Poetry and Music: Pietro Mascagni's Parisina

1. CD review

Parisina

Denia Mazzola (Parisina), Vitali Taraschenko (Ugo d'Este), Tea Demurishvili (Stella dell'Assassino), Alexandre Vaneev (Nicolò d'Este), Laura Brioli (La Verde), Valery Ivanov (Aldobrando Rangone).

Philharmonic Orchestra of Montpellier Languedoc-Roussillon / Chorus of the Radio Lettone / Conductor: Enrique Diemecke / Chorus Master: Sigvards Klava.

* This is a version in three acts.

"[As] a convinced admirer of many of Mascagni's scores [...] I find it no less than scandalous that his Parisina is missing not only from the stage, but also from the record catalogs [...]", writes Elvio Giudici in Opera in CD and video, a point of view that we can only share. One of the two problems mentioned by the critic from Milan is now solved, since a recording of Parisina has finally been released in 2000. Pietro Mascagni's opera, on a text by Gabriele d'Annunzio, has suffered numerous torments in its brief stage history which are the subject of diverse interpretations whenever discussed. The focus of such discussions tends to be the opera's short life on the stage and the lack of interest it generates even nowadays, in spite of the trend towards exhuming scores that are obsolete, forgotten or buried, sometimes with reason.

The live performance of July 22, 1999 in Montpellier, where Parisina was given in concert form, is of excellent quality and finally allows us to appreciate the opera with a clear sound. However the version chosen features cuts that the front page of the booklet attributes to Pietro Mascagni himself, who cut heavily from the opera already on the day after its first première at La Scala on December 15, 1913. This indication is incorrect, however, because the cuts made by Mascagni were never codified in the score. At La Scala, besides the removal of the fourth act which has persisted, the composer adjusted the cuts evening after evening. Furthermore, the cuts made for the subsequent local premieres in Livorno and Rome only partly matched the ones made at La Scala. Mascagni had to complain to Edoardo Vitale, conductor of some of the Roman performances, because of disagreements with the latter's changes. It is probable that the cuts in this recording are based on those decided by Gianandrea Gavazzeni for the productions of Livorno in 1952 and/or Rome in 1978. In that last production, the fourth act was reintegrated and the large choral parts of the first act were not mercilessly deleted as was the case in Montpellier.

We have alluded above to the brevity of the performance history of Parisina, even though the work, ever since the first indication that an opera by the the collaboration of Mascagni and d'Annunzio was in the works, was initially internationally anticipated. The reasons that have led to cutting the wings of Parisina have been considered to be on one hand its excessive length, and on the other hand the failure of Mascagni to sustain his own creation with enough conviction, making major cuts since its second performance, thus giving credit not only to the opinion of those who considered the length a real flaw of the opera, but also to the idea of a fundamental lack of balance in the original work. Furthermore the war that broke out in 1914 and the upheaval of values that followed made the terrain difficult for the aestheticism of the text and its powerful translation and recreation in musical terms, thus making the work difficult to understand and appreciate. To complete this picture let's not forget the difficulties of execution, in particular regarding the part of the tenor; the harsh disagreements with d'Annunzio, who later wanted to perform Parisina as a play; as well as the ideological events at the center of which Mascagni was standing. This is the basis for understanding the difficulties met by this opera, but it remains difficult to explain the fact that its qualities are still not fully recognized.

In spite of some clear flaws, listening to this recording turns out to be helpful in this regard. One reason has already been mentioned: the clarity of the sound allows the musical texture to be distinctly detailed, which so far had been difficult with the available recordings. Two versions have been circulating: a quite old but large selection, as well as an almost complete RAI edition. The selection, with Alessandro Dolci, Laura Del Lungo and Francisca Solari, accompanied by an orchestra possibly conducted by Mascagni himself, goes back to 1914. The cast is that of the Livorno performances of the same year. The quality of the sound however prevents any serious evaluation of the opera. The RAI version was broadcast by the Italian Radio in 1976 and was performed by Emma Renzi, Mirella Parutto, Mirna Pecile, Michele Molese and Benito Di Bella. The orchestra of the RAI of Milan was conducted by Pierluigi Urbini. That recording is good in many ways, first because it is almost complete (the cuts are few) and also because it is a professional-grade execution with a more than adequate Pierluigi Urbini and a very effective Molese, especially as far as phrasing is concerned. However these two recordings are almost impossible to find and, if in the first case listening is an exercise reserved to audiophiles, in the second case the difficulty of obtaining the recording is the only true reason which prevents access to a good performance of Parisina, even though the sound is not quite up to modern standards.

