This is only the third commercial sound recording of Médée (1693) – the first to come along in nearly 30 years, the first not to be conducted by William Christie, and also the first that is entirely complete without cuts. Hervé Niquet and Le Concert Spirituel apply evidence about orchestral layout and performance practice at the Paris Opéra c1700, and they adhere diligently to Charpentier’s instructions in the score regarding instrumentation, dynamics and tempos. Benoît Dratwicki (artistic director at the Centre de Music Baroque de Versailles) provides an illuminating albeit very short booklet note.

The Prologue unites the customary crew of shepherds and figures of War, Victory and Glory in a panegyric extolling the fabulousness of Louis XIV. Energised animation is a touch strident in pastoral numbers but there is charismatic piquancy in rustic dances. Thereafter, Thomas Corneille’s libretto presents the sorceress Medea’s enraged reaction to her humiliation at the hands of the glib Jason (whom she had helped to secure the Golden Fleece). Having found refuge in Corinth, by now Medea has given birth to Jason’s children, but the distrustful king Creon removes her children and attempts several times to kick her out because he schemes for his lovely daughter Creusa to marry the infatuated Jason (Creusa’s jilted fiancé Oronte, the Prince of Argos, joins forces with Medea). After Creon announces the wedding of Jason and Creusa, Medea curses the king with insanity (he kills Oronte before committing suicide), gives a poisoned robe to Creusa (who dies in Jason’s arms) and then rides away on a dragon – not before setting fire to Corinth and informing Jason that she has murdered their children.

Charpentier’s fecund musical imagination is brought alive by the cast, industrious continuo group and flexible orchestra (whether intimate ritornellos for solo violins or a military chorus featuring trumpet and timpani). The line-up of singers for Médée is almost identical to numerous other recent collaborations between Niquet and the CMBV, which echoes how favourite artists in the late 17th century dominated the Paris Opéra stage for several decades.

Médée’s complex psychological states of anguish, pride, fury and cruel vengeance are realised by Véronique Gens with pathos and clarity. Her sorrow after Jason’s superficial farewell in Act 3 scene 3 (accompanied by five-part muted strings) gives way to darkened fury in the supernatural incantation that summons a company of demons. Her gleeful mischief at turning the tables on Créon in Act 4 is enacted brilliantly, and the violent finale matches Gens’s imperious vengeance with Le Concert Spirituel’s focused timbres and driving rhythms. Jason’s moral weakness yet military valour and his eventual grief are characterised aptly by Cyrille Dubois. His skin-deep self-pity about being torn in love between Médée and Créuse in Act 1 scene 3 (featuring plaintive recorders) is sung eloquently, but Dubois conveys the faithless Jason’s blatant hypocrisy when he professes to adore Médée as she prepares to go into exile in Act 3 scene 2. Judith van Wanroij inhabits the role of Créuse with graceful musicality and communicative intelligence: there is duplicity in Créuse’s treatment of the infatuated Oronte in the preamble to the seductive Act 2 divertissement but her agonised death in Act 5 scene 6 is sung poignantly. Thomas Dolié’s extrovert declamation of Créon’s insulting and two-faced treatment of Médée has sneering arrogance, and his cursed madness at the climax of Act 4 achieves a perfect balance between resonant singing and densely scored low strings.

The rest of the cast are equally assured in theatrical delivery and vocal quality. David Witczak is gallant initially and then bereft as the thwarted Oronte. Assorted smaller roles are shared between a group of excellent soloists. In particular, the Act 2 divertissement for captives of Cupid is performed with delectable finesse by Hélène Carpentier (L’Amour) and Jehanne Amzal (a lovely Italian aria joined by an all-female chorus); its extended passacaille sways balletically. All told, this is a long-overdue and welcome fresh perspective on Charpentier’s only fully fledged tragédie en musique.