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The Unjustly Neglected Works of Pietro Mascagni

Originally published in BBC Music Magazine in July 1997. This slightly expanded version was reprinted in High and Low arts/entertainment newsletter in the Winter '98/'99 issue.

With the first performers of Cavalleria Rusticana in 1890 Roberto Stagno, Leopoldo Mugnone Mascagni, and Gemma Bellincioni

In 1890, Pietro Mascagni (1863 - 1945), the baker's son from Livorno, made operatic history with Cavalleria Rusticana (Rustic Chivalry), which not only won the prestigious Sonzogno competition for one-acts, but began the "verismo" (realism) movement that influenced dozens of composers in Italy and elsewhere. Cavalleria told a moving story of unrequited love and betrayal via soaring melodies of true depth and feeling, and has been popular with international audiences for over one hundred years. The opera, generally considered a masterpiece, is held in higher regard by music critics than previously imagined, but there are those who find its music "crude," its emotion too raw – they find verismo too melodramatic. They could not dismiss Cavalleria no matter how hard they tried, but they did do their best to – unfairly – dismiss the fifteen stage works that followed.

The accepted "wisdom" about Mascagni is that he was a one-work composer whose inspiration ran out with his first opera, Cavalleria. In truth Mascagni's other operas reveal a hugely gifted composer who wasn't afraid to give the public something other than what it expected – and sometimes paid the price. Although none of his other works became an international sensation, most were quite successful in their day, performed not only in Italy but at major houses like Covent Garden and the Met. Mascagni founded verismo, but ironically only some of his operas are earthy dramas. He was constantly experimenting with different styles and subject matter.

L'amico Fritz (1891), his follow up to Cavalleria, was composed in a similarly intense style, but is actually a light, heart-warming romance with many beautiful melodies and a happy ending. I Rantzau (1892) – first cousins who are in love try to settle a feud between their fathers over the family fortune – combined verismo flavor with another happy ending. He composed Silvano (1895) – a virtual flood of melody for two acts – primarily to satisfy the demand for more verismo. Another passionate triangle melodrama that ends in murder, it was not as well-received as Cavalleria or his other out and out verismo effort, Amica (1905). In this two brothers are fighting not over a fortune but a woman. It has a vigorous and powerful score which some found "Wagnerian," but despite the large orchestra the music is pure Mascagni.

His other operas are all quite different from one another. Il piccolo Marat (1921), which was once very popular, is a story set during the French revolution. The title character, "Little Marat," pretends to be a fervent follower of Marat but is actually a prince who hopes to save his mother by gaining the trust of the enemy. This leads to poignant and horrifying complications. There are thunderous choruses to make the blood race, soaring orchestral passages, and a beautiful act two duet. Done well, the opera has an extremely powerful effect.

Mascagni at the time of Isabeau (1911)

Isabeau (1911) was another change of pace, a fantasy set in a mythical medieval kingdom. Luigi Illica's libretto reworks the legend of Godiva in a story that cannily examines sexual hypocrisy. Princess Isabeau angers her father by refusing all suitors. To humble her, he makes her ride nude on horseback through the town, but anyone who looks at her will be put to death. The woodsman Folco disobeys the edict – he feels that not looking will make the princess feel she has something to be ashamed of. Although Isabeau tries to save him from death by marrying him, he is torn apart by a mob – and she is mortally injured – before she can do so. Mascagni's lush, vibrant score and rich orchestrations bring this all to life in splendid fashion.

Mascagni composed an unabashed tearjerker in Lodoletta (1917), which details the star-crossed love affair between a Parisian exile, Flammen, and "the little dove," an orphaned Dutch girl. In act three, wondering what has become of Lodoletta after they parted, Flammen sings one of Mascagni's most inspired arias, "Ah! dove avrà posato..." A prime example of the exquisite tenderness and sensitivity with which Mascagni could compose, it is an anthem for anyone who has ever wondered what has become of a distant loved one.

Le Maschere (1901), which premiered in six cities on the same evening and failed in all but Rome, is Mascagni's most atypical work. He wanted to try his hand at a light Rossini-style opera in the tradition of the commedia dell'arte, and although he succeeded on an artistic level, it was not what the public wanted from him. Sì (1919) proved that he could write Viennese operetta – with an Italian twist – as well as anybody. Pinotta (1932), and Zanetto (1896) are also of interest.

