When Claude Debussy told Stephane Mallarme in 1894 that he had set his “L’Apres-midi d’un faune” to music, the poet replied “Oh, I thought I had done that myself.” The composer was only beginning to mine the riches of the Symbolists, however, and seized upon the popularity of Maurice Maeterlinck’s mysterious play “Pelleas et Melisande” to fashion his own luminescent opera that premiered in Paris in April 1902.

Maeterlinck is Mallarme’s aesthetic younger brother, occupying the same nebulous relationship to his elder as the character of Pelleas does to that of Golaud. Both opera and play are written in the language of the dream, and each defies logical analysis.

The original play inspired no less than four major composers, including Gabriel Faure and Jean Sibelius. Richard Strauss, who suggested to Arnold Schonberg that the latter compose a symphonic poem on the subject, reacted badly to the Debussy effort, writing in 1907 that “there’s nothing in it. No music. No development.” Apparently, Strauss found this objectionable, a clear case of totally missing the point.

It is often said in those dreaded music history textbooks that “Pelleas” is a dead end. In actuality it is the wellspring of an entire genre of French music, that specialized school whose emphasis is the individual musical moment, not the progression associated with theoretical development. Tangentially touching upon Ravel’s Mallarme songs, the music of Olivier Messiaen and Pierre Boulez was spawned somewhere deep in the recesses of De bussy’s refractive, watery world of sound. Those familiar with Miyoshi Akira’s haunting electronic piece “Ondine” will recognize a similar lineage.

James Levine has a very quiet conception of this opera and worked his orchestral forces very hard on Saturday evening to communicate the most subtle of coloristic effects at a low volume. The instrumental ensemble performed exquisitely, the shades of chiaroscuro in the harps mirrored by the entire group. At one electric point, an arpeggio glides its way from one end of the pit to the other, Mr. Levine making an arching motion with his arm. This was expert music-making, not mere accompaniment.

On stage were two singers whom it is no exaggeration to classify as great. Anne Sofie von Otter brought a fullness and depth of voice to the role of Melisande that highlighted its “dream within a dream” context. Characterization is difficult, if not impossible, in this world of symbol, and therefore vocalism is everything.

Ms. von Otter has impressed for a long time now, especially in the intelligent usage of her voice – she husbands her resources better than any other singer performing today. This evening, her fine breath control gave the illusion that this fabulous voice – a true mezzo, not a soprano – was emanating from somewhere just outside of the corporeal maiden, adding wondrously to the mystery of the whole.

Being able to sing with Jose van Dam only added to her overall vocal beauty. Starting slowly out of the gate, once he warmed he was a golden baritone, trending downward as his utterances became more and more cryptic. There is a scene in Golaud’s bedroom wherein Melisande appears to him as he lies, delusional. She tells him that she has lost his ring, but has she? Is she even there? The combination of these two pure voices, each with such magnificent power, was as thrilling as any on the Metropolitan stage so far this season.

The two elder characters were also expressive. Felicity Palmer as Genevieve is a true mezzo as well, and it was interesting to hear how similar her range was to that of Ms. von Otter. These doppelgangers only enhanced the labyrinthine nature of the piece, as one persona simply melted into another (the original Pelleas of Debussy’s era, Jean Perier, was a baritone with only a slightly higher voice than that of Golaud, rather than the now standard tenor).

Roberto Scandiuzzi was an imposing King Arkel with a suitably regal lower bass register free from strain. Only tenor William Burden seemed out of his element. Even with Maestro’s propensity for quietude, it was often difficult to hear him over the orchestra, and his lyrical line seemed raveled in significant spots.

Jonathan Miller’s production paid homage to Debussy’s fascination not with the Symbolists but rather Edgar Allen Poe. There was just a slight touch of the macabre throughout. The revolving stage of designer John Conklin was instrumental in maintaining the sense that time itself had no meaning. Individual tableaux were presented as if they could be happening concurrently, previously, or even not at all To paraphrase Mallarme, Debussy had already written the lighting into the music. Fortuitously, Duane Schuler’s soft illumination was a fitting mirror of what was happening in the pit.

Perhaps it was the language of the dream or the conductor’s rapturous sense of stillness, but the crowd seemed rather dazed and confused throughout. At the end of Act I, there was literally no applause whatsoever. In a fleeting moment of my own confusion, I thought that we were at “Parsifal.”

“Pelleas et Melisande” will be performed again February 2 & 8 at 8 p.m. and February 5 at 1:30 p.m. (Lincoln Center, 212-362-6000).