I have gathered together what I remember in the form of lectures, which I offer to you. I have been asked for examples; I shall give you examples. I will begin, however, by giving you a little biographical sketch of my father, and by telling you how he happened to make his discovery. He was the son of a country doctor, a man poor but original. My father was still a very little boy when his father sent him and his younger brother to Paris. There they were apprenticed to a jeweler and made bands of gold. Soon the little brother died, and my father was the only one to follow him to the cemetery. On his way back, after the burial, he fell fainting on the plain. When he regained consciousness he heard music in the distance, and, not knowing whence it came, thought it was the music of the angels. Since then he dreamed of nothing but music; he wanted to hear all he could; he longed to study it. One day he heard two little urchins singing in the street. He asked them: "Do you know music?" The urchins replied: "Yes!" "Will you teach it to me?" "Yes, certainly," and they sang a scale for him. "Is that all there is of music?" "Why, yes."
Not long after, he made the acquaintance of an old musician, who became interested in him, gave him a few lessons, and entered him at the Conservatoire. There he attended the elocution classes, and a role was given to him to learn in which he had to say: "How do you do, Papa Dugrand!" He had no success with this sentence. Each of his four professors told him a different way of saying it, and he wondered: "How is this? Are there, then, no principles to go by?" One day a cousin of his arrived unexpectedly from the country. "How do you do, my dear cousin!" And immediately after this warm greeting he ran away from his cousin, crying, excitedly, "I have it! I have it!" and did not stop until he got to his room and in front of a looking-glass. What he had was the right attitude and way to say, "How do you do, Papa Dugrand!" and this way was diametrically opposed to the instruction his professors had given him on the subject.
My father spent forty-five years in observing. He was the king of observers. What remains to us is but one-quarter of all his observations. My father's method is comprehensive; it can be applied to the arts, to the sciences. His pupils were orators, painters, sculptors, comedians, lawyers, doctors, society amateurs.
My father had read in the first chapter of Genesis that God made man in His image. God is Trinity. Trinity is the criterion of my father.
Raymond Brucker was an old friend of my father's. "What is this method of your friend Delsarte?" was a question often put to him. "Delsarte's method," he would reply, "is an orthopedic machine to straighten crippled intellects."
My father considered man as the principle of all arts. He used three terms to express man: Life, mind and soul. He would compare man to a carriage occupied by a traveler. In front sits a coachman, who drives the horse. The carriage is the body of man; the horse that makes it move is life; the coachman who drives the horse is the mind; the occupant of the carriage, who gives orders to the coachman, is the soul. Man feels, thinks and loves.
My father made use of three terms to express three states: Concentric, normal and excentric. These he would combine with each other. I will show you, for example, the three concentric attitudes of the hand: The concentro-concentric, expressing struggle; the concentro-normal, meaning power; the concentro-excentric, showing convulsion. [Illustrates.] In the same way we have the combinations of the eyes and eyebrows, and, again, those of the head. The head is concentro-concentric when the eyes look in the same direction as that toward which the head inclines; this expresses veneration. Notice how different the words, "I love him!" sound when said first with the head inclined from and then inclined toward the object.
An interesting series of movements for the arms that my father used to give is the following: "It is impossible;" "It is not so;" "It is improbable;" "Maybe;" "It is so;" "It is evident;" "There is no doubt whatever about it." [Illustrates.] This series is equally applicable to affirmation and to negation. For example, you can begin by, "It is impossible that it is not true!" and continue with that meaning.
I have been requested to give the attitudes of the feet. I do not like to give them because they are not feminine, and I abhor all that is not feminine. However, as I have been asked for them, and as I wish to prove that my father had also given his attention to their study, here they are: (1) The attitude of little children and of old men, expressing weakness; (2) that of absolute repose; (3) vehemence; (4) prostration; (5) transitory attitude, preparatory to (6) reverential walk; (7) vertigo, intoxication, which is an ignoble vertigo, or familiarity; (8) the alternative between the positions of offensive and defensive; (9) defiance. [Applause.] Oh! I beg of you! [Deprecatingly.] It is horribly ugly in me; but in a man it is all right.
I shall now speak of the interesting role that the shoulder plays in the expression of emotions. My father called the shoulder "the thermometer of passion." Indeed, the shoulders rise with every strong emotion. If I say, "Oh! how angry I am!" without raising the shoulders, it sounds if not false at least weak; but listen, when I raise my shoulders: "Oh! how angry I am!" Again, if I say, "How I love you!" the words are cold; but, with shoulders raised, listen, "How I love you!" Thus we see actors every day who portray different passions, but whose shoulders remain "cold;" they do not move us.
There is a very pretty observation to make about the elbow. My father called it the "thermometer of pride and humility," and used to call our attention to the different ways the soldiers carry their elbows. You know we have a great many soldiers in France and we have a good, chance to observe them. A corporal—that is, nothing at all—carries his elbows like this [elbows turned outward]. A sergeant, whose rank is a little higher than that of a corporal, carries them this way [elbows slightly drawn in]. By the time he becomes lieutenant he is used to authority, and does not have to show it off so much [elbows drawn in still more]. As for a general, one whose rank is the highest in the army, he walks with his arms hanging naturally at his sides.
Now let me tell you about the thumb. My father being the son and the nephew of doctors, was interested enough in the science to enter, at one time, the school of medicine. Here, while dissecting, he noticed that the thumb of a dead man falls inward toward the palm. This led him to study the attitude of the thumb in life. He would pass days in the garden of the Tuileries watching the nurses and the mammas carrying their babes, noting how their thumbs spread out to clasp the precious burden, and how the mothers' hands spread wider open than those of hired servants; so he called the thumb "the thermometer of life."
My father always used to say to his pupils: "Be warm outwardly, cold inwardly." He wanted them to pass suddenly from one great emotion to another. All great actors do so. He would point to a portrait of Garrick, representing the great actor with one-half of his face laughing, the other half weeping. He himself, in his lessons, after having given expression to some pathetic sentiment, would become immediately his own kind self again. He insisted on self-possession. Often when I was a little girl, and would slip into the room during his lessons, for I loved to listen to them, and would find him portraying some terrible passion, he would stop suddenly, seeing the expression of horror on my face, and would burst out laughing and catch me in his arms, saying: "Poor little one, are you frightened?"
"The artist," said my father, "must move, interest and convince." Gesture is the agent of the heart. Gesture must always precede speech. "Make me feel in advance," he used to say; "if it is something frightful, let me read it on your face before you tell me of it." To illustrate the practice of gesture before speech, I will now recite the fable of "The Cock, the Cat and the Mouse." [Here followed the recitation of the fable.]
My father once held his whole audience under a spell, showing them, through the medium of a little girl of eight, a hundred different ways of saying, "That dog is pretty." I will show you one or two ways If I really think the dog is pretty, I will say it in this tone, "That dog is pretty." If the dog's coat is soiled, I will say in a different tone, "That dog is pretty." And if the dog has rubbed against my dress, there will be a vexed tone, "That dog is pretty!"
My father used to divide orators into "artists in words and artists in gesture." Those who are simply artists in words are those who do not move you. Lamartine said of my father, "He is art itself." Theophile Gautier said of him that he "took possession" of his public.
In 1848 the National Guard was appointed to guard the public monuments. My father, who was a member of the Guard, had his station near an archbishopric. A poor fellow was arrested one day who looked suspicious; he was searched and a chaplet was found on him. The cry arose immediately that he should be drowned. The poor man was being hustled off when my father stopped them, saying that he claimed his part of the punishment, and he drew from his own pocket a chaplet and showed it to them. Oh! my father was kind. He was goodness itself. He was often asked to give lectures at the court, but he would answer: "I do not sell my talent, I give it." He was especially fond of his poor pupils, those who did not pay him; he would often invite them to dine with him.
And now let me show you a series of lines which my father called the inflective medallion. Imagine a circle [describing a circle in the air with her hand]. Within this circle a vertical line, a horizontal line, and two oblique lines, all intersecting each other. At both ends of the vertical and horizontal lines are small curved lines, the whole forming the medallion. This medallion contains all necessary gestures. If the vertical line is made from on high downward , it means affirmation; if made from below upward , it means hope. The horizontal line means negation. One oblique line means simple rejection ; the other means rejection with scorn, as in a line from Lafontaine's fable, "The Lion's Court:" "The monarch, vexed, sent him to Pluto." The little curve at the top of the vertical line expresses ease, repose; it has the form of a hammock. The opposite curve means secrecy and mystery. This curve ( means amplitude. The other one, when made in this direction expresses admiration for physical beauty, and in the other direction , admiration for moral beauty. The entire circle O expresses glorification. These gestures can be made with the whole arm, with the forearm only, or simply with the waving hand; the degree of expression varies accordingly.
Lastly, I will speak about the law of opposition. The arm and the head should move in inverse directions [illustrating]; also the arm and the hand. The statue of the Gladiator is a beautiful example of this law of opposition. He is what we French call "well based;" you cannot overthrow him. In contrast to him, my father used to cite Punchinello, the children's toy, an object of ridicule. Punchinello, when the string is pulled, raises his right arm and his right leg at the same time.
Notice the different ways in which people scold. The schoolmaster moves his head from above downward; the boy threatens back, tossing his head upward.
And now, ladies, I hope that what I have said will move you to take a deeper interest in my father's work, and enable you to understand his methods better than heretofore. I shall then feel, when I return to my country, that I have not crossed the Atlantic in vain.
