berlioz treatise on orchestration

Stringed instruments

The violin

[…] The tremolo, played on one or two strings by massed violins produces several
excellent effects; it expresses anxiety, agitation, or terror when played piano, mezzo
forte or fortissimo on one or two of the G, D, or A strings and when pitched no higher
than the middle B flat. It has a stormy and violent character when played fortissimo
on the middle range of the A and E strings. But it becomes ethereal and seraphic
when used in several parts and is played pianissimo on the higher notes of the E
string. One may mention here that the usual practice in the orchestra is to divide the
violins into two groups, first and second, but there is no reason why they should not
each be subdivided further into two or three parts, depending on what the composer is
trying to achieve. […]

[…] Harmonics [...] have a peculiar quality of mysterious softness, and the extreme
height of some of them gives to the violin a vast upper range. […] The composer may
write them in two, three or even four parts, depending on the number of violin parts.
The effect produced by such sustained chords is very remarkable, if the subject of the
piece calls for it and it integrates well with the rest of the orchestral writing. I used
them for the first time in three parts, in the scherzo of a symphony [Romeo and Juliet,
Queen Mab scherzo, bar 361 and following], above a fourth, non-harmonic, violin
part which consists of a continuous trill on the lower note. The extreme delicacy of
the harmonics is enhanced in this passage by the use of mutes; with the sound thus
reduced the notes come from the highest regions of the musical scale, which could
hardly be reached by the use of normal violin sounds. […]

Mutes are small devices made of wood which are placed on the bridge of stringed
instruments to reduce their sonority, and which give them at the same time a sad,
mysterious and gentle character; this can be used to good effect in every kind of
music. Mutes are normally used in slow pieces, but they are no less effective for
quick and light figuration when the subject of the music calls for it, or for
accompaniments in an urgent rhythm. […]

Pizzicato (plucked strings) is also widely used with bowed instruments. The
resulting sounds produce accompaniments which singers appreciate, as they do not
cover their voices. They can also be used to excellent effect in symphonic music,
even in vigorous passages, whether played by all the string sections together, or by
only one or two parts.

Here is a delightful example of the use of pizzicato in the second violins, violas
and basses, while the first violins play arco. In this passage the contrasting sounds
blend in truly wonderful fashion with the melodic sighs of the clarinet and enhance
their expressiveness (Example: Beethoven, 4th symphony, 2nd movement, bars 26-
34) [...]

When pizzicato is used in a passage played forte it is in general necessary that it

should be written neither too high nor too low, since the highest notes are thin and
dry in sound, and the lower ones are too dull. […] Plucked chords, with two, three or
four notes, are also useful in fortissimo passages; the single finger that violin players
use crosses the strings so quickly that they seem to be struck all at once and vibrate
almost simultaneously. For accompaniments pizzicato figures played piano are
always graceful in effect; they relax the listener and when used with discretion give
variety to the orchestral texture. It is likely that in future far more original and
arresting effects will be produced with pizzicato than is the case nowadays. Since
violinists do not regard pizzicato as an integral part of the art of violin playing they
have hardly studied it. Up till now they have only used the thumb and the index
finger for plucking, and the result is that they are unable to play passages or
arpeggios involving more than semiquavers in common time and at a very moderate
tempo. But if they were to put their bow aside and used the thumb and three fingers,
with the right hand supported by the little finger resting on the body of the violin, as
is done when playing the guitar, they would soon be able to play with ease and at
speed passages such as the following, which at the moment are impossible.
(Examples). The double or triple repetition of the upper notes in the last two
examples is made very easy by using in succession the index finger and the third
finger on the same string.

Tied grace notes are also feasible in pizzicato playing. The following passage from
the Scherzo of Beethoven’s (fifth) Symphony in C minor, which has such grace
notes, is always executed very well. (Example: 5th Symphony, 3rd movement, bars
302-316). […]

One common practice to give great power to a passage for the violins is to have the
first violins doubled by the seconds playing an octave below; but if the passage is not
written too high it is much better to have all the violins playing in unison. The effect
then becomes incomparably more powerful and beautiful. The electrifying impact of
the end of the first movement of Beethoven’s [Fifth] Symphony in C minor is due to
a unison of violins. In such a case when the violins are playing in unison the
composer may want to increase their power even further, and has them doubled by
the violas playing an octave below them. But this doubling in the lower part is too
weak and out of proportion to the upper part, and the result is a superfluous buzzing
sound, which tends to obscure rather than enhance the vibration of the higher notes
on the violins. If the viola part cannot be written in a distinctive way it is better to use
it to add volume to the sound of the cellos by having both parts written in unison and
not an octave apart (as far as the lower range of the instrument permits). This is what
Beethoven has done in the following passage (Example: Symphony no.5, 1st
movement, bars 398-423) [...]
 Stringed instruments are the essential foundation of any orchestra. They possess
the greatest expressive power and an unquestionable variety of timbres. The violins in
particular can express a vast range of nuances that seem at first sight incompatible. A
violin section has power, lightness and grace, it can express sombre or joyful
feelings, reverie and passion. It is just a matter of knowing how to let them speak.
There is incidentally no need, as there is for wind instruments, to calculate the
duration of a held note, or to provide them with pauses from time to time. The
composer can be sure that they will not run out of breath. Violins are faithful,
intelligent, active and tireless servants.

Slow and gentle melodies, which too often are given to wind instruments, are never
better expressed than by a mass of violins. Nothing can compare with the penetrating
gentleness of the E string of some twenty violins in the hands of experienced players.
It is the orchestra’s real feminine voice, at once passionate and chaste, heart-rending
and gentle; it can weep, cry and lament, or it can sing, pray and dream, or it can break
out in joyful strains, like no other instrument. An imperceptible movement of the
arm, an unsuspected emotion on the part of the player, might produce no noticeable
effect when played by a single violin. But when multiplied by many instruments
playing in unison, it results in magnificent nuances and irresistible surges of emotion
that penetrate to the depth of the heart.

[The part played by violins in Berlioz's orchestral writing is of course extremely

extensive and varied: virtually Berlioz's entire output could be cited. A few random
examples: Symphonie Fantastique, 1st, 2nd and 3rd movements; Romeo and Juliet,
2nd movement, bar 1 and following; overture Le Corsaire, bar 1 and following; for
pizzicato, which Berlioz uses more than all his predecessors, Romeo and Juliet, 2nd
movement, bar 81 and following, bar 187 and following; a special effect, col legno,
in the Symphonie Fantastique, 5th movement, bar 444 and following]

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The viola

[…] Among all orchestral instruments, the viola’s excellent qualities have suffered
the longest neglect. The viola is as agile as the violin; its lower strings have a
peculiarly penetrating quality; its higher notes are distinctive and have a sad and
passionate intensity; in general its tone has a quality of deep sadness which
distinguishes it from all other stringed instruments. And yet for a long time it has
been left idle, or used mostly for the lowly and pointless function of doubling the
bass part an octave higher. There are several reasons for the unjust bondage of this
noble instrument. To begin with the majority of last century’s masters did not know
what to do with it, as they rarely wrote four real string parts. When they were unable
to think straightaway of a few notes to fill in the chords they quickly fell back on the
inevitable indication col basso, and did so in such a careless way that the result was
sometimes an octave doubling of the bass line which was incompatible either with the
harmony, or with the melody, or with both at once. Then it was not possible at the
time to write for violas distinctive parts which required from the players a normal
degree of proficiency. Viola players were always recruited from among rejected
violin players. When a musician was not capable of performing adequately a violin
part, he turned to the viola. As a result viola players were incapable of playing either
the violin or the viola. I must admit that in our time this prejudice against the viola
part has not been completely eliminated, and that even in the best orchestras there are
still players who have not mastered the art of viola playing any better than that of the
violin. But the drawbacks of tolerating this state of affairs are becoming increasingly
obvious, and gradually the viola, like other instruments, will cease to be entrusted to
any but competent hands. Its tone quality is so distinctive that it is not necessary in an
orchestra to have exactly the same number of violas as of second violins. The
expressive qualities of its tone stand out so clearly that in those very rare cases when
composers of the past have given it a prominent role the instrument has never failed
to live up to expectation. […]

[…] Méhul was captivated by the affinity between the sound of violas and the
dreamy character of Ossianic poetry, and wanted to make constant use of them in his
opera Uthal, to the complete exclusion of the violins. The result, according to
contemporary critics, was unbearably monotonous and damaged the work’s success.
It was on this occasion that Grétry exclaimed: ‘I would give a louis to hear the sound
of an E string!’ In truth, the viola’s tone quality, which is so valuable when properly
used and expertly contrasted with the tone of violins and other instruments, must
inevitably become quickly wearisome: it is too lacking in variety and too tinged with
sadness for it to be otherwise. Nowadays violas are often divided into first and
second. In those orchestras, like that of the Opéra, where their numbers are about
sufficient, there is no harm in doing this; but in others where there are hardly four or
five violas, such a division can only be detrimental to an instrumental group which is
already so weak in itself and which other groups always tend to overwhelm. It should
be said that the majority of violas used in contemporary French orchestras do not
have the right dimensions; they have neither the size nor consequently the tonal
power of real violas, and are more or less violins fitted with viola strings. Musical
directors should ban completely the use of these hybrid instruments, whose weak
sound drains one of the most interesting parts of the orchestra of much of its colour
and energy, especially in the lower notes.

When the cellos are playing a melody, it can sometimes be very effective to double
them in unison with violas. The tone of the cellos then acquires a very rounded and
pure quality without ceasing to predominate. One example is the theme from the slow
movement of Beethoven's (5th) Symphony in C minor. (Example: Symphony no. 5,
second movement, bars 1-11)
 [Examples in Berlioz: Symphonie Fantastique, 3rd movement, bar 69 and
following; Harold in Italy, passim; Romeo and Juliet, 4th movement, bar 369 and
following; Roman Carnival overture, bar 37 and following; Royal Hunt and Storm
from Les Troyens, bar 51 and following]

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The cello

[…] The cello, in a section of eight or ten players, is essentially a melodic

instrument, and the tone quality of its two higher strings (A and D) is one of the most
expressive in the orchestra. Nothing has such voluptuous sadness as a mass of cellos
playing in unison on the A string, and nothing is better suited to expressing tender
and languorous melodies.

