[ Transcriber's Note: Every effort has been made to replicate this text as faithfully as possible; changes (corrections of spelling and punctuation) made to the original text are listed at the end of this file. ] THE Orchestral Conductor THEORY OF HIS ART BY HECTOR BERLIOZ. NEW YORK PUBLISHED BY CARL FISCHER 6-10 Fourth Ave. , Cooper Square. Copyright, 1902, By Carl Fischer. THE ORCHESTRAL CONDUCTOR. THEORY OF HIS ART. BY HECTOR BERLIOZ. Music appears to be the most exacting of all the Arts, the cultivationof which presents the greatest difficulties, for a consummateinterpretation of a musical work so as to permit an appreciation of itsreal value, a clear view of its physiognomy, or discernment of its realmeaning and true character, is only achieved in relatively few cases. Ofcreative artists, the composer is almost the only one who is dependentupon a multitude of intermediate agents between the public and himself;intermediate agents, either intelligent or stupid, devoted or hostile, active or inert, capable--from first to last--of contributing to thebrilliancy of his work, or of disfiguring it, misrepresenting it, andeven destroying it completely. Singers have often been accused of forming the most dangerous of theseintermediate agents; but in my opinion, without justice. The mostformidable, to my thinking, is the conductor of the orchestra. A badsinger can spoil only his own part; while an incapable or malevolentconductor ruins all. Happy indeed may the composer esteem himself whenthe conductor into whose hands he has fallen is not at once incapableand inimical; for nothing can resist the pernicious influence of thisperson. The most admirable orchestra is then paralyzed, the mostexcellent singers are perplexed and rendered dull; there is no longerany vigor or unity; under such direction the noblest daring of theauthor appears extravagant, enthusiasm beholds its soaring flightchecked, inspiration is violently brought down to earth, the angel'swings are broken, the man of genius passes for a madman or an idiot, the divine statue is precipitated from its pedestal, and dragged in themud. And what is worse, the public, and even auditors endowed with thehighest musical intelligence, are reduced to the impossibility (if anew work is rendered, and they are hearing it for the first time) ofrecognizing the ravages perpetrated by the orchestral conductor--ofdiscovering the follies, faults, and crimes he commits. If they clearlyperceive certain defects of execution, not he, but his victims, are insuch cases made responsible. If he has caused the chorus-singers tofail in taking up a point in a finale, if he has allowed a discordantwavering to take place between the choir and the orchestra, or betweenthe extreme sides of the instrumental body, if he has absurdly hurried amovement, or allowed it to linger unduly, if he has interrupted a singerbefore the end of a phrase, they exclaim: "The singers are detestable!The orchestra has no firmness; the violins have disfigured the principaldesign; everybody has been wanting in vigor and animation; the tenor wasquite out, he did not know his part; the harmony is confused; the authoris no accompanist; the voices are----" etc. Except in listening to great works already known and esteemed, intelligenthearers can hardly distinguish the true culprit, and allot to him hisdue share of blame; but the number of these is still so limited thattheir judgment has little weight; and the hostile conductor--in presenceof the public who would pitilessly hiss a _vocal accident_ of a goodsinger--reigns, with all the calm of a bad conscience, in his basenessand inefficiency. Fortunately, I here attack an exception; for themalevolent orchestral conductor--whether capable or not--is very rare. The orchestral conductor full of goodwill, but incapable, is on thecontrary very common. Without speaking of innumerable mediocrities, directing artists who frequently are much their superiors, an author forexample, can scarcely be accused of conspiring against his own works. Yet how many are there who, fancying they are able to conduct, innocently injure their best scores! Beethoven, it is said, more than once ruined the performance of hissymphonies; which he would conduct, even at the time when his deafnesshad become almost complete. The musicians, in order to keep together, agreed at length to follow the slight indications of time which theconcertmeister (first violin-player) gave them; and not to attend toBeethoven's conducting-stick. Moreover, it should be observed, thatconducting a symphony, an overture, or any other composition whosemovements remain continual, vary little, and contain few nice gradations, is child's play in comparison with conducting an opera, or like work, where there are recitatives, airs, and numerous orchestral designspreceded by pauses of irregular length. The example of Beethoven, which I have just cited, leads me at once tosay that if the direction of an orchestra appears to be very difficultfor a blind man, it is indisputably impossible for a deaf one, whatevermay have been his technical talent before losing his sense of hearing. The orchestral conductor should _see_ and _hear_; he should be _active_and _vigorous_, should know the _composition_ and the _nature_ and_compass_ of the instruments, should be able to _read_ the score, andpossess--besides the especial talent of which we shall presentlyendeavor to explain the constituent qualities--other indefinable gifts, without which an invisible link cannot establish itself between him andthose he directs; otherwise the faculty of transmitting to them hisfeeling is denied him, and power, empire, and guiding influence completelyfail him. He is then no longer a conductor, a director, but a simplebeater of the time, --supposing he knows how to beat it, and divide it, regularly. The performers should feel that he feels, comprehends, and is moved;then his emotion communicates itself to those whom he directs, hisinward fire warms them, his electric glow animates them, his force ofimpulse excites them; he throws around him the vital irradiations ofmusical art. If he is inert and frozen, on the contrary, he paralyzesall about him, like those floating masses of the polar seas, theapproach of which is perceived through the sudden cooling of theatmosphere. His task is a complicated one. He has not only to conduct, in the spiritof the author's intentions, a work with which the performers havealready become acquainted, but he must also introduce new compositionsand help the performers to master them. He has to criticise the errorsand defects of each during the rehearsals, and to organize the resourcesat his disposal in such a way as to make the best use he can of themwith the utmost promptitude; for, in the majority of European citiesnowadays, musical artisanship is so ill distributed, performers so illpaid and the necessity of study so little understood, that _economy oftime_ should be reckoned among the most imperative requisites of theorchestral conductor's art. Let us now see what constitutes the mechanical part of this art. The power of _beating the time_, without demanding very high musicalattainments, is nevertheless sufficiently difficult to secure; and veryfew persons really possess it. The signs that the conductor shouldmake--although generally very simple--nevertheless become complicatedunder certain circumstances, by the division and even the subdivision ofthe time of the bar. The conductor is, above all, bound to possess a clear idea of theprincipal points and character of the work of which he is about tosuperintend the performance or study; in order that he may, withouthesitation or mistake, at once determine the time of each movementdesired by the composer. If he has not had the opportunity of receivinghis instructions directly from the composer, or if the _times_ have notbeen transmitted to him by tradition, he must have recourse to theindications