Chapter 47

Delsarte's Religion.

I now confront an important and very interesting subject; but one which is more difficult to handle than the most prickly briers. There has been a confusion, in regard to Delsarte, of two very distinct things: his practical devotion and his philosophy of art, which does indeed assume a religious character. He himself helped on this confusion. I am desirous of doing my best to put an end to it. I hope that, truth and sincerity aiding, I shall not find the task too great for me.

I must first grapple with those ill-informed persons who have denied the master his high intellectual faculties, and even his scientific discoveries, for the sole reason of the mystical side of his beliefs. I must also expose the error of those who supposed that to this mysticism were attributable the miracles accomplished by Delsarte in his career as artist and scholar.

I was the better able to understand these two opposing elements--religiousness and strength of understanding--because, if I gave in my entire adhesion to the innovator in the arts, he did not find me equally docile in what concerned the theosophic part of his doctrine. Hence, discussions which illustrated the subject. I speak in presence of his memory as I did before him, with perfect frankness and simplicity of heart; taking care not to offend the objects of his veneration, but examining without regard to his memory, as without prejudice, the influence which his convictions exerted upon his intellectual conceptions, his ideas, his character, his talent--in a word, his life, in so far as it may concern a sketch which lays no claim to be a complete biography.

Now, it is from the point of view of art itself that I ask the following questions: Was Delsarte a devout Catholic? Was he orthodox?

Devout? He gloried in it, he insisted on it; I will not say that he _affected_ minute daily acts of devotion, for that word would not accord with the spontaneity of his nature; but he accented his demonstrations, he spoke constantly of his religion. Without any intention to wrong the serious side of his religious feelings, it seemed to be a bravado put on for the incredulous, a toy which he converted into a weapon.

Orthodox? He made it his boast, and he certainly intended to be so; he loved, in many circumstances, to show his humility of heart. His faith, he used to say, "was the charcoal-burner's faith."

And yet, the charcoal-burner would have been strangely puzzled if he had had to sustain the ceaseless contests which the artist accepted or provoked from philosophers and free-thinkers; and, perhaps, no less frequently, from his fellow-religionists, and the priests themselves.

With the former, it was a mere question of dogmatic forms or of the necessity for some form of religion; with the latter, he entered upon a more peculiarly theological order of ideas, such as the attributes proper to each of the three divine persons, and other mystical subjects.

Here, as elsewhere, Delsarte brought to bear his personality, his stamp, his breadth of comprehension.

I once asked him what some called _Dominations_ might represent, in the celestial classification? He replied: "If any one or anything forces itself upon our mind, takes active possession of our soul, do we not feel that we are under a certain domination?"

He gave me several other explanations touching the angelic hierarchy. I considered them very poetic, very ingenious--but were they also orthodox? I am not competent to judge.

It was impossible to say at the first glance, how the influence of this theosophy made itself felt in this sensitive character, full as it was of surprises. Delsarte was born good, generous, above the petty tendencies which deform and degrade the human type. On these diverse points, religious faith could scarcely show its effect; but he also declared himself to be irritable and violent--he confessed to a dangerous fickleness--still, he would readily have slandered himself in the interests of his faith.

Whatever the cause of this acquired serenity, Delsarte did not always refuse to satisfy his native impulses. I have already alluded to cases in which these returns to impetuous vivacity occurred, and how he rose above these relapses. Whether his peaceful spirit arose from religious feeling, or whether it was the result of moral strength, it breathed the spirit of the gospel; but it must also be confessed that our artist mingled with it much worldly grace. What matters it? Uncertainty has no inconveniences in such a matter.

It was particularly on the occasion of those sudden fits of passion to which the human conscience does not always attach due weight, that Delsarte laid great stress upon supernatural intervention.

Oh! what would he have done without that powerful aid, with his lively sensibilities--with his too loving heart?

I have no opinion to offer in regard to the shield which efficacious grace and the palladium of the faith may form for dangerous tendencies; for Catholics, that is a matter for the casuist or the confessor to decide; but, as far as Delsarte is concerned, had he beaten down Satan in a way to rouse the jealousy of St. Michael, had he made the heathen Socrates give precedence to him in patience, wisdom and firmness, I should regard that victory as the triumph of the sacred principles of the eternal morality, of that which sums up, in a single group, all the supreme precepts of all religions and all philosophies, rather than as a result of external practices.

