all points accurately complied with our wishes.  Forgetting for the moment all the possible embarrassments which might arise, in my genuine delight at beholding the wonderful man before me, and hearing his work conducted by himself, I at once undertook to do everything I possibly could to meet his desires.  This declaration I made with the utmost sincerity of zeal.  He smiled with almost childlike kindliness on hearing me, and I at once begged him to conduct the rehearsal arranged for the morrow.  He thereupon grew suddenly thoughtful, and began to weigh the numerous disadvantages of such an action on his part.  So acute did his agitation become that he had the greatest difficulty in expressing himself clearly on any point, and I found it no easy matter to inquire what arrangements on our part would persuade him to undertake the morrow’s rehearsal.  After a moment’s reflection he asked what sort of baton I was accustomed to use when conducting.  With my hands I indicated the approximate length and thickness of a medium-sized wooden rod, such as our choir-attendant was in the habit of supplying, freshly covered with white paper.  He sighed, and asked if I thought it possible to procure him by to-morrow a baton of black ebony, whose very respectable length and thickness he indicated by a gesture, and on each end of which a fairly large knob of ivory was to be affixed.  I promised to have one prepared for the next rehearsal, which should at least be similar in appearance to what he desired, and another of the specified materials in time for the actual performance.  Visibly relieved, he then passed his hand over his brow, and granted me permission to announce his consent to conduct on the following day.  After once more strongly enforcing his instructions as to the baton, he went back to his hotel.

I seemed to be moving in a dream, and hastened in a whirl-wind of excitement to publish the news of what had happened and was to be expected.  We were fairly trapped.  Schroder-Devrient offered to become our scapegoat, while I entered into precise details with the theatre carpenter concerning the baton.  This turned out so far correct that it possessed the requisite length and breadth, was black in its colour, and had two large white knobs.  Then came the fateful rehearsal.  Spontini was evidently ill at ease on his seat in the orchestra.  First of all he wished to have the oboists placed behind him.  As this partial change of position just at that moment would have caused much confusion in the disposition of the orchestra, I promised to effect the alteration after the rehearsal.  He said no more, and took up his baton.  In a moment I understood why he attached such importance to its form and size.  He held it, not as other conductors do, by the end, but gripped it about the middle with his clenched fist, waving it so as to make it evident that he wielded his baton like a field-marshal’s staff, not for beating time, but for command.