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Susan Anne Livingston Ridley Sedgwick - "The Young Emigrants; Madelaine Tube; The Boy and the Book; and"

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Delsarte System of Oratory by Various

V >> Various >> Delsarte System of Oratory




Xavier lived in the Rue des Batailles with his family, but not in the
same apartment. This fact was fatal. Instead of calling help in the
first stages--unwilling to disturb his relatives--the invalid wandered
down stairs during the night, and into the court-yard. There he drank
water from the pump. I can still recall the unhappy father's story of
that cruel moment.

"It was scarcely day. I was waked by that unexpected, fatal ringing of
the bell, which, at such an hour, always bodes misfortune. The maid
heard it also, and opened the door. She uttered a cry of alarm. Almost
instantly, my poor boy stood at my chamber door. He leaned against the
frame of the door, his strength not allowing him to advance. From the
change in his features, I understood all--he was hopelessly lost!"

Delsarte was sensitive and of a very loving nature; but he was endowed
with great strength. Much absorbed, moreover, in his profession, his
studies, his innovations, he often found in them a counterpoise to these
rude blows of fate. So when the thoughts of his friends recur to these
disasters, they feel that their greatest sympathy and commiseration are
due to the mother who three times underwent this supreme martyrdom.

Two names remain to be mentioned in this family where artistic callings
seemed a matter of course. The concerts of Madame Theresa Wartel--sister
of Madame Delsarte--brought together the _elite_ of Parisian virtuosi,
and the brilliant pianist took her part in the quatuors in which Sauzay,
Allard, Franchomme and other celebrities of the period figured.

George Bizet--author of the opera of "Carmen"--prematurely snatched from
the arts, was the nephew of Francois Delsarte. This young man taught
himself Sanscrit unaided; he inspired the greatest hopes.

Wartel, who gave Christine Nilsson her musical education, was not of the
same blood, but we find certain points in his method which recall the
processes of Delsarte's school.




Chapter XII.

Delsarte's Religion.



I now confront an important and very interesting subject; but one which
is more difficult to handle than the most prickly briers. There has been
a confusion, in regard to Delsarte, of two very distinct things: his
practical devotion and his philosophy of art, which does indeed assume a
religious character. He himself helped on this confusion. I am desirous
of doing my best to put an end to it. I hope that, truth and sincerity
aiding, I shall not find the task too great for me.

I must first grapple with those ill-informed persons who have denied the
master his high intellectual faculties, and even his scientific
discoveries, for the sole reason of the mystical side of his beliefs. I
must also expose the error of those who supposed that to this mysticism
were attributable the miracles accomplished by Delsarte in his career as
artist and scholar.

I was the better able to understand these two opposing
elements--religiousness and strength of understanding--because, if I
gave in my entire adhesion to the innovator in the arts, he did not find
me equally docile in what concerned the theosophic part of his doctrine.
Hence, discussions which illustrated the subject. I speak in presence of
his memory as I did before him, with perfect frankness and simplicity
of heart; taking care not to offend the objects of his veneration, but
examining without regard to his memory, as without prejudice, the
influence which his convictions exerted upon his intellectual
conceptions, his ideas, his character, his talent--in a word, his life,
in so far as it may concern a sketch which lays no claim to be a
complete biography.

Now, it is from the point of view of art itself that I ask the following
questions: Was Delsarte a devout Catholic? Was he orthodox?

Devout? He gloried in it, he insisted on it; I will not say that he
_affected_ minute daily acts of devotion, for that word would not accord
with the spontaneity of his nature; but he accented his demonstrations,
he spoke constantly of his religion. Without any intention to wrong the
serious side of his religious feelings, it seemed to be a bravado put on
for the incredulous, a toy which he converted into a weapon.

Orthodox? He made it his boast, and he certainly intended to be so; he
loved, in many circumstances, to show his humility of heart. His faith,
he used to say, "was the charcoal-burner's faith."

And yet, the charcoal-burner would have been strangely puzzled if he had
had to sustain the ceaseless contests which the artist accepted or
provoked from philosophers and free-thinkers; and, perhaps, no less
frequently, from his fellow-religionists, and the priests themselves.

With the former, it was a mere question of dogmatic forms or of the
necessity for some form of religion; with the latter, he entered upon a
more peculiarly theological order of ideas, such as the attributes
proper to each of the three divine persons, and other mystical subjects.

