t, encounters Nedda; but Silvio has fled, and
she refuses to give his name. He attempts to stab her, but is
prevented by Beppe, and the act closes with the final preparation for
the show, the grief-stricken husband donning the motley in gloomy and
foreboding silence.
The second act opens with Tonio beating the big drum, and the people
crowding to the show, among them Silvio, who manages to make an
appointment with Nedda while she is collecting the money. The curtain
of the little theatre rises, disclosing a small room barely furnished.
The play to be performed is almost an identical picture of the real
situation in the unfortunate little troupe. Columbine, who is to
poison her husband, Punchinello, is entertaining her lover, Harlequin,
while Taddeo, the clown, watches for Punchinello's return. When Canio
finally appears the mimic tragedy becomes one in reality. Inflamed
with passion, he rushes upon Nedda, and demands the name of her lover.
She still refuses to tell. He draws his dagger. Nedda, conscious of
her danger, calls upon Silvio in the audience to save her; but it is
too late. Her husband kills her, and Silvio, who rushes upon the
stage, is killed with the same dagger. With a wild cry full of hate,
jealousy, and despair, the unfortunate Canio tells the audience "La
commedia e finita" ("The comedy is finished"). The curtain falls upon
the tragedy, and the excited audience disperses.
The story is peculiarly Italian in its motive, though the composer has
been charged with taking it from "La Femme de Tabarin," by the French
novelist, Catulle Mendes. Be this as it may, Leoncavallo's version has
the merit of brevity, conciseness, ingenuity, and swift action,
closing in a denouement of great tragic power and capable, in the
hands of a good actor, of being made very effective. The composer has
not alone been charged with borrowing the story, but also with
plagiarizing the music. So far as the accusation of plagiarism is
concerned, however, it hardly involves anything more serious than
those curious resemblances which are so often found in musical
compositions. As a whole, the opera is melodious, forceful, full of
snap and go, and intensely dramatic, and is without a dull moment from
the prologue ("Si puo? Signore") sung before the curtain by Tonio to
that last despairing outcry of Canio ("La commedia e finita"), upon
which the curtain falls. The prominent numbers are the prologue
already referred to; Nedda's beautifu
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