Bartoli, now aged 36 and 15 years on from her stage début, is clearly ripe for selective plucking by the anthologists. Mind, I do wish the editors of these collections might be a little more careful in the matter of titles. We’ve just had ‘The Very Best of Janet Baker’ (A/02) which contained no opera, and now comes ‘The Art of Cecilia Bartoli’ which is all opera and no song. Perhaps this is merely Volume 1?

In his introductory essay, Max Loppert writes with infectious enthusiasm of the singer who in his household is known as La Gioiosa, ‘the joyful one’. That is in contradistinction to Callas as La Divina and Sutherland as La Stupenda, and it does identify something quintessential in Bartoli – a kind of freedom in music-making, not by inattention to detail but by transcending it, using this lovely gift of voice, acquisition of technique and triumph of memory to reach out to what André Tubeuf (whom Loppert quotes) calls ‘the ears of the soul and of the heart’. It’s true, and it makes me feel almost mean in finding fault with some of the ways in which she does it – notably the aspirated runs and the breathy tone of wonderment or intimate revelation. Happily, there is not a great deal of that here, and indeed the wonderment belongs to the listener, aroused by this extraordinarily animated singer, who is almost as incapable of dullness as, a few generations before her, was Conchita Supervia.

Oddly, the introduction to La Gioiosa is through the sad pleading of Handel’s ‘Lascia ch’io pianga’: and immediately the individual stamp of the artist is there, for, unlike practically every other singer of the aria, she makes it mean what it says. The Vivaldi selections conclude with an outstanding virtuoso piece which shows off the mezzo’s complete mastery of the soprano tessitura. The Gluck arias are delicately, tenderly sung, and it is good to hear that contralto richness is still part of her voice.

In Mozart and Rossini, the collaboration with Terfel provides some of the most vivid, mutually sympathetic duet-singing on records. The previously unpublished duets with Pavarotti are also treasurable, especially those from L’elisir d’amore where, apart from some dryness in the fioriture of his ‘Chiedi al rio’, Pavarotti sings with boyish charm and she with careful characterisation.

The second disc, devoted to Mozart and taken from performances in the early years of Bartoli’s career, has its own interest, though at 54 minutes playing-time (and certainly without anything to compare with Decca’s handsome booklet and packaging) may seem to offer relatively poor value. The excerpts from Lucio Silla are fine, and it is good to hear Bartoli matching voices with Gruberová. In Così her own most characterful singing comes in the ‘Smanie implacabili’ and an additional pleasure lies in the reminder of the exquisite art of Lella Cuberli in her prime. Cherubino’s arias under Barenboim compare interestingly with the later recording under Abbado, who hurries ‘Voi che sapete’ mercilessly but gets more out of Bartoli than does the milder Barenboim.