Chapter VIII: A Concert in Orchestralia

Pre-Reading Vocabulary


          The walk back to Fiddladelphia, where the concert was to take place, seemed to Alice to take almost no time at all. The Trumpet knew a short cut across the fields, and as they proceeded he entertained Alice with anecdotes of his career so amusing that she was sorry when they arrived at the Conservatory and the stories came to an end. As they entered the great marble hall crowds of instruments of all kinds - string, wood-wind, brass, and percussion - were arriving and flocking into the auditorium; but standing aside from the throng, alone and neglected, was a very large and beautiful instrument which Alice had not seen before. It was nearly six feet tall, triangular in shape, and made of beautiful cream-colored wood lavishly ornamented with gold. Across its triangular frame from top to bottom ran a large number of strings, placed about three quarters of an inch apart, and from the rear of the pedestal on which it stood projected seven pedals like the pedals of a piano.
          Alice knew without being told that it must be a harp, for she had seen many pictures of harps of different kinds, and while this one was much larger than she had ever imagined a harp could be she recognized it for a member of that ancient and noble family.
          Observing Alice’s gaze fixed on the Harp, the Trumpet said: “Evidently there is one member of our family whom you have not met, after all; shall I present him?”
          ”Oh, please do,” said Alice. “But first tell me something about him. Why does he seem so lonely?”
          ”Well, you see, he’s not a regular member of the orchestra. He plays with us only occasionally, mostly in rather modern compositions, so he never has a chance to get really well acquainted with the rest of us. That’s why he holds himself somewhat aloof.”
          ”But surely he must have some friends in the village,” said Alice. “Does he live in Fiddladelphia?”
          ”No,” said the Trumpet; “and, strange as it may seem, nobody knows exactly where he does live. You see, he’s a stringed instrument, of course - that’s plain as day, because he has lots of strings - forty-six of them; but he’s certainly not a fiddle, because he’s not played with a bow. Therefore he doesn’t belong in Fiddladelphia. He’s not a wind instrument either, so he doesn’t belong in Panopolis or Brassydale, and he’s not a percussion instrument, so his place is not in the ‘Kitchen.’ He’s such a modest sort of chap and so seldom talks about himself that we’ve never found out where his home is, but we suspect that it’s out in the country, with the pianos.”
          ”Why,” said Alice, “are there pianos in Orchestralia too?”
          ”Only a few. They are not really orchestral instruments, but occasionally they are called on to help us out - to-night, as it happens, we shall have the assistance of two of them.”
          ”Oh, good!” Alice exclaimed. “I’m so glad they do have pianos in orchestras sometimes; perhaps I can play in an orchestra some day!”
          ”There’s no reason why you shouldn’t - if you practise hard,” said the Trumpet, encouragingly. “But let me tell you a little more about the Harp. As I said, he has forty-six strings, which give him a compass of a little more than six octaves - a range almost as great as that of the piano; but in most respects, he differs widely from the piano and is much more limited as to the kinds of music he can play. In a way, he is somewhat like a piano with the black keys missing, for his strings are tuned to what we call the diatonic scale - that is, the scale without any accidental sharps or flats - and, while each string can be sharpened a half tone or a whole tone by means of the pedals, it can’t be done rapidly enough to enable him to play chromatic passages - which, as you know, means successions of half tones. So what he usually does is to play broken chords, which are called arpeggios, a term derived from arpa, the Italian word for harp. Those he can play in any key - provided you give him time to change his pedals. He also has a very brilliant and thrill trick called the glissando, which no other instrument can imitate. It is done by running the finger rapidly up and down the strings, which produces a perfect cascade of lovely tones. The effect is simply indescribable; once you have heard it you will never forget it. And now let us go and speak to the Harp, for it’s nearly time to take our seats.”
          Alice found the Harp a most agreeable instrument, with his gentle, courteous manners and mellow, resonant voice, and when the Trumpet presently departed to take his place on the stage she accepted with pleasure the Harp’s offer to sit beside her during the first part of the programme (he had nothing to play until the last number) and to explain anything she might find puzzling.
