Recordings of fifteen lesser-known Massenet operas
A survey by Ralph Moore

Given that Jules Massenet composed thirty-four operas in his lifetime, many of which – though by no means all –  were great successes, it is surprising how few of them feature regularly in the repertoires of opera companies. He was diligent and prolific – his output is similar in volume to that of Verdi  – but only two operas, Manon and Werther (as per my surveys) are frequently encountered. Admittedly, many of the works he composed before he was forty were either unfinished, remain unperformed, or are even lost, but that still leaves at least a dozen or so which were well received but have mostly fallen into desuetude. Nonetheless, many of them have been thought worthy of receiving studio recordings and there have been sporadic revivals of the first four below, especially Le Roi de Lahore and Esclarmonde, which were vehicles for Joan Sutherland who subsequently recorded them. Over the last fifty years, Thaïs, too, has certainly received notable performances from a bevy of divas such as Anna Moffo, Beverly Sills, Leontyne Price and Renée Fleming; Fleming also made a studio recording of it. The later opera Don Quichotte was similarly attractive to charismatic basses such as Chaliapin and Ghiaurov, but by and large, interest in the bulk of his œuvre has been intermittent. Le Jongleur de Notre-Dame, for instance, was once quite often performed in France with over 400 performances by the Opéra-Comique up until the 1950s, but it is now rarely staged.

I have an attachment to this most fecund and varied of Belle Époque composers; he was, in effect, a “chameleon”, able to adapt to all kinds of libretti and doing this survey has reminded me of the sheer variety of operatic topics and styles he was prepared to essay. This was in fact the result of a deliberate policy on his part; he relished the challenge of adapting and changing his style to suit the subject matter. I readily admit that his inspiration could be inconsistent; some operas are patchy but that is true of the copious works of even greater composers such as the even more prolific workaholic Donizetti and there is still so much to enjoy in these fifteen operas, especially the variety of colours Massenet conjures up via his orchestration, in addition to the high quality of singing. I review here the studio recordings of each of them in the chronological order of their premieres. I have made four exceptions to my brief of reviewing only studio recordings with Le Cid, Grisélidis, Amadis and Cléopâtre, there being only live versions of the first three and a studio version of the last which is not a viable option, but I think they are still worth getting to know from live accounts of some quality. Only three of those fifteen operas have received two studio recordings: La Navarraise, Le Jongleur de Notre-Dame and Don Quichotte. There is an accepted perception that a general decline in Massenet’s creative powers is observable in his later works, but I would cite both Don Quichotte and Cléopâtre to refute that assertion; it is simply that his style evolved.

You will note that the bulk of recordings here was made half a century ago in the 1970s, the heyday of studio versions by the big labels. A burst of activity in the 1990s resulted in few more being made but almost everything since has been live with mostly inferior singers. There is nothing here from the current century apart from Roma (see the end of this survey).

(There are also three live recordings of Le Mage, Ariane and Thérèse, issued in de luxe book/CD format by Bru Zane which I have not covered.)

The Recordings

Le Roi de Lahore (1877)
Richard Bonynge – 1979, Decca
National Philharmonic Orchestra
Chorus – London Voices
Alim – Luis Lima
Sita – Joan Sutherland
Scindia – Sherrill Milnes
Indra – Nicolai Ghiaurov
Timour – James Morris
Kaled – Huguette Tourangeau
Officer – John Tomlinson
Army Chief – Gareth Morrell
Soldier – David Wilson-Johnson

Massenet is often characterised as the composer of tender, sentimental music – and yes, pathos is his strong point but he could also do big crowd scenes and triumphant music, as the opening crashing chord fanfare of the overture immediately make clear, followed by a sweeping “Hollywood” melody. The first solo voice we hear is James Morris as the High Priest of Indra; I have never warmed to his strange, nasal, throttled timbre but he sings authoritatively. Next comes Sherrill Milnes, who is pretty much the same whatever he sings; neither singer sounds French as they roll their r’s ferociously, but this an “exotic” opera, so that matter less. They argue melodiously over the priestess Sitâ; indeed, the whole score is flowingly tuneful with nary an ugly or discordant sound – which is not to say that it lacks drama but its tunefulness is uninterrupted, even if not all those tunes are the most ear-tickling. Sutherland, like Milnes, is just as we are used to hearing her, her characterisation somewhat generalised but her vocalisation pure and ample of tone; she soars stratospherically, ending Act II with a top D, and her diction isn’t too mushy. Luis Lima is somewhat forgotten today but he was one of the best tenors on the circuit in the 70s and 80s – a little plaintive but similar in timbre to Carreras and Aragall. A starry cast is completed by Nicolai Ghiaurov as the god Indra and Huguette Tourangeau as the king’s aide-de-camp in relatively small roles. The second act takes place on the battlefield and some of Massenet’s score here anticipates the martial mode of La Navarraise seventeen years later, but Kales’ sinuous, “oriental” lullaby is typically light and delicate, and the lovely duet for her and Sitâ is a close cousin of Delibe’s “Flower Duet” from Lakmé (which was actually written five years later). The “Restons unis!” duet for the lovers at the end of the act is also very attractive.

The switch to fantasy in the brief Act III, set in the deity Indra’s paradise, is signalled by a rather mundane chorus of Celestia Beings and Blessèd Souls, but the ensuing “Divertissement” is more atmospheric, with solos for flute, harp and saxophone in the ballet inevitable in any Parisian Grand Opera. Ghiaurov does his turn as a noble-voiced god in what is little more than a cameo and we return to the world in Act IV, opening with Sitâ’s biggest aria, “Viens, ô mon bien-aimé”. Alim and Scindia, too, both have their set-piece arias in this act; again, neither of the first two is among Massenet’s more inspired creations – they meander somewhat – but they are both well sung; the best of the three, however, is given to the baritone and will occasionally be heard as a concert or album recital piece: “Promesse de mon revenir”, robustly sung by Milnes. Act V again opens with aria for Sitâ, providing another opportunity for Sutherland to sing powerfully and feelingly. This is succeeded by another passionate duet for her and Lima which reprises that of Act II, leading into a taut, dramatic finale; in many ways this last act contains the best of the music.

Bonynge’s conducting is flexible and sympathetic to his singers and the London Voices and orchestra are both excellent, as is Decca’s analogue sound, courtesy of Kenneth Wilkinson in the lamented Kingsway Hall.

This early work does not often bear the mark of Massenet’s eventual genius but there is still much to enjoy here, not least the singing of the premier cast and the sweep of the big choruses.

