In 2018, Mariss Jansons, the late, great Latvian, conducted The Queen of Spades, Tchaikovsky’s opera, at the Salzburg Festival. In an interview before an audience, I remarked to him that, in the West, Eugene Onegin is the No. 1 Tchaikovsky opera and The Queen of Spades the No. 2. Jansons said that he could not understand that. He preferred The Queen of Spades. He said it belonged among the ten greatest operas.
I later wrote, “I don’t have this view, at all, but so great is my respect for Jansons, I will have to reconsider the issue.”
The Metropolitan Opera has revived The Queen of Spades in the company’s 1995 production, crafted by Elijah Moshinsky. In the role of Lisa is Sonya Yoncheva, the starry soprano from Bulgaria. I attended on Saturday night.
Yoncheva certainly sang like a star. She is a true singing actress, acting as much with her voice as with the rest of her. She does not skimp on technique. I will give you an example of what I mean by that strange statement. Yoncheva does not think that, simply because you are singing opera, you are excused from singing in tune. She sang admirably in tune.
When powerful, she did not sacrifice lyricism; when lyric, she did not sacrifice power. Her Lisa was somehow sensual and innocent at the same time—a feat.
The tenor, our Hermann, was Arsen Soghomonyan, from Armenia. He had some uncertain passages. But he also sang with beauty and even subtlety. He is not a barker of a tenor. And he grew stronger, more confident, as the night wore on, which is the desirable trajectory.
Leading the opera in the pit was Keri-Lynn Wilson, the Canadian conductor. She was never less than competent (and competence is a better baseline than you might imagine). Impressive, I think, was the prelude to Act III. It was simple, unfussed over. I think Tchaikovsky would have smiled.
The Queen of Spades is a woodwind-fest—like many a Tchaikovsky score—and the Met’s players were deft and pleasing. Also, the principal cello made welcome contributions throughout the night.
In the role of Count Tomsky was Alexey Markov, a Russian baritone. He put on almost a clinic of singing. He was strong, smooth, gleaming, and correct. He was also full of character (as when telling a story). There seemed to be no effort in what he was doing.
Yes, almost a clinic.
Another Russian baritone, Igor Golovatenko, was Prince Yeletsky. He was vocally imperfect. But the tenderness with which the prince expressed his love to Lisa was affecting.
By the way, why does Lisa prefer Hermann, that wreck of a man, to this princely prince? It is a mystery of the story (which sprang from Pushkin’s pen), and of life.
A Russian mezzo, Maria Barakova, sang Pauline, and did so with poise. Violeta Urmana began her career as a mezzo but rose—if that is the word—to soprano. She was our Countess. Last summer, in Salzburg, she was the Grandmother in The Gambler, Prokofiev’s opera.
It is that time of career, evidently: the Countess, the Grandmother (in Russian operas having to do with gambling). In both roles, Urmana was formidable.
Allow me a personal memory. The first time I saw The Queen of Spades at the Met was in the 1998–99 season. The Countess was portrayed by Elisabeth Söderström, who was in her early seventies. It was a treat to see her.
In any Tchaikovsky opera—any Russian opera?—the chorus is an important “singer.” The Met’s was satisfying on Saturday night. The prayer at the end was beautiful. Unfortunately, it was followed by a wretched orchestral entrance.
The opera lasted from 8 till almost midnight. When I left the auditorium for intermission, at about 9:10, I saw a little girl fast asleep. I wonder whether she slept straight through to the end.