          Their seats were in a box, quite near the stage, from which point Alice had an excellent view of the entire orchestra, all of whose members she now knew by sight and by name - all, that is, except one, for presently there emerged from behind the scenes an instrument which appeared to be nothing more than a slender white stick about eighteen inches long.
          ”Who is that?” Alice asked in a whisper.
          ”Why, that,” replied the Harp, “is Mr. Baton.”
          ”What a queer-looking instrument!” said Alice. “What sort of sound does he make?”
          ”He doesn’t make any sound at all - only motions. You see, he’s the conductor.”
          Mr. Baton, who in the meantime had crossed the stage to the little raised platform in the center, bowed in acknowledgment of the applause which greet his appearance and then sprang lightly into the waiting hand of the very distinguished-looking dummy which stood upon the platform - and instantly he seemed to lose his individuality and become merely a slender white stick which the distinguished-looking dummy appeared to do with as it pleased. The first thing it did was to rap with the stick upon the desk which held its music, whereupon the audience all stopped talking and fidgeting and rustling their programmes. Then it made a sign to the First ‘Cello, who began to play, all alone, a phrase which began on his lowest string and soared upward to a note far up on his highest string. It reminded Alice of a mountain peak rising majestically out of the valley; indeed, throughout the entire introduction, which was played by five ‘cellos, accompanied only by the basses, she had but to close her eyes to imagine herself in some high Alpine valley, surrounded by snow-covered peaks - and that was strange, for Alice had never seen the Alps; but there was something about the music that seemed to tell her what they were like.
          Presently, through the song of the ‘cellos was heard the muttering of distant thunder. Alice knew, of course, that it came from the kettle-drum, but it sounded so much like real thunder that she couldn’t help wishing that she had brought her umbrella. After a moment there was another peal of thunder, nearer now; and then, as the sunny melody in the ‘cellos was gradually blotted out by the gathering clouds, the storm began. At first there was only the uneasy stirring of the wind in the violins and a few scattered drops of rain in the wood-winds; but soon the wind increased in violence, the peals of thunder grew louder, and the tempest broke in all its fury, with lightning flashing and rain pouring in torrents.
          The storm spent its fury at last, and as the clouds rolled away over the mountains Alice heard the song of a bird (sung by the silvery flute) rejoicing because the sunshine had come back again. Then came the sound of a shepherd’s pipe - Alice recognized her melancholy friend, the English Horn - whose plaintive notes were repeated by the echo from across the valley. The scene was now a lovely, tranquil one of green pastures and grazing flocks of sheep over which the shepherd kept watch while he played upon his pipe. All was as calm and peaceful as could be, and nobody seemed to have anything very pressing to do - except the First Flute. He was kept extremely busy representing both the echo and the bird, which seemed to be inspired by the shepherd’s pipe to sing the most elaborate and difficult songs it could think of.
          Suddenly the shepherd’s piping and the bird’s song were interrupted by a trumpet call, answered by a fanfare of hunting horns, and out of the forest came a splendid procession of soldiers and huntsmen, all clad in green and armed with spears and swords and cross-bows. They passed down the valley to the tune of a gay, triumphant march, in which the entire orchestra joined; then, just as they had all assembled in an open space, as if to hold some kind of celebration, the music rose to a tremendous climax and came to an end; and with the final chord the scene vanished, and Alice saw only the stage with its array of instruments, and Mr. Baton, the conductor, bowing his thanks for the applause.
          Alice was amazed to find how music seemed to tell her stories and make her see pictures - “moving pictures,” only they were better, because the “movies” were merely black and white, while these were full of beautiful, brilliant colors.
          ”Did you like that number?” the Harp inquired.
          ”Oh, it was simply marvelous!” Alice exclaimed. “What is the name of it?”
          ”Tell me first,” said the Harp, “what you think it meant - what it seemed to express.”