It is by placing myself at this culminating point, that I have succeeded in explaining to my own satisfaction the true stimulus of the artist-thinker, in spite of all appearances and all contradictions; and everything leads me to believe that the elevation of his mind and the inspiration of the art which he taught and practiced, would have sufficed, in equal proportion with his faith, "to deliver him from evil."

How could a man glide into the lower walks of life, whose mission it was to set forth the types of moral beauty by opposing them, to use his phrase, "to the hideousnesses of vice?"

Now, talent and faith meet face to face. We are to consider to what extent the one was dependent upon the other; and whether, in reality, the artist whom so many voices proclaimed "incomparable" owed his vast superiority to acts of religious devotion, to his adhesion to the dogmas of the church.

It is not arbitrarily that a transcendent intellect pointed out a difference between _religion_ and _religions_: every mind devoted to philosophy must needs reach this distinction.

I shall keep strictly within the limits of that which concerns art, in a question so vast and of such great importance.

_Religion_ is that need which all generations of men have felt for establishing a relationship between man and the supreme power or powers whence man supposes he proceeded. To some it is an outburst of gratitude and homage; to others, an instinct of terror which makes them fall prostrate before an unknown being upon whom they feel themselves dependent, although they cannot know him, still less define him.

_Religions_ are all which men have established in answer to those aspirations of the conscience, to satisfy that intuition which forces itself upon our mind so long as sophistry has not warped it. It follows from this, that religions vary, are changed, and may be falsified until the primitive meaning is lost. But whatever may be the faith and the rites of religions--whether fanaticism disfigure them or fetichism make a caricature of them, whether politicians use them as an ally, or the traces of the apostolate fade beneath the materialism of speculation,--there will always remain at the bottom, _religion_: that is, the thought which keeps such or such a society alive for a variable time, and which, in periods of transition, seeks refuge in human consciences awaiting a fresh social upward flight.

Well! it was not the external part of his belief which inspired Delsarte, when--to use the expression of the poet Reboul--"he showed himself like unto a god!" It was not the long rosary with its large beads which often dangled at his side, that gave him the secret of heart-tortures and soul-aspirations! The _charcoal-burner's faith_ would never have taught him that captivating grace, that supreme elegance of gesture and attitude, which made him matchless. Nor did theology and dogma teach him the moving effects which made people declare that he performed miracles, and led several writers (Henry de Riancey, Hervet) to say: "That man is not an artist, he is art itself!" And Fiorentino, a critic usually severe and exacting, wrote: "This master's sentiment is so true, his style so lofty, his passion so profound, that there is nothing in art so beautiful or so perfect!"

_Profound passion, lofty style, art itself_, these are not learned from any catechism. That chosen organism bore within its own breast the fountains of beauty. An artist, he derived thence an inward illumination, and, as it were, a clear vision of the Ideal. If religion was blended with it, it was that which speaks directly to the heart of all beings endowed with poetry, to those who are capable of vowing their love to the worship of sublime things.

What I have just said will become more comprehensible if I apply to Delsarte those more especially Christian words: _The spirit and the letter_.

Yes, in him there was the spiritual man and the literal man; and if either compromised the other, it was not in the eyes of persons who attended, regularly enough to understand them, the lectures and lessons of the brilliant professor.

This I have already said, and I shall dwell upon this point, hoping to establish some harmony between those who taxed Delsarte with madness on account of his _positivism_ in the matter of faith, and those who strove to connect with his devotional habits everything exceptional which that great figure realized in his passage through this world.

In fact, it is only by separating the Delsarte of _the spirit_ from him of _the letter_, that we can form any true idea of him.

And the letter, once again--was it not art and poetry that made worship so dear to him? The shadowy light of the churches, the stern majesty of the vaulted roof, contrasting with the radiant circle of light within which reposed the sacred wafer,--all this pomp, of heathen origin, warmed for him the severe simplicity and cold austerity of Christian sentiment; the chants and prayers uttered in common also stimulated the fervid impulses of his heart.

The spirit of proselytism took possession of him later in life. It was controversy under a new form, more attractive and more _distracting_. There was always some soul within reach to be won to the faith; some rebellious spirit to bend to the yoke of the official church,--proceeding, under due observance of ostensible forms, from the letter! Neophytes were very ready to listen. After all, it pledged them to nothing, and they talked of other things often enough to prevent the conversation from becoming too much of a sermon. Then, certain favors--all of a spiritual nature--were attached to this situation: a place nearer the master during lectures, a more affectionate greeting, a sweeter smile.

