#i know my next selection 100% but please give me some more suggestions for operas to recount!!

[rayatii]

Raya Recounts: a brand-new series of overly-detailed opera summaries with unsolicited commentary!

YES, it’s been over FOUR MONTHS now (I was busy, okay???), but I’m back!!

So my summary of L’elisir d’amore seems to have done quite well among the #operablr regulars, so I guess I will continue making some of these!

Episode 2: Il trovatore

Il trovatore (“The Troubadour”) is a 4-act opera by Giuseppe Verdi. You may recognize Verdi (aka Joe Green) as one of the most famous composers in the field of opera; indeed, several of his works remain among some of the most performed in the entire world to this day, and some of the melodies he crafted, including “Libiamo ne’ lieti calici” (aka “Brindisi” or “Champagne Aria”) from La traviata and “La donna è mobile” from Rigoletto, have cemented themselves into contemporary mainstream culture as symbols of opera itself and Italian culture (and pizza, in the latter’s case). However, Verdi’s own life was far from a lighthearted tune, between losing his entire family and fighting against censors.

An important theme in Verdi’s operas is family relationships, let it be between parents and children and/or between siblings, and this episode’s selection is no different. Il trovatore is notorious for having a plot that is very convoluted and difficult to follow, although I myself did not really find it to be so, which is why I am going to summarize it in full detail! It also hasn’t aged all too well because of certain racial stereotypes...

One of my favorite movies of all time, the Marx Brothers’ A Night at the Opera (1935) involves the famous brothers ruining a production of Il trovatore in the most possibly hilarious way (the sound in both videos is one half-step higher than it’s supposed to be, fyi).

Although it came in a time after what is usually considered to have been the bel canto era (see our previous selection), this one is quite similar in terms of style and structure.

The libretto was written by Salvadore Cammarano (who wrote quite a few libretti for Verdi, but also the last episode’s composer Donizetti, for works such as Lucia di Lammermoor and Roberto Devereux), based on the play El trovador (meaning the same thing as above) by Antonio García Gutiérrez (also responsible for the play that Verdi’s other opera Simon Boccanegra is based on). It also has a French version (known as Le trouvère, ALSO meaning the same thing as above), but we don’t really care about that for now, as it’s rarely being performed nowadays anyway.

I will be following the same methods as last time of bolding the solo characters’ names and giving potentially bad Italian translations for the important numbers. And this opera is significantly bigger than the last one, so this summary will be much longer.

@revedebeatrice please don’t kill me for this 🙏

This is also dedicated to @smile-at-the-stars, for being the source of what finally got me to actually finish working on this shit. Also dedicated to @carlodivarga-s and @madmozarteanfelinefantasy for their *chef’s kiss* interpretations of the themes and characters of this opera.

Spoilers, of course!

Before I start, let me talk briefly about the historical context surrounding this opera; it is set during a civil war in Aragon, Spain, during which several candidates attempted to claim the crown following the death of King Martin the Elder, one of them being Fadrique, Count of Luna, an illegitimate but recognized son of King Martin I of Sicily, son of the aforementioned King Martin the Elder.

(Also, no, I will NOT use the g-word, I do not want to perpetuate stigma.)

After a prelude in E major, Act 1 (titled “Il duello”; “The Duel”), Scene 1 opens in a hall in the Aljafería Palace in Zaragosa, Spain, during the night, sometime during the 15th century.

Ferrando, a booming bass and the captain of the guards of the Count di Luna and a chorus of di Luna’s men (note: in the original Italian libretto, they are called “famigliari”, but that word doesn’t seem to exist in modern-day Italian; and an English translation describes them as “retainers” and “servants”. I’ll just keep calling them “men”) are gathered outside the door to the Count’s chambers, guarding it while the latter is out to desperately try and woo the lady he fancies, very jealous because of a certain troubadour who’s also been hanging around said lady. The men ask Ferrando to keep them from dozing off by telling them the story of the Count’s younger brother, Garzia (Racconto (“Tale”, essentially an aria about telling a story, often intercut with lines by other characters, I guess): Di due figli vivea padre beato; “The father of two sons lived blissfully”).

Here’s how it goes:

Once upon a time, there was a man, the older Count di Luna, who had two sons; the elder one being the current Count di Luna who’s out on his heart-conquering mission, and the other one being... you’ll see. One morning, the youngest boy’s nurse woke up to find an old Romani woman leaning over his cradle (how the hell did she even get there?????). The nurse screamed and servants immediately came to throw the intruder out. The woman claimed that she was trying to read the kiddo’s fortune, but being the racist fucks these other people (and the people who wrote this opera, tbh 😓) were, they did not believe her a single iota, and they threw her out.

