afterwards received from the same king the cross of a Chevalier of the
Guelph order.

Delsarte's auditors were not the only ones to sound his praises. The
learned reviews extolled his merits. Such writers as Laurentie, Riancey,
Lamartine and Théophile Gautier awarded him the most enthusiastic
praise. Posterity will perpetuate his fame.

M. Laurentie writes: "I heard Delsarte recite one evening '_Iphigenia's
Dream_,' which the audience had besought of him. The hall remained
thrilled and breathless under this impaired and yet sovereign voice. All
yielded in rapt astonishment to the spell. There was no prestige, no
theatrical illusion. Iphigenia was a professor in a black frock coat;
the orchestra was a piano, giving forth here and there an unexpected
modulation. This was his whole force; yet the hall was mute, hearts
beat, tears flowed from many eyes, and when the recital ended,
enthusiastic shouts arose, as if Iphigenia in person had just recounted
her terrors."

After Delsarte had gathered so abundant a harvest of laurels, fate
decided that he had lived long enough. When he had reached his sixtieth
year, he was attacked by hypertrophy of the heart, which left his rich
organization in ruins. He was no longer the artist of graceful, supple,
expressive and harmonious movements; no longer the thinker with profound
and luminous ideas. But in the midst of this physical and intellectual
ruin, the Christian sentiment retained its strong, sweet energy. A
believer in the sacraments which he had received in days of health, he
asked for them in the hour of danger, and many times he partook of that
sacrament of love whose virtue he had taught so well.