Hérodiade (1881; rev. 1884)
Michel Plasson – 1994, EMI
Orchestra & Chorus – Capitole de Toulouse
Salomé – Cheryl Studer
Hérodiade – Nadine Denize
Jean – Ben Heppner
Hérode – Thomas Hampson
Phanuel – José van Dam
Vitellius – Marcel Vanaud
Le Grand Prêtre – Jean-Philippe Courtis
Une jeune Babylonienne – Martine Olmeda
Une voix – Jean-Paul Fouchécourt

The advances Massenet has made in his craft as an operatic composer in the five years since Le Roi de Lahore are readily evident here; it is melodically more memorable and musically more sophisticated. The relatively new saxophone begins to figure ever more prominently in his orchestration, too. There are some silly plot-holes – well; this is Grand Opera – and Salome is not Strauss’ psychopathic nymphomaniac, just a nice girl torn by conflicting loyalties, but there is compensation in the drama of the confrontations. This recording rightly won two French music magazine awards: the Diapason d’Or and the Choc du Monde de la Musique. Once again, the grand-scale Prelude and opening chorus immediately conjure up an emotional and scenic landscape of an exotic and arresting character, and we soon hear two superlative voices in José van Dam’s majestic, purring bass-baritone and Cheryl Studer in best sensuous, shimmering form, delivering the first of several “hit numbers”, “Il est doux, il est bon”.

I always find Thomas Hampson’s baritone too soft-grained but he excelled in French opera where less Italianate heft was required and he makes an oily, plausible Herod, even if I long for a more virile baritone such as Robert Massard in this role; Hampson is smooth but not a patch on the vibrant Massard in his most celebrated aria, “Vision fugitive” (available only in the most desirable excerpts disc on the Accord label). Nadine Denize is an excellent Hérodiade – a real harridan who beseeches, wheedles and hurls imprecations without screeching. The team of five first-class soloists, one of each major voice-category, is completed by tenor Ben Heppner who also shone in the French repertoire; his aria opening the last act is beautifully sung. The first encounter between Salomé and John the Baptist is proleptic of the conflict between sacred and profane love in Thaïs, a theme beloved of Massenet – and indeed Wagner (c.f. Tannhäuser), from whom Massenet derived inspiration and with whom he is often compared. There are pre-echoes, too, of Tosca’s “E avanti a lui tremava tutta Roma!” (And before him all Rome trembles), Phanuel’s scornful observation of the prostrate Herod, collapsed on his couch: “Voilà l’homme qui fait trembler tout un empire!” (This is the man who makes an entire empire tremble). Marcel Vanaud is a stalwart bass Vitellius. A certain tremulousness in Studer’s singing in Act III makes me wonder if her voice is under some strain and which would account for vocal problems which later developed, but she is certainly vibrant and convincingly portrays Salomé as a vulnerable victim. Acts III and IV both contain quite a lot of orchestral and choral passages with the Scène religieuse and the ballet respectively and some have observed a diminution musical quality here, but the last two acts are skilfully written and the climax to Act III is really stirring. The smooth-voiced bass Jean-Philippe Courtis makes a brief appearance as the High Priest, adding another excellent singer to the roster here.

Act IV features a chastely passionate duet for the non-lovers, then, after a tub-thumping patriotic Roman chorus with a slow middle section, comes the obligatory ballet which always just holds up the action for ten minutes, especially if one is only listening rather than watching a performance and thus diverted by the spectacle – but it is lively enough and the home-listener can in any case always skip to the six-minute finale.

(For the record, I disagree with just about everything said in the review of this recording in BBC Music Magazine, which I find perverse and ill-judged.)

Le Cid (1885)
Eve Queler – 1976 live, CBS/Sony Classical
Opera Orchestra of New York
Chorus – Byrne Camp Chorale
Don Arias – Clinton Ingram
Don Alonzo – Theodore Hodges
Don Gormas – Arnold Voketaitis
Chimène – Grace Bumbry
L’Infante – Eleanor Bergquist
Le Roi – Jake Gardner
Rodrigue – Plácido Domingo
Don Diègue – Paul Plishka
The Moorish Envoy – Peter Lightfoot
St. James – John Adams

My MusicWeb colleague Mike Parr recently reviewed this world premiere recording and I refer you to his generally approving assessment, with which I concur. If we are never to have a new studio recording we could do a lot worse, especially given the quality of the singers involved – and the music, too, is often grand and noble – even banging and crashing –  alternating with more intimate, lyrical passages. It has two particularly fine arias which are often to be found in concerts and albums: Chimène’s “Pleurez! Pleurez, mes yeux”  and Rodrigue’s “Ô souverain, ô juge, ô père”, both beautifully sung here; Grace Bumbry is in spectacular and very loud voice; her range from a trenchant chest voice to ringing top notes is astounding. The young Domingo’s tenor is sappy and pliant; his top notes are hardly effulgent but he manages a decent top B in Act III. His “Nothung” moment in Act I – “Ô noble lame étincelante” (O noble, gleaming blade) is exciting – and reappears at the end of Act III. He sings his big aria in a dreamy, intense manner, but I think Queler’s pace is actually too slow and renders it sentimental even though his singing per se is impressive – and he oddly mispronounces “juge” as “jure” throughout. The Big Tune is reprised in the introduction to Act IV and again milked.

 The chorus and supporting cast are generally admirable, although Jake Gardner’s mild king is underwhelming compared with the rolling majesty of Paul Plishka’s bass. Eleanor Bergquist sings strongly, sweetly and very appealingly – and hits an E flat at the close of the final Act II ensemble. I wonder why we did not subsequently hear more of her. American baritone Arnold Voketaitis sings straightforwardly and pleasantly in Don Gormas’ short-lived (literally) appearance. Nobody characterises with any depth or subtlety but that is the fault of the opera itself which is primarily a vocal showpiece and offers few opportunities for any psychological profundity.

Be aware, however, that the ballet music in the CD issue contains three fewer dances than on the original LPs, which had seven, so nearly ten minutes of music are lost. Completists will be irked, as the music is colourful and very Spanish – as it always is when written by Frenchmen! –  although operaphiles won’t mind that much, as ballets always hold up the action. In any case, that is all we are given. Furthermore, the original CD issue with a brown cover had a booklet containing a libretto in French, English and German; subsequent ones do not.

Its being performed live hardly proves to be much of a handicap to accuracy – the clarinet solo opening Act III preceding and then accompanying Chimène’s big aria is lovely – or indeed a hindrance to our enjoyment, a few balance issues and some over-close miking and an element of overload notwithstanding; that at least results in very little coughing or audience noise being picked up and I am less bothered than MP by any deficiencies in the sound quality; it is certainly very immediate and the singers are more concerned with giving it their “can belto” all than replicating Gallic elegance. I still derive much guilty pleasure from it; it is a typically spectacular Grand Opera with some good tunes and I am surprised that it has not been more often revived.

