Even Viaggio’s most vocal admirers would admit that it’s hardly Rossini’s most stageworthy opera. He expressed his own opinion by withdrawing it after the coronation of Charles X, for which it had been commissioned, and re-using four of the main numbers in Le Comte Ory. Superb music it is too, vintage Rossini, rich, lively and genial; but of substance, dramatic or comic, there’s none and was never meant to be. As official entertainment it’s carefully drained of any such thing, leaving a trifling confection about pan-European travellers gathering near Rheims for the coronation, their flirtations and mishaps – about as dramatic as the Royal Variety Show and harder to follow. Yet here there’s no synopsis and the subtitles are unhelpful, with at least one appalling howler – ‘La diligenza ha ribaltato!’, meaning ‘The coach has overturned!’, is translated as ’Your diligence has not been rewarded!’ – Rossini as she is spoke.

The humour derives chiefly from national stereotypes now so ancient as to be unrecognisable: aristocratically arrogant Russian, antique-obsessed Italian, the Englishman diffident and, perish the thought, unmusical. The resulting lack of political significance seems to have bothered producer Sergi Belbel. So instead of an ordinary inn at Plombières, the setting becomes a sanatorium, allowing him to introduce the characters in quaint national-colour bathing costumes (the English lord in suggestively cut Union Jack trunks) and in Euro-stereotypes almost as whiskery; the German baron sports a Hitler ’tache, uniform and riding crop. And from Belbel’s rambling notes we learn that there’s a Brechtian subtext, that these genial caricatures represent reactionary politics, desperate to restore the ancien régime, Church hegemony, etc. Fortunately, bar a few ‘revolutionary’ projections in the finale, little of this is discernible in the innocuous events on stage.

These are led off by the delightful María Bayo’s hostess, her sparkling coloratura marred by one painfully flat moment, and the hardworking comprimarii of the staff. Veteran Enzo Dara makes Baron di Trombonok as gemütlich as Rossini intended. Mariola Cantarero’s mock-dramatic French countess is both brightly sung and appropriately spoofed, as are the other flirtation-objects, the Polish Marquise Melibea and the ethereal Italian poetess Corinna (draped in the EU flag). The younger men are less impressive, Kenneth Tarver agile but reedy and lightweight as Count Libenskop, and awkwardly acted, Simon Orfila a muted Lord Sidney, José Bros and Ángel Ódena serviceable as the French and Spanish grandees. Nicola Ulivieri makes more of Don Profondo’s patter song.

The conducting of Jesús López-Cobos is both taut and sparkling, perhaps the most authentically Rossinian element here, and the Liceu band is excellent. Vividly recorded, this is as good a performance as we’re likely to see on DVD, but better casting, without the colourful but inane production, can be found on Claudio Abbado’s CD (DG, 1/86).