As befits a comedy of manners with an exceptionally precise musical setting – and we’re talking about mood, not date – Elisir has meant, and looked like, different things to different ages. The theatrical stereotypes of Victorian mountebank and shrew outwitted by the honest, simple peasant carried the work throughout the 19th century. Then Caruso’s earnestly noble, almost tragic “Una furtiva lagrima” – recorded, of course, in the age of verismo – suggested more layers in the drama, an option not fully pursued until recent times of greater directorial intervention and awareness that period-informed performance was not just confined to Beethoven and Mozart.

Glyndebourne’s first go at the piece at the start of the 1960s is an essentially un-serious affair, taking its cues from the pretty story-book naturalism of Franco Zeffirelli’s staging, Bruscantini’s always near-the-top Dulcamara and maestro Cillario’s laid-back conducting. But real enjoyment is to be had from their combined experience. Cillario and his players (a Royal Philharmonic just after Beecham) are never over-heavy or thumpy, and Bruscantini is nearly always good to hear. Only the Act 2 barcarolle duet is a Venetian lagoon and a half too much, and the orchestra’s stage banda sound like they’ve rivalled the audience in long-interval imbibing. But the real star(s) are Freni, Freni and Freni – a gorgeous-voiced mix of tease, wit and seriousness, whose success in a role she kept in her repertoire until the 1980s was important in escalating her international career. And, mostly, Alva, whose more-upper-class-than-usual Nemorino is good at finding playboy self-illusion in the voice.

The recording, a completely in-house job by Glyndebourne’s famous recordist John Barnes, sounds sensitive to singers’ placing onstage and their nearness to scenery. The basic sound feels its 47-year vintage, although careful transfer work has given important human and instrumental voices more space and presence than they might have had. The contemporary English newspaper reviews were amusingly worried about Adina’s not-quite-proper character. “Freni rightly allowed real tenderness to shine through vanity and caprice”, the Sunday Times was relieved to report, while a colleague was pleased that “she acts her teasing charades with Sergeant Belcore as if nothing were farther from her mind than cruelty”.