This is an issue of considerable interest to the Handelian, although the interest is more historical than musical. Rodelinda was the first of Handel’s operas to be revived in the 20th century, at Göttingen in 1920, using the performing edition prepared by Oskar Hagen. Published shortly after, Hagen’s version forms the basis of the text used for several revivals in the ensuing years, including this recording, made in in the late-’30s from a Stuttgart radio broadcast. Hagen was anxious to adapt the work to the taste of the time, and he had some success; he should at least be credited for starting the Handelian ball rolling, operatically speaking.

But it is easy to criticise him for making formal mincemeat of some of the arias (he did even worse in Giulio Cesare) and for what seem from this perspective his ferocious and damaging cuts. ‘Complete Opera’, says the CD: well, it depends what you mean by ‘complete’. True, it tells the story from beginning to end, though not in a straight line nor an unbroken one. Of the 11 arias in Act 1, three are omitted and seven shortened. In Act 2, five of the nine are omitted and four shortened; only the duet is given complete. In Act 3, three of the seven are omitted and the rest are shortened.

We don’t need this to help us enjoy Handel these days, fortunately; nor do we generally relish the ponderous recitatives, or indeed the slow tempi (listen to the final ‘coro’!) or the weighty and frequent rallentandos. Nor is the German language much help. Of the two castrato roles, Unulfo is eliminated altogether except for some recitative; Bertarido is sung an octave lower than written, by a baritone (a countertenor or a female voice was not of course acceptable for a heroic role in the 1920s), which often puts the vocal line in an awkward relationship with the instrumental bass and, in the one ensemble, with the other voice.

But the presence in this role of Gerhard Hüsch, one of the finest lyric baritones of his (or any) time, is something of a saving grace, and any listener can take pleasure in his singing of Bertarido’s (here Bertarich’s) music: ‘Dove sei’ (here ‘Wo weilst du’) is beautifully done, with soft, gentle tone and tasteful expression.

From the other singers, too, there are things to admire. The Grimoaldo (Grimwald) is sung by the tenor Fritz Krauss, a noted Tannhäuser; he was in his mid-fifties at the time of this recording and the voice has clearly lost some of its freshness; but his semiquavers in ‘Tra sospetti’ are pretty clean and ‘Pastorello’ has some sensitive phrasing and timing. The Garibaldo, uningratiating though competent, has only a single aria here.

Rodelinda is sung by Cäcilie Reich, then a young singer at the Munich Opera, who, if no Handelian stylist by today’s standards, knows how to shape a line – some of the soaring phrases of ‘Ombre, piante’ are tellingly done – and to use touches of portamento to good effect; for example, in her opening aria. Her beautiful, sombre climactic aria, ‘Se’l mio duol’, with its extraordinary scoring (recorders, violins, violas with bassoons), is excluded in favour of Handel’s own alternative, the almost equally affecting ‘Ahi perchè’, which I do not recollect ever hearing before: as with nearly all the arias, only the main section is given, but its inclusion provides an excuse for maniacally acquisitive Handelians to buy the set.

The orchestral playing is solid and heavily sustained by modern (or original) standards, but well disciplined; the harpsichord is clangy. Some of the cadences are decorated, quite acceptably. But anyone wanting Rodelinda will surely prefer the recording by Nicholas Kraemer and the Raglan Baroque Players (listed above).

As this slimmed-down Rodelinda takes only some 98 minutes, there is space on the second CD for some samples of other German Handel opera interpretations of the pre-war years. There are ballet movements from Alcina, some of them extremely slow, heavy and legatissimo. The Radamisto aria is sung with skill and deftness by the American tenor Georg A Walter (Fischer-Dieskau’s first teacher), then quite elderly and tonally thin. Marta Fuchs, who also sang Brünnhilde at Bayreuth, contributes a chilly, humourless account of ‘Tu la mia stella’, the middle section unaccountably adagissimo, and a ‘V’adoro pupille’ with a total deficiency of allure; both are ponderously conducted. These pages of musical history might better have been left unturned.