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.