In François Delsarte's school there were morning classes and evening classes. The former were more especially devoted to the theory, to lessons. Those of which I shall speak might be compared to lectures, to dramatic and musical meetings. A choice public was always present. Among them were:
The composers Réber and Gounod;
Doctor Dailly, Madame de Meyendorf--a great Russian lady, the friend of art;
The Princess de Chimay and the Princess Czartoriska, who glided modestly in and took the humblest place;
Madame Blanchecotte, whose charming verses were crowned by the Academy;
Countess d'Haussonville, a familiar name;
M. Joly de Bammeville, one of the exhibitors at the Exhibition of Retrospective Arts, in 1878;
Doriot, the sculptor; Madame de Lamartine, Madame Laure de Léoménil, a well-known painter; Madame de Blocqueville, daughter of Marshal Davout, and author of his biography; a throng of artists, men of letters and scientists; certain original figures of the period.
On one occasion we were joined by a man of some celebrity--the chiromancist Desbarolles. Delsarte had the courtesy to base his theory lesson upon the latter's system; he pointed out its points of relation with the sum total of the constitution of the human being. It was a lesson full of spirit and piquant allusions; one of those charming impromptus in which Delsarte never failed.
From time to time certain persons in clerical robes appeared in the audience; the austerity of their habit contrasting somewhat strangely with the attire of the elegant women, men of fashion and young actors in their apprenticeship around them; but matters always settled themselves. One evening one of these priests was in a neighboring room, the doors of which were open into the drawing-room. If the songs seemed too profane, he kept out of sight; but so soon as the word God was pronounced or a religious thought was mingled with a romance, or operatic aria, the servant of the altar appeared boldly, rejoiced at these brief harvests which allowed him to enjoy the whole picture.