Delsarte's Scholars.
To get one's bearings in that floating population (where persistency and
fidelity are rare qualities) which haunts a singing-school, it is well
to make classifications. In Delsarte's case, the novelty of his
processes, his extraordinary reputation among the art-loving public, the
length of time which he insisted was necessary for complete education,
all combined to produce an incessant ebb and flow of pupils.
Therefore, I must distinguish.
First, there were those, brought by Delsarte's generosity, whose only
resource was a vocation more or less favored by natural gifts. He would
say: "Come one, come all." But, of course, many were called, and few
were chosen, the majority only making a passing visit.
Then there were the finished artists. They took private lessons, coming
to beg the master to put the finishing touch to their work, hoping to
gain from him something of that spiritual flame which consecrates
talent. I shall not undertake to speak of all, but I must quote a few
names.
One winter day, says _La Patrie_ for June 18, 1857, a woman, beautiful
and still young, visited Delsarte, begging him to initiate her into the
mysteries of Gluck's style:
"You are the greatest known singer," she said; "no one can enter into
the work of the great masters and seize their most secret thought as you
do; teach me!"
"Who are you?" asked François Delsarte.
"Henrietta Sontag," replied the stranger.
Madame Barbot had a moment of great triumph, and was summoned to Russia
at the period of her success in Paris. She was perhaps the master's best
imitator; she had somewhat of his tragic emotion, his style, his
gesture; then what did she lack to equal him? She lacked that absolute
_sine qua non_ of art and poetry--_personality_. She added little of her
own.
Even among those who could neither hear his lectures nor follow his
lessons, Delsarte had disciples. A great singing-teacher, whom I knew at
Florence, was eager to learn everything concerning the method. I often
heard him ask a certain young girl, as he read a score: "You were
Delsarte's pupil; tell me if he would have read this as I have done?"
Even the famous Jenny Lind made the journey from London to Paris,
expressly to hear the great singer.
At his lectures were seen from time to time: M. and Mme. Amand Chevé,
Mlle. Chaudesaigues, M. Mario Uchard--who, after his marriage, asked for
elocution lessons for his wife (Madeleine Brohan),--Mlle. Rosalie
Jacob, whose brilliant vocalization never won the renown which it
deserved, Mme. Carvalho, who was not one of the regular attendants, but
who trained her rare talent as a light singer, there, before the very
eyes of her fellow pupils,--Géraldon, who was very successful in Italy,
under the name of Géraldoni.
Then, there was Mme. de B----, who appeared at the opera under the name
of Betty; a beauty with a fine voice. This artist did not perfect her
talents, being in haste to join the theatre in Rue Lepelletier, under
the shield of another master. Although well received by the public, she
soon gave up the profession.
A memory haunts me, and I cannot deny it a few lines.
Mme. M. may have been eighteen when she began to study singing with
Delsarte, together with her husband, who was destined for a similar
career. She had an agreeable voice, but a particularly charming face,
the freshness of a child in its cradle, a sweet expression of innocence.
In figure she was tall and slender. The lovely creature always looked
like a Bengal rose tossing upon its graceful stalk. These young students
considered themselves finished and made an engagement with the manager
of a theatre in Brazil.
"Don't do it," said Delsarte to the husband, knowing his suspicious
nature, "that is a dangerous region; you will never bring your wife back
alive."
He prophesied but too truthfully.
Soon after, we heard that the fair songstress had been shot dead by the
hand of the husband who adored her. I like to think that she was
innocent of more than imprudence. The story which reached us from that
distant land was, that M. M. threatened to kill his wife if she
continued to associate with a certain young man.
"You would never do it!" she said.
She did not reckon on the aberrations of jealousy. It was said, in
excuse for the murderer, that she had defied him, saying:
"I love him, and I do not love you!"
After the catastrophe, the unfortunate husband gave himself up to
justice. No case was found against him, but how he must have suffered
when he had forever cut himself off from the sight of that enchanting
creature!
Three figures stand preëminent in the crowd: Darcier, Giraudet, Madame
Pasca.
I will proceed in order of seniority.
The first named did not attend the lectures when I did, but I often
heard him mentioned in society where he attracted attention by his
rendering of Delsarte's "Stanzas to Eternity," Pierre Dupont's "Hundred
Louis d'or," and many other impressive or dramatic pieces. I know the
master considered him possessed of much aptitude and feeling for art.
They met one evening at a large party given by a high official of the
day. Darcier sang well, in Delsarte's opinion; but it was perhaps too
well for a public made up of fashionables, not connoisseurs.
