The last time I met Cecilia Bartoli (at a fashionable London restaurant) she turned up looking as though she had just got out of bed. She probably had. The blouse was unpressed, her hair piled up in a dégagé design of her own devising. Deliciously bohemian, she exuded earthy feminine allure. Her English was charmingly idiomatic. An infectious and forceful Mediterranean personality to whom everything seems sunny and positive, it’s a joy to bask in Bartoli’s delightful company.

Today, six years later, in one of Zurich’s smartest lakeside hotels, she enters the lobby tanned, groomed and svelte. There’s an outstretched hand and an open, unguarded smile of welcome. Her Italianate English is now bubblingly fluent, the luxuriant black hair is stylishly cut, setting off her chic black silk outfit and a pair of black stilettos you could darn socks with. She has come hotfoot from rehearsals for her forthcoming tour of the United States and Europe, a programme drawn from her new album. She has a two-hour ‘break’ for interviews and then back to work, well into the night.

The album in question, ‘Opera proibito’, arose from potential calamity. Zurich had scheduled a production of Haydn’s opera Armida with Nikolaus Harnoncourt for February 2003. Three months before, Harnoncourt had to pull out. With little time to spare, Bartoli suggested as a replacement Handel’s 1707 oratorio Il trionfo del Tempo e del Disinganno (‘The Victory of Time and Disillusionment’) which she had sung some six years before with Harnoncourt at the Musikverein in Vienna. ‘The music is so operatic and full of sensuality, and just by chance we learnt that Marc Minkowski was available,’ says Bartoli. Minkowski knew the piece intimately, having recorded it some 15 years earlier (his very first recording, in fact, for Erato). It was the first time that Bartoli and Minkowski worked together. Though an oratorio, the work was staged by Jurgen Flimm as an opera.

The production was such a resounding success that the Italian mezzo started searching for music from other oratorios written in Rome around the same time as Il trionfo. She realised that two other major composers were working in the city in the early 18th century at the same time as Handel: Antonio Caldara (born in Venice c1671; died in Vienna in 1736) and Alessandro Scarlatti (born in Palermo in 1660; died in Naples in 1725). Caldara arrived in Rome in 1708 and the following year was appointed maestro di cappella to Prince Ruspoli, perhaps the most influential patron in the city’s musical history. He remained in that post until 1716 before moving to Vienna, where he became Charles VI’s favourite composer. Alessandro Scarlatti, moving between Rome and Naples, benefited from the patronage of Queen Christina of Sweden, Cardinal Ottoboni and Prince Ruspoli. Handel joined the staff of Prince Ruspoli and, it is thought, stayed in the city until 1708. The time which Handel spent in Italy at the most impressionable period of his life, ‘fixed the characteristics of his style as a composer, and we may well suppose that they exercised a decisive influence on his personality and character’ (Edward J Dent). Of the 15 tracks on the new album (six by Scarlatti, four by Caldara and five by Handel), eight are world premiere recordings.

Bartoli will, of course, be singing her share of Mozart next year during the 250th anniversary celebrations, but she will be also be marking the 300th anniversary of Handel’s arrival in Rome. ‘The young Handel arrived in the city of my birth in late 1706.1 wanted to know what happened to him there. What was the situation?’ It’s as though Bartoli has been waiting for the opportunity to unburden herself. She leans forward animatedly, fizzing with evangelical zeal. ‘I started working with musicologists and we found that this was the start of the period of prohibition by the Vatican. Why was this?’ She answers her own question. ‘Well, there were two reasons – one official, one unofficial. The official reason was due to an earthquake in which there were no victims and the Vatican, in order to thank God, decided to ban all entertainment for five years. The unofficial reason was because of what was happening on and off the stage at this time. The Church considered the theatre to be immoral and did not have control of the situation, so they banned all opera.’