Shortly after, the boy developed a fever, and OF COURSE, the racist white people accused that old woman of having placed a curse on him. She was caught and sentenced to be burned at the stake. But before dying, she is said to have told her daughter avenge her. The sick child disappeared, and in the very same area where the mother had been burned, a very-recently half-burned tiny skeleton was found; the most likely conclusion here is that the daughter had kidnapped the baby and had thrown him into the fire.

Di Luna Sr. became super-depressed and died prematurely; however, he had a hunch telling him that his little boy was still alive somewhere, and made his Junior promise on his deathbed to continue searching for him (and said daughter).

Some productions will try to stage the flashback, or at least try to include some of the “ghost” characters throughout the show, as did the very first production I ever watched (which is unfortunately no longer on YouTube 😭😭😭; it was a production by the Teatro Real of Madrid, and it had Ludovic Tézier in it!!!!!).

The men (being all just as racist) curse the daughter, and Ferrando claims that he could still recognize her if he saw her even after all these years. He also adds that the old would-be witch’s spirit apparently still roams around the castle, usually under the form of an owl; apparently, she caused one of the Count’s men to die of fright.

At that moment, midnight strikes, followed by the beating of a drum, and everyone leaves, still cursing that same Romani woman.

Scene 2 opens in a palace garden, where we see Leonora, a soprano who is a lady-in-waiting to the Queen and that very woman that the Count is desperately trying to court, and her confidante, Ines, a soprano (she is usually listed as a soprano but I think I have seen sources that label her as a mezzo??? idk) and one of the few characters in the entire opera with any braincells (which might explain the mezzo-ness...).

Ines is concerned about Leonora’s love for this mysterious troubadour that we’ve mentioned earlier, and we learn that she initially met him at some knights’ tournament, when she had the honor of crowning him victor, and lost all contact with him when the civil war broke out. Until one night, she heard none other than her dear troubadour, playing the lute and serenading her under her balcony. And the rest is history (Cavatina (some fancy name for a short type of aria): Tacea la notte placida; “The placid night was silent”).

Ines has a very bad feeling about this relationship and tries to persuade Leonora to forget the guy, but Leonora, being the usually-not-so-smart soprano that she is, won’t hear any of it, because she is so passionately in love with that young man of hers that she will die if she were to never see him again. They both leave the stage.

At that moment, the previously-mentioned Count di Luna, an often-dashing (performer-wise), preferably awkward and probably autistic baritone, comes in, seeking to court Leonora. But then he gets super-angry and jealous upon hearing the sound of a lute, and a voice singing offstage (at least, the libretto states it to be offstage) (Romanza (romance): Deserto sulla terra; “Abandoned on the Earth”); it is the titular troubadour! Leonora comes down to the garden and mistakes the Count for her troubadour (it’s dark outside, so.) and throws herself in his arms (and probably starts making out with him, depending on the production). But when she hears the troubadour’s actual voice, she realizes her mistake. Said dude comes onstage with his face concealed, and the two begin canoodling on-the-spot.

Di Luna angrily demands that his rival reveal his identity, which he does; Manrico, a himbo tenor who should technically be in his late teens (although the vocal maturity required to sing this role does not reflect that...), and who was originally sentenced to death for being a supporter of Urgel, another contender for the crown, and therefore an enemy of di Luna. Manrico challenges him to call for his guards, but di Luna decides instead to challenge him to a duel over Leonora. Leonora herself tries to intervene and begs for di Luna to at least strike her instead of her lover (Trio: Di geloso amor sprezzato; “Of jealous and scorned love”), but the Count won’t hear any of it, and he and Manrico go off to duel, and the curtain falls. Oh, and the libretto calls for Leonora to faint at the very end, but eh, whatever, we’ve kind of had enough of fainting women in fiction.

Act 2 (titled “La g*tana”; “The [Romani] Woman”), Scene 1 opens on a Romani camp, situated somewhere on a mountain in Biscay, at dawn. Manrico is seated next to a burning fire (because this is a camp, of course there would be a fire), recovering from injuries, and next to him is Azucena, a mezzo-soprano (this time, 100% listed as a mezzo!!), and Manrico’s mother.