Here, as elsewhere, Delsarte brought to bear his personality, his stamp,
his breadth of comprehension.

I once asked him what some called _Dominations_ might represent, in the
celestial classification? He replied: "If any one or anything forces
itself upon our mind, takes active possession of our soul, do we not
feel that we are under a certain domination?"

He gave me several other explanations touching the angelic hierarchy. I
considered them very poetic, very ingenious--but were they also
orthodox? I am not competent to judge.

It was impossible to say at the first glance, how the influence of this
theosophy made itself felt in this sensitive character, full as it was
of surprises. Delsarte was born good, generous, above the petty
tendencies which deform and degrade the human type. On these diverse
points, religious faith could scarcely show its effect; but he also
declared himself to be irritable and violent--he confessed to a
dangerous fickleness--still, he would readily have slandered himself in
the interests of his faith.

Whatever the cause of this acquired serenity, Delsarte did not always
refuse to satisfy his native impulses. I have already alluded to cases
in which these returns to impetuous vivacity occurred, and how he rose
above these relapses. Whether his peaceful spirit arose from religious
feeling, or whether it was the result of moral strength, it breathed the
spirit of the gospel; but it must also be confessed that our artist
mingled with it much worldly grace. What matters it? Uncertainty has no
inconveniences in such a matter.

It was particularly on the occasion of those sudden fits of passion to
which the human conscience does not always attach due weight, that
Delsarte laid great stress upon supernatural intervention.

Oh! what would he have done without that powerful aid, with his lively
sensibilities--with his too loving heart?

I have no opinion to offer in regard to the shield which efficacious
grace and the palladium of the faith may form for dangerous tendencies;
for Catholics, that is a matter for the casuist or the confessor to
decide; but, as far as Delsarte is concerned, had he beaten down Satan
in a way to rouse the jealousy of St. Michael, had he made the heathen
Socrates give precedence to him in patience, wisdom and firmness, I
should regard that victory as the triumph of the sacred principles of
the eternal morality, of that which sums up, in a single group, all the
supreme precepts of all religions and all philosophies, rather than as a
result of external practices.

It is by placing myself at this culminating point, that I have
succeeded in explaining to my own satisfaction the true stimulus of the
artist-thinker, in spite of all appearances and all contradictions; and
everything leads me to believe that the elevation of his mind and the
inspiration of the art which he taught and practiced, would have
sufficed, in equal proportion with his faith, "to deliver him from
evil."

How could a man glide into the lower walks of life, whose mission it was
to set forth the types of moral beauty by opposing them, to use his
phrase, "to the hideousnesses of vice?"

Now, talent and faith meet face to face. We are to consider to what
extent the one was dependent upon the other; and whether, in reality,
the artist whom so many voices proclaimed "incomparable" owed his vast
superiority to acts of religious devotion, to his adhesion to the dogmas
of the church.

It is not arbitrarily that a transcendent intellect pointed out a
difference between _religion_ and _religions_: every mind devoted to
philosophy must needs reach this distinction.

I shall keep strictly within the limits of that which concerns art, in a
question so vast and of such great importance.

_Religion_ is that need which all generations of men have felt for
establishing a relationship between man and the supreme power or powers
whence man supposes he proceeded. To some it is an outburst of
gratitude and homage; to others, an instinct of terror which makes them
fall prostrate before an unknown being upon whom they feel themselves
dependent, although they cannot know him, still less define him.

_Religions_ are all which men have established in answer to those
aspirations of the conscience, to satisfy that intuition which forces
itself upon our mind so long as sophistry has not warped it. It follows
from this, that religions vary, are changed, and may be falsified until
the primitive meaning is lost. But whatever may be the faith and the
rites of religions--whether fanaticism disfigure them or fetichism make
a caricature of them, whether politicians use them as an ally, or the
traces of the apostolate fade beneath the materialism of
speculation,--there will always remain at the bottom, _religion_: that
is, the thought which keeps such or such a society alive for a variable
time, and which, in periods of transition, seeks refuge in human
consciences awaiting a fresh social upward flight.

