and his. Lola listened to the talk of the

who has the chance

ace and the villagers began to smile knowingly when he passed by. Alfio was making a round of the fairs with his

he dream," pl

my husband will want to kno

absolution. "I wouldn't send you to Rome for absolution," she said. Alfio

said Santa to him, "for when you are a

ure of what you are saying, or I'll

en't wept even when I have seen Turiddu

Alfio. "I thank

ish of sausages there on Easter eve. When Alfio came in Turiddu understood what he wanted by the way he fixed his eyes on him. "You know what I want to speak t

ms around his neck. "We'll talk this thing

he highway at sunrise, an

would be on hand, bit Alfio's ear. His companions left their sausages une

away to be a soldier you thought I would never come back? Kiss

ce in the haymow where he had hidden it when h

when her husband prepared to go out;

d Alfio, "and it will be bette

r a space, "as true as I live I know that I have wronged you, and I would let myself be killed if I had not seen my old mother when she got up on t

we will both strike hard!

ceived the first blow in his arm, and whe

ou really do in

aw her in the henyard I have m

shouted Alfio, "for I am goin

hand on the wound, which pained him. Suddenly he sei

ttempted to save himself by leaping backward, but Alfio struck hi

last for the head yo

He tried to say, "Ah, my dear mother!" but the

la. It was at Easter that Alfio returned to discover the infidelity of his wife, and hence we have an Easter hymn, one of the musical high lights of the work, though of no dramatic value. Verga aims to awaken at least a tittle of extenuation and a spark of sympathy for Turiddu by showing us his filial love in conflict with his willingness to make reparation to Alfio; Mascagni and his librettists do more by showing us the figure of the young soldier blending a request for a farewell kiss from his mother with a prayer for protection for the woman he has wronged. In its delineation of the tender emotions, indeed, the op

form which Leoncavallo followed,

n the vocal score mark climaxes in the dialogue. The first high point in the prelude is reached in the strain to

musical sco

musical sco

ody in which she pleads wit

musical sco

st as Lola's careless song, the Stornello, interrupts the passionate rush of Santuzza's p

he words "O Lola, blanca come flor di spin

and one of the most effective. We meet it also in the instrumentation-the harp accompaniment to the serenade, the paus

r. It is Easter morning and villagers and peasants are gathering for the Paschal mass. Church bells ring and the orchestra breaks in

excerpt setting the wor

ular beat and flux and reflux of

ords "Gliaranci olezzano sui verdi margini can

emplation of nature and thoughts of the Virgin Mother and Child in their hearts. Comes Santuzza, sore distressed, to Mamma Lucia, to inq

asure, endurable only for its offering of contrast, and we will not tarry with it, though the villagers echo it merrily. Alfio, too, has seen Turiddu, and Lucia is about to express her surprise when Santuzza checks her. The hour of devotion is come, and the c

f our Lord ri

f our Lord ev

musical sco

musical sco

uia!" and the song swells until the gates of sound fly wide open and we forget the theatre in a fervor of religious devoti

guishing devices of the veritist composers-the melodic triplet, an efficient help for the pushing, pulsating declamation with which the dramatic dialogue of Mascagni, Leoncavallo, and their fellows is carried on. Lucia can do no more for the unfortunate than commend her to the care of the Virgin. She enters the church and Turiddu comes. He lies

word "Fior di giaggiolo . . gli angel

d the Lord sees all things! None but the blameless should go to mass." But Lola will go, and so will Turiddu. Scorning Santuzza's pleadings and at last hurling her to the ground, he rushes into the church.

tolse, mi t

oglie lui

example setting

listeners; but the composer has not departed from the first principle of the master of whom, for a time, it was hoped he might be the legitimate su

e outbreak of

, ad esse n

pria che tra

example setting

t of the tumult of earthly passion proclaims celestial peace. Its instrumentation was doubtless borrowed from Hellmesberger's arrangement of the air "Ombra mai fu" from "Serse," known the world over as Handel's "Largo"-viol

musical sco

hat music of its charm. Ite missa est. Mass is over. The merry music of the first chorus returns. The worshippers are about to start homeward with pious reflections, when Turiddu detains Lola and invites his neighbors to a glass of Mamma Lucia's wine. We could spare the drinking song as easily as Alfio, entering, turns aside the cup which Turiddu proffers him. Turiddu understands.

musical sco

y of a child. "A kiss! Another kiss, mamma! Farewell!" Lucia calls after him. He is gone, Santuzza comes in with her phrase of music descriptive of her unhappy love. It grows to a thunderous crash. Then a hush! A fateful chord