Another reason why the Actes Sud release appears important to us is the presence of Denia Mazzola, who creates a Parisina of great standing, being a singer and interpreter of a very high level and for this reason adequate for the score. Denia Mazzola's voice does not necessarily have the natural qualities required for the part, being inclined towards darker tones and not conveying the sort of innocent fragility that is a fundamental quality of the character, whether in its role of a young wife initially faithful (in every meaning of the term), or in its role of young lady devastated by passion. Denia Mazzola however has a broad voice, which goes from low, resonant notes, to a firm middle register and a secure and perfectly sustained high register. Sometimes we hear notes that seem to fail the canto in maschera technique , but these moments are largely paid off not only by obvious technical skills that can be found, for example, in the homogeneity of the registers or the perfect legato, but also in the interpretative adherence to the character. The singer actually manages to be convincing as a young and faithful wife, but also as a woman devastated by passion for her step-son Ugo. Listen for example to "Ecco la rete dei miei capelli" or "Dio ci aiuti! Esperta sei del ceppo?" with the lamentation "Or che saria di Parisina?" which concludes a piece where the atmosphere of burning erotic perdition dominates perfectly, sustained by a very thin thread of voice. It is refreshing to ponder the substance of sentences like "[...] Nella grazia / del vòto or siamo entrambi, / restituiti entrambi / alla grazia divina.", with all the fake devotion, or the peroration to Ugo "Vinci il nemico, / scaccia il maligno / che sta nell'ombra, / che nell'ombra ci agguata.", which explodes in a desperate attempt to avoid the ineluctable. The piano or pianissimo of the highest register, the smorzature, the assottigliamenti (consider "La notte ha la sua via, / ha la sua via la notte") that inform the interpretation, besides showing an unusual talent, are technicalities that in the end build a plausible understanding of the character, therefore making this recording quite important.

Vitali Tarashenko sings the part of Ugo. Unfortunately this tenor doesn't have a naturally pleasant voice, and he possesses only an elementary technique that displays all its limitations when confronted with such a role. The cuts applied in this version seem to help Tarashenko, since they often concern pieces sung by the tenor. Incidentally, those cuts are often made in pieces of great effect that are among Mascagni's most beautiful compositions. We are thinking, for example, of "Io solo / ti guarderò, io solo" in the second act. Today, finding a singer able to take on the role, and perform it well, is a very difficult enterprise. The first performer of the role was Hipolito Lazaro, who is remembered in the history of the operatic voice as one of its most extraordinary singers, capable of passionate outbursts with a phenomenal squillo, and a resounding capacity to tolerate the insistent vocal hammering, which, in this particular case, characterizes the part of Ugo. He was also extremely skilled at phrasing, at ease in the extreme pianissimo and a champion at being distinct in a near-whisper. Again in this case we have a confirmation that it is necessary to tackle forgotten scores with adequate performers.