The cello excels also in melodies of a religious character; the composer must then
select the string on which the passage should be played. The two lower strings, the C
and G strings, have a smooth and deep sound which is admirably suited in such cases,
but their low register means that they can only be given a bass line that is more or
less melodic, while the true singing parts must be reserved for the higher strings. In
the overture to Oberon Weber with rare felicity makes the cellos sing in their upper
register, while two clarinets in A playing in unison sound their lower notes
underneath. The effect is novel and arresting. [Example]

[Examples in Berlioz: Waverley overture, bar 30 and following; Symphonie

Fantastique, 3rd movement, bar 69 and following; Benvenuto Cellini overture, bar
67 and following; Romeo and Juliet, 3rd movement, bar 23 and following, 49 and
following, 82 and following]

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The double-bass

[…] It is a common fault nowadays to write for this heaviest of instruments

passages that are so fast that even cellos have difficulty in playing them. This has
serious disadvantages. Double-bass players who are lazy or who really cannot cope
with such difficult parts immediately give up and concentrate on simplifying the
passage. But as they are not all of one mind on the harmonic importance of the
various notes found in the passage, one player’s simplified version does not match
that of another player, and the result is disorder and a dreadful confusion. This
buzzing chaos, full of strange noises and hideous grunts, is completed or
compounded by the other players, who are either more dedicated or more confident
of their ability, and who labour in a fruitless attempt to perform the passage entirely
as written.

Composers must therefore be very careful to ask from the double-basses only what
is possible and where there is no doubt that the passage can be correctly played. This
means that the old system of double-bass players who simplify their parts, a system
widely adopted in the old instrumental school and exposed to the dangers we have
indicated, is nowadays completely rejected. Provided the composer has not written
anything that is unsuitable for the instrument, the player must perform the music as
written, neither adding nor deleting anything. When the fault is the composer's, he
and his audience must bear the consequences, and the player does not have to answer
for anything. [...]

Beethoven has also made use of these barely articulated notes (sc. of the double-
basses), but in the opposite manner from the preceding example [Gluck, Orphée Act
II], by stressing the first rather than the last note of each group. Such is the case with
the passage from the storm of the Pastoral Symphony, which conveys so well the
suggestion of a violent wind charged with rain and of the dull rumbling of a squall. It
should be noted that in this example and in many other passages Beethoven has given
to the basses low notes which they cannot play, and this suggests that the orchestra
for which he wrote included double basses which could reach down to C an octave
below the low C of the cellos, which are no longer found today. (Example: Pastoral
Symphony, 4th movement, bars 45-70) [...]

[Examples in Berlioz: Symphonie Fantastique, 1st movement, bars 12 and 14;

Lélio, La harpe éolienne; Funeral March for the last scene of Hamlet, bar 39 and
following, bar 87 and following]

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The harp

[…] The effect produced by harps – except in music that is intended to be heard at
close quarters in a salon – is all the better when they are more numerous.
 The notes, chords and arpeggios that they project across the orchestra and the
chorus have exceptional splendour. There is nothing that is more appropriate for the
idea of poetic festivals or religious celebrations than the sounds of a large number of
harps when deployed in an imaginative way. When used in isolation or in groups of
two, three, or four, it is strikingly the timbre of horns, trombones, and brass
instruments in general that marries best with them. The lower strings (except for
those at the lowest end of the range, which are loose and dull in tone) have a veiled,
mysterious, and beautiful quality, but have hardly ever been used for anything but
bass accompaniments in the left hand. This is a mistake. Admittedly harp players are
not anxious to play whole pieces in these lower octaves; they are rather far from their
bodies, force them to lean forward and stretch their arms, and thus to maintain a
rather uncomfortable posture for some length of time. But this was probably of little
consequence as far as composers were concerned. The true reason is that it had not
occurred to them to make use of this special timbre. […]

The strings of the top octave have a delicate and crystalline sound of voluptuous
freshness; this makes them ideal for expressing graceful, fairylike ideas, and for
whispering the gentlest secrets of smiling melodies. But the player must never attack
them with force, as they then produce a dry and hard sound, rather like the sound
made when breaking a glass, and this is unpleasant and irritating.

Harp harmonics, especially with several harps in unison, are even more magical.
Virtuoso players often use them in cadenzas and in their fantasias, variations and
concertos. But there is nothing like the sound of these mysterious notes when
combined with chords from flutes and clarinets playing in the middle register;
surprisingly it was only three years ago that for the first time a demonstration was
made of the affinity of these timbres and of the poetic beauty of combining them
together […]

[Numerous examples in Berlioz: among others may be cited the Symphonie

Fantastique, 2nd movement; Lélio, La harpe éolienne; the first three movements of
Harold in Italy; Romeo and Juliet, 2nd and 4th movements; Weber, Invitation to the
Dance in Berlioz's orchestration; the Ballet des Sylphes from the Damnation of Faust;
the Te Deum, 8th movement; the trio for 2 flutes and harp from L'Enfance du Christ;
the Trojan March]

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Wind instruments

The piccolo
 [...] Nowadays the piccolo is strangely misused, as is the case for all instruments
which vibrate in a shimmering, piercing or explosive manner. The sounds of the
second octave can be very suitable for pieces of a joyful character, and the whole
dynamic range can be used. The upper notes (played fortissimo) are excellent for
violent and shattering effects, as for example in a storm or in a piece of a ferocious or
infernal character. The use of piccolo is thus particularly appropriate in the 4th
movement of Beethoven’s Pastoral symphony, sometimes exposed on its own above
the tremolo of the violas and basses, imitating the whistling of a storm which has yet
to break out in its full force, and sometimes on higher notes together with the mass of
the orchestra. (Example: bars 93-108). Gluck, in the storm from Iphigénie en Tauride,
makes the higher notes of two piccolos in unison grind even more ferociously, by
writing them in a sequence of sixths, a fourth above the first violins. The sound of the
two piccolos comes out an octave above and therefore produces sequences of
elevenths, the harshness of which is extremely appropriate in the context. (Example:
bars 69-76). In the chorus of the Scythians in the same opera, the two piccolos double
the violins’ turns an octave above; these notes, mingled with the baying of the savage
crowd and the relentless rhythmic din of the cymbals and small drum, have a
terrifying impact. (Example). The diabolical laughter of the two piccolos playing in
thirds in the drinking song in Der Freischütz is well known. It is one of the happiest
inventions in Weber’s orchestral writing. (Example).

Spontini, in the magnificent bacchanal of the Danaïdes (which has since become an
orgiastic chorus of Nurmahal), was the first to have the idea of combining a brief
shriek of piccolos with a cymbal crash. No one before had suspected the peculiar
affinity between two so very different instruments when used in this way. The effect
has a stabbing, lacerating quality, like a dagger blow. It is very characteristic, even
when only those two instruments are used, but the impact can be increased by a sharp
stroke on the timpani together with a brief chord on the remaining instruments.
(Example).

These and other examples I might mention seem to me altogether admirable.

Beethoven, Gluck, Weber and Spontini have thus used the piccolo in a manner which
is at once imaginative, original and sound. But when I hear this instrument used to
double three octaves above the melody of a baritone, to utter its shrill cry in the midst
of religious harmonies, to add power and incisiveness to the upper part of the
orchestra, from the beginning to the end of the act in an opera, and all just for the
sake of noise, I cannot help finding this style of instrumental writing flat, stupid, and
in general worthy only of the melodic style to which it is applied.

The piccolo can be effective in quiet passages, and it is a misconception to believe

that it can only play very loud. [...]

[Examples in Berlioz: Francs Juges overture, bars 36, 45 and following, 612 and
following; Weber, Invitation to the Dance, in Berlioz's orchestration; The Menuet des
Follets from the Damnation of Faust; Royal Hunt and Storm from Les Troyens,
passim and especially bar 219 and following]

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The flute

[...] The sonority of this instrument is gentle in the middle range, fairly penetrating
in the upper range, and very distinctive in the lower notes. The timbre of the middle
and upper ranges does not have a strongly defined expressive character. It can be
used for melodies and accents of different kinds, though it cannot match the artless
gaiety of the oboe or the noble tenderness of the clarinet. It appears therefore that the
flute is an instrument largely devoid of expression, and can be introduced in any
context to play anything, because of its facility in executing groups of fast notes and
in sustaining high sounds that are useful in the orchestra to supplement high
harmonies. In general this is true. But a careful study will reveal that it possesses an
expressiveness of its own, and is well suited to rendering some feelings which no
other instrument can match. Should one wish, for example, to give to a sad melody a
note of grief that was at the same time humble and resigned, the weak sounds of the
middle range of the flute, especially in the keys of C minor and D minor, will
certainly provide the appropriate tone colour. Gluck is the only master who seems to
me to have understood how to make excellent use of these pale tones. Listening to the
pantomime aria in D minor which he inserted in the scene in the Elysian Fields in his
Orphée, one can see at once that the flute was the only suitable instrument to play it.
The oboe would have sounded too childlike and its voice would not have seemed
pure enough. The clarinet would perhaps have been more suitable, but some of its
sounds would have been too forceful, and none of the softest notes could have been
scaled down to the weak, faded and veiled sound of the F natural in the middle range
and of the first B flat above the stave. These give to the flute all its sad character in
the key of D minor where they occur frequently. And lastly neither the violin, nor the
viola, nor the cello, whether used solo or as a section, were suitable to express this
sublime lament of a suffering shade overcome with despair; the instrument required
was precisely that chosen by the composer. Gluck’s melody is so designed that the
flute lends itself to all the troubled emotions of this eternal grief, which still bears the
marks of earthly passions. At first it is a barely perceptible voice that seems afraid of
being heard. Then it sings a gentle lament, and rises to express reproach, deep grief,
and the cry of a heart torn by incurable wounds. It then sinks back gradually to the
lament and murmured grief of a resigned soul… What a poet!… (Example)

The use made by most composers of the lower notes of the flute is limited or
unsatisfactory. And yet Weber, in numerous passages in Der Freischütz, and before
him Gluck, in the religious march in Alceste, have shown all that they can contribute
to harmonies of a solemn and dreamy kind. As I have already said, these low notes
blend well with the lower register of the cor anglais and of the clarinets; they provide
the soft nuance in a dark colouring. (Example) […]

Modern composers generally write their flute parts too uniformly high; they always
seem worried that they will not stand out above the rest of the orchestra. The result is
that they dominate instead of blending with the whole, and the instrumental writing
becomes shrill and harsh instead of being sonorous and harmonious. […]

[Although the flute plays a major role in Berlioz's orchestra, flute solos of any
length are comparatively rare compared with other wind instruments (for one
example cf. Harold in Italy, 3rd movement, bars 167-90). His preference is to give
wind melodies to two or more instruments. The trio for 2 flutes and harp from
L'Enfance du Christ is of course a special case]

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The oboe

[…] Quick runs, whether chromatic or diatonic, can be played fairly easily on the
oboe, but the effect they produce is merely clumsy and almost ridiculous; the same is
true of arpeggios.

The need for runs of this kind is extremely rare, and we confess we have not yet
come across it. What virtuoso players attempt in this style of playing, in their
fantasias and variations, is hardly likely to demonstrate the opposite. The oboe is
principally a melodic instrument; it has a rustic character, full of tenderness, I would
say even of shyness.

