“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.