Well! it was not the external part of his belief which inspired
Delsarte, when--to use the expression of the poet Reboul--"he showed
himself like unto a god!" It was not the long rosary with its large
beads which often dangled at his side, that gave him the secret of
heart-tortures and soul-aspirations! The _charcoal-burner's faith_ would
never have taught him that captivating grace, that supreme elegance of
gesture and attitude, which made him matchless. Nor did theology and
dogma teach him the moving effects which made people declare that he
performed miracles, and led several writers (Henry de Riancey, Hervet)
to say: "That man is not an artist, he is art itself!" And Fiorentino, a
critic usually severe and exacting, wrote: "This master's sentiment is
so true, his style so lofty, his passion so profound, that there is
nothing in art so beautiful or so perfect!"

_Profound passion, lofty style, art itself_, these are not learned from
any catechism. That chosen organism bore within its own breast the
fountains of beauty. An artist, he derived thence an inward
illumination, and, as it were, a clear vision of the Ideal. If religion
was blended with it, it was that which speaks directly to the heart of
all beings endowed with poetry, to those who are capable of vowing their
love to the worship of sublime things.

What I have just said will become more comprehensible if I apply to
Delsarte those more especially Christian words: _The spirit and the
letter_.

Yes, in him there was the spiritual man and the literal man; and if
either compromised the other, it was not in the eyes of persons who
attended, regularly enough to understand them, the lectures and lessons
of the brilliant professor.

This I have already said, and I shall dwell upon this point, hoping to
establish some harmony between those who taxed Delsarte with madness on
account of his _positivism_ in the matter of faith, and those who
strove to connect with his devotional habits everything exceptional
which that great figure realized in his passage through this world.

In fact, it is only by separating the Delsarte of _the spirit_ from him
of _the letter_, that we can form any true idea of him.

And the letter, once again--was it not art and poetry that made worship
so dear to him? The shadowy light of the churches, the stern majesty of
the vaulted roof, contrasting with the radiant circle of light within
which reposed the sacred wafer,--all this pomp, of heathen origin,
warmed for him the severe simplicity and cold austerity of Christian
sentiment; the chants and prayers uttered in common also stimulated the
fervid impulses of his heart.

The spirit of proselytism took possession of him later in life. It was
controversy under a new form, more attractive and more _distracting_.
There was always some soul within reach to be won to the faith;
some rebellious spirit to bend to the yoke of the official
church,--proceeding, under due observance of ostensible forms, from the
letter! Neophytes were very ready to listen. After all, it pledged them
to nothing, and they talked of other things often enough to prevent the
conversation from becoming too much of a sermon. Then, certain
favors--all of a spiritual nature--were attached to this situation: a
place nearer the master during lectures, a more affectionate greeting, a
sweeter smile.

These attempts more than once resulted in disappointment to Delsarte. I
will not enumerate them all. Often he was heard with increasing
interest, it seemed as if resistance must yield, and that he might
speedily plant his flag "in the salutary waters of grace," but at that
very moment his opponent would become more refractory and more stubborn
than ever.

Once, he had great hopes. Several young people seemed decided _to enter
into the paths of virtue_. The master was radiant. "Take heed," said
skeptic prudence, "perhaps it is only a means of stimulating your zeal,
of profiting better by your disinterestedness."

He soon acknowledged the truth of these predictions; he confessed it in
his moments of candor.

One of these feigned converts, especially, scandalized him. The story
deserves repetition:

The church of the Petits-Peres had ordered the wax figure of a freshly
canonized saint, from Rome. Delsarte mentioned it to the school, and
several pupils went to see it.

"Ah, sir!" cried young D. on his return, "now, indeed, I am a Catholic!
How lovely she is, how fresh and fair after lying underground so long!"

"Unhappy fellow!" said the disappointed artist, "he takes the image for
the reality, and the beauty of a waxen St. Philomena has converted him."

The young man had heard that the preservation of the flesh, after a
hundred years' burial, counted for much in canonization, if it did not
suffice to justify it; and as the place where they had deposited the
sacred image was dark, D. had taken for life itself the pink and white
complexion common to such figures before time has yellowed them.

Delsarte ended by being amused at his credulity; he laughed readily and
was not fond of sulking. Nor must we forget that this preeminent
tragedian was a perfect comedian, and that this fact entitled him to
true enjoyment of the humorous side of life. Have I not somewhere read:
"Beware of those who never laugh!"

