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In Praise of Eccentricity Wexford
O’Reilly Theatre, National Opera House
10/20/2025 - & October 25, 27, 29, 31*, 2025
Gioachino Rossini: Il viaggio a Reims, ossia l’albergo del giglio d’oro
Maria Matthews*/Forooz Razavi (Madame Cortese), Cerys MacAllister*/Maria Matthews (Modestina), Jane Burnell (Countess Folleville), Sarah Shine/Laura Aherne* (Corinna), Sarah Shine*/Laura Aherne (Delia), Helen Stanley*/Valeria Gorbunova (Marquise Melibea), Valeria Gorbunova*/Helen Stanley (Maddalena), Yu Shao/Gabe Clark* (Chevalier Belfiore), Seán Tester (Count de Libenskof), Aqshin Khudaverdiyev (Lord Sydney), Ihor Mostovoi (Don Profondo), Seamus Brady (Baron Trombonok), David Kennedy/Tong Guo* (Don Alvaro), Joshua McCullough (Don Prudenzio), Conor Prendiville (Don Luigino), Yu Shao*/Gabe Clark (Gelsomino), Rory Lynch (Zefirino), Meilir Jones (Antonio), Forooz Razavi (Nurse), David Kennedy (Nurse)
Wexford Festival Orchestra, Manuel Hartinger (conductor)
Rosetta Cucchi (director, set design), Massimo Carlotto (costumes), Paolo Bonapace (lighting)
M. Jones, J. McCullough, I. Mustovoi, G. Clarke, S. Brady, J. Burnell, A. Khudaverdiyev, S. Tester, T. Guo, F. Razavi (© Pádraig Grant)
Rossini’s last Italian opera, Il viaggio a Reims, ossia l’albergo del giglio d’oro, was a ceremonial pièce d’occasion conceived for the coronation of France’s King Charles X, during the brief period of the restoration of the monarchy. First performed in 1825, Rossini, never expecting it to be played beyond its first four performances, later cannibalized much of it for his bittersweet comic opera Le Comte Ory.
The idea of restoring an ode to the monarchy at a time when France had long been republican may seem risible to many. The manuscript, long thought lost, was found and restored by Rossini musicologist Philip Gossett. The venerable Pesaro Rossini Opera Festival witnessed its rebirth in 1984 with a stellar cast that included Katia Ricciarelli, Cecilia Gasdia, Lella Cuberli, Lucia Valentini-Terrani, Francisco Araiza, Edoardo Giménez, William Matteuzzi, Ruggero Raimondi, Leo Nucci, Enzo Dara and Samuel Ramey. Under such circumstances, the meager plot, with an absurdly high number of protagonists (eighteen), made sense.
In any theatrical performance, it’s acknowledged that audiences cannot easily navigate a plot if the number of protagonists exceeds eight, but allowances can be made when the cast is composed of easily identifiable superstars. This is precisely the problem with recent productions of Il viaggio a Reims: they’ve featured limited star power. For the audience, only in Act II, with its songs of the native lands of the noble guests at Albergo del giglio d’oro did one figure out the intricate characters and their relationships. The marvelous dramatis personæ include the French Countess Folleville; German Baron Trombonok; the Polish Marquise Melibea; the Russian Count Libenskof; the English Lord Sydney; the Italian antique dealer Don Profondo, and the Spanish nobleman Don Alvaro.
Forty years after its revival, plucked from oblivion by the great maestro Claudio Abbado at Pesaro, Il viaggio a Reims is no longer a rarity. It is now performed in theatres large and small. In some, it’s an excellent piece for a large in‑house ensemble. In others, it’s an excuse to present a formidable cavalcade of stars. It’s now a solid audience favourite, thanks to its marvellous music and extravagant characters.
The storyline is decidedly thin. A group of cosmopolitan bons vivants are at a country inn awaiting transport to Reims to attend the coronation of Charles X, the restored Bourbon King of France. Bad news reaches the inn: there are no horses to buy or rent to reach Reims for the coronation. Mercifully, Madame Cortese receives a letter from her husband in Paris announcing festivities in the French capital upon the return of the monarch. Countess Folleville invites the entire group to her home in Paris. The funds reserved for the trip are used for a celebration at the inn, and the remaining funds are to be given to the poor. This rather disdainful charitable spirit is in keeping with the anti‑revolutionary restoration imposed by the Congress of Vienna.
