This aesthetic obstacle is, however, successfully surmounted by the fact that their songs are uttered mostly at night, when flying far overhead in the darkness; but there is no help for the statement of Albertus Magnus, which must needs be taken for better or for worse, that “When swans fight, they hiss and emit a sort of bombilation, not unlike the braying of an ass, but not so much prolonged.” The Abbe Arnaud, whose observations were said to be very minute, completes the list of odious comparisons as follows: “One can hardly say that the swans of Chantilly sing; they cry, but their cries are truly and constantly modulated; their voice is not sweet; on the contrary, it is shrill, piercing, and rather disagreeable. I could compare it to nothing better than the sound of a clarionet winded by a person unacquainted with the instrument.” Proceeding then to depict the manner of their dual concerts, he continues: “The swan, with his wings expanded, his neck stretched and his head erect, comes to place himself opposite to his mate, and utters a cry to which she replies by another which is lower by half a tone. The voice of the male passes from A to B flat; that of the female from G sharp to A. The first note is short and transient, and has the effect which our musicians call sensible, so that it is not detached from the second, but seems to slip into it. This dialogue is subjected to a constant and regular rhythm, with the measure of two times. Observe that, fortunately for the ear, they do not both sing at once!” Nuttall is likewise arrayed with the witnesses for quantity rather than quality of sound. Of the dying song, he says, “These doleful strains were heard at the dawn of day or when the winds and waves were still, and, like the syrinx of Pan, were in all probability nothing more than the murmurs and sighs of the wind through the marshes and forests graced and frequented by these elegant aquatic birds.” Speaking of the natives of Iceland comparing their notes, “very flatteringly,” to those of a violin, he suggests that “allowance be made for this predilection, when it is remembered that they hear this cheerful clarion at the close of a long and gloomy winter, and when, at the return of the swan, they listen to the harbinger of approaching summer; every note must be, therefore, melodious, which presages the speedy thaw and return of life and verdure to that gelid coast.” He adds that “it emits its notes only when flying or calling on its companions—the sound being very loud and shrill, but by no means disagreeable when heard high in the air and modulated by the winds.”