Chapter XIX: Delsarte's Last Years (4)

But what is the purpose of this adjunction? Here, in reply to this grave and important question, let us refer to what the same scholar says elsewhere. "Reason arises," he says, "from the failure of intellect." Certainly this is a luminous, and doubtless a very unexpected proposition. From it we learn, on the one hand, that the intellect is liable to defects and consequently to weaknesses; on the other hand, it seems established that the adjunctive power comes to aid the faculty which governs it, since here the subjected is born of the failure of the subjector.

Let us explain this fresh anomaly. We have in the first place declared the preceding proposition luminous in spite of the obscurity into which we are plunged by the consequences which we have derived from it; but, patience! We are already aware that it is from the very obscurity of things that the brightest light sometimes bursts upon contemplative eyes; and since faith is the next principle to knowledge, let us have faith at least in the trustworthiness of him who addresses us, especially as he has given us repeated, unequivocal tokens of sound and upright reason. Let us, then, have no doubt that the preceding proposition contains a precious precept; and very certainly light will soon dawn on our mind.

This settled, and for the better understanding of the meaning attached to this proposition, let us call to our aid the powers of analogy.

If reason arises from the failure of intellect it is doubtless to rectify the valuations of the ego. Now the _compass_, which is in itself very inferior to the hand which fashions it and appropriates it to its own use, nevertheless implies a defect in that hand which directs it. So there is between the eye and the telescope, which comes to its aid, all the distance that divides the faculty from the instrument which it governs. Still the telescope joined to the eye communicates to it a great power of vision; but the instrument arises from the failure of the eye, which is nevertheless infinitely superior to it; for it is the eye which sees, and not the telescope.

It is thus that we must understand the relations of reason and intellect. Let us say, then, that the reason is to the intellect exactly what the telescope is to the eye. This established, we can formulate the following definition as well founded.

The intellect is the spiritual eye whose mysterious telescope reason forms, or: reason is a necessary appendage of mental optics, or again: reason is the glass used by the eye of a defective intellect.

But this is not all. St. Thomas provides us still elsewhere with the means of making our analogy more striking. He says, indeed: reason is given us to make clear that which is not evident. Is not this, as it were, the seal of truth applied to our demonstration? Thus the eye uses the telescope absolutely as the intellect employs the reason, to make clear that which is not evident.

Of course it is plain that if the sight and the intellect answered perfectly to their object, they could do without this adjunct which betrays their imperfection. The intellect would thenceforth have no more need of reason than the eye of glasses.

This explains the fact, so important to consider, that the clearer the mental vision is the less one reasons. The angels do not reason; they see clearly what is troubled and confused by our mind. No one reasons in heaven, there is no logician there, no--Intelligence is immortal, but reason, which serves it here below, will fade away in eternity with the senses which like it do but form the conditions of time.

Divine reason alone will endure because it has nothing accidental, and it is substantially united to the eternal word. It is that reason toward which all blest intelligences will finally gravitate. Hence, we see that what already partakes of the celestial life repels reasoning as a cause of imperfection or infirmity. It is thus, by its exclusion of reasons, that the Gospel supremely proves its celestial origin. It is, indeed, a thing well worth remark, especially worthy of our admiration, that there is not to be found, in the four Gospels, a single piece of reasoning, any more than there is an interjection to be found.

Let us add that faith does not reason: which does not mean, as so many misbelievers feign, that faith is fulfilled by blindness or ignorance of the objects of its veneration. Quite the contrary. Faith dispenses with reason because of the perfection of its sight. It is, finally, because it is superior to reason and sees things from a higher plane. This is what so many short-sighted people cannot see; and, to return to our analogy, it seems to them able to see nothing save through the glasses of reason. It seems to them, I say, that any man who does not wear glasses must see crooked. Keep your glasses, my good souls! They suit short limits of sight. But we, who, thank God, have sound sight, are only troubled and clouded by them.

