There’s a twofold irony about The Bartered Bride. With its jolly picture of village life, its choruses and its dances, it is generally regarded as the Czech opera par excellence. However, Smetana’s first language was German; and, although the libretto was in Czech, the opera was initially better known abroad in German translation. The standard version was made after Smetana’s death by Max Kalbeck; there is much here about the Styriarte Festival’s discovery of the first translation by Emanuel Züngel, who was later to be Smetana’s librettist for The Two Widows.

Any German version on CD comes straight up against the peerless account under Rudolf Kempe. Nikolaus Harnoncourt starts promisingly with a lively Overture, the double-bass entry in the fugue being particularly powerful. The dances and the drinking chorus, too, go with a swing, and Harnoncourt provides good support for Marie’s heartfelt arias. There’s a beautiful pianissimo in the orchestra in the Act 3 trio (disc 3, tr 15, 1'14"). But elsewhere, Harnoncourt seeks to impose on this charming descendant of Zar und Zimmermann and Martha a weight it cannot bear. Where is the lightness in the Allegro moderato of the duet between Marie and the stammering Vašek? Where is the sense of fun in the duet between Jeník and Kecal, a number that takes Harnoncourt 10 and a half minutes against Kempe’s eight?

These ponderous speeds affect the singers. Kurt Streit is a personable-sounding Jeník but his Act 2 aria (disc 2, tr 9) is so slow as to draw attention to the beat in his voice. Ruben Drole doesn’t make much of Kecal, the marriage-broker, and he struggles with the low notes. Dorothea Röschmann’s Marie, though, is first-rate: a rounded, impassioned portrayal. But stick to the Kempe, or seek it out as a matter of urgency. If you need persuading, listen to ‘Komm, mein Söhnchen, auf ein Wort’: Fritz Wunderlich and Gottlob Frick at the top of their game, relishing every syllable, the Bamberg Symphony Orchestra bouncing along with them.

The DVD is a semi-staging on part of an old fairground ride. The characters sing without scores but of course movement is restricted. Verisimilitude flies out of the window with a male romantic lead who is 20 years older than the marriage-broker – and, I’m afraid, looks it. Markus Schäfer, a Boris Johnson in shorts and bow tie, is touching as the hapless Vašek, and the veteran Heinz Zednik nearly steals the show as the Circus Master. The discs come in a handsome hardback with articles, photos and a dreadful English translation of the libretto from 1909.