one, that vivid intuition—­which already went beyond the limits of the traditional holy of holies—­had little chance of appreciation.  Moreover, Delsarte was timid; his genius had not yet acquired the audacity which dares.  Competition followed competition; would he win a prize?  In answer to this question which he had asked himself throughout the year, he saw mediocrity crowned; his soul of light and fire was forced to bow before will-o’-the-wisps, most of whom were soon extinguished in merited oblivion.

The artist’s regret was the more acute because he did not yet know the course of human life.  He had not proved the strange fatality—­which seeks to make itself a law—­that, in general, success falls to the lot of those who servilely follow in the ruts of routine.  Happy are the worshippers of art and poetry, those who have devoted their lives to this sacred cult, if ambition and intrigue—­with their attendant train of flattery, party rings, and illegal speculation—­do not invade the stage whence the palms and the crowns are awarded!

Delsarte must also have learned in the course of his life, that genius, a rare exception, is more rarely still judged by its peers; and yet, the genius of this student was already revealed by various tokens; and for his consolation, these premonitory symptoms were noted by other than the official judges.

After one of these scholastic contests, Delsarte withdrew confused and heavy-hearted:  he had received but one vote in the competition; and even that exception roused a sort of cheer, as if it were given to some contemptible competitor.

The defeated youth walked slowly away, dragging at his heels all the sorrow of his discomfiture, when two persons approached him; one was the famous Marie Malibran, the other the brilliant tenor, Adolph Nourrit.

“Courage!” said the prima donna, pressing his hand.  “I enjoyed hearing you very much.  You will be a great artist!”

“My friend,” added Nourrit, “it was I who cast my vote for you:  to my mind, you are an incomparable singer.  When I have my children taught music, you shall certainly be their teacher.”

Delsarte blessed the defeat which had brought him such precious compensations.  These voices which sounded so sweetly in his ear, were soon extinguished by death; but they vibrated long in the heart which they had comforted.  The artist associated their dear memory with every success which recalled to him their sympathetic accents and their clear-sighted prediction.

Chapter X.

Delsarte’s Theatre and School.

When Delsarte had finished his studies, he entered the world unaided and alone; disarmed by the hostilities which could not fail to await him, by his very superiority, and by that honesty which refuses to lend itself to certain transactions.

At the Opera Comique, where he was engaged, he did not succeed.  Exceptional talents require an exceptional public who can understand them and make them popular by applauding and explaining them.