Although the master loved all grandeur--the artistic sense with which he was so largely endowed inclining him that way--he had democratic, I might almost say plebeian, instincts. The poetry of simple, humble, small existences sometimes swayed him.
Thus, if among his hearers, a bright violet or an audacious scarlet gown annoyed his taste; if the reflection of a ruby or a diamond vexed his eye, he would choose that instant to improvise a rustic idyl or to intone a hymn to poverty.
But everything ended well; neither the philosopher whom he had provoked, nor the fine lady whom he had reproved, left him as an enemy. His nature with its varied riches had quite enough feminine coquetry to regain betimes the sympathy which he was on the eve of losing. A gracious word, an affectionate clasp of the hand, and all was pardoned.
The opposition manifested outside the lecture-room to his ideas and mode of instruction, was less courteous. There rival schools and jealousies, ill-disguised under an affectation of disdain, contended against him. He was accused of the maddest eccentricities; barbarous processes were imputed to him, such as squeezing the chest of singers, his pupils, between two boards--the reason was hard to understand. Others claimed that before Delsarte accepted a scholar, he required a profession of the Catholic faith and an examination in the catechism.
Those were the days when the author of "Les Orientales," in his legend of the "Two Archers," spoke of
"That holy hermit who moved stones
By the sign of the cross."
But if, as an artist, Delsarte loved legends and was inspired by faith, as a professor he could cut short this poetic part of his art, at the point where science and the practical side of his teaching began.
The reproach, therefore, carried no weight.
Delsarte was amused by these exaggerated accusations; in another order of criticisms, it was agreeable to him to hear "that he sang without a voice, as Ingres painted without colors." The comparison pleased him, although inexact.
Yes, I say inexact, Delsarte was not without a voice; he had one, on the contrary, of great strength and range; of moving tone; eminently sympathetic; but it was an invalid organ and subject to caprice. He was not always master of it, and this caused him real suffering.