The Enchantress (1887) is among Tchaikovsky’s least‑known, least-performed mature operas, yet it was the one he considered his finest. Set in the 15th century, to a libretto by Ippolit Shpazhinsky, the opera’s themes of church versus state in late 19th-century tsarist Russia did not necessarily make it comfortable viewing.

Charodeyka is sometimes translated as ‘The Sorceress’, but that’s unfair on the title-character Nastasya (known as Kuma, ‘Godmother’), whose warm, open personality charms guests at her tavern and brothel near Nizhny Novgorod. It is malicious gossips, led by the Orthodox priest Mamïrov, who accuse her of supernatural bewitchment, snaring both Prince Nikita and his son, Yury, who are both infatuated with her. Kuma is in love with Yury, but their plans to elope come to a bitter end when the puritanical Mamïrov goads Prince Nikita’s wife, Yevpraksiya, who poisons Kuma. Nikita, driven mad by these events, kills both his wife and his son in a Grand Guignol bloodbath finale.

At three and a quarter hours, it’s a lengthy work, considerably longer than its compositional neighbours Mazeppa (1883) and Pique Dame (1890), but it contains some really fine music. David Lloyd-Jones was an advocate, conducting it at Grange Park Opera in 2004 (the first performance in Russian in the UK). Another advocate is Asmik Grigorian, star of this 2022 Oper Frankfurt production by Russian director Vasily Barkhatov. The Lithuanian soprano had previously sung the role to great acclaim in Christof Loy’s staging at the Theater an der Wien in 2014. Grigorian really does have a special way with Tchaikovsky’s heroines – Tatyana, Lisa (Pique Dame), Iolanta – and here exudes the charisma essential to bring Kuma to life, her nuanced acting allied to a voice that encompasses both strength and fragility.

Come for Grigorian, stay for the staging. Barkhatov sets aside the work’s mystic symbolism, favouring instead an operatic thriller. During the orchestral introduction a series of photographs share Kuma’s backstory: marriage, pregnancy, miscarriage, estrangement. Her husband dies of an overdose and Kuma inherits his millions and devotes her life to art, opening a swanky gallery which attracts an avant-garde clientele who attend wild parties. Her free spirit is symbolised by visual references to forests and wolves. Thus she is viewed with suspicion by the authorities.

Barkhatov scores some political points. While Kuma is presented as sophisticated, Nikita’s oligarch family worships bling. Yury is a thuggish boxer, trophies lining a cabinet; his mother works out in a pink jogging suit and jewellery, immediately lighting up a cigarette after her training session. Yet Barkhatov’s direction also elicits our sympathy for these characters and Nikita’s descent into madness at the end is powerfully staged.

The rest of the cast is uniformly strong. Young Canadian baritone Iain MacNeil sings with great vocal warmth as Nikita, even if he does have to rather nervously feed treats to an alsatian which shares the sofa during his big aria. Claudia Mahnke’s dark mezzo makes for a striking Princess. Alexander Mikhailov’s tenor is a little tight as Yury, but this suits the young prince’s impulsive character. Frederic Jost’s gritty bass serves as Mamïrov, a role that Barkhatov conflates with Kudma, the wizard of Act 4, who concocts the potion to kill Kuma.

Valentin Uryupin conducts the Frankfurt Opera and Museum Orchestra in a rich, expansive account of Tchaikovsky’s score, one that deserves to be heard much more widely. Strongly recommended to those who enjoy exploring rare Russian repertoire.