Delsarte’s reputation had passed the frontier.  The king of Hanover committed to his instruction the greatest musical artiste of his realm, and was so gratified with her improvement that, wishing to recompense the professor, he sent him the much prized Hanoverian medal of arts and sciences, accompanied by a letter from his own royal hand.  Delsarte afterwards received from the same king the cross of a Chevalier of the Guelph order.

Delsarte’s auditors were not the only ones to sound his praises.  The learned reviews extolled his merits.  Such writers as Laurentie, Riancey, Lamartine and Theophile Gautier awarded him the most enthusiastic praise.  Posterity will perpetuate his fame.

M. Laurentie writes:  “I heard Delsarte recite one evening ’Iphigenia’s Dream,’ which the audience had besought of him.  The hall remained thrilled and breathless under this impaired and yet sovereign voice.  All yielded in rapt astonishment to the spell.  There was no prestige, no theatrical illusion.  Iphigenia was a professor in a black frock coat; the orchestra was a piano, giving forth here and there an unexpected modulation.  This was his whole force; yet the hall was mute, hearts beat, tears flowed from many eyes, and when the recital ended, enthusiastic shouts arose, as if Iphigenia in person had just recounted her terrors.”

After Delsarte had gathered so abundant a harvest of laurels, fate decided that he had lived long enough.  When he had reached his sixtieth year, he was attacked by hypertrophy of the heart, which left his rich organization in ruins.  He was no longer the artist of graceful, supple, expressive and harmonious movements; no longer the thinker with profound and luminous ideas.  But in the midst of this physical and intellectual ruin, the Christian sentiment retained its strong, sweet energy.  A believer in the sacraments which he had received in days of health, he asked for them in the hour of danger, and many times he partook of that sacrament of love whose virtue he had taught so well.

Finally, after having lingered for months in a state that was neither life nor death, surrounded by his pious wife, and his weeping, praying children, he rendered his soul to God on the 20th of July, 1871.

Delsarte never could be persuaded to write anything upon themes foreign to those connected with his musical and vocal work.  The author of this volume desires to save from oblivion the most wonderful conception of this superior intellect:  his Course of AEsthetic Oratory.  He dares promise to be a faithful interpreter.  If excuse be needed for undertaking a task so delicate, he replies that he addresses himself to a class of readers who will know how to appreciate his motives.

The merit of Delsarte, the honor of his family, the gratification of his numerous friends, the interests of science, the claims of friendship, demand that this light should not be left under a bushel, but placed upon a candlestick—­this light which has shed so brilliant a glow, and enriched the arts with a new splendor.