Moïse et Pharaon, Rossini’s adaptation for the Paris Opéra of his 10-year-old Mosè in Egitto, is definitely meant to be seen as well as heard. Ancient Egypt was big business in the capital at this time and liberation politics a live issue. Moreover, the opportunities for stage spectacle were irresistible, if challenging: the plague of darkness presents a pretty problem for the lighting department, and the parting (and subsequent reunification) of the Red Sea must have provoked many anticipatory cries of wonder along the lines of ‘Mon Dieu, it can’t be done!’ A DVD of the opera is therefore welcome, even if we as viewers are unlikely to share the excitement of the audience of 1829, and even though what we see may not be entirely to our liking.

For instance, the first act is visually dominated by what at first looks improbably like – and indeed turns out to be – the outline of a cathedral organ. The note (‘Moïse in Milan’) points out that it is of the kind Cavaillé-Coll designed in Rossini’s time, and therefore a richly suggestive object to find standing in the deserts of Ancient Egypt. Still, those two great technical challenges of the Darkness and the Red Sea are well met, and on the whole the large forces of Israelites and Egyptians are well handled.

Musically, the performance more than satisfies, with excellent work from chorus and orchestra and some remarkably fine singing by the principals. Moses and Pharaoh both have rich, steady voices and stylistic mastery in cantabile as well as florid work. Barbara Frittoli, slightly less even, still copes admirably with the demanding role of Anaïde, and Giuseppe Filianoti as her Egyptian lover is an excitingly resourceful tenor (we should be hearing more of him). Sonia Ganassi gives an intense, authoritative performance as Pharaoh’s wife, and the second mezzo, Nino Surguladze, as Moses’ sister, impresses as another singer whose career should be worth watching.

As these names suggest, there is nothing very French about this cast, yet those words I managed to catch sounded not too alien. It is perhaps a pity that Muti follows the usual practice of omitting the final ‘Cantique’, but the broad and serene melody of the orchestral postlude still has power to move and surprise, making it, in its own way, an impressive ending.