It is thus that reason, which is given us to make clear what is not evident, frequently obscures even the very evidence itself. We might confirm this declaration by a thousand examples. To cite but one, let us point out how plainly the spectacle of the universe of thought and the idea of a Divine Creator prove that no glasses are required to contemplate God in His works. Well! scientists have felt obliged to direct theirs upon these simple notions, and have thus, _i.e._, by force of reasoning, succeeded in confusing out of all recognition a question sparkling with evidence, so much so that they will fall into such a state of blindness that they can no longer see in this world any trace of the Supreme Intelligence which is yet manifested with glory in the least of His creatures. Consequently, they will bluntly deny the existence of God; but as they still must needs admit a creative cause, they have to that end invented _moving atoms_ and have made from these strange corpuscles something so perfectly invisible that they can spare themselves the trouble of providing public curiosity with a living proof of their theory.

The scientist is born perverted, as was said of the Frenchman who created the vaudeville; and men, too strong-minded and above all too full of reason to give any credence to the mysteries taught by the church, have displayed a blind faith in respect to _moving atoms_. They think thus to set themselves free from what they call the prejudices of their fathers. They find no difficulty in attributing to invisible corpuscles both the plan and the execution of the beings who people the universe.

This is the fine conception attributed to what is called a higher reason--a conception before which bow legions of strong minds. To such a degree of degradation can reason drag man down.

It is, therefore, dangerous to consult the reason in any case where evidence is likely to be called into play. But, before proceeding farther in the course of our demonstrations, a question presents itself. It may be asked what we think of another kind of reason--_pure reason_; for it appears that in the opinion of certain philosophers pure reason does exist. I do not know where they authenticated and studied this species of reason. For myself I confess in all humility that not only have I never seen a pure reason, but it has never even been possible for me to raise my mind to the point of comprehending the signification of pure reason. I greatly fear that some nonsense lurks within the phrase, such transcendental nonsense as belongs to ideological philosophers alone. I know not why, but these gentlemen's pure reason always gives me the sensation of a strong blast of _moving atoms_. In fact, it is not clear; but why require clarity of philosophers and ideologists?

But let us leave these senseless words and pursue the course of our demonstrations.

What we have said of reason is quite sufficient to prevent its confusion with the faculty whose discursive form it is. But this is not enough. We must, by still more delicate distinctions, make any confusion between these two terms impossible.

Reason, although essentially allied to intelligence, is not, like it, primordial in man. Thus God created man intelligent, and consequently susceptible of reason; but we do not see the word reason brought into play in Genesis, because it merely expresses a derivation from the mind or intellect. Reason, therefore, is secondary and posterior in the genetic order. But here to the support of this assertion we have a striking and undeniable proof; namely, that the infant is born intelligent but not reasonable. Intellect proceeds directly from _that true light which shines in every man on his entrance into the world_, while reason is merely the fruit of experience. A proof of the superiority of intelligence to reason is seen in the fact that it partakes of the immutable, and is not like the latter, liable to progress.

Thus the child is seen to be as intelligent as an adult man can be. Let us rather say that it is in the child especially that intelligence displays its brightest rays. Yet he is not furnished with reason. And why not? Because he has no experience. Reason, therefore, is an acquired power, whose light is borrowed from experience or tradition.

Reason is proportional to the experience acquired. Practical reason or rationality is the ration or portion of experience allotted to each person.

Reason is to the mental vision exactly what the eye is to optical vision, and just as the eye borrows its visual action from external light, so reason borrows its power of clear and correct vision from traditional experience. The similarity is absolute.

Suppress light, and vision ceases to be possible. Suppress revelation from intellectual objects, and reason is thenceforth blind.

Between reason and intelligence, although there be inclusion and co-essentiality in these terms, there is a great difference in the mode of cognizance; for, as St. Augustine says, intelligence is shown by simple perception, and reason by the discursive process. Thus, while intelligence acts simply, as in knowing an intelligible truth by the light of its own intuition, reason goes toward its end progressively, from one thing known to another not yet known.

The latter, as St. Thomas says, implies an imperfection. The former, on the contrary, beseems a perfect being. It is, therefore, evident, adds the same profound thinker, that reasoning bears the same relation to knowledge that motion does to repose, or as acquisition to possession. The one is of an imperfect nature, and the other of a perfect nature. Boëthius compares the intellect to eternity; reason, to time.