These attempts more than once resulted in disappointment to Delsarte. I will not enumerate them all. Often he was heard with increasing interest, it seemed as if resistance must yield, and that he might speedily plant his flag "in the salutary waters of grace," but at that very moment his opponent would become more refractory and more stubborn than ever.

Once, he had great hopes. Several young people seemed decided _to enter into the paths of virtue_. The master was radiant. "Take heed," said skeptic prudence, "perhaps it is only a means of stimulating your zeal, of profiting better by your disinterestedness."

He soon acknowledged the truth of these predictions; he confessed it in his moments of candor.

One of these feigned converts, especially, scandalized him. The story deserves repetition:

The church of the Petits-Pères had ordered the wax figure of a freshly canonized saint, from Rome. Delsarte mentioned it to the school, and several pupils went to see it.

"Ah, sir!" cried young D. on his return, "now, indeed, I am a Catholic! How lovely she is, how fresh and fair after lying underground so long!"

"Unhappy fellow!" said the disappointed artist, "he takes the image for the reality, and the beauty of a waxen St. Philomena has converted him."

The young man had heard that the preservation of the flesh, after a hundred years' burial, counted for much in canonization, if it did not suffice to justify it; and as the place where they had deposited the sacred image was dark, D. had taken for life itself the pink and white complexion common to such figures before time has yellowed them.

Delsarte ended by being amused at his credulity; he laughed readily and was not fond of sulking. Nor must we forget that this preëminent tragedian was a perfect comedian, and that this fact entitled him to true enjoyment of the humorous side of life. Have I not somewhere read: "Beware of those who never laugh!"

Delsarte's piety--I speak of that of the letter--was seldom morose. It did not forbid juvenile caprices; it overlooked _venial_ sins.

One Sunday he took his scholars to Nanterre, some to perform, others to hear, a mass of his own composition. A few friends joined the party. The mass over, they wandered into the country in groups. Some walked; some sat upon the grassy turf. The air was pleasant, the conversation animated; time passed quickly.

Suddenly the vesper bell was heard. Some one drew Delsarte's attention to it--not without a tiny grain of malice.

"Master, what a pity--you must leave us."

He made no answer.

When the second summons sounded, the same voice continued:

"There's no help for it; for us poor sinners, it's no matter! But you, master, you cannot miss the mass!"

He put his hand to his head and considered.

"Bah!" he cried boldly, "I'll send my children."

Let me give another trait in illustration of the nature which from time to time pierced through and rent the flimsy fabric of his opinions. This anecdote is a political one.

Despite the precedent of an ultra democratic grandfather, and all his plebeian tendencies as a philanthropist and a Christian, his Catholic friends had inclined him toward monarchical ideas--although he never actually sided with the militant portion of the party.

On one occasion, it happened that the two wings of this politico-religious fusion disagreed. As at Nanterre, Delsarte acted independently, and on this occasion politics were the victim. It fell out as follows:

A claimant of the throne of France, still young, finding himself in the Eternal City, had not, to all appearance, fulfilled his duties to the Vatican promptly.

The first time that Delsarte encountered certain of those zealous legitimists, who are said to be "more royalist than the king," he launched this apostrophe at their heads:

"I hear that _your young man_ was in no haste to pay his respects to His Holiness."

Thus, always free--even when he seemed to have forged chains for himself--he obeyed his impulse without counting the cost. Never mind! This childish outburst must have gladdened the manes of the ancestor who connected the syllables in the patronymic name of Delsarte!

I hope I shall not forget, as my pen moves along, any of these memories, insignificant to many minds, no doubt, but serving to distinguish this figure from the vast mass of creation. If, among my readers, some may say "pass on," others will enjoy these trifles, and will thank me for writing them.

Thus, Delsarte was always pleased to think he bore the name of François in memory of Francis of Assisi--not the Spaniard whom we know, but the great saint of the twelfth century; he who "appeased quarrels, settled differences, taught slaves and common men,--the poor man who was good to the poor."

"The fish, the rabbits and the hares," the legend says, "placed themselves in this fortunate man's hands." * * * * The birds were silent or sang at his command. "Be silent," said the saint to the swallows, "'tis my turn to talk now." And again: "My brothers, the birds, you have great cause to praise your Creator, who covered you with such fine feathers and gave you wings to fly through the clear, broad fields of air."