of the metronome, and study them well; the majority ofcomposers, nowadays, taking the precaution to write them at thebeginning, and in the course, of their pieces. I do not mean to say bythis that it is necessary to imitate the mathematical regularity of themetronome, all music so performed would become of freezing stiffness, and I even doubt whether it would be possible to observe so flat auniformity during a certain number of bars. But the metronome is nonethe less excellent to consult in order to know the original time, andits chief alterations. If the conductor possess neither the author's instructions, tradition, nor metronome indications, --which frequently happens in the ancientmasterpieces, written at a period when the metronome was notinvented, --he has no other guide than the vague terms employed todesignate the time to be taken, and his own instinct, his feeling--moreor less distinguishing, more or less just--of the author's style. We arecompelled to admit that these guides are too often insufficient anddelusive. Of this we have proof in seeing how old operas are given intowns where the traditional mode of performance no longer exists. Inten different kinds of time, there will always be at least four takenwrongly. I once heard a chorus of _Iphigenia in Tauride_ performed ina German theatre _allegro assai, two in the bar_, instead of _allegronon troppo, four in the bar_; that is to say, exactly twice too fast. Examples might be multiplied of such disasters, occasioned either bythe ignorance or the carelessness of conductors of orchestras; or elseby the real difficulty which exists for even the best-gifted and mostcareful men to discover the precise meaning of the Italian terms used asindications of the time to be taken. Of course, no one can be at a lossto distinguish a Largo from a Presto. If the Presto be two in a bar, a tolerably sagacious conductor, from inspection of the passages andmelodic designs contained in the piece, will be able to discern thedegree of quickness intended by the author. But if the Largo be four ina bar, of simple melodic structure, and containing but few notes in eachbar, what means has the hapless conductor of discovering the true time?And in how many ways might he not be deceived? The different degrees ofslowness that might be assigned to the performance of such a Largo arevery numerous; the individual feeling of the orchestral conductor mustthen become the sole authority; and, after all, it is the author'sfeeling, not his, which is in question. Composers therefore ought notto neglect placing metronome indications in their works; and orchestralconductors are bound to study them closely. The neglect of this study onthe part of the latter, is an act of dishonesty. I will now suppose the conductor to be perfectly well acquainted withthe times of the different movements in the work of which he is aboutto conduct the performance or rehearsals; he wishes to impart to themusicians acting under his orders the rhythmical feeling within him, todecide the duration of each bar, and to cause the uniform observanceof this duration by all the performers. Now this precision and thisuniformity can only be established in the more or less numerousassemblage of band and chorus by means of certain signs made by theirconductor. These signs indicate the principle divisions, the accents of the bar, and, in many cases, the subdivisions, and the half-accents. I needhardly here explain what is meant by the "accents" (accented andunaccented parts of a bar); I am presupposing that I address musicians. The orchestral conductor generally uses a small light stick, of abouta foot in length, and rather whitish than of a dark color (it is seenbetter), which he holds in his right hand, to make clearly distinct hismode of marking the commencement, the interior division, and the closeof each bar. The bow, employed by some violinist conductors (leaders), is less suitable than the stick. It is somewhat flexible, and this wantof rigidity, together with the slight resistance it offers to the air, on account of its appendage of hair, renders its indications lessprecise. The simplest of all times--two in a bar--is beaten simply. The arm and the stick of the conductor are raised, so that his hand ison a level with his head, he marks the first beat, by dropping the pointof his stick perpendicularly (_bending his wrist_ as much as possible;and not lowering the whole arm), and the second beat by raising thestick by a contrary gesture. [Illustration] The time--one in a bar--being in reality, and particularly for theconductor, but the time of an extremely rapid two in a bar, should bebeaten like the preceding. As the conductor is obliged to raise thepoint of his stick, after having lowered it, he necessarily divides thisinto two portions. In the time--four in a bar--the first gesture, or down beat, isuniversally adopted for marking the first accented part, thecommencement of the bar. [Illustration] The second movement made by the conducting-stick, from right to left, rising, indicates the second beat (first unaccented part). [Illustration]A third, transversely, from left to right, indicates the third beat(second accented part); [Illustration] and a fourth, obliquely, fromdown to up, indicates the fourth beat (second unaccented part). Thecombination of these four gestures may be figured thus:-- [Illustration] It is of importance that the conductor, in thus delivering his differentdirections, should not move his arm much; and consequently, not allowhis stick to pass over much space; for each of these gestures shouldoperate nearly instantaneously; or at least, take but so slight amovement as to be imperceptible. If the movement becomes perceptible, on the contrary, and multiplied by the number of times that the gestureis repeated, it ends by throwing the conductor behind in the time heis beating, and by giving to his conducting a tardiness that provesinjurious. This defect, moreover, has the result of needlessly fatiguingthe conductor, and of producing exaggerated evolutions, verging on theridiculous, which attract the spectators' attention, and become verydisagreeable to witness. In the time, three in a bar, the first gesture made, from up to down, islikewise universally adopted for marking the first beat; but there aretwo ways of marking the second. The majority of orchestral conductorsindicate it by a gesture from left to right; thus:-- [Illustration] Some German Kapel-meisters do the contrary; and carry the stick fromright to left; thus:-- [Illustration] This way has the disadvantage--when the conductor turns his back to theorchestra, as in theatres--of permitting only a small number of musiciansto perceive the very important indication of the second beat; the bodyof the conductor then hiding the movement of his arm. The other methodof proceeding is preferable; since the conductor stretches his arm_outwards_, withdrawing it from his chest; and his stick, which hetakes care to raise slightly above the level of his shoulder, remainsperfectly visible to all eyes. When the conductor faces the players, itis immaterial whether he marks the second beat to the right, or to theleft. However, the third beat of the time, three in a bar, is always markedlike the last of the time, four in a bar; by an oblique movementupwards. [Illustration] or [Illustration] The times, --five and seven in a bar, --would be more comprehensible forthe performers, if instead of indicating them by a particular series ofgestures, they were treated as though the one was composed of three andtwo in a bar, and the other composed of four and three. Then, these times would be beaten thus:-- [Illustration] Example of seven in a bar:-- [Illustration] These different times, in order to be divided in this way, are assumedto belong to movements of moderate measure. The advice would not holdgood if their measure were either very quick or very slow. The time, two in