Mascagni's personal favorite was Guglielmo Ratcliff (1895), in which he took Heinrich Heine's gothic play and simply set it to music (the earliest Italian example of "literaturoper"). Mascagni displayed his genius by writing music that exactly and expertly mirrors the words and thoughts of the characters. Full of great dramatic vitality and irresistible melodic power, it is arguably his greatest achievement.

But it gets strong competition from Parisina (1913), which Mascagni composed to a lengthy libretto by Gabriele d'Annunzio. That supreme sensualist d'Annunzio fashioned a story (from Byron's poem) about a young man, Ugo, who becomes obsessed with his sexy stepmother, Parisina – and vice versa. The centerpiece is an outstanding scene in Act Two in which Ugo saves his stepmother from invaders, and covered with their blood, declares his love for her. Unable to hold back her own feelings, Parisina suggests they go tripping amongst the corpses so they might find a man who is still barely alive and Parisina can watch him expire as she, the reason for his demise, is reflected in his eyes. Finally getting a grip on herself, Parisina then suggests she and Ugo enter the church to pray for atonement but, once inside, they can not resist their passion. The curtain falls as they grasp at and cling to each other in total abandonment, the church bell pealing sedately in ironic counterpoint. For this sequence and many others in the opera Mascagni composed the most highly-charged and intensely erotic music of his career.

A painting by Angiolo Tommasi (1858-1923) at the time of Iris (1898 or 1899)

One of his most successful post-Cavalleria operas was Iris (1898), again with a libretto by Illica. Iris is a young Japanese girl who is spirited away from her blind father by the owner of a brothel because his client, Osaka, badly desires her. Iris wants only to return to her garden, and Osaka's protestations of love fall on deaf ears. When her father manages to track her down he flings mud on her, assuming she left of her own free will. Inconsolable over this betrayal, Iris flings herself into a pit inside the brothel. In the final act her body washes out on a river bank where her mind imagines the various men in her short life reacting to her demise. The warming rays of the sun lift Iris out of this world and into the next, presumably, happier one.

Despite the sentimental conclusion, this is one of the least sentimental of operas. Iris is practically a "feminist" work, unflinchingly presenting the heroine's exploitation at the hands of men. Even her father worries more about who will take care of him than about his daughter. Mascagni's score is magnificent, but the gorgeous quality of Osaka's love arias (and his duet with Iris) is somewhat unsettling when you realize he's singing to a kidnapped child. Mascagni wasn't trying to sugarcoat the situation, however; Osaka wants to win the girl over by being at his most romantic, and the music reflects that. The Sun's Hymn that opens and closes the opera has become justifiably famous.

Clearly the influence of Iris (and L'amico Fritz) can be heard in Puccini's Madama Butterfly and in the works of other composers. Unlike Mascagni, Puccini kept giving the public more of what they wanted. It didn't help that Mascagni's lacerating wit, somewhat arrogant personality, and undeniable ego often made him enemies. By the time he'd composed his final opera, the interesting and noteworthy Nerone (1935), Alban Berg had come along with his atonal Wozzeck, and music of emotion and melody seemed, to some, old-fashioned.

Mascagni only became official composer of Mussolini's regime because he hoped it would lead to more performances of his operas, but when the Fascists were overturned his neglect was assured. People were conditioned to snicker at Mascagni. Critics who didn't understand or respond to the sweeping power of Cavalleria – written for the heart, not the head, as Mascagni put it – created an atmosphere in which praise of his work would be met with ridicule.

His operas are infrequently performed because it’s difficult to find voices that can handle them. Plàcido Domingo was disappointed when the Met cancelled a new production of Il piccolo Marat in 1982, but wrote in his memoirs that he found the work, "like some of the composer's other operas, unhealthy for the voice. The dramatic element is so underlined that it causes strain." One can imagine how lesser singers might feel! Although all of his operas have been recorded and all but two are available on CD, the quality (in both performance and audio reproduction) is uneven.

There are signs that Mascagni's many neglected masterpieces may be coming back into vogue, however. Iris has been revived in Rome (1996), London (1997), and at Ireland's Wexford Festival (1995); Guglielmo Ratcliff in Bonn (1997). New productions of L'amico Fritz are in the works.

The baker's son from Livorno would be pleased.

Author's note: Since the publication of this piece, all of Mascagni's operas are available on CD. A concert version of Iris at Alice Tully Hall in Lincoln Center was sold out; a triumph which got a standing ovation at the conclusion. Late in 2003, Ratcliff also got the concert treatment at Alice Tully hall. Although it was not a sell-out, it, too, was a triumph.