in 'Medje' the piano must be part of the singer and breathe with him." I
sat down at the piano and sang. When I came to "Prends cette lame et
plonges la dans mon coeur," he stopped me short, and pointing to a
horrible picture on the wall indicating bloody murder and terror (No. 6),
he cried, "Voila l'expression qu'il faut avoir." I sang the phrase over
again, trying to imagine what Medje's lover must have felt; but I could
not satisfy Delsarte. He said my voice ought to tremble; and, in fact, I
ought to sing false when I say, "Ton image encore vivante dans mon coeur
qui ne bat plus." "No one," he said, "in such a moment of emotion could
keep on the right note." I tried again, in vain! If I had had a dagger in
my hand and a brigand before me, I might perhaps have been more
successful. However, he let it pass; but to show that it could be done he
sang it for me, and actually did sing it false. Curiously enough, it
sounded quite right, tremolo and all. There is no doubt that he is a
_great artist_. One can see that Faure and Coquelin (the actor) have
both profited by his unique teaching. He assured me that there is no art
like that of making people believe what you want them to. For instance, he
pretends that he can sing "Il pleut, il pleut, bergere," and make you hear
the patter of the _bergere's_ heels on the wet sod, or wherever she
was trying to _rentrer ses blancs moutons_. He sang it with the fullest
conviction, and asked me what I thought of it. I shut my eyes and tried to
conjure up the _bergere_ and her heels. My head began to whirl with all
this talk, and, on taking leave of my new master, I promised him that I
would try to sing false until the next lesson. Another thing he said was:
"Never try to accompany yourself when the accompaniment is difficult.
There is nothing so painful as to see a singer struggling with tremolos
and arpeggios." How right he is!

He has one theory about the trembling of the chin. It certainly is very
effective. When in "Medje" I say, "Tu n'as pas vu mes larmes, tout la nuit