The Course of Lessons Given in America By Mme. Geraldy
Mme. Geraldy prefaced her course of lessons with the following remarks:
God is Trinity. Man, created in the image of God, bears the seal of the Trinity. In these lessons we shall analyze our whole person. We shall dwell upon three terms: Concentric, normal, excentric. We find them everywhere.
1, excentric; 2, concentric; 3, normal.
2 2 c. c. 3 3 n. n. 1 1 cx. cx.
We will begin with the eye—it is the most difficult.
The Eye and the Eyebrow.
Concentric Closed. The Eye. Normal Open, without expression. Excentric Wide open.
Concentric Lowered. The Eyebrow. Normal Without expression. Excentric Raised.
Combinations of the Eye and Eyebrow.
Eye. Eyebrow. Expression. Concentric Concentric In tenseness of thought. Concentric Normal Heaviness, or somnolency. Concentric Excentric Disdain.
Normal Concentric Moroseness. Normal Normal Without expression. Normal Excentric Indifference.
Excentric Concentric Firmness. Excentric Normal Stupor. Excentric Excentric Astonishment.
The expressions of stupor and of astonishment are greatly increased when preceded by a quivering of the eyelid (blinking). This should be very rapid and very energetic. Delsarte always insisted on this blinking.
Anxiety calls for a double movement of the eyebrows: First, contract them; secondly, raise them.
Vitality is expressed by raising the outer part of the eyebrows. This accomplishment is very rare; but, then, it is not necessary.
Contraction of the lower eyelid expresses sensitiveness.
Concentric Bent forward. The Head. Normal Upright. Excentric Bent backward.
Combinations of Head-movements.
Concentro-concentric Bent forward and inclined to one side (toward the person): Veneration.
Concentro-normal Bent forward: Examination.
Concentro-excentric Bent forward and inclined to the other side (from the person): Suspicion.
Normo-concentric Inclined toward the person: Tenderness.
Normo-normal Upright: Without expression.
Normo-excentric Inclined from the person: Sensuality.
Excentro-concentric Bent backward and inclined to one side (toward the person): Abandon.
Excentro-normal Bent backward, straight: Exaltation, vehemence.
Excentro-excentric Bent backward and inclined to the other side (from the person): Pride.
It is the position of the eye that determines the expression of the head, for it is the direction of the eye that tells us on which side the object of veneration, suspicion, etc., is supposed to be. The shoulders should be observed here. They are the thermometer of passion; the stronger the emotion, the higher they should be raised.
Concentric.......... Closed. The Hand. Normal.............. Open. Excentric .......... Wide open.
Combinations of Hand-Movements.
Concentro-concentric Fist closed tight, thumb pressing against the knuckles: Struggle.
Concentro-normal Hand closed, thumb resting lightly against the side of the index finger: Power, authority.
Concentro-excentric Hand open, fingers contracted: Convulsion.
Normo-concentric Limp, fingers turned slightly inward: Prostration.[A]
Normo-normal Limp: Abandon.
Normo-excentric Open, fingers straight: Expansion.
Excentro-concentric Wide open, fingers stretched apart and contracted: Execration.
Excentro-normal Fingers stretched apart and straight: Exaltation.
Excentro-excentric Fingers stretched wide apart and backward: Exasperation.
Let the arms swing backward from their natural position, with the palm of the hands turned toward the front; head raised. Say: "It is impossible!"
There is no doubt whatever about it.
Arms at the side in their natural position, palms toward the front; head straight, Say: "It is not so."
Arms slightly forward; head very slightly bent. Say: "It is improbable."
Forearms slightly raised. Say: "Maybe."
Forearms still higher. Say: "It is probable."
Forearms at right angles with upper arms, palms always upward; head bent. Say: "It is so."
Forearms higher. Say: "It is certain."
Forearms still higher (upper arms follow); head bent forward. Say: "It is evident!"
Forearms still higher (by this time the upper arms are horizontal); head bent way forward. Say: "There is no doubt whatever!"
As will be noticed, the head moves in the opposite direction from the arms. The face must express what the words say. The movements of the arms alone, without the expression of the face, do not mean anything.
Inflections of the Hand.—Combinations of the Arm and Hand.
1. Acceptance. Put the arm out naturally, palm upward.
2. Caress. Raise the shoulder; bend the head, keep the elbow close to the side; raise the hand as high as the face and, with palm outward, bring it slowly down again as if stroking an object, at the same time raising the head.
3. Negation. Draw a horizontal line in the air, the movement finishing in an outward direction.
4. Self-control. Arm hanging at the side, hand in the concentro-normal condition, denoting authority, power over one's self.
5. Authority. Extend the arm and raise it in front a little higher than the level of the shoulder; then raise the hand, which should be in the concentro-normal state, from the wrist and let it fall again with decision.
6. Menace. The arm is kept in the same position, the fist clenched (hand concentro-concentric).
7. Execration. Arm extended from the previous position sideward; hand excentro-concentric, palm toward the back; head turned in opposite direction,
8. Horror. Arm outstretched in front; hand excentric, palm outward; head thrown back.
9. Desire. Arm in same position; hand assumes the normal condition and turns its palm upward; head still thrown back.
These movements should blend one into the other, and should be executed without any affectation. The law of opposition should be observed here; for example: In the ascending movement of the arm the hand falls from the wrist; when the arm descends, the hand points upward.
1. Weakness. Feet close together, weight of body on both. This attitude is that of childhood and old age.
2. Perfect calm and repose. Rest weight on one foot (settling at the hip), bend the knee of the other leg and advance the foot.
3. Vehemence. Move the body forward so that the weight rests on the foot that is in front; the heel of the foot that is behind is thus raised.
4. Prostration. Throw one foot far behind the other, with the knee bent and the weight of the body upon it. This attitude, when properly taken, leads to the kneeling position.
5. Transitive position. In walking, stop midway between two steps and you have the 5th attitude or transitive position. It is the one that leads to all kinds of walks, and especially to the reverential or oblique walk.
6. Reverential walk. Let the foot which is behind take a step forward in this manner: With the toe describe on the ground a semi-circle that bends inward toward you; this will cause the heel to pass over the instep of the other foot. The other foot now takes a straight step forward, and you pause in a respectful attitude before the personage of importance whom you wish to salute. Several steps may be taken in succession before the final pause. The ceremonious step is always taken with the foot you begin with (the one toward the person you salute); the other foot always takes natural steps. This walk is only meant for men, and only on grand occasions.
7. Intoxication, vertigo. The feet are planted on the ground and apart. This attitude expresses familiarity.
8. The alternative. One foot in a straight line behind the other, the weight of the body on both. This attitude is offensive and defensive.
9. Defiance. The weight of the body on the foot that is behind, the other foot diagonally forward; head thrown back.
Delsarte never classed the basic attitudes under the heads of concentric, normal or excentric, any more than he so classed gestures. He simply gave them in the above sequence.
The Medallion of Inflection.
"The Key to all Gestures"
Affirmation. Negation. Hope. Rejection of things that harm us. Rejection of things that we despise. Ease, comfort (resembles a hammock). Silence, secrecy. Plenitude, amplitude. Delicacy, grace. Physical beauty. Beauty of intellect.
"You may believe that no lord had as much glory or happiness."
Mme. Geraldy's Lessons On Lafontaine's Fables.
The Wolf and the Lamb.
Might makes right; we shall prove this presently.
A Lamb was quenching his thirst in a stream of pure water. A Wolf, in quest of adventures, happened by, drawn to the spot by hunger.
"What makes thee so bold as to pollute the water I drink?" said he, angrily. "Thy impudence deserves to be punished."
"Sire," answered the Lamb, "soften your wrath, and consider that I am drinking the water more than twenty feet below your Majesty, and can, therefore, in no way pollute your Majesty's drink."
"You do pollute it!" replied the savage animal, "and I know that last year you slandered me."
"How could I when I was not born?" replied the Lamb. "I am still a suckling babe."
"If it was not you, then it was your brother."
"I have none."
"Then it was some member of your family, for you do not spare me—you, your shepherds and your dogs. I have been told so. I must revenge myself."
Thereupon the Wolf carried him into the depths of the forest, and ate him without further trial.
Lesson Given By Mme. Geraldy.
In the narrative portions of a recitation, the eyes of the speaker should meet the eyes of the audience. In this way he fixes their attention and engages their sympathy.
Looking straight at the audience: "Might makes right [deplore the fact]. We shall prove this presently. A Lamb [by tone of voice and gesture show what a weak, gentle creature a lamb is] was quenching his thirst in a stream of pure water. A Wolf [a strong, cruel animal], in quest of adventures, happened by, drawn to the spot by hunger." [Fold the arms; gesture should always precede speech.] "'What makes thee so bold as to pollute the water I drink?' said he, angrily. 'Thy impudence deserves to be punished.'
"'Sire,' answered the Lamb [humbly], 'soften your wrath and—[conjunctions should almost always be followed by a pause] consider that I am drinking the water more than twenty feet ["Mark me!"] below your Majesty, and can, therefore, in no way pollute your Majesty's drink.'
"'You do pollute it!' replied the savage animal, 'and—I know that, last year, you slandered me.' [With this line Delsarte always gave a progressive gesture, which can best be described in this way:
Give the gesture of affirmation [see Lesson VII.], stopping twice in the downward movement, on the words that and year, thus:
I know v that
last v year
you v slandered me.]