a bar, I have already signified, cannot be beatenotherwise than as we have before seen--whatever its degree of rapidity. But if, as an exception, it should be very slow, the conductor ought tosubdivide it. A very rapid four in a bar, on the contrary, should be beaten two in abar; the four accustomed gestures of a moderate movement becoming thenso hurried as to present nothing decided to the eye, and serving only toconfuse the performer instead of giving him confidence. Moreover, --andthis is of much more consequence, --the conductor, by uselessly makingthese four gestures in a quick movement, renders the pace of the rhythmawkward, and loses the freedom of gesture which a simple division of thetime into its half would leave him. Generally speaking, composers are wrong to write in such a case theindication of the time as four in a bar. When the movement is verybrisk, they should never write any other than the sign [Symbol: two ina bar], and not that of [Symbol: four in a bar], which might lead theconductor into error. It is exactly the same for the time, three in a bar, fast 3/4 or 3/8. Then the conductor must omit the gesture of the second beat, and, byremaining the period of a beat longer on the first, only raise the stickat the third. [Illustration] It would be absurd to attempt to beat the three in a bar of one ofBeethoven's scherzos. In slow movements the rule for these two times is like that for two ina bar. If the movement is very slow, each time must be divided; andconsequently eight gestures must be made for the time, four in a bar, and six for the time, three in a bar, repeating (and shortening) eachof the principal gestures we have before instanced. Example of three in a bar, very slow: [Illustration] Example of four in a bar, very slow: [Illustration] The arm should take no part in the little supplementary gestureindicating the subdivision of the bar; merely the wrist causing thestick to move. This division of the different times is intended to prevent the rhythmicaldivergences which might easily take place among the performers duringthe interval which separates one beat from the other. The conductor notindicating anything during this period (rendered somewhat considerableby the extreme slowness of the movement), the players are then entirelyleft to themselves, _without conductor_; and as the rhythmical feelingis not the same with all, it follows that some hurry, while othersslacken, and unity is soon destroyed. The only exception possible tothis rule is that of a first-rate orchestra, composed of performers whoare well acquainted with each other, are accustomed to play together, and know almost by heart the work they are executing. Even then, theinattention of a single player may occasion an accident. Why incur itspossibility? I know that certain artists feel their self-love hurt whenthus kept in leading-strings (like children, they say); but with aconductor who has no other view than the excellence of the ultimateresult, this consideration can have no weight. Even in a quartet, it isseldom that the individual feeling of the players can be left entirelyfree to follow its own dictates. In a symphony, that of the conductormust rule. The art of comprehending it, and fulfilling it withunanimity, constitutes the perfection of execution; and individualwills--which can never agree one with another--should never be permittedto manifest themselves. This being fully understood, it will be seen that subdivision is stillmore essential for very slow times; as those of 6/4, 6/8, 9/8, 12/8 etc. But these times--where the triple rhythm plays so important a part--maybe divided in various ways. If the movement is brisk or moderate, it is rarely well to indicateother than the simple beats of these times, according to the procedureadopted for the analogous simple times. The times of 6/8 allegretto, and of 6/4 allegro, therefore, are to bebeaten like those of two in a bar:--[Symbol: two in a bar] = or 2 = or2/4; the time, 9/8 allegro, should be beaten like that of three in abar--3/4 moderato, or like that of 3/8 andantino; and the time, 12/8moderato or allegro, like the time, simple four in a bar. But if themovement be adagio, largo assai, or andante maestoso, either all thequavers, or a crotchet followed by a quaver, should be beaten, accordingto the form of the melody, or the predominant design. [Illustration] It is unnecessary, in this three in a bar, to mark all the quavers; therhythm of a crotchet followed by a quaver in each beat suffices. As to the subdivision, the little supplementary gesture for simple timesshould be made; this subdivision will however separate each beat intotwo unequal portions, since it is requisite to indicate visibly thevalue of the crotchet, and that of the quaver. If the movement is still slower, there can be no hesitation; the onlyway to ensure unity of execution is to beat all the quavers, whatever bethe nature of the written bar. [Illustration] [Illustration] [Illustration] Taking the three measures shown above in order, the conductor must beatthree quavers down, and three up, for the time of 6/8:-- [Illustration] Three down, three to the right, and three up, for the time of 9/8:-- [Illustration] Three down, three to the left, three to the right, and three up, for thetime of 12/8:-- [Illustration] A dilemma sometimes presents itself when certain parts--for the sake ofcontrast--are given a triple rhythm, while others preserve the dualrhythm. [Illustration] If the wind-instrument parts in the above example are confided toplayers who are good musicians, there will be no need to change themanner of marking the bar, and the conductor may continue to subdivideit by six, or to divide it simply by two. The majority of players, however, seeming to hesitate at the moment when, by employing thesyncopated form, the triple rhythm clashes with the dual rhythm, requireassurance, which can be given by easy means. The uncertainty occasionedthem by the sudden appearance of the unexpected rhythm, contradictedby the rest of the orchestra, always leads the performers to cast aninstinctive glance towards the conductor, as if seeking his assistance. He should look at them, turning somewhat towards them, and marking thetriple rhythm by very slight gestures, as if the time were really threein a bar, but in such a way that the violins and other instrumentsplaying in dual rhythm may not observe the change, which would quiteput them out. From this compromise it results that the new rhythm ofthree-time, being marked furtively by the conductor, is executed withsteadiness; while the two-time rhythm, already firmly established, continues without difficulty, although no longer indicated by theconductor. On the other hand, nothing, in my opinion can be moreblamable, or more contrary to musical good sense, than the applicationof this procedure to passages where two rhythms of opposite naturedo not co-exist, and where merely syncopations are introduced. Theconductor, dividing the bar by _the number of accents he finds containedin it_, then destroys (for all the auditors who see him) the effect ofsyncopation; and substitutes a mere change of time for a play of rhythmof the most bewitching interest. If the accents are marked, instead ofthe beats, in the following passage from Beethoven's Pastoral Symphony, we have the subjoined:-- [Illustration] whereas the four previously maintained display the syncopation and makeit better felt:-- [Illustration] This voluntary submission to a rhythmical form _which the author intendedto thwart_ is one of the gravest faults in style that a beater of thetime can commit. There is another dilemma, extremely troublesome for a conductor, and demanding all his presence of mind. It is that presented by thesuper-addition of different bars. It is easy to conduct a bar in dualtime placed above or beneath another bar in triple time, if both havethe same kind of movement. Their chief divisions are then equal