Delsarte's piety--I speak of that of the letter--was seldom morose. It
did not forbid juvenile caprices; it overlooked _venial_ sins.

One Sunday he took his scholars to Nanterre, some to perform, others to
hear, a mass of his own composition. A few friends joined the party. The
mass over, they wandered into the country in groups. Some walked; some
sat upon the grassy turf. The air was pleasant, the conversation
animated; time passed quickly.

Suddenly the vesper bell was heard. Some one drew Delsarte's attention
to it--not without a tiny grain of malice.

"Master, what a pity--you must leave us."

He made no answer.

When the second summons sounded, the same voice continued:

"There's no help for it; for us poor sinners, it's no matter! But you,
master, you cannot miss the mass!"

He put his hand to his head and considered.

"Bah!" he cried boldly, "I'll send my children."

Let me give another trait in illustration of the nature which from time
to time pierced through and rent the flimsy fabric of his opinions. This
anecdote is a political one.

Despite the precedent of an ultra democratic grandfather, and all his
plebeian tendencies as a philanthropist and a Christian, his Catholic
friends had inclined him toward monarchical ideas--although he never
actually sided with the militant portion of the party.

On one occasion, it happened that the two wings of this
politico-religious fusion disagreed. As at Nanterre, Delsarte acted
independently, and on this occasion politics were the victim. It fell
out as follows:

A claimant of the throne of France, still young, finding himself in the
Eternal City, had not, to all appearance, fulfilled his duties to the
Vatican promptly.

The first time that Delsarte encountered certain of those zealous
legitimists, who are said to be "more royalist than the king," he
launched this apostrophe at their heads:

"I hear that _your young man_ was in no haste to pay his respects to His
Holiness."

Thus, always free--even when he seemed to have forged chains for
himself--he obeyed his impulse without counting the cost. Never mind!
This childish outburst must have gladdened the manes of the ancestor who
connected the syllables in the patronymic name of Delsarte!

I hope I shall not forget, as my pen moves along, any of these memories,
insignificant to many minds, no doubt, but serving to distinguish this
figure from the vast mass of creation. If, among my readers, some may
say "pass on," others will enjoy these trifles, and will thank me for
writing them.

Thus, Delsarte was always pleased to think he bore the name of Francois
in memory of Francis of Assisi--not the Spaniard whom we know, but the
great saint of the twelfth century; he who "appeased quarrels, settled
differences, taught slaves and common men,--the poor man who was good to
the poor."

"The fish, the rabbits and the hares," the legend says, "placed
themselves in this fortunate man's hands." * * * * The birds were silent
or sang at his command. "Be silent," said the saint to the swallows,
"'tis my turn to talk now." And again: "My brothers, the birds, you have
great cause to praise your Creator, who covered you with such fine
feathers and gave you wings to fly through the clear, broad fields of
air."

One need not be very devout to be attracted by such graceful simplicity.

Delsarte went farther. Whether he accepted this magnetic attraction as
true or whether he regarded it as purely symbolic--for this kind of
miracle is not dependent on faith,--he considered the monk of Assisi as
a lover of nature, whose heart was big enough to love everything that
lives, to suffer with all that suffers. He strove to comprehend him by
placing him upon a pinnacle, well aware that the sublime often lurks
between the trifling.

It was on such occasions that the man of intellect revived to ennoble
and illumine everything. If, despite his magnificent rendering of them,
Delsarte never called legendary fictions in question, let us not refuse
him that privilege. In such cases the poetry became his accomplice,
and--"Every poet is the toy of the gods," as Beranger says, a simple
song-writer, as Delsarte was a simple singer.

There was in him whom Kreutzer called "the apostle of the grand dramatic
style," a desire, I will not say for realism, but for _realization_, for
action. Thus he once had a fancy to join the semi-clerical society of
the third order; it was a way of keeping himself in practice, since
there were various prescriptions, observances and interdictions attached
to the office. One must repeat certain prayers every day, and submit to
a certain severity of costume. No precious metal, not even a thread of
gold or silver must be seen about one. In the first moments of fervor, a
beautiful green velvet cap, beautifully embroidered in gold--the loving
gift of some pupil or admirer,--was interdicted, that is to say, was
shut up in a closet or reduced to the condition of a mere piece of
bric-a-brac. Luckily, the association did not require eternal vows, and
I think I saw the pretty article restored to its proper use later on.