"'How could I when I was not born?' replied the Lamb [gentle voice]. 'I am still a suckling babe.'
"'If it was not you, then it was your brother' [gruff voice].
"'I have none.'
"'Then it was some member of your family, for—you do not spare me, you, your shepherds and your dogs. [There is no pause after the conjunction and here, as it simply joins together words in a list.] I have been told so [impatiently; the wolf is tired of parleying so long]. I must revenge myself.'
"'Thereupon [lower the voice to fix the attention] the Wolf carried him into the depths of the forest and—ate him [deplore the fact] without further trial'" [voice low].
The Cat, the Weasel and the Little Rabbit.
The palace of a young Rabbit was taken possession of, one fine morning, by Dame Weasel; she is a sly one. The master being absent, it was an easy thing for her to do. She carried her belongings there one day when he had gone to do homage to Aurora, amid the thyme and the dew. After having nibbled, and trotted, and made all his rounds, Bunny Rabbit returned to his subterranean dwelling. Mrs. Weasel was looking out of the window.
"Hospitable gods! what do I see!" exclaimed the animal, who had been shut out from his ancestors' home. "Hello there, Madam Weasel, come out without delay, or I shall notify all the rats in the country."
The lady with the pointed nose replied that land belonged to the first occupant; that a lodging which he himself could enter only on his stomach was a fine subject for war. "And even if it were a kingdom, I should like to know why," said she, "it should belong forever to John, son or nephew of Peter or William, more than to Paul, more than to me?"
Bunny Rabbit alleged the rights of use and custom. "It is these laws," said he, "that have made me lord and master of this dwelling; passing from father to son, it was transmitted from Peter to Simon and then to me, John. Is the right of the first occupant a wiser law?"
"Oh! well, instead of disputing any more," said she, "let us have the matter settled by Raminagrobis Grippeminaud."
The latter was a cat who lived as a devout hermit; a cat whose ways and words were smooth; a pious cat, warmly clothed and fat and comfortable; an umpire, expert in all cases. Bunny Rabbit accepted him as judge, and they both went before his furred Majesty.
Said Grippeminaud to them: "Come nearer, my children, come nearer; I am deaf; it is the result of old age."
They both drew nearer, suspecting nothing. As soon as he saw the contestants within reach, Grippeminaud, the sly fellow, throwing out his paws on both sides at once, caused the two suitors to be of one mind by eating them both up.
Lesson Given By Mme. Geraldy.
[Begin slowly, making frequent pauses] "The palace—of a young Rabbit [a nice little animal]—was taken possession of, one fine morning, by Dame Weasel [a personage with nose and manners sharp]; she is a sly one. The master being absent, it was an easy thing for her to do. She carried her belongings there [without asking by your leave!] one day when he had gone to do homage to Aurora, amid the thyme and the dew. [I do not know if you see the poetry here, but we French people consider this last line one of the loveliest bits of Lafontaine.] After having nibbled, and trotted, and made all his rounds, Bunny Rabbit returned to his subterranean dwelling. Mrs. Weasel was looking out of the window. [Start back in surprise, raise the arms and shoulders high, eyes wide open with astonishment, excentro-excentric; see Lesson I.]
"'Hospitable gods! what do I see!' exclaimed the animal who had been shut out from his ancestors' home. 'Hello there, Madam Weasel [with one arm raised, beckon to her to come down], come out without delay, or—I shall notify all the rats in the country.'"
"The lady with the pointed nose replied that land belonged to the first occupant; that a lodging which he himself could enter only [scornfully; eyes concentro-excentric, see Lesson I.] on his stomach was a fine subject for war! 'And even if it were a kingdom [the weasel talks very fast], I should like to know why,' said she, 'it should belong forever to John, son or nephew of Peter or William [talk very fast, with a great many gesticulations], more than to Paul, more than to me? '
"Bunny Rabbit alleged the rights of use and custom. 'It is these laws,' said he [the rabbit talks slowly], 'that have made me lord and master of this dwelling; passing from father to son [count on your fingers], it was transmitted from Peter to Simon, and then—to me, John, Is the right of the first occupant a wiser law?'"
"'Oh! well! instead of disputing any more,' said she [it is the weasel who disputes; she talks in a high key and very fast] 'let us have the matter settled by Raminagrobis Grippeminaud.'"
The latter was a cat who lived as a devout hermit; a cat whose ways and words were smooth; a pious cat [assert the fact], warmly clothed and fat and comfortable [said with the gesture expressive of plenitude made with both arms ; see Lesson VII.]; an umpire, expert in all cases. Bunny Rabbit accepted him as judge, and—they both went before his furred Majesty.
"Said Grippeminaud [the concentric state; take the attitude of one who is wrapped up in himself, head bent, shoulders warped, hands holding each other; hardly unclasp to make the sign of beckoning] to them: 'Come nearer, my children, come nearer; [point to the ears] I am deaf; it is the result of old age.'
"They both drew nearer, suspecting nothing. As soon as he saw the contestants within reach, [prepare the claws] Grippeminaud, the sly fellow [act the following] throwing out his paws on both sides at once, caused the two suitors to be of one mind by eating them both up."
Delsarte's Daughter In America.
By Adele M. Woodward.
Mme. Geraldy being asked, during her recent visit to this country, what she thought of the system of gymnastics called "Delsarte," said (to translate literally the expressive French): "It makes me jump! And yet you have my father's method," she continued, showing two of the principal works on the subject published in this country. "All that is correct (pointing to some of the charts); what more do you want?"
The trouble lies here: Americans wanted more. They added, they devised, they evolved from the few gestures given by the French master a whole system of movements which they called by his name, and which has become very popular in young ladies' seminaries and young ladies' clubs. The name of Delsarte has been so strongly associated with this system, that to most people the word "Delsarte" without the word "gymnastics" would not mean anything.
Mme. Geraldy came to our country to tell us what the name of Delsarte means. Delsarte never taught gymnastics. His whole life was devoted to the study of the laws that govern expression. His pupils were men of all professions, ministerial and legal orators, actors, singers, etc. "The first half of his lesson," said she, "was always devoted to theory, the second to practice."
Mme. Geraldy is a tall, dark-haired, middle-aged woman, with an interesting face and a charming French manner. She wears mourning for her mother, who died in 1891.
"My mother," she said, "was a remarkable woman; she ought to be as well known as my father is. I would rather my father were not known at all," she continued, "than to be known as he is in your country, that is, as a professor of gymnastics."
She said she had heard of the American "Delsarte gymnastics" while in Paris (Americans passing through the city had often come to her and asked questions), but she had no idea, until she came here, that they were pushed so far. She was quite amused at having dumb-bells given her at one of her lectures in a town in Pennsylvania. "In a gymnasium, as usual," she said, smiling. Anybody who had ever been through the Delsarte gymnastics and afterward followed the course of lessons that Mme. Geraldy gave to a class while in New York, would have been struck by the beauty and simplicity of her father's method, and her clear and direct exposition of it. Here was no affectation. "I abhor all that is affected," she said. There were no intricate convolutions, no flourishes, and, above all, no "decomposing exercises."
An interesting fact to note is that Mme. Geraldy began by teaching her pupils the expressions of the eyes, and when she gave them attitudes or gestures, she always called for the facial expression to accompany them. A woman, well-known in her profession throughout the country, is said to have made the remark that Mme. Geraldy was wrong in beginning with the eyes; she should begin with the feet. Only after showing the possibilities of expression by face, head, hands, arms and shoulders, did Mme. Geraldy give the basic attitudes. She was very patient and painstaking with her pupils, and showed herself interested in every one. She would often pause, while showing some expressive gestures, and say, smiling: "But you Americans do not express yourselves in gestures. You do not 'move' as much as we do." And again, when insisting on the expressiveness of the shoulders when raised ("the shoulders are the thermometer of passion," said Delsarte) she would conclude: "But all this is not American; you Americans do not shrug your shoulders."
In giving the gesture of caress, she quoted her father as saying that the attitude of the hands in prayer is a certain form of caress. In our desire to have the thing we pray for, we clasp our hands together and press them to our bosom as if we already held it.
She was sometimes amused at the numerous questions that were asked her during the lessons. "What searching minds you Americans have!" she would remark, admiringly. "You must know the why and the wherefore of everything. We French people are of much lighter mind and take things more for granted."
During the lesson on basic attitudes, the following question was put: "In the attitude of repose is the mind in a passive state, and in the attitude expressive of vehemence is the mind in an active state?" The simple answer was: "It is the mind that governs the feet and not the feet that govern the mind."
Mme. Geraldy always insisted on the law of opposition in movements, nature's and her father's great law. She gave, for example, an interesting series of gestures, which might be called the ascending scale from doubt to conviction, in which the head moves simultaneously with the arms and in an inverse direction. The figure on page 547* represents the angles made by the arms and shoulders and, at the same time, those made by the head and shoulders to express the accompanying ideas.
Delsarte used to say: "When I am speaking, stop me in the moment of my greatest exaltation, and I defy you to find me, from my head to my feet, in a position contrary to my method."
"Voice-culture for the speaking-voice is not an art that is cultivated in France," Mme. Geraldy said, "What can you do to change your voice? It was given to you by nature; you cannot change your vocal cords."
