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"I went to the theatre to conduct: Maresca, now sweet as candy, told me that things were going to be fine in Sicily, and that I would not be sorry to have followed him: just the opposite.
Mascagni Conducting
"I never answered yes or no, but I was firmly resolved to put the agreed-on plan into action. The performance barely over, I ran to where I was to meet Lina, my wife, who was waiting for me. I took off my tails (I could never conduct without tails on account of the respect that I have always had for the public) and, when I thought I could cross the city without danger of meeting someone from the company, we left.
"Our hosts were to accompany us to one of their vineyards. A coach waited for us there and without a hitch, we set out.
What a night! It was February; the bitter cold whipped our faces, and I suffered doubly, since my pregnant wife felt every jerk of the bouncing carriage. I tried to distract her with jokes, since I rarely lose my good humor; but my words froze as if they were sherbet. We rattled on like this for five or six kilometers; when we alighted at the lonely cottage in the middle of the pitch-black countryside, we were really pieces of ice. Lina's hands were so paralyzed that she could only open them with effort.
"Two Albanians lived in the cottage, but the notice of our arrival had gotten somewhat confused, and at that hour they no longer expected us: it must have been three o'clock in the morning. They turned on all the lights as we put together a little supper as best we could; I was more than just cold, I was also dying of hunger. There were no beds, and it was neccessary to improvise with some tufa [a kind of soft stone—DS] and sacks of vegetables. I remembered some lines from I Lombardi:
Sarà talamo l'arena
Del deserto interminato. |
The nuptial bed shall be the sand
Of the interminable desert. |
[The quote from Oronte's air in the second act of Verdi's I Lombardi alla prima crociata is slightly different than Mascagni recalled it, but even gloomier in its entirety:
Infelice!... è un voto orrendo.
Maledetto è il mio cammino.
Per dirupi e per foreste
Come belva errante io movo;
Giuoco ai venti e alle tempeste
Spesso albergo ho un antro, un covo!
Avrai talamo l'arena
Del deserto interminato,
Sarà l'urlo della jena
La canzone dell'amor!
Transposition of the word sarà in this context with avrai is of no consequence.—JM]
"Wrapping up as best we could, we waited until it would be day, and I well remember that the hours seemed never to pass.
"At dawn we went to a place not far from there called Stomarello, which was supposed to be the general quarters where we would await the news from the enemy camp. Since we were new there, my wife and I were taken for two lovers who had made an escape from the nest ... the people that we met smiled discreetly and winked. We had patience for this, but the trouble was that at Stomarello it wasn't possible to have a bit of bread and meat for our lunch, and my dear Lina needed this after the difficult night spent on the ground. In a fury of searching, it was great luck when we found a chicken!
"We waited there a few days and no one showed up. I was very restless. At last the son-in-law of the Mayor of Cerignola came and told us what happened after my departure. It happened like this: the morning after the last performance, when the company was supposed to leave for Sicily, Maresca, not seeing me, went to knock on the door of my house. No one answered, naturally. He looked for me in the countryside; he asked, he made inquiries in all the usual places, and made them give him the key to the house I occupied, and even went so far as to look under the bed. Then all of a sudden, hitting his forehead, he shouted 'the suitcase; that suitcase must be here!'
"[He was looking for] the suitcase with my Ratcliff. If he could get that into his hands as security, he was certain to catch me quickly. But that precious capsule was hidden in a safe place. The company left and Maresca stayed behind for another day, always hoping from one moment to the next to see me reappear. Finally he left, swearing he would obtain justice; and my wife and I came back tranquilly to Cerignola.
 Cerignola, 27 March, 1887
"...my new circumstances keep me busy and leave me little free time. However, I am content and hope to make a place for myself here at Cerignola... I must also thank you for the fine description of Otello [Verdi's opera had been given its world première at La Scala on 5 February, 1887.—DS]. Lucky you who can hear such beautiful music! I have a deep desire to hear it, and if I have the money, I will go in April to hear it in Rome ... I shall not go, however, with the idea of making a comparison with my poor Guglielmo... You alone have understood my poor Ratcliff. When I read the sentence "E tu, come sei stanca e muta e bella, etc. [Otello's celebrated unaccompanied line from Act IV—DS] which seemed to be written by you," I was moved and cast my eyes on my poor Guglielmo who sleeps and grows old, no longer superbly expanding, but pathetically vegetating."
[While the meaning of this last paragraph is clear, its compression makes it a little difficult to sort out initially. Vichi has written to Mascagni, saying that a passage in Verdi's music for Otello reminds him of Mascagni's music for Ratcliff. While this was meant to be complimentary, Mascagni did eventually find a number of parallels in his Ratcliff score to that of Otello, and although they were probably all coincidental, he rewrote parts of his score so as not to invite the comparison—something he obviously worried about from long before he heard Verdi's work performed. The story of a jealous man who slays his lover and brings destruction all around him in Otello is all too parallel to the bloody story of Ratcliff and his psychopathic jealousy—and the late 19th century Italian view of such passion must have had many consonant lines of feeling, musically.—JM]
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