Le carnaval du Parnasse (1749) was so popular that it notched up 35 performances in two months, and audiences at the Paris Opéra did not react kindly to its first run being interrupted by Rameau’s new enlightenment fable Zoroastre (which got a savage critical mauling). The Académie Royale de Musique resumed Mondonville’s lighter-hearted ballet héroïque as soon as possible; it dominated the company’s calendar until 1751. The libretto was the final stage work of Louis Fuzelier, who had provided the words for Rameau’s Les Indes galantes (1735). The prologue depicts Clarice and Florine disputing the superiority of Italian virtuosity or French melody; Dorante intervenes and proposes that they are about to see something that reconciles the two aesthetics harmoniously. In Act 1, on the slopes of Parnassus, Momus (god of mockery) teases Apollo for dressing up as a shepherd; Apollo is in love with the mortal shepherdess Licoris, whereas Momus admits feelings for Thalie (muse of comedy). Act 2 is set in a laurel wood by the river Permessus: Licoris resists the handsome shepherd, not realising that he is Apollo, who regales her with songs in praise of various gods. In the final act, Momus and Thalie are at a masked ball; in their anonymity they seduce each other and chuckle when they remove their disguises. Licoris admits that she loves her ‘shepherd’ even before she discovers that he is Apollo. Celebrations are led by Terpsichore (muse of dance), Time, the four Seasons and the four Ages.

Alexis Kossenko, his orchestra Les Ambassadeurs – La Grande Écurie and musicologist Benoît Dratwicki collaborated on an exceptional premiere recording of Rameau’s original 1749 version of Zoroastre (Alpha, 1/23) and team up again for an equally fantastic first-ever recording of Mondonville’s precisely contemporary ballet héroïque. Recording sessions took place in conjunction with the first Parisian performances of Le carnaval du Parnasse for nearly 250 years – and the outcome is another artistic triumph that devotees of French late Baroque opera will savour. Kossenko’s large band has plenty of strings and quadrupled woodwind sections; harpsichord is confined almost entirely to recitatives and airs, in accordance with evidence that keyboard continuo did not play in overtures and dances. Hasnaa Bennani (the Francophone Clarice joined by pastoral flutes) and Gwendoline Blondeel (the Italophile Florine in partnership with Vivaldian violins) both sing gorgeously in their respective birdsong airs; a conflict of opinions has seldom sounded so civilised and charismatic. After a lively trio with Adrien Fournaison’s no-nonsense Dorante, a charming divertissement celebrating springtime has a chorus of female voices over a throbbing bass drone, songs that vary orchestrations to convey nature imagery from chirping flutes (a Zephyr’s sweet breath) to teasing violins (a flitting butterfly); dances make imaginative use of oboes, bassoons and different shapes and sizes of flutes.

David Witczak’s over-the-top Momus has bluff humour; his allusions to a hellish abyss and tempestuous seas plunge into melodramatic intensity (Act 2 scene 2). Blondeel’s impish Thalie takes the lead in Act 1’s playful divertissement; the Namur Chamber Choir bring plenty of extrovert wittiness to proceedings and the orchestra play minuets and a pair of tambourins marvellously. Hélène Guilmette’s eloquence in Licoris’s woodland soliloquy is accompanied by the sonorous richness and clicking keys of assembled oboes (Act 2 scene 1). Mathias Vidal’s quivering high tenor and dynamism encompass Apollo’s cheeky teasing of Momus (their laughing duet in Act 1 scene 2), tenderness in his professions of love to Licoris, and an extraordinary range of expression in the diverse airs in Act 2 scene 3 that pay homage to Jupiter (assertive majesty), Bacchus (hedonistic merriment) and Diana (a galloping hunting song with braying horns that is broken off prematurely when the unimpressed Licoris walks off). The Act 2 divertissement is a paean to Amour led by Bennani’s frolicking Euterpe (muse of lyric poetry and music), and its dances exploit yet also subvert every pastoral orchestral trick in the book.

The declaration of love between the masked Momus and Thalie (Act 3 scenes 1 and 2) is an amusing musical parody of courtliness – its comic subtext insinuated by a convivial bassoon. Licoris’s sorrowful ariette featuring a delicate solo flute (Act 3 scene 3) insinuates that the lady doth protest too much; there is gleeful joy in her love duet with Apollo (Act 3 scene 5). The final divertissement has all manner of dances, extrovert choruses and several diverse songs for charismatic disciples of Terpsichore – not least a valorous air pitting Bennani’s vocal brilliance against a thrilling solo horn, and her exquisite rendition of an elderly woman’s bittersweet advice for youths to enjoy pleasure before wintry age comes. The last chorus, adorned by Blondeel’s spectacular coloratura, proclaims optimistically that ‘charming liberty will reign evermore’. The cornucopia of delights confirms why Le carnaval du Parnasse appealed instantly to mid-18th-century Parisian audiences.