Is there any opera more shattering than “The Dialogues of the Carmelites,” when it’s done well? On Tuesday night, City Opera did it well. It was almost unbearable – that’s how good it was.

“Dialogues,” of course, is Francis Poulenc’s masterpiece from 1953. It tells the story of nuns who suffer and die – are killed – in the French Revolution. Your high-school teachers and college professors may have been rahrah about this revolution; Poulenc, bless him, was not.

It so happens that, two seasons ago, the Metropolitan Opera performed “Dialogues” unforgettably. In that cast were Patricia Racette, Heidi Grant Murphy, Felicity Palmer, and Stephanie Blythe. (I should throw in Matthew Polenzani, too, to name one man.) Ms. Palmer, in particular, was consummate as the Old Prioress. James Conlon led understandingly from the pit.

City Opera’s singers are not as famous as the Met’s, but they are far from shamed. In the central role of Blanche is Rinat Shaham, an Israeli mezzo-soprano. She gave just about all one could ask, musically and dramatically. She captured a woman’s searching and turbulence – and fear. Always fear, except perhaps in the opera’s final moment. Her voice is a little smoky, but not impure. (We can hear Carmen in that voice, even when she is Blanche.) The upper register is vibrant, and the lower one bottled. Ms. Shaham showed a sure technique, featuring intonation and evenness. This was especially gratifying in Poulenc’s exposed lines. And she never slopped over his intervals.

Constance is a much different character, sunny, chipper (and thus irksome to the stormy Blanche). The soprano Sarah Coburn made a beautiful Constance, singing with sweetness and freedom. Also with a slight forwardness, a brightness. She touched your heart, as Constance is supposed to do.

In the role of the Old Prioress was Joyce Castle, the veteran mezzo. She summoned all of her wisdom, vocal and otherwise. Among her virtues is a clean, natural English. (Did I say this production is in English? Poulenc wanted his opera in the local tongue.) This character’s death scene can be way over the top, but Ms. Castle crossed no line. It was a terrifying death – but not a scenery-chewing one.

Mother Marie was Eugenie Grunewald, a mezzo with a big, big voice, and a fearful rebuke. She could be flat on her high notes, and she could have sung less imperiously at times – but she did her job. As did Gwynne Geyer, Madame Lidoine, or the New Prioress. She is a solid soprano, with a nice, cutting top. Her big aria – which we know, in French, as “Mes filles, voila que s’acheve” – was accurate and heartfelt. Unfortunately, its only poor note was the last one.

“The Dialogues of the Carmelites” requires, above all, an excellent group of women, but a few men are needed. As the Chevalier de la Force, Matthew Chellis showed a fine instrument – a tenor – but his pronunciation was somewhat stilted. (Those Rs were over rolled, for one thing.) Baritone Jake Gardner was a self-controlled Marquis de la Force, giving off a noble presence. As the Chaplain, Scott Hogsed was admirably earnest, but he could have employed a touch more gravitas. And the revolutionaries were just right, in their cocky villainy.

City Opera’s orchestra began with a horrible entrance, and they would commit many other such mistakes. They were also guilty of a thin, scratchy sound. But they did a lot right, in the care of their conductor, George Manahan. The maestro kept this score moving, which was to his credit. He dawdled not at all. But he could have achieved more nuance, could have enjoyed certain phrases more. So too, he could have allowed for more transparency, more light. Yet some moments – e.g., the meeting between Blanche and her brother in Act II – had inarguable drama.

The chorus of Carmelites sang beautifully – although it doesn’t have much to do – and the mob violence was put across grippingly.

What was launched on Tuesday is a new production, whose stage director is Tazewell Thompson. It is a production that does not draw much attention to itself, which we can applaud: Poulenc and his characters have center stage, so to speak. Donald Eastman’s sets are simple but not nugatory. The crowd at the end is dressed in Chicago gangland style, which is curious.

The sisters’ march to the guillotine is curious as well. It is not a march at all. Each woman does something individual, something overtly theatrical, as she goes: a pause, a wail, a swoon, a gesture (or three). This is interesting but, to my mind, doesn’t match the stoic, unrelenting nature of the music.

I have listed a lot of details, above, but the important thing to say is that the overall effect of this performance was – again – shattering. Practically too much. You were almost sorry you went, which is how the best performances of this opera are.