Absolute Happiness – Ben Heppner and Wagner at the Salle Pleyel

Absolute Happiness – Ben Heppner and Wagner at the Salle Pleyel

Ben Heppner missed the live Met broadcast of Tristan und Isolde on Saturday. Robert Dean Smith, his replacement did a fine job. But I felt a little nostalgic for big Ben from BC – especially given a stunning concert performance of his that I attended in Paris just over a year ago. Heppner gave two Wagner concerts in Paris last year – within 2 weeks of each other and at two different venues. The first at the Theatre des Champs Elysees featured Siegmund’s glorious music from Die Walkure.

I had arrived in Paris a couple of days earlier and had noted the dates. But, in an extraordinary moment of stupidity, managed to miss this first concert. I knew where it was, I’d noted when it was. Then I went off for tea and very delicate little French pastries at La Duree on the Left Bank and somehow, I got addled. When Ben Heppner was greeting spring over on the Right Bank, I was standing in the frozen pizza section of the Montparnasse Monoprix wondering whether to go for a good solid Margarita or throw in a bit of pepperoni for good measure. Next morning when I wandered to the theatre to try for a ticket and found that all that glorious sound had gone off into the ether the previous night, well, had there been a nearby bench, I would have sat down and wept.

All was not lost. Heppner was coming back to the Salle Pleyel and this time he was bringing Tristan with him. I got there on the right day and got a good seat. But I wasn’t that excited. I prefer the joy of a young Siegmund greeting spring and love to the mournful, drawn out delirium and death of Tristan. I knew that Heppner had had a few health problems. And I had no expectations from a dramatic point of view. This was a concert performance. The man would have to stand there in a tux, alone, in front of an orchestra and make us believe that he is raging, brooding, wounded Tristan - yearning unto death.

I was sitting next to a small bird-like French woman in her mid-eighties. We had a minor skirmish when I complained about my uncomfortable seat and she accused me of being a typical Parisian whiner (?!). Then the Orchestre National de Paris played the Parsifal prelude. My neighbour turned to me with tears in her eyes and said “Cette musique, c’est le bonheur absolu.” Absolute happiness. “On a de la chance de le savoir.” Yes, she was right. We are both lucky to know how much this music can add to a life. Then Ben came and Ben sang. But he didn’t just sing. He stood there in that stiff dinner jacket and white tie and turned into the dying Tristan before our eyes. The big old boy from British Columbia morphed into this wild, tormented, tragic hero.

The audience in the Salle Pleyel leapt to its feet. And the French aren’t generous with their standing ovations. Another French friend of mine, a gifted concert pianist has described his experience of discovering Wagner as comparable to the initial stages of falling in love. I’ll save that for another entry. In the meantime, I wish Ben Heppner a speedy recovery. With less than a handful of Tristans on the planet, we need them all – particularly one who can do what he did on that December night of ‘bonheur absolu’ in the Salle Pleyel.