(Quick note: for some reason, Azucena is frequently portrayed as an old woman, even though she was a young woman when Manrico was an infant, and he’s now in his late teens; I like to call this type of thing the Obi-Wan effect. Also, I noticed that her name is never uttered by any character ever throughout the entire opera.)

There is also a chorus of Romani people (Chorus: Vedi! le fosche notturne spoglie; “See! the dark nocturnal remains”, aka the “Anvil Chorus”, named so because it uses actual anvils in the score, and by far the most famous tune in the entire opera; seriously, you HAVE heard it before, it’s a fucking headbanger!!!!!), singing about how the dawn illuminating the night sky can be comparable to a widow shedding her dark clothes, and then the men get to work, hammering shit while singing about a hot Romani woman being the perfect motivator for a Romani man.

Azucena starts singing about a woman being burned at the stake (Aria: Stride la vampa!; “The blazing fire screeches!” sorry, couldn’t find a better translation. Have a Groucho Marx lampooning this bit, as an apology oh my behalf), with very graphic fire-related descriptions (hmmm??? Is that the same story of the old Romani woman being burned for witchcraft??????? Hmmmmmm?????????), and the chorus briefly chides her for killing the mood, before going off to work (prompted by some random (old?) Romani guy, a bass, but we don’t care about him because he’s only got one line), singing a reprise of the Anvil Chorus.

Manrico and Azucena are left alone onstage, and Manrico asks her to tell him that dark story that she was singing about earlier. Azucena tells the story of that same woman accused of placing a curse on the (older) Count’s son, who was in fact her own mother (Racconto: Condotta ell'era in ceppi; “She was taken in shackles”); essentially the same as the earlier “racconto”, but a different POV:

As Azucena's mom was taken to the stake, Azucena followed her while holding her own infant son in her arms. They tried to get in contact with each other one last time, but the mean racist white men wouldn’t let them. And then, as she met her fate, the old woman cried out “Avenge me!”, and these words still resonate deeply in Azucena’s heart.

Then, Azucena kidnapped the Count’s sick baby, and took him to the campfire, ready to throw him in it and avenge her mother. But she got so distraught by the infant’s crying and visions of her mother’s last cry of “Avenge me!”, that she accidentally threw her own son into the fire instead of the one that she intended!!!!! Seriously, what kind of insane baby mix-up is that????????

That’s when Manrico realizes that he is not Azucena’s son, but somehow, everything else about his actual parentage, such as the fact that di Luna is therefore his brother, seems to fly over his head, I guess????? *sighs* Tenors. It doesn’t help that Azucena insists that he is still her son, if not biologically, in that she has still raised him with a ton of love. Manrico agrees.

Azucena continues to support her point by recalling that time in-between acts when she herself came to retrieve Manrico after he was defeated and left for dead on a battlefield in Pelilla (I googled, and I think it’s somewhere in Salamanca, but I’m not sure), and did all her maternal best to tend to his wounds.

When Manrico mentions that it was di Luna (the current one) and his forces that beat his ass in that battlefield after he had Leeroy Jenkins-ed his way into an ambush, Azucena gets pissed at him for having spared the Count’s life earlier in that duel that we saw Act 1 close on. He explains that when he defeated the Count in that duel, some inexplicable force prevented him from delivering the mortal blow (HMMMMMMMMM?????) (Duet: Mal reggendo all'aspro assalto; “Badly withstanding the harsh attack”). Of course, Azucena is none too happy about that, and makes Manrico promise to kill the Count once and for all.

At that moment, the sound of a horn is heard. This is a signal for the arrival of a messenger, coming on behalf of Ruiz, a fellow soldier. Manrico replies with his own horn. The messenger (a tenor, but who cares) comes onstage and gives him a letter informing him that their allies have taken Castellor (I literally could not find anything about it, but I assume based on later in the libretto that it’s a fortress), and that Manrico is required by the Prince (Urgel) to supervise its defense. It also says that Leonora, having heard false reports about his (Manrico’s) death in that battle, has decided to enter some nearby convent this coming evening.

Of course, Manrico, being the tenor that he is, immediately jumps up to get on his way to stop Leonora from taking the veil, completely disregarding Azucena’s protests regarding his wounds that have not fully healed yet.

