Delsarte laughed at himself quite as
readily as at the ridiculous performances which he caricatured, if
opportunity offered. And if by chance any pupil less hardened to these
assaults was intimidated or distressed, consolation was quick to follow.
I remember that a young girl gave rise to one of these striking
imitations. Delsarte put such an irresistible comedy into it, that the
audience was seized with an uncontrolable fit of mirth. The master's
mimicry had far more to do with this than the poor girl's awkwardness.
But she did not understand this. Her heart sank at this harsh merriment
and tears rushed to her eyes.
"What is the matter," asked Delsarte; "why are you so disturbed? Among
the persons whose laughter you hear, I do not think there is one who
sings as well as you do! I exaggerated your mistake to make you aware of
it; but you did your work in a way that was very satisfactory to all but
your teacher."
Speaking of this irony tempered by mercy, I recollect that Delsarte,
after a great success, was once complimented by the singer P., whose
popularity far exceeded that of the "lyric Talma."
"And yet you have given me lessons," said Delsarte, emphasizing the word
_yet_. Well! in such circumstances Delsarte showed neither the pride nor
the malicious spirit which might be imputed to him; his mind seized a
contrast which amused him, and his face interpreted it, but his voice
remained soft and friendly; for, in spite of his biting wit and cutting
phrases, his feelings were easily touched and his heart was truly rich
in sympathy.
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