Nevertheless it is always written in tutti passages without any regard for its tonal
character, because it is then submerged in the ensemble and the distinctive quality of
its timbre can no longer be identified. Let us say immediately that the same is true of
the majority of wind instruments. The only exception that should be made is for those
instruments that are excessively powerful or have a timbre that stands out because of
its individuality. Unless one wishes to trample common sense and all artistic
principles it is quite impossible to use such instruments merely to provide the
harmony. This applies to trombones, ophicleides, double-bassoons, and in many
cases to trumpets and cornets. The sounds of the oboe are suitable for expressing
simplicity, artless grace, gentle happiness, or the grief of a weak soul. It renders these
admirably in cantabile passages.
 It can also convey a degree of agitation, but one must be careful not to intensify
this to cries of passion, to vehement outbursts of anger, threats or heroism: its thin,
bitter-sweet tones then become feeble and altogether grotesque. Some great masters,
Mozart among them, have not avoided this pitfall. One may find in their scores
passages with a passionate intent and martial tone that are oddly at variance with the
sound of the oboes that play them. The result is not only that the effect misfires, but
that there is a jarring discrepancy between the stage and the orchestra, and between
the melody and its instrumentation. The most direct, beautiful and noble march theme
loses its nobility, directness and beauty if heard on the oboes. It may preserve some
of its character if given to the flutes, and will hardly lose anything if played by the
clarinets. Should it be absolutely necessary to use the oboes in a piece of this kind to
give more body to the harmony and increase the power of the wind section, then at
least the parts should be written in such a way that their timbre, unsuited to this style
of music, should be completely covered by the other instruments and should blend
with the ensemble so as to be unobtrusive. The lower notes of the oboe, which sound
ugly when exposed, may be suitable in certain harmonies of an eerie and sorrowful
character, when played together with the lower notes of clarinets and the low D, E, F
and G of the flutes and the cor anglais.

Gluck and Beethoven have shown a wonderful understanding of the uses of this
valuable instrument, and it is to the oboe that they both owe the deep feelings aroused
by some of the most beautiful passages in their music. (Examples from Gluck) […]

Beethoven has made greater use of the joyful tones of the oboe. Examples of this
are the solo in the scherzo of the Pastoral symphony [example: bars 88-123], that in
the scherzo of the Choral symphony, or in the first movement of the symphony in B
flat, etc. But he has been equally successful in giving the instrument passages of a sad
or desolate character. This can be seen in the solo in the minor in the recapitulation of
the 1st movement of the symphony in A [example: bars 300-310], in the andante
from the episode in the last movement of the Eroica symphony [example: bars 348-
372], and especially in the aria from Fidelio where Florestan, dying of hunger,
imagines in his delirious agony that he is surrounded by his family in tears, and
mingles his cries of anguish with the broken lamentation of the oboe.

[Examples in Berlioz: Symphonie Fantastique, 1st movement, bar 360 and

following; 3rd movement, bar 3 and following; overture to King Lear, bar 38 and
following, bar 151 and following; overture to Benvenuto Cellini, bar 228 and
following; Romeo and Juliet, 2nd movement, bar 81 and following; overture Le
Corsaire, bar 247 and following]

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The cor anglais

[…] Quick runs for the cor anglais sound even worse than they do for the oboe. Its
tone is less penetrating, more veiled and deeper than that of the oboe, and is therefore
not suitable for expressing the gaiety of rustic tunes. It is not capable either of voicing
passionate laments, and tones of acute grief are more or less beyond its reach. It is a
melancholy, dreamy and rather noble voice, with a somewhat subdued and distant
tone. This makes it superior to any other instrument when the intention is to move by
reviving images and feelings from the past, and when the composer wishes to touch
the hidden chords of tender memories. M. Halévy made a most felicitous use of two
cors anglais in the ritornello of Eleazar’s aria in act IV of La Juive. (Example)

In the Adagio of one of my symphonies [the Symphonie Fantastique], the cor

anglais, after repeating an octave lower the phrases of the oboe, like the voice of a
young man answering a girl in a pastoral dialogue, then repeats fragments from it at
the end of the piece, to the muted accompaniment of four timpani, while the rest of
the orchestra remains silent. The feelings of absence, oblivion, and painful loneliness
which arise in the minds of some listeners when they hear this forsaken melody
would not have a quarter of their force if sung by any instrument other than the cor
anglais. (Example).

When blended with the lower notes of clarinets and bassoons over a tremolando of
the double basses, the lower notes of the cor anglais produce a novel and special
sound, eminently suitable for giving a menacing colour to musical ideas where fear
and anguish predominate. This effect was unknown to Mozart, Weber, and
Beethoven. There is a magnificent example in the duet in Act IV of Les Huguenots,
and I believe M. Meyerbeer is the first to have introduced this sound into the opera
house. (Example). […]

[Examples in Berlioz: Symphonie Fantastique, 3rd movement, beginning and bar

175 and following (cited by Berlioz); Rob Roy overture, especially bar 260 and
following, 275 and following; Harold in Italy, 3rd movement, bar 34 and following;
Roman Carnival overture, bar 21 and following; L'Enfance du Christ, passim; it
should be noted that in Romeo and Juliet there are no prominent solos for the cor
anglais, which is always used together with one or more other wind instruments; see
for example the special colouring produced by a unison of the cor anglais, the
bassoons and a horn in the 6th movement, bar 48 and following]

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The clarinet

[…] The small clarinet in E flat has piercing sounds which can easily be made to
sound vile, starting from the A above the stave. It has therefore been used in a
modern symphony to parody, degrade and vilify a melody; the dramatic purpose of
the work required this strange transformation [this refers to the last movement of the
Symphonie Fantastique] […]

As a general rule players should only use the instruments specified by the
composer. Since each of these instruments has its own special character it is at least
likely that the composer chose one rather another because he preferred this particular
timbre, and not through any caprice. To insist, as some virtuoso players do, in
transposing and playing everything on the B flat clarinet, is therefore with rare
exceptions a betrayal on the part of the player. This betrayal will be even more
obvious and reprehensible if it involves, for example, the A clarinet [which alone
could play a low C sharp]. [...]

We mentioned that the clarinet has four registers; each of these has its distinctive
timbre. The upper register has a somewhat piercing character which should only be
used in an orchestral fortissimo or in extrovert runs in a brilliant solo passage (some
of the high notes can nevertheless be sustained piano when the tone production has
been carefully prepared). The tones of the middle range and of the chalumeau are
suitable for melodies, arpeggios and runs. Those of the lower register are particularly
suited, especially with held notes, for those coldly threatening effects, and for the
dark tones of still rage which Weber ingeniously invented. […]

The sounds of the middle range have a proud quality tempered by noble
tenderness, and are thus ideal for expressing feelings and ideas of the most poetic
kind. Only light-hearted gaiety, or even carefree joy, seem not to suit them. The
clarinet is not well adapted for music of an idyllic kind, it is an epic instrument, like
the horns, trumpets and trombones. It is the voice of heroic love. Whereas massed
brass instruments in great military symphonies evoke the idea of a warlike band in
shining armour, marching on to glory or to death, the numerous unisons of clarinets
playing with them seem to represent the loved women, proud-eyed and deeply
passionate, who, stirred by the sound of arms sing as they fight, and crown the victors
or perish with the vanquished. I have never been able to hear from a distance military
music without being deeply moved by the feminine timbre of clarinets and being
filled with images of that kind, as after the reading of ancient epic poems. This
beautiful instrumental soprano voice, so sonorous and rich in penetrating inflexions
when used in large numbers, gains when played solo in delicacy, elusive nuances,
and mysterious sympathy what it loses in power and brightness. Nothing is so
virginal and pure as the colour given to certain melodies by the timbre of the middle
range of a clarinet in the hands of a talented player.
 No other wind instrument is able like the clarinet to voice a note quietly, make it to
swell, decrease, and fade away. Hence its priceless ability to produce a distant sound,
the echo of an echo, a sound like twilight. I cannot think of a more admirable
example of the use of some of these nuances than the dreamy phrase on the clarinet,
accompanied by a tremolo of the strings, in the middle of the Allegro of the
Freischütz overture!!! Here is the lonely virgin, the blond betrothed of the huntsman,
who raises her eyes to heaven and mingles her gentle lament with the sounds of the
deep forests shaken by the storm. O Weber! (Example)

I may also quote from my monodrama (Lélio) a similar though not identical effect
produced by a melody on the clarinet. The fragmented melody is similarly
accompanied by a tremolo on some of the strings, while the double-basses pluck
intermittently a deep note and provide a heavy pulsation under the harmony, and the
harp plays fragments of barely sketched arpeggios. In this case, to give the clarinet a
sound as vague and remote as possible, I had the instrument wrapped in a leather bag
to serve as a mute. This sad murmur and the faint sound of this solo, reproducing a
melody already heard in an earlier piece, have always struck audiences deeply. This
shadow-like music induces deep sadness and moves to tears, in a way the most
sorrowful strains could not; it provokes feelings of spleen as much as the shimmering
harmonies of the Aeolian harp (Example).

[…] Neither Sacchini, nor Gluck, nor any of the great masters of that period made
use of the lower notes of the instrument. I cannot guess why. Mozart seems to have
been the first to use them for accompaniments of a sombre character such as that of
the trio of masks in Don Giovanni. It was left to Weber to discover the terrifying
quality of these low notes when used to sustain sinister harmonies. It is better in such
cases to write them in two parts than to make the clarinets play in unison or in
octaves. The more numerous the harmonic notes, the more striking the effect. […]

[Examples in Berlioz: Francs Juges overture, bar 496 and following; Symphonie
Fantastique, 2nd movement, bar 302 and following; 3rd movement bar 119 and
following; 4th movement, bar 164 and following; 5th movement, bar 40 and
following (small clarinet en E flat); Lélio, La harpe éolienne; Romeo and Juliet, 6th
movement bar 74 and following; Symphonie Funèbre et Triomphale, 1st et 3rd
movements]

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The bass clarinet

[…] The lowest notes are the best, but in view of the slowness of the vibrations
they should not be made to follow in too quick succession. M. Meyerbeer has
entrusted to the bass clarinet an eloquent monologue in the trio of Act V of Les
Huguenots (Example). Depending on the way the part is written and the skill of the
performer, this instrument's lower notes can assume the raw timbre of the low notes
of the standard clarinet, or the calm, solemn and magisterial tone of some of the
organ’s registers. It can therefore be used to good effect in many circumstances.
Besides, if four or five instruments are used in unison, it provides a smooth sound
which is excellent for the bass line of bands of wind instruments.

[Examples in Berlioz: overture to Benvenuto Cellini, bar 66 and following;

Symphonie Funèbre et Triomphale, passim]

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The bassoon

[…] The bassoon is in many ways extremely useful in the orchestra. Its sonority is
not very powerful, and its timbre, totally devoid of brightness or nobility, has a
propensity towards the grotesque, which must always be kept in mind when it is
given a prominent part. Its lower notes provide excellent basses for the whole
woodwind section. Bassoons are normally written in two parts. But as large
orchestras always have four bassoons, the composer may with advantage write four
real parts, or better still, three parts with the lowest doubled an octave below, to give
more strength to the bass line. The upper notes have a somewhat painful and
suffering character, I might call it almost pitiful; these can sometimes be used in a
slow melody, or in an accompanying passage, with the most striking results. Thus the
strange little cackles that are heard in the scherzo of Beethoven’s symphony in C
minor, towards the end of the decrescendo, are produced exclusively by the rather
strained sound of the high A flat and G of the bassoons playing in unison. (Example:
5th Symphony, 3rd movement, bars 281-302).

