Delsarte, as we have seen, rarely left his audience without winning the sympathy of every member of it. At the meeting of which I speak, he vastly amused his hearers by an anecdote. He doubtless wished to clear away the clouds caused by that part of his discourse which, by his own confession, had a good deal of the sermon about it.
I will repeat the tale, a little exaggerated perhaps, but still very piquant, which doubtless won his pardon for those parts of his speech which might have been for various reasons blamed, misunderstood or but half understood!
The story was of four professors who, having examined him, had each, in turn, he said, administered upon his [Delsarte's] cheeks smart slaps to the colleagues by whose advice he had profited in previous lessons.
The following lines were the subject of the lesson:
"Nor gold nor greatness make us blest;
Those two divinities to our prayers can grant
But goods uncertain and a pleasure insecure."
"The first teacher to whom I turned declared there was but one way to recite them properly, and this single method, you of course perceive, gentlemen, could be only his own.
"'Those lines,' said he, 'must be recited with breadth, with dignity, with nobleness. Listen!' Upon which my instructor began to declaim in his most sonorous, most magisterial tones. He raised his eyes to heaven, rounded his gestures and struck a heroic attitude.
"'Show yourself,' he resumed (after this demonstration), 'by the elevation of your manners, worthy of the lessons I have given you.'
"'Ah!' I exclaimed, 'at last I possess the noble manner of rendering these fine lines.'
"Next day, having practiced the noble manner to the utmost of my ability, I went to my second professor, fully persuaded that I should hear nothing but congratulations. Well!... I had hardly ended the second line, when a shrug of the shoulders accompanied by a terrible burst of laughter, very mortifying to my noble manner, closed my mouth abruptly.