"It takes something more than talent to move them," thought the real
judge, annoyed; and with that accent familiar to well-bred people, which
transfigures a triviality, he said to the singer:
"Let them have _the bread!_"
He referred to a political song ending with these lines:
"Ye cannot hush the moan
Of the people when they cry: 'We hunger ...'
For it is the cry of nature,
They want bread, bread, bread!"
The guests were forced to give the attention which it demanded to this
cry which aroused the idea of recent seditions, and the performer came
in for his share.
This artist may still be heard, but his talents are displayed in so
narrow a circle that his reputation is a limited one. Yet it is said
that his compositions and his mode of singing them attest to great
vigor.
Darcier, it seems, always retained a strong feeling of devotion for his
master. He has been heard to say: "I fear but two things--Delsarte and
thunder."
Alfred Giraudet joined the grand opera as _primo basso cantante_. He was
warmly received by the press, and had already won a name at the Opéra
Comique and at concerts. In this singer may be noted the firmness of
accent and scholarly mode of phrasing, always in harmony with the
prosody of the language, which are part of the tradition of the great
school. He always bears himself well on the stage, and the sobriety of
his gesture is a salutary example which some of his present colleagues
would do well to imitate.
He, too, was a loyal soul; he always regarded it as an honor to bear the
title of _pupil of Delsarte_, the latter always writing to him as _my
dear and last disciple_. I owe many of the memories and documents used
in this volume to his kindness.
Alfred Giraudet always took his audience captive when he sang Malherbe's
verses--music by Réber--of which each strophe ends with the following
lines:
"Leave these vanities, put them far behind us,
'Tis God who gives us life,
'Tis God whom we should love."
The broad, sustained style, so appropriate to the words of the melody,
finds a sympathetic interpreter in the young artist.
Delsarte gave this with great _maestria_. The finale, particularly,
always transports the listeners.
If any one can revive the tradition of the master's teachings, it is
certainly Giraudet, who understands the method and appreciates its high
import.
Madame Pasca was one of the latest comers; her advent was an event.
There were pupils in the school who were destined for the theatre, and
there were women of society; the future artist of the Gymnase partook
of both phases. She had the advantages of a vocation and of a careful
education; her fortune allowed her to dress elegantly, with the
picturesqueness imparted by artistic taste.
Chance, or a presentiment of speedy success, led her to take her place,
on the first day, very near the master, in a peculiar seat--a sort of
small, low easy chair which inspired one with a sense of nonchalance.
She was in full sight. Her gaze, profound and sombre at times, roamed
over the room with the natural air of a meditative queen. She inspired
all beholders with curiosity and interest. The feeling which she aroused
in her fellow-pupils was less distinct. Her rare advantages caused a
vague fear in those who hitherto had securely held the foremost rank;
her beauty created a sense of rivalry, unconscious for the most part,
and yet betrayed by countless signs.
There was a flutter of excitement throughout the school. This increased
when the young woman confirmed, by her first efforts, all that her
agreeable appearance and fascinating voice had promised. She declaimed a
fragment from Gluck's "Armida" which other pupils sang; a word sufficed
to change interest to sympathy.
That accent touched all hearts. What visible grief and what a sense of
suppressed tears when in her grave, slow tones she uttered the phrase:
"You leave me, Rinaldo! Oh, mortal pain!"
The master soon obtained from this marvellous aptness, what is rarely
acquired, even after long years of study: dramatic effects free from all
hint of charlatanism. The distinguishing point between Madame Pasca and
Madame Barbot is, that the latter, while observing all the rules of the
method avoided servile imitation.
Delsarte was all the more delighted at his success, because he had
revealed to his scholar her true calling. Madame Pasca came to him for
singing-lessons, but her large, strongly-marked voice had little range.
She was directed toward the art which she afterward practiced, and began
her studies with tragedy. Some idea of what she did in this field may be
formed from the effect which she produced in pathetic scenes, where the
comedy allowed her serious voice to show its power and penetrating tone.
I need not speak of Madame Pasca's success at the Gymnase and abroad. It
is known and undoubted. Still she lacks the consecration of the stage
where Mars and Rachel shone. When this artist left the school to enter
upon her career, Delsarte said to her:
"My dear child, you will spend your life in atoning for the crime of
being my pupil."
He was right, for Madame Pasca has no place at the Français yet.
I can speak from hearsay merely, of the lessons in elocution and
declamation intended for preachers--particularly for the fathers of the
Oratory,--never having been present at them. I only know that Father
Monsabre and other famous ecclesiastics took lessons from François
Delsarte.