"Courage, my friend," said the lady. "Your singing has given me the highest pleasure. You will be a great artist."
So spake Marie Malibran, the queen of song.
"My friend," said her companion, "It was I who applauded you just now. In my opinion, you are a singer hors de ligne. When my children are ready to learn music, you, above all others, shall be their professor."
These were the words of Adolphe Nourrit. The praises of Malibran and Nourrit gave Delsarte courage, revived his hopes, and decided him to follow implicitly the promptings of his genius. His extreme poverty compelled him at last to apply to the Conservatoire for a diploma which would enable him to secure a situation at one of the lyric theatres. It was refused.
The autumn of 1829 found him a shabby, almost ragged applicant for employment at the stage-door of the Opéra Comique. Repeated rebuffs failed to baffle his desperate pertinacity.
One day the director, hearing of the annoyance to which his subordinates were subjected by Delsarte, determined to abate the nuisance by one of those cruel coups-de-main of which Frenchmen are pre-eminently capable. The next night, during the performance, when Delsarte called, he was, to his surprise and delight, shown into the great man's presence.
"Well, sir, what do you want?"
"Pardon, Monsieur, I came to seek a place at your theatre."
"There is but one vacant, and you don't seem capable of filling that. I want only a call-boy."
"Sir, I am prepared to fill the position of a premier sujet among your singers."