La rondine is one of a musical life’s luxuries. It is like working your way lovingly through an outsize bag of rum truffles, or visiting your favourite French patisserie and buying not the usual carefully chosen couple but the whole shop. Once in a while perhaps; but after that there comes a point when you’ve had enough, and I have normally reached that point not far into Act 3. And it’s an opera I don’t particularly want to see. The Metropolitan stages Act 1 as a festival of art deco, with Prunier at a white piano, society women with bangles and beads, and Magda in a sort of Aida-wig. The second act looks draughty and sparse on that huge stage, and the third presents a very large, luxurious love-nest with the hero in white flannels, très sportif. There’s a lot of amorous playfulness and high society silliness: not, on the whole, an edifying spectacle.

But at the centre is Angela Gheorghiu in richest, creamiest voice. At her side for most of the time is Roberto Alagna, singing with tone that is resonant if not refulgent, and for most of the rest she enjoys the attentions of Marius Brenciu (one-time double-winner at Cardiff), an accomplished, urbane Prunier. In the background, the middle-aged banker in whom we recognise our old friend Samuel Ramey, looking distinguished and given not much, but quite enough, to sing. The pert maid, Lisette, is sung by Lisette Oropesa, good at making lollipop-eyes. The three friends play up with spirit. Marco Armiliato conducts with enthusiasm, and the glimpses of scenery-changing reveal a hinter-realm of awesome complexity under unfazed control.