We already know Mlle Cloclo – or do we? Along with Lolo, Margot, Froufrou and the rest, isn’t she one of the grisettes that so delighted Danilo at Chez Maxim’s in The Merry Widow? The relationship, if any, is never made clear, but the heroine of this 1924 operetta is also a Parisian showgirl with an eye to the main chance. She even has a sweetheart called Maxime.

The similarities end there. We’re not in Pontevedro any more: there are saxophones in Lehár’s score and Cloclo inhabits an altogether more cynical (if scarcely less silly) world than that of the Widow. Our heroine happily sees a friend imprisoned in her place while she passes herself off as the illegitimate daughter of her sugar-daddy Severin Cornichon, and even manages to ingratiate herself with his wife Melousine. If the whole cheerfully amoral set-up comes across as slightly brittle: well, it was actually quite a success in its day, with Viennese critics seeing it as a welcome return to a more throwaway, frivolous kind of operetta.

Posterity hasn’t treated it so kindly and from a modern perspective it definitely feels like a transitional work – as Lehár tries to find his voice in a post-1918 world of foxtrots and film stars. Cloclo is more sprightly than sentimental, although here and there – a glittering celesta accompaniment; the glowing prelude to Act 3 – there are hints of his next major hit, Paganini. Taken on its own terms, there’s much to enjoy, including an expansive Act 2 finale, as well as a delightful piano-lesson duet decades before The Music Man, all presented with a winningly light touch and Lehár’s customary deluxe orchestration.

This live performance from 2019 has all the qualities – positive and less positive – that we’ve come to expect from CPO’s visits to the Lehár Festival Bad Ischl. Apart from some unfocused choral singing and occasional rhythmically inept bursts of audience participation, you wouldn’t guess that it was taken from a live performance, although the spoken dialogue is stiff. I was more bothered (though no longer surprised) by the absence of any printed libretto, and non-German-speaking listeners will struggle to match the music to the sketchy synopsis provided (I fell back on Mark Lubbock’s The Complete Book of Light Opera).

Against that, the cast are a thoroughly likeable team. Sieglinde Feldhofer (Cloclo) and her two suitors Gerd Vogel (Severin) and Daniel Jenz (Maxime) all have flexible, pleasantly transparent voices with a tart, occasionally plangent edge that actually proves something of an asset in material as sweet as this. Feldhofer can soar when she needs to; she blends surprisingly well with Jenz in their brief love duets, and also with Susanna Hirschler as Melousine – who brings a satisfying musicality to what is essentially a character role. But the set’s strongest single asset is the stylish, effortlessly lively conducting of Bad Ischl regular Marius Burkert, and the understated but classy playing of the festival orchestra. I can imagine Cloclo being revived with more opulence, but ultimately she’s a showgirl – and with Burkert in the pit, she’s always light on her feet.