has not first received, nor transmit what he has not first experienced.
The music, the painting, the poem are merely the instruments which he
uses for that purpose. The life must first be in him or the so-called
music, painting, poem are but dead simulacra; imitations of art, not
real art. This is the reason why no mechanical device, be it never so
skillfully contrived, can ever take the place of the living artist. The
pianola can never rival the living performer; nor the orchestrion the
orchestra; nor the chromo the painting. No mechanical device has yet
been invented to produce poetry; even if some shrewd Yankee should
invent a printing machine which would pick out rhymes as some printing
machines seem to pick out letters, the result would not be a poem. This
is the reason too why mere perfection of execution never really
satisfies. "She sings like a bird." Yes! and that is exactly the
difficulty with her. We want one who sings like a woman. The popular
criticism of the mere musical expert that he has no soul, is profound
and true. It is soul we want; for the piano, the organ, the violin, the
orchestra, are only instruments for the transmission of soul. This is
also the reason why the most flawless conductor is not always the best.
He must have a soul capable of reading the soul of the composer; and the
orchestra must receive the life of the composer as that is interpreted
to them through the life of the conductor, or the performance will be a
soulless performance.

Into each of these arts, therefore--music, painting, poetry--enter two
elements: the inner and the outer, the truth and the language, the
reality and the symbol, the life and the expression. Without the
electric current the carbon is a mere blank thread; the electric current
is not luminous if there be no carbon. The life and the form are alike
essential. So the painter must have something to express, but he must
also have skill to express it; the musician must have music in his soul,