With its temples, theatre and magnificent colonnaded street, Palmyra, the ‘Bride of the Desert’, is one of the best-preserved cities of the Roman era. It lies in the unhappy land of Syria, some two hours’ drive from Homs, and it is famous for its association with two women: the eccentric traveller Lady Hester Stanhope, who entered the city in 1813, and Queen Zenobia, whose resistance to the Emperor Aurelian in 272AD resulted in her being exiled to Rome.

Aureliano in Palmira comes between L’italiana in Algeri and Il turco in Italia: it was commissioned by La Scala, Milan, where it was premiered in December 1813. One wonders if Lady Hester came to hear of it. Rossini’s collaborator was Felice Romani, then at the beginning of his career as the librettist of dozens of operas, including most of Bellini’s. The story is simple but not absurd. Zenobia loves Arsace, a former ally of Rome, who is captured while defending Palmyra against Aurelian.

The Emperor offers Arsace his liberty provided he gives up Zenobia; finding himself attracted to the Queen, he tells her that Arsace will be freed and she will be restored to the throne if she returns his love. Both conditions are indignantly rejected; but, in the end, the lovers agree to recognise the suzerainty of Rome. No exile for Zenobia: the loser, apart from the magnanimous Aurelian, is Publia, whose love for Arsace is unrequited.

There are two surprises about Rossini’s score. One is that the part of Arsace was not written for a contralto, as was the Arsace in Semiramide (1823), but for Giovanni Battista Velluti, the last of the great castratos. The other is not simply that the Overture was recycled for Il barbiere di Siviglia, as the history books tell us: music from the Overture reappears in the opera, and so do anticipations of Almaviva’s serenade and Rosina’s cavatina.

The music is very fine, with a minimal amount of secco recitative. Much of the momentum is generated by triplet figures in the accompaniment. The sheer variety is striking: resolution, love, defiance, supplication are vividly conveyed. There’s a canonic trio and a ‘vaudeville’ finale. There are solos for horn and, in a charming pastoral chorus, for violin. The LPO play beautifully for Maurizio Benini.

Kenneth Tarver makes an accomplished Aurelian, a touch of steel in his tone emphasising his authority. In Zenobia’s aria ‘Là pugnai’, Catriona Smith colours her voice with both assertiveness and wistfulness before dazzling the listener with her coloratura. And the forthright tones of Silvia Tro Santafé are a first-rate substitute for those of the castrato Velluti. The recording is well balanced, with a nice sense of perspective when Zenobia enters in Act 2 at the top of a staircase; and, as always with Opera Rara, the booklet containing the libretto is admirable.