We now enter Scene 2, at the cloister of the aforementioned convent, which happens to be not too far from Castellor, at night. Di Luna, Ferrando and a few of di Luna’s men appear. We learn that di Luna (also still believing Manrico to be dead) intends to seize Leonora before she gets to take her vows, and he proceeds to sing about his love for her (Aria: Il balen del suo sorriso; “The light of her smile”, a beautiful, lyrical piece that seriously contrasts with the rest of di Luna’s designated characterization (how could a “bad guy” sing such a sincere thing?????), and certainly contributed to the development of the “Verdi baritone” vocal fach).

At that moment, we hear a bell tolling, which announces Leonora’s upcoming rite of taking vows. Di Luna, super-confident in his plans, hides with the others. Leonora comes onstage along with a procession of singing nuns. Ines is also with her, obviously crying because her dear friend is going to live in seclusion for good, and she’s gonna miss her so much. Leonora expresses her inability to live in the outside world after losing her beloved troubadour and remains firm on her decision to take the veil, but then di Luna bursts in, re-emphasizing his intention to make her his wife.

But his plans are interrupted when Manrico bursts in. Everyone present is shocked upon seeing the mysterious troubadour that everyone believed to be dead, in fact alive and kicking!!!! One of those large ensemble where everyone is singing something different ensues, until Ruiz (who’s a tenor, by the way) enters along with some soldiers to get Manrico. An irrationally angry di Luna tries to attack him and prevent him from taking Leonora with him, but his own men hold him back, telling him to be reasonable for once. The curtain falls on Act 2 as Manrico and Leonora get the hell outta here (Finale: E degg’io e posso crederlo? “Must I and can I believe it?” Well, that’s the translation from the English libretto I’m using, I can’t seem to find a definition for degg’io).

Act 3 (titled “Il figlio della z*ngara”; “The Son of the [Romani] Woman”), Scene 1 begins at some military camp. There are a bunch of soldiers hanging around outside di Luna’s tent, some of whom are gambling (Chorus: Or co' dadi; “Right now we’re playing dice”). We learn through Ferrando and then di Luna that there are plans to attack the Castellor fortress, where Manrico and Leonora currently are, on the next day. There is much military rejoicing, but then Ferrando comes in and says that some Romani woman was seen hanging around the camp and, SUPPOSEDLY fearing that she was a spy, the men have pursued and caught her.

Said Romani woman, who turns out to be Azucena searching for Manrico, is forcibly brought before the Count. He begins questioning her, and bit by bit, he starts having some sort of suspicion regarding some tragic event the audience might have heard about, that happened three lustrums (aka fifteen years) ago... It helps that Ferrando, just as he had stated earlier in Act 1, recognizes her as the woman who supposedly killed di Luna’s brother. The men start torturing Azucena by tightening her bonds, and she cries for Manrico to come and aid her. When he hears that Azucena is Manrico’s mother, di Luna realizes that he can use her to manipulate his rival, and he, Ferrando and the other men rejoice at finally getting revenge for the lost brother, as they sentence her to be burned at the stake.

We cut to Scene 2, in a room in the Castellor fortress. Manrico entrusts Ruiz with the care of the effort against the imminent attack, while he and Leonora plan to get married. Leonora is stressed out about the upcoming battle, but Manrico remains confident, and reminds her of his love for her (Aria: Ah sì, ben mio; “Ah yes, my dear/love”, which just happens to be somewhat less lyrical than Il balen, just saying). Right after that, we hear an organ playing, and Manrico and Leonora start getting ready to tie the knot.

But then Ruiz comes running in, with news of Azucena’s capture and upcoming execution. Manrico immediately tells Ruiz to bring reinforcements, which he does. The act ends with Manrico vowing to rescue his mother or die with her (Cabaletta (the second, more animated section of a bel canto aria, often with insane vocal acrobatics): Di quella pira; “Of that pyre”), as well as a call for arms along with Ruiz and a chorus of soldiers. Oh, and Leonora has been watching the whole thing with great unease. (on Wikipedia, it says that she faints at the end, but I don’t see that detail in the libretto or the score. Huh.)

(Quick note on Di quella pira: this aria is known for being pretty notorious to sing (see what I meant earlier by vocal acrobatics), and it doesn’t help that it is often traditional for the tenor to interpolate three high Cs (C5) that don’t exist in the original score, so most tenors will sing it transposed one half- or whole step down. Here’s a performance by the legendary Franco Corelli, singing it in the original key and adding in all three optional high Cs. Oh, and enjoy his Ah sì, ben mio in the same video while you’re at it.)