On the other hand when M. Meyerbeer, in the scene of the Resurrection of the
Nuns [in Robert le Diable], wanted to produce a pale, cold and deathly sound he
obtained it by using the flaccid notes of the instrument’s middle range. (Example).

Quick legato runs can be used to good effect; they only sound well when written in
the instrument’s preferred keys, such as D, G, C, F, B flat, E flat, A, and their relative
minor keys. The following runs produce an excellent effect in the scene of the
bathing women in Act II of Les Huguenots. (Example).

[Examples in Berlioz: Francs Juges overture, bar 494 and following; Symphonie
Fantastique, 4th movement, bar 25 and following, 49 and following; Roman Carnival
overture, bar 304 and following; Le Corsaire overture, bar 174 and following]

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The double-bassoon

[…] There is no need to add that the double-bassoon, a very ponderous instrument,
is only suitable for grand harmonic effects and for bass lines in a moderate tempo.
Beethoven used it in the finale of his C minor symphony and in that of the Choral
Symphony. It is extremely valuable in large orchestras of wind instruments; but few
players decide to take up the instrument. Sometimes the ophicleide is used to replace
it, but its tone does not have the same depth as its range is the same as that of the
standard bassoon and not an octave lower; in any case its timbre is of a quite different
character from that of the double-bassoon. I therefore believe that in the majority of
cases it is better to do without this instrument than to replace it in this way.

[Examples in Berlioz: Francs Juges overture; Symphonie Funèbre et Triomphale,

passim]

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Brass instruments

The horn

[...] There are two kinds of sounds on the horn which are very different in
character, open sounds which are almost always the natural resonance of the
harmonic divisions of the instrument’s tube, and which are produced solely by the
lips and the breath of the player; and stopped sounds which can only be produced by
closing to a greater or lesser extent the bell - the lower opening of the instrument -
with the hand. […] The older masters have generally restricted themselves to the use
of open sounds, and it has to be admitted that they have employed them in a rather
clumsy way. Even Beethoven is very sparing in his used of stopped notes when he is
not writing a solo part for the horns. There are only few examples in his orchestral
writing, and when he makes use of this it is almost always for a special effect. This is
the case with the stopped notes and the artificial sound of the three horns in E flat in
the scherzo of the Eroica, and with the low F sharp of the second horn in D in the
scherzo of the Symphony in A. (Examples: 3rd Symphony, 3rd movement, bars 166
to 260; 7th Symphony, 3rd movement, bars 181 to 208).

This method is probably far superior to the opposite one which most contemporary
French and Italian composers have now adopted. The latter consists in writing for the
horns exactly as for bassoons and clarinets, without taking into account the vast
difference between stopped notes and open notes, and also between different stopped
notes, or the difficulty for the performer to play a particular note after another that
does not lead to it naturally, or the doubtful intonation, poor sonority and harsh and
strange sound produced when two thirds or three quarters of the bell are stopped. All
this shows ignorance of the fact that a deep knowledge of the instrument’s character,
taste and good sense, might argue against the use of the sounds which these
apprentice composers throw around with gay abandon in the orchestra. The poverty
of the writing of older composers is obviously preferable to this ignorant and hateful
wastage. When stopped sounds are not used for a specific effect then at least those
which have a poor sonority and are too different from the other sounds of the horn
should be avoided.

[...] In certain scenes of silent horror stopped notes in several parts can produce a
considerable effect. I believe Méhul is the only composer who sensed this in his
opera Phrosine et Mélidore. (Example).

[…] The horn is a noble and melancholy instrument. But the expression of its tone
and its sonority are such that it can be used in any kind of piece. It blends easily with
the rest of the harmony, and even the least skilful composer can at will give it a
prominent role or make it play a part that is useful though inconspicuous. It is Weber
in my opinion who more than any other master has succeeded in making the most
original, poetic and complete use of the instrument. In his three masterpieces,
Oberon, Euryanthe and Der Freischütz, he has given the horn a new and magnificent
voice, which only Méhul and Beethoven seem to have understood before him;
Meyerbeer more than anyone else has maintained its purity. Among orchestral
instruments Gluck’s writing for the horn shows him at his least successful. It is
enough to examine any of his works to lay bare his limited skill in this respect […].

I have said that the horn is a noble and melancholy instrument, and this is true
despite those joyful hunting fanfares that are often mentioned. But the joyful
character of such tunes actually owes more to the melody than to the timbre of the
horns. Hunting fanfares only sound joyful when they are played on hunting horns, a
rather unmusical instrument, whose strident and brash sound does not in any way
resemble the chaste and reserved voice of the horns. Yet by forcing the flow of air in
the horn’s tube it is possible to make it sound like a hunting horn; this is what is
known as making the tone sound brassy.

This can sometimes produce excellent effects, even with stopped notes. When the
aim is to force open sounds, composers usually require that the players turn the bells
upward, to make the sound as forceful as possible. In this case they indicate the
position of the instrument with the words with upturned bells. There is a magnificent
example of the use of this device in the final explosion of the duet "Gardez vous de la
jalousie!" in Méhul’s Euphrosine et Coradin. One day Grétry, still reeling from the
impact of the horns’ dreadful shriek, answered to someone who was asking his
opinion of this electrifying duo: "It is enough to blow off the theatre’s roof with the
skulls of the audience!"

[Examples in Berlioz: Romeo and Juliet, 4th movement, bar 476 and following;
Royal Hunt and Storm from Les Troyens, bar 45 and following, 322 and following,
338 and following; on the use of stopped notes see for example Symphonie
Fantastique, 4th movement, beginning, 5th movement, bar 9 and following, 370, 372;
Les Troyens Act II scene 1, bar 75 and following]

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The trumpet

[...] Despite the generally adopted routine, delightful effects can be obtained from
trumpets playing piano; Gluck was one of the first to demonstrate this in the long
held note of the two trumpets playing in unison on the dominant, in the andante of the
introduction to Iphigénie en Tauride (Example: bars 9-12, 14-16, 25-28); after him
Beethoven (especially in the slow movement of the 7th Symphony in A), and Weber,
have made very effective use of this. (Example: Beethoven, 7th Symphony, 2nd
movement, bars 174-183). [...]

[…] The trumpet’s timbre is noble and brilliant. It is equally suitable for martial
ideas, for cries of fury and vengeance, and for songs of triumph. It can express all
manner of vigorous feelings, proud and grand, and the majority of tragic accents. It
can even figure in a joyful piece, so long as it has a fiery or stately character.

Despite its proud and genuinely distinguished timbre, there are few instruments
that have been so debased as the trumpet. Until Beethoven and Weber, all composers,
Mozart not excepted, have insisted either in confining it to the demeaning role of
filling up, or in making it sound two or three rhythmic patterns, always the same,
which are flat, ridiculous, and frequently jar with the character of the pieces where
they occur. This odious commonplace has now been abandoned at last. All
composers with a sense of style give to the melodies, accompaniment figures and
fanfares played by trumpets the breadth, variety and independence which the
instrument’s characteristics make possible. It has taken nearly a century to reach that
point. […]
 [Example in Berlioz: Symphonie Funèbre et Triomphale, 3rd movement,
beginning]

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The cornet

[...] The cornet is very popular in France at the moment, particularly in that
musical world where loftiness and purity of style are not thought of as truly essential
qualities. As a result it has become the solo instrument that is indispensable for
quadrilles, galops, variations and other second-rate compositions. Since we are now
used to hear it playing in dance orchestras melodies that are more or less devoid of
originality and distinction, and since its timbre has neither the nobility of the horn nor
the pride of the trumpet, it is rather difficult to introduce the cornet to the elevated
melodic style. Yet it could play a valuable role there, but rarely and only on condition
that it is given melodies in a broad tempo that have unquestionable dignity. Thus the
ritornello in the trio from Robert le Diable [by Meyerbeer], "mon fils, mon fils, ma
tendresse assidue", is well suited to the cornet. (Example).

Joyful melodies must always fear from this instrument some loss of whatever
nobility they may have, and if they have none, an enhancement of their triviality. A
phrase that would appear tolerable, when performed by violins or the woodwind,
becomes flat and intolerably vulgar when emphasised by the incisive, brash and
impudent sound of the cornet. This danger disappears if the phrase can suitably be
played at the same time by one or more trombones, whose mighty voice will then
cover up and ennoble that of the cornet. When used harmonically, it blends very well
with the mass of brass instruments. It serves then to complete trumpet chords, and to
contribute to the orchestra groups of notes, whether diatonic or chromatic, which
because of their speed would be unsuitable for trombones or horns. The normal
practice is to write two parts for cornets, often in two different keys.

[Berlioz makes constant use of the cornet as a regular part of the brass section: it is
found for example in all four symphonies and in the overtures from Benvenuto
Cellini onwards. But is rare for Berlioz to give solo passages to the cornet which give
prominence to the instrument for its own tonal characteristics. The cornet part which
Berlioz added to the second movement of the Symphonie Fantastique, though
distinctive and not a mere doubling of the other parts, is not intended as a solo]

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The trombone

[…] The trombone is, in my view, the real leader among the class of wind
instruments I have described as epic. It possesses to the highest degree nobility and
grandeur. It commands all the accents, grave or powerful, of high musical poetry,
from imposing and calm religious tones to the frenzied clamour of an orgy. The
composer may at will make it sing a chorus of priests, threaten, utter a subdued
lament, whisper a funeral dirge, raise a hymn of glory, break out in dreadful cries, or
sound its formidable call for the awakening of the dead or the death of the living.

