If Delsarte's mode of proselyting was
almost always gentle, affectionate, adapted to the spirit he aspired to
conquer, that of Raymond Brucker had an aggressive fashion; he became
brutal and cynical when discussion waxed warm.
Once, in reply to one of his vehement attacks against the age, in which
he used very unparliamentary expressions, he drew upon himself the
following answer from a woman: "But, sir, I should think that in the
ardor of your recent convictions, your first act of faith should have
been to make an _auto-da-fe_ of all the books signed Michel Raymond."
I repeat, this writer, although of undoubted intellectual merit, could
not annul Delsarte's native tendencies; he could never have led Delsarte
into any camp which the latter had not already decided to join; but when
they met on common ground, he influenced, excited and sometimes threw a
shadow over him.
When they had fought together against the nearest rebel, long and lively
discussions would often arise between them, but they always agreed in
the end: the artist's good-nature so willed it.
If dissension continued, if the fiery friend had given cause for
reproach, Delsarte merely said: "Poor Brucker!" But how much that brief
phrase could be made to mean in the mouth of a man who taught an actor
to say, "I hate you!" by uttering the words, "I love you," and who could
ring as many changes on one sentence as the thought, the feeling, the
occasion, could possibly require.
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