          ”Why,” said Alice, enthusiastically, “it was all about mountains and a storm and a shepherd playing on his pipe and soldiers with bows and arrows!”
          ”What makes you think they had bows and arrows?” said the Harp. “Why not guns?”
          ”Oh, no,” said Alice, positively, “the music sounded like bows and arrows - not like guns at all.”
          ”Well,” said the Harp, laughing, “you’re quite right; for that piece was the overture to ‘William Tell,’ which, as you may know, is an opera by Rossini. Its scene is laid in Switzerland, about five hundred years ago, and it tells the story of a patriot who freed his country from a foreign tyrant.”
          ”Oh, yes - I know,” cried Alice. “William Tell shot an apple off his little boy’s head with his bow and arrow!”
          ”Exactly,” said the Harp. “But we mustn’t talk any more now, for the next piece is about to begin. It’s the second movement from Beethoven’s Sixth Symphony, and it’s called ‘The Scene by the Brook.’ Listen attentively and you’ll hear the murmuring of the water and the singing of birds, and all the lovely sounds of nature on a summer day.”
          As the orchestra began to play again Alice gave a little start of surprise. What was that gentle, flowing, rippling melody that the strings were singing, and why did it seem so familiar to her? All at once she remembered: it was the song of the brook which she had heard and learned by heart on her way from Panopolis to Brassydale. But now it was fuller and richer, as if the brook had joined other brooks and become almost a river. On and on it flowed, calmly and smoothly, never hurrying, constantly changing and yet always the same, while the sound of the breeze among the rushes and the songs of birds in the trees added richness and variety to the ever-changing harmonies. Just before the end a nightingale began to sing - it was really the flute, of course- and the brook seemed to stop flowing, as if to listen. A quail and a cuckoo - really the oboe and clarinet - answered the nightingale, and then gradually darkness fell and all was silent.
          The next number on the programme proved to be of quite a different kind - gay and jolly and full of excellent musical jokes. It was called “The Carnival of the Animals,” and the Harp told Alice that, though it had been written by Saint-Saens, the famous French composer, many years ago, he had permitted it to be played only two or three times during his life, so that very few people had ever heard it. It was really a suite, or series, of fourteen short pieces, each one representing some member of the animals kingdom. The first was called the “Royal March of the Lion,” and Alice was astonished to find how well pianos - there were two of them in the orchestra for his number - could imitate the roaring of King of Beasts.
          The next movement was called “Hens and Roosters,” and from the way the pianos and the violins and violas and the clarinet cackled and crowed one would have thought that they had all grown feathers and turned into barnyard fowls. In the third movement the two pianos alone gave a wonderful imitation of the fleet-footed wild donkeys running at furious speed over the plains. Then came “Turtles,” represented by the strings playing a very fast very slowly, which suggested most amusingly the motions of those clumsy creatures.
          The title of the next movement was “Elephants,” and Alice remembered that the First Violin had told her that in this piece the basses gave an imitation of elephants dancing a minuet. Sure enough, they did, and so well that although Alice had never seen elephants dance a minuet she could quite well imagine them doing it, with their ears and trunks waving solemnly, and trying very hard to be graceful. The effect was so funny that all the audience laughed aloud.
          The next piece was a realistic imitation by the pianos of two kangaroos hopping about on their enormous hind legs; and then came one called “The Aquarium,” in which the Flute, the Celesta, and the muted strings represented the cool, transparent water, through which, like lazy, many-hued fish, swam graceful piano arpeggios.
          ”Persons with Long Ears” was the title of the next movement, and Alice wondered whether they were rabbits or donkeys. She soon found out, for the violins began to bray so plaintively that she was sorry she hadn’t any carrots to offer them. They very soon ceased complaining, however, and the pianos began to play beautiful soft chords which made one think of a forest at twilight; and presently, from very far away - it was the Clarinet, the Harp explained, playing behind the scenes - came the notes of a cuckoo. Alice knew it was a cuckoo because it sounded like the one in the tall clock at home, except that it was much softer and more musical.