The Catholic Church has always had an uneasy relationship with contemporary morals and the very idea of the theatre, with or without music. In the 16th century the Papacy veered between complete support for melodramma and total suppression, suspecting it as a vehicle for visiting sin and damnation on its flock. Before the ‘earthquake edict’, in 1701 Pope Clement XI had banned all public performances ostensibly because of the worsening political conflict, one that was soon to lead to the War of the Spanish Succession. If the Vatican has always been wary of entertainment for the masses (its overreaction to Dan Brown’s dreadful pot-boiler The Da Vinci Code being just the latest example), its attitude to the role of women in the church and theatre has been consistently inconsistent. A 1588 decree prohibited women from appearing on the public stage. This edict was reaffirmed at the beginning of the 18th century. In the eyes of the Catholic Church, it was deemed preferable to have castrated males sing the roles that would have been sung by women. One of the perverse side effects of this now inexplicable barbarity was to introduce a frisson of sexual ambiguity on stage providing, we must assume, a new and previously unknown thrill for certain members of the clergy. By 1700 Rome was the world capital for the castrati. Truly, God does at times move in a most mysterious way.

The Papal ban on all public performances set up a conflict in the Vatican. Many cardinals like Pietro Ottoboni and Benedetto Pamphilj adored opera. Closing theatres and forbidding public performances, however, did not prevent these powerful patrons from commissioning and even contributing to lavish musical works staged at their private palaces. To avoid undermining the wishes of the Holy Father, the plots became less ‘operatic’, based more on allegorical discourses or colourful sacred and Biblical narratives. Il trionfo del Tempo, for example, is by Pamphilj and features a dialogue between Bellezza (Beauty) and Piacere (Pleasure). ‘It was a kind of camouflage,’ says Bartoli diplomatically. Others might describe it as pure hypocrisy. ‘After all, what was the difference between an opera and an oratorio? An oratorio is shorter, that’s all. An oratorio still relies on a sequence of recitatives and arias. And very often they had elaborate stage designs just as in opera. They were performed in public only in the Holy Week, otherwise in private.’

It was Bartoli’s erstwhile partner Claudio Osele who was responsible for many of the musical discoveries on the disc, providing a performing edition for some of the music. Much of it was buried in archives in Munster and Vienna (Caldara died there), not in Italy. As Osele observes in his accompanying booklet-notes, ‘Audiences were very receptive to the sensuality of convoluted stories such as Caldara’s Il trionfo delannocenza (“The Victory of Innocence”). One can imagine that the piquancy of this story of a girl courting another girl – whom she assumes to be a hermit – would have been considerably enhanced when, according to the practice of the day, the two female characters were very probably sung by male castrati. Foreign visitors saw Baroque Rome as both the guardian of Catholic morals and a place full of sins and perdition. But the sensuality of the city was also the reason for its magic, and its dazzling architectural beauty a proud reminder of a generous patronage that had produced outstanding achievements in all the arts.’

‘So,’ Bartoli resumes, ‘this is the situation in which Handel found himself as a young man at a most important time in his career. And look at the cover of the CD.’ Bartoli’s speaking voice has the same colour, vitality and precision as her singing voice. ‘OK, it has lots of photos of me in unusual poses but it is full of symbolism. There is the red stamp across the front: “Opera proibita”. That is clear. But it is stamped over the body of a woman.’ Forbidden opera. Forbidden women. ‘OK. It’s me – but it is a woman standing in a fountain. This should remind you of Fellini’s film La dolce vita. I believe there is a parallel between 1957 and 1706. The Pope in 1957 was Pius XII and he really was against the nightlife and people enjoying themselves. So then he died, followed [in 1958] by John XXIII and there was a whole social explosion. Now Fellini captured a lot of the Baroque vision of the city – Rome is basically a Baroque city. Pasolini said that La dolce vita was the most Baroque film ever made. The Vatican wanted to ban the movie. But some Cardinals who saw the movie said “No, this is not anti-Catholic. On the contrary, Fellini wants to show us the reality of our society”. So you see the parallel. Art is like water: it will always find a way to go. And there I am in the Trevi Fountain – a symbol of the Baroque.’