One need not be very devout to be attracted by such graceful simplicity.

Delsarte went farther. Whether he accepted this magnetic attraction as true or whether he regarded it as purely symbolic--for this kind of miracle is not dependent on faith,--he considered the monk of Assisi as a lover of nature, whose heart was big enough to love everything that lives, to suffer with all that suffers. He strove to comprehend him by placing him upon a pinnacle, well aware that the sublime often lurks between the trifling.

It was on such occasions that the man of intellect revived to ennoble and illumine everything. If, despite his magnificent rendering of them, Delsarte never called legendary fictions in question, let us not refuse him that privilege. In such cases the poetry became his accomplice, and--"Every poet is the toy of the gods," as Béranger says, a simple song-writer, as Delsarte was a simple singer.

There was in him whom Kreutzer called "the apostle of the grand dramatic style," a desire, I will not say for realism, but for _realization_, for action. Thus he once had a fancy to join the semi-clerical society of the third order; it was a way of keeping himself in practice, since there were various prescriptions, observances and interdictions attached to the office. One must repeat certain prayers every day, and submit to a certain severity of costume. No precious metal, not even a thread of gold or silver must be seen about one. In the first moments of fervor, a beautiful green velvet cap, beautifully embroidered in gold--the loving gift of some pupil or admirer,--was interdicted, that is to say, was shut up in a closet or reduced to the condition of a mere piece of bric-à-brac. Luckily, the association did not require eternal vows, and I think I saw the pretty article restored to its proper use later on.

Another attempt--and this was his own creation--tempted this inquiring mind; he wished to pay especial homage, under some novel form, to the Holy Trinity. The adepts were to be called _the Trinitarians_. In the founder's mind, this starting-point was to be the seed for a sort of confraternity with the mark of true friendship and unity of faith.

This dream was never realized, apparently, for it seems that the association could never number more than three members at a time: so that it was in number only that it justified its title. Delsarte was very fond of these few adherents. "The Trinitarians--where are the Trinitarians?" was sometimes the cry at a lecture. It was the voice of the master who had reserved a seat of honor for each of them. This is all I ever knew about this society, and I have reason to think that it never got beyond a few talks among the members upon the subject which united them.

It is not without reluctance that I expose his weaknesses; but timid as the steps must ever be which are taken upon historic ground, we must walk in daylight. No one, moreover, could regard this effervescence of a sentiment noble in its source, as a want of intellectual liberty. It was the affectionate side of his nature which at moments dimmed his reason, but never went so far as to put out its light. I need not attempt to defend on this point one, of whom Auguste Luchet wrote:

"It is by his soul and _his science_ that he lifts you, transports you, strikes you, shatters you with terror, anguish and love!"

And Pierre Zaccone says:

"He is an artist, apart, exceptional, perhaps unique! with what finished art, what talent, what GENIUS, he uses the resources of his voice!"

That which best atoned in Delsarte for the grain of fanaticism with which he was reproached, was the tolerance which prevailed in every controversy, in every dissension. If he sometimes blamed free thought, he never showed ill will to free-thinkers. In the spirit of the gospel--so different from the spirit of the devout party--he was "all things to all men." He was on a very friendly footing with a priest whom, by his logic and his sincerity, he had prevailed upon to forsake the ecclesiastical calling.

In our discussions, which dealt with secondary subjects of various forms of belief--for I never denied God, or the soul and its immortality, or the freedom of the will which is the honor of the human race, or the power of charity, provided it become social and fraternal, instead of merely alms-giving as it has been,--in these debates, sometimes rather lively, I would end by saying to him: "You know that I love and seek truth; very well! if God wished me to join the ranks in which you serve, he would certainly give me a sign; but so long as I do not receive His summons, what have I to do with it?"

I spoke his own language, and he yielded to my reasoning. "Come," he would say, "I prefer your frankness to the pretenses of feigned piety;" and he would add sorrowfully: "Alas! I often encounter them!" So we always ended by agreeing, and this truce lasted--until our next meeting.

The words which I have just quoted prove that if Delsarte clung to the Catholic dogmas, he was particularly touched by the sincere piety and active charity of simple, evangelic hearts. I may give yet another proof of this.

To satisfy his sympathies as much as to rescue his clan, when attacked, he would always quote a father confessor, one Father Pricette--this name should be remembered in the present age--who, during the icy nights of December, slept in an arm-chair, because he had given his last mattress to some one poorer than himself.