The part of Ugo is one of the most seductive and exalting tenor roles that have ever been devised, at least in the first decades of the 20th century. We find here a fusion of both the strong demand of athletic strength, and of a technical knowledge which must be absolutely solid. It is indeed necessary to be able to handle a tessitura which gravitates like few others around F / F sharp / G, which ascends to the natural A frequently (but there are only six B flats) and where the necessity of the legato is essential. In addition, the melancholy and sorrow of some phrases requires mainly a great morbidity. Let's think of "Or voi / composto m'avereste nella bara" or a sentence like "e noi due, soli insieme / noi due lasciati fossimo di qua / dalla morte [...]". Mascagni's writing adheres perfectly to d'Annunzio's neurotic and feverish character. The translation that the author from Livorno makes of the verses from the poet of Pescara's is calibrated to the perfection and it is not possible to listen to the singing embodying this transposition if it is inadequate, because it then immediately becomes a ridiculous parody. Magnificent phrases like "A te torre d'avorio", or the entrance of Ugo in the second act with the brilliant and difficult "Vittoria" must assert themselves by the propulsive strength that the performer is able to instill into them. This propulsive strength means a sound completely immascherato, well arrested on the air column, sufficiently large, free of any appearance of breathlessness, homogeneous in the three registers, legato and soft. In a broadcast about Parisina on the second RAI channel in December 1978, Angelo Sguerzi said that "one must know how to sing Mascagni". The choice of Tarashenko was probably made in accordance with realistic production criteria that had to be subordinate to other elements, such as the role of Parisina, the orchestra and the chorus.

Vaneev has a beautiful voice, but he probably suffers from some of the difficulties common to otherwise excellent singers from Eastern Europe when they perform the Italian repertoire. The baritone in fact deports himself quite well, but he often has issues articulating some words and in the passagio, which sometimes sounds artificial, and the high register also appears to reveal insufficient practice for the position of the voice required by this repertory. Vaneev has in fact shown excellent qualities in Russian operas, which here are not fully realized. But on the whole the part is outlined with enough precision and an acceptable color and turns out not too disappointing. This part is unrewarding, because it is short but also very difficult, with frequent leaps to high notes and the necessity to give it enough interpretative substance. The passage of "Cristo Signore, perchè tu mi fulmini" will reward the singer only if he renders it with the expressive abilities of a great performer. It was not by accident that the creator of the role was a monster called Carlo Galeffi.

Laura Brioli gives life to La Verde. The character doesn't allow many moments during which the performer can really come to the foreground, as if designed always to remain a subordinate of Parisina. But it is an important role because depending on the quality of the performer, the great scene at the beginning of the third act will succeed or not, and because she provides support so that Parisina can express herself with the maximum efficiency. This is a character that must be built with intelligence and that lends itself to a profound interpretation, something Laura Brioli manages only halfway.

Conductor Enrique Diemecke makes a reading of the score which is not entirely homogeneous. Sometimes the approach is very square, intense, vital, but sometimes it seems that the orchestra tends to lose itself by stretching the tempi a little too much, where we would have preferred tighter tempi, in the same way we would have preferred less of that huge sound which sometimes becomes almost heavy. But Diemecke had to face many problems: the fact that he had to support the tenor as much as possible has probably restrained his freedom of movement, and in our opinion the cuts don't help the conductor because they introduce imbalances that are hard to compensate. For example the elimination, in the second act, of the marvelous coro delle fante ("Spingono il carro su per l'erta") which describes the battle, is not only a very sad decision because it removes a great musical page from the work, but it disarticulates the scene, taking away the accumulation of potential energy which should transform into kinetic energy with the "Vittoria" of the male protagonist, which follows immediately with an explosive effect. Similar arguments can be made for the even more painful removal of Ugo's "Ero con loro su l'abisso buio" all the way to the last verse sung by Parisina, which closes the act with the simple words "Vieni / M'inginocchio: Inginocchiati. Preghiamo." In this way the entire conclusion of the scene that ends the act, where the incest for which the two lovers will eventually die is consummated, is emptied of tension and meaning. Considering all this, the work of Diemecke appears good, managing to propose a terse and analytic reading, so as to render with satisfaction the splendor of this score.

The choirs are excellent, well integrated into the varied and rich palette that Mascagni has prepared in Parisina. Both male and female voices turn out more than satisfactory, catching efficiently the expressions by turns languid and lost, intense and vibrant, sorrowful, or meditative and intimate, that the score dictates.

