"He sends me to you.
But not, as in the past, to reassure you,
Saying, 'The tears we shed are false,
So do not be alarmed by our agonies
Or violence!' No! No!
Our author has endeavoured, rather
To paint for you a slice of life,
...Truth is his inspiration."
from the prologue of Ruggero Leoncavallo's I Pagliacci, or The Players
Many times, we have questioned the idea of what constitutes truth. Here, Leoncavallo tells us, from his use of the word, "slice ", that narration is somehow, innately incomplete, that it can never be a complete whole. The very idea that we have to hear a version of events from someone else instead of experiencing it for ourselves, only leaves us with an approximation of truth.