Yet human reason, according to the principle which illuminates it, offers three degrees of elevation which we will distinguish, for readier comprehension, by three special terms, namely: first, tradition or the experience of another; second, personal experience; third, the reason of things.

Trained by tradition, reason is called _common sense_. Trained by personal experience to the knowledge of principles, reason is called _science_. Trained by the contemplation of principles to the perfection of the intellect, reason is called _wisdom_.

What we call practical reason is based upon the authority of tradition and the lessons of other people's experience in regard to the customary and moral matters of life.

Speculative or discursive reason judges by the criterion of its own experience; thereby inferring consequences more or less in conformity with traditional teachings, and arriving by the logical order of its deductions and in virtue of the principles which it accepts and which it applies to its discoveries, at what we call science.

Transcendental reason pursues, in the effects which it examines, the investigation of their cause, and rises thence to the very reason of things. Wherefore it silences reasoning, enters into a silent and persistent course of observation, consults the facts, examines, studies and questions the principles whence it sees them to be deduced; and, without yielding to the obscurity in which these principles are enveloped, pierces that obscurity by the penetrative force of unremitting attention. Inspired by the standard of faith, it knows that the spirit of God exists at the root of these mysteries. It clings thereto, unites itself thereto by contemplation, and finally draws from this union its _strength_, its _light_ and its _joy_.

Such is the course of wisdom, and such are the inestimable advantages of faith to reason. It is in fact by faith that reason is aggrandized and elevated to the height of the intellect whence it draws its certitude.

Reason believes because it desires to understand, and because it knows that faith is the next principle to knowledge.

Thus the grandeur of reason is proportioned to its humility; proportioned, I would say, to the efforts which it multiplies to forget itself when the truth addresses it. But such is not the method of procedure of "strong minds." They have a horror of the mysteries toward which they are still urged by correct instincts. The fact is, let us say it boldly, they fear lest they find God there.

In these misguided spirits there is so much presumption, self-conceit, self-love, that they are, in the nullity of their lofty pride, a worship unto themselves, an idolatry of their own reason. They have deified it,--that poor, frail reason; and this, while mutilating it, while proclaiming it independent and free from all law, from all principle, from everything definite.

To what excess of imbecility, then, have we not seen these freethinkers fall, these apostles of independent reason, who on principle boast that they have no faith and no law! Thence comes the scorn which afflicts these unbelievers for all who believe and hope here below; thence, their systematic ignorance of fundamental questions; thence, the incurable blindness in which they bask; thence, finally, the inconsistencies and contradictions which make them a spectacle humiliating to the human mind.

But agnostic man labors in vain. He cannot escape the mysteries which surround him on every hand, like a gulf in which reason is inevitably lost so soon as it ceases to seek the light.

Man stumbles at every turn against the efforts of a stronger reason than his own,--the Supreme Reason before which, nilly nilly, his must bow and confess the insanity of its judgments.

Logic is not, to reason, a sure guide; and even where it feels its foothold most strong, it sometimes trips, to the disgrace of the good opinion it had of its own infallibility.

Let us show by a simple example to what rebuffs our reason is exposed when counting on the support of its logic, face to face with the reason of facts.

Undoubtedly it is logical and perfectly in conformity with reason, to say that _one_ and _one_ make _two_. No doubt seems possible on that point. Well, this elementary truth, the most undeniable in the eyes of all men which can be produced, does not, despite the assurances which seem to uphold it, constitute an impregnable axiom; for there are cases when _one_ and _one_ do not make _two_! Certainly such a proposition seems scarcely reasonable, for its admission would entail the reversal of what are called the sound notions of logic! But what will the logician say if I affirm that in a certain case, _one_ and _one_ make but _one-half_? Would he even take the trouble to refute me? No, he would laugh in my face; he would not listen to me; he would tax me with absurdity and insanity, preferring thus to lose a chance of instruction rather than confess the impotence of his logic.

There is the evil, and it is generally in this way that ignorance is perpetuated. But let us return to the fact which we desire to prove, contrary to logic and the pretensions of ordinary reason.

Now, it is logical and perfectly in conformity with reason to say that two musical instruments make more noise than one; and that thus two double basses, for example, tuned in unison and placed side by side, produce one sound of a double intensity. This seems an elementary matter. It is as clear, you say, as that one and one make two. Well, no, it is not so clear as you suppose. It is, on the contrary, a mistake; for attentive experiment proves that the result is diametrically opposite to the logical conclusion.

