Alice in Orchestralia, Chapter VI

          Alice was enjoying the tea party enormously, but the musical chimes of a large grandfather clock warned her that the hour was growing late and that she must be on her way if she wished to call on the other instruments before dinner time. So she drew her host aside and begged him to excuse her, which he very graciously did, accompanying her as far as the gate to point out the way.
          ”You can’t mistake the road,” he said. “Just take the first turning to the right and then keep straight ahead, and you will soon come to Brassydale, where the brass instruments live. It’s a small village, separated from this one only by the Wood. I’m sorry not to go with you, but I can’t very well leave my other guests.”
          ”Of course not,” said Alice. “Anyhow, I’m sure I can find the way. So good-bye - and thank you very much. I’ve had a delightful time.”
          Alice followed the road the Oboe had indicated, and soon found herself in the Wood, which proved to be a beautiful shady park. The path lay along the bank of a little brook which rippled and murmured and tinkled delightfully. Alice had never heard such a musical brook. Indeed, it seemed to be singing a distinct and charming melody, which Alice, after listening carefully for a few moments, was able to hum along with it.
          Alice thought the song beautiful and made up her mind never to forget it, so she kept humming it over and over to herself as she went along.
          Thus far she had found the path quite easy to follow, but presently she came to a place where it divided, one branch continuing straight ahead, the other turning off to the right. She hesitated, and was looking about for some guide or signpost to tell her which branch to take when she spied a small tent a few yards back from the path. Before it on a log sat a forlorn-looking instrument which resembled a huge Dutch pipe with a very thick stem. It was about eighteen inches high, and its body, which was made of brass, tapered upward to a slender neck that was bent sharply backward and had a clarinet mouthpiece attached to it, while the other end flared out into a large upturned bell.
          Alice approached the tent and addressed its proprietor.
          ”Excuse me,” she said, “can you tell me which of those paths leads to Brassydale?”
          ”Yes,” replied the instrument, surlily.
          Alice waited expectantly, but as he did not seem disposed to say anything further, she finally asked, as politely as possible:
          ”Well, then, which path does lead there?”
          The instrument stared at her morosely. “It’s no use going there,” he said, at length. “They won’t let you stay. They always turn me out - and you’re certainly not as much of a brass instrument as I am.”
          His voice was hoarse, as if he might have caught cold from sleeping in the woods, and he appeared so miserable that Alice couldn’t help feeling sorry for him.
          ”Why do they turn you out?” she asked.
          ”They claim I’m a wood-wind instrument, because I’ve got a reed like a clarinet, and they say I ought to go and live in Panopolis.”
          ”Then why don’t you?”
          ”Oh, I’ve tried to, time and again, but it’s no use. The wood-wind instruments say I belong in Brassydale, because my body is made of brass. So at last I got this tent and pitched it here, halfway between the two villages. It’s damp and rather lonely, but at least they can’t turn me out of it. So you’d better get yourself a tent at once, and save a lot of bother. I’ll show you how to pitch it.”
          ”Thank you very much,” said Alice, “but I’m only a visitor, so I think I’ll go on to Brassydale. They’ll surely let me stay a little while. I think it’s a shame, though, the way they treat you.”
          ”I’m glad to see you have some sense of justice,” said the instrument. “What is your name?”
          Alice told him.
          ”Mine,” he said, “is Saxophone.”
          ”Oh!” cried Alice, “I’ve heard of you, often. Do you belong to the orchestra, too?”
          ”I’m not a regular member; they only let me play in it occasionally. They say I’m too unrefined to associate with them - the snobs!”
          ”Why,” said Alice, “I don’t think that’s a bit nice of them. I’m sure you’re - “ she hesitated. The Saxophone had sunk into a gloomy meditation, and she decided that she had better leave him to ponder his grievances in solitude.
          ”If you will kindly tell me which path to take - “ she began, but the Saxophone interrupted her curtly.
          ”If you insist on going there, in spite of my advice, take the right-hand path.”
          ”Goodness!” thought Alice, “he can be disagreeable when he tries. Maybe the other instruments were right, after all.” And without further ado she turned and walked away down the right-hand path.