Esclarmonde (1889)
Richard Bonynge – 1975, Decca
National Philharmonic Orchestra
Chorus – John Alldis Choir – Finchley Children’s Music Group
Esclarmonde – Joan Sutherland
Parséis – Huguette Tourangeau
Emperor Phorcas – Clifford Grant
Roland – Jaume Aragall
L’Evèque de Blois – Louis Quilico
Enéas – Ryland Davies
Cléomer – Robert Lloyd
A Saracen Envoy – Ian Caley
A Byzantine Herald – Graham Clark

Despite its plot being the most risible load of old hokum, I have a special affection for this recording of Esclarmonde, having acquired it on its first issue only shortly after I became enthused by opera in general – and it has aged really well, artistically and sonically. It was also Joan Sutherland’s favourite among her recordings – for good reason; she is in imperious form, not essaying the top G that its dedicatee, first exponent and object of Massenet’s devotion Sybil Sanderson could encompass, but still sprinkling the score with frequent high Cs, a pair of high Ds in the “Esprits de l’air” Invocation Scene and another again at the end of Act III – and even a formidable  top E-flat before that. The listener is conscious of the sheer amplitude of her voice from the first notes she utters. I suspect that the only reason it is not more often performed resides in the difficulty of finding a soprano who can rise to its challenges. Once again, the array of superb voices is a real bonus, even down to the comprimario roles; the orchestra and John Alldis Choir, supplemented by the Finchley Children’s Music Group, are likewise all exemplary – great in the big crowd scene of Act III.

The opera itself followed Manon and Le Cid, so is part of yet another leap forward in Massenet’s art; the quality of whole work is sustained in a manner which he has not hitherto been able to achieve in his previous operas, despite their virtues, and the melodies are distinctly more memorable. The depth, colour and variety of Massenet’s orchestration, too, reaches new heights. The spectral hunting music in Act I is fit to stand alongside that encountered in Weber’s Der Freischütz and Berlioz’ Les Troyens.

The Prologue opens with a brass fanfare and a majestic organ blast conjuring up the splendours of the Basilica in Byzantium, a scene complemented by the steady sonority  of Clifford Grant’s mighty bass. Act 1 is mostly given over to exchanges and duets between long-time vocal partners Sutherland and Tourangeau, whose “cupped” mezzo is an acquired taste but I have always enjoyed, especially as she is never reluctant to dip into her lower register.

Jaume (aka Giacomo) Aragall does not appear until the second act and the limpid, yet slightly husky,  timbre of his beautiful tenor there excites a particular thrill of recognition on the part of this listener; he sings wonderfully throughout. The harp cascades depicting the dancing spirits are a delight; again, Berlioz comes to mind. Esclarmonde appears, veiled, to supervise the daddy of all forced, arranged marriages – shades of Lohengrin and Turandot, except it is her face not the hero’s name, which must remain concealed; that matters little as it is the sensuality of the music which seduces the ear. The extended love duet is not for folk who like their music spare and lean; it is full-fat Romantic. In addition to the influences already mentioned, the spirit of Wagner, of course, hovers over the music – complete with a magic sword, Nothung-style – as does his follower, Humperdinck, as snatches of lushest passages in Hänsel und Gretel keep coming to mind, too. The operatically literate will also inevitably think of other seductive enchantresses like Handel’s Alcina, and Armida in Rinaldo.

Robert Lloyd’s sonorous bass makes an impact as the King of France in Act III, singing in excellent French and he is well matched with baritone Louis Quilico’s equally full-voiced Bishop. The opening of Act IV permits us to enjoy some more grand fanfares and excellent stereo distancing effects; there follow some lovely ensembles. We come full circle with a reprise of the opening apostrophe by the Emperor Phorcas and are granted a happy ending. It really is the most enjoyable load of old codswallop couched in glorious music. Get a copy – because there neither will be, nor need to be, another recording – ever.

La Navarraise (1894)

Antonio de Almeida – 1975, CBS
London Symphony Orchestra
Ambrosian Opera Chorus
Anita – Lucia Popp
Araquil – Alain Vanzo
Garrido – Vincenzo Sardinero
Remigio – Gérard Souzay
Bustamente – Claude Meloni
Ramon – Michel Sénéchal

Henry Lewis – 1975, RCA
London Symphony Orchestra
Ambrosian Opera Chorus
Anita – Marilyn Horne
Araquil – Plácido Domingo
Garrido – Sherrill Milnes
Remigio – Nicola Zaccaria
Bustamente – Gabriel Bacquier
Ramon – Ryland Davies
Un soldat – Leslie Fyson

The recording by CBS was the first complete account of the opera but they did not have long to wait for competition: it is a mark of the health and capacity of the market in that era that two rival companies each made a studio recording of this relatively obscure opera in the same year within a few months of each other – and they are in fact quite different in character, beginning with the tempi chosen. De Almeida is much more urgent at just under forty minutes, whereas Lewis takes over 47 – which is quite a disparity in so short a work. Secondly, the voice-types of the principal singers are very diverse: Popp was essentially a lyric soprano; Horne a hefty, chesty mezzo; Vanzo a lyric tenor with the ability to undertake weightier roles; Domingo was a spinto; Sardinero was a lyric baritone whereas Milnes was defined as a dramatic baritone; Souzay was another lyric baritone who mostly eschewed opera and sang Lieder and mélodies while Bacquier was most definitely of a more robust type who sang roles like Scarpia. So you get the picture: the RCA is in a more generic, Grand Opera style, whereas the CBS recording is more in the fleeter, lighter, French tradition – but does that make the latter more authentic, given that Massenet, ever the crowd-pleaser who kept his finger on the pulse of public taste, was now experimenting with the crash-bang-wallop verismo-style in La Navarraise? The first thing we hear is the gunfire of battle and the whole thing is a bodice-ripper culminating in a shrieking heroine driven mad by grief; refined, it ain’t.

I reviewed the CBS recording back in 2018 and naturally made comparisons with the RCA version;  essentially, I liked both for different reasons and see no reason to change my view; I refer you to that review for a bit more detail and suggest that you choose according to your own taste.

The RCA issue offers a booklet in a slipcase with a full French libretto and an English translation; the CBS booklet just has the same plot synopsis as RCA.

Thaïs (1894; rev. 1898)
I must pass over Julius Rudel’s 1974 studio recording with Anna Moffo as, despite the presence of Carreras, the formerly divine soprano was sadly already undergoing severe vocal trials. Unfortunately, the same is true of the recording two years later with Sills and Gedda – neither was up to the demands of the work by that stage of their careers. However, that still leaves these two excellent recordings:

Jésus Etcheverry – 1961, Accord
Orchestre et Chœurs
Thaïs – Renée Doria
Athanaël – Robert Massard
Nicias – Michel Sénéchal
Palémon – Gérard Serkoyan
Crobyle – Françoise Louvay
Myrtale – Jeannine Collard
Albine – Jeannine Collard
Servant – Jacques Scellier

Yves Abel – 1997-98, Decca
Orchestre National de Bordeaux-Aquitaine
Chorus – Opéra de Bordeaux
Thaïs – Renée Fleming
Athanaël – Thomas Hampson
Nicias – Giuseppe Sabbatini
Palémon – Stefano Palatchi
Crobyle – Marie Devellereau
Myrtale – Isabelle Cals
Albine – Enkelejda Shkosa
La Charmeuse – Elisabeth Vidal
Servant – David Grousset

I reproduce here a review which I included in my survey of Robert Massard’s recordings which compared these two versions:

“The cast is absolutely first rate and the stereo sound excellent but the caveat is that its value is compromised for anyone who demands the full score – at least the full score as devised by Massenet four years after its premiere, when he added the Oasis scene to Act III. That scene is included here but unfortunately Athanaël’s Temptation and Vision scene, which should follow it, has been chopped. There are also some cuts in Act II, yet we get the ballet music complete. Otherwise, it is a wonderful souvenir of the best of French opera performance in the early 60’s.

