OPERA The Italian Opera Company of Chicago

Cavalleria rusticana and Pagliacci are often paired together in one evening of opera, and what an evening it makes! Besides the audience's sheer enjoyment of experiencing two masterpieces for the price of one, there are other good reasons to stage these operas together. First of all, both are essentially one-act operas which, when separated by an intermission of reasonable length, take no more time than a single opera of normal duration, just about three hours. A more important consideration, however, is the direct historical and aesthetic link between the two operas, in that Cavalleria and Pagliacci are the only two operas of the so-called verismo school that continue to maintain an unassailable position in the standard repertoire. Indeed, these two operas are the defining examples, the Alpha and the Omega, of verismo, based primarily on their content and style. A more liberal definition of the term, which implies that all Italian operas composed in the period between 1890 and 1924 are of the verismo persuasion, does not accommodate the idea of what exactly makes an opera verismo. Not, at least if you insist on the meaning of the term from a dramatic standpoint.

Does an opera of the verismo (a term derived from the Latin root meaning "truth") depict, as Tonio says, "un squarcio di vita" (a slice of life)? Perhaps. But not any ordinary kind of life with which most of us are acquainted. Both operas are first and foremost tragedies, in that the heroes of each accept their respective fates and are destroyed because of that acceptance. These verismo tragedies, however, differ from standard tragic operas in a couple of ways. Most importantly, unlike the more orthodox treatments of the tragic form, the characters in both works are commoners, not nobles. In this regard, Bizet's Carmen is the direct ancestor of the verismo. We can go back to Day One of opera and we will not find a single important serious work wherein the characters are not of the nobility until we get to Carmen. Neither are any typical tragic operas other than Carmen and the verismo set in contemporary times. This too reflects an ancient rule of tragedy that goes back to the Greeks. (We recall Verdi's frustration with all opera companies that produced La traviata in their insistence in staging the work in 17th century trappings, according to this time-honored tradition.)

Another novelty of verismo opera was the radical overhaul of the language. For centuries, libretti were constructed with verses of various metric schemes – recurring lines of five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten and eleven syllables. These lines also had to rhyme in one pattern or another, and the prose was extremely elevated. In the verismo of Cavalleria and Pagliacci the characters spoke ordinary common, or idiomatic, language with no regard to metric regularity. Championed and practiced by Luigi Illica, this is a feature that was embraced by almost all Italian composers and librettists from then on whether they peopled their works with common folk or not. This liberation of speech from the confining limitations of rigid prosody is something else that Verdi sought vainly to achieve for many years, even with Boito. Along with the dialogue, the melody was now free to float to where it could have the greatest dramatic impact.

If a single word were sought to describe the drama of Cavalleria rusticana, an apt choice would be “primitive”. In recounting the story of this opera, there is not much more one can add to this synopsis: “In a tiny Sicilian village, a man who has an affair with a married woman is betrayed to the woman’s husband by his former and impregnated girlfriend, and is consequently killed by the husband.” Now how basic can you get? Yet, that this simple scenario could be set to music so effectively is not only a testimony to the genius of the composer, but is also a remarkable demonstration of how the medium of opera can transform and elevate even the most basic theme to a work of artistic grandeur.

In creating his single masterpiece Pietro Mascagni was not exactly treading on new dramatic ground, as far as plot is concerned. Sex, especially the kind of illicit sex that inevitably leads to violence and death, is a common element in the plots of almost all operas from Mozart through Puccini. Indeed, it is difficult to name an opera in which illicit sex or at least the desire for it does not drive the action to its climax. Characters like Almaviva or Don Giovanni or the Duke of Mantua, are driven solely by the singleminded motivation of sexual conquest. More typical of Turiddu's predecessors are Pollione, Romeo, Don Pasquale, Di Luna, Alfredo, Des Grieux, Faust, Don Carlo, Don Jose and Radames, just to name a few. But in the operas populated by these characters, more complex activity usually occurs. In Cavalleria, unlike any earlier opera, our attention is exclusively drawn to two of the most primal forces of our species, lust and violence, without any regard for social trappings or historical background or any subplot that diffuses the dramatic interest. Cavalleria is also, as much as any opera, truly a “mood” piece, in which the atmosphere of the setting is as important as the action. Consider this one example: when Turiddu is killed at the end, everyone knows it was Alfio who killed him. But in a quaint expression of Sicilian omerta it is reported: “Hanno ammazzato...” (They killed him).

We have often pondered why Mascagni was unable to compose another opera that succeeds like Cavalleria. There is no completely satisfactory solution to this problem. Genius, after all, is a spiritual mystery that cannot be explained in scientific terms. The fact is that Mascagni’s genius flowered only when he composed the archetypal verismo opera (interestingly, the only real verismo piece he ever produced). It is also significant that, except for Leoncavallo, no other composer was successful with this genre. Puccini, an infinitely greater composer than either Mascagni or Leoncavallo, failed miserably with Il tabarro, his aquatic version of Cavalleria. It is always risky to ascribe too much importance to environmental factors experienced by an artist, to the consideration of an artist’s work. It is nevertheless very tempting to reflect on Mascagni’s living condition and his surroundings at the time of Cavalleria’s composition as an attempt to partially solve the vexing riddle of his indisputable claim to just one shining moment of operatic glory.

