This assertion, which shows the indifference of Delsarte to the speculative side of art, is not without a certain analogy to the fact which follows.  At one of his concerts he was to be aided by one of the great celebrities of the time; Rachel was to recite a scene from some play.

The actress failed to appear.  Some few outcries were heard.  Delsarte considered this a protest:  “I beg those who are only here to hear Mademoiselle Rachel,” said he, “to step to the box-office.  The price of their tickets will be returned.”  Applause followed these words, and the artist sang in a way to leave no room for regret.

I quote the following lines from an article published by the “Journal des Villes et des Campagnes” in reference to a lecture given in the great amphitheatre of the Medical School, March 11, 1867: 

“Should I say lecture?  It was rather a chat—­simple, and wholly free from academic forms.  In somewhat odd, perhaps, but picturesque and original form, M. Delsarte told us healthy and strengthening truths:—­’The misery of luxury devours us, but the truth makes no display; it is modestly bare.’....  ’Art may convince by deceit; then it blinds.  When it carries conviction by contemplating truth, it enlightens.  Art may persuade by evil; then it hardens.  When it persuades by goodness, it perfects.’  These are noble words.  Orator, poet, metaphysician, artist, M. Delsarte offers new horizons to the soul.”

The sources whence I draw are not exhausted, but I must pause.

Thus all have hailed him with applause!  Save for some few interested critics, without distinction of opinions, political, religious or philosophical, all differences were silenced by this admirable harmony of the highest aesthetic faculties:  the spirit of justice conquered party spirit.

But whatever may have been said—­and whatever may still be said,—­those who never heard Delsarte can never be made to comprehend him:  in him, feeling, intellect, physical beauty and beauty of expression formed a magnificent assemblage of natural gifts and of acquired faculties.  In this distinguished personality nature became art, to prove to us that outside her limits, as outside the limits of science, arbitrary agreement and the caprices of imagination can create nothing noble and great, persuasive and touching.

With this artist there was never anything to betray the artificiality of a situation; interpreted by him, the creation, the invention, became real.  ’From his lips a cry never seemed a studied effect.  It was the rending of a bosom.  A tear seemed to come straight from the heart; his gesture was conscious of what it had to teach us; in all these applications “of the sign to the thing,” there was never an error, never a mistake.  It was truth adorned by beauty.  In his singing, roulades became true bursts of laughter or true sobs.

Yes, all these things surpass description.