          In the movement which followed, called “The Bird House,” all the little twittering, chirping birds in the world seemed to be gathered together. It was difficult to believe that they were really only the flute, pianos, and stringed instruments of the orchestra. The next piece puzzled Alice a little, for it was called “Pianists,” and she didn’t quite see why they should be included among the birds and beasts; but she couldn’t help laughing at the imitation of a young pianist practising scales and exercises, for it sounded so much like her own early attempts to master the difficulties of Czerny. The next movement was called “Fossils,” and the Harp had to explain that fossils were the remains of prehistoric animals that had been dead thousands of years - one saw them in natural history museums, you know. They were represented by some very old tunes which the composer apparently thought had been heard often enough and ought to be kept in museums too. After that came a lovely serene movement called “The Swan,” in which the pianos played a soft, rippling accompaniment while a beautiful melody in the ‘cello glided about with all the stately grace of that most graceful water-fowl. The final movement, which came next, brought all the animals together in a sort of general jollification, and the suite ended with the merry braying of the “persons with long ears.”
          Only one more number remained to be played, and that, the programme stated was the “Waltz of the Flowers,” by Tschaikowsky. Alice didn’t dare try to pronounce the composer’s name - it seemed to be full of letters that didn’t match - and the Harp wasn’t there to help her, for he had a part to play in this piece and had gone to take his place on the stage. But she felt sure that the music would be less forbidding than the strange collection of consonants in the composer’s name - and it was. It began with an introduction in which the swaying waltz theme was announced by the wood-wind and horns, while the Harp played great sweeping arpeggios. Then the sound of the wind instruments died away, leaving the Harp to execute a brilliant cadenza, or solo passage, that surged upward, higher and higher, like waves on a beach, and then subsided gradually, to end in a series of rippling chords. The waltz rhythm then began again with plucked chords in the lower stringed instruments, and presently the horns again took up the lilting, swinging theme, which the Clarinet embroidered now and then with a delicate tracery of notes. It seemed to Alice as if she were in an enchanted garden, surrounded by vast numbers of flowers of every kind and color, all swaying and nodding and bowing in time with the music. More and more exciting grew the dance; new themes appeared, more enchanting than the first; new instruments added their voices to the chorus; more and more dizzying became the motions of the swaying blossoms. Then, suddenly, with a deafening crash, the music ceased.
          Alice felt quite bewildered. She rubbed her eyes and stared at the stage. Something appeared to be wrong with the orchestra, though she was not sure what it was. Then she noticed that Mr. Baton was not bowing his acknowledgment of the applause as usual. Instead, he was lying on the music desk, and the dummy conductor was bowing for him. But was it a dummy conductor? It certainly looked amazingly like a real live human being. Had it suddenly come to life? Why, all the dummies had come to life - they were all getting up and leaving the stage, and they were carrying their instruments, which no longer showed any signs of life. What on earth could have happened?
          Just then a voice behind her said, “Come along, Alice. The concert’s over and we mustn’t miss our train.”
          Alice turned and, to her astonishment, saw her mother beckoning to her. Without realizing where she was going she followed her mother out of the hall and into a cab. As they drove through the busy streets to the station she tried to untangle the confused thoughts that filled her mind. Was she still in Orchestralia - had she ever been there? Had she really talked with fiddles and walked with trumpets and had tea with oboes? Well, at any rate, she had had a wonderful time, and had learned a tremendous lot about the orchestra.
          ”The only thing I’m quite sure of,” she said to herself, “is that it was was not a dream.”

The Harp
The History of the Harp
An Introduction to the Harp

The Concert
The William Tell Overture by Rossini Scroll down to find Rossini
Symphony No. 6, Movement 2, The Scene by the Brook, by Beethoven
The Carnival of Animals by Saint-Saens
Waltz of the Flowers by Tschaikowsky

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