This is a surprise: the first-ever production of Mercadante’s Francesca da Rimini, given last year at the opera festival in Martina Franca, a hilltop town in the heel of Italy. It was composed in 1830 for Madrid but the composer withdrew it after a disagreement with the management of the theatre; a production at La Scala also failed to materialise, and that was that.

The historical Paolo and Francesca were adulterous lovers in 13th-century Rimini; they were murdered by Lanciotto, who was Francesca’s husband and Paolo’s elder brother. Following the couple’s appearance in Dante’s Inferno, the story was treated by many composers, including Tchaikovsky and Rachmaninov. In this version, Francesca has fallen in love with Paolo before being forced to marry Lanciotto for political reasons. The husband has his suspicions, which are confirmed when he finds the lovers embracing after reading the tale of Lancelot and Guinevere (rendered as Geneva in the subtitles, one of many absurdities). Both are saved from death by the armed intervention of Guido, Francesca’s father. Francesca vows to take the veil; she and Paolo are interrupted again by Lanciotto and they end up dead after all.

The libretto, by Felice Romani but apparently adapted by other hands, is serviceable but misses a few tricks: Guido, responsible for his daughter’s unhappy marriage, comes across as a sympathetic character; and there is no follow-up to Lanciotto’s assuring him that Francesca detests Paolo. The consensus on Mercadante’s operas seems to be that they are rather less than the sum of their parts, lacking dramatic thrust and memorable tunes. Francesca da Rimini is certainly a leisurely stroll, the first act lasting an hour and 50 minutes, but the musical scenery is beautiful and there are some exquisite blooms on the way. The opera is very much of its time: Paolo is a trouser role, like Bellini’s Romeo (also from 1830), and there is much coloratura for the three main characters. Mercadante has a perhaps surprising feel for orchestral colour, the writing for four horns in the trio ‘Cielo, i miei voti’ being particularly lovely.

One set serves throughout, a wall with blind windows, plus a platform in front of the orchestra. The characters all wear cloaks, which billow furiously throughout: what starts as puzzling becomes distracting and then irritating. Is it a knowing reference to the winds that buffet the lovers for ever in the Inferno? Inappropriate, if so, as it’s not just Paolo and Francesca but everybody on stage who is affected. The acting is all right, not hammy, but shots of the orchestra and conductor when the singers are on the platform make theatrical illusion hard to sustain.

Better, I would suggest, to go for the CDs. Some ill-tuned chording apart, Fabio Luisi gets excellent playing from his orchestra – warm, tender strings in the Act 1 finale, fine obbligatos – and the chorus sings lustily. And the solo singing is stupendous. Merto Sungu is thrilling, Leonor Bonilla sings with bell-like clarity, with good coloratura and trills, and the Japanese Aya Wakizono is a mezzo in a thousand. If you want to hear bel canto magnificently performed by singers you have probably never heard of, go out and buy the discs right now.