(Photo: Michael Poehn)

“Il Trovatore” is one of Verdi’s most celebrated operas, forming part of his “popular trilogy” alongside “La Traviata” and “Rigoletto,” all composed in the mid-19th century. Among the three, it is the least innovative, with characters that lack psychological depth or introspection, often conforming to operatic stereotypes—the valiant tenor, the virtuous soprano, and the sinister baritone.

A Magnificent Score for an Absurd Plot

The plot, famously convoluted and implausible, is loosely based on historical events: the War of the Aragonese Succession, triggered by the king’s death without an heir in 1410. In the opera, the nobleman Count Luna and the troubadour Manrico find themselves on opposing sides of this civil war—and both are in love with Leonora, who favors Manrico. However, their rivalry is entangled in a far darker and older tale.

Fifteen years earlier, the old Count Luna had a gypsy woman burned at the stake, accusing her of bewitching his younger son (the current Count’s brother). In revenge, the gypsy’s daughter, Azucena—herself a mother—kidnapped the Count’s younger son, intending to throw him into the flames. But in her grief-stricken frenzy, she mistakenly burned her own child instead. Devastated, she raised the Count’s son as her own: Manrico. Unbeknownst to the court, where the boy was presumed dead, the two rivals—Luna and Manrico—are actually brothers.

This Shakespearean tragedy hurtles toward its grim conclusion: Luna executes Manrico, only for Azucena to reveal the horrifying truth—he has killed his own brother. With her final cry, “Mother, you are avenged at last!” the opera reaches its devastating end.

The enduring appeal of “Il Trovatore” lies in its haunting atmosphere, nocturnal allure, and the characters’ extreme passions—all masterfully brought to life in Verdi’s magnificent score. Conductor Marco Armiliato did the music full justice, leading the Wiener Staatsoper orchestra in a thrilling performance marked by unwavering precision, bold Italianate dynamism, and an exceptional attention to detail—revealing nuances one may have never noticed before. True to form, the Staatsoper orchestra sounded splendid, playing with both technical brilliance and deep emotional resonance.

A Less Than Attentive Revival of a Less Than Perfect Production

The production, first staged in 2017, suffered slightly from what often plagues revivals in this house: a sense of under-rehearsal. While the orchestra performed superbly, there were moments—particularly early on—when coordination between pit and stage faltered. However, this seemed less a failing of the conductor, musicians, or singers, and more a consequence of insufficient rehearsal time. A shame, but hardly enough to diminish the overall power of the performance.

Director Daniele Abbado inexplicably transposes the story from its original 15th-century setting to the Spanish Civil War (1930s), casting Count Luna’s forces as Franco’s fascist troops and Manrico as a leader of the Republican army. Yet the opera’s deeply medieval themes—steeped in superstition, witch hunts, and chivalric codes—clash awkwardly with this modernized backdrop. Guns and cannons feel jarringly out of place in a narrative built on swordfights and feudal honor.
Abbado further imposes a heavy-handed religious layer, saturating the production with processions and displays of piety. While faith does play a role in the original plot—Leonora attempts to enter a convent upon believing Manrico dead—it is hardly the central focus. The gypsy’s execution stems from blind superstition, not misplaced religious fervor. Worse, the director’s choice ignores historical reality: during the Spanish Civil War, the Catholic Church openly sided with Franco’s army, while Republican forces often targeted churches in retaliation. Thus, the spectacle of Republican soldiers kneeling devoutly before a Madonna looks incongruous, if not absurd.

However, Abbado’s management of the singers was admirable: his Personenregie was precise and effective, and it was clear that he knew how to help them perform at their best without compromising the drama.

A Superb Cast

Piotr Beczała delivered an outstanding performance as Manrico, reaffirming his current vocal zenith. He sang with youthful ardor, his high notes thrilling and well-placed—though he opted to lower “Di quella pira” from the written key of C to B, a minor concession. His rendition of “Ah sì, ben mio” in Act three was tender and deeply felt, showcasing impeccable legato. Beczała excelled in moments of anguish: his horrified reaction to Azucena’s tale of the burned child in Act two and his grief-stricken farewell to Leonora in the finale were perfect examples of restrained emotion. His voice cracked with sobs just enough to heighten the drama, never tipping into excess.

As Leonora, Krassimira Stoyanova began unevenly—her soprano luminous but initially marred by rushed phrasing and occasional imprecision in “Tacea la notte placida,” likely due to under-rehearsal. Yet she soon found her footing, delivering a transcendent “D’amor sull’ali rosee” in Act four. Her high notes floated effortlessly through the theater, supported by rock-solid breath control, and her portrayal grew increasingly poignant, culminating in a heartrending performance.

Luca Salsi reaffirmed his status as one of today’s finest Verdian baritones, his warm, velvety instrument effortlessly shifting from lyrical refinement to razor-sharp menace to embody Count Luna’s duality. His rendition of “Il balen del suo sorriso” was a masterclass in Verdian legato—all honeyed phrasing and molten tenderness—while still hinting at the character’s underlying cruelty. His Act four duet with Stoyanova proved particularly electrifying, Luna’s calculating malice clashing potently with Leonora’s selfless devotion.

Azucena stands apart as the opera’s sole non-stereotypical figure—a woman shattered by trauma, haunted by the memory of her mother’s execution and her own horrific mistake. Her psyche teeters between maternal tenderness, visceral terror, and fugue states where past and present blur. Ekaterina Semenchuk delivered a tour de force portrayal, her formidable mezzo oscillating between gut-wrenching vulnerability and feral intensity. She capped her performance with a blazing high C in “Deh rallentate, o barbari” (Act three), balancing vocal splendor with raw dramatic truth.

Dmitry Ulyanov took on the role of Ferrando, Count Luna’s captain of the guards, who recounts the chilling tale of the gypsy and the burned child from the Count’s perspective—a brilliant dramatic counterpoint to Azucena’s version of events in Act two. While Ulyanov occasionally struggled with tempo, tending to lag behind the orchestra, he navigated the ornamentations of “Di due figli” with commendable skill. His resonant low bass proved ideal for the role, lending gravitas to the character’s ominous narrative.

Maria Zherebiateva, a standout from the Wiener Staatsoper Opera Studio, delivered a compelling performance as Ines, Leonora’s confidante. Her bronzed soprano, with its robust middle register, left a lasting impression. Meanwhile, the Wiener Staatsoper Chorus, under the meticulous preparation of Thomas Lang, was nothing short of superb—singing with razor-sharp precision and heartfelt expression, further elevating the production.