One day, after having sung in his own style at one of the public
exhibitions--applauded, however, only by a single auditor,--he was
walking sadly and slowly in the court-yard of the Conservatoire, when a
lady and a gentleman approached him.
"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 Opera 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.
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