How extraordinary, when you think about it, is Guillaume Tell in the career of Gioacchino Rossini? At the age of 37, at the very height of his powers, he writes his longest, grandest, and probably his greatest French opera, only to then fall silent for decades except for a few naughty piano works and the odd bon mot. He must have known (or feared) that he could do no better and, listening to it all over again, his final opera is a very fine thing indeed.

This outing comes from the admirable and ambitious annual Rossini Festival in Pesaro, and if there’s one thing they invariably do well it’s pick a cast. I really can’t imagine a better sung bit of bel canto than this. Add to that a magnificently detailed reading of the score, plus a thoughtful production, and this is nigh on four hours of operatic heaven.

Graham Vick’s neatly politicised staging shifts the action from late medieval times to the Swiss ‘Downton Abbey’ era, focusing on the class oppression that was running its course round about then rather than on the stark nationalism of the original. Against a bleak, white set, the drama is played out effectively enough, though the plastic horses do bring Monty Python to mind.

Italian baritone Nicola Alaima is perfect as the Guillaume of the title, built like a Swiss mountain and with the lung power to match. Juan Diego Flórez is tireless as the vacillating Arnaud, torn between countrymen and a love for a woman on the enemy side. Latvian soprano Marina Rebeka is that woman, singing with sweetness and blistering accuracy, while Amanda Forsythe is a short trouser-clad treat as Tell’s plucky son Jemmy. The Bologna orchestra play fit to bust under Michele Mariotti, an inspirational conductor who spurs his forces on to dramatise the action and makes Rossini sound at least as good as Verdi. Hi ho Silver, away!