such inexactness, into which they almost all are led to fall
unawares; and then, while conducting, must cast a glance towards them at
the decisive moment, and _anticipate a little_, by beating the first
beat of the bar where they come in. It is incredible how difficult it is
to prevent trumpet-players from doubling the value of a quaver-rest thus
placed.

When a long _accelerando, little by little_, is indicated by the
composer, for passing from an allegro moderato to a presto, the majority
of orchestral conductors hurry the time _by jerks_, instead of quickening
it equally throughout, by an insensible onward rate. This should be
carefully avoided.

The same remark applies to the converse proposition. It is even more
difficult to slacken a quick time smoothly, and without checks, so as
to transform it little by little into a slow time. Often, from a desire
to testify zeal, or from defect of delivery in his musical feeling, a
conductor demands from his players _an exaggeration of nice gradations_.
He comprehends neither the character nor the style of the piece. The
gradations then become so many blemishes; the accents, yells; the
intentions of the poor composer are totally disfigured and perverted;
while those of the orchestral conductor--however politely meant they may
be--are none the less injurious: like the caresses of the ass in the
fable, who crushed his master while fondling him.

And now let us instance many deplorable abuses that are obtained in
almost all the orchestras of Europe--abuses which reduce composers to
despair, and which it is the duty of conductors to abolish as soon as
possible.

Performers playing stringed instruments will rarely give themselves the
trouble to play a _tremolo_; they substitute for this very characteristic
effect, a tame repetition of the note, half, and sometimes three-quarters
slower than the one whence results the tremolo: instead of demisemiquavers,
they make triple or double ones; and in lieu of producing sixty-four notes
in a bar in four-time (adagio), they produce only thirty-two, or even
sixteen. 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 from
a dread of being unable to achieve certain difficulties--to simplify
their part. This race of simplifiers has existed for forty years; but it
cannot endure any longer. In anc