Entre illusions et réalitéThis is an authorized translation in English of a post in French by Maité Decombe (@mdecombe):

^{As my primary language is not English, there are probably some mistakes in my translation.}

Remember that the person who speaks here is NOT me, Vincent Celier (@vcelier), but Maité Decombe (@mdecombe), a French gal.

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The Opera of my Life

Between Illusions and Reality

I learned music with my grandparents, who ran a music school called «les cours Massenet» (the Massenet classes). My father was the violin teacher and it was only natural that I made my debut with this instrument at the age of 10.

Yet my father disgusted me from the violin because of his demands. My path will eventually be singing and opera.
At the age of 18, I enter the conservatory of which I went out with 5 first prizes, given by 9 theater directors who were on the jury. At the end of these competitions I had 3 engagements, for the operas of Bordeaux, Avignon and Mulhouse.

Although living in Bordeaux, I chose to leave for Mulhouse to break the umbilical cord. It is in Alsace that my artistic life began, by the Opera "Il trovatore" from Verdi (in Italian of course, whereas I did not speak the language, despite Italian origins by my father). I was with international artists, me only 21 years old!
I stayed there as a boarder, that is to say attached to the opera of Mulhouse, then Strasbourg. Later, knowing how to fly with my own wings, the singing bird flew away.

Night trains, planes, hotels were my daily life. Suitcases of costumes difficult to raise, leading roles, passion carried me to the firmament of this art, where we do not forgive much, except excellence. Perfection served me as a master of thought.

Always higher ; art does not suffer from mediocrity.

How many times, when I came on stage, a little bit of a 21-year-old woman weighing 45 kilos, having to convince in front of a very demanding audience, I saw myself working my violin in the vineyards of my grandparents' castle.

Entering the stage is a real parachute jump. Huge stress, but positive stress. Then a wonderful flight supported by music and text. Taken by the role, all the pressure disappears and I found myself cut off from the world, I was in my bubble. I was comming back to reality only through the applause of the public at the end of the show.

When they came to look for autographs, they were surprised to find me small. They often told me, "We do not know you, but we would like to be your friend".

When the audience was hearing me, with that little body and powerful voice, they wondered if there was someone else behind me that was singing for me.

In my beginnings in Alsace, I sang "The Magic Flute in German. The owners of the hotel I stayed in came to my dressing-room saying "Bravo Miss Decombe, I understood everything".

And I answered them "Well, I did not"

I did not speak German at all, but I understood the meaning, which is essential for a good interpretation. The fear of the "hole" terrorized me. In Italian it was easier, I could slip a word in Spanish and nobody would notice it. But in German ... Fortunately, I never had a failure.

The artistic world is sometimes only an illusion. After the performance of "Les Saltimbanques that I played at the Opéra de Nice, in the role of Suzanne, there was a reception for the artists. A little boy, amazed by this magnificent Suzanne (costumed, wearing, makeup), asks his mom "But ... Where is Suzanne? ".

She replied, "In front of you! "

Evidently, the so-called Suzanne was cleansed, ready to take her train, with a hat on her head, no longer resembled the Suzanne on the scene.

And the little boy laughed, "Is that it? "

I burst out laughing, and so that he would not lose his astonished gaze of the evening, I made him visit the backstage of the theater, the costumes, the makeup, etc.

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When the curtain falls, the party is over. Illusions fade away, and reality regains its right, on those moments of dreams that make us forget our daily worries. Three hours of wonder one evening, it's already taken.

About illusions, during holidays spent in Ajaccio, the theatrical demon still living in me, I decided to mount the show of Antigone in the town hall of Ajaccio, with the complicity of the mayor. The day after the show, I was walking in the mountains, in swimsuit, barefoot and cleansed.

I was stopped by a shepherd who said to me:

"Little lady, I went to the theater last night, and I saw for the first time a play: Antigone by Jean Anouilh. It was a wonderful outdoor show under the starry vault. "

And I was faced with a dilemma, either to tell him that it was me, or to leave it to his dream. I preferred to remain silent, so as not to destroy the idol at the feet of clay.

Art is the illusion that redeems all others.

Continue to Part 2

-- Maité Decombe

Introduction