2. Considerations about Parisina

This recording is acceptable as a selection of Parisina large enough to give a rather good idea of the work. But the fact remains that in its entirety the work expresses much more, proposing itself as an absolute of the opera of the 20th century. Furthermore, the criticisms against the opera seem to us to suffer from errors that have persisted for a long time.

A frequent criticism regards the opera’s excessive length. It seems to us that this criticism was established only because the author belongs to a group of composers that has not produced long works, and in particular because Mascagni is remembered as a composer who gives the best of himself in short distances only, one who generates a lot of fire in a small space: therefore an opera of such large dimensions can only be of secondary value and appear too long - that is, in the end, boring. In reality long operas, if they are beautiful, are long and beautiful, and otherwise they are long and unattractive. If you cut from them, the beautiful ones become less beautiful and the unattractive ones remain unattractive and boring, even though they are amputated. Captive for six hours watching Parsifal, 99% of the audience at a performance of such an immense masterpiece will consider it a difficult experience wherever it is produced. Watching Einstein on the Beach, a work which is much less of a masterpiece and lasts for eight hours, now that it is out of fashion, is even more of a difficult experience. The same argument goes for Don Carlos. Parisina is difficult in the same way: it is no longer a contemporary work, like most of the operas performed today, therefore it must be tackled with intellectual and cultural tools that are not available to everybody. In this case time as a physical entity measured in seconds, minutes and hours, in other words as a duration, doesn't make any sense anymore. It did at the time Parisina came out, when opera was still popular, but today what is important is the value of the opera as a conceptual entity, as a whole artistic product. Because commercial revenue has become marginal in opera today, bringing up again such an argument in these same terms doesn't have any ground. It is possible to maintain that this work is boring because it is not beautiful or not entirely beautiful, but in this case one should not talk about excessive length but about artistic value, and develop appropriate arguments on this topic. Talking about Wagner, it is necessary to remember that in Italy his works were always performed with cuts. For Ricordi, Giacomo Puccini handled the scalpel. Giulio Ricordi himself entrusted the composer with the duty of "containing" the abundance of the German composer with targeted but large excisions. The fact that operas of such a mastodontic size as Parisina were not usual could only influence the public and the critic, who were bound to the customs of the time.

Another criticism is that of the supposedly unsuccessful fusion between the music of Mascagni and the verse of d'Annunzio. D'Annunzio in this case is presented as an inferior poet who writes the tragedy motivated only by financial gain to repay debts. According to this point of view, d'Annunzio writes with his left hand, parodies himself, and is followed by a Mascagni hanging to his lips, bent by the poet's will, putting into music the overflowing text including, as the composer himself said, "even the commas." In reality the docility of the composer to d'Annunzio is partly true. But first, such docility was not qualitatively different from the one Mascagni showed towards other librettists. One thinks about the relationship with Illica or about the problems Mascagni had with Il piccolo Marat, where he was forced to turn to his friend Targioni-Tozzetti to get the libretto completed, given the incapacity of the composer to persuade Forzano, who wrote a little more than half of the work, to respect his engagements. Second, Mascagni actually left out over 300 verses from the total that Parisina initially counted, an obvious sign that Mascagni did perform containment and pruning, eventually keeping only what he considered opportune, and not genuflecting without criticizing in front of his librettist, as is usually believed. But even this is not particularly important. What is fundamental, however, is the value added to d'Annunzio's verse when supported by the music of the composer from Livorno, and the value added to the the music when accompanying d'Annunzio's verse.