And yet a way was found, some thirty years ago, of demeaning it by reducing it to
a slavish duplication of the double-bass part, which is useless and grotesque.
Fortunately this system has now been almost entirely abandoned. Yet one may see in
a host of otherwise fine scores the basses almost constantly doubled in unison with a
single trombone. I know of nothing less harmonious and more vulgar that this style of
instrumentation. The sound of the trombone is so distinctive that it must never be
heard except to produce a special effect. Its task is therefore not to reinforce the
double-basses, with which its timbre does not blend in any way. It must also be
admitted that in an orchestra a single trombone on its own almost always seems more
or less out of place. The instrument requires harmony, or at least the unison of the
other members of its family for its various qualities to manifest themselves
completely. Beethoven sometimes used it in pairs, as with trumpets, but the
established practice of writing it for three parts seems to me preferable. […]

In a single forte trombones in three part harmony, especially in their middle range,
convey an expression of heroic pomp, of majesty and pride, which only a prosaic and
vulgar melody could diminish or nullify. In such cases they assume the character of
trumpets, but magnified to an enormous extent. They do not merely threaten, they
proclaim, they sing instead of roaring. But it should be noted in such cases that the
sound of the bass trombone always tends to predominate over the other two,
especially if the first is an alto trombone. (Example)

In mezzo forte in the middle range, in unison or in harmony in a slow tempo, the
trombones take on a religious character. In the chorus of the priests of Isis in the
Magic Flute Mozart has provided wonderful examples of how to give them the voice
and manner of high priests. (Example)

The pianissimo of trombones applied to harmonies in a minor key is sombre and

lugubrious, I might say almost hideous. Particularly in cases where the chords are
brief and separated by silences, it is like hearing strange monsters uttering in the dark
groans of barely suppressed rage. No one in my view has made a more dramatic use
of this special sound of the trombones than Spontini in the incomparable funeral
march of La Vestale: "Périsse la vestale impie!" and Beethoven in the immortal duet
of the second act of Fidelio sung by Leonora and the jailer as they dig the tomb of the
prisoner who is about to die. (Examples)

The practice of some masters nowadays of treating the three trombones and
ophicleide as a quartet, with the latter taking the real bass part, may not be above
reproach. The timbre of the trombones, so incisive and domineering, is far from
similar to that of the ophicleide. I believe it is much better to have the ophicleide
simply double the lower part, or at least the composer should provide a correct bass
line by writing for the three trombones as though they were meant to be heard on
their own.

Gluck, Beethoven, Mozart, Weber, Spontini, and a few others have fully
understood the importance of the role of the trombones. They have utilised with
perfect understanding the diverse characteristics of this noble instrument to depict
human passions and to reproduce the sounds of nature. They have therefore preserved
its power, dignity and poetry. But when the trombone is compelled, as by the
majority of contemporary composers, to howl in a credo brutal phrases more
appropriate for a drinking house than a holy place; to ring out in tones suitable for
Alexander’s entry into Babylon when no more is involved than a dancer’s twirl; to
play tonic and dominant chords as accompaniment to a ditty where a guitar would be
enough; to mingle its Olympian voice with the trivial melody of a vaudeville duet or
to the frivolous noise of a dance theme; to prepare in the tutti of a concerto the
triumphant entry of an oboe or a flute – this is cheapening and degrading a
magnificent personality; this is turning a hero into a slave and a buffoon; this is
depriving the orchestra of its colour; this is rendering impotent and useless any
attempt at utilising instrumental forces in a cumulative and calculated manner; this is
ruining the past, present and future of art; this is a wilful act of vandalism, or it
demonstrates a complete lack of feeling for expression which verges on stupidity.

[Numerous examples: see for instance the Francs Juges overture, bar 20 and
following, bar 100 and following; Symphonie Fantastique, 4th movement, bar 78 and
following, 114 and following; 5th movement, bar 147 and following; Romeo and
Juliet, 1st movement, bar 45 and following, 79 and following; 6th movement, bar 160
and following; Symphonie Funèbre et Triomphale, passim, et especially the solo in
the 2nd movement; the Hungarian March from the Damnation of Faust, bar 94 and
following]

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The ophicleide

[…] The timbre of the ophicleide’s lower notes is rough, but it can do wonders in
some cases when placed below a mass of brass instruments. The highest notes have a
raw quality which have perhaps not been sufficiently exploited. The middle range,
particularly when the player is not very skilled, is all too reminiscent of the sound of
the serpent and the cornet. I think it is best for them not to be left exposed. There is
nothing more vulgar, I would even say more monstrous and less designed to blend
with the rest of the orchestra than those more or less fast passages written as solos for
the middle range of the ophicleide in some modern operas. It is rather like a bull
escaped from its stable and frolicking in a salon.

[Examples in Berlioz: the Francs Juges overture, bar 20 and following; Symphonie
Fantastique, 5th movement, bar 127 and following]

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The bass tuba

[…] The bass tuba is nowadays very widespread in the north of Germany,
especially in Berlin; it has an immense advantage over all other low wind
instruments. Its timbre is incomparably nobler than that of ophicleides, bombardons
and serpents, and has something of the vibration of the timbre of a trombone. It is less
agile than the ophicleide, but its tone is powerful and its range in the lower part is the
most extensive available in the whole orchestra. […]

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The saxhorns

[…] The tone of the saxhorns is rounded, pure, full, even, resonant, and completely
consistent throughout the whole range. The different keys of the saxhorn, like those
of the cornet, start in descending order from the typical instrument, the little soprano
saxhorn in C, which is an octave above the cornet in C. The practice has developed in
France of writing all these instruments, as well as the saxotrombas and the saxtubas,
both the lowest and the highest, on the G clef, as is done with horns. The only
difference is that whereas for the horn in C basso the real sound must be imagined to
be an octave below the written note in the G clef, for some very low saxhorns the
sound must be imagined to be two octaves below. […]

The notes of the bottom range have a rather poor timbre and the instrument must
not be used below the low A. But there is nothing more brilliant, better defined and
more devoid of shrillness despite their brilliance than all the notes of the upper
octave. This timbre is also so clear and penetrating that one can pick out a single
soprano saxhorn through a considerable mass of other wind instruments. The soprano
saxhorn in B flat is more frequently used than that in C; and though it is a tone lower
than the C saxhorn it is already difficult or at least very strenuous for the player to
sound the last two notes; these valuable notes must therefore be used very sparingly
and must be introduced in a skilful way.

[Example in Berlioz: Te Deum, 8th movement; the original version of the Royal
Hunt and Storm from Les Troyens was written for saxhorns, which nowadays are
replaced by horns, trumpets, and cornets; the same applies to the great finale (the
Trojan March) of Act I of Les Troyens]

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Percussion instruments

The timpani

Among all percussion instruments the timpani seem to me the most valuable, or at
least those which are most commonly used, and from which modern composers have
been able to draw the greatest number of picturesque or dramatic effects. The old
masters only used them to strike the tonic or dominant on a more or less
commonplace rhythm in pieces of a brilliant character or with martial pretensions.
They therefore associated them almost always with the trumpets.

The majority of orchestras nowadays still only have one pair of timpani, the largest
of which is reserved for the lower note. […]

For many years composers have complained of the awkward obligation, caused by
the lack of a third timpani sound, to avoid using the instrument in chords which did
not include either the tonic or the dominant; no one ever asked whether a single
timpanist might not play on three timpani. Eventually the timpanist at the Paris Opéra
demonstrated one day that this was easy, and this daring innovation was tried. Since
then composers who write for the Opéra can make use of three timpani notes. It took
seventy years to reach that point!… It would obviously be better to have two pairs of
timpani and two players; this is the practice that has been followed in the
orchestration of several modern symphonies [an allusion to Berlioz's own works]. But
progress moves more slowly in theatres, and it will take another twenty five years to
bring this about.

One may use as many timpanists as there are timpani in the orchestra, in order to
produce rolls and rhythms with two, three, or four parts, depending on the numbers
available. […]

Apart from the special skill required from the timpanist in the handling of sticks,
he needs to be a first rate musician who is gifted with an exceptionally sensitive ear:
that is why good timpanists are so rare.

There are three kinds of sticks; their use changes so much the nature of the
timpani’s sound that it is more than mere negligence for composers to fail to indicate
in their scores the sticks they want the players to use.

Sticks with a wooden head produce a harsh, dry and hard sound, suitable only for
striking a violent blow, or for accompanying a noisy orchestral outburst.

Sticks with a wooden head covered with leather are less harsh; their sound is less
brilliant though still very dry. In many orchestras these are the only sticks used and
this is a great pity.

Sticks with sponge heads are the best; they are the most musical and are less noisy,
and should be used most of the time. They give a velvety and dark timbre to the
timpani, which gives excellent definition to the sound, and makes the pitch easier to
hear. They are suitable for a whole range of soft or loud nuances for which the other
sticks would produce a very poor effect or would at least be inadequate.

Whenever mysterious and softly threatening sounds are required, even in a forte
passage, sticks with sponge heads should be used. It may be added that the elasticity
of the sponge increases the stick’s bounce; the player only needs to touch the
timpani’s surface lightly to obtain in a pianissimo delicate, gentle and very tight rolls.
In his symphonies in B flat and C minor Beethoven made wonderful use of the
timpani pianissimo; these superb passages lose a great deal if played with sticks
without sponge heads, even though the composer did not specify anything to that
effect in his scores. (Examples: 4th Symphony, 2nd movement, bars 96-104; 5th
Symphony, 3rd movement, bars 313-373)

[Examples in Berlioz: Francs Juges overture, bar 310 and following; Waverley
overture, bar 55 and following; Symphonie Fantastique, 3rd movement, bar 177 and
following; 4th movement, bar 1 and following; King Lear overture, bar 67 and
following]
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Bells

Bells have been introduced into orchestral writing to produce effects that are
dramatic rather than musical. The timbre of low-pitched bells is appropriate only for
scenes of a solemn or tense character. High-pitched bells, on the other hand, give rise
to more peaceful impressions; there is something rustic and artless about them which
make them particularly suitable for religious scenes from country life. That is why
Rossini made use of a little bell in G to accompany a graceful chorus from the second
Act of William Tell, the refrain of which is "voici la nuit". Meyerbeer on his side
needed to use a deep bell in F to give the signal for the massacre of the Huguenots, in
the fourth Act of the opera of that name. In addition he was careful to make that F the
augmented fifth of the B natural played by the bassoons below. Assisted by the low
notes of two clarinets in A and B flat this gives the passage the sinister timbre which
evokes the feelings of terror and fear which permeate this immortal scene. (Example)

[Example in Berlioz: the last movement of the Symphonie Fantastique, bar 102 and
following]

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The bass drum

Among percussion instruments of indeterminate pitch it is without doubt the bass

drum that has caused the greatest havoc and introduced most nonsense and vulgarity
in modern music. None of the great masters of the previous century thought it
appropriate to introduce it in the orchestra. Spontini was the first to use it in his
triumphal march in La Vestale and a little later in a few pieces in Fernand Cortez,
where it was well motivated. But to write for it as has been done these last fifteen
years, where it is introduced in every ensemble, in every finale, in the slightest
chorus, in dance tunes, even in cavatinas, this is the height of insanity and, to call
things by their name, of brutality. All the more so as composers usually do not have
the excuse of an original rhythm which they might want to enhance and bring out
over subsidiary rhythms. Instead, the strong beat of every bar is struck, the orchestra
is crushed, the voices obliterated; nothing is left, neither melody, nor harmony, nor
line; even the tonality barely emerges. Composers then naively believe that they have
orchestrated their music in an energetic way and written something beautiful! No
need to add that in this system the bass drum is almost never used without the
accompaniment of cymbals, as though these two instruments were by their nature
inseparable. In some orchestras both instruments are even played by one and the
same musician: one of the cymbals is fixed to the bass drum, so the player can strike
it with the other cymbal in his left hand, while the right hand wields the bass drum’s
stick. This cost-cutting method is intolerable: the cymbals lose their sonority in this
way and can only make a noise similar to the dropping of a bag full of metal junk and
broken glass. This is trivial, and devoid of pomp and splendour. It is just good
enough to set monkeys dancing and to accompany the tricks of conjurers, jugglers
and swallowers of swords and snakes on public squares and at the dirtiest of cross-
roads.