So this is not an “enregistrement intégral” despite the claim on the cover and I would suggest that the recording which provides the best performance of the whole thing is the most recent studio version conducted by Yvel Abel and starring Renée Fleming in top form and a more than adequate Thomas Hampson. Nonetheless, despite the luxuriance of her voice, Fleming does not have quite the Gallic authenticity of her namesake Doria and he does not have the vocal heft, intensity and beauty of tone of my favourite French baritone, Robert Massard, who is better at capturing the combination of sensitivity, sensuality, vulnerability and obsessiveness of the character. However, both baritones share the gift of excellent French and pellucid diction. The microphone tends occasionally to catch a shrillness which was not apparently noticeable live but otherwise Doria is ideal, with a shimmering, sensuous quality to her voice and terrific top notes, including sustained top Ds, one of which is held twice as long as the score demands on the concluding “éternellement” of her most famous aria – and all the better for it. To complete the trio, Michel Sénéchal makes a captivating, grainy-voiced Nicias, eminently louche and likeable. The chorus and orchestra are first rate from the first notes of the atmospheric prelude which strikes the note of exoticism so typical of Massenet at his indulgent best; the orchestra has a kind of resinous, slightly nasal quality characteristic of French bands before the homogenisation of orchestral sound worldwide. Just listen to the salt-spray-soaked introduction to the musical depiction of Alexandria which precedes it, and whose theme then pervades, Athanaël’s apostrophe to the city of his birth; it’s magically scored and played.

The best moments all come off in this recording, including the lovely quartet when the hussies are dressing up the would-be saint and the gorgeous duet between Athanaël and Thaïs, “Baigne d’eau tes mains” which cements their rapprochement.”

As with the two recordings of La Navarraise, I find it hard to choose a favourite between these two versions: I don’t want to be without singers like Massard and Doria but that recording is missing a scene and obviously the digital Decca version is sonically superior. I really enjoy both Fleming and the under-recorded Sabbatini in that recording but both Doria and Sénéchal are more authentically Gallic. Sorry to sit on the fence; I suggest owning both but either will satisfy and there is only one option for the complete score.

Sapho (1897; rev. 1909)
Roger Boutry – 1978, EMI
Orchestre Symphonique de la Garde Républicaine
Chorus – Chorale Stéphane Caillat
Fanny Legrand – Renée Doria
Jean Gaussin – Ginès Sirera
Divonne – Gisèle Ory
Césaire – Adrien Legros
Irène – Elya Waisman
Caoudal – René Gamboa
La Borderie – Christian Baudéan
Le Patron – Jean-Jacques Doumène

This was the only recording new to me before I embarked upon this survey, so I approached it with no preconceptions. Although I have listened to the live recording issued by Opera d’Oro, conducted by Bernard Keefe and starring Milla Andrew, Sapho has never much appealed to me; it was respectfully received, enjoyed a respectable first run of 42 performances and was quite often performed in its revised and expanded form from 1909 up until the 1930s, but has since disappeared and never re-established itself in the repertoire. That slightly damning trope used to describe unpopular operas may be applied: “a vehicle for a star soprano” – here, Renée Doria, who can sometimes come across in recordings as a bit shrill, but is a confident and charismatic performer who convinces as the demi-monde “older woman” and captures the heart of the naïve country boy.

The opera begins quite promisingly with some jolly dance music but baritone René Gamboa is somewhat throaty with a bleating vibrato. Much better is tenor Ginès Sirera whose light, pleasant, boyish voice of the true French, Vanzo type, makes the most of one of the few set-piece arias, hymning his native Provence – and he has pellucid diction, even though he is hardly subtle. The brief first act is like a very condensed version of the first act of La traviata; the second act again features one brief tune which is (to borrow from Wiki) “a song, “O Magali, ma tant amado”, based on a traditional melody, which Gounod had already used in Mireille. The warm-voiced mezzo Gisèle Ory and stalwart bass Adrien Legros are good as the student Jean’s parents – she has a nice aria – but Elya Waisman as his intended fiancée Irène has a really nasty, scratchy voice which affords no pleasure at all. The arrival of Doria, bustling in and taking over the hapless Jean’s digs, ushers in a more conversational mode then evolves into a love duet suggestive of a certain suppressed passion and requiring considerable vocal dexterity of Doria, who spins some lovely, long piano notes – but at other times when under more pressure, she sounds rather too mature to be a sirène and femme fatale.

The outdoor café scene opening Act III invites further comparisons with Puccini’s La bohème and La rondine and there is another charming, more light-hearted, love duet. The dramatic revelations of Fanny’s louche past and the resultant break-up are dramatic but not very cohesive, musically speaking. I find it very hard to recall anything much of the score when I have finished listening to it, whereas works such as Esclarmonde – and of course Werther – sear themselves on the memory. In truth, there are too many longueurs in this opera and at times it bores me. Act IV is really rather contrived and dramatically redundant. The muted ending to Act V when the Fanny decides quietly to leave her lover, is again very similar to that of La rondine.

Ultimately, despite some nice numbers and some good singing from the two principals, this strikes me as a negligible work of no great distinction, especially when compared with Massenet’s masterpieces – but you have to give him credit for being so catholic in his willingness to embrace as many different operatic styles as possible. I am heartened to find that my response matches almost exactly my colleague Simon Thompson’s in his review of 2012.

Cendrillon (1899)
Julius Rudel – 1978, Sony Classical
Philharmonia Orchestra
Ambrosian Opera Chorus
Cendrillon – Frederica Von Stade
Le Prince charmant – Nicolai Gedda
Mme. de la Haltière – Jane Berbié
Pandolfe – Jules Bastin
La Fée – Ruth Welting
Noémie – Teresa Cahill
Dorothée – Elizabeth Bainbridge
Le Roi – Claude Meloni
La Voix du Héraut – Claude Meloni
Le Doyen de la Faculté – Paul Crook
Le Surintendant des Plaisirs – Christian Du Plessis
Le Premier Ministre – John Noble

This was very favourably reviewed here in 2004 by Colin Clarke who made it a “Recording of the Month” despite the absence of libretto; the main difference between our responses is in regard to Nicolai Gedda, whom I hear as strained and well past his best – and even in its prime his tenor always sounded to my ears somewhat whining, bleating and nasal, without true squillo. In any case, casting the Prince as a male singer goes against the composer’s wished that he be a mezzo en travestie. On the other hand, I am a Flicka von Stade devotee; something about her voice goes straight to the heart and she had – indeed has, as she is still singing well past the age when most singers have long retired –  a special affinity with French opera. She has a gift for pathos, which is of course ideal for any portrayal of this most put-upon of characters. She is a mezzo-soprano singing a role devised for a soprano but has no problem rising to the piano top A and B-flat required but the top D at the start of Act III, when she narrates her panic and fear fleeing the ball, is there but hardly comfortable. In gentler music, such as the aria “Seule, je partirai” at the end of Act III, she is meltingly lovely.

