Arcadian flora is the overriding image in these two one­act ballets‚ or actes de ballets as they were known‚ where undistinguished libretti and unambitious plots still inspire creativity of a rare order in Rameau. While historians have tended over generations to imply that Rameau’s burning dramatic zeal and inventive spark stop with the large tragédies lyriques (and the odd large­scale ballet­hybrid like Platée)‚ there can be no doubt that this contained single­act genre deserves to be regarded on its own terms. Certainly‚ in his time such pieces were sought after both at court and in the public domain. If Pygmalion is accepted as one of Rameau’s great small­scale achievements‚ then its use of ballet as a significant ingredient in the narrative is adopted in La guirlande from three years later. The first performance was held at the Académie Royale de Musique in 1751 in a triple bill‚ and one can imagine how its instantly revealed charms would have beguiled; the opening sequence of a swain‚ Myrtil‚ returning from having ‘played away’‚ glistens with melodic incident and vocal curvature‚ and is affectionately delivered by Paul Agnew. While the plot is concerned with the usual pastoral themes of fidelity and bluff‚ using the ubiquitous garland as the emblem‚ the real essence of the experience lies in the intricate delicacy of the score. The Shepherdess‚ Zélide‚ boasts an air (‘Tout languit dans nos bois’) of extraordinary poignancy: Rameau here responds to the human condition through supposedly surface sensibilities but they reveal so much more through their economy of means and discriminating manipulation. The artistry of the music is matched by the fast­becoming doyenne of French Baroque sopranos‚ Sophie Daneman. The music is rich with dance‚ though there is not quite the show­stopping musette of La Danse in Les fêtes d’Hébés. There is also a splendid ‘triomphe amour’ figure which‚ again‚ appears to have been forged from the Pygmalion model. Perhaps‚ however‚ this is where comparisons should cease: for all the incidental qualities of La guirlande‚ the quality of the music tails off a little towards the end. The Cappella Coloniensis des WDR are indeed well­drilled‚ as befits a Christie project‚ but there is something about this band which is not quite as responsive as Les Arts Florissants‚ and which becomes more noticeable in the even richer score of Zéphyre. With typical imagination however‚ Christie presents this shorter gem of a one­acter with singers who bring an alternative perspective to the overall vocal bouquet. Here‚ the plot concerns Zéphyre‚ the West Wind‚ luring the chaste nymph‚ Cloris‚ to amorous indiscretion in scented groves of flower dances. Diana arrives with paramour (with Cupid having fired all his darts) and proclaims the nymph‚ Cloris‚ Goddess of Spring. Chastity no longer applies. Gaëlle Méchaly‚ in the title­role‚ is a light‚ agile‚ coquettish soprano of considerable wit and musical instinct. She negotiates her all­pervasively decorous ariettes (of which this piece contains more good examples than La guirlande) with remarkable deftness; ‘L’amour a des appas toujours victorieux’ is exquisite‚ as is the little minuet which opens ‘les groupes de fleurs’. Cloris submits to her fate with a supporting role‚ here articulated with the agreeably distinctive and warm vocal timbre of Rebecca Ockenden‚ alongside the voracious Zéphyre. Graham Sadler’s authoritative notes accompany this set‚ providing insights into a side of Rameau’s oeuvre which has too often been regarded as a poor relation to the full­length operatic creations (egged on by Cuthbert Girdlestone’s description of La guirlande as ‘Dresden­china Rameau’). On their own terms‚ these ballets explore the unique inner beauty and subtlety of the composer in fleeting nuances – just another side of this remarkable figure. Well worth exploring.