Mme. Geraldy returned to France, bearing with her the hope that her efforts have not been altogether unsuccessful in making the great work of her father's life better known to Americans, better understood and appreciated by them.
Trueness in Singing.
Notes of a Lecture by Delsarte, Taken by His Pupil A. Giraudet, of The National Academy of Music, Paris.
By a most reasonable deduction derived from his admirable principles, Delsarte reckoned three modes or degrees of correct singing:
1. Absolute trueness;
2. Temperate trueness;
3. Passional trueness.
Absolute trueness is that adopted by theorists, who divide the gamut into five notes and two semi-notes; the note into nine commas, or shades of tone; the chromatic semi-tone into five, and the diatonic semi-tone into four.
Thus from C to C# they count five shades of tone; whereas from C to Db they count but four. Likewise, from D to Db they count five shades of tone, and from D to C# but four.
The difference of a comma between the D flat and the C sharp, seemingly a very slight difference, is, nevertheless, most important in singing, as we shall see later on. But performers, to simplify our musical system, have divided this comma into two, making synonymous notes of D flat and C sharp; that is to say, notes having the same sound. The note is, therefore, practically divided into two semitones of four commas and a half. This is what is known as moderation or temperate trueness.
Temperate trueness is defective from many points of view. This is the universal opinion, but we are forced to accept this method by the absolute impossibility of any improvement, especially with the key-board instruments now in vogue; and it must be accepted until some new invention shall revolutionize the piano by modulating its tones, a transformation which would give that instrument not only the musical design, but also the color and warmth which it now lacks.
Let us pass to passional trueness, leaving science to enter the domain of art. "Passional trueness," said Delsarte, "consists in giving each semitone three, four, five, six, or even seven commas, according to its tendency." As we see, the precept is daring, and an inattentive scholar would only have to forget the last words of the definition to make people say that the great master of lyric art taught his pupils to sing false.
Every rule has its reason and its consequences. St. Augustine, who knew the Beautiful, of which art is only the expression, and who could explain it well, has given us a brief but admirable definition of music: "Music is a succession of sounds each calling forth the other." Simple yet profound words! The sounds call each other forth, desire and mutually attract each other, and in every age this attraction has been so clearly evident, that the seventh note in the scale, when it meets the others each of which has its particular name relating to its particular function, tonic, dominant, etc., is simply called the sensitive note, from its tendency to pass into the atonic.
Passional trueness is based upon this tendency of the notes to pass into those which succeed them, and upon this reciprocal attraction of sounds. Thus, notes, which have a tendency toward the acute or shrill, may be raised two commas or more above temperate trueness. Notes which have a tendency toward the grave may be lowered in the same proportion. (Example, taken from "The Prophet," by Meyerbeer.)
Ex. No. 1. [Music] Ah! mon fils
Ex. No. 2 [Music] il re-nia ta me-re
Here, the B may be but two commas distant from the C; and in the second example given, the A flat may also be but two commas removed from the G, and this change far from producing a disagreeable effect upon the ear, will make a most striking impression and the accent will be far more dramatic than before. Try the reverse, that is, divide the interval B sharp-C into seven commas on the semitones A flat-G; it will be unendurable. Whence we may deduce the fact that to sing false is to sing above or below a note in the inverse direction to its attraction.
Delsarte, in his definition, speaks only of the semitone, and we ourselves give examples of that sort of attraction only; but it does not follow that the other intervals are not equally subject to the same law. Their attraction may not be shown by the same effects.
The master added, in speaking of trueness in singing: "The triad is the breathing-place of the tonality; the notes composing it should be absolutely true. They are the singer's invariable and necessary law. They characterize repose. Their office is that of attraction, and they can only be attracted mutually, with the exception of the tonic, which is the centre of attraction not only for various notes, but for the phrase and the entire composition."
Delsarte was very severe in regard to those who sang false; but to sing true was not, to his thinking, a good quality. He said, on this point, that no one would compliment an architect because he had built a house in accordance with geometrical rules. Whence he concluded that trueness is the least of good qualities, and the lack of it the greatest of vices, and he added in regard to style: "The most important quality is expression, and a lack of expression is the least of vices."
Let us add that the application of passional trueness depends upon a thousand conditions of rhythm and harmony, to analyze which would lead us much too far. The artist must make use of it according to his aptitudes and his tendencies, for he must preserve his individuality. He must learn by observation and the study of his own faculties to apply theoretical rules founded upon natural laws.
Practical trueness, while it allows us to depart from legitimate trueness, has strong analogies with the tempo rubato. The tempo rubato, which Delsarte employed in a remarkable and striking way in dramatic passages, actually permits the musician, in certain cases and in the desired proportion, to change the value of the notes while respecting the principle of time, which is invariable. But the application of these rules is subject to the emotional intensity; it is, therefore, impossible to determine theoretically and absolutely its various bearings.
[From the Atlantic Monthly for May, 1871, by permission of Houghton, Mifflin & Co.]
By Francis A. Durivage.
It was not until last summer, and then under peculiarly impressive circumstances, that I saw, for the first time, a remarkable man whose name is indissolubly associated with French art—Francois Delsarte, of Paris. My curiosity had been deeply excited by what I had heard of him. I was told that, after long years of patient toil and profound thought, his genius had discovered and developed a scientific basis for histrionic art, that he had substituted law for empiricism in the domain of the most potential of the fine arts; and when the names of Rachel and Macready were quoted in his list of pupils, I was eager to behold the master and to learn something of the system which has yielded such fruits to the modern stage.
The kindness of a friend procured me the rare privilege of admission to the last session of Delsarte's course, which closed in July. It was on one of those weary summer days when the hush of expectation, following the fierce excitement caused by the declaration of war, had eclipsed the gayety of Paris.
The notes of the Marseillaise had ceased to stir the blood like the sound of a trumpet. The glare and glitter of French chivalry, which had masked the feebleness of the Imperial military system, had vanished. The superb Cent Gardes, the brilliant lancers, the savage Turcos, and the dashing Spahis had been replaced by the coarsely clad troops of the line. It was "grim-visaged war" and not its pageantry that we beheld; heavy guns rumbling slowly across the Place de la Concorde; dark masses of men moving like shadows on their funeral march to the perilous edge of battle. It was a relief to exchange these sad scenes for that quiet interior of the Boulevard de Courcelles, where a little group of persons devoted to aesthetic culture were gathered around their teacher, perhaps for the last time.
The personal appearance of Delsarte is impressive. Years have not deprived his massive form of its vigor, nor dimmed the fire of his eye. His head is cast in a Roman mould; indeed, the fine medallion likeness executed by his daughter might well pass for an antique in the eyes of a stranger. In his personal bearing there is nothing of that self-assertion, that posing, which is a common defect of his distinguished countrymen.
The pupils whom I met were ladies, with the single exception of a young American, Mr. James S. MacKaye, to whom, as his favorite disciple and one designated to succeed him in his profession, Delsarte has imparted all the minutiae of his science. To this gentleman was assigned the honor of opening the seance by a brief exposition of the system, and of closing it by reciting in French a brilliant tragic monologue, the effect of which, in spite of the absence of appropriate costume and scenic illusion, electrified the audience. In this scene, "Les Terreurs de Thoas," those rapidly changing expressions of the features, those statuesque attitudes melting into each other, which we all remember in Rachel, indicated a common origin. It needed not the added eloquence of words and the sombre music of the voice to tell the tragic story of the victim of the Eumenides. After listening to the recitation, I was not surprised to learn that the young student was to appear, under the auspices of his teacher, at the Theatre Francais, during the approaching winter,—an honor never before conceded to any foreigner. The large American colony in Paris was looking forward to this debut with a natural pride, and Delsarte with the calm assurance of his favorite's triumph. Alas! we all reckoned without taking King William, the Crown Prince, the Fed Prince, von Moltke, and von Bismarck into our account. We never fancied, on that bright July morning, that Krupp of Essen's cannon and the needle-gun were soon to give laws to Paris. But inter arma silent artes as well as leges. Nearer and deadlier tragedies than those of Corneille and Racine were soon to be enacted; and the poor players were summoned to perform their parts upon no mimic stage. However, "what though the field be lost? all is not lost." The venue, to borrow a legal phrase, has been changed, but the cause has not been abandoned. Our young countryman has returned to his native land, bringing with him the fruits of his long studies, to appeal to an American audience, and it is quite possible that his teacher may be induced to transfer his school of art to the United States.
Although at this seance Delsarte appeared disposed to efface himself in favor of his brilliant representative, he kindly consented to speak a few words (and what a charming French lesson was his causerie!) and to present a specimen of his pantomimic powers. The latter exhibition was really surprising. He depicted the various passions and emotions of the human soul, by means of expression and gesture only, without uttering a single syllable; moving the spectators to tears, exciting them to enthusiasm, or thrilling them with terror at his will; in a word, completely magnetizing them. Not a discord in his diatonic scale. You were forced to admit that every gesture, every movement of a facial muscle, had a true purpose, a raison d'etre. It was a triumphant demonstration.
The life of this great master and teacher, hereafter to be known as the founder of the Science of Dramatic Art, crowded with strange vicissitudes and romantic episodes, forms a record full of interest.
Francois Delsarte was born at Solesmes, Department of the North, France, in 1811. His father was a physician, and his mother a woman of rare abilities, who taught herself to speak and write several languages.