A point of view of the critic that is almost impossible to attack consists in considering Parisina as a text for the theater only. Giovanni Antonucci writes that from the beginning (see the review by Adriano Belli "La prima di Parisina alla Scala" in the Corriere della Sera of December 16, 1913) it was obvious that "[...] Parisina was more a text for the theater than an opera libretto [...]" and that this "[...] was demonstrated by the extraordinary success that it got when it was put on stage at the Teatro Argentina of Rome on December 16, 1921, by the talented director Virgilio Talli and two performers of the charism of Alda Borelli and Ruggero Ruggeri. A triumph that was repeated during the tour and that was consecrated at the Lirico of Milan the following February." ¹ The success was not only from the public, but also from the critic which cohesively lauded the production. Among the most important critics to exalt the values of the work, Silvio D'Amico in Idea Nazionale (December 17, 1921), Renato Simoni in Corriere della Sera (February 15, 1922) and Marco Praga in L'Illustrazione Italiana (February 22, 1922) who, remembers Antonucci, as an author was antithetic to d'Annunzio. 1921 was a year of great satisfaction for Mascagni as well, with the world premiere on May 2 in Rome of Il piccolo Marat, which attained an immense success. But what happened with Parisina made him deeply bitter and the attempts he made to prevent its performance in its theatrical version, without his music, failed due to the opposition of d'Annunzio and the same Casa Sonzogno which authorized that staging. Mascagni obviously feared that the success of a Parisina without his music would create even bigger problems for the work, and he was right. The much more lukewarm reception of Parisina as a play in 1927 with Giulietta De Riso and Filippo Scelzo left intact the idea now well rooted that the poet himself had not given credit to the collaboration with Mascagni, defending only his own actions, and even inclined towards preferring Ildebrando Pizzetti's Fedra. See on this subject the old essays by Rubens Tedeschi, "D'Annunzio e la musica", which takes such a position for granted. With his Roman production of 1921, the negative aesthetic evaluation that d'Annunzio implicitly credited to Mascagni's Parisina has weighted violently on the life of the unfortunate opera of the author or Iris.

By now enough time should have passed that we can free ourselves of the interpretative grids that such historical events have created or suggested, so that we can see with more freedom and less constraints, and therefore not take for granted that Parisina is only a play and not an opera libretto. In fact categories applied generically, and for this reason immediately without value, often turn out not to be very useful for the role they were initially meant to fulfill, even less so if they are applied to something unique like Parisina. We trust that most will agree about the originality of Parisina, about its trait of uniqueness, at least in the Italian cultural panorama of its time. If Parisina is a work unique in its genre, it is therefore necessary to sharpen the interpretative weapons, and to avoid using the same mechanisms that work in common situations.

If we use for example the famous criterion of the functionality of the text, we are already misled. The text must be functional when the author of the music frames the whole opera and verifies, weighs, analyzes exactly the functionality of the libretto in relationship with his own qualities of composer. In the case of Gabriele d'Annunzio who, whether we want it or not, is a giant of literature and a true genius of the word, one cannot just order a libretto. It is not by chance that his collaboration with Puccini failed. The impossibility for the composer of Lucca to hold in his hands the whole opera, story, verse and of course music, did not permit, and would never had permitted, such a collaboration. D'Annunzio was neither Illica nor Giacosa, and even less Zangarini, Forzano, Targioni-Tozzetti, or Colautti. Obviously it was conceded to d'Annunzio sufficient freedom of action and it was necessary to put much more trust into his creative faculties than was the case for the other librettists of the time. Otherwise what sense would it have made to have d'Annunzio at one's disposal? It was without any doubt a situation in which one had to take a risk, and the only composer unreasonable enough to do so was Pietro Mascagni, who did not at all behave as a doormat in front of the genius of the Immaginifico, but instead worked with common sense. Since the text came before the music he worked on the text, looking at structuring the musical language so that the verse would be able to gain energy through the singing and shine under a completely new light, even when subordinated to the discipline of a sung musical line and wrapped within the necessary musical drapery. The point was that the text was almost untouchable, under penalty of altering a rightly inflexible construction to the wants of the musician.