induration, and one needs only to divide them in half, marking the twoprincipal beats:-- [Illustration] But if, in the middle of a piece slow in movement, there is introduced anew form brisk in movement, and if the composer (either for the sake offacilitating the execution of the quick movement, or because it wasimpossible to write otherwise) has adopted for this new movement theshort bar which corresponds with it, there may then occur two, or eventhree short bars super-added to a slow bar:-- [Illustration] The conductor's task is to guide and keep together these different barsof unequal number and dissimilar movement. He attains this by dividingthe beats in the andante bar, No.  1, which precedes the entrance of theallegro in 6/8, and by continuing to divide them; but taking care tomark the division more decidedly. The players of the allegro in 6/8 thencomprehend that the two gestures of the conductor represent the twobeats of their short bar, while the players of the andante take thesesame gestures merely for a divided beat of their long bar. [Illustration: Bar No.  1. ] [Illustration: Bars Nos.  2, 3, and so on. ] It will be seen that this is really quite simple, because the divisionof the short bar, and the subdivisions of the long one, mutuallycorrespond. The following example, where a slow bar is super-added tothe short ones, without this correspondence existing, is more awkward:-- [Illustration] [Illustration] Here, the three bars allegro-assai preceding the allegretto are beatenin simple two time, as usual. At the moment when the allegretto begins, the bar of which is double that of the preceding, and of the onemaintained by the violas, the conductor marks _two divided beats_ forthe long bar, by two equal gestures down, and two others up:-- [Illustration] The two large gestures divide the long bar in half, and explain itsvalue to the hautboys, without perplexing the violas, who maintain thebrisk movement, on account of the little gesture which also divides inhalf their short bar. From bar No.  3, the conductor ceases to divide thus the long bar by 4, on account of the triple rhythm of the melody in 6/8, which this gestureinterferes with. He then confines himself to marking the two beats ofthe long bar; while the violas, already launched in their rapid rhythm, continue it without difficulty, comprehending exactly that each strokeof the conductor's stick marks merely _the commencement_ of their shortbar. This last observation shows with what care dividing the beats of a barshould be avoided when a portion of the instruments or voices has toexecute triplets upon these beats. The division, by cutting in half thesecond note of the triplet, renders its execution uncertain. It is evennecessary to abstain from this division of the beats of a bar justbefore the moment when the rhythmical or melodic design is divided bythree, in order not to give to the players the impression of a rhythmcontrary to that which they are about to hear:-- [Illustration] In this example, the subdivision of the bar into six, or the division ofbeats into two, is useful; and offers no inconvenience _during barNo.  1_, when the following gesture is made:-- [Illustration] But from the beginning of bar No.  2 it is necessary to make only thesimple gestures:-- [Illustration] on account of the triplet on the third beat, and on account of the onefollowing it which the double gesture would much interfere with. In the famous ball-scene of Mozart's _Don Giovanni_, the difficulty ofkeeping together the three orchestras, written in three differentmeasures, is less than might be thought. It is sufficient to markdownwards each beat of the _tempo di minuetto_:-- [Illustration] Once entered upon the combination, the little allegro in 3/8, of which awhole bar represents one-third, or one beat of that of the minuetto, andthe other allegro in 2/4, of which a whole bar represents two-thirds, ortwo beats, correspond with each other and with the principal theme; whilethe whole proceeds without the slightest confusion. All that is requisiteis to make them come in properly. A gross fault that I have seen committed, consists in enlarging the timeof a piece in common-time, when the author has introduced into ittriplets of minims:-- [Illustration] In such a case, the third minim adds nothing to the duration of the bar, as some conductors seem to imagine. They may, if they please, and if themovement be slow or moderate, make these passages by beating the bar withthree beats, but the duration of the whole bar should remain preciselythe same. In a case where these triplets occur in a very quick bar incommon-time (allegro-assai), the three gestures then cause confusion, and it is absolutely necessary to make only two, --one beat upon the firstminim, and one upon the third. These gestures, owing to the quickness ofthe movement, differ little to the eye, from the two of the bar with twoequal beats, and do not affect the movement of those parts of theorchestra which contain no triplets. [Illustration] We will now speak of the conductor's method of beating in recitatives. Here, as the singer or the instrumentalist is reciting, and no longersubject to the regular division of the bar, it is requisite, whilefollowing him attentively, to make the orchestra strike, simultaneouslyand with precision, the chords or instrumental passages with which therecitative is intermingled; and to make the harmony change at the properinstant, when the recitative is accompanied either by holding-notes orby a tremolo in several parts, of which the least apparent, occasionally, is that which the conductor must most regard, since upon its motiondepends the change of chord:-- [Illustration] In this example, the conductor, while following the reciting part, notkept time to, has especially to attend to the viola part, and to make itmove, at the proper moment, from the F to the E, at the commencement ofthe second bar; because otherwise, as this part is executed by severalinstrumentalists playing in unison, some of them would hold the F longerthan the rest, and a transient discord would be produced. Many conductors have the habit, when directing the orchestra inrecitatives, of paying no heed to the written division of the bar, andof marking an up beat before that whereon a brief orchestral chordoccurs, even when this chord comes on an unaccented part of the bar:-- [Illustration] In a passage such as this, they raise the arm at the rest whichcommences the bar, and lower it at the time of the chord. I cannot approve of such a method, which nothing justifies, and whichmay frequently occasion accidents in the execution. Neither do I seewhy, in recitatives, the bar should not be divided regularly, and thereal beats marked in their place, as in music beaten in time. I thereforeadvise--for the preceding example--that the first beat should be madedown, as usual, and the stick carried to the left for striking the chordupon the second beat; and so on for analogous cases; always dividing thebar regularly. It is very important, moreover, to divide it according tothe time previously indicated by the author, and not to forget, --if thistime is _allegro_ or _maestoso_, and if the reciting part has been sometime reciting unaccompanied, --to give to all the beats, when the orchestracomes in again, the value of those of an allegro or of a maestoso. Forwhen the orchestra plays alone, it does so generally in time; it playswithout measured time only when it accompanies a voice or instrument inrecitative. In the exceptional case where the recitative is written for the orchestraitself, or for the chorus, or for a portion of either orchestra or chorus, it being then requisite to keep together, whether in unison or in harmony, but without regular time, a certain number of performers, _the conductorhimself becomes the real reciter_, and gives to each beat of the bar theduration he judges fit. According to the form of the phrase, he