          The path presently became a road, and the road a village street which ended at a square in the centre of the town. The square was thronged with brass instruments of all shapes and sizes, some strolling about in groups, some sitting on benches, others lounging comfortably on the soft grass of the lawns, all listening to spirited strains of music which came from a little circular pavilion, with a roof like a Japanese umbrella, which stood in the middle of the square.
          Some of the instruments stared at Alice curiously as she passed, but as they didn’t seem unfriendly she was not a bit afraid; and making her way to a point near the pavilion, she found a seat from which she could both see and hear all that went on. She had scarcely sat down, however, when the music came to an end, and the instruments in the pavilion arose and began to pack up their musicians, which, Alice noticed, were dressed, not in tail coats and striped trousers, but in neat blue uniforms trimmed with gold braid.
          ”Oh, dear!” Alice sighed, “aren’t they going to play any more?”
          ”Not to-day, I’m afraid,” said a mellow, bell-like voice close beside her.
          Alice was startled. She had not realized that she was speaking aloud, and the answer to her question was unexpected. Turning quickly, she saw seated on the other end of her bench a gleaming, rotund instrument who smiled at her amiably. He consisted of a circular coil of brass tube, about as thick as a pencil at one end and flaring out at the other into a bell as large as a dinner plate. Within the circular coil were several loops of tube connected with three valves, to which were attached levers evidently intended to be operated by the player’s fingers; and the smaller end of his tube was fitted with a mouthpiece shaped like a tiny funnel. If all his coils and loops had been straightened out he would have been about twelve feet long, but as it was he would have fitted snugly into a bushel basket.
          ”You arrived just a bit too late,” he said, beaming genially upon Alice. “The concerts end at five o’clock.”
          ”Oh, I’m sorry!” Alice exclaimed. “I should have liked to much to hear the orchestra. It must be a very fine one.”
          ”It isn’t an orchestra - it’s a military band; but it’s a very good band. We’re quite proud of it.”
          ”Aren’t a band and an orchestra the same thing?” Alice inquired.
          ”Oh, no,” said the instrument. “A band has no strings - no violins or violas or ‘cellos - only wind and percussion instruments.”
          ”Which is the best?” Alice asked.
          ”Well,” replied the instrument, “that depends. The band can play louder than the orchestra, which makes it more effective for concerts in the open air or for military music. But of course it lacks the variety and refinement of the symphony orchestra.”
          ”Which do you play in?”
          ”Both. But I really do my best work in the orchestra. I think I may say that I am one of its most important members, because I am the only one whose tone blends equally well with the tone of the strings, the wood-wind, or the other brasses.”
          Alice was duly impressed, and wondered who this very important personage could be.
          ”Would you mind telling me your name?” she said.
          The instrument looked at her in surprise.
          ”Do you mean to say that you don’t know who I am!”
          ”Why, I’m afraid I’m very ignorant,” Alice confessed, “but, you see, I’m not acquainted with all the members of the orchestra yet. I’ve met the strings and the wood-wind, but I haven’t been introduced to the brass instruments, so you must excuse me for not knowing who you are.”
          ”In that case you are not to blame,” said the instrument condescendingly, “so I will forgive you this time. I am a horn - sometimes called ’French horn’ because my valves were invented by a Frenchman. Before the invention of valves, you know, we horns had our limitations. The only tones that we could play were what are called the ’natural tones’ or ’harmonics.’ Do you know what ’harmonics’ are?”
          ”Yes,” said Alice; “the First Violin showed me how to play them by touching a string so that it vibrated in several sections. But you have no strings, so how can you play harmonics?”
          ”By causing the column of air in my tube to vibrate in several sections. By regulating the pressure of his lips on the mouthpiece and the force with which he blows into it, the player can produce any harmonic he pleases without using the valves at all.”
          ”Then,” said Alice, “what are the valves for?”
          ”They serve the same purpose as the finger-holes and keys of the wood-wind instruments,” the Horn explained. “That is, they alter the length of my tube, so that I can play all the tones of the scale. Without them I can play only the harmonics, which are the notes you hear in bugle calls. Let us suppose that instead of a modern French horn I were an old-fashioned ‘natural horn’ in the key of F - such a horn as Beethoven composed for. I could play bugle calls and hunting calls in the key of F, but I could not play a complete scale; and if I wanted to play in any other key I would have to lengthen my tube by inserting an extra section called a ‘crook.’ That would take a lot of time and trouble, so it would be impossible for me to change from one key to another very quickly. But now my crooks, instead of being separate lengths of tubing, are fixed to my body and provided with valves, in such a way that the pressure of the player’s fingers can bring them instantly into play, either separately or all together. In this way my pitch can be lowered from one to six half-tones, which makes it possible for me to play a complete chromatic scale - that is, the kind of scale you can play on the piano, using both the white and black keys.”