It is assumed today that this text is of lesser quality, that it belongs to an inferior d'Annunzio. As Giovanni Antonucci said it, it is not possible not to underline that this tragedy is "[...] inferior – from many points of views – to Francesca da Rimini [...]" even though he adds that "[...] on the other hand, it has a linearity of structure and an essentiality of language that are singularly successful." ² And Barberi Squarotti writes that "it is a sort of mix between the ferocity of Francesca which returns in an exasperatingly sadistic war scene [...], and the passionate ascension of Fedra which has a similar theme, but without the extreme of the former and the titanic absoluteness of the latter." ³ That Parisina is inferior to Francesca da Rimini is certain if the two texts are confronted as if they were both on the same level, that the former was conceived for the theater in the same way the latter was. But Parisina was not written with this purpose, but rather in order to be put into music; and the profile that the author has given to the piece is determined by this objective. This "linearity of structure", this "essentiality of language", its lack of "extreme" or of "titanic absoluteness" as says Barberi Squarotti, really appear to be the touches introduced by d'Annunzio to give his tragedy a shape which is adapted to the opera. The marriage with the music, which was the destiny of Parisina, was obviously present in d'Annunzio's mind and his efforts have gone in that direction. The work of verse selection performed by Mascagni has given its final shape to a text that finds its ultimate possibility of expression and its maximum valuation in the marriage with music. This is true on the condition of not confining the text to the narrowness of the interpretative categories mentioned above, but tackling it and considering it in full harmony with the music of which it is part, forming a superior synthesis which is indissoluble.

Besides, we are easily tempted to consider absolute the idea of "inferiority", when in fact it is a relative quality: something is inferior to something else. If an object is in the paradise of the beautiful, being inferior to that object is normal. Now Francesca da Rimini well resembles that supremely beautiful object, and being inferior to it doesn't mean at all being mediocre or ugly. The problem is really in absolutely wanting to consider Parisina something on which Mascagni's music was applied artificially. D'Annunzio was wrong, even from an artistic point of view, to demand the right to give his tragedy as a play. The success that effort received does not diminishes our conviction, born from the other conviction that Mascagni found the musical form adequate for Gabriele d'Annunzio's words and that this experience represents a real gem in the history of Italian opera. With the contact of d'Annunzio's words, wrote Gianandrea Gavazzeni, "[...] the stylistic keyboard of Mascagni reacts. It is greatly enriched [...]: the chromatic clashes à la Strauss, or the impressionistic touches, in the harmonic palette, or the development of declamato. There is the intent, in general, to give musical life to the characters and to the atmosphere. The whole creative system responds to the excitement of the text. And the themes acquire plasticity, the movement of the discourse takes on long developments with flexible outcomes. The writing lingers with a precious care. The orchestral score provides important hints: matter in movement, malleable, deep; matter that has density, violence, transparency, realizations of timbres that Mascagni had never before specified with so many instrumental inventions." ⁴

The point of view of Emilio Sala is singular: he turns his back 180 degrees to the conviction that Parisina is above all a work for the theater in the full sense, maintaining that it is instead a true libretto, that is an "[...] inferior product, simply functional." ⁵ Our opinion, expressed above, is completely contrary, but it doesn't hurt to remember how pernicious it is to start with the absolute thesis that a text for opera is necessary inferior. Presenting things this way really negates the ideal objective of an opera, which looks for an encounter on equal terms of all the arts included in harmony in a single expressive unity, that is it negates the century-long efforts of all those who have written operas with such a perspective in mind. D'Annunzio was a perfect candidate to enter the race towards this goal.

3. The attitude of the critics

One benefit of writing in a magazine published twice a year is the opportunity of reading a great deal about arguments that we can then consider with a relative tranquility. The subject of Parisina is no exception and we have been able to read some reviews that have appeared in other magazines, some of which have proposed interesting points of discussion. However we have also discovered that there is a Parisina problem and that the problem of Parisina is in fact the Mascagni problem. The musician from Livorno is still not talked about according to autonomous evaluation criteria, but still according to old ideas which are quite unfortunately reiterated ad nauseam and used like a worn sock. Important names – and the situation is serious just for this reason - are still relying on these ideas today, making it even easier to perpetuate critical opinions which are more than out of date.