dividesand subdivides the beats, now marks the accents, now the semiquavers, ifthere are any, and, in short, indicates with his stick the melodic formof the recitative. It must of course be understood that the performers, knowing their partsalmost by heart, keep their eye constantly upon him, otherwise, neithersecurity nor unity can be obtained. In general, even for timed music, the conductor should require theplayers he directs to look towards him as often as possible. _An orchestra which does not watch the conducting-stick has no conductor. _Often, after a pedal-point for instance, the conductor is obliged torefrain from marking the decisive gesture which is to determine thecoming in of the orchestra until he sees the eyes of all the performersfixed upon him. It is the duty of the conductor, during rehearsal, toaccustom them to look towards him simultaneously at the importantmoment. [Illustration] If the rule just indicated were not observed in the above bar, of whichthe first beat, marking a pedal-point, may be prolonged indefinitely, the passage-- [Illustration] could not be uttered with firmness and unity; the players, not watchingthe conductor's stick, could not know when he decides the second beatand resumes the movement suspended by the pedal-point. The obligation upon the performers to look at their conductor necessarilyimplies an equal obligation on his part to let himself be well seen bythem. He should, --whatever may be the disposal of the orchestra, whetheron rows of steps, or on a horizontal plane, --place himself so as to formthe centre of all surrounding eyes. To place himself well in sight, a conductor requires an especialplatform, elevated in proportion as the number of performers is largeand occupies much space. His desk should not be so high that the portionsustaining the score shall hide his face for the expression of hiscountenance has much to do with the influence he exercises. If there isno conductor for an orchestra that does not and will not watch him, neither is there any if he cannot be well seen. As to the employment of noises of any kind whatever, produced by thestick of the conductor upon his desk, or by his foot upon the platform, they call for no other than unreserved reprehension. It is worse than abad method; it is a barbarism. In a theatre, however, when the stageevolutions prevent the chorus-singers from seeing the conducting-stick, the conductor is compelled--to ensure, after a pause, the taking up apoint by the chorus--to indicate this point by marking the beat whichprecedes it by a slight tap of his stick upon the desk. This exceptionalcircumstance is the only one which can warrant the employment of an_indicating noise_, and even then it is to be regretted that recoursemust be had to it. While speaking of chorus-singers, and of their operations in theatres, it may here be observed that chorus-masters often allow themselves tobeat time at the side-scenes, without seeing the conductor's stick, frequently even without hearing the orchestra. The result is that thistime, beaten more or less ill, and not corresponding with that of theconductor, inevitably induces a rhythmical discordance between thechoral and instrumental bodies, and subverts all unity instead oftending to maintain it. There is another traditional barbarism which lies within the provinceof an intelligent and active conductor to abolish. If a choral orinstrumental piece is performed behind the scenes, without accompanimentfrom the principal orchestra, another conductor is absolutely essential. If the orchestra accompany this portion, the first conductor, who hearsthe distant music, is then strictly bound to _let himself be guided_ bythe second, and to follow his time _by ear_. But if--as frequentlyhappens in modern music--the sound of the chief orchestra hinders theconductor from hearing that which is being performed at a distancefrom him, the intervention of a special conducting mechanism becomesindispensable, in order to establish instantaneous communication betweenhim and the distant performers. Many attempts, more or less ingenious, have been made of this kind, the result of which has not everywhereanswered expectations. That of Covent Garden Theatre, in London, moved by the conductor's foot, acts tolerably well. But the _electricmetronome_, set up by Mr. Van Bruge in the Brussels Theatre, leavesnothing to be desired. It consists of an apparatus of copper ribbons, leading from a Voltaic battery placed beneath the stage, attached tothe conductor's desk, and terminating in a movable stick fastened at oneend on a pivot before a board at a certain distance from the orchestralconductor. To this latter's desk is affixed a key of copper, somethinglike the ivory key of a pianoforte; it is elastic, and provided on theinterior side with a protuberance of about a quarter of an inch long. Immediately beneath this protuberance is a little cup, also of copper, filled with quicksilver. At the instant when the orchestral conductor, desiring to mark any particular beat of a bar, presses the copper keywith the forefinger of his left hand (his right being occupied inholding, as usual, the conducting-stick) this key is lowered, theprotuberance passes into the cup filled with quicksilver, a slightelectric spark is emitted, and the stick placed at the other extremityof the copper ribbon makes an oscillation before its board. Thecommunication of the fluid and the movement are quite simultaneous, no matter how great a distance is traversed. The performers being grouped behind the scenes, their eyes fixed uponthe stick of the electric metronome, are thus directly subject to theconductor, who could, were it needful, conduct, from the middle of theOpera orchestra in Paris, a piece of music performed at Versailles. It is merely requisite to agree upon beforehand with the chorus-singers, or with their conductor (if as an additional precaution, they have one), the way in which the orchestral conductor beats the time--whether hemarks all the principal beats, or, only the first of the bar--since theoscillations of the stick, moved by electricity, being always from rightto left, indicate nothing precise in this respect. When I first used, at Brussels, the valuable instrument I have justendeavored to describe, its action presented one objection. Each timethat the copper key of my desk underwent the pressure of my leftforefinger, it struck, underneath, another plate of copper, and, notwithstanding the delicacy of the contact, produced a little sharpnoise, which, during the pauses of the orchestra, attracted theattention of the audience, to the detriment of the musical effect. I pointed out the fault to Mr. Van Bruge, who substituted for the lowerplate of copper the little cup filled with quicksilver, previouslymentioned. Into this the protuberance so entered as to establish theelectric current without causing the slightest noise. Nothing remains now, as regards the use of this mechanism, but thecrackling of the spark at the moment of its emission. This, however, istoo slight to be heard by the public. The metronome is not expensive to put up; it costs £16 at the most. Large lyric theatres, churches, and concert-rooms should long agohave been provided with one. Yet, save at the Brussels Theatre, it isnowhere to be found. This would appear incredible, were it not that thecarelessness of the majority of directors of institutions where musicforms a feature is well known; as are their instinctive aversion towhatever disturbs old-established customs, their indifference to theinterests of art, their parsimony wherever an outlay for music isneeded, and the utter ignorance of the principles of our art amongthose in whose hands rests the ordering of its destiny. I have not yet said all on the subject of those dangerous auxiliariesnamed chorus-masters. Very few of them are sufficiently versed in theart, to conduct a musical performance, so that the orchestral