In the Shadow of Young Girls in Flower by Marcel Proust Read Free Book Online

in a Mozart concerto.
    "Well, did you enjoy your matinée ?" asked my father, as we moved to
the dining–room; meaning me to 'shew off,' and with the idea that my
enthusiasm would give M. de Norpois a good opinion of me. "He has just
been to hear Berma. You remember, we were talking about it the other
day," he went on, turning towards the diplomat, in the same tone of
retrospective, technical, mysterious allusiveness as if he had been
referring to a meeting of the Commission.
    "You must have been enchanted, especially if you had never heard her
before. Your father was alarmed at the effect that the little jaunt
might have upon your health, which is none too good, I am told, none
too robust. But I soon set his mind at rest. Theatres to–day are not
what they were even twenty years ago. You have more or less
comfortable seats now, and a certain amount of ventilation, although
we have still a long way to go before we come up to Germany or
England, which in that respect as in many others are immeasurably
ahead of us. I have never seen Mme. Berma in Phèdre , but I have
always heard that she is excellent in the part. You were charmed with
her, of course?"
    M. de Norpois, a man a thousand times more intelligent than myself,
must know that hidden truth which I had failed to extract from Berma's
playing; he knew, and would reveal it to me; in answering his question
I would implore him to let me know in what that truth consisted; and
he would tell me, and so justify me in the longing that I had felt to
see and hear the actress. I had only a moment, I must make what use I
could of it and bring my cross–examination to bear upon the essential
points. But what were they? Fastening my whole attention upon my own
so confused impressions, with no thought of making M. de Norpois
admire me, but only that of learning from him the truth that I had
still to discover, I made no attempt to substitute ready–made phrases
for the words that failed me—I stood there stammering, until finally,
in the hope of provoking him into declaring what there was in Berma
that was admirable, I confessed that I had been disappointed.
    "What's that?" cried my father, annoyed at the bad impression which
this admission of my failure to appreciate the performance must make
on M. de Norpois, "What on earth do you mean; you didn't enjoy it?
Why, your grandmother has been telling us that you sat there hanging
on every word that Berma uttered, with your eyes starting out of your
head; that everyone else in the theatre seemed quite bored, beside
you."
    "Oh, yes, I was listening as hard as I could, trying to find out what
it was that was supposed to be so wonderful about her. Of course,
she's frightfully good, and all that…"
    "If she is 'frightfully good,' what more do you want?"
    "One of the things that have undoubtedly contributed to the success of
Mme. Berma," resumed M. de Norpois, turning with elaborate courtesy
towards my mother, so as not to let her be left out of the
conversation, and in conscientious fulfilment of his duty of
politeness to the lady of the house, "is the perfect taste that she
shews in selecting her parts; thus she can always be assured of
success, and success of the right sort. She hardly ever appears in
anything trivial. Look how she has thrown herself into the part of
Phèdre. And then, she brings the same good taste to the choice of her
costumes, and to her acting. In spite of her frequent and lucrative
tours in England and America, the vulgarity—I will not say of John
Bull; that would be unjust, at any rate to the England of the
Victorian era—but of Uncle Sam has not infected her. No loud colours,
no rant. And then that admirable voice, which has been of such service
to her, with which she plays so delightfully—I should almost be
tempted to describe it as a musical instrument!"
    My interest in Berma's acting had continued to grow ever since the
fall of the curtain, because it was then no longer compressed within
the limits of