In the midst of performances of Peter Sellers’ production of Theodora for Glyndebourne in 2003, history relates that Harry Bicket came to the fortuitous realisation that Lorraine Hunt Lieberson’s Irene should be preserved for posterity. Recording sessions were hastily arranged to capture this remarkable artist in a role which inspired Handel to compose in ways quite beyond the imagination of his straight-laced librettist, Thomas Morell. The resulting CD allows us to admire Hunt’s intensely involving and often dis-comfortingly candid performances, without the more distracting and gratuitous gestic-ulations of Sellers’ choreography. Here is a uniquely rapt insight into Theodora’s profound and universally relevant themes, most not-ably those of humility and sacrifice; more so, indeed, any complete current reading.

Handel’s palette of pastel shadings, acutely economical means and spiritually radiant themes creates a special blend of Arcadian Anglicanism. Irene’s five magnificent arias complement Hunt Lieberson’s rich timbre and expressive resourcefulness to evoke each pervading ideal, from the rejection of worldly riches in ‘Bane of virtue’ to the moving vision of hope in danger, ‘As with rosy steps the morn’ (quite as I remember her at Glyndebourne: prostrate and vulnerable and yet with unshakeable faith). If there are intermittent moments of flatness, they usually fall within an acute discernment for vocal colour.

Also deeply satisfying is ‘Lord, to Thee each Night and Day’, a simple prayer to which Handel donates a lush and suspension-filled texture of courageous assurance. Hunt Lieberson responds with remarkable nobility of tone, though not without a thread of incremental human fear for the unfolding tragedy. The mixed emotions of the final scene, ‘New scenes of joy’, raise the stakes further still with Handel’s decision to tinge Morell’s one-dimensional evangelism with deep irony (eloquently observed in Richard Wigmore’s booklet-note). In this C minor aria with its luminous middle section, the performance is penetrating, the joy decidedly muted.

The Cantata, La Lucrezia, is from another age – Rome, circa 1707 – though it sits with surprising ease after the contemplative tenderness of the Theodora tableaux. Neither the music nor the performances rise to the same heights and it falls to the two arias from Serse (a ground-swelling ‘Ombra mai fu’) to cap another vocal triumph for the mezzo. The OAE and Bicket (with continuo partners in the cantata) are sympathetic accompanists throughout.