conductorcan depend upon them. He cannot therefore watch them too closely whencompelled to submit to their coadjutorship. The most to be dreaded are those whom age has deprived of activity andenergy. The maintenance of vivacious times is an impossibility to them. Whatever may be the degree of quickness indicated at the head of a piececonfided to their conducting, little by little they slacken its pace, until the rhythm is reduced to a certain medium slowness, that seems toharmonize with the speed at which their blood flows, and the generalfeebleness of their organization. It must in truth be added, that old men are not the only ones with whomcomposers run this risk. There are men in the prime of life, of alymphatic temperament, whose blood seems to circulate _moderato_. Ifthey have to conduct an allegro assai, they gradually slacken it to_moderato_; if, on the contrary, it is a largo or an andante sostenuto, provided the piece is prolonged, they will, by dint of progressiveanimation, attain a _moderato_ long before the end. The _moderato_ istheir natural pace, and they recur to it as infallibly as would apendulum after having been a moment hurried or slackened in itsoscillations. These people are the born enemies of all characteristic music, and thegreatest destroyers of style. May Fate preserve the orchestral conductorfrom their co-operation. Once, in a large town (which I will not name), there was to be performedbehind the scenes a very simple chorus, written in 6/8, allegretto. Theaid of the chorus-master became necessary. He was an old man. The time in which this chorus was to be taken having been first agreedupon by the orchestra, our Nestor followed it pretty decently during thefirst few bars; but, soon after, the slackening became such that therewas no continuing without rendering the piece perfectly ridiculous. Itwas recommenced twice, thrice, four times; a full half-hour was occupiedin ever-increasingly vexatious efforts, but always with the same result. The preservation of allegretto time was absolutely impossible to theworthy man. At last the orchestral conductor, out of all patience, cameand begged him not to conduct at all; he had hit upon an expedient:--Hecaused the chorus-singers to simulate a march-movement, raising eachfoot alternately, without moving on. This movement, being in exactlythe same time as the dual rhythm of the 6/8 in a bar, allegretto, thechorus-singers, who were no longer hindered by their director, at onceperformed the piece as though they had sung marching; with no less unitythan regularity, and without slackening the time. I acknowledge, however, that many chorus-masters, or sub-conductors oforchestras, are sometimes of real utility, and even indispensable for themaintenance of unity among very large masses of performers. When thesemasses are obliged to be so disposed as that one portion of the playersor chorus-singers turn their back on the conductor, he needs a certainnumber of sub-beaters of the time, placed before those of the performerswho cannot see him, and charged with repeating all his signals. Inorder that this repetition shall be precise, the sub-conductors mustbe careful never to take their eyes off the chief conductor's stick fora single instant. If, in order to look at their score, they cease towatch him for only three bars, a discrepancy arises immediately betweentheir time and his, and all is lost. In a festival where 1200 performers were assembled under my direction, at Paris, I had to employ four chorus-masters, stationed at the fourcorners of the vocal mass, and two sub-conductors, one of whom directedthe wind-instruments, and the other the instruments of percussion. I hadearnestly besought them to look towards me incessantly; they did notomit to do so, and our eight sticks, rising and falling without theslightest discrepancy of rhythm, established amidst our 1200 performersthe most perfect unity ever witnessed. With one or more electric metronomes, it seems no longer necessary tohave recourse to this means. One might, in fact, thus easily conductchorus-singers who turn their back towards the chief conductor; butattentive and intelligent sub-conductors are always preferable to amachine. They have not only to beat the time, like the metronomic staff, but they have also to speak to the groups around them, to call theirattention to nice shades of execution, and, after bar-rests, to remindthem when the moment of their re-entry comes. In a space arranged as a semicircular amphitheatre, the orchestralconductor may conduct a considerable number of performers alone, alleyes then being able to look towards him. Nevertheless, the employmentof a certain number of sub-conductors appears to me preferable toindividual direction, on account of the great distance between the chiefconductor and the extreme points of the vocal and instrumental body. The more distant the orchestral conductor is from the performers hedirects, the more his influence over them is diminished. The best way would be to have several sub-conductors, with severalelectric metronomes beating before their eyes the principal beats of thebar. And now, --should the orchestral conductor give the time standing orsitting down? If, in theatres where they perform scores of immense length, it is verydifficult to endure the fatigue of remaining on foot the whole evening, it is none the less true that the orchestral conductor, when seated, loses a portion of his power, and cannot give free course to hisanimation, if he possess any. Then, should he conduct reading from a full score, or from a firstviolin part (leader's copy), as is customary in some theatres? It isevident that he should have before him a full score. Conducting by meansof a part containing only the principal instrumental cues, the bass andthe melody, demands a needless effort of memory from a conductor; andmoreover, if he happens to tell one of the performers, whose part hecannot examine, that he is wrong, exposes him to the chance of thereply: "How do you know?" The disposal and grouping of the players and chorus-singers come alsowithin the province of the orchestral conductor; particularly forconcerts. It is impossible to indicate arbitrarily the best method ofgrouping the performers in a theatre or concert-room; the shape andarrangement of the interior of these places necessarily influence thecourse to be taken in such a case. Let us add, that it depends, moreover, upon the number of performers requiring to be grouped; and, on someoccasions, upon the style of composition adopted by the author whosework is to be performed. In general, for concerts, the following disposal of the orchestra seemsbest:--An amphitheatre of eight, or at least, five rows is indispensable. The semicircular form is the best for the amphitheatre. If it is largeenough to contain the whole orchestra, the entire mass of instrumentalistscan be disposed of along these rows; the first violins in front on theright, facing the public; the second violins in front on the left; theviolas, in the middle, between the two groups of violins; the flutes, hautboys, clarinets, horns, and bassoons behind the first violins; adouble rank of violoncellos and double-basses behind the second violins;the trumpets, cornets, trombones, and tubas behind the violas; the restof the violoncellos and double-basses behind the wooden wind instruments;the harps in the foreground, close to the orchestral conductor; thekettle-drums, and other instruments of percussion behind or in thecentre of the brass instruments; the orchestral conductor, turning hisback to the public, at the base of the orchestra, and near to theforemost desks of the first and second violins. There should be a horizontal flooring, or stage, more or less wide, extending in front of the first rows of the amphitheatre. On thisflooring the chorus-singers should be placed, in form of a fan turnedthree-quarters towards the public, so that all shall be