with indescribable sadness; desolation and despair seemed to fill his soul, and when the conquered man invoked the spirits of his ancestors:
"Shall I say to the shadows of my fathers,
Arise--and leave your gloomy tomb!"
it seemed--so powerful was the adjuration--as if the audience must see the sepulchre open on the spot which the singer and actor indicated by his gesture and his gaze.
Such profound knowledge, sublime talent, terrifying effects and contrasts so skilfully managed, and yet so natural in their transition, strongly moved the composer.
"Do you know that you made me tremble?" Delsarte said to him after he had sang.
"Do you know that you made me weep?" replied Spontini, charmed to see his work raised to such proportions.
Delsarte was always master of himself, however impassioned he appeared.
Often, in his lessons, when every soul hung upon his accents, he would stop abruptly and restore the part to his pupil. Then, as if a magic wand had touched him, all the attributes of the personage who had lived in him, vanished. His face, his form, his bearing resumed their usual appearance. The artist disappeared, and the professor quietly resumed his place, without seeming to notice that the audience--still shaken by the emotions they had felt--blamed him for this too prompt metamorphosis.
Yet Delsarte was as agreeable a teacher as he was a marvelous artist. His instruction was enlivened by countless unexpected flashes; his sallies were as quick as gunpowder.
"I die!" languidly sang a tenor.