And yet the bass drum can be admirably effective when used intelligently. It might
join in an ensemble piece, in a very large orchestra, but only to enhance gradually the
power of a strong rhythm which has already been established, and which is gradually
reinforced by successive entries of the most sonorous instruments. The impact of the
bass drum is then wonderfully telling; the orchestra’s pendulum acquires enormous
power; and noise tamed in this way is transformed into music. Pianissimo notes from
the bass drum, when combined with cymbals in an andante and struck at long
intervals, have a majestic and solemn quality. On the other hand the bass drum played
pianissimo on its own is sinister and threatening (provided the instrument is of large
dimensions and well built); it then resembles a distant cannon shot.

In my Requiem I have used the bass drum forte without cymbals and played with
two sticks. The player strikes each side of the instrument and can thus play a
succession of fairly rapid notes. When combined with timpani rolls in several parts,
as in the work I have just mentioned, and with an orchestration that emphasises the
note of terror, they suggest the strange and awesome sounds that accompany the great
cataclysms of nature. (Example)

On another occasion, to obtain a deep roll in a symphony which would be much

lower in pitch than the lowest notes of the timpani, I did this by using two players on
a single bass drum that was stood upright like a drum.

[Examples in Berlioz: the Francs Juges overture, bar 299 and following;
Symphonie Fantastique, 5th movement; the Hungarian March from the Damnation of
Faust, bar 84 and following; the Royal Hunt and Storm from Les Troyens, bar 207
and following, 239 and following]

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The cymbals

Cymbals are often used in conjunction with the bass drum, but as I have just said
about the latter instrument, they can be used separately to excellent effect in many
circumstances. Their quivering and thin sound, which cuts through the rest of the
orchestra, can be eminently suitable whether for feelings of extreme ferocity,
combined with the shrill shrieks of piccolos and strokes on the timpani or the side
drum, or for the feverish excitement of a bacchanal where joy turns to frenzy. […]

A vigorous marcato rhythm in a vast choral piece or a frenzied dance gains a great
deal by being played not by a single pair of cymbals but by four, six, ten or even
more, depending on the size of the venue and the numbers of the other instruments
and voices. The composer must always be careful to indicate the duration he wishes
to give to cymbal strokes that are followed by a rest. When he wants the sound to
reverberate, he should write long sustained notes with the indication: let the sound
vibrate; in the opposite case he should write a quaver or a semiquaver with the words:
dampen the sound. The player does this by bringing the cymbals close to his chest
immediately after striking them. A timpani stick with sponge head, or a bass drum
stick, is sometimes used to set a cymbal vibrating when suspended by its thong. This
produces a rather prolonged metallic shimmer, sinister in quality though without the
formidable power of a stroke on the tam-tam.

[Berlioz makes frequent use of the cymbals, but always with discretion and a great
variety of nuances. The Roman Carnival overture is a good illustration. In the
Symphonie Fantastique the cymbals are used only at the very end of the 4th and 5th
movements (the last chord). The Menuet des Follets from the Damnation of Faust
may be mentioned as an example of the varied use of the instrument in the course of
the same piece]

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The gong

The tamtam, or gong, is only used in compositions of a dirge-like character and for
dramatic scenes of the utmost horror. When mingled in a forte with strident chords of
brass instruments (trumpets and trombones) its vibrations have an awe-inspiring
quality. No less terrifying in their lugubrious resonance are the exposed strokes of the
gong, as M. Meyerbeer has demonstrated in the magnificent scene of the resurrection
of the nuns in Robert le Diable. (Example)

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The side drum

Side drums are rarely appropriate except in large ensembles of wind instruments.
Their effect is enhanced and ennobled in proportion to the numbers used; a single
side drum, particularly when used in an ordinary orchestra, has always seemed to me
trivial and vulgar. It should however be mentioned that M. Meyerbeer has been able
to draw a distinctive and formidable sound by combining the side drum with the
timpani for the celebrated crescendo roll in the scene of the blessing of the daggers in
Les Huguenots. But when eight, ten, twelve or more drums play rhythmic
accompaniments or crescendo rolls in a military march, they can provide magnificent
and powerful support for wind instruments. Ordinary rhythms, devoid of melody,
harmony or tonality, or of anything that constitutes real music, but intended solely to
provide a beat for soldiers on the march, become exciting when performed by a mass
of forty or fifty drums on their own. This may be the moment to point out the peculiar
and very real delight for the ear of a multiplicity of unisons or of the simultaneous
reproduction by a very large number of similar instruments of the sound they make.
[…]

Side drums, like the timpani, can be used covered; but instead of covering the skin
with a piece of cloth, players often merely loosen the snares, or insert a leather strap
between them and the lower skin to check the vibrations. The drums then take on a
flat and dull sound, rather similar to what is produced when the top skin is covered.
This makes them suitable for compositions of a funereal or awe-inspiring character.

[Examples in Berlioz: Symphonie Funèbre et Triomphale, passim; Te Deum, 3rd et

8th movements; the Hungarian March from the Damnation of Faust; the Funeral
March for the last scene of Hamlet]

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The triangle

As with the bass drum, cymbals, timpani, trombones, and all instruments that have
a thunderous, explosive or reverberating sound, the triangle is nowadays deplorably
misused. It is even more difficult than with those instruments to give it an appropriate
role in the orchestra, as its metallic sound when played forte is only suitable for
pieces that are extremely brilliant, and when played piano for pieces that have a
certain bizarre wildness. Weber has used it to good effect in his choruses of
Bohemians in Preciosa, and Gluck better still in the section in the major of the
terrifying ballet of the Scythians in Act I of Iphigénie en Tauride (Example).

[Examples in Berlioz: Harold in Italy, 1st movement, bar 73 and following;

overture to Benvenuto Cellini; the Roman Carnival overture; the Menuet des Follets
from the Damnation of Faust]

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The "pavillon chinois" or "Jingling Johnny"

The "pavillon chinois" or "Jingling Johnny" is equipped with numerous little bells,
which serve to give brilliance to extrovert pieces and solemn marches in military
music. It cannot be shaken to produce its sound except at well spaced intervals, that is
about twice in a bar in a moderate tempo

[Example in Berlioz: Symphonie Funèbre et Triomphale, 3rd movement]

We will not say anything here about various more or less imperfect and little
known instruments, such as the aeolodicon, the anemochord, the accordion, the
poikilorgan, the ancient sistrum etc. and will refer interested readers to the excellent
General Treatise on Instrumentation by M. Kastner. Our aim in this work is merely to
study those instruments that are used in modern music and to try to discover the rules
for creating harmonious understanding and striking contrasts between them, by taking
into account above all their expressive potential and the individual character of each.

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Keyboard instruments

The piano

[…] Given the high level of perfection to which the skilled piano-makers of our
time have brought the instrument, the piano can be considered from two different
angles: as an orchestral instrument, or as a small but complete orchestra in its own
right. On only one occasion has a composer thought it appropriate to use the piano in
the orchestra just like any other instrument, that is to make it contribute to the
ensemble its own individual resources, for which there is no available substitute. And
yet some passages in Beethoven’s concertos should have drawn the attention of
composers in this direction. They have probably all admired the wonderful effect
produced in the great E flat concerto (sc. the Emperor) by the slow broken chords
played by both hands in the upper register of the instrument while flute, clarinet and
bassoon play the melody and the strings accompany with off-beat chords. In such a
context the sound of the piano has a delightful charm, full of calm and freshness, and
is the very image of grace. (Example: 5th piano concerto, 2nd movement, bars 64-
82).

The use made of the piano in the single example I have just mentioned is quite
different. In a chorus of airy spirits, the composer has used two pianos for four hands.
The lower pair of hands executes a fast rising arpeggio in triplets, which is answered
in the second half of the bar by another, descending arpeggio in three parts played by
a piccolo, a flute and a clarinet, above which there is a shimmering double trill in
octaves from the upper pair of hands on the piano. No other available instrument
could produce this kind of harmonious flutter which the piano has no difficulty in
rendering, and which the sylph-like character of the piece requires. (Example:
Berlioz, Fantasia on Shakespeare’s Tempest). [...]

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The organ

[…] Like the piano, though better than it, the organ seems to be able to assume a
double face in the hierarchy of instruments, as an additional orchestral instrument, or
as instrument that is by itself a complete and independent orchestra. It may be
possible to combine the organ with the different elements that build up the orchestra,
and this has been done several times. But it is a strange way of belittling this majestic
instrument to reduce it to this secondary role. It must also be realised that its level,
even and uniform sonority never blends completely with the diverse and distinctive
sounds of the orchestra, and that there seems to be a hidden antipathy between these
two musical powers. The organ and the orchestra are both Kings, or rather one is
Emperor and the other Pope; they have different missions, their interests are too vast
and too divergent to be confused. Hence on almost all occasions when the attempt has
been made to bring these two incompatible forces together, either the organ largely
overshadowed the orchestra, or the orchestra, increased to inflated proportions,
almost completely obliterated its opponent.

Only the very soft stops seem to be suitable for the accompaniment of voices. In
general the organ is meant for total domination, it is a jealous and intolerant
instrument. It seems to me that there is only one set of circumstances where it could
blend with a chorus and an orchestra without detriment, but only on condition that it
remained itself in majestic isolation. Suppose a mass of voices placed in the choir of
a church, far away from the organ, and interrupting its chant to let the organ repeat it,
in whole or in part; suppose even that the chorus, in a ceremony of a sad character,
was accompanied by a lament alternating between the orchestra and the organ from
the two extremities of the church, with the organ following the orchestra like a
mysterious echo of its lament. This manner of instrumentation could lead to grand
and sublime effects. Yet even in this case the organ would not really blend with the
other instruments, but would answer and question them. There would only be
between these two rival powers an alliance all the more sincere as neither would shed
any of its dignity. Every time I have heard the organ playing together with the
orchestra it seemed to me to produce a dreadful effect; it interfered with the orchestra
instead of strengthening it. As for determining how the organ should be used on its
own when considered as a self-contained orchestra, this is not the place to do this. We
have not set ourselves the task of writing a collection of textbooks for different
instruments, but rather to study how they can contribute to musical purposes when
combined with each other. […]

[Examples in Berlioz: Te Deum, 4th and 8th movement]

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Alexandre's melodium-organ

[…] The simplest melodium with a single register, whose range we have just
indicated, has two different timbres, that of the Cor anglais for the left half of the
keyboard and that of the Flute for the right. Depending on the manufacturer’s design,
the others can produce through various combinations registers for the Bassoon, the
Clarion, the Flute, the Clarinet, the Fife, and the Oboe, all of them so named because
of the analogy between these instruments and the timbre of the melodium. There is
also the Full organ, the Forte, and Expression. These registers give the melodium a
range of seven octaves, although its keyboard only has five. […]

The melodium does not have the mixture stops of the organ, the effect of which is
traditionally admired by many people, but which in reality are an open door to the
most dreadful confusion. It only has stops for simple or double octaves and for
shifting the keyboard right or left. These cause each key to sound both the
fundamental note and the octave or double octave of the note, or the double octave
without the octave, or even the octave above and the octave below simultaneously.
 Many ignorant players, devoted to noise, make a deplorable use of these octave
stops. The result is barbaric, though admittedly not to the same degree as with the
mixture stops of the organ which give to each note simultaneously the notes of the
major chord, in other words the major third and perfect fifth. Barbaric it is
nonetheless, since quite apart from the harmonic congestion produced, it necessarily
introduces into the harmony the most dreadful chaos through the unavoidable
inversion of chords. […]

The ignorance of the middle ages, groping for the laws of harmony, must probably
be credited with the introduction into organs of these monstrosities which routine has
preserved and bequeathed to us. It is to be hoped that they will gradually disappear.