able easilyto see the motions of the orchestral conductor. The grouping of thechorus-singers, in consonance with their respective order of voice, willdiffer according as the author has written in three, four, or six parts. At any rate, the women--sopranos and contraltos--should be in front, seated; the tenors standing behind the contraltos; and the bassesstanding behind the sopranos. The solo-singers should occupy the centre, and foremost, part of thefront stage, and should always place themselves in such a way as to beable, by slightly turning the head, to see the conducting-stick. For the rest, I repeat, these indications can be but approximate; theymay be, for many reasons, modified in various ways. At the Conservatoire, in Paris, where the amphitheatre is composed ofonly four or five rows, not circular, and cannot therefore contain thewhole orchestra, the violins and violas are on the stage; while thebasses and wind instruments alone occupy the rows; the chorus is seatedon the front of the stage, facing the public, and the women, sopranosand contraltos, turning their backs directly upon the orchestralconductor, are utterly unable to see his motions. The arrangement isvery inconvenient for this portion of the chorus. It is of the greatest consequence that the chorus-singers placed on thefront of the stage shall occupy a plane somewhat lower than that of theviolins; otherwise they would considerably deaden the sound of theseinstruments. For the same reason, if there are no other rows for the choir in frontof the orchestra, it is absolutely needful that the women should beseated, and the men remain standing up; in order that the voices of thetenors and basses, proceeding from a more elevated point than those ofthe sopranos and contraltos, may come forth freely, and be neitherstifled nor intercepted. When the presence of the chorus-singers in front of the orchestra is notnecessary, the conductor must take care to send them away; since thislarge number of human bodies injures the sonority of the instruments. Asymphony performed by an orchestra thus more or less stifled, loses muchof its effect. There are yet other precautions, relative especially to the orchestra, which the conductor may also take, to avoid certain defects in performance. The instruments of percussion, placed, as I have indicated, upon one ofthe last rows of the orchestra, have a tendency to modify the rhythm, and slacken the time. A series of strokes on the drum struck at regularintervals in a quick movement, like the following:-- [Illustration] will sometimes lead to the complete destruction of a fine rhythmicalprogression, by checking the onward bound of the rest of the orchestra, and destroying the unity. Almost always, the drum player, through notobserving the original time given by the conductor, is somewhatbehindhand in striking his first stroke. This retardment, multiplied bythe number of strokes which follow the first one, soon produces--as maybe imagined--a rhythmical discrepancy of the most fatal effect. Theconductor, --all whose efforts to re-establish unanimity are then invain--has only one thing left to do; which is, to insist that the longdrum player shall count beforehand the number of strokes to be givenin the passage in question, and that, knowing his part, he shall nolonger look at his copy, but keep his eyes constantly fixed upon theconducting-stick; by which means he will follow the time without theslightest want of precision. Another retardment, arising from a different cause, frequently takesplace in the trumpet-parts; it is when they contain a quick flow ofpassages such as this:-- [Illustration] The trumpet-player, instead of taking breath _before_ the first of thesethree bars, takes breath at their commencement, during the quaver-rest, A; and, not counting for anything the short time it has taken him tobreathe, gives its whole value to the quaver-rest, which thus becomessuper-added to the value of the first bar. The result of this is thefollowing:-- [Illustration] an effect all the worse because the final accent, struck at thecommencement of the third bar by the rest of the orchestra, comes athird of the time too slow in the trumpets, and destroys unity in thestriking of the last chord. To obviate this, the conductor must first previously warn the playersagainst such inexactness, into which they almost all are led to fallunawares; and then, while conducting, must cast a glance towards them atthe decisive moment, and _anticipate a little_, by beating the firstbeat of the bar where they come in. It is incredible how difficult it isto prevent trumpet-players from doubling the value of a quaver-rest thusplaced. When a long _accelerando, little by little_, is indicated by thecomposer, for passing from an allegro moderato to a presto, the majorityof orchestral conductors hurry the time _by jerks_, instead of quickeningit equally throughout, by an insensible onward rate. This should becarefully avoided. The same remark applies to the converse proposition. It is even moredifficult to slacken a quick time smoothly, and without checks, so asto transform it little by little into a slow time. Often, from a desireto testify zeal, or from defect of delivery in his musical feeling, aconductor demands from his players _an exaggeration of nice gradations_. He comprehends neither the character nor the style of the piece. Thegradations then become so many blemishes; the accents, yells; theintentions of the poor composer are totally disfigured and perverted;while those of the orchestral conductor--however politely meant they maybe--are none the less injurious: like the caresses of the ass in thefable, who crushed his master while fondling him. And now let us instance many deplorable abuses that are obtained inalmost all the orchestras of Europe--abuses which reduce composers todespair, and which it is the duty of conductors to abolish as soon aspossible. Performers playing stringed instruments will rarely give themselves thetrouble to play a _tremolo_; they substitute for this very characteristiceffect, a tame repetition of the note, half, and sometimes three-quartersslower than the one whence results the tremolo: instead of demisemiquavers, they make triple or double ones; and in lieu of producing sixty-four notesin a bar in four-time (adagio), they produce only thirty-two, or evensixteen. The action of the arm necessary for producing a true tremolo, demands from them too great an effort. This idleness is intolerable. Many double-bass players permit themselves--from idleness, also, or froma dread of being unable to achieve certain difficulties--to simplifytheir part. This race of simplifiers has existed for forty years; but itcannot endure any longer. In ancient works, the double-bass parts wereextremely simple; therefore there can be no reason to impoverish themstill more: those in modern scores are rather more difficult, it istrue; but, with very few exceptions, there is nothing in them impossibleof execution; composers, masters of their art, write them with care, andas they ought to be executed. If it is from idleness that the simplifierspervert them, the energetic orchestral conductor is armed with thenecessary authority to compel the fulfilment of their duty. If it isfrom incapacity, let him dismiss them. It is his best interest to ridhimself of instrumentalists who cannot play their instrument. Flute-players, accustomed to having their parts written in the upperoctave, and not admitting that their part can be written below that ofclarinets or hautboys, frequently transpose entire passages an octavehigher. The conductor, if he does not carefully peruse his score, if heis not thoroughly acquainted with the work he is conducting, or if hisear lacks keenness, will not perceive the strange liberty thus taken. Nevertheless, multitudes of such instances occur, and care should betaken to banish them entirely. It happens everywhere (I do not say in