          ”I’m sure that’s a great improvement,” said Alice. “It must have been rather dull having to play always in the same key, and only a few notes in that.”
          ”In a way it was,” the Horn agreed. “Yet, it’s simply marvelous how the old composers, who never dreamed of valves, made their horn parts interesting and beautiful. You should hear the lovely horn passage in Weber’s overture to ‘Der Freischutz.’ It was written for four natural horns, but by using two horns in F and two in C the composer was able to command all the tones he needed, just as if the horns had been equipped with valves.”
          ”How many horns are there in the orchestra?” Alice asked.
          ”Generally there are four. For many of the older compositions only two are needed, but modern works usually call for four, or even more. And nowadays we are kept very busy. Of course, no wind instrument can play as continuously as the strings; the strain on the player’s lips and lungs is too great. So all considerate composers give us frequent rests. As far as most wind instruments are concerned it’s fortunate that they have to do so, for the listener would grow tired of their penetrating tone if he heard too much of it. But with the horns it’s different. We have such a variety of tone quality that one could listen to us almost indefinitely without being bored. Our range of emotional expression is almost as great as that of the strings. We can play nearly as softly as the violins, and much more loudly. We can blare as brazenly as trombones, or coo as gently as flutes. Our open tones are clear and noble, and our ‘stopped’ ones hushed and mysterious.”
          ”Excuse me,” Alice interrupted, “but what do you mean by ‘stopped’ tones?”
          ”To make that clear,” said the Horn, “I must first explain the manner in which the player holds me, which is rather peculiar. His lips of course, are pressed against my mouthpiece, and the fingers of his left hand operate my valves. My bell then projects backward on his right side, and he supports my weight by placing his right hand inside my bell, the opening of which he can, when he wishes, partially close by making a cup of his hand. That produces a subdued veiled sound called a ‘stopped’ tone.”
          ”I see,” said Alice; “it’s like putting a mute on a violin.”
          ”Somewhat,” the Horn agreed; “but we have mutes too.” He held up a queer little object of brass which, like his mouthpiece, resembled a funnel, but it was considerably larger than the mouthpiece and its rim was covered with cork. “This,” he said, “is my mute. It fits into my bell, and as it closes it more tightly thant the player’s hand it subdues the tone still more. If the player then blows very hard my tone sounds thin and ‘reedy,’ somewhat like the English horn. It is an ominous, threatening tone, and composers often use it to express fear or anger. Listen.” He inserted the mute into his bell and suddenly emitted a frightful sound, something between a roar and a bleat. Alice jumped and gave a little cry of alarm.
          ”Here, Pierre!” said a clear, ringing voice close behind her. “What are you up to, frightening this young lady into fits?”
          The Horn smiled, a bit sheepishly.
          ”Hello, Fred,” he said, removing his mute and speaking in his natural voice. “I was just showing the young lady how Grieg has used my muted tone to imitate the snarling of the Trolls in his ‘Peer Gynt’ music. I didn’t mean to frighten her.”
          ”I wasn’t frightened - really,” said Alice; “only startled. It was so sudden.”
          ”Then we forgive him,” said the newcomer, “but he’d better not let it happen again.”
          ”All right,” said the Horn, good-humoredly; “I promise to be more careful in the future. And now I suppose I ought to present you to the young lady whom you’ve so gallantly rescued from danger. Young lady, allow me to present my friend the Trumpet.”
          The Trumpet bowed. In appearance he differed greatly from the Horn, his tube being only about half as long and coiled into an oblong instead of a circular shape, and his bell was much smaller than the Horn’s. The keys which operated his valves were of a different type, and his voice, though higher in pitch than the Horn’s was bolder and had a decidedly metallic quality. He carried himself with a military bearing and spoke with the assurance of one accustomed to give orders.
          ”I’m sure,” thought Alice, “that he must have served in the army.”