Another attempt--and this was his own creation--tempted this inquiring
mind; he wished to pay especial homage, under some novel form, to the
Holy Trinity. The adepts were to be called _the Trinitarians_. In the
founder's mind, this starting-point was to be the seed for a sort of
confraternity with the mark of true friendship and unity of faith.

This dream was never realized, apparently, for it seems that the
association could never number more than three members at a time: so
that it was in number only that it justified its title. Delsarte was
very fond of these few adherents. "The Trinitarians--where are the
Trinitarians?" was sometimes the cry at a lecture. It was the voice of
the master who had reserved a seat of honor for each of them. This is
all I ever knew about this society, and I have reason to think that it
never got beyond a few talks among the members upon the subject which
united them.

It is not without reluctance that I expose his weaknesses; but timid as
the steps must ever be which are taken upon historic ground, we must
walk in daylight. No one, moreover, could regard this effervescence of a
sentiment noble in its source, as a want of intellectual liberty. It
was the affectionate side of his nature which at moments dimmed his
reason, but never went so far as to put out its light. I need not
attempt to defend on this point one, of whom Auguste Luchet wrote:

"It is by his soul and _his science_ that he lifts you, transports you,
strikes you, shatters you with terror, anguish and love!"

And Pierre Zaccone says:

"He is an artist, apart, exceptional, perhaps unique! with what finished
art, what talent, what GENIUS, he uses the resources of his voice!"

That which best atoned in Delsarte for the grain of fanaticism with
which he was reproached, was the tolerance which prevailed in every
controversy, in every dissension. If he sometimes blamed free thought,
he never showed ill will to free-thinkers. In the spirit of the
gospel--so different from the spirit of the devout party--he was "all
things to all men." He was on a very friendly footing with a priest
whom, by his logic and his sincerity, he had prevailed upon to forsake
the ecclesiastical calling.

In our discussions, which dealt with secondary subjects of various forms
of belief--for I never denied God, or the soul and its immortality, or
the freedom of the will which is the honor of the human race, or the
power of charity, provided it become social and fraternal, instead of
merely alms-giving as it has been,--in these debates, sometimes rather
lively, I would end by saying to him: "You know that I love and seek
truth; very well! if God wished me to join the ranks in which you serve,
he would certainly give me a sign; but so long as I do not receive His
summons, what have I to do with it?"

I spoke his own language, and he yielded to my reasoning. "Come," he
would say, "I prefer your frankness to the pretenses of feigned piety;"
and he would add sorrowfully: "Alas! I often encounter them!" So we
always ended by agreeing, and this truce lasted--until our next meeting.

The words which I have just quoted prove that if Delsarte clung to the
Catholic dogmas, he was particularly touched by the sincere piety and
active charity of simple, evangelic hearts. I may give yet another proof
of this.

To satisfy his sympathies as much as to rescue his clan, when attacked,
he would always quote a father confessor, one Father Pricette--this name
should be remembered in the present age--who, during the icy nights of
December, slept in an arm-chair, because he had given his last mattress
to some one poorer than himself.




Chapter XIII.

Delsarte's Friends.



Friendly relations--although disputes often arose--were established
toward 1840 between Delsarte and Raymond Brucker (known to literature as
Michel Raymond). Fortunately in spite of the influence of the author of
"Mensonge," Delsarte's superior rank always prevailed in this intimacy.

Michel Raymond published several novels in the first half of this
century. Later on, he took his place in the ranks of that militia of
Neo-Catholics, the fruit of the Restoration. (I do not know whether I am
justified in giving the name of Neo-Catholic to Brucker; perhaps, on the
contrary, his dreams were all of the primitive church. But, in spite of
his Jewish crudities, I suppose he would never have joined the followers
of Father Loyson.) His keen, sharp and caustic spirit did not forsake
him when he changed his principles; and never did the Christ--whose
symbol is a lamb without a stain--have a sterner or more warlike zealot.

In appearance, Brucker had somewhat the look of a Mephistopheles--a
demon then very much in vogue,--especially when he laughed, his laughter
being full of sardonic reserves. If Delsarte's mode of proselyting was
almost always gentle, affectionate, adapted to the spirit he aspired to
conquer, that of Raymond Brucker had an aggressive fashion; he became
brutal and cynical when discussion waxed warm.