This recording omits the Preface in which the characters of the fairy tale introduce themselves so we go straight into the action with Pandolfe, the father of Lucette (i.e. Cinderella) lamenting his loss of a quiet life and the neglect of his daughter. Jules Bastin is a little dry of voice but adept with the text and Jane Berbié as his second wife, the stepmother, is likewise a good vocal actress but a bit screechy. The “Ugly Sisters” are neatly sung by a well-known pair of British singers; the music itself is light, tripping and charming – and mostly negligible.

We step up a level, musically speaking, with the entrance of Cendrillon and her plaintive little aria “Reste au foyer, petit grillon” (Stay by the hearth, little cricket). The sadly short-lived coloratura soprano Ruth Welting is a delightful Fairy Godmother, supported by the ever-reliable Ambrosian Opera Chorus as her attendant spirits. Their music is sparklingly festive, making this a perfect Christmas entertainment. This opera having been devised for Parisian audiences, the ball features the inevitable ten-minute ballet sequence, which is fairly conventional but unobjectionable.

What a pity, then, that Gedda lacks the easy charm his role demands; his voice is grainy and pulsing, coarse on lower notes – he sounds not the least like a young prince but more like an old uncle. The Prince’s first duet with Cinderella would and could have been so much more seductive with a mezzo because the music is vintage Massenet at his most tender; a second duet between father and daughter in similar mode is much more touching. The singer who doubles as the king and Herald has an unfortunate tremolo, too.

However, returning to more positive aspects of this opera, the moonlit forest scene under a great oak tree in Act III when the Fairy conjures a meeting between the lovers is especially enchanting in much the same way that the fairy scene – also under an oak, with a lyric soprano – in Verdi’s Falstaff enchants; Massenet had surely heard it, as it premiered in librettist Boito’s translation in French in April 1894, five years before Cendrillon was first performed.

Given the cast weaknesses, especially on the male side, and the fact that score is not uniformly inspired throughout, this is not one of my favourite Massenet opera recordings, despite the excellence of von Stade and Welting and its many incidental beauties.

(A French only libretto is available here.)

Grisélidis (1901)
Patrick Fournillier – 1992, live composite; Koch Schwann/Brilliant
Franz Liszt Symphony Orchestra
Chorus – Choeurs de Lyon
Grisélidis – Michèle Command
Flaminia – Claire Larcher
Bertrade – Brigitte Desnoues
Le Diable – Jean-Philippe Courtis
Alain – Jean-Luc Viala
Le Marquis – Didier Henry
Le Prieur – Christian Tréguier
Gondebaud – Maurice Sieyes

This “conte lyrique” based on a medieval legend begins most attractively with some beautiful pastoral music and the robust, but still very French, tenor of Jean-Luc Viala singing full-throatedly of his love for the shepherdess Grisélidis. Didier Henry has a smooth, urbane baritone which is perfect for portraying the seductive charms of the Marquis. I have always enjoyed Michele Command’s warm mezzo-ish soprano; she is rather stately but the voice per se is lovely. She has a big set-piece aria beginning Act III, first sadly lamenting, then prayerful, which is a high point; another is the passionate, extended duet with Viala’s Alain in Act II. Jean-Philippe Courtis is hardly menacing as the Devil – he is more sly and oleaginous, and a hen-pecked husband to boot – but that’s the character and his smoky bass with its quick vibrato is always pleasing. Claire Larcher makes a lively Flaminia, his over bearing wife. Maurice Sieyes sings a dramatically affecting Marquis, deploying a lean baritone of the Ernest Blanc type. Brigitte Desnoues sings Bertrade very prettily; indeed, all the voices here are admirable and fall most gratefully on the ear; they are uniformly elegant and urbane, and Fournillier’s conducting is relaxed and indulgent, suiting the delicacy and lyricism of Massenet’s score, which is stuffed with good tunes. It is not all gentle lyricism; for example, the kidnapping of the toddler Loys is harrowing and Marquis has a dramatic “betrayal aria” at the start of Act III before a tense confrontation with his wife in which both suspect the other of infidelity, and the miraculous finale might not be musically stellar but it is theatrically effective.

The recording was drawn from live performances, but apart from applause at the end of acts, you would never know; it sounds just like a studio recording – another reason to justify its inclusion here.

Not having revisited this recording for many years until doing this survey, I had forgotten how enjoyable this work is and understand why critic Rodney Milnes considered it to be one of Massenet’s best and most unjustly neglected operas. The plot is naïve but it was good enough for Boccaccio and Chaucer and is just a vehicle for some affecting and humorous scenes couched in absolutely delightful music.

(A French-only libretto, cut in places, is available online here.)

Le Jongleur de Notre-Dame (1902)
Pierre Dervaux – 1973, Le Chant du Monde; Gala
Orchestre Philharmonique de l’O.R.T.F.
Choeur de Radio-France – Maîtrise de la Radiodiffusion Française
Jean – Alain Vanzo
Boniface – Robert Massard
Le Prieur – Jules Bastin
Un moine peintre – Yves Bisson
Un moine poete – Jean Dupouy
Un moine musicien – Claude Meloni
Un moine sculpteur – Pierre Thau
Angel 1 – Christiane Issastel
Angel 2 – Jeannine Collard

Again, I reproduce here my review from the first of my two surveys of Robert Massard’s recordings:

Recorded in excellent stereo sound, this is a little gem for devotees of Massenet’s rare opera – which used to be very popular but has long dropped out of the repertoire. Its delicate tracery of music is expertly conducted here and the all-male soloists feature the most celebrated trio of francophone singers imaginable in Vanzo, Bastin and Massard and a fine supporting cast. It is a charming, naïve work – really a modern take on a medieval “miracle play” – with jolly crowd scenes, a lovely monks’ chorus and a principal role which calls for a sweet-voiced tenor capable of creating pathos – enter Alain Vanzo; ideal. (Five years later Vanzo made a fine studio recording – see below – in which Bastin moved up to Boniface but he is surely more apt as the Prior.)

Robert Massard’s part in proceedings is not that great beyond his singing the best-known aria in the work, “La légende de la sauge” and his announcement of the Virgin’s miraculous blessing of Jean. As always, his cultivated tones are almost too refined to portray credibly a simple soul like Boniface but his acute powers of characterisation can always be relied upon to overcome that. He makes the aria a centrepiece, elevating it into another realm with his soft singing and tender phrasing before defaulting into the bluff Boniface the monk who’s the chef and loves his grub.