          ”I have just been explaining to our young friend,” said the Horn, “some of the peculiarities of our family. She takes a very intelligent interest in the subject, and would no doubt be glad to learn something of your own personal characteristics.”
          ”Oh, yes!” said Alice eagerly to the Trumpet. “Please tell me all about yourself.”
          ”I should be happy to oblige you,” he said, “but I’m afraid I should bore you by repeating a lot of what Pierre has already told you. So I think he had better continue the story.”
          ”Very well,” agreed the Horn. “I accept the responsibility on the condition that you stand by to correct me in case I make any mistakes.”
          ”To go back to the very beginning of the story, the Trumpet was born, so to speak, on the battlefield, while I was born in the forest. The Trumpet was originally a soldier, while I was originally a huntsman.”
          ”Aha! thought Alice, “I was right about his having been in the army.”
          ”For a long, long time the Trumpet, like myself, had no valves. Therefore he could only play the ‘natural’ tones of the scale; but now he too has valves which enable him to play all the notes of the chromatic scale. In that respect, you see, our histories are quite similar. But in character, as well as in appearance, we differ greatly. As I have already pointed out, the Trumpet was originally a military instrument, and while he is no longer restricted to martial music, he still retains his old brilliance and boldness - still suggest the dashing warrior. True, he can sing as gently and sweetly as you please - when he wishes to; but when he chooses to open that brazen throat of his and shout with all his might, the very walls tremble. He fairly deafens us at times.”
          ”Couldn’t he be muted?” Alice inquired, looking slyly at the Trumpet.
          ”Oh, yes,” said the Horn. “Sometimes he is. Fred, let the young lady hear your voice with the mute.”
          The Trumpet obligingly produced his mute, which was a sort of hollow cone made of tough cardboard, and inserted it in his bell.
          ”You would scarcely recognize me now, would you?” he said. His voice had become thin and nasal, with a strong “reedy” quality.
          ”Now,” said the Horn, when the demonstration was concluded, “I must tell you something about the brass section as a whole. It is composed of trumpets, horns, trombones, and a bass tuba. Together, they form a quartet similar to the string quartet and the wood-wind quartet, the trumpets taking the soprano part, the horns the alto, the trombones the tenor, and the tuba the bass. It is only in modern compositions, however, that you will find all of these instruments employed. The older composers, up to the time of Beethoven, never wrote for the tuba - which is a comparatively new instrument - and rarely for trombones. The brass section of their orchestra consisted merely of two trumpets and two horns; but nowadays composers generally require from two to four trumpets, four or more horns, three trombones, and one tuba. With all these instruments they can obtain a volume of sound that is almost overpowering, while with the three trombones and tuba they can reproduce the most sonorous and beautiful organ effects. But you have not yet me the Trombone and the Tuba, have you?”
          Alice shook her head.
          The Horn glanced round the square, through which a few instruments were still strolling. Among them was one of rather less complicated form than his fellows. His tube, which was fitted with a cup-shaped mouthpiece, extended straight downward for about three feet, then doubled back in the opposite direction, and finally curved downward again and ended in a bell nearly as large as the Horn’s. He had neither crooks nor valves, which gave him an appearance of dignified simplicity.
          The Horn pointed him out to Alice. “There,” he said, “is a Trombone.”
          ”Why, I recognize him,” said Alice. “He slides in and out like a telescope, doesn’t he?”
          ”He does,” said the Horn. “Do you know why?”
          ”No, I’m afraid I don’t,” Alice confessed.
          ”Then let me explain. As you know, in order for a wind instrument to play a complete scale it is necessary to alter its length. In the case of the wood-wind instruments that is done by covering or uncovering holes which are pierced in the tube. Trumpets and horns achieve the same result by means of crooks controlled by valves. The trombone, however, has neither finger-holes nor valves. Instead, it is provided with one long crook, called a ‘slide’; and by moving this slide out or in the tube can be lengthened or shortened sufficiently to produce all the tones of the chromatic scale. It’s a very simple arrangement. Too bad that the same idea could not have been applied to us, instead of all these complicated crooks and valves; but we are coiled up into so many curves and loops that was impossible. Most of the trombone’s tube, you observe, is straight. It is bent in only two places, which not only makes the slide arrangement possible, but is chiefly responsible for the remarkable purity and nobility of his tone.”