Shortly after the battle of Waterloo a detachment of the allied troops was passing through Solesmes, in the midst of a dead and sullen silence, when the commandant's quick ear caught the sound of a childish voice crying, "Vive l'Em-pe-weur! Vive Na-po-le-on!" Every one smiled at the juvenile speaker's audacity, except the stern officer whose name has, unfortunately, escaped the infamous celebrity it deserved. By his orders, a platoon of soldiers sought out the child's home and burned it to the ground; and thus little Francois Delsarte became the innocent cause of the ruin of his family.
The atrocities committed during the White Terror, of which this incident is an example, though passed over by history, are not forgotten by the survivors of that cruel period. The leaders in the second terror could not plead the ignorance of Robespierre's followers in excuse of their excesses, for they were nobles, magistrates, priests and officers of rank.
Delsarte's early years were passed in the midst of cruel privations and domestic troubles, for even love forsook a home blighted by poverty. His father, naturally proud and imperious, irritated by straitened circumstances, out of which there seemed no issue, crushed by the weight of obligations to others, lost heart and hope, became morose, sceptical and bitter, and treated his wife and family with such harshness and injustice, that Delsarte's mother was finally compelled to abandon her husband. She fled with her two boys to Paris, hoping there to make her talents available. All her efforts, however, were fruitless, and she found herself on the verge of starvation.
One evening, as she sat with her two boys in her wretched room, tortured by their questions after their father, she could not suppress her tears. Francois, the eldest, then nine years of age, tried to console her. He told her that he was almost a man, able to earn his food and to take care of her and his little brother. She listened to his prattle with a sad smile, kissed him and embraced him.
During all of the sleepless night which followed, Francois was revolving his hidden projects of independence, and at gray dawn, confiding his purpose only to his brother, and bidding him tell his mother, when she awoke, that he would soon be back with money to buy bread for them, the child stole forth to seek his fortune in the great dreary world of Paris.
He wandered about all day, and at night, hungry and weary, entered a jeweler's shop in the Palais Royal, kept by an old woman, to whom he appealed for employment—vainly at first. Finally, however, she consented to engage him as a drudge and errand boy, allowed him to sleep in an armoire over the door, and gave him four pounds of bread a week in lieu of wages. Four pounds of bread a week! The allowance appeared munificent, and he accepted the offer with gratitude. A brief experience dispelled his illusions. He was always weary and always hungry. After a few weeks' trial, he left his first benefactress and secured some kind of employment at five sous a day, out of which he contrived to save two. In two weeks he had saved nearly a franc and a half for his dear mother. One day, while executing a commission for his employer, he found his little brother alone in the street crying bitterly.
"How is dear mamma?" was his first question.
"Dead, and carried away by ugly men."
The winter of 1821 was unusually severe for Paris. One night Delsarte and his brother fell asleep in each other's arms in the wretched loft they occupied; but when the former opened his eyes to the morning's light he was holding a corpse to his heart. The little boy had perished of cold and starvation. Almost mad with terror and grief, the survivor rushed into the streets to summon the neighbors.
The next day a little hatless boy, in rags and nearly barefooted, followed two men bearing a small pine coffin which they deposited in the fosse commune of Pere la Chaise.
After seeing the grave covered, Delsarte left the cemetery and wandered wearily through the snow, now utterly alone in the world, across the plain of St. Denis. Overcome by cold, hunger, and grief, he sank to the ground, and then, before he lost consciousness, a strain of music, real or imaginary, met his ear and charmed him to a forgetfulness of misery, bereavement, all the evils that environed him. It was the first awakening of his artist soul, and to this day Delsarte believes that it was no earthly music that he heard.
Rousing himself from a sort of stupor into which he had fallen, he saw a chiffonnier bending over him. The man had for a moment mistaken the prostrate form for a bundle of rags; but taking pity on the half-frozen lad, he placed him in his basket and carried him to his miserable home. And so the future artist commenced his professional career as a Parisian rag-picker.
While wandering about the great city in the interest of his employer, his only solace was to listen to the songs of itinerant vocalists and the occasional music of a military band. Music became his passion. From some of the gamins he learned the seven notes of the scale, and, to preserve the melodies that delighted him, he invented a system of musical notation. On a certain holiday, when he was twelve years old, while listening to the delightful music in the garden of the Tuileries, the little chiffonnier busied himself with drawing figures in the dust. An old man of eccentric appearance, noticing his earnest diligence, accosted him.
"What are you doing there, boy?" he asked.
Terrified at first, but reassured by the kind manner of the stranger, Delsarte replied: "Writing down the music, sir."
"Do you mean to say those marks have any significance? That you can read them?"
"Let me hear you."
Encouraged by the interest manifested in him, the lad sang in a sweet and pure but sad voice the strains just played by the military band. The old man was amazed.
"Who taught you this process?"
"Nobody, sir; found it out myself."
Bambini—for it was the then distinguished, but now almost forgotten, professor—offered to take the boy home with him; and he who had entered the garden of the Tuileries a rag-picker, left it a recognized musician. In the dust of Paris were first written the elements of a system destined to regenerate art. Bambini taught his protege all he knew, but the pupil soon surpassed the master and became his instructor in turn; for if the one had talent, the other possessed genius.
Bambini predicted the future of Delsarte. One day when they were walking arm-in-arm in the Avenue des Champs-Elysees, the former said: "Do you see all those people in carriages, with their fine liveries and magnificent clothes? Well, the day will come when they will only be too happy to listen to you, proud of your presence in their salons, envying your fame as a great artist."
Bambini's death left Delsarte poor and friendless. At fourteen, however, he managed to get admitted into the Conservatoire, where, though he labored hard, he met with harsh treatment and discouragement. The professors disliked him for his reflective nature and persistent questionings which brought to light the superficiality of their acquirements; his fellow-pupils, for his exclusive devotion to study and his reserve, the result of diffidence rather than of hauteur. His professors were dictators, who, while differing from each other as teachers, were yet united in frowning upon any attempt on the part of their pupil to emancipate himself from the thraldom of conventionalism and routine. Genius was a heresy for which they had no mercy.
Thrown upon his own resources, he soon developed, by careful observation of nature and a constant study of cause and effect, a system and a style radically differing from those of the professors and their servile imitators.
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.
"Well, sir, what do you want?"
"Pardon, Monsieur, I came to seek a place at your theatre."
"There is but one vacant, and you don't seem capable of filling that. I want only a call-boy."
"Sir, I am prepared to fill the position of a premier sujet among your singers."
"Monsieur, if my clothes are poor, my art is genuine."
"Well, sir, if you will sing for me, I will hear you shortly."
He left Delsarte alone, overjoyed at having secured the manager's ear. In a few moments a surly fellow told him he was wanted below, and he soon found himself with the manager upon the stage behind the green curtain.
"You are to sing here," said the director. "There is your piano. In one moment the curtain will be rung up. I am tired of your importunities. I give you one chance to show the stuff you're made of. If you discard this opportunity, the next time you show your face at my door you shall be arrested and imprisoned as a vagrant."
The indignation excited in Delsarte by this cruel trick instantly gave way before the reflection that success was a matter of life and death with him, and that perhaps his last chance lay within his grasp. He forgot his rags; every nerve became iron; and when the curtain was rung up, a beggar with the bearing of a prince advanced to the foot-lights, was received with derisive laughter by some, with glances of surprise and indignation by others, and, with a sad and patient smile on his countenance, gracefully saluted the brilliant audience. The courtliness of his manner disarmed hostility; but when he sat down to the piano, ran his fingers over the keys, and sang a few bars, the exquisite voice found its way to every heart. With every moment his voice became more powerful. Each gradation of emotion was rendered with an ease, an art, an expression, that made every heartstring vibrate. Then he suddenly stopped, bowed, and retired. The house rang with bravos. The dress-circle forgot its reticence and joined in the tumult of applause. He was recalled. This time he sang a grand lyric composition with the full volume of his voice, aided in effect by those imperial gestures of which he had already discovered the secret. The audience were electrified. They declared that Talma was resuscitated. But when he was a second time recalled, his tragic mood had melted; there were "tears in his voice" as well as on his cheeks.
After the fall of the curtain the director grasped his hand, loaded him with compliments, and offered him an engagement for a year at a salary of ten thousand francs. He went home to occupy his wretched attic for the last time, and falling on his knees poured forth his soul in prayer.
The next day Delsarte, neatly dressed, paid a visit to the directors of the Conservatoire.
"Gentlemen," said he, "you would not give me a recommendation as a chorister; the public have accorded me this." And he displayed his commission as Comedien du Roi.
Delsarte remained upon the lyric stage until 1834, when the failure of his voice, which had been strained at the Conservatoire, compelled him to retire. He continued, however, the study of music, and his productions, particularly a "Dies Irae," placed him in the front rank of composers. At this period of his life, meditation and study resulted in a firm religious faith, which never wavered afterward.
He now applied himself to the task of establishing a scientific basis for lyric and dramatic art, and after years of patient labor perfected a system on which probably his fame will ultimately rest. His cours for instruction in the principles of art was first opened in 1839. From the outset he was appreciated by the highly cultivated few, nor was it long before the circle extended and the new master won a European reputation. Some of his pupils were destined for a professional career; but many, men and women of rank and fortune, sought to learn from him the means of rendering their brilliant salons yet more attractive. Members of most of the reigning families of Europe were numbered among his pupils, and his apartments in Paris were filled, when I saw them, with pictures, photographs, and other souvenirs of esteem and friendship, from the highest dignitaries of Europe. When he consented, on one occasion, to appear at a soiree at the Tuileries, Louis Philippe received him at the foot of the grand staircase, as if he had been his peer, and bestowed on him during the evening the same attentions he would have accorded to a fellow-sovereign. The citizen king recognized the royalty of art. And it may be noted that Delsarte would not have appeared on this occasion, except on the condition that no remuneration should be offered to him for the exercise of his talents.