This is a fact which no argument can destroy. Two double basses, placed in the above-named conditions--conditions of vicinity and tonal identity--far from adding up their individual result, are thus reduced each to a quarter of its own sonority, which in the sum total, instead of producing a double sound, produces a sound reduced to half of that given individually by each instrument taken alone. This is how a power plus an analogous power equals together with it but half a power; and thus we are forced to admit that one and one do not necessarily make two.

I have carried the experiment still farther; in the instrument which gained me a first-class medal at the exhibition of 1854, I was enabled to put thirty-six strings of the same piano into unison at once. Well! All these strings, struck simultaneously, did not attain to the intensity of sound produced by one of them struck singly. All these sounds, far from gaining strength by union, reciprocally neutralized one another. This is not logical, I admit; but we must submit to it.

Logic must be silent and reason bow before the brutal force of a fact to which there is no objection to be raised.

Since we are on the subject of the phenomena of sonority, let us draw another illustration from it, quite as overwhelming in its illogicalness as the former.

When two similar phenomena differ from one another on any side, the discord brought about by this difference is more apparent and more striking by reason of the closer conjunction of these phenomena. By way of compensation the dissimilarity is less appreciable in proportion as these phenomena are farther apart from each other.

This is rigorously logical and perfectly conformable to reason; yet there are cases where we must affirm the contrary. Thus the same sound produced, I will suppose, by two flutes not in accord with one another, forms those disagreeable pulsations in the air which discordant sounds inevitably produce. There seems to be no doubt that by gradually bringing these discordant instruments together, the falseness of their relation must be more and more striking, more and more intolerable. Wrong! For then, and above all if the mouths of these instruments be concentrically directed, a mutual translocation is produced between the two discordant sounds, which restores the accuracy of their agreement. Thus the lower sound is raised, while the higher one is lowered, in such a way that the two sounds are mingled on meeting and form a perfect unison. Now, here are contrasts, which, contrary to all rational data, so far from being exaggerated by contact, diminish gradually, until they are utterly annihilated. Thus, then, given two instruments of the same nature, if the harmony which they effect be true, they enter by reason of their conjunction into a negative state which neutralizes their sonority; while the contrary occurs in the case of false unison. Here the instruments become identical with one another, the sonority is increased and the tonal deviation is corrected to the most perfect harmony.

Obstinate rationalists, what is your logic worth here? Has it armed you against the surprises held in store for you by a multitude of facts inaccordant with your reasonings? Oh, proud and haughty reason, bow your head! Confess the inanity of your ways. Bow yet, once again, and contemplate the mystery whence luminous instruction shall beam for you!

At bottom these mysteries may surprise and baffle a reason deprived of principle; but they are never contrary to it, because they proceed from reason itself, from that Supreme Reason which created us in its own image; and, by that very fact, is always in accord with individual reason in so far as this will consent to sacrifice its own prejudices to it, or listen to its infallible lessons.

But man's reason most frequently heeds itself alone. Thence, once again, arise its infirmities. Thus, what will happen, if, because the truths which I utter here are obscure and do not at the first glance appear to conform to the requirements of logic, you hastily reject them with all the loftiness of your scornful reason, which would blush to admit what it did not understand! Poor reason! which in and of itself understands so little, and admits so many follies as soon as a scholar affirms them. The consequence will be that you will be strengthened in the error which flatters your ignorance. Behold that proud reason which would never bend before a mystery revealed, behold it, I say, bowed beneath the weight of prejudices, which there will be more than one scholar, more than one logician, ready to endorse.

Thus reason will refuse as unworthy itself, all belief in the actions of God or of unseen spirits, the angels, heaven, but will not dare to doubt the existence of _moving atoms_, invisible corpuscles. This is the mental poverty into which the enemies of religious faith unwittingly fall. They pervert that instrument of reason whose true use is to supplement and fortify imperfect intelligence, and misuse it to discredit and overthrow the original intuitions of intelligence.

Random Notes.