How did Bartoli whittle down the choice from the enormous amount of material available, all originally written for the tessitura of castrato singers? ‘It was very difficult, especially as with SACD you are limited to 72 minutes. Of course I had to choose the arias that suit my instrument. To make the choices for my Vivaldi, Gluck and Salieri albums was hard enough but to choose from the works of three composers! They are so different – their personalities, the way they composed their music – yet have so much in common, all linked by Rome, breathing the same air. They all make different vocal demands. Caldara is very polyphonic. It is more intellectual music, if you like. The voice is part of the whole texture of the music, like another instrument. With Scarlatti you have the simplicity and the depth. Here the vocal line has a purity. The Handel is very, very demanding, sometimes a pure vocal line, sometimes duetting with the oboe, sometimes with the trumpet.’

It is ironic but not unique that censorship and imposed restrictions should stimulate rather than hinder creativity. The Vatican’s prohibition begat (good Biblical word) a mass of exquisite vocal music not hugely dissimilar to that it was attempting to ban. ‘You know,’ says Bartoli mischievously, ‘the new Pope loves music. He likes Mozart! I heard he plays Mozart every morning. Can you believe that? I think we have a big chance here!’

As with the ‘Opera proibita’ disc, Bartoli’s last three albums have been of rarely heard Baroque music. The composers’ names may be familiar but Bartoli’s selections certainly are not. How much of a risk is it to venture only down untrodden paths? ‘You know, when I said that I was going to record music by Salieri, some people said “Why do you do this? He’s a dreadful composer”. Yet they hadn’t heard a note of his music! Well, when I performed the Salieri music in public, the people went mad. I take the risk when I believe in the quality of the music. Researching this kind of music is a little bit my passion and for this I have to thank Maestro Harnoncourt. He was the one who opened the door for me to the operas of Haydn. I knew a lot of his instrumental music but not the operatic world. Performing with period instruments was also new to me. He gave me the curiosity to find out about the Baroque.’

Beyond the quality and interest of each piece that was presented to her, what were the deciding factors for her choice? ‘Well I have a flexible voice which is why I can sing a lot of this castrati material. It is ideal for Baroque music, as long as it is in the right tessitura. I can’t sing the parts written for alto castrati, for instance. They are too low. It doesn’t work. The same with the very high soprano castrati. I have to choose something for my range and my abilities, of course. If we were talking of Romantic music, I would have to make the same decision. For instance, I know I will never sing the music of Wagner. I love his music, but I know it is not made for my instrument. But also, apart from the tessitura, I look at the way the music is composed. Are there interesting harmonies? Are there interesting wind parts? Also, in a recording like this, it’s good to have variety. Sometimes it is nice to have a simple string accompaniment, and then an aria with a big tutti, and then something just with the flautino as we have here. So the disc itself becomes like an opera. I sang for the first time this year Cleopatra in Handel’s Julius Caesar. There is this fantastic variety not only in the orchestration but in the characters. I wanted the disc to be like that.’

Although perfectly possible from a purely technical point of view, Bartoli does not enjoy switching rapidly from, say, Handel with period instruments to Rossini on modern instruments. She likes to stay concentrated in the same sound world, which is why she recorded ‘Opera proibita’ while she was singing in Julius Caesar and before her appearances in Rossini’s Il truce in Italia. ‘It’s a decision I make for the health of my ear,’ as she puts it.

Much as her worldwide army of adoring fans would like it, Bartoli has no plans to sing anything later than Rossini. So, I suggest, what about more unknown Baroque music? After all, it is only a musician of her stature and bankability that can dictate repertoire to a major label. How about the unknown operas of Albinoni or Cimarosa? No, she seems keener to investigate even earlier music – Barbara Strozzi or Monteverdi. ‘It is so interesting to go back to the source. This is advice I give to other singers – and not just to young artists starting out. It is so important to know historically and musically where it all comes from. I mean, to have sung Gluck helps your understanding and enjoyment of Haydn and even Mozart. You need to go back.’

