s grands
bois," the exquisite barcarole--a veritable treasure trove for the
composer, who used its melody dramatically throughout the work--and
Gerald's air, "Fantaisie aux divins mensonges." Real depth will be
looked for in vain in this opera; superficial loveliness is apparent on
at least half its pages.

CHAPTER VIII

"PAGLIACCl"

For a quarter of a century "Cavalleria Rusticana" and "Pagliacci" have
been the Castor and Pollux of the operatic theatres of Europe and
America. Together they have joined the hunt of venturesome impresarios
for that Calydonian boar, success; together they have lighted the way
through seasons of tempestuous stress and storm. Of recent years at the
Metropolitan Opera House in New York efforts have been made to divorce
them and to find associates for one or the other, since neither is
sufficient in time for an evening's entertainment; but they refuse to
be put asunder as steadfastly as did the twin brothers of Helen and
Clytemnestra. There has been no operatic Zeus powerful enough to
separate and alternate their existences even for a day; and though
blase critics will continue to rail at the "double bill" as they have
done for two decades or more, the two fierce little dramas will "sit
shining on the sails" of many a managerial ship and bring it safe to
haven for many a year to come.

Twins the operas are in spirit; twins in their capacity as supreme
representatives of verismo; twins in the fitness of their association;
but twins they are not in respect of parentage or age. "Cavalleria
Rusticana" is two years older than "Pagliacci" and as truly its
progenitor as Weber's operas were the progenitors of Wagner's. They are
the offspring of the same artistic movement, and it was the phenomenal

[figure: a musical score excerpt]

success of Mascagni's opera which was the spur that drove Leoncavallo
to write his. When "Cavalleria Rusticana" appeared on the scene, two
generations of opera-goers had passed away without experiencing
anything like the sensation caused by this opera. They had witnessed
the production, indeed, of great masterpieces, which it would be almost
sacrilegious to mention in the same breath with Mascagni's turbulent
and torrential tragedy, but these works were the productions of mature
masters, from whom things monumental and lasting were expected as a
matter of course; men like Wagner and Verdi. The generations had also
seen the coming of "Carmen" and gradually o