From the opening siciliana (in dialect) and rugged peasant chorus to the crashing seventh chords that punctuate the death of Turiddu, the music is permeated with the flavor of Southern Italy. Did Mascagni unconsciously soak up the atmosphere of the South to the extent that when his inspiration was triggered by a Sicilian subject he was able then and only then to produce an opera of such unquestioned excellence? We may never be completely satisfied with this theory but it appears as good as any, especially when we consider that after Mascagni made his fortune with Cavalleria he never again took on a subject that touched on the sunny lands and hot blood of southern Italy. It would certainly not be the first or the last time that fame and fortune resulted from being in the right place at the right time.

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Pagliacci shares many common features with Cavalleria rusticana, most noticeably its language, its brevity, its verismo trappings of plot simplicity, common folk characters and its dramatic preoccupation with adultery and revenge. And like Mascagni, Leoncavallo never again wrote another decent opera. Interestingly, Leoncavallo’s Pagliacci was influenced by a true-life experience of its composer (the son of a rural magistrate, Leoncavallo witnessed as a child the trial of an itinerant actor who killed his adulterous wife). And both musically and dramatically, the signature works of Mascagni and Leoncavallo are quite different. If the term “primitive” describes Cavalleria, the word for Pagliacci is “classical.” All classic tragedies are “character” dramas. For tragedy to occur, the audience needs to feel for the predicaments of the characters. The only way this can happen is if the characters are fleshed out so vividly that we can relate to their suffering -- the depiction of bad things happening to a relatively unknown character is not enough to elevate simple misery to a tragic level. Nor will this produce much audience sympathy, let alone evoke a catharsis (the prime reason for tragedy, according to Aristotle). For example, when Turiddu dies in Cavalleria, how many people in the audience are moved to tears? All we really know about him is that he is in love with another man’s wife, who is no great prize herself, and that he has coldly spurned the future mother of his child. But the dramatic and musical characterization in Pagliacci is far more sophisticated and gripping, and really forms the essence of the opera.

Canio is one of the most memorable and tragic figures in all of opera. This is not because he is a particularly virtuous character, but because Leoncavallo has so masterfully opened up his soul through word and song. This is accomplished by brutal irony of a magnitude comparable to Sophocles’ Oedipus. In the opening scene Canio unknowingly anticipates what is to follow with lines like these:

“You’ll see the ravings of the crafty clown, you’ll see him avenge”

and

“The theater and life are not the same! If up there the clown surprises his wife with a suitor in his room, he gives a funny speech...But if Nedda should take me unaware the story would end differently...If that’s a joke, believe me, it’s better not to joke!”

And then comes his signature aria, an aria that exemplifies tragic opera --unforgettable in its melody and sublime in its pathos:

“Perform! While seized with delirium…But then you must force yourself!…You’re a clown! Put on the costume and whiten your face…Transform to jest your agony and tears, your sob and grief to a funny face! Ah! Laugh, clown, over your shattered love. Laugh at the pain poisoning your heart.”

Thus Canio, already ripped by the realization of his wife’s infidelity, accepts a fate that demands that he must suffer the scornful laughs of the crowd as he portrays a hapless cuckold and, in so doing, enters the realm of high tragedy.

Nedda is also a tragic character. Torn between her loyalty for the husband who rescued her from starvation, and her love for Silvio, and finally prompted to choose the latter by the repulsive advances of Tonio, she arouses the pity of the audience for her seemingly hopeless situation. But this effect is achieved and enhanced because she is given some beautiful music as well, in which she clearly reveals a beauty of spirit -- in the quasi-coloratura-laced aria, “Oh! che volo d’augelli”, and in her subsequent love duet and ensemble parts in the play scene.

A most intriguing character in the opera is Tonio, a latter day Rigoletto of sorts. Deformed and abused, and driven to revenge, Tonio is the catalyst that sparks the tragic climax. As the drama’s Prologue, he too sings some fine music as he articulates what is effectively the verismo credo:

“... The author has sought…to show you a glimpse of life...the sad fruits of hatred. Spasms of sorrow, agony, shouts of anger...and cynical laughter...consider our souls, because we are men of flesh and bones, and in this inhospitable world, just as you do, we breathe the air!”

Leoncavallo achieves a degree of complexity in Pagliacci that is never approached in Cavalleria, by skillful dramaturgy that is unsurpassed in any opera I can recall. This is partially accomplished by the “play within a play” scene, as effective a use of this device as in Shakespeare’s Hamlet. Here again the full impact of his dramatic ideas are brought to fruition by music -- the “classical” style of the Commedia dell’arte contrasting with the contemporary voice of the “real” characters. But even more subtle is the way that the composer alternates reality and fantasy throughout the opera until, at the finale, what is real becomes totally indistinguishable from what is staged, as expressed by the ultimate line, “La commedia è finita!” (A line given by the composer to Tonio, but seized by Caruso, and hence usually spoken by the tenor.)