In one respect this latest recording of what Berlioz called his “little sanctity” differs from the distinguished rival versions listed above (and indeed from all the other current recordings except that by Pierre Dervaux on Ades), in that with the exception of the tenor, who comes from Glasgow but whose French is well-nigh perfect, and the Collegium Vocale, which like the conductor is Belgian, all the singers are using their mother tongue. It does make a difference, however praiseworthily some artists of other nationalities have handled their roles: not only do the words trip more easily off the tongue, but because their significance comes naturally each syllable receives its proper weight. This is not merely a purist consideration: it is of importance in what is essentially a narrative work which, though interspersed with dramatic scenes, remains (and not just because of its piecemeal genesis) a series of tableaux.
Herreweghe paces it perceptively, without any of the misjudgements of tempo that cause a few reservations about Gardiner’s vividly dramatic performance. And if it cannot quite match the impact that Colin Davis’s 1960 recording made at the time, it makes a strong claim to figure among the most recommendable present-day interpretations. Though recorded at public performances, the sound is extraordinarily clean and fresh, and the balance deserves much praise for the technicians as well as the artists. There was of course no possibility of the spatial perspectives enjoyed in Matthew Best’s Hyperion set for the Roman soldiers’ patrol moving across the scene, but compensation is found in the care taken over dynamics; the distance of the angels’ warning to the Holy Family has been well judged, the result being actually better in focus than for Hyperion; the orchestra’s soft scurrying for the bustle in the Ishmaelite house is atmospheric; and the forward sound for the flutes-and-harp trio lends illumination to the spirited central episode. The chorus are admirable – flexible and alert, their words not merely clear but sensitively coloured, as for instance at “Cher enfant, Dieu te benisse!”. Of the soloists, chief honours go to Paul Agnew as the narrator, who starts off the work beautifully in a hushed, reverential tone, shows a fine sense of timing throughout, and is markedly superior to John Aler in Matthew Best’s recording, and to Veronique Gens (whose words are clearer than Jean Rigby’s for Best) in her touchingly tender portrayal of Mary, which caused me to recall the pure-voiced Elsie Morison in the Davis recording. Frederic Caton exudes kindly sympathy as the benevolent Ishmaelite father (though one or two of his low notes could have been stronger); Olivier Lallouette makes more of an impression as Polydorus than in voicing Joseph’s increasing despair in Sais, though his duet with Mary at the crib – often troublesome to balance satisfactorily – is treated with sensitivity. Where Best’s version remains unbeatable, however, is in its black-voiced Alastair Miles as Herod: Laurent Naouri at first does not convey much Angst as the tormented Herod, either in “O misere des rois” or in the ensuing scene with the soothsayers, and only really fills out the character at Herod’s decree to slaughter all new-born infants. But on the whole this new recording can be cordially welcomed.'