The place where I feel most contented is the Royal Opera House in London. This venue has been a formative influence, it’s supported me and challenged me, and remains my anchor today. It’s more than just a stage to me; it’s the place where it all began. I was 19 when I travelled to London’s Covent Garden to audition at the invitation of the Jette Parker Young Artists Programme. I’m from Kirgiz-Miyaki, a small village in the Republic of Bashkortostan in Russia, to the north of Kazakhstan. I didn’t speak a word of English, I was travelling abroad for the first time, and it was my first-ever experience of an opera stage. I was so nervous that I hadn’t eaten a thing, and there I was, alone on the main stage with no one in the orchestra pit except for the piano player, and sitting in the auditorium was Antonio Pappano, the Music Director of the Royal Opera House. It was all a bit much for me and I forgot to introduce myself, like a scene in a movie. Tony asked me what I wanted to sing and as if in a trance I went: Donizetti’s »O mio Fernando!«. Which I then proceed to sing.

The first six months in London were hard. I just wanted to up sticks and change my phone number and disappear back home to my safe zone. But a sense of responsibility held me back. I’d been one of five people selected from hundreds of applicants. People had believed in me and backed me and I didn’t want to disappoint them. So I stayed. And Antonio Pappano was the person who was discreetly there for me when I felt insecure. When I had no clue, he was there with some advice or a nudge in a particular direction. And it was the people there, from chorus members to security in the foyer, who gave me a helping hand. When I covered for someone as Carmen at the age of 21, it was their hugs and words that gave me the courage to appear in front of a large audience.

Akhmetshina at the stage door of the Royal Opera House. Next door is the café, her first port of call when she’s in London © Dan Medhurst

 

The Royal Opera House remains my safe haven to this day. I’m on the road a lot, singing in opera houses around the world. When I get back to London, the first thing I do is head for the café next to the stage door. I meet up with old colleagues, the make-up artist who I’ve been working with for eight years, the cleaners who greet me like old friends, or young singers from the talent programme. Even though I’ve been out of the Young Artist bracket for some time, I can still use the facilities to prepare for roles, working with pianists and getting language coaching.

In July I’m returning to the Deutsche Oper Berlin as Charlotte in Massenet’s WERTHER, a role that is especially close to my heart. In 2014, when I was still a student in Russia, I saw a recording of the »Met: Live in HD« for the first time, with Jonas Kaufmann and Sophie Koch, and I was stunned. In my eyes Kaufmann was the last word on Werther – and a couple of years later I was playing Charlotte opposite him on the stage of the Royal Opera House. My eyes welled up in one particular scene: it was like my own life was fusing with the protagonist’s. I was really touched and grateful. Some notices after the premiere had me as the »star of the evening«, which was not good, because I’m quite aware that no one shines in isolation. Without Jonas or Antonio or the ensemble or the backstage team, the night wouldn’t have been what it was. Opera is always a collective effort.

Ever since then, Charlotte and I have always been circling one another. She is ultra-authentic, reserved, full of depth and contradiction. She has always opted for duty over the self. She takes responsibility for her siblings, marries for pragmatic reasons, denies her own needs. When Werther enters her life, she comes face to face with passion – and is at a loss over how to respond. Her reticence is not a weakness; it shows that other people have been deciding things for her. I see Charlotte in a lot of women today, women who are fulfilling a role, making sacrifices, suffering in silence. And I see a part of me in her, too. I know what it is to struggle and keep functioning and be strong, because there’s no alternative. Which is why the character affects me to the extent it does – and maybe the audience, too. Because Charlotte shows us how hard it can be to be free.