(On the Chant du Monde issue, this is paired with a 1963 mono recording of La Navarraise with Alain Vanzo, Geneviève Moizan and bass Jacques Mars, conducted by Jean-Claude Hartemann.)

Roger Boutry – 1978, EMI
Orchestra & chorus – L’Opéra de Monte-Carlo
Jean – Alain Vanzo
Boniface – Jules Bastin
Le Prieur – Marc Vento
Un moine peintre – Jean-Marie Frémeau
Un moine poete – Tibère Raffalli
Un moine musicien – Michel Carey
Un moine sculpteur – Jean-Jacques Doumène
Angel 1 – Antoinette Rossi
Angel 2 – Amanda Cassini

Boutry directs a lively, atmospheric performance; the chorus is very animated and Vanzo is still in good, distinctive voice – perhaps a tad more nasal than of yore. Massenet pulls off another trick by writing in yet another, different style for the market place; the score is very lively and direct and libretto sharp and witty. The lyrical, through-composed Massenet, stringing together snatches of melody, returns in Jean’s encomium to Liberty, full of tributes to the beauties of Nature as in Werther, sung before he yields to the growling of his stomach and enters the abbey.

The cast here is again a good one; Marc Vento is a grave, steady Prior, although I still prefer Robert Massard’s Boniface to Jules Bastin’s – the latter was best suited the Prior, even if in the flesh he certainly looked the part of a chef, being famously rotund…

The analogue recording quality is excellent. It matters little whether you listen to this or the Dervaux recording above; both are very satisfactory.

This work was apparently a favourite of the composer. It has never really caught on except among cognoscenti but it has its charms, and its variety and characterisation ensure that it is by no means dull. Perhaps the sentimental story and all-male cast have condemned it to languish but Massenet enthusiasts will enjoy it.

(A libretto in French may be found here, and an English translation here.)

Chérubin (1905)
Pinchas Steinberg – 1991, RCA Victor
Münchner Rundfunkorchester
Chor der Bayerischen Staatsoper
Chérubin – Frederica Von Stade
Le Philosophe – Samuel Ramey
L’Ensoleillad – June Anderson
Nina – Dawn Upshaw
Le Comte – Jean-Marc Ivaldi
La Comtesse – Hélène Garetti
Le Baron – Michel Trempont
La Baronne – Brigitte Balleys
Le Duc – Michel Sénéchal
Le Captaine Ricardo – Claes H. Ahnsjö
Aubergiste – Armand Arapian
Un Officer – Rainer Scholze

Once again, Massenet donned his Spanish cape here and despite being in his sixties, produced a youthful, vivacious and glittering score, shot through with sunlight, a real celebration of life, starting with a sparkling overture replete with Mozartian energy – although beyond Massenet’s interest in depicting and developing the character of the eponymous young here, the links between Chérubin and Le nozze di Figaro are at best tenuous – and there is no audible correlation between the two operas in things like Chérubin’s equivalent of Cherubino’s “”Non so più cosa son, cosa faccio”; Massenet decidedly makes the story his own. The best music is probably to be found in the conclusion to Act II, beginning with a languid, passionate duet for Chérubin  and L’Ensoleillad, morphing into a frantic farce of hide and seek, again reminiscent of Verdi’s Falstaff. There are some lyrical interludes, too, such as the Entr’acte leading into Act III and the lilting Aubade in track 11, and the tender conclusion is touching after all the high-jinks.

The cast is a starry one. I refer you to my review of Cendrillon above for my appreciation of von Stade in French opera. Like the role’s creator, Mary Garden, she was both physically and vocally ideally suited to the part – although the author of the play whence the libretto was derived always wanted Massenet to cast a tenor not a soprano “in breeches”. I have never been a great fan of Dawn Upshaw’s soprano, which I have sometimes found somewhat arch and precious, in the same way that sometimes Elizabeth Schwarzkopf puts my teeth on edge, but I concede that she is on best vocal form here and makes a touching, innocent Nina; she sings Chérubin’s love verses very prettily. June Anderson’s powerful if somewhat pulsing soprano makes a vibrant Ensoleillad. Samuel Ramey is of course a noble, rich-voiced, authoritative Philosopher and the roster is filled out with a number of experienced French singers like old-hand Michel Sénéchal – plus one fine Swedish tenor.

I have always thought conductor Pinchas Steinberg under-rated and like everything of his I have heard; he certainly directs here with verve and precision – and sensitivity in the quiet passages.

The plot, such as it is, is a bit of froth and I do not say that the music here is all top-drawer Massenet, but he sustains the listener’s interest and the opera itself has been thought sufficiently diverting to be revived several times internationally without quite ever becoming part of standard repertoire.  This recording certainly met with acclaim, being awarded the Grand Prix du Disque, the Diapason d’Or, the German Critics Prize and the Caecilia Prize Bruxelles.

Thérèse (1907)
Richard Bonynge – 1973, Decca
New Philharmonia Orchestra
Chorus – The Linden Singers
Thérèse – Huguette Tourangeau
Armand de Clerval – Ryland Davies
André Thoral – Louis Quilico
Morel – Neilson Taylor
Un Officier – Ian Caley
Un Officier Municipal – Alan Opie

Thérèse feels like a return to the verismo genre of La Navarraise with the love-triangle of Werther thrown in. It was written as a vehicle for another of those leading ladies with whom Massenet was besotted, mezzo-soprano Lucy Arbell.  Reactions to this recording will depend upon how much the unusual voice of frequent Bonynge-Sutherland collaborator Huguette Tourangeau pleases; as I say above, I like her but that is not a universal response. Her two co-singers are the excellent baritone and fellow-Canadian Louis Quilico  and the sweet-voiced Welsh lyric tenor Ryland Davies, with a fine trio of English supporting cast and chorus. (Fun fact: baritone Neilson Taylor (1930–2010) was a former Huddersfield Town footballer before becoming an opera singer then Professor of Singing at the Royal Scottish Academy of Music in Glasgow.)

Like La Navarraise, it is brief at just over an hour and emotionally concise; if it is to be performed it has normally to be paired with something else to provide a full evening’s programme. The music is direct, lyrical and accessible but the fact that Massenet abandoned the set-piece arias as his compositional style progressed and became freer means that it can come across as rather diffuse and even rambling, no matter how well sung. We almost wallow in waves of lush harmonics and dense orchestration with little variety; Debussy’s Pelléas et Mélisande, premiered five years earlier, is similarly through-composed but is so much more focused. After the brief opening scene setting the Revolutionary tone in lively fashion, the first act consists mainly of two extended, languid duets for Thérèse and Andre and Armand respectively, such that the pastiche minuet accompanying Armand’s recollection of a summer evening ball comes as a welcome change. Likewise, the sad little minuet which is the Entr’acte is a pleasing and atmospherically effective interlude. The second act is more dramatic all round; Thérèse channels Werther’s Charlotte in her glum, opening musings, there is a constant sense of danger punctuated only by brief releases such as the little exchange when André and Thérèse dream of a quiet retreat to a modest house in the country; the trio in track 11 when the three contemplate Armand’s flight is musically and theatrically penetrating, as is the searingly dramatic finale when the chaste lovers contemplate escaping together, culminating in Thérèse deliberately joining her husband on the scaffold.