Type--Man.
Prototype--Angel.
Archetype--God.

It is within himself that man should find the reason of all he studies. In the angels he should find the secret of his being: they are his prototypes. Lastly, it is in the Divine archetype that we are to look for the universal reason.

* * * * *

_The Senses._

Taste and smell say: It is _Good_.
Sight and touch say: It is _Beautiful_.
Hearing and speech say: It is _True_.

* * * * *

Every agreeable or disagreeable sight makes the body reäct backward. The degree of reaction should be in proportion to the degree of interest caused by the sight of the object presented to our sight.

* * * * *

The _soul_ is a triple virtue, which, by means of the powers that it governs, forms, develops and modifies the sum total of the constituent forces of the body.

The _body_ is that combination of co-penetrating forces whose inherent powers govern all acts under the triple impulse of the constituent forces of the being.

The _immanences_ are powers which, under the impulse of the constituent virtues of the being, govern and modify the co-penetrating forces of the body.

The _powers_ govern the forces under the impulse of the virtues.

The _virtues_ are the impulses under the sway of which the powers govern and direct the forces.

* * * * *

Light is the symbol of order, of peace, of virtue.

* * * * *

Science and art form two means of assimilation: The one by means of absorption, the other by means of emanation. The one, more generous than the other, gives and communicates; the other unceasingly receives and appeals. Science receives, art gives. By science man assimilates the world; by art he assimilates himself to the world. Assimilation is to science what incarnation is to art.

If science perpetuates things in us, art perpetuates us in things and causes us to survive therein.

If by science man makes himself preëminent in subjugating the things of this world, by art he renders them supernatural by impressing upon them the living characters of his being and of his soul.

Art is an act by which life lives again in that which in itself has no life.

Art should move the secret springs of life, convince the mind and persuade the heart.

* * * * *

Beauty purifies the sense,
Truth illuminates the mind,
Virtue sanctifies the soul.

* * * * *

The more lofty the intellect, the more simple the speech. (So in art.)

* * * * *

Accent is the modulation of the soul.

* * * * *

The artist who does not love, is by that fact rendered sterile.

* * * * *

Art is a regenerating or delighting power.

* * * * *

Routine is the most formidable thing I know.

* * * * *

If you would move others, put your heart in the place of your larynx; let your voice become a mysterious hand to caress the hearer.

* * * * *

Nothing is more deplorable than a gesture without a motive.

Perhaps the best gesture is that which is least apparent.

* * * * *

There is always voice enough to an attentive listener.

* * * * *

Persuade yourself that there are blind men and deaf men in your audience whom you must _move_, _interest_ and _persuade!_ Your inflection must become pantomime to the blind, and your pantomime, inflection to the deaf.

* * * * *

The mouth plays a part in everything evil which we would express, by a grimace which consists of protruding the lips and lowering the corners. If the grimace translates a concentric sentiment, it should be made by compressing the lips.

* * * * *

Conscious menace--that of a master to his subordinate--is expressed by a movement of the head carried from above downward.

Impotent menace requires the head to be moved from below upward.

* * * * *

Any interrogation made with crossed arms must partake of the character of a threat.

* * * * *

When two limbs follow the same direction, they cannot be simultaneous without an injury to the law of opposition. Therefore, direct movements should be successive, and opposite movements should be simultaneous.

* * * * *

There are three great articular centres: the _shoulder, elbow_ and _wrist_. Passional expression passes from the shoulder, where it is in the emotional state, to the elbow, where it is presented in the affectional state; then to the wrist and the thumb, where it is presented in the susceptive and volitional state.

* * * * *

Three centres in the arm: the _shoulder_ for pathetic actions; the _elbow_, which approaches the body by reason of humility, and reciprocally (that is, inversely) for pride; lastly, the _hand_ for fine, spiritual and delicate actions.

* * * * *

The initial forms of movements should be--in virtue of the zones whence they proceed--the only explicit, and consequently the only truly expressive ones.

* * * * *

Bad actors exert themselves in vain to be moved and to afford a spectacle to themselves. On the other hand, true artists never let their gestures reveal more than a tenth part of the secret emotion that they apparently feel and would hide from the audience to spare their sensibility. Thus they succeed in stirring all spectators.

