perry

As expected, the minute I got on site and on task, there was little room for emotion. And even less room for sightseeing! The downside to making your debut in Paris is that you might have been making your debut anywhere- we spent four full days in rehearsal, and in the off hours, I only wanted to study and review and rest. The rehearsals were productive, collegial and nurturing, and demanded my full concentration. I would have loved to have seen more of Paris, but on this trip it was really more of a distraction.


But oh what a distraction! Even if I didn’t get to spend full days touring around, I got to know Montmartre well, and the small excursions outside the rehearsal room were enough contrast to keep the trip in balance. After all, I did spend my days immersed in culture, if not in museums, then in singing in long-forgotten languages and trying to pick up enough of French to understand my cues! And even our rehearsal rooms had some panache: at the Theatre de la Ville at Chatelet our sundrenched suite overlooked the fountain on the plaza and the Eiffel tower in the distance, and another room was filled with Sarah Bernhardt paraphernalia, which we enjoyed playing around in.


Moreover, it was very satisfying to feel that we were contributing something to life in Paris, not only walking the streets looking for thrills. Je suis ne pas un touriste, je suis artiste!

In front of Sarah Bernhardt's mirror at Chatelet.

And in her bathtub!

Here's most of the group in the metro, on the way to rehearsal.

This version of Tristan has nearly as much of a curse on it as does the more famous one. Two previous Tristans died after the performances. The woman who narrated the original version of the story by Gottfried von Strassburg also passed away. More than once during rehearsal, our director was in tears. I had never known that medieval music was so impassioned and dramatic. And I was reminded of the wordless comradeship that develops in chamber music, with every person giving and helping each other and the performance. Two of my solos were accompanied only by a single-note drone, a companionable experience, as my line harmonizes, clashes, or unifies with theirs. Companionable in a very naked way....


But let’s see, what were the extra-curricular highlights? A Parisian croissant is like a well-poached filet of fish: buttery, tender, slightly flaky, and sweet. It is revelatory. So are all the pastries and breads in most any corner bakery. The one difficulty I found is that the starch made me so incredibly tired, and when I woke myself up with bitter French coffee, I was irritable and jittery. My singing companion – a French native herself! – explained that this effect accounts for French grumpiness overall. After dining at Bofinger, I glimpsed the gold standard of service and cuisine. I also discovered what it was like to have a pound of butter in your gut.

Beneath the art-deco ceiling at Bofinger.

On Rue des Abbesses in Montmartre, where we trod between our hotel and one of the venues, I tried to sample the different shops and restaurants and bakeries. One charcuterie in particular, where my grandmother would have been in seventh heaven, was piled high with sausages, seasoned chop meat, pan ready duck confit covered in white fat, roast meats and delectables. The shopkeeper served me a lovely piece of rotisserie chicken, and a heaping portion of attitude.

But how much fun was it to pretend that I spoke French! I took what I could from Italian, added a few words I've learned from songs, tossed in a prayer and voila! I was actually delighted that I could understand far more than I expected to, even if I could most steadily reply en silence.


But the music was the main event. If you had told me when I was a child that I would eventually be singing French music to Parisians, the stars would have lit up in my eyes with equal parts thrill and terror. What was the whole process really like? Nerves. Winning one gig doesn't mean you've "made it." Only that you have the chance to continue to prove yourself. Did I gaze into the footlights, enjoying myself to the core, thinking about how beautiful I must look and sound, how everyone in the room must really love me? Please. Was I frightened out of my mind, apologizing when I sang and dreading every note? Well, no. But the job was just that, a job. I was concentrating on doing my best, and felt some relief afterwards. I drew praise from the director (yehoo!), but I learned that work is work, even if you do have some glamour to it. I had to wonder, is this something I could do every day?

Click here for another slide show of a walking tour of Notre Dame!

Here are some views from the top of Notre Dame, and, though barely visible, the glistening Eiffel Tower in the distance from the dressing room at Theatre des Abbesses.