nly dramatic means in the possession of
that artist whom Madame Sontag proclaimed as "the greatest known
singer." None could express as did Delsarte, contemplation, serenity,
tenderness--the dreams of a sweet and simple soul, and even the divine
silliness of innocent beings. Wit and malice were equally easy for him
to render.

In the duet from "Count Ory:"

"Once more I'll see the beauty whom I love,"

he was quite as apt at interpreting the hypocritical good-nature of the
false hermit as the sentimental playfulness of the love-lorn page.

In his school the comic style bore an impress of propriety and
distinction, because it resulted from intellectual perceptions rather
than it expressed the vulgar sensations manifested by exaggerated
caricature and grimace.

Delsarte thus put his stamp upon every style which he attempted; he
renovated every part. He restored Gluck to life; he revealed Spontini to
himself. The latter--the illustrious author of "Fernando Cortez"--was at
a musical entertainment where Delsarte, whom he had never known, sang.
He had drunk deep of the composer's inspiration: he showed this in the
very first phrase of the great air:

"Whither do ye hasten? Oh, traitorous race!"

He sang with such vigorous accent, such great _maestria_, that--in the
mouth of Montezuma--the words must have sufficed to rally the Mexican
army from its rout. He gave the cantabile:

"Oh country, oh spot so full of charm!"

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 th