* * * * *

No, art is not an imitation of nature: art is better than nature. It is nature illuminated.

* * * * *

There are two kinds of loud voices: the vocally loud, which is the vulgar voice; and the dynamically loud, which is the powerful voice. A voice, however powerful it may be, should be inferior to the power which animates it.

* * * * *

Every object of agreeable or disagreeable aspect which surprises us, makes the body recoil. The degree of reaction should be proportionate to the degree of emotion caused by the sight of the object.

* * * * *

Without abnegation, no truth for the artist. We should not preoccupy the audience with our own personality. There is no true, simple or expressive singing without self-denial. We must often leave people in ignorance of our own good qualities.

* * * * *

To use expression at random on our own authority, expression _at all hazards_, is absurd.

* * * * *

The mouth is a vital thermometer, the nose a moral thermometer.

* * * * *

Dynamic wealth depends upon the number of articulations brought into play; the fewer articulations an actor uses, the more closely he approaches the puppet.

* * * * *

A portion of a whole cannot be seriously appreciated by any one ignorant of the constitution of that whole.

* * * * *

An abstract having been made of the modes of execution which the artist should learn before handling a subject, two things are first of all requisite:

1. To know what he is to seek in that subject itself;

2. To know how to find what he seeks.

* * * * *

Is not the essential principle of art the union of truth, beauty and good? Are its action and aim anything but a tendency toward the realization of these three terms?

* * * * *

We have a right to ask a work of art by what methods it claims to move us, by which side of our character it intends to interest and convince us.

* * * * *

Speech is external, and visible thought is the ambassadress of the intellect.

* * * * *

How should the invisible be visible when the visible is so little so!

* * * * *

One cannot be too careful of his articulation. The initial consonant should be articulated distinctly; the spirit of the word is contained in it.

* * * * *

Two things to be observed in the consonant: its explosion and its preparation. The _t, d, p,_ etc., keep us waiting; the _ch, v, j,_ prepare themselves, as: "_vvvenez_." The vocals _ne, me, re_ are muffled.

* * * * *

_Rhythm_ is that which asserts; it is the form of movement.

_Melody_ is that which distinguishes.

_Harmony_ is that which conjoins.

* * * * *

Let your attitude, gesture and face foretell what you would make felt.

* * * * *

Be wary of the tremolo which many singers mistake for vibration.

* * * * *

If you cannot conquer your defect, make it beloved.

* * * * *

A movement should never be mixed with a facial twist.

* * * * *

Things that are said quietly should sing themselves in the utterance.

Part Sixth.

Lecture and Lessons Given by Mme. Géraldy (Delsarte's Daughter) in America.

Lecture

_Delivered by Mme. Géraldy at the Berkeley Lyceum, New York, February 6, 1892_.

Ladies:

When I made up my mind to come to this country it was not with the object of exhibiting _myself_, but to speak to you of my father. In your country my father is much talked of. In my country, unfortunately, he is forgotten. My father did not write anything--that is a terrible thing! He expected to do so some day, but he always put it off. At last he decided to do so during the war--our unfortunate war! He did not have many lessons to give at that time, for nobody thought of taking any. This gave him leisure to write. His work was to have borne the title, "My Revelatory Episodes." He had only written five chapters when he died. It was to bring to you these five chapters that I came to America. But as soon as I began to speak of them I was stopped. "Why do you tell us this?" they said; "we know all this already." I then discovered that the books written on my father by the Abbé Delaumosne and by Mme. Angélique Arnaud had been translated and published in this country. Mme. Arnaud's book is the better of the two, but it is not practical--not at all practical.

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." Théophile 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. Géraldy

Mme. Géraldy 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.

|--------------------------------|
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| | | 2 2 |
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| | | c. c. |
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| | 3 3 | |
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| | n. n. | |
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| 1 1 | | |
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| cx. cx. | | |
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We will begin with the eye--it is the most difficult.

Lesson I.

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.

Lesson II.

The Head.

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.

Lesson III.

The Hand.

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.

Lesson IV.

The Arms.

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.

Lesson V.

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.

Lesson VI.

Basic Attitudes.

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.

Lesson VII.

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. Géraldy'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."