The cast of young singers was generally impressive. British‑Irish soprano Jane Burnell was an amazing Madame Folleville, the aptly‑named fashion‑crazed Parisian. In addition to her beautiful timbre and ease with her upper register, Burnell displayed a magnetic stage presence. Rather than the usual excessive histrionics, she had a novel affliction: a fear of not being able to walk, though she was able to, when undistracted by other matters. This affliction, rather than rendering her a hysterical virago, endeared her to us.
Iranian Forooz Razavi was a remarkable Madame Cortese, a role too often eclipsed by the work’s other female singers. Though she doesn’t sing as much as the others, she’s often onstage and unafraid to show her temper. Director Rosetta Cucchi chose her to be a hotel owner obsessed with order, a trait common to those in the business of hospitality. She also displayed a nervous tick, frequently shaking her head to one side. Impressively, Razavi managed to act and sing while yielding to her neurological affliction throughout the performance.
British mezzo Helen Stanley was the Polish Marquise Melibea, ardently pursued by two men: the Russian Baron Trombonok (sung by Irish baritone Seán Tester) and Spanish nobleman Don Alvaro (Chinese baritone Tong Guo). The two rivals ably portrayed caricatures of both nationalities. It’s near certain the Marquise Melibea is not fortuitously Polish. She alludes to a Poland partitioned between Russia, Prussia and Austria. The country’s definitive division took place in 1815 at the same Congress of Vienna, which restored the Bourbons to the French throne. Poland did not reappear on the map until the end of WWI, in 1918.
Irish soprano Laura Aherne portrayed the spirited Roman poetess Corinna. She positively exuded charisma as well as a beautiful soprano, as demonstrated in her evocative aria “Arpa gentil.” The Englishman Lord Sydney was sung by Azerbaijani bass Aqshin Khudaverdiyev. His rendition of the maudlin aria “Ah! Perché la conobbi?” was vocally and dramatically superb.
Corinna has another admirer, the vain Chevalier Belfiore, the companion of Madame Folleville, sung by American-Dutch tenor Gabe Clark, portrayed here as a self‑obsessed fool. This excessive vanity and narcissism, while amusing, rendered his courting of Corinna unconvincing. Therefore his aria “Nel suo divin sembiante” was brilliantly sung but implausible.
Don Profondo, the scholar and lover of antiques, performs “Medaglie incomparabili,” a charming account of the personal effects of his cosmopolitan fellow-travellers at the Albergo del Giglio d’oro. Ukrainian-Canadian baritone Ihor Mostovoi performed this amusing aria well, but somehow it lacked panache, thanks to his dubious imitations of the various accents of the international guests.
This performance was unique for two reasons. Firstly, it’s been brilliantly abridged by conductor Martin Hartinger into a compact one hundred‑minute version to suit Wexford’s aforementioned “pocket opera” tradition, offering two short day performances and a main evening opera each and every day of the 16‑day festival. In lieu of superstars, as was the case at the opera’s premiere in 1825 as well as its 1984 revival, it’s performed by a cast of young singers, in this case, members of the Wexford Factory Academy. Truth be told, this compact version may well be more effective than the original.
The second point of uniqueness involves Rosetta Cucchi, the talented Italian director and native of Rossini’s birthplace Pesaro, who is also the Wexford Festival of Opera’s Artistic Director. She ingeniously altered the plot, making the Albergo del giglio d’oro into Il Giglio d’oro Spa. Initially, it appears to be a regular wellness centre, where guests are pampered and their every need attended to. It’s only toward the end that we realize the guests are in fact patients in a sanatorium for people with mild psychological disorders or excessive eccentricities. Each is afflicted with a compulsive disorder reflecting a certain passion exercised in excess; Madame Folleville is fashion‑crazed, Corinna is mad about poetry, Chevalier Belfiore is utterly enamoured with himself, German Baron Trombonok fancies himself a conductor, and so on. By the end of the work, they believe their doctor is none other than King Charles X! Astonishingly, the physician’s compassionate touch had a moving effect on anyone with empathy for those afflicted with mental disorders. Never did I think I would shed a tear during a Rossini comic opera. Brava Rosetta Cucchi!
Ossama el Naggar
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