Already when the overture was played the audience was enchanted, and as
it progressed the enthusiasm became greater and greater, the excited
audience called for the _autore_ (author).
Mascagni, urged and pushed forward from the sidewings, evidently
against his will, appeared, looking very shabby in an old gray suit
with trousers turned up, as if he had just come in from the street. His
hair was long and unkempt, his face haggard and thin--evidently he had
been starved and unwashed for weeks. This really was the case.
He bowed modestly and with a _naïf_ awkwardness which was very
pathetic. The Italian public, just as wild in its enthusiasm as it is
merciless in its disapproval, rose as one man with a bound and cheered
vociferously. But when the Intermezzo was played there was a burst of
thundering applause, clapping of hands, and shouts of enthusiasm. I
never heard anything like it.
Mascagni was called at least twenty times before the curtain. Any other
composer would have beamed all over with joy and pride at such an
ovation, but Mascagni only looked shy and bewildered. The tears rolled
down my cheeks as I looked at the poor young fellow (he is only twenty
years old), who probably that very morning was wondering how he could
provide food for his wife and baby. Fancy what his emotions must have
been to wake up so unexpectedly to glory and success!
[Illustration:
FRANCESCO CRISPI
Prime Minister of Italy. From a photograph taken in 1887.]
Mascagni, his wife, and his baby lived in a garret, and had not money
enough to buy even a candle. The only instrument he had when he wrote
the opera was an accordion. His little wife is nineteen, and the baby
is one year old.
Italy thought it possessed another Verdi. The next day after his
triumph Leghorn (his birthplace) gave him the citizenship of the town.
Sonsogni handed him a large sum of money (the promised prize), and
Mascagni had orders to begin on another opera. Will that be as good?
One says that necessity is the mother of invention; it seems that in
this case poverty was the father of "Cavalleria Rusticana."
_1890._
Dear ----,--Johan is named to Stockholm, and we must leave Rome.
Needless to say that I am broken-hearted to leave Italy and the Queen.
MILAN, _September 16_.
Dear ----,--We went yesterday to bid good-by to their Majesties, who
are at Monza, and for J. to present his letters of _rappel_.
We arrived in time for luncheon; there were no other guests.
After luncheon we sat out under the trees by the side of the pretty
lake; there was an awning put there, and we stayed all the afternoon in
the shade of the large trees which bordered the lake. The King was very
gay; he wanted every one to row out in the small boats that were there;
then he and the Prince took another boat and tried to collide. The King
pretended that he could not row, and made such hopeless attempts that
all those in the other boats were splashed with water.
On taking leave of her Majesty, which was done with a great deal of
weeping on my part, she handed me a beautiful sapphire-and-diamond
brooch and a very large photograph signed by her dear hand _en
souvenir_. The King gave Johan his photograph and the decoration of _la
couronne d'Italie_. The day passed only too quickly. I cannot tell you
how miserable I was to take leave of their Majesties, who had always
been so kind and gracious to me.
But what use is it to mourn my fate. Nothing can change the fact that
we are bidding good-by to Italy.