Weekly SpinOn:
Verismo – where opera bleeds!

This week’s playlist looks at a new chapter in Italian opera after Verdi.
In the late 19th century, composers turned away from kings and legends and began to write about ordinary people. This style was called Verismo – from the Italian word vero, meaning true.

With music by Cilea, Mascagni, Giordano and Leoncavallo, we follow the early years of this movement: tender Intermezzi, the Easter Hymn from Cavalleria rusticana, and the famous final outburst of Pagliacci.

Track 1: Adriana Lecouvreur, Act II: Intermezzo – Francesco Cilea

When we think of Verismo, we usually think of Mascagni and Leoncavallo. But the Verismo movement had many voices — and some of them were more lyrical, more elegant, but just as emotional. One of those voices was Francesco Cilea.

Cilea was born in southern Italy in 1866, and like many of his generation, he was shaped by the success of Cavalleria rusticana. But unlike Mascagni, he wasn’t interested in violence or village tragedy. His music focused on intimate emotion, often centered on fragile, artistic characters — people torn by love, memory, and inner conflict.

His best-known opera, Adriana Lecouvreur, tells the story of a real French actress in the 18th century. The plot includes love, rivalry, jealousy — and eventually, death. But the tone is more poetic than brutal. And the Intermezzo from Act II shows exactly that: a quiet moment between the storms. It doesn’t cry or scream. It sighs. A soft, lyrical piece full of unspoken emotion.

We already mentioned Karajan’s beautiful album Opera Intermezzi in another context — and this track is one of its highlights. Herbert von Karajan recorded this Intermezzo with the Berlin Philharmonic, bringing out every nuance of its fragile beauty.

 

Track 2: Cavalleria rusticana: Gli aranci olezzano sui verdi margini – Pietro Mascagni

In the last track, we heard a softer, more lyrical side of Verismo. But Cavalleria rusticana, composed by Pietro Mascagni, was the opera that started it all. When it premiered in 1890, it caused a sensation. Here was something new: a story about ordinary people, full of raw passion, betrayal, jealousy — and blood. This opera became the model for the entire Verismo movement.

We already featured the famous Intermezzo from Cavalleria rusticana in a previous playlist, so this time the choice is different: the Easter Hymn, “Gli aranci olezzano sui verdi margini”, which translates as “The orange trees are fragrant on the green riverbanks.” It’s one of the most powerful choral scenes in any opera — the community sings of spring, of renewal, of Easter joy. But under the surface, tragedy is already on its way. That contrast — beauty on the outside, despair underneath — is pure Verismo.

Pietro Mascagni was only in his twenties when he wrote this opera. He never again reached the same level of fame, but Cavalleria rusticana alone secured his place in history. And with it, the Verismo style was born.

Karajan himself met Mascagni, who died in 1945, at La Scala in Milan while attending a rehearsal of another conductor:

I remember being in La Scala, Milan, during the war. L ‘amico Fritz was being performed and Mascagni was there at the rehearsal. During the famous Intermezzo the conductor asked Mascagni if he would take over for a moment. By that time Mascagni was an old and disappointed man. He was ill and lame- and as I am now he had great difficulty in getting to the rostrum. But he finally got there and settled himself down and lifted his baton. And- well, the music started and there was suddenly a great explosion of sound that no one could possibly have been prepared for.  I shall never forget that moment. lt was incredible.¹

The recording from our playlist was made in 1965 as part of Karajan’s landmark studio project with La Scala. It brings out the full richness of the orchestra and chorus — grand, warm, and deadly calm.

Track 3: Fedora, Act II: Intermezzo – Umberto Giordano

By the time Fedora premiered in 1898, Verismo was already in full swing. Composers were racing to write operas full of passion and revenge, based on real lives or recent novels. One of the most successful among them was Umberto Giordano — a composer known for sweeping melodies, explosive drama, and strong female characters.

Fedora is based on a play that was once a hit in European theatres. The plot is classic Verismo: a Russian princess seeks revenge for her lover’s murder, only to fall for the very man responsible. It ends, of course, in tragedy. But what sets Giordano apart is how he lets the orchestra carry the emotional weight. You feel the heartbreak before the words are even spoken.

The Intermezzo from Act II is a quiet orchestral moment in the middle of the drama. It’s gentle and lyrical, almost fragile. You can feel that something is about to go wrong, but the music holds it back — full of longing, regret, and tension just beneath the surface. This piece may not be as famous as the Intermezzo from Cavalleria rusticana, but it belongs in the same emotional world.

Giordano is often remembered for his most famous opera composition, Andrea Chénier, but Fedora deserves just as much attention. And Karajan clearly felt that too.

Track 4: Pagliacci, Act II: No, Pagliaccio non son – Ruggero Leoncavallo

We end with one of the most iconic moments in all of Verismo opera — the final scene of Pagliacci by Ruggero Leoncavallo. This is Verismo at full intensity: theatre and reality colliding, love and betrayal boiling over into violence. And a man whose stage role — a clown — can no longer hide his pain.

Pagliacci premiered in 1892, just two years after Cavalleria rusticana, and cemented the Verismo style. Like Mascagni, Leoncavallo wrote both the music and the libretto himself. The title means “Clowns”, and it refers to the group of travelling actors at the center of the story. The main character is Canio, the troupe’s leader, who plays the comic role of “Pagliaccio” — but whose personal life is falling apart. When he discovers that his wife, Nedda, is having an affair, he becomes consumed by jealousy. During a performance, he breaks character — and the line between stage and reality disappears.

The aria “No, Pagliaccio non son” comes at the opera’s violent climax. Canio, still dressed as a clown, breaks the illusion. “No, I am not Pagliaccio,” he says — “I am a man.” It’s not just the end of a show. It’s the collapse of a human being.

In Karajan’s 1965 full recording with the Chorus and Orchestra of La Scala, Canio is sung by Carlo Bergonzi. Known for his clarity, musicality, and refined phrasing, Bergonzi was one of the greatest Italian tenors of his time — though he wasn’t the kind of singer you’d expect in such a violent role. And that’s exactly what makes his Canio so compelling: instead of raw force, we hear dignity, heartbreak, and human weakness. His voice never shouts. It breaks slowly.

Herbert von Karajan shapes the tension with chilling precision, making this one of the most haunting final pages in all of opera.

—  Pia Bernauer (Karajan Institute, Salzburg)