Malibran, whose kind word in the courtyard of the Conservatoire had revived Delsarte's fainting hopes, attended his early course of lectures. I have already mentioned Rachel and Macready as his pupils. I now recall the names of Sontag, of the gifted Madeleine Brohan, of Carvalho, Barbot, Pasca (who owed everything to Delsarte), and Pajol. He was the instructor in pulpit oratory of Pere Lacordaire, Pere Hyacinthe, and the present abbe of Notre Dame.
Notwithstanding the labor exacted by his great specialty, he has done much good work in various other directions. Among his mechanical inventions are a sonotype, a tuning instrument by means of which any one can tune a piano accurately, an improved level, theodolite and sextant, a scale for measuring the differences in the solidity of fluids, etc.
Of the conscientiousness with which he works, it may be mentioned that he devoted five years to the study of anatomy and physiology, to obtain a perfect knowledge of all the muscles, their uses and capabilities,—a knowledge of which he has utilized with remarkable success.
It is now time to give some idea of his system, which can be done most satisfactorily, perhaps, through the medium of an article which appeared in the Gazette Musicale, from the authoritative pen of A. Gueroult. After having analyzed the maestro's theory of vocal art, he says:
"The study of gesture and its agents has been subjected by M. Delsarte to an analysis no less profound. Thus he recognizes in the human body three principal agents of expression, the head, the torso and the limbs, which perform each a distinct part in the economy of a character. Gesture, sometimes expressive, sometimes excentric, and sometimes compressive, assumes in each case special forms, which have been classified and described by M. Delsarte with a care and perspicuity which make his labors on this subject entirely new, and for which I know no equivalent anywhere. Permit me to explain more fully the utility of this study, to cite an application, for examples are always more eloquent than generalities. In the play of the physiognomy every portion of the face performs a separate part. Thus, for instance, it is not useless to know what function nature has assigned to the eye, the nose, the mouth, in the expression of certain emotions of the soul. True passion, which never errs, has no need of recurring to such studies; but they are indispensable to the feigned passion of the actor. How useful would it not be to the actor who wishes to represent madness or wrath, to know that the eye never expresses the sentiment experienced, but simply indicates the object of this sentiment! Cover the lower part of your face with your hand, and impart to your look all the energy of which it is susceptible, still it will be impossible for the most sagacious observer to discover whether your look expresses anger or attention. On the other hand, uncover the lower part of the face, and if the nostrils are dilated, if the contracted lips are drawn up, there is no doubt that anger is written on your countenance. An observation which confirms the purely indicative part performed by the eye is, that among raving madmen the lower part of the face is violently contracted, while the vague and uncertain look shows clearly that their fury has no object. It is easy to conceive what a wonderful interest the actor, painter, or sculptor must find in the study of the human body thus analysed from head to foot in its innumerable ways of expression. Hence, the eloquent secrets of pantomime, those imperceptible movements of great actors which produce such powerful impressions, are decomposed and subjected to laws whose evidence and simplicity are a twofold source of admiration.
"Finally, in what concerns articulate language M. Delsarte has assumed a yet more novel task. We all know the power of certain inflections; we know that a phrase which accented in a certain way is null, accented in another way produces irresistible effects upon the stage. It is the property of great artists to discover this preeminent accentuation; but never, to my knowledge, did anyone think of referring these happy inspirations of genius to positive laws. Yet, whence comes it that a certain inflection, a certain word placed in relief, affects us? How shall we explain this emotion, if not by a certain relation existing between the laws of our organization, the laws of general grammar, and those of musical inflection? There is always, in a phrase loudly enunciated, one word which sustains the passionate accent. But how shall we detach and recognize it in the midst of the phrase? How distribute the forces of accentuation on all the words of which it is composed? How classify and arrange them in relation to that sympathetic inflection, without which the most energetic thought halts at our intelligence without reaching our heart? M. Delsarte has had recourse to the same method which guided him in the study of gesture. He did not study declamation on the stage, but in real life, where unpremeditated inflections spring directly from feeling; then, fortified by innumerable observations, he rearranged grammar and rhetoric from this special point of view, and has obtained results as simple in their principles as they are fertile in their application.
"If I wished to classify the nature and value of M. Delsarte's labors in relation to what has been spoken or written up to this time on the art of singing or acting, I should say that the numerous precepts which have been formulated on dramatic art have had hardly any object other than the manner in which each character ought to be conceived. Ingenious and multiplied observations have been employed to bring forth the delicacies of the part and its unpcrceived features. The intellectual strength of the actor or vocalist has been directed to the author's conception. He has been told to be pathetic here, menacing there; here to assume a slight tinge of irony transpiercing apparent politeness, or, again, to make his gesture a seeming contradiction of his words. Such an analysis of the poet's work is certainly imperative, but how far from adequate! And what an immense distance there is from the intelligence which comprehends to the gesture which translates, from the song which moves to the inflection which interprets! It is with the new purpose which M. Delsarte has embraced that, without neglecting an understanding of the author, he says to the actor: 'This is what you must express. Now, how will you do it? What will you do with your arms, with your head, with your voice? Do you know the laws of your organization? Do you know how to go to work to be pathetic, dignified, comic, or familiar, to represent the clemency of Augustus or the drunkenness of a coachman?' In a word, he teaches the vocalist or actor the laws of this language, of this eloquence which nature places in our eyes, in our gestures, in the suppressed or expansive tones of our voice, in the accent of speech. He teaches the actor, or, to speak more properly, the man, to know himself, to manage artistically that inimitable instrument which is man himself, all of whose parts contribute to a harmonious unity. Hence, aware of the gravity of such an assertion, I do not hesitate to proclaim here that I believe M. Delsarte's work will remain among the fundamental bases; I believe that his labors are destined to give a solid foundation to theatric art, to elevate and to ennoble it; I believe that there is no actor, no singer, however eminent, who cannot derive from the acquirements and luminous studies of M. Delsarte, positive germs of development and progress. I believe that whoever makes the external interpretation of the sentiments of the human soul his business and profession, whether painter, sculptor, orator, or actor, that all men of taste who support them will applaud this attempt to create the science of expressive man; a science from which antiquity seems to have lifted the veil, and what appears willing to revive in our days, in the hands of a man worthy by his patient and conscientious efforts to discover some of its most precious secrets."
* * * * *
Delsarte has sought neither fame nor wealth. He could easily have secured both by remaining on the stage as an actor, after he had lost his power as a vocalist. He preferred to surrender himself in comparative retirement to the study of science and art, and the instruction of those who sought his aid in mastering the principles of the latter. To the needy this instruction was imparted gratuitously, and more than one successful actress has been raised from penury to fortune by the benevolence of her teacher.
It would be easy to cite many illustrations of the goodness and tenderness of this man. Religious fervor has largely influenced his life and is the key-note of his character; but his faith is not hampered by bigotry. Like all minds of high rank, he holds that science and art are the handmaids of religion.
I have said that this remarkable man did not seek fame; it has come to him unsought. Pages might be filled with voluntary tributes to his genius from the foremost minds of France,—Jules Janin, Theophile Gautier, Mme. Emile de Girardin. Lamartine pronounced him "a sublime orator." Fiorentino, the keen, delicate, and calm critic, spoke of him as "this master, whose feeling is so true, whose style is so elevated, whose passion is so profound, that there is nothing in art so beautiful and so perfect."
If we hazarded an intrusion into the domestic circle of Delsarte, we should find one of those pure and happy family groups, fortunately for France by no means rare even in her capital; one of those French homes the existence of which nearly all Englishmen and many Americans deny. We should find a bond of sympathy and a community of talent uniting father and mother, two fair daughters, and three brave sons. Or, rather, we should have found this happy gathering, for the iron hand of war has broken the charmed ring. The dear old home on the Boulevard de Courcelles is deserted. Father, mother, and daughters were compelled to seek refuge in the North of France, the sons to march against the Prussians. Let us trust that long ere this they have reached home unwounded, and that the grand old maestro has no further ills in store for his declining years.
Delsarte's Method for Tuning Stringed Instruments Without the Aid of The Ear.
By Hector Berlioz.
Do you hear, you pianists, guitarists, violinists, violoncellists, contra-bassists, harpists, tuners, and you, too, conductors of orchestras—without the aid of the ear! What a vast, incomparable, nay, priceless discovery, especially for the rest of us wretched listeners to pianos out of tune, to violins and 'cellos out of tune, to harps out of tune, to whole orchestras out of tune! Delsarte's invention will now make it your positive duty to cease torturing us, to cease making us sweat with agony, to cease driving us to suicide.
Not only is the ear of no use in tuning instruments, but it is even dangerous to consult it; it must by no possible chance be consulted. What an advantage for those who have no ear! Hitherto, it has been just the opposite, and we forgave you the torments that you inflicted on us. But in future, if your instruments be out of tune, you will have no excuse, and we shall hand you over to public vengeance. Without the aid of the ear, mark you—aid so often useless and deceptive.