Despite my reservations about the relative slackness of the first act, there is much to entertain in this compact drama; as with several of the rarer operas here, I am surprise that it has not more often been staged. 

A French-English libretto is provided and the Kingsway Hall sound is impeccable.

Don Quichotte (1910)
Kazimierz Kord – 1978, Decca
L’Orchestre et Chœur de la Suisse Romande
Don Quichotte – Nicolai Ghiaurov
Sancho Panza – Gabriel Bacquier
Dulcinée – Régine Crespin
Pedro – Michèle Command
Garcias – Annick Dutertre
Rodriguez – Peyo Garazzi
Juan – Jean-Marie Frémeau

Michel Plasson – 1992, EMI
Orchestre National et Chœur du Capitole de Toulouse
Don Quichotte – José van Dam
Sancho Panza – Alain Fondary Dulcinée – Teresa Berganza
Pedro – Isabelle Vernet
Garcias – Marie-Ange Todorovitch
Rodriguez – Christian Papis
Juan – Nicolas Rivenq

My colleague Göran Forsling favourably reviewed the later recording back in 2010, quoting from the liner notes describing Don Quichotte as “an opera by older people about older people” – and, I suggest, perhaps for older people, too? He goes on to observe, “Gone to a large extent is the lush and colourful – some listeners would no doubt say ‘oversweet’ – Mantovani-like romanticism. It is replaced with a sparser, more economical use of the orchestra, more reflective and inward.”

This is true and I refer you to his review for a summary of the virtues of this recording as there is little point in my paraphrasing them. When I reviewed the José van Dam “Autograph” 10 CD set nearly a decade ago, I remarked on the pathos of the celebrated Belgian bass-baritone’s portrayal of Don Quichotte. It surely speaks for the quality of this opera that van Dam chose it as a favourite role for his farewell in La Monnaie, Brussels, on his retirement from the stage. As much as I love the great bass Nicolai Ghiaurov in most things, he sounds rather grand and overbearing here compared with van Dam’s more elegant and poignant portrayal; I keep hearing Boris Godunov in Ghiaurov’s account, especially in the death scene. Having said that, when he rolls out that big voice to sing the reprised love song “Quand apparaissent les étoiles”, it is an aural treat.

No; the problem with the earlier Decca recording is certainly not so much with the leading man, but with the lady and the rest of the cast; I have it on good authority from someone who sang with her that too much Wagner soon took the sheen of her tone and here, sadly, she sounds sadly over the hill, scratchy and far too mature to portray Dulcinée. In fact, her vocalisation concluding both Acts I and V verges on the embarrassing, it is so “old lady”, yet she was only in her early fifties. It does not help that the supporting cast consists of an assortment of very throaty, constricted singers, worst among whom is the squeezed tenor Peyo Garazzi as Rodrigue – and Jean-Marie Frémeau has a persistent tremolo. Gabriel Bacquier is rather lumpy and graceless as Sancho. True, he is portraying a peasant “simpleton” but his vocalisation is clumsy compared with Alain Fondary on EMI, who characterises just as vividly but is in better voice; in the moving final act, Bacquier is decidedly unsteady whereas Fondary sustains legato and line much more elegantly. The choir and orchestra are OK, but likewise not very refined; Kord conducts with vigour.

Plasson’s chorus and orchestra are superior to Kord’s and his long experience as a Massenet specialist gives him the edge in bringing out the sonorities of Massenet’s orchestration. This is apparent from the first joyous explosion of “Alza! Alza!” followed by the fast, three-quarter-time waltz, which is wonderfully lively. Teresa Berganza’s mezzo is not especially sumptuous sounding but acts the coquette very well with her voice  and is decidedly much more vocally enticing than Crespin; she makes a nice job of her flamenco style aria with guitar and castanets in Act IV. The supporting cast is better than Kord’s, too, with neater, better produced voices all round. The entry of Don Quichotte and Sancho introduces to two really fine voices; van Dam just sings so smoothly and expressively, with real heart, and I find Fondary so much more ingratiating than Bacquier – the only problem being that they often sound very similar. Don Quichotte’s “Sérénade” is delightful as is the duel and repartee with Nicolas Rivenq’s Juan, joined by Dulcinée from her balcony. They make it very apparent that Massenet’s melodic gifts are still abundant. In fact, there are few, if any, of the blank or bland patches encountered in some of Massenet’s later works; this entertains throughout. Scenes such as the blessing of the bandits and the death scene are moving, too, their poignancy greatly enhanced by the stately nobility of van Dam’s bass-baritone.

So here’s the bottom line: unless you must hear Ghiaurov as Don Quichotte, everything else points to the later EMI recording as being a far better choice.

Cléopâtre (premiere 1914; composed 1912)
Patrick Fournillier – 1990, live composite, Koch-Schwann
Nouvel Orchestre de Saint-Etienne
Choeurs du Festival Massenet
Cléopâtre – Kathryn Harries
Marc-Antoine – Didier Henry
Spakos – Jean-Luc Maurette
Octavie – Danielle Streiff
Charmion – Martine Olmeda
Ennius – Mario Hacquard
Amnhès – Claude Massoz
Sévérus – Claude Massoz
L’Esclave – Philippe Georges

I make this the third exception to my “solely studio” rule here because the sound and performance are so good and the only other option is a best-forgotten studio recording by Montserrat Caballé made in 2002, made far too late in her career and one which does no honour at all to her deserved reputation for diva excellence.

The composer finished it just two months before his death, its eponymous leading role intended again for Lucy Arbell to premiere  – but that did not happen and she did not sing it until 1921. It was premiered posthumously, two years after his death and like many of Massenet’s later works, it did not find much favour, supposedly because of what one French reviewer rather quaintly terms its “sobriété mélodique” (melodic sobriety), while New York W. H. Henderson sourly described Cléopâtre as consisting mostly of “vapid arioso”. As you will read, my own response is very different.

