Violetta’s Second Death
With Ileana Cotrubaș‘s death, we have lost a singer whose art was inextricably linked to truthfulness. Her voice had an unmistakable beauty, but it was not just her beauty that made her performances so moving. It was her honesty. The first recording of La traviata that I heard was the legendary one with Plácido Domingo and Carlos Kleiber, and Ileana Cotrubaș’s performance as Violetta made an impression on me that has never faded. Even today, her voice is immediately moving: vulnerable, warm and deeply human — never merely beautiful for its own sake. Whether she sang in Munich, Vienna, at the Metropolitan Opera or La Scala, she was an artist who created from the truth of the music and her characters.
Uncompromising opposition to Regietheater
his commitment to truth was also at the heart of her uncompromising opposition to Regietheater. Cotrubaș was not opposed to theatre, nor to new ideas or imaginative stage direction. What she rejected was a form of directing in which the director’s concept took precedence over the opera itself, subordinating the music, libretto and characters to an idea imposed from outside. For her, an opera was not an empty vessel into which a director could pour whatever contemporary concept they wished. It had its own identity, language and dramatic truth. This truth deserved respect.
Her position was remarkable because she was prepared to act upon it. Cotrubaș did not merely complain privately when she felt that a production betrayed the spirit of a work. She walked away from productions and rehearsals when she could no longer reconcile what was happening on stage with her artistic conscience. She accepted the professional consequences of saying no. This kind of courage was unusual, particularly for a singer at the height of her international career.
Responsibility towards the audience and the work itself
One of the most striking examples occurred in Zurich in 1987, following a performance of La traviata. Cotrubaș addressed the audience and openly expressed her disagreement with the production. It was an extraordinary gesture. She could easily have remained silent, accepted the applause, and moved on. Instead, she felt a responsibility towards the audience and the work itself. Her protest was not an act of vanity or rebellion for its own sake. It stemmed from her deep-seated belief that singers are responsible for what they embody on stage and that artistic freedom does not permit indifference to the music and drama. She received applause from avid opera lovers for her courage and artistic integrity.
For Cotrubaș, a singer was never merely an instrument at the disposal of a production concept. They were an interpreter, a dramatic personality, and a guardian of the text and music. She believed that performers had the right, and sometimes the duty, to say no when the essence of a work was being violated. Her later book, Opernwahrheiten, provided a lasting expression of these convictions. It formed part of a broader argument for an opera theatre in which music, text, character and staging remained in dialogue with one another rather than being pitted in competition.
This is perhaps why her performances felt so authentic. Cotrubaș could not simply ‘play’ a character from the outside. She had to believe in her. Her portrayal of Violetta was not a demonstration of vocal technique, nor was it a vehicle for a director’s concept. She was a human being. The character’s fragility, longing and dignity seemed to emerge directly from her voice. This level of truthfulness was rare.
One of the most distinguished lyric sopranos of her generation
Born in Galați, Romania, in 1939, Cotrubaș began her musical education in her homeland before establishing an international career that took her from Bucharest and Frankfurt to Vienna, Glyndebourne, London, Paris, Chicago, Milan and New York. She became one of the most distinguished lyric sopranos of her generation, particularly admired for her performances of Mozart, Verdi and Puccini. Her repertoire included roles such as Violetta, Mimì, Susanna and Pamina, in which her combination of vocal delicacy and dramatic intensity made an unforgettable impression.
Her collaborations with some of the greatest artists of her generation produced recordings that have become part of opera history. Above all, her performance as Violetta alongside Plácido Domingo under the direction of Carlos Kleiber remains extraordinary for many listeners. Personally, it has an even deeper significance for me: it was my first La traviata recording. It was through Cotrubaș that I first experienced how an operatic voice could convey an entire human life, becoming something more than sound.
She retired from the stage relatively early and increasingly devoted herself to teaching. Through masterclasses and her work with young singers, she passed on the experience she had gained during her extraordinary career. She remained committed to the same principles that had guided her as a performer: respect for the score, the text and the character, and, above all, the truth of the work.
Ileana Cotrubaș leaves behind more than just great recordings and memories of outstanding performances. She leaves behind a legacy – and, in an era of ongoing debate about the relationship between directors, singers and composers, a particularly relevant one. One may agree or disagree with particular aspects of her views. But it is impossible not to admire the integrity with which she lived by them. She was prepared to sacrifice comfort, professional security, and even engagements, rather than surrender what she believed to be artistically right.
Voice of extraordinary beauty
For me, however, she will always be remembered first and foremost as that Violetta: alongside Plácido Domingo, under the direction of Carlos Kleiber, in the recording that introduced me to La traviata. She had a voice of extraordinary beauty, but more importantly, it was a voice of truth. Vulnerable yet not weak, passionate yet not exaggerated, and always profoundly human.
Marco Aranowicz