          ”Is he always so calm and dignified?” Alice inquired, much impressed by the majestic bearing of the Trombone.
          ”Not always,” replied the Horn. “Occasionally he loses his temper, and when he’s angry his voice is absolutely terrifying. But usually he is in a mood of noble exaltation, and at times he’s as religious as a monk. A quartet of three trombones and a bass tuba can play hymns or chorales with a solemnity that is awe-inspiring.”
          ”What is the Tuba like?” Alice asked.
    &Nbsp     ”You can see for yourself,” said the Horn. “That is he who has just joined the Trombone.”
          Alice beheld an enormous, clumsy instrument which waddled beside the erect and austere Trombone with the gait of an excessively fat duck. The contrast between the pair was so comical that Alice could not help laughing. They reminded her of Jack Sprat and his wife. Presently a puzzled expression came into her eyes. What was it about the Tuba that seemed vaguely familiar? Where had she seen that mouthpiece, almost as large as a teacup; those bewildering coils of fat brass tube, and that huge upturned bell, large enough to swallow her? Try as she might, she could not quite remember. Somewhere she had encountered this instrument before; but it was all very dim and far away and confusing, and after a moment she dismissed the question from her mind.
          ”I do wish I could hear his voice,” she said to the Horn. “It must be frightfully deep.”
          ”It is indeed,” the Horn assured her. “Next to the Double Bassoon's his voice is the lowest in the orchestra - except his brother’s that is. He has a big brother, you know - the Double Bass Tuba - who can reach the lowest B-flat on the piano. But the brother is so ponderous that he seldom goes out. You will rarely find him at orchestral concerts. At all events, the Bass Tuba’s voice is quite low enough and powerful enough for ordinary purposes. His compass extends from the B-flat below Middle C down to the lowest E-flat on the piano, and he sounds like the rumble of distant thunder. There! -- you can hear him now.”
          The Tuba had suddenly been seized with merriment, and his chuckles filled the square with waves of reverberating sound, so low in pitch that Alice was not sure whether she heard it or only felt it, as one sometimes feels the vibration of a passing train.
          ”Ooh!” she cried, “that’s funny! I wish he’d do it again.”
          But the Tuba had recovered his gravity, and presently passed out of sight, walking arm in arm with his sedate companion, the Trombone.
          ”Now,” said the Horn, “I think you are acquainted with all the members of our interesting family.”
          ”You forget,” interposed the Trumpet, “my cousin the Cornet. The Cornet,” he explained to Alice, “is a sort of poor relation of mine who, I regret to say, is not often admitted into the best instrumental society.”
          ”Why not?” Alice demanded. “Doesn’t he behave properly?”
          ”He behaves as well as he can,” said the Trumpet. “He means well, but the poor fellow is rather lacking in tone. He has neither brilliance nor refinement - and the worst of it is that he looks so much like me that we are sometimes mistaken for one another. But of course no really observant person would be guilty of that error, for he’s shorter than I am and a good deal stouter.
          Alice asked what he did in the orchestra.
          ”He very seldom does anything at all,” said the Trumpet, “except in inferior orchestras that have no trumpets. Then he sometimes has the presumption to try to take my place. Otherwise he is only permitted to help in producing certain rather vulgar effects, as in Tschaikowsky’s ‘Italian Caprice,’ where two cornets sing a Neapolitan street song. For that sort of thing I must say his tone does well enough. By the bye, are you going to the concert this evening?”
          Alice assured him that she would not miss it for anything.
          ”Quite right,” said the Trumpet. “It will be a splendid opportunity for you to see and hear us all in action, for the programme is unusually varied and interesting. May I have the pleasure of escorting you to the hall?”
          ”Thank you very much,” said Alice, rather flattered at receiving an invitation from so distinguished a personage. “I’m afraid, though, I shall have to go alone. You see, I have to visit some other instruments first - the drums and things.”
          ”Oh,” said the Trumpet, “you haven’t met the percussion instruments yet? Come with me, then - we’ll call on them at once. They live at the Battery, sometimes called the ‘Kitchen’ because it’s so full of pots and pans and things. It’s just at the end of the village.” The Trumpet offered his arm, and Alice, after thanking the genial Horn for his kindness, was led away by her new guide.