No one could sensibly expect a French sound from these forces, and on their own terms they produce much that is beautiful and sensitive. Occasionally in L’après-midi I lose the scent of the hot countryside, as the Berlin strings come steaming up to a climax; and certainly at one point (3'27") the oboe tune is having a hard time making itself heard over the violas. I think I’m right, too, in saying that the wonderful Emmanuel Pahud plays the passage before fig 3 (2'29"-3'00") as a solo, whereas Debussy distributes it between two flutes, playing first successively, then simultaneously – if so, an astonishing feat of breath control; but I have a feeling Debussy may have wanted the faintly blurry, not-quite-in-tune sound of the two flutes at the climax, before reverting to the purity of the single flute for the cadence.

Abbado shapes the three Nocturnes purposefully. Whether these clouds should indeed be purposeful is a moot question – Abbado moves between various speeds and doesn’t observe the a tempo for the reprise, speeding up from an initial crotchet=96 to crotchet=106, by way of crotchet=116. This is clearly deliberate, since ‘Fêtes’ is remarkably steady, with the central procession being taken at the same speed as the opening. It’s a possible interpretation, which has the virtue of avoiding that ugly bump one so often hears as the procession begins. At the same time, it leaves the awkward question of why, then, did Debussy mark primo tempo when the original idea returns? But the Berlin brass take no prisoners and sound very imperial and splendid.

I enjoyed ‘Sirènes’ perhaps the most. Apart from a couple of tiny intonation problems (yes, the E sharp is the same note as the F natural – ‘courage, mes amies!’), the female chorus sings with the radiant, well-focused tone that has traditionally been one mark of German superiority over the French, for whom choir membership has, until recently and with few exceptions, entailed an intolerable imposition on one’s individuality. The orchestral playing is superb.

Which leaves the Pelléas concert suite. I suppose it might just be a useful introduction for somebody who has never heard the opera but, personally, I feel the blood seeping out between the chunks, despite the care taken to assure that the joins make some sort of harmonic sense. It’s rather like sewing together widely separated sections of the Bayeux tapestry: the storyline and the extraordinary emotional arch of the opera both suffer, and so did I.