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The Gallic Troubadour Wexford
O’Reilly Theatre, National Opera House
10/17/2025 - & October 21, 24, 29, November 1*, 2025
Giuseppe Verdi: Le Trouvère
Lydia Grindatto (Léonore), Kseniia Nikolaieva (Azucena), Eduardo Niave (Manrique), Giorgi Lomiseli (Le Comte de Luna), Luca Gallo (Fernand), Jade Phoenix (Inès), Conor Prendiville (Ruiz), Philip Kalmanovitch (Un vieux Bohémien), Vladimir Sima (Un messager), Conor Cooper (Un geôlier)
Wexford Festival Opera Chorus, Andrew Synott (chorus master), Wexford Festival Opera Orchestra, Marcus Bosch/Martin Hartinger* (conductor)
Ben Barnes (stage director), Liam Doona (sets), Mattie Ulrich (costumes), Paolo Bonapace (lighting), Libby Seward (movement director)
E. Niave, L. Grindatto (© Pádraig Grant)
Il trovatore is one of Verdi’s most enduring works. Melodically rich, it’s built on the foundation of four great roles: Manrico, the Troubadour, a tenor; Leonora, a soprano; the gypsy Azucena, a mezzo; and il Conte di Luna, a baritone. The arias, duets and trios written for these voices eclipse much of Verdi’s previous operatic output. At the time Verdi composed it, Giacomo Meyerbeer (1791‑1864) reigned supreme over Paris. Verdi’s style, though original and unique, had its roots in Donizetti, and was later heavily influenced by Meyerbeer. Unlike Donizetti and other bel canto composers who concentrated on a heroine and her lover, Meyerbeer called for a quartet or quintet of different voice registers, usually a soprano and tenor amorous couple, a baritone villain, a mezzo rival or mother and a bass father or villain. As early as Ernani (1844), Verdi adopted Meyerbeers’s formula. His subsequent operas Il trovatore (1853), Les Vêpres siciliennes (1855), Simon Boccanegra (1857), Un ballo in maschera (1859), La forza del destino (1862), Don Carlos (1867) and Aida (1871) all follow the Meyerbeerian model.
As early as 1847, the Paris opera commissioned Verdi to rework I Lombardi alla prima crociata (1843) into the French language opera, Jérusalem. This was followed by two original operas in French, Les Vêpres siciliennes and Don Carlos, and two reworkings of Italian compositions into French, the present opera Le Trouvère (1856) for Brussel’s La Monnaie and the French version of Macbeth (1865) for Paris’s Théâtre Lyrique. Whereas the latter was radically different and superior to the original, the French reworking is basically a Gallic translation augmented by a ballet, as Parisian taste then demanded. Nonetheless, it’s a rare opportunity to hear Le Trouvère.
The challenge is to find the four or five soloists to do it justice, whether in French or in Italian. In this, the Wexford Festival was successful with four of the five soloists. An additional challenge is to find first‑rate singers ready to learn their roles in French for a mere five performances.
Legendary tenor Enrico Caruso (1873-1921) once rightly said that it takes the world’s four greatest singers for a successful Il trovatore. Written in 1853, it’s often thought of as the last bel canto opera, for Verdi’s style changed substantially with his next work, La traviata, written the same year. The noblewoman Leonora is a bel canto role, full of ornamentations, requiring a masterful technique. The problem lies in the ideal voice for this role. Many think of a spinto or even a dramatic soprano as the best‑suited voice. However, the role requires more agility than Verdi’s spinto roles. Often coloraturas have portrayed this tragic heroine with mixed results, as most are too lightweight for such a tragic role. The ideal Leonora/Léonore must be a first‑rate lyric soprano capable of fulfilling the role’s demands.
Towering over the cast was the Léonore of young American soprano Lydia Grindatto. It’s hard to fathom such a superb technique and such intense emotions in one so young. In addition to her beautiful voice, Grindatto’s diction was clear, and for once, one could understand her every word. She excelled in her opening aria “La nuit calme et sereine” (“Tacea la notte placida”) and its cabaletta “L’amour ardent, l’amour sublime et tendre.” Her Act III “Brise d’amour fidèle” (“D’amor sull’ali rosee”) was a masterclass in both bel canto and French singing. It was the highlight of the evening, if not the entire festival.
In the finale of the second act, Léonore, believing Manrique to be killed in battle, is set to enter a convent. De Luna waits at the gate of the convent to abduct her. Manrique rushes to the rescue; the bewildered and ecstatic Léonore is incredulous in Act II’s intense finale, “O Ciel, Manrique” (“E deggio e posso crederlo”). Grindatto managed to ardently convey Léonore’s immense joy at seeing Manrico alive, despite the ensuing duel with de Luna. Her phrasing of one of Verdi’s greatest lines for soprano, “Es‑tu descendu du ciel... ou suis‑je au ciel avec toi ?” was truly delectable.
Dramatically, Il trovatore (or its French version) is intense, but highly implausible. It’s easy to ridicule an opera whose plot originates with a nobleman burning a gypsy woman at the stake, her daughter Azucena seeking revenge by attempting to burn alive the killer’s child and mistakenly burning her own child instead. She escapes with the nobleman’s baby and raises him as her own, calling him Manrique. All this happens before the opera even starts. At its conclusion, the work sees the nobleman’s other son, Comte de Luna, killing Manrique, his love rival for the noblewoman Léonore, only to find out from Azucena that he’s killed his own brother.