Act 4 (titled “Il supplizio”; “The Torture”), Scene 1 brings us to a wing in the Aljafería Palace deep in the middle of the night. Ruiz guides Leonora to the prison tower, where we learn that Manrico has been imprisoned after failing to carry out his rescue mission. Leonora, planning to rescue him, tells the wind to bring her sighs and her love to her boyfriend. (Aria: D'amor sull'ali rosee; “On the rosy wings of love”). We hear an offstage chorus of monks singing something having to do with with asking God to have mercy on a soul approaching death (quite fitting), and we also hear Manrico’s voice offstage, awaiting his death and crying out farewell to Leonora for some reason even though he doesn’t know that she’s right here. Of course, Leonora pretty much angsts over all these details, but promises to rescue him (Duet with chorus: Miserere; “Lord, thy mercy”, which I guess could count as a setting of Psalm 51).

Di Luna then comes, intending to have both Manrico and Azucena executed at dawn. Leonora reveals herself, and asks him to let Manrico go. Of course, di Luna absolutely refuses, no matter how much she begs (Duet: Mira, d'acerbe lagrime; “Look, with bitter tears”). That is, until she offers herself to the Count as his wife in exchange for sparing Manrico’s life. Of course, he immediately accepts the proposition. However, Leonora has something else in mind; seen only by the audience, she chugs some poison (in the libretto, she drinks it from a ring that she’s wearing, but in some productions, she drinks it out of a small bottle).

Di Luna talks to a guard, and it is confirmed: Manrico shall live! While the Count rejoices over now having Leonora all for himself, Leonora internally rejoices over being able to die right after having saved her boyfriend (Duet: Colui vivrà; “He shall live”).

Scene 2 is set in the dungeon where Manrico and Azucena are being held prisoner (which should apparently be a really shitty dungeon, according to the libretto) (Duet: Madre, non dormi?; “Mother, you’re not sleeping?”). Azucena is kind of losing her mind, between feeling like she is dying, flashing back to her mother’s death and fantasizing about her and Manrico going back to their former lives in the mountains, but Manrico tells her to get some sleep, which she eventually does.

Then, Leonora comes in. The reunion between the lovebirds is initially joyous (Trio: Che! Non m'inganna quel fioco lume?; “What! Does that dim light not deceive me?”), but then the mood shifts when Leonora reveals to Manrico that she cannot follow him, begging him to flee at once without her. He realizes that she offered herself to the Count as a price for his freedom, and our sympathy for him tips a bit as he starts angrily slut-shaming her (also, Azucena starts repeating some of her lines, the ones having to do with her and Manrico’s former life in the mountains and stuff, in the background at some point, but we’re not focused on that).

That is, until the poison Leonora took earlier starts kicking in sooner than she intended (even though, in true operatic fashion, it’s very slow). She collapses, and when she explains her initial plan of her dying in order save him, Manrico immediately regrets his slut-shaming words. Di Luna enters the dungeon and overhears her telling Manrico that she would rather die than belong to someone other than him (Manrico, that is) (Finale: Prima che d’altri vivere; “Rather than to live while belonging to another”). Di Luna quickly realizes how she deceived him, and is obviously outraged.

Leonora dies in Manrico’s arms, and di Luna immediately orders Manrico’s execution, (in the libretto, and in most traditional productions, Manrico is simply taken offstage by di Luna’s soldiers, but there are some productions where di Luna himself kills Manrico on-the-spot onstage, such as that aforementioned first production that I ever watched). Upon learning about Manrico’s death, Azucena tells di Luna that he was his brother, and di Luna is horrified. Azucena cries out: “You are avenged, o mother!”, which makes us really question the way she was meant to be portrayed by the writers, very likely the stereotype of the Evil Old Romani Woman or something.

The end! ❤❤❤ This has been an overly-detailed opera summary with unsolicited commentary, I hope you enjoyed ;)

- Raya / rayatii

(PS: we believe here that the true villain of this opera is di Luna Sr., as it is he and his stupid bigotry that resulted in no less than four deaths.)

(PPS: interestingly, the one sibling that the historical Count of Luna had on his father’s side was not a brother, but a sister, Violante. You know what that means????? ***trans Manrico headcanon intensifies***)

(PPPS: sorry for the humongous post; have this illustrated summary of the opera, much briefer than mine, by William Elliott, some illustrator who used to make those for the now-closed website Sinfini Music)