This was the eighth of Destouches’s 10 operas and the last of his six tragédies en musique. The libretto was by Pierre-Charles Roy, with whom he had collaborated on Callirhoé (1712). Sémiramis opened at the Paris Opéra in December 1718 and ran till January 12; unlike its predecessors and the opéra-ballet Les élémens which followed in 1721 it was never revived. The story is similar in outline to the better-known (if hardly familiar) opera by Rossini. Semiramis, widowed Queen of Babylon, is on the point of marrying Arsane, a successful general of obscure origins whom she intends to crown king. Her niece Amestris, whom Arsane loves, is about to become a priestess. Zoroastre, King of Bactria, finds Semiramis understandably evasive when he arrives to marry her himself. It transpires that Arsane is the son whose murder Semiramis had ordered when he was a baby. The Oracle orders Amestris to sacrifice herself (the reason is obscure): in the melee following her rescue Arsane unwittingly kills his mother, thus fulfilling the prophecy that had led to her seeking to dispose of him.

Each of the five acts includes a ceremony involving the chorus and – if we could see them – a troupe of dancers. Two of them provoke divine intervention: the wedding is interrupted by an earthquake, while the consecration of Amestris as a princess is halted by peals of thunder and the pronouncement of the Oracle. The usual Chaconne comes in Act 1, unexpectedly early: it moves from major to minor and is charmingly enhanced here by castanets. Roy’s plotting is effective: if the ending is precipitate it is no more so than, say, the conclusion to Charpentier’s Médée. (The final cadence, as recorded, includes a sighing appoggiatura like the one at the end of Bach’s St Matthew Passion.) But it is a miscalculation for Zoroastre to have the last word in Act 2 and then re-enter at the beginning of Act 3.

It is Act 3, though, that contains the best music. Zoroastre angrily reflects on the situation he has discovered, and quarrels with Semiramis. Then, because he is a magician as well as a king, he summons demons from hell, preceded by fine contrapuntal writing in the strings. Finally he has a vision that reveal’s Arsane’s identity. With his dark bass, Thibault de Damas is powerfully impressive throughout this scene.

Emmanuelle De Negri and Mathias Vidal are excellent as Amestris and Arsane, whether solo or together. They bring a touching intensity to the scene where, preparing to die, Amestris finally confesses her love. As Semiramis, Éléonore Pancrazi is appropriately regal, assertive from the start despite her self-doubt. The recording is of a single concert performance – no audience noise – but all the characters sing as though from a well-rehearsed stage production. The chorus of Le Concert Spirituel, trained by Hervé Niquet, are only 13 strong but well balanced and full toned as well as light on their feet, particularly vigorous in the passage following Semiramis’s air without continuo, ‘Triomphez, Dieu puissant’. Destouches writes delightfully for the orchestra, especially the woodwind: Les Ombres, conducted by Sylvain Sartre, are as fine as the singers. The translation of the libretto is not always reliable and the omission of the Prologue is not mentioned. But this is a welcome addition to the steady flow of recordings of music by composers from the generation between Lully and Rameau.