Connoisseurs of operatic curiosities will here find another strange piece to add to a list that includes Rimsky-Korsakov's Mlada (where the heroine, dead before the work starts, appears as a silent ghost), Auber's Muette de Portici (where the heroine is dumb), Holst's The Perfect Fool (in which the hero speaks only a single word) and Blacher's Abstract Opera (where none of the characters has any words to sing): in this posthumous opera of Massenet's—begun shortly before Werther, in 1890, but put aside for 20 years, and then not produced for another 12—Act 1 is purely orchestral, with a spoken narration super-imposed, and in Act 3, though the fairies sing, their leader only speaks. However, Amadis is not to be dismissed as a mere curiosity: on the contrary, it shows the composer at his most inventive and unusually robust (with only one brief descent into salon style where the fairies dance seductively around Amadis). The story, set in a Burne-Jones world of medieval chivalry (his name is actually invoked in the stage directions), tells of twin infant brothers entrusted by their dying mother (a fugitive princess) to the care of fairies, who nevertheless foretell suffering for both. Brought up apart and not knowing each other, they meet as rival knights in the lists for the hand of the princess Floriane, whom her father has promised to the victor. Amadis (with whom she is romantically in love) is defeated by Galaor and shamefacedly goes into exile as a hermit, but he cannot banish Floriane from his mind and returns at Christmas as the royal wedding is about to be celebrated: he challenges Galaor and in the ensuing combat kills him. Only then does he discover that he has killed his brother.
The two are strongly cast, Amadis (a travesti role for soprano, for some reason) by an admirably firm-voiced, heroic-sounding singer, Helene Perraguin, Galaor by a bariton noble, Didier Henry: both artists make the most of their parts, though the libretto allows little opportunity for either character to be drawn in the round. Daniele Streiff is an acceptable princess, but Antoine Garcin as her royal father is altogether too wobbly even if he is supposed to be old. Five members of the lengthy printed cast list do not have a single solo line, which seems to be overdoing the credits: the part of the Fairy is well spoken, that of the narrating Hunter in Act I too self-consciously and portentously. There are unfortunately virtually no set-piece arias that could be extracted to illustrate and publicize the opera (Amadis's soliloquy ''O Madone du ciel'' consists largely of recitative): much of the musical interest is carried by the orchestra; and in the present performance the Paris Opera players acquit themselves with distinction under a young conductor, Patrick Fournillier, whose grip on the work is impressive.
The recording is rich and full (with splendidly warm, un-blatant brass in the joust scene), the voices a trifle set back but mostly well balanced (though Amadis's spoken words at the end of Act 2 get lost under a viola solo). There are some effective sound perspectives, but why did the producer fail to organize any crowd acclamations, cries of distress or cheers called for in Act 2? All in all, though, a distinct acquisition to the recorded repertoire which should enhance Massenet's standing.'