Delsarte's discovery holds good only for stringed instruments, but this is much; this is an enormous gain. Hence, it follows that in orchestras directed and tuned without the aid of the ear, there will be no more discords, save between the flutes, hautboys, clarionets, bassoons, horns, cornets, trumpets, trombones, kettle-drums and bass drums. The triangle might, at a pinch, be tuned by the new method; but it is generally acknowledged that this is not necessary, just as with bells, a discord between the triangle and the other instruments is a good thing; it is popular in all lyric theatres.
And the singers, whom you do not mention, someone may ask, will it be possible to make them sing true, to put them in tune? Two or three of them are naturally in tune. Some few, by great care and exactness, may be brought very nearly into tune. But all the others were not, are not, and will not be in tune, either individually, or with each other, or with the instruments, or with the leader of the orchestra, or with the rhythm, or with the harmony, or with the accent, or with the expression, or with the pitch, or with the language, or with anything resembling precision and good sense.
Delsarte has made it especially easy to tune the piano, by means of an instrument that he calls the phonopticon, which it would take too long to describe here. Suffice it to say, that it contains an index-hand that marks the exact instant when two or more strings are in perfect unison. It may be added that the invariable result is so absolutely correct, no matter who may try it or under what conditions, that the most practiced ear could not possibly attain to similar perfection. Acousticians should not fail to examine this invention at once, the use of which cannot be long in becoming universal.
Abdominal centre, the, life, Accent, Accord of nine, the, Actors, bad, Adjective, the, Adverb, the, AEsthetic division, chart of, AEsthetic fact of first rank, AEsthetics, course of, applied, lay of, Alto voice, the, Anatomy, Angelo, Michael, Angels, the, Anger, Animals do not laugh, Ankylosed limbs, Apollo, the, Appoggiatura, Aquinas, St. Thomas, Archimedean lever, Architecture, application of the law to, Aristocrats lie, Aristotle, Arms, movements of the, five million movements of the agents of the, division of, three centres in the, Art, the true aim of, all, has the same principle, definition of, how Delsarte considered, religious sentiment in, the death of, elements of, the plastic, the grand, the supreme, dramatic, lyric and oratorical, best conditions for a work of, object of, sources of fine, not imitation of nature, Article, the, Articulate language, weakness of, origin and organic apparatus of, elements of, Articulation, in the service of thought, Articulations, the, Artificial breath, Artistic personages, classification of, Artist, the proclivities necessary to an, Art-writings of the Greeks, Attraction, Attractive centres, Attribute, the, Attributes of reason, the, Audience, an, different from an individual—the greater the numbers the less the intelligence,
Bacchus, the, Balzac, Bambini, Father, Barbier, Barbot, Mme., Bass voice, the, Baudelaire, Charles, Baxile, M., Beautiful, the, Beauty exists only in fragments, moral and intellectual, Belot, Adolphe, Beranger, Berlioz, Bizet, George, Blanchecotte, Mme., Blangini, Body, the, divisions of the, retroactive movement of, Boileau, Bonnat, Breathing Brohan, Madeleine, Brucker, Raymond, Buccal (cheek) zone, the, machinery (articulate speech), the language of the mind,
Calculation and artifice, if detected, quicksands to the orator, Canova, Captain Renard, fable of, Captivating an audience, secret of, Caress, the, Carvalho, Mme., Charts classifying celestial spirits, Charts list of, Chastity, concave, Chaudesaigues, Mlle., Chest, the, the three attitudes of, divisions of, Chest, a passive agent Chest-voice, the the expression of the sensitive life should be little used the eccentric voice Cheve, M. and Mme. Children, why are they graceful? Chopin Chorography Chorre, Mother Cicero Circle, the, for exalting and caressing Colin Colors, symbolism of the primitive the three that symbolize the life, soul and mind Color charts, the Concentric state, the Conjunction, the the soul of the discourse Consonants, musical are gestures the initial variation in the value of beat time for the pronunciation of every first, is strong two things to be observed in Contemplation and retroaction Corneille Costal breathing Courier, Paul Louis Cousin, Victor Cries Cros, Antoine Czartoriska, Princess
Dailly, Dr. Darcier Davout, Marshal Death, the sign language of De Bammeville, July De Blocqueville, Mme. De Chimay, Princess Degrees, theory of D'Haussonville, Countess Dejazet De Lamartine, Mme. De la Madelene, Jules Delaunay, Charles Delivery, a hasty De Leomenil, Mme. Laure Delsarte, biographical sketch of criterion of method of took much time in educating a pupil was he a philosopher? lectures of teachings of the press on the discoverer of the law can never be reproduced birth, death, name, early history of how he learned music enters the conservatory theatre and school of becomes a teacher of singing and elocution history of the voice of dramatic career of recitations of sings at the Court marriage and family of religion of friends of the "Talma of music" anecdotes of scholars of "Stanzas to Eternity" of "dear and last pupil" of musical compositions of an instance of the singing of shapeless coat of imitating defects singing during lessons inventions of Berlioz's treatment of before the Philotechnic Association and the four professors last years of a concert of character and merit of "Episodes of a Revelator" of America's offer to return to Paris of last letter to the King of Hanover of struggles with his teachers visit to the dissecting room a pensioner of the conservatory mystical or religious musings of the way of making his discovery is grateful because he had not written his book not spontaneous on trueness in singing Delsarte, Mme., maiden name of beauty and talent of Delsarte, Gustave De Meyendorf, Mme. Demosthenes De Musset, Alfred De Riancey, Henry Desbarolles Descartes Deshayes, M. De Stael, Mme. Devotion Diaphragmatic breathing Dictation exercises Discovery, dawn of Delsarte's Dissecting room, Delsarte's visit to the Divine Majesty, reflection of the Divine reason Donoso-Cortes, M. Donot Dramatic singing Dugrand, Delsarte's struggles with papa Dupre Duprez Dynamic apparatus, its composition harmony wealth
Ear, the most delicate sense Eccentric state, the E flat Elbow, the thermometer of the relative life sign of humility, pride, etc. Ellipsis Eloquence holds first rank among the arts to be taught and learned is composed of three languages does not always accompany intellect Emotions, tender, expressed by high notes Emphasis, example of E mute before a consonant before a vowel Epic, the Epicondyle, the eye of the arm Epigastric centre, the, soul Epiglottis, contracting the Epilogue Episodes of a Revelator Episode I Episode II Episode III Episode IV Episode V Episode VI Episode VII Equilibrium, the laws of Error must rest upon some truth Etruscans, the Evolutions, passional Expiration, the sign of Exclamations Expression, very difficult the whole secret of Expressive centres Eye, the tolerance of Eyes, the the nine expressions of parallelism between the voice and the chart of the Eyebrow, the the thermometer of the mind
Fables, recitation of Face, divided into three zones Fact, the value of a Father, Son, and Holy Ghost Fingers, the Florentine Force and interest consist in suspension Form, the vestment of substance definition of Fourier, Charles Free-thinkers, blindness of French prosody French versification Fright Frontal (forehead) zone, the
Galen Garrick Gautier, Theophile Genal (chin) zone, the Geraldon Gesture, in general is for sentiments its services to humanity reveals the inner man the direct agent of the heart the interpreter of speech the interpreter of emotion an elliptical language division of harmony and dissonance of origin and oratorical value of superior to the other languages is magnetic the laws of must always precede speech retroaction joy and fright require backward movement equilibrium the great law of the hirmonic law of parallelism of numbers of lack of intelligence indicated by many duration of the rhythm of importance of the laws of the semeiotic or reason of the types that characterize its modifying apparatus the inflections of delineation of spheroidal form of the sense of the heart the spirit of the inflection of the deaf a series of, for exercises the static the life of the semeiotic the spirit and rationale of the series of, applied to the sentiments oftenest expressed the, of interpellation the, of thanks, affectionate and ceremonious the, of attraction the, of surprise and assurance the, of devotion the, of interrogative surprise the, of reiterated interrogation the, of anger the, of menace the, of an order for leaving the, of reiteration the, of fright three important rules for how produced dilatory difficulty in object of definition of without a motive Giraudet, Alfred report of Delsarte's lecture Gluck God, the spirit of, in all things how He reveals things a pretext for every Utopia the archetype Good, the Gospel, the, directs investigation Gounod Grace Great movements for exaltation of sentiment Greeks, the, had no school of aesthetics Groans Gueroult, Adolphe Guide-accord, the, of Delsarte Gymnastics, the grand law of organic the practice of
Habit Halevy Hand, the, another expression of the face expressions of the its three presentations criterion of the chart of the digital face the back and the palmar face the three rhythmic actions the, in natural surprise the, in death attitudes of the in affirmation the nine physiognomies of Handel Harmony Harmony, born of contrasts is in opposition Head, the, movements of the occipital, parietal and temporal zones the primary agent of movement action of, in surprise which side is for the soul and which for the senses? attitudes of Head voice, the how produced interprets mental phenomena the concentric voice Heart, when to carry the hand to the Hegel Hervet High head, small brain Hippias Hoffman Horace Hugo Humanity is crippled Human reason Human science, the alpha and omega of Human triplicity, the Human word composed of three languages