The opening brass fanfare, establishing an epic, “Hollywood” ambience to suggest the glory of Rome, hardly confirms that put-down. Indeed, Massenet makes prominent use of trumpets throughout the score, when he is astutely contrasting the martial brutality of Rome with the sensual allure of Egypt. Didier Henry’s firm, resonant baritone enhances Mark Antony’s heroic status as conqueror.  We get straight into the meat of the action, with Cleopatra’s arrival on her galley, primed to seduce the initially scornful triumvir. Events unfold swiftly and economically and it helps that the supporting cast is peppered with fine voices such as Martine Olmeda as Charmion, Mario Hacquard as Ennius and Jean-Luc Maurette as Spakos – who hasn’t the most penetrating tenor and is quite often too far back in the sound picture – but that is a small flaw. Sometimes other singers are a little too distanced from the microphone but that replicates the atmosphere of live theatre and the balances are not troublesome – and there is virtually no audience noise until the final applause. I find the whole thing entirely absorbing – indeed enthralling – and when Kathryn Harries begins to sing, she is mesmerisingly alluring and exotic. She has a beautiful, smoky mezzo with a quick vibrato, ideal for portraying a femme fatale. Her French diction is perfect and her opening aria. “Je suis venue”, is very far from being “vapid”; it is a lovely melody and it seems to me that Massenet has here cracked the problem which marked some of his previous “late period” operas by finding the right formula for balancing recitative and through-composed passages against set pieces. The chorus is usually off-stage, lending a further sense of space to proceedings, the music for Mark Anthony’s and Octavia’s wedding in Act II is very melodic and there are moments of great beauty, such as Mark Antony’s “Solitaire sur ma terrasse”, as he is reading Cleopatra’s love letter and dreaming of her far away. Danielle Streiff is a touching, vulnerable Octavia, if just occasionally a little harsh on high notes.

The second scene of Act II opens with some rousing, pounding dance music and the arrival of an ephebe who engages the lustful Cleopatra’s attention. So many scenes are suffused with erotic tension, whereby the action and psychological development of the characters are couched in music of a comparable, febrile intensity; we are never sure, for example, until the finale, whether Cleopatra truly loves Mark Antony or is just playing him to safeguard her throne, and the music subtly suggests that ambivalence.

Act III opens with the obligatory ballet dance sequence, then we hear the most celebrated aria in this opera, Cleopatra’s “J’ai versé le poison” – and it is wonderfully sung, apart from a very slightly unsteady concluding pianissimo high F. Act IV is dark, gloomy and funereal, terse in content but with some lovely vocal and orchestral colour, such as when Charmion in a rocking arioso describes how the asp’s bite will bring a gentle death, and Harries rises powerfully to the high drama of the events, when she stabs the treacherous, jealous, love-struck Spakos – and she is pitiful as she adorns herself to greet the mortally wounded Mark Antony, who has fallen on his sword having been falsely advised of Cleopatra’s death. Her death scene is not the equal of Berlioz’ searing narrative but is still effective, played out first against clarinet and violin solos and soaring strings with a harp strumming accompaniment. (I am puzzled and fainty amused by the otherwise excellent English translation rendering the snake as an “aspic” – a “savoury jelly” – rather than an asp.)

Louis Payen’s libretto is compact, fluent and literate – very much better than many texts composers have had to struggle with. Patrick Fournillier was and still very much is a Massenet specialist and he directs with both sensitivity and vigour to depict strikingly the two clashing words of Rome and Egypt.

Before undertaking this survey I had not listened to this recording for a long time and was newly struck by its excellence; now I am kicking myself for having neglected it, as, unexpectedly, I love it. This is, after all, one of the great, tragic love stories of history, its status further enhanced by Shakespeare’s play, and I think Massenet does it proud; I am only puzzled why this opera has not received more exposure, as the principal roles are great vehicles for a star baritone and mezzo.

(Unfortunately only used copies of this seem now to be available on Amazon, eBay etc., so if you find one that is affordable and are curious, snap it up.)

Amadis (1922; composed 1895-1912)
Patrick Fournillier – 1988 live, Forlane
Orchestra – L’Opéra de Paris
Chorus – Choeurs de l’Opéra de Paris & Maîtrise des Hauts-de-Seine
Amadis – Hélène Perraguin
Floriane – Denise Streiff
Galaor – Didier Henry
Le roi Raimbert – Antoine Garcin
La fée – Nadyne Chabrier
Le chasseur – Paul Descombes

Massenet began Amadis in 1895 then shelved it, only to resume its composition in the last two years of his life. It remained unperformed until nearly a decade after his death and has never found a place in the repertoire, perhaps because by the time Massenet returned to it, its subject of medieval chivalry had gone out of fashion and the composer himself had moved on to the very different styles of composing. Some commentators have also suggested that his well of inspiration had run dry, but that claim is refuted by the creativity of Don Quichotte and Cléopâtre. It is certainly not one of his best works and will doubtless remain mostly unperformed for good reason. It is also completely “through-composed”, with no set-pieces, and thus resists being excerpted.

This is a strange, eclectic work; it opens with a brooding, mysterious, fifteen-minute  prologue which moves into a melodrama without singing, just a spoken narration. The music is essentially a kind of meandering symphonic poem and even with the text provided will present something of a barrier for many, especially if you are not a fluent French speaker; it is really too long to sustain most listeners’ interest. It does not help the narrator does not have a very attractive tone to his speaking voice; it is not in the least melodious, but harsh and nasal.

The singing, which starts in Act II, is not especially distinguished, apart from the warm, expressive mezzo of Hélène Perraguin. Unfortunately, Amadis is a travestito role and she sounds not the least bit masculine. Didier Henry is always reliable but his grainy baritone is less well suited to portraying the young brother than, for example, his superb Mark Antony in Cléopâtre above; as a French critic amusingly puts it, he sounds more like “un oncle bourru” – a gruff uncle. Danielle Streiff, who is also Octavia in Cléopâtre, is fine, if a little shrill and monotonous – or perhaps that is the fault of the lack of variety and character development in her music, some more stirring martial music in the tournament apart. Nobody else makes much impression – again, I think, as much the fault of the diffuse, unvaried nature of the music. The orchestra plays well under the gifted Massenet champion Patrick Fournillier – indeed, it bears the bulk of proceedings, while the chorus has very little to do.

The sound is very good for a live recording.

I don’t propose to spend too much time discussing this opera further; I have listened to it once and shall not do so again because, frankly, it bores me; to descend bathetically from the customary critical register into inappropriate but apt slang, “It really does go on a bit”. Of course there are fleeting passages of melodic beauty but an opera cannot be sustained by a predominance of atmospheric orchestral colouring.

(I have also previously reviewed in 2020 a live recording of Roma, another late work which does not rank among Massenet’s best but still offers more interest than Amadis.)

Recommendations

I append this section not because there is much choice among the studio recordings if you want them all, but if you are already acquainted with his masterpieces, Werther and Manon, and want only to dip in to the rest of his operas, I recommend the following four as the best in terms of both music and performance. They are all from the most successful, mid-phase decade of Massenet’s career, 1884-94.

Hérodiade – Michel Plasson – 1994, EMI
Le Cid – Eve Queler – 1976
Esclarmonde – Richard Bonynge – 1975, Decca*
Thaïs – Yves Abel – 1997-98, Decca (for the complete score)

*prime choice

If your taste extends to an appreciation of the subtler attractions of late Massenet, I suggest you try Grisélidis, Don Quichotte in the EMI version or Cléopâtre which, in my estimation, among his works most deserves the clichéd epithet “unjustly neglected” – if you can find a copy affordably, that is.

Ralph Moore