Since the tone production of the melodium is rather slow, as is the case with the
pipe organ, it is more suited for the legato style than any other, and very appropriate
for religious music, for gentle and tender melodies in a slow tempo.

Pieces that have a sprightly character, that are vehement or petulant, display in my
view when performed on the melodium the bad taste of the player, or the ignorance
of the composer, or the ignorance and bad taste of both at once.

It has been M. Alexandre’s aim to give to the sounds of the melodium a dreamy
and religious character, and to make them capable of reproducing all the inflexions of
the human voice and of the majority of instruments, and he has succeeded in his aim.

The melodium is an instrument that is suitable at once for churches, theatres,

salons, and concert halls. It requires little space and is portable. For composers and
music lovers it is therefore an assistant of unquestionable usefulness. Since MM.
Meyerbeer, Halévy, and Verdi have used the organ in their operas, many theatres in
the provinces in France and even in Germany have had difficulty in performing these
works, as they do not have an organ. This lack has resulted in numerous more or less
clumsy mutilations and arrangements of the original scores. Theatre directors
nowadays have no excuse to tolerate misdeeds of this kind, since for a modest outlay
they can acquire, if not a pipe organ, at least a melodium-organ which is almost
adequate as a substitute.

The same is true of small churches where music has so far not been able to
penetrate. A melodium played by a sensitive musician can and should introduce there
harmony and civilisation, and bring about in time the disappearance of those
grotesque howls which are still the concomitant of religious services.

[Examples in Berlioz: the three pieces for Alexandre's melodium-organ]

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The Orchestra

The orchestra may be thought of as a large instrument that is capable of producing

simultaneously or in succession a multitude of sounds of different kinds. Its power
can be limited or considerable depending on whether it draws on the totality or only
part of the performing resources available to modern music, and depending on
whether those resources are well chosen or not and set out in acoustic conditions that
are more or less favourable.

The performers of all kinds which together make up the orchestra would then seem
to be the strings, tubes, boxes, flat surfaces, of wood or metal, that are like machines
endowed with intelligence but actuated by a vast keyboard played by the conductor
under the direction of the composer.

I believe I have already stated that it seemed to me impossible to explain how

beautiful orchestral effects are invented, and that this faculty, which practice and
reasoned observation probably help to develop, is, like the faculty of creating melody,
expression, and even harmony, one of the precious gifts that the poet-musician, like
an inspired creator, must have received from nature.

On the other hand one can certainly demonstrate easily and with virtual exactness
the art of making orchestras that are suitable for rendering faithfully compositions of
every form and dimension.

A distinction must be drawn between theatre orchestras and concert orchestras.

From some points of view the former are, generally speaking, inferior to the latter.

The place occupied by musicians, the way they are arranged on a horizontal or
inclined platform, in an enclosure that is shut on three sides or at the centre of a hall,
with sound-reflectors made of hard material suitable for reflecting sound, or of soft
material which absorbs it and cuts the vibrations short, placed nearer or further away
from the musicians, all of these have considerable importance. Sound reflectors are
indispensable; they are found arranged in different ways in any enclosed building.
The nearer they are to the point of origin of the sounds the more effective they
become.

That is the reason why open air music does not exist. The most formidable
orchestra placed in the centre of a vast garden open on all sides, such as that of the
Tuileries, will have no effect. Even if placed against the walls of the palace, the
reflection will not be sufficient, as the sounds get immediately dissipated in every
other direction. An orchestra with a thousand wind instruments, and a chorus of two
thousand voices, if placed in an open plain will not have one twentieth of the musical
effectiveness of an ordinary orchestra of eighty musicians and a chorus of a hundred
voices carefully arranged in the hall of the Conservatoire. The brilliant effect
produced by military bands in some streets of large cities supports this statement
while appearing to contradict it. In this case the music is not actually in the open air;
the walls of the tall houses to the right and the left of the streets, the rows of trees, the
façades of the large palaces and neighbouring monuments, all serve as reflectors. The
sound reverberates and circulates actively in the narrow space between them before
escaping through the spaces left open. But if the military band continues to march and
perform as it moves on, and leaves a large and reverberant street of this kind to
emerge into a plain devoid of trees and buildings, the sounds immediately evaporate,
the orchestra vanishes, and there is no music.

The best layout for performers, in a hall which is suitably proportioned in relation
to the numbers involved, is to raise them one above the other by a series of tiers set
out so in such a way that each row can project the sounds it makes to the audience
without any intervening obstacle.

Any well-organised concert orchestra must be set out in this way. If the tiers have
been erected in a theatre, the stage must be perfectly sealed at the end, to the right,
the left and above by a wooden enclosure.

But if the tiers are erected in a special hall or at one end of a church, and if, as
often is the case, the end of this building is constructed of thick materials and causes
the sound of the instruments close to it to reverberate with excessive force and
harshness, then the effectiveness of the reflectors and the resulting reverberation can
easily be reduced. This is done by suspending a number of hangings and
concentrating at this point materials that are suitable for intercepting the sound
waves.

Concerning the design of our theatres and opera houses and the requirements of
dramatic performances, this layout in the shape of an amphitheatre is not possible for
orchestras that are meant for the performance of operas. On the contrary, by being
relegated to the central and lowest point of the hall, in front of the footlights and on a
horizontal plane, the players are deprived of most of the advantages that derive from
the layout I have described for concert orchestras. The result is that many effects are
lost with opera orchestras and numerous delicate nuances go for nothing, even when
the playing is of the highest standard. So great is the difference that composers must
inevitably take this into account and should not write their dramatic scores in exactly
the same way as symphonies, masses and oratorios that are intended for concert halls
or for churches.

Formerly opera orchestras were always made up of string instruments in numerical

proportion to the mass of the other instruments; but for some years now things have
changed. The orchestra in an opéra-comique used to have only two flutes, two oboes,
two clarinets, two horns and two bassoons, only rarely two trumpets and almost never
four horns, three trombones, two trumpets, a bass drum and cymbals. These you now
find, but the number of string instruments has not been increased, so the tonal balance
is destroyed, the violins can scarcely be heard, and the overall result is dreadful. In a
grand opera, where in addition to the wind instruments I have mentioned you hear
two cornets, one ophicleid, and also percussion instruments and sometimes six or
eight harps, the orchestra cannot make do with twelve first violins, eleven seconds,
eight violas, ten cellos and eight double-basses. The minimum needed would be
fifteen first violins, fourteen seconds, ten violas and twelve cellos, but they should
not all be used together in pieces where the accompaniment needs to be very soft.

The proportions of an opéra-comique orchestra would be sufficient for a concert

orchestra that is meant to perform symphonies of Haydn or Mozart.

A larger number of string instruments would even be too loud in many cases for
the delicate effects which these two masters have normally entrusted to flutes, oboes
and bassoons only.

On the other hand, for Beethoven’s symphonies, Weber’s overtures, and modern
compositions written in a grand and passionate style, it is absolutely essential to have
the body of violins, violas and basses which I mentioned earlier for grand opera.

But the finest concert orchestra, for a hall scarcely larger than that of the
Conservatoire, the most complete, the richest in nuances and variety of tone colour,
the most majestic, powerful and at the same time the most mellow, would be an
orchestra composed as follows:

21 First Violins,
20 Seconds,
18 Violas,
8 First Cellos,
7 Seconds,
11 Double-basses,
4 Harps,
2 Piccoli,
2 Flutes,
2 Oboes,
1 Cor Anglais,
2 Clarinets,
1 Basset Horn or one Bass Clarinet,
4 Bassoons,
4 Valve Horns,
2 Valve Trumpets,
2 Cornets with Pistons or with Valves,
3 Trombones (1 Alto, 2 Tenor; or 3 Tenor),
 1 Bass Trombone,
1 Ophicleid in B flat (or one tuba),
2 Pairs of Timpani with four players,
1 Bass Drum,
1 Pair of Cymbals

If the intention was to perform a composition involving a chorus, such an orchestra

would require:

46 Sopranos (First and Second)

40 Tenors (First and Second)
40 Basses (First and Second)

By doubling or tripling in the same proportions and order this body of performers
the result would probably be a superb festival orchestra. But it is a mistake to suppose
that all orchestras must be constructed according to this scheme, which is based on
the predominance of string instruments. Excellent results can be achieved with the
opposite system. In the latter case the string instruments would be too weak to
dominate the mass of clarinets and brass instruments, and would serve to provide a
harmonious bridge with the strident sounds of the orchestra of wind instruments. In
some cases they would soften their brilliance, in others they would give warmth to
the impetus of the music, by means of the tremolo which can lend a musical quality
even to drum rolls by blending with them.

Common sense suggests that unless the composer is obliged to make do with
whatever size of orchestra is available, he must put together his body of performers
according to the style and character of the work he is writing and the type of principal
effects the subject may require. For example to reproduce in a musical way the great
images of the mass for the dead in a Requiem, I have used four small orchestras of
brass instruments (trumpets, trombones, cornets and ophicleides) placed some
distance from each other at the four corners of the large orchestra. The latter consists
of an imposing mass of string instruments, all the other wind instruments doubled or
tripled, and ten musicians playing eight pairs of timpani tuned to different notes. It is
quite certain that the special effects obtained by this new type of orchestra could not
possibly be achieved with any other forces.

