This bounty from the archive would be welcome at any time but never more so than at the present. Glyndebourne’s production of I puritani in 1960 marked the opera’s first professional performance in England since 1887 and it was Joan Sutherland’s first appearance in any opera by Bellini. A principal mover was the conductor, Vittorio Gui, who realised that in the newly triumphant Sutherland he would have a soprano potentially ideal for the role of the heroine, and although the musical establishment was sniffy (and the press full of snide references to “canary-fanciers”), the musical public was eager to explore this long-neglected repertoire and disprove the complacently promulgated opinion that there were no singers nowadays who could cope with its demands.

This was a year after Sutherland’s spectacular breakthrough (for the repertoire as well as herself) at Covent Garden with Lucia di Lammermoor. Her voice was at its freshest and there seemed no limit to the technical wonders she could perform. Although certain features of her style already threatened to become too pervasive (the downward portamento for pathos, for example), she was adaptably putting herself at the service of new roles, and manner had not developed into mannerism. Her Elvira is a living creation, and my feeling is that, in spite of the many fine qualities of the studio recordings (one from 1963, the other, with Pavarotti, 1975), I shall be turning to this version as first choice from now on. For one thing, it is good to hear the voice in stage-perspective; for another, I like the sound of the young voice best. Her first solo, the joyful polonaise in Act 1, is particularly magical. “Qui la voce” is already inflected at the expense of the melodic line, but less so than later, and the cabaletta is a dazzler. She has worthy associates too. The tenor Nicola Filacuridi (whom I remember as a colourful Duke to Gobbi’s Rigoletto at Covent Garden) is not quite of the kind one would think of in connection with this music, yet he is capable of grace as well as declamatory vigour, and, though singing an edited version which deletes the notorious high notes, he gives a convincingly virile account of the part. A notable pleasure is added by the idiomatic singing of Ernest Blanc, especially in his aria, a model of the legato style and well-rounded tone. Giuseppe Modesti (a bass misleadingly labelled tenor) is admirably even in his production and authoritative in character. Monica Sinclair, with tense dramatic concentration in her voice, makes the most of limited opportunities. David Ward and John Kentish have still smaller parts but are gratefully recognised.

Gui’s direction is firm and unindulgent but the broad sweep of the ensembles works its spell. The Royal Philharmonic Orchestra and Glyndebourne Chorus are as scrupulously tidy as if this were Mozart. As usual in the old Glyndebourne we begin by knowing ourselves to be in a box, but soon enough it becomes our very acceptable home for the evening – and, personally, I still miss it.