Ideal, the Imitation, the melody of the eye uselessness of Immanences, the Impressionalism Impressions and sensations Individual type, how formed Infant, the, has neither speech nor gesture Infinitesimal quantities Inflection, a modification of sound their importance illustrations of rules of must not be multiplied special life revealed through four millions of the melody of the ear the gesture of the blind differentiating the high life of speech medallion of Ingres Inspiration, when allowable the sign of Interjection, the Interpellation Interrogative surprise Intonations, caressing Italian, no two equal sounds in
Jacob, Mlle. Jacotot Jesus of Nazareth Joncieres Joy, the greatest in sorrow Joys, keen
Kant King of Hanover Delsarte's last letter to the King Louis Philippe Kreutzer
Lablache Laboring men, the ways of Lachrymose tone disgusting Lacordaire La Fontaine La Harpe Lamaitre, Frederick Lamartine Lamentation Language Laocoon, the Larynx, the coloring of lowering the the thermometer of the sensitive life Larynxes, artificial Latin prosody Laugh, signification of the its composition Law, definition of application of the, to various arts Legouve Legs, the, and their attitudes Leibnitz Leroux, Pierre Liars do not elevate their shoulders Life, the sensitive state principal elements of the phenomena of Light Lind, Jenny Literary remains of Delsarte Literature, the law applied to Littre's Dictionary Logic often in default Longus Louvre, false pictures in the Love gives more than it receives Lovers, the gaze of Loyson, Father Lucht, Auguste Lully Lungs, the Lyric art
Malherbe Malibran Man the three phases of either painter, poet, scientist, or mystic three types in the object of art a triplicity of persons the agent of AEsthetics when a man shrinks unfamiliar to himself Marcello Marie, Franck Mars Martellato Massenet Materialism Measure in oratorical diction Medallion of inflection Mediocrity Medium voice, the expression of moral emotions the normal voice Melody Menace, the head and hand Mengs Mental or reflective state Mercie Mind, the intellectual state Mode simpliste Modest people turn out the elbow Mohere Monsabre, Father Moral or affective state Mother, the voice of the Mother vowel, the Motion, distinction and vulgarity of Mouth, the no contraction of back part openings of, for various vowels a vital thermometer Movements from various centres flexor, rotary, and abductory initial forms of Mucous membrane, transmitter of sound Muscular machinery (gesture), the language of emotion Music, the seven notes of a succession of sounds Musset
Napoleon III Nasal cavities, the Naturalism Ninefold accord, the Normal state, the Nose, a complex and important agent nine divisions of Nose, a moral thermometer Notes, high, for tender emotions Nourrit, Adolph Number
Occipital zone, the life Ontology Opposition of agents Orator, the, should be a man of worth Oratorical sessions Oratory, definition of the science of, not yet taught the essentials the fundamental laws of the criterion of the student of, should not be a servile copyist three important rules for the student of symbolism of colors applied to perseverance and work necessary to the student of Order for leaving, an Organic chart
Painter, how a, examines his work Painting, application of the law to Palate, the Pantomime, secrets of Parietal zone, the soul Particle, the Pasca, Mme. Passion of signs Passive attitude, the type of energetic natures Pasta, Mme. People, vulgar and uncultured Pergolesi Phenomena, natural, contain lessons Phidias Philotechnic Association Physiology Plato Poe, Edgar A. Poets are born, orators are made Poise lack of, in body Powers, the Praxiteles Preacher, a, must not be an actor Preposition, the Pricette, Father Principiants and principiates Processional relations, theory of reversal of Professors, Delsarte and the four Progressions Pronoun, the Pronunciation Proudhon Pythagoras
R, cure of the faulty Rachel Racine Rainbow, the the colors of Rameau Random notes Raphael's picture of Moses, a fault in Ravignan Reaction Realism Reason a blind faculty an act of faith the attributes of Reber Reboul Recitative Reiterated interrogation Reiteration Respect, a sort of weakness Respiration suppressing the and silence three movements of multiplied to facilitate vocal, logical, passional Respiratory acts, their signification Retroaction Reverence, the sign of Reynaud, Jean Rhythmus Romagnesi Rossini Roulade Routine Royer, Mme., Clemence
St. Augustine St. Saens St.-Simonism St. Thomas Salutation, the sign of Sand, George Schiller Science, bases of the and art Scientists, cause of the failure of Sculptor, aims of the Sculpture, application of the law to Semeiotics of the shoulder Senses, the Sensibility, thermometer of Sensitive nature betrayed by voice Sensitive or vital state Sensualism, convex Sensuality Sentiment Shades and inflections Shakespeare Shoulder, the thermometer of love the sensitive life the sign of passion action of, in surprise thermometer of emotions semeiotics of in the aristocratic world Sigh, the Signs of passion Silence, the father of speech the speech of God the rule of Simplisme Sincerity intolerable Singing Sob, the Societies, meeting of the learned Socrates Sontag, Mme. Soprano voice, the Sorbonne, the Soul, the moral state Souhe, Frederic Sound, the first language of man revelation of the sensitive life is painting should be homogeneous every sound is a song the sense of the life reflection of divine image Souvestre, Emile Speech the omnipotence of inferior to gesture anticipated by gesture the sense of the intelligence the three agents of oratorical value of soul of visible thought Spontini Standard, value of a Subject, the Subjectivity in AEsthetics Substantive, the Sue, Eugene Sully-Prudhomme Surprise and assurance System
Talma Teachers, ignorance of the Tears, accessory matters to be shed only at home Temporal region, the mind Tenderness Tenor voice, the Thanks, affectionate and ceremonious Thermometers, the three the articular arm centres called Thermometric system of the shoulder Theresa Thoracic centre, the mind Threatening with the shoulder Thumb, the thermometer of the will has much expression the sign of life the, in death living mimetics of the thermometer of life and death Thyrcis Tone, position of Tones, the lowest, best understood prologation of Torso, the, divisions of chart of "Treatise on Reason" Tremolo, the Trinitarians, the Trinity, the the holy, recovered in sound True, the Trueness in singing Truth, men are divided in regard to Types, the, in man Typical arrangements phrases
Uchard, Mario Ugly, the Uprightness, perpendicular Uvula, raising the
Values, the law of resume of the degrees of Verb, the Verdi Veron, Eugene Vertebrae, three sorts of Vice, hideousness of Vicious arrangements Violent emotion, in, the voice stifled Virtues, the Vision, three sorts of Vital breath Vocal cords, fatiguing the Vocal music Vocal organ, the Vocal shades, law of Vocal tube, the, must not vary for a loud tone Voice, the charms of organic apparatus of a mysterious hand the kinds of the registers of meaning of the high and deep the language of the sensitive life the chest, the medium, the head the white dimensions and intensity of how to obtain a stronger three modes of developing method of diminishing the less the emotion, the stronger the how to gain resonance a tearful, a defect the tremulous, of the aged the rhythm of its tones must not be jerky inflections of great affinity between the arms and the exercises for the mixed tenuity and acuteness of shades of definition of the shading of the pathetic effects in the tearing of the two kinds of loud Voltaire Volubility, too much Vowels correspond to the moral state length of the initial
Wartel Weight "What I Propose" Will, the Winkelmann Wisdom Wolf and the lamb, the fable of the Words, the value of, in phrases dwelling on the final Worlds, three, presented Wrist, the thermometer of the physical life Writing, a dead letter
Zaccone, Pierre Zeuxis Zola, M.
 The sensitive is also called the vital, the mental, the reflective, and the moral the affective state. The vital sustains, the mental guides, the moral impels.—TRANSLATOR.
 The registers here given undoubtedly refer to the singing voice, as the range of notes in the speaking voice is very much more limited. Very frequently voices are found whose range in singing is very much greater than that which the author has given here; however, on the other hand, many are found with even a more limited range.—TRANSLATOR.
 The sounds here given are those of the French vowels.
A has two sounds, heard in mat and far. E with the acute accent (e) is like a in fate, E with the grave accent (e) is like e in there. I has two sounds—the first like ee in reed, the second like ee in feel. O has a sound between that of o in rob and robe. O with the circumflex (o) is sounded like o in no. The exact sound of u is not found in English. Ou is sounded like oo in cool. The nasal sound an is pronounced nearly like an in want. The nasal in is pronounced somewhat like an in crank. The nasal on is pronounced nearly like on in song. The nasal unis pronounced nearly like un in wrung.
Consult some work on French pronunciation, or, as is far preferable, learn these sounds from the living voice of the teacher—Translator.
 From [Greek: geneiou], the chin.
 Many of these papers were entrusted by the family to a former pupil of Delsarte, who took them to America.
 Notes taken by his pupils, during the latter years of his lessons prove that the master touched upon this question. I do not copy them because, being somewhat confused, they might give rise to misunderstandings; neither do they in any way contradict anything that I have said above; they confirm, on the contrary, what remains in my memory of the interpretation of Delsarte, who never belied himself.
 The existence of the persons of the Trinity, the one in the other. These charts and diagrams are given in Part Fifth.
 For a fuller report of this lecture, see "Delsarte System of Expression," by Genevieve Stebbins, second edition, $2. Edgar S. Werner, Publisher, 48 University Place, New York.
 "Delsarte System of Oratory" and "Delsarte System of Expression."
 See page 549 for complete lesson.
 This extract shows that Delsarte was not unknown to Berlioz. Mme. Arnaud refers to the coldness with which Berlioz treated Delsarte. The article given here has been translated so as to preserve as nearly as possible the quaint, half sarcastic style of the author.—PUBLISHER.