Brothers at War – The Poetic Genius of ‘Il Trovatore’s’ Often-Ridiculed Plot
By David Salazar(©Cory Weaver – LA Opera)
Verdi’s “Il Trovatore” has an interesting reputation in opera history.
A staple of the opera canon, it is widely beloved for its melodic abundance and as a final homage to the greatness of bel canto. For Verdi it came at a period of major artistic fecundity and stands as the middle opera in a trilogy of transitionary works that are among his most renowned and beloved.
Still, the opera is also one of the most derided and criticized. It was the source for ridicule for the Marx Brothers’ “A Night at the Opera.” The main point of contention is, of course, its plot.
It has been called convoluted, illogical, sloppy, etc. And while a millimetric analysis of its plot might untangle some of the cobwebs, it goes without saying that a lot of it comes from how the opera itself presents its story or how it skirts some issues. One of the most egregious might be where, moments after describing how she robbed a child and then proceeded to burn her own child alive by accident, Manrico, her son (to his knowledge), realizes that he might not be her son and asks her that question. She proceeds to deride him for the question, challenging him with whether she hasn’t been a mother to him, and the problem is solved. Manrico, whose entire character is based around his identity issues (more later), doesn’t really consider this any longer.
And while the opera has a few these of moments (including the final revelation that Manrico is the long-lost brother of Di Luna, which gets no aftermath or moment for reflection), the plot is in many ways what makes this opera so brilliant, so wonderful, so enduring, so captivating.
Because at its cause, there’s so much more going on under the surface that plot holes and conveniences.
For those that want a summary of said plot, here’s a place to go.
While the intimate dramas of the major characters are clearly what matters most in this opera, at the core of it is a war between two factions – Conte Di Luna and the Romani, led by Manrico, the titular Trovatore. This is referenced during Azucena and Manrico’s Act two duet where she reproaches him for not dealing a death blow to the Count, who defeated him in a subsequent battle.
That larger political landscape is never truly the focus of the opera but it is allowed to play out in the private arena as the two men fight over their love for Leonora. It’s fascinating that in discussions of “Il Trovatore,” the battle between two brothers, and by extension a divided nation of brothers and sisters, is almost never discussed.
Viewed through this lens, the symbolism is rife in “Il Trovatore.” Di Luna and Manrico are literally yin and yang to one another, dark to the other’s light. Di Luna’s (“moon” in Italian) first appearance comes at night and his first words uttered are “Tace la notte” (the night is silent). He appears hiding in the shadows but inversely he is unable to see anyone for who they are. He doesn’t know that Manrico is not dead when he goes to kidnap Leonora. He doesn’t know where to find them later on and once he’s captured Manrico, he has no idea where to find Leonora. He also has no idea that Manrico is his brother (to be fair, no one except Azucena does). When he goes to capture Leonora, he also goes by night. Most of his scenes take place in the night time, including the Act four duet with Leonora.
He’s also more introverted. He sings his famous aria “Il balen del suo sorriso,” where he expresses his undying love for Leonora, to himself. Contrast that with Manrico, a troubador, who not only makes his first entrance by singing from afar, but delivers his famous aria “Ah si, ben mio” where he expresses his undying love for Leonora, right to her. Manrico’s first words “Deserto su la terra” invoke the heat of the desert. His famed cabaletta “Di quella pira” is both in reaction to a pyre he witnesses, but also accentuates his intense and fiery passion. And more importantly, Manrico is reborn by fire as Azucena’s new son when her other / real son burned alive in his stead. The sun (and accidentally, in English, “son”) metaphor couldn’t be made more explicit.
Di Luna is calculating and “coldblooded.” He blackmails Leonora into giving herself up to free Manrico from death. He also uses Azucena’s capture to lure out Manrico so he can then ambush him. Meanwhile, Manrico is impulsive. In Act two, he ditches his mother who has just cured him from injury to save Leonora before she takes her vows as a nun. Azucena tells him that he can’t leave because he needs to recover. He doesn’t listen. Then in Act three, when he finds out Azucena’s been captured, he ditches Leonora and runs off to save his mother, without realizing that he has no chance at winning that fight and might truly be heading toward his doom. This contrast further highlights that while one knows exactly who he is, the other is a bit more confused about where his priorities and allegiances stand.
Though, admittedly, the opera doesn’t extrapolate this confusion of allegiance sufficiently, there are other hints in the text that show how Manrico’s identity is confused and even malleable. Musically, Manrico fits into the two worlds, that of the Roma and the nobles represented by the Count and Leonora.
***As a side note, it’s worth noting that in terms of seeing Manrico and the Count as different sides of the same coin, the two get an aria and cabaletta (as already referenced). Both arias are about their passion for Leonora. Both cabalettas are about rushing off to save someone and both feature the men amidst their armies. And, to add the cherry on top, both men run off to a losing battle. There are major differences, especially musically, but the similarities dramatically, structurally, and contextually can’t be overlooked.
Narratively, the obvious one is that he is literally the son of a Count brought up by the Romani, and more specifically, a Roma woman seeking vengeance on his late father. But this plays out further in symbolic terms because the main players in the opera confuse him / his identity for someone else. Azucena literally burns her own son alive because she confuses him for Manrico. Moreover, in one of the most ridiculed moments of the opera, Leonora, after hearing Manrico’s voice thinks it is him lurking in the shadows, thus jumping into Di Luna’s arms. I’ve never taken issue with this moment. First off, they are brothers, so physically there must be some semblance that she sees. The opera unfortunately never makes reference to this so it is understandable why criticisms also make no reference, but it stands to reason that if we are to nitpick details of the plot then we should also be digging into the details of what the characters might look like (and yes, this is opera and I concede that it is unlikely the performers would ever look alike, but they are said to be literal brothers from the same father so that can’t be overlooked). In any case, this moment also symbolically mirrors Azucena’s tragic tale and this revelation in the mystery of the night, while not as sudden as the revelation in the past amidst the flames, bears its fruit over the course of the opera. Prior to this encounter, the Count did not know the identity of his rival. Now knowing it, they essentially swear a fight to the death that will take place over the course of the entire opera, resulting in two brothers at war.
And it’s this very battle that emphasizes Manrico’s final conflict of identity. He should hate the Count. He has every reason to. And yet, as he explains to Azucena, in his moment of victory, where he had the Count pinned and ready for death, he heard a voice telling him to stop. He stays his blade despite having his enemy ready to kill.
But what of Di Luna in this situation? Mind you, unlike Manrico, who has no idea he has a brother, Di Luna, we are told by Ferrando, was told by his late father to look for his brother. Di Luna never considers that Manrico might be the one. Again, physically they should represent one another. He should SEE something of himself in Manrico. But this is the Count, who lurks in the shadows, and sees nothing. He fails to recognize his brother. He only sees his enemy. And at the end of the opera, when he has him in his power, he is only willing to free him if Leonora submits to him. Ultimately she tricks him and he goes through with the murder, only realizing too late the awful truth. One can argue that the revelation comes a bit too late and too quickly, but the other pieces building it allow for it too come through forcefully regardless. And while we can criticize “Il Trovatore” for giving too much of its stage time on exposition dumps, this repeated information gives us all the clues to put together the larger emotional picture Verdi is painting via some of opera’s greatest melodies.
Azucena is undeniably the opera’s most complex character and Leonora a great and tragic heroine that each deserve their own pieces, but in the larger scope, “Il Trovatore” beautifully depicts a nation of brothers (and sisters) torn apart by war due to an inability to recognize one another as equals.
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