Last week at Carnegie Hall, the Opera Orchestra of New York presented a rarity that used not to be a rarity: Ambroise Thomas’s “Mignon.” A few arias have always been familiar – “Connaistu le pays,” for one, and “Jesuis Titania,” for another – but the opera itself has fallen into disuse. Thomas’s “other” opera, “Hamlet,” has also become a rarity. But the Opera Orchestra of New York, under its founder-conductor Eve Queler, is always unearthing rarities, and giving us doses of the familiar, too. This is a valuable institution.

“Mignon” comes from Goethe, of course, his “Wilhelm Meister’s Apprenticeship.” (I can’t quite remember the work that “Hamlet” is based on.) “Mignon,” as a whole, is not immortal, but there is worthy music in it, and it has an impact, when staged. As you know, the OONY gives concert performances. Thomas’s score has trouble carrying that – but it does well enough.

Thursday night’s performance had a great singer – an obviously great singer – in the title role, the mezzo-soprano Stephanie Blythe. She was at the top of her game. Mignon, of course, is a little girl – a waif of a girl – and Ms. Blythe is not. But this is one of the values of concert opera. The look of it be damned: Let’s hear those voices, and the singing.

Ms. Blythe’s voice is huge. You’re surprised every time you first hear it, on a given evening; you remember, from the previous time, that it is big – but you’re liable to forget just how big. Ms. Blythe is like a beautiful Mack truck, coming at you. You’re happy to be clobbered. And she is an intelligent singer, too, with an excellent technique. Very often she has been compared to Marilyn Horne (who in a sense is incomparable). Both women may be sick of this comparison – but it is hard to avoid.

French is a good language for Ms. Blythe. And she made virtually the most of this role. A few details:

In the first act, Mignon has to sing the same note, repeatedly – and this is not easy. Ms. Blythe handled it superbly, singing with great evenness, and staying in the center of the note, every time. Her big aria – “Connais-tu le pays” – she gave the royal treatment. Not that she was extravagant: In fact, she was quite tasteful. She began the aria simply, naturally, almost matter-of-factly. And then as the aria built, it was both big and delicious, an unusual combination. Speaking of big (again): A high A from Ms. Blythe, delivered shortly after the aria, threatened to blow the roof off Carnegie Hall.

Perhaps most impressive about Ms. Blythe is that she gave some not-great music tremendous dignity. She elevated it, and Ambroise Thomas would have been thrilled to hear it.

The tenor – singing Wilhelm – was Massimo Giordano, not to be confused with Marcello Giordani, another Italian tenor, now appearing in “Un Ballo in Maschera” at the Met. An announcement was made for him at the beginning – he was suffering from a cold, asked for our indulgence – and he did indeed struggle, in spots. But he did some excellent singing, too. Mr. Giordano is in possession of a stunningly beautiful instrument, quite apart from the question of how he may use it. One can’t help going far with that voice. It is gleaming, tasty, close to wondrous. Often, there is a bit of a throb in Mr. Giordano’s voice, and his “Adieu” music bordered on histrionic – but he did not cross the border.

Besides which, with long black hair, Mr. Giordano cuts a romantic figure – just right for Wilhelm, and a thousand other roles.

In the part of Lothario was John Relyea, the Canadian bass-baritone, and one of the top singers in the world today. He sounded heavier than usual – bassier, somewhat stuffy, pompous. Also, his singing was not as clean as it usually is. But he is a fine singer, regardless, incapable of delivering a bad performance. He did not do so on this occasion.

How about the wonderful, frothy, bitchy role of Philine? That was taken by a Cuban-American soprano with the extraordinary and delightful name of Eglise Gutierrez. Her voice has some smoke in it, which is unusual for a high, light soprano. She has a generous vibrato, too, which she mainly controlled. In her arsenal is a nice high piano, and speaking of high: She sang a couple of E flats, and – at the end of “Je suis Titania” – an F, all of which were actually sharp. “Je suis Titania” was not polished, but it was winning enough.

Stephanie Blythe – great as she is – was not the only mezzo on the stage: Another was Kate Aldrich, in the part of Frederic, and she was awfully good, too. An American, Ms. Aldrich has a really beautiful instrument, which is not small, but which seemed tiny, with Stephanie Blythe’s around. Her singing was solid, assured – alive. With fetching looks to boot, Kate Aldrich should have the world at her feet.

Maestro Queler proved a competent manager of affairs. Thomas’s overture could have been lighter, frothier – funner, Frencher – and the evening was hardly mistake-free. But I dare say the orchestra wasn’t less accurate than the Kirov had been, the night before in Carnegie Hall, under Valery Gergiev in Mahler’s Symphony No. 2. And the chorus – the New York Choral Society – was first-rate: either warm or vigorous, as required, and sometimes both.

For years now, Carnegie Hall has had supertitles, and I believe that the OONY should take advantage of them. They pass out librettos – full librettos – in which a person can bury himself. It would be so much more pleasant to cast an eye on the singers. Speaking of being buried in a book, all the singers used scores: It looked like an oratorio, or a rehearsal. At one point, Mignon left Lothario’s consoling arms, to return to her music. Does that have to be? (Probably so.)

A regretful word about the audience, too: When Ms. Blythe sang the line “Cette Philine! je la hais!” (“That Philine! I hate her!”), the audience laughed. It is not supposed to laugh there; that is a deadly serious line, and Ms. Blythe rendered it perfectly. A couple of weeks ago, in “Cavalleria Rusticana” at the Met, the tenor started his great, tragic aria – “Mamma, quel vino e generoso” – and that audience laughed, too. (He had called out for his mother, you see.) You may wish to remember these incidents next time New Yorkers tell you how sophisticated they are.

Anyway, Thursday night’s audience at Carnegie Hall can tell their grandchildren they heard Stephanie Blythe as Mignon, a lucky experience.