You’re debuting as the Countess in Turin and then singing the role again shortly afterwards in the same production at the Deutsche Oper Berlin. An unconventional way of doing it, no?
Crazy! I’ve been waiting so long to sing the part and then along come two opportunities at once. In Berlin I’ll already know the set and the costumes and all the moves – so I can relax a bit. Usually with a debut there’s a lot of nervousness mixed in with the anticipation, but the more familiar you are with the role, the fewer the butterflies. It’s great the way the cards have fallen this time.

You seem to have close ties to the Countess.
She’s been tipping up in my thoughts since I was 19. In the first year of my studies I was a member of the chorus in THE QUEEN OF SPADES at a festival in Italy – and I had eyes only for the Countess. I was riveted by the emotional punch she delivered on stage. I wondered if I’d ever be able to do the same.

What was so riveting exactly?
The psychological dimension. The Countess isn’t just there to represent the older generation. She has backstory, yearnings, dignity – and scars. She wallows in memories and is not so taken with the present day. She’s disappointed in society as a whole and may have been disappointed in love, but far from being an elderly lady to be pitied, our production has her as younger and more vivacious. In a hark back to a time when she was an object of desire and wonderment, she waits every night in a black negligée for a lover. And on this particular night a lover arrives – but it’s Herman.

The famous bedroom scene, where the Countess reveals the three cards to Herman and then dies. What approach do you take in that scene?
I want to reflect her complexity, not just her rage. I reckon the Countess is well aware of what she’s doing. By handing Herman the thing he wants more than anything else, she’s playing her own – arguably cruel – game. But it’s also a tragic moment, because her past catches up with her. When my character dies on stage, I want it to have an impact on the audience. My acting and singing has to be done to perfection, maybe even slightly overdone. Like when Norma Desmond in »Sunset Boulevard« stalks her way down the staircase and says straight into the camera: »All right, Mr. DeMille, I’m ready for my close-up«.

Was there anything that particularly affected you when you were preparing for this role?
There was, but it wasn’t so much to do with the role itself. Some of the young singers from the chorus told me they listened to past recordings of me when learning their own roles. I was really touched. It’s amazing to think that the younger generation have heard of you and are listening to your CDs.

Are there parallels between your personality and hers?
I’ve been singing highly dramatic roles my whole life, but I’m not a drama queen at all in real life. Friends tell me: » You play such passionate women, yet you seem ultra calm and collected.« And I’m thinking: »Yep, and for precisely that reason«. On stage I get to express all those things that aren’t me in real life. That the wonder of theatre. I adore rehearsing and mugging up on a role and going into the psychology. I’ll never stop being a student of all that.

The role of the Countess is often referred to as a retrospective role for mezzo-sopranos in the latter stage of their career. Are you coming face to face with elements of your own biography?
There’s maybe something of that. I find myself talking more and more about how things were »back then« (laughing). When you get to a certain age, you have to watch out for that. But you know what? I’m proud of being 66, going on 67, proud of every wrinkle. Everything I’ve achieved in my 40 years on the stage has been hard-earned. I’m still on the road for ten months of a year, no burnout, no less joy doing it today than when I was young. You can’t ask for anything more.