some orchestras only)--that whenten, fifteen, or twenty violinists have to play the same part in unison, that they do not count the bars' rest; each, from idleness, relying onthe others doing it. Whence it follows that scarcely half of them comein again at the right moment; while the rest still hold their instrumentunder their left arm, and look about them. Thus the point is greatlyweakened, if not entirely missed. I invoke the attention and vigor oforchestral conductors to this insufferable habit. It is, however, sorooted that they will only ensure its extirpation by making a largenumber of violinists amenable for the fault of a single player; byinflicting a fine, for example, upon a whole row, if one of them missescoming in. Even were this fine no more than half-a-crown, I will answerfor it that each of the violinists would count his rests, and keep watchthat his neighbors did the same, since it might be inflicted five or sixtimes upon the same individuals in the course of one performance. An orchestra, the instruments of which are not in tune individually, andwith each other, is a monstrosity; the conductor, therefore, should takethe greatest care that the musicians tune accurately. But this operationshould not be performed in presence of the public; and, moreover, everyinstrumental noise--every kind of preluding between the acts--constitutesa real offence to all civilized auditors. The bad training of anorchestra, and its musical mediocrity is to be inferred from theimpertinent noise it makes during the periods of quiet at an Opera orConcert. It is also imperative for a conductor not to allow clarinet-players touse always the same instrument (the clarinet in _B♭_), without regard tothe author's indications; just as if the different clarinets--those in_D_ and _A_, particularly--had not a special character of their own, ofwhich the intelligent composer knows the exact value; and as if theclarinet in _A_ had not moreover a low semitone more than the clarinet in_B♭_--, the C♯, of excellent effect, [Illustration] produced by the E, [Illustration] which E gives only the D, [Illustration] on the clarinetin _B♭_. A habit as vicious, and still more baneful, has crept into manyorchestras since the introduction of horns with cylinders and pistons:it is that of playing _in open sounds_; by means of the new mechanismadapted to the instrument, those notes intended by the composer to beproduced _in closed sounds_, by means of the right hand within the bell. Moreover, the horn-players nowadays, on account of the facility affordedby the pistons or cylinders for putting their instrument into differentkeys, use only the _horn in F_ whatever may be the key indicated by theauthor. This custom gives rise to a host of inconveniences, from whichthe conductor should use all his efforts to preserve the works ofcomposers _who know how to write_. He should also set his face against the economical fashion adopted bycertain theatres--called lyric--of causing the cymbals and the long drumto be played by the same performer. The sound of the cymbals when attachedto the drum--as they must be to render this economy feasible--is anignoble noise, fit only for bands at tea-gardens. This custom, moreover, leads mediocre composers into the habit of never employing one of theseinstruments without the other, and considering their use as solelyconfined to forcibly marking the accented parts of the bar. This is anidea fruitful in noisy platitudes; and one that has brought upon us theridiculous excesses beneath which, if a stop be not put to them, dramatic music will sooner or later sink. I conclude by expressing sincere regret at beholding choral andorchestral studies still so badly organized. Everywhere, for grandchoral and instrumental compositions, the system of rehearsals in themass is maintained. They make all the chorus-singers study at once, on the one hand; and all the instrumentalists at once, on the other. Deplorable errors, innumerable mistakes, are thus committed--particularlyin the intermediate parts--errors which the chorus-master and theconductor do not perceive. Once established, these errors degenerateinto habits, and become part and parcel of the execution. The hapless chorus-singers, moreover, are by far the worst treated ofall the performers during their studies, such as they are. Instead ofgiving them _a good conductor_, knowing the times of the differentmovements accurately, and proficient in the art of singing, to beat thetime, and make critical observations: _a good pianist_, playing _from awell-arranged pianoforte score_, upon _a good piano_; and a _violinist_, to play in unison or in octave with the voices as each part is learnedalone--instead of these three _indispensable artists_, they commit them(in two-thirds of the lyric theatres of Europe) to the superintendenceof a single man, who has no more idea of the art of conducting than ofthat of singing, who is generally a poor musician, selected from amongthe worst pianists to be found, or who cannot play the pianoforte atall--some old superannuated individual, who, seated before a batteredout-of-tune instrument, tries to decipher a dislocated score which hedoes not know, strikes false chords major, when they are minor, orvice-versa, and under the pretext of conducting and of accompanying byhimself, employs his right hand in setting the chorus-singers wrong intheir time, and his left hand in setting them wrong in their tune. One might believe one's self in the Dark Ages, on witnessing such anexhibition of Gothish economy. A faithful, well-colored, clever interpretation of a modern work, evenwhen confided to artists of a higher order, can only be obtained, Ifirmly believe, by partial rehearsals. Each part of a chorus should bestudied singly until it is thoroughly known, before combining it withthe others. The same step should be taken with regard to the orchestra, for a symphony at all complicated. The violins should first be practisedalone; the violas and basses by themselves; the wooden wind instruments(with a small band of stringed instruments, to fill in the rests, andaccustom the wind instruments to the points of re-entrance) and thebrass instruments the same; and very often it is necessary to practisethe instruments of percussion alone; and lastly, the harps, if they benumerous. The studies in combination are then far more profitable, andmore rapid; and there is then good hope of attaining fidelity ofinterpretation, now, alas, but too rare. The performances obtained by the old method of study are merely_approaches_ to achievement; beneath which so very many masterpieceshave succumbed. The superintending conductor, after the butchering of amaster, none the less serenely lays down his stick with a satisfiedsmile; and if some few misgivings remain with him as to the mode inwhich he has fulfilled his task, should no one venture at the close todispute its accomplishment, he murmurs aside: "Bah! væ victis!" HECTOR BERLIOZ. [ Transcriber's Note: The following is a list of corrections made to the original. The first line is the original line, the second the corrected one. them by the sudden appearance of the unexcepted rhythm, contradictedthem by the sudden appearance of the unexpected rhythm, contradicted conduct may conduct a considerable number of performers alone, allconductor may conduct a considerable number of performers alone, all eyes then being able to look towards him. Neverthless, the employmenteyes then being able to look towards him. Nevertheless, the employment violas, in the middle, between the two groups of violins; the flutesviolas, in the middle, between the two groups of violins; the flutes, superadded to the value of the first bar. The result of this is thesuper-added to the value of the first bar. The result of this is the with each other, is a monstrosity; the conductor, therfore, should takewith each other, is a monstrosity; the conductor, therefore, should take]