But what about going forwards? ‘Well, it is clear that with Rossini and eventually Bellini, I am not always looking back!’ Yes: but isn’t there a danger of her being pigeonholed as a Baroque specialist? The sunny sky clouds over momentarily. ‘Hmmm…already the word “specialist” is a little bit…’ (she breaks into a rather ominous low laugh). ‘No. I sing Mozart and Rossini! Also I did a recital in Salzburg with Andras Schiff. It was a fantastic programme because we combined German Romantic music with the Italian. We started with Beethoven – if you consider Beethoven a Romantic – then Meyerbeer (a fantastic canzonette with words by Metastasio which had never been performed). Really fantastic music. So Beethoven, Meyerbeer, Rossini of course, Schubert, Weber – some lovely songs in Italian and French – and Bellini.’

Having disposed of the ‘specialist’ question, I then ask her, rather more tentatively, the ‘crossover’ question. ‘Go on,’ she bursts into laughter. ‘Ask me what I think! I’ll tell you. Why I have to do crossover? Since I’ve been with Decca I’ve sold more than four million recordings. What is the need for me to do crossover?’ Well, I venture, maybe your fans would like to hear you sing it? Lloyd Webber? Sondheim? Gershwin? ‘Oh, well I love all those classic songs from the ‘40s. They’re beautiful, but I don’t have a reason to do it at the moment. I have a reason to do this “Opera proibita”. Also the story behind it is so interesting.’

So what is next? ‘Hmmm. I can’t tell you yet. It’s too early. But I only make recordings when I am ready to. I don’t do it for contractual obligations. I only record when I have something to say. It takes time to find the music. And then the discipline to learn it. And then – definitely – the passion.’

When Cecilia Bartoli is not being a world-famous, highly-paid icon of the classical music world, what does she do? She has to think. ‘Well, music is my passion. I love to listen to music, to listen to other musicians. I adore the recordings of Rudolf Serkin – he really sings when he’s playing – and Horowitz. Those fantastic Scarlatti sonatas. Andras Schiff of course. Daniel Barenboim. Danny heard me when I was just 21. He was the one who first got me interested in Mozart. But then my other big pleasure is to be at home and cook for friends.’ What are the Bartoli specialities? Pasta? ‘Of course I can prepare pasta, but I had to learn how to prepare a diet, actually! There was a moment when I said, yes Cecilia, you must lose weight. It was quite difficult. But I succeeded!’

Bartoli limits herself to no more than 50 appearances a year, including opera. And here’s a thought: she prefers not to work in the summer. ‘I have more energy in the autumn and spring. Why all these summer festivals? It’s beautiful of course, but hot and so heavy and tiring. I learn this from experience!’

I reminded her of something she said at our previous meeting when discussing the eternally knotty problem of combining career and children. ‘If you sacrifice your life always for the career,’ she had said, ‘that’s wrong, because if you have a life and children, you’ll be an even better singer! You will learn! Maternity is the most important moment for a woman. Not to do this because of career I think is very egoist.’ Bartoli nods fiercely. ‘Yes – and I still believe that is true.’ Will she marry and have children one day? Her current partner, whom she met 10 years ago in Zurich, is the Swiss baritone Oliver Widmer. ‘I would like to, but unfortunately you can’t schedule these things. This is a gift from God. Either you receive or you don’t.’

I wondered if Cecilia Bartoli, with her global army of admirers and her every need catered for, and whose unique talent has brought her to the top of her profession, ever feels isolated, distanced by celebrity from normal everyday life.

‘You know, I started when I was 19, so this is the only life I know. But I had to be disciplined. There was the travelling. I was lucky because my mother always came with me. She still does, but not so frequently these days. I couldn’t go with my friends and stay up till four in the morning drinking or whatever – all the things that young people love to do at that age. I realised that that was not possible. I had to look after my instrument. Walking home on a cold night – it’s very dangerous. Being on the road, I had to sacrifice my family. You are alone. This is the price you have to pay. That’s clear. Unfortunately. I have a sunny temperament, but there’s always a shadow.’

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