For example, the constant allusion, still made in recent publications, to the "verismo" of Mascagni, when talking about any of his compositions, is the measure of the superficiality with which the matter is treated. It ignores that it has been largely shown that the so-called "verismo" period was in fact very brief and that the characterization of this period presents notable difficulties to the point where it appears, after a serious analysis, extremely ambiguous. It ignores or, even worse, it pretends to ignore, that the protagonists of "verismo", with Mascagni at the helm, diverged from it quite rapidly. It does not take into account at all that their artistic production has largely been under the influence of the extremely various and powerful cultural climates that followed each other with increasing frequency since the last century. In the case of Mascagni, this is instead interpreted according to the old idea that his changes of direction were subordinated to a sort of obstinate search to renew the success of Cavalleria. Massimo Mila had this concept of Mascagni over forty years ago. If we used greater speculative reason, instead of constantly playing the same disc that repeats opinions formulated in cultural conditions light-years away from us, we would reach conclusions as provocative, but at least they would be supported by the courage of the argumentation. Or we would realize that the change of the direction of these composers in fact reflected a superior capacity to absorb the artistic needs that appeared around them and that imposed themselves to the times.

Let's consider a practical example. In an authoritative magazine we have read, written with extreme confidence, that "In the history of music Parisina deserves at most a footnote." The way we are looking at things, professionalism would require a perfectly justified analysis of such a statement. But the author continues: "In fact, musically its qualities are very limited: there is no trace of the fresh melodic vein of Cavalleria, and the dense chromaticism with which Mascagni attempts to replace it smells of staleness (the opera is from 1913)." Let's consider for a moment that in Parisina there are musical devices that go back to the Gregorian, or that follow some patterns from the 16th century, inserted into a very modern way of writing that doesn't ignore the most recent European inventions. The excerpt reported above is interesting because it appears to be a pure distillation of clichés that perpetuate themselves and conveniently leave the brain in neutral gear. How can Parisina be an antiquity when resorting to dense chromaticism, but would not be one if went back to the "melodic vein of Cavalleria"? How does it make sense that an author like Mascagni is reactionary if he uses means with which Wagner has reached perfection, and which have been used again with genius by Strauss? It seems to us that the capacity to absorb and build upon the new is extremely strong for a musician formed to the school of Amilcare Ponchielli.

It is clear here that the idea (this one actually stale) persists that Pietro Mascagni is the author of a single opera, Cavalleria, whereas nowadays it would make sense to include at least L'amico Fritz (first example of this style of sung conversation that Giacomo Puccini will know how to handle with mastery), Iris (in which the importance of the novelty of the instrumentation prefigures the innovations that will take place soon in Europe), or even Le maschere (opera of a theatrical realization of amazing intuitions and musically structured with the re-proposal of stylistic devices from the 18th century, in 1901, as would do afterwards, for example, Stravinsky and Strauss).

The commentator continues saying however that Mascagni "[...] apparently so different from d'Annunzio [...]" is able to "[...] translate into music the decadent spirit of his verses [...]" that manage to "[...] create an appropriately unhealthy sonic atmosphere in which this 'medieval' tragedy can develop [...]" and also that "[...] in the moment of the embrace (finale of the second act) Mascagni creates a climax that translates perfectly into music the subtitles of d'Annunzio [...]"; and he adds: "It is of little importance that this is film music: the movie remains fascinating." So Mascagni is repulsive but he is brave, he writes film music but he is fascinating. The irrationality of these statements seems clear to us but we invite to the reflection, after listening to Parisina, to verify if and how much gratuity there is in the words "film music" used with such obvious and intentional lack of care.

The problem obviously does not reside in the opinion one may have of the music of Mascagni or any other composer, but in the way such considerations are expressed and the arguments that support them. The disregard that permeates from certain authors is really tiring, because it appears so narrow-minded and falsely snobbish. The writer of the excerpt quoted is Stephen Hastings, who has just become director of the magazine in which his piece appears (MUSICA no. 119, August-September 2000).

Poetry and Music: Pietro Mascagni's Parisina

Table of Contents

1. CD review

2. Considerations about Parisina

3. The attitude of the critics