The implausible plot makes Il trovatore the stereotype of a senseless opera with a convoluted plot, to the extent that it was used in the Marx Brothers’ A Night at the Opera (1935). It was also utilized as a backdrop for the opening scene of Luchino Visconti’s epic film, Senso (1954). Visconti evoked the Venetians’ struggle against the ruling Austrians in 1866, shortly before its liberation by the young Kingdom of Italy. Visconti saw a parallel between the opera’s doomed lovers and his film’s protagonists, a Venetian countess and an Austrian lieutenant. The riveting opening scene takes place at Venice’s stunning opera house, La Fenice.
Despite its odd libretto, Il trovatore’s setting is historically correct: the civil war following the death of King Martin of Aragon in 1410. Le Comte de Luna and Manrique champion opposite sides vying for the succession. De Luna’s camp has the support of the Queen and the aristocracy, while Manrique’s side bets on the underdog James of Urgell, who has no choice but to recruit bandits and gypsies. This very divide, the classic struggle between official power and the oppressed, offers myriad possibilities for stage direction. Irish director Ben Barnes took his cue from this divide by updating the era to the Spanish Civil War, which made ample sense.
This new setting did not deter from the story and the psychology of the characters. Liam Doona’s set consisted of a rectangular room that was imaginatively adapted to suit the different scenes. Sadly, Mattie Ulrich’s costumes were as lacking in colour as the grey sets, which made the whole thing a gloomy affair, a common problem in Il trovatore. One wished for some colour, a bit of sunshine (after all this is Spain) and some local flavour.
Usually the weakest link in stagings of Il trovatore is its demanding tenor role, Manrique. For this, Mexican tenor Eduardo Niave was a revelation. Endowed with a powerful and youthful tenor, Niave met the requirements of this difficult role. However, his last note in Act III’s final aria “Supplice infâme qui la réclame” (“Di quella pira”) may not have not been perfect or extended as long as one would have liked. As an actor, Niave was convincing, especially in Barnes’s updated staging. He exuded youth and vigour and winningly portrayed a young idealist. His singing was passionate, and even his diction was good, a difficult feat, even for native French‑speakers. The preceding brief duet “Entends ces chants religieux” (“Di qual tetra luce...Amor sublime amor”) showed exemplary delicacy.
Georgian baritone Giorgi Lomiseli was an effective Comte de Luna, displaying an aristocratic demeanour and exuding arrogance and rage. Vocally, his baritone is somewhat lighter than the ideal velvety Verdi baritone, but perhaps his voice is more appropriate for this French version. His Act II aria “L’éclair de son sourire efface le rayon des étoiles !” (“Il balen del suo sorriso”), possibly Verdi’s most beautiful aria for baritone, was delightfully interpreted, lovelorn in the opening passages and defiant in the second part. The character is not inherently evil. Being spurned by the woman he desires and knowing that she prefers a man of far inferior rank infuriates him. A great Comte de Luna is able to elicit the public’s sympathy, and Lomiseli managed that.
Ukrainian mezzo Kseniia Nikolaieva is a force of nature. Endowed with a huge instrument, one feared hearing harsh chest notes and excessive histrionics, but thankfully there was no trace of this. It takes an experienced conductor to tame such a beast of a voice and Manuel Hartinger certainly did that. Dramatically, she portrayed a broken woman who is traumatized and psychologically damaged, having mistakenly immolated her own child and raised her nemesis’s offspring instead. One can imagine the state of mind of such a woman. Clearly she loves Manrique, but she’s also aware that he’s the son of the Count who’d burned her mother at the stake, and not her own flesh and blood. Her Act II “La flamme crépite !” (“Stride la vampa”) was impassioned, with impressive low notes, but also nuanced. Her French was no match for Grindatto and Niave, but it was adequate. The main reproach was a rather monochromatic vocal and dramatic portrayal.
Italian bass Luca Gallo was adequate as Fernand, but nowhere near the almost perfect vocal quartet described above. Though often mentioned as the fifth pillar of opulent voices needed to mount Il trovatore, Fernand has just one aria at the beginning of the opera, and only a few lines thereafter. Gallo’s voice was not dark enough for the opera’s opening aria “Debout ! Debout !”(“All’erta! All’erta!”) and in the ensuing narration, “Le bon Comte de Luna était l’heureux père de deux enfants” (“Di due figli vivea padre beato”.) This recounting of the gypsy woman’s revenge and theft of the old Count’s child is crucial, as it sets the tone for the ensuing tragedy. Moreover, his diction was poor. Fortunately, the role is not a major one, but a weak opening is not an encouraging first impression.
For the last two performances, Manuel Hartinger replaced an indisposed Marcus Bosch. Hartinger did so with brio and also proved his affinity for Verdi and Italian opera in general by favouring the voices and adopting appropriately nuanced tempi. This is middle‑period Verdi, closer to the young Verdi and his predilection for Umpapa beats than to his supreme masterpieces, Otello and Falstaff. The passages for Azucena and the chorus could easily show the worst aspects of Verdi, but not under Hartinger’s baton. In lyrical passages, he deftly adapted his tempi to the singers’ needs with great sensitivity. Though subtle, there’s a more sophisticated orchestration in Le trouvère than in Il trovatore, and thanks to Hartinger’s attentive conducting one could sense it.
The major difference between the two versions is a twenty‑five minute ballet at the beginning of Act III. Sadly, we were shown film footage from the Spanish Civil War rather than a ballet. One would have appreciated an elaborate dance segment, especially one drawing on Spanish folklore. At least Hartinger’s very capable conducting rendered it pleasurable.
This was the most enjoyable of seven operas seen at the Wexford Festival in just three days. It was also the most powerful of the performances. This wealth of abundance in such a short time may not be for everyone, but to have the opportunity to experience such rarities is truly appreciated. I’ll certainly return next year.
Ossama el Naggar
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