This is the place to draw attention to the importance of the different points of
origin of the sounds. Some parts of an orchestra are meant by the composer to
question and answer each other, and this intention only becomes clear and beautiful if
the groups which engage in dialogue are placed at a sufficient distance from each
other. In his score the composer must therefore indicate the layout that he thinks is
appropriate.
 In the case of drums, bass drums, cymbals and timpani, for example, if they are
used all at once to play certain rhythms in the commonplace manner, they can remain
grouped together. But if they are playing a rhythmic dialogue, one part of which is
performed by the bass drums and cymbals, and the other by timpani and drums, it is
probably the case that the effect will become immeasurably better, more interesting
and more beautiful if the two groups of percussion instruments are placed at the two
ends of the orchestra, and therefore at a fairly great distance from each other. This
means that the constant uniformity in the placing of masses of instruments is one of
the greatest obstacles to the production of monumental works that are really novel. It
is imposed on composers more by habit, routine, laziness and lack of thought than for
reasons of economy, though these are unfortunately all too compelling, particularly in
France. Here music is far from our national habits, the government does everything
for theatres, but nothing for real music. Wealthy magnates who are prepared to give
50,000 francs or more for a painting from a great master, because this represents a
safe investment, would not spend even fifty francs to make it possible to hold once a
year some musical celebration worthy of country such as ours, which would display
to good effect the considerable musical resources it does actually possess but which
in practice cannot be put to good use.

And yet it would be interesting to try once to make simultaneous use of all the
musical resources that can be assembled in Paris, in a work specially written for the
occasion. Assuming a composer had such resources at his disposal, in a vast hall
organised for this purpose by an architect versed in acoustics and music, he would
need to determine precisely before starting work the disposition and layout of this
huge orchestra, and then keep them always in mind while composing. It can be
assumed that it is highly important in using such a vast mass of players to take into
account the distance or the proximity of the different groups that make it up. This is
an essential precondition for achieving the best possible results and calculating with
sureness the intended effects. In musical festivals up till now all that has been heard
are standard orchestras and choruses but with their parts quadrupled or quintupled,
depending on the smaller or larger number of performers. But this would involve
something very different, and the composer who wanted to show off the prodigious
and innumerable resources of such an instrument would certainly have to perform a
novel task.

Given time, care and the necessary expenditure, this is how it could be done in
Paris. The layout of the groups is optional and subject to the composer’s intentions;
percussion instruments, which have a compelling effect on the rhythm, and which
always drag when at a distance from the conductor, should, as I have mentioned,
always be placed sufficiently near to him to be able to respond instantaneously and
exactly to the slightest variations in the tempo and the beat.

120 Violins divided in two, three, or four parts;

40 Violas divided optionally into first and seconds, at least ten of which would at
times play the viola d’amore;
45 Cellos, divided into first and seconds;
18 Double-Basses with 3 strings tuned in fifths (G, D, A);
4 Octo-Basses;
15 Double-Basses with 4 strings tuned in fourths (E, A, D, G);
6 Flutes;
4 Flutes in E flat, incorrectly known as Flutes in F;
2 Piccolos;
2 Piccolos in D flat, incorrectly known as piccolos in E flat;
6 Oboes;
6 Cors Anglais;
5 Saxophones;
4 Tenoroons;
12 Bassoons;
4 Clarinets in E flat;
8 Clarinets (in C, B flat or A);
3 Bass Clarinets (in B flat);
16 Horns (6 of them with valves);
8 Trumpets;
6 Cornets;
4 Alto Trombones;
6 Tenor Trombones;
2 Bass Trombones;
1 Ophicleid in C;
2 Ophicleids in B flat;
2 Tubas.
-----------------
351
30 Harps;
30 Pianos;
1 very deep Organ, with at least sixteen foot stops;
8 Pairs of Timpani (10 players);
6 Drums;
3 Bass Drums;
4 Pairs of Cymbals;
6 Triangles;
6 Sets of Bells;
12 Pairs of Antique Cymbals (tuned to different pitches);
2 Large and very deep Bells;
2 Gongs;
4 ‘Jingling Johnnies’;
------------------
467 Instrumental players

40 Sopranos (children, first and second);

100 Sopranos (women, first and second);
100 Tenors (first and second;)
120 Basses (first and second;)
------------------
360 Choristers

It can be seen that in this ensemble of 867 performers choristers do not

predominate. Even then it would be very difficult to bring together in Paris 360
voices of any quality; at the moment the study of singing there is neither very
widespread nor very advanced.

Obviously it would be necessary to adopt a style of extraordinary breadth every

time the entire mass of players and singers is used, while delicate effects, light and
fast movements, should be reserved for small orchestras which the composer could
easily assemble and make to dialogue with each other in this crowd of musicians.

In addition to the dazzling colours which this multitude of different sounds could
generate at any moment, there would be harmonic effects previously unheard that
could be produced:

- By dividing in eight or ten parts the 120 violins supported by the 40 violas in the
high register, for music of an angelic and light character, played pianissimo.

- By dividing the cellos and double-basses in the low register at a slow tempo, for
music of a melancholy or religious character, played mezzo forte.

- By grouping in a small orchestra the lower notes of the clarinet family, for music
of a sombre kind, played forte or mezzo forte.

- By grouping in a small orchestra the lower notes of oboes, cor anglais and
tenoroons, mixed with the lower notes of flutes, for music of a religious and sad kind,
played piano.

- By grouping in a small orchestra the lower notes of ophicleids, tubas and horns,
mixed with the pedal notes of the tenor trombones, the lowest notes of the bass
trombones, and the sixteen foot stops of the organ, for music of a deep, religious and
quiet character, played piano.

- By grouping in a small orchestra the highest notes of E flat clarinets, flutes and
piccolos, for music of a strident kind, played forte.

- By grouping in a small orchestra the horns, trumpets, cornets, trombones and

ophicleids, for music of a festive and brilliant character, played forte.

- By grouping in a large orchestra the 30 harps and the mass of string instruments
playing pizzicato, which would thus form together another gigantic harp with nine
hundred and thirty four strings, for music of a graceful, brilliant and voluptuous kind,
played at every dynamic level.

- By grouping the 30 pianos and the 6 sets of bells, the 12 pairs of antique cymbals,
the 6 triangles (which like the antique cymbals could be tuned to different pitches)
and the four ‘Jingling Johnnies’ into a metallic percussion orchestra, for music of a
joyful and brilliant kind, played mezzo forte.

- By grouping the 8 pairs of timpani, the 6 drums and the 3 bass drums into a small
percussion orchestra of an almost exclusively rhythmic character, for music of a
threatening kind, played at every dynamic level.

- By combining the 2 gongs, the 2 bells, and the 3 large cymbals with some chords
of the trombones, for music of a lugubrious and sinister kind, played mezzo forte.

How could one enumerate all the harmonic characteristics that each of these
different groups might assume when combined with groups that blend or contrast
with it!

One might set up:

- A great duet between the orchestra of wind instruments and the orchestra of
strings.

- A duet between one of these orchestras and the chorus. Between the chorus and
harps and pianos alone.

- A great trio between the chorus in unison and octaves, the wind instruments in
unison and octaves, and the violins, violas and cellos also in unison and octaves.

- The same trio accompanied by a rhythmic pattern played by all percussion

instruments, the double-basses, harps and pianos.

- A chorus, single, double or triple, without accompaniment.

- A melody by the violins, violas and cellos playing in unison, or by the wind
instruments playing in unison, or by brass instruments playing in unison,
accompanied by a vocal orchestra.

- A melody sung by the sopranos, tenors, or basses, or by all voices in octaves,

accompanied by an instrumental orchestra.

- A small melodic chorus, accompanied by the full chorus and a few instruments.
 - A deep and solemn melody, played by all the lower strings, and accompanied
high up by the divided violins, the harps and pianos.

- A deep and solemn melody, played by all the lower wind instruments and the
organ, and accompanied high up by the flutes, oboes, clarinets, and divided violins.

Etc, etc, etc…….

There can be no doubt about the system of rehearsals needed for this gigantic
orchestra: it is the system that should be adopted every time a large scale work is to
be performed, a work with a complex plan and which whether in parts or as a whole
presents difficulties in performance - the system of sectional rehearsals. The
conductor should proceed as follows in his analytical work.

I assume he is thoroughly familiar, down to the smallest details, with the score he
is going to perform. He must first appoint two assistant conductors who when beating
time in the general rehearsals must constantly keep their eye on him so as to
communicate the tempo to the masses that are too far away from the centre. He will
then select coaches for each one of the vocal and instrumental groups.

He will have a preliminary rehearsal to instruct them on how to direct the sectional
rehearsals that are entrusted to them.

The first coach will rehearse on their own the first sopranos, then the second, then
the first and second together.

The second coach will rehearse in the same way the first and second tenors.

Similarly for the third with the basses. After this three choruses will be formed
composed each of one third of all the singers; and finally the entire chorus will
rehearse together.

To accompany these vocal rehearsals use will be made either of an organ, or of a

piano assisted with a few stringed instruments, violins and basses.

The assistant conductors and orchestral coaches will rehearse on their own,
following the same method:

1. The first and second violins separately, then all the violins together.

2. The violas, cellos, and double-basses separately, then all together.

3. The whole mass of stringed instruments.

4. The harps on their own.

 5. The pianos on their own.

6. The harps and pianos together.

7. The woodwind instruments on their own.

8. The brass instruments on their own.

9. All the wind instruments together.

10. The percussion instruments on their own; particular attention will be given to
getting the timpani players to tune their instruments properly.

11. The percussion instruments together with the wind instruments.

12. Finally the entire orchestral and vocal mass brought together under the
conductor’s direction.

This method should result first in an excellent quality of performance which could
not be obtained under the old system of collective rehearsals; it would not require
more than four rehearsals at the most from each player. Care should be taken in this
case to provide numerous tuning forks in the orchestra; this is the only way to
preserve exactly the correct pitch of a crowd of instruments that are so different in
character and temperament.

There is a common prejudice that large orchestras are noisy. But if they are
properly composed, well drilled and well conducted, and if they are playing real
music, they should be called powerful; in truth, the difference between these two
words could not be greater. A small and flimsy vaudeville orchestra can be noisy,
where a great mass of musicians properly deployed will be extremely gentle and,
even in its most vehement outbursts, will produce the most beautiful sounds. Three
trombones poorly used will seem noisy and unbearable, while a moment later, in the
same hall, twelve trombones will astonish the public through their noble and
powerful harmony.

But there is a further point. Unisons only acquire quality when they are multiplied
beyond a certain number. For example the effect produced by four first-rate violinists
playing the same part together will be rather ungainly, even dreadful, where fifteen
average violinists will be excellent. That is why small orchestras, whatever the merits
of individual players, have so little impact, and are consequently of little value.

But in the thousand combinations that are possible with the monumental orchestra
we have just described there would reside a harmonic richness, a variety of sounds, a
succession of contrasts, which cannot be compared with anything that has been
achieved in art to this day. In particular it would have an incalculable melodic,
expressive and rhythmic power, a penetrating force like no other, a prodigious
sensitivity in all nuances whether in ensemble or in detail. When at rest it would be
majestic like a slumbering ocean. When in a state of agitation it would recall tropical
storms. It would erupt like a volcano. It would convey the laments, whispers and
mysterious sounds of virgin forests, the shouts, prayers, songs of triumph or
lamentation of a people with an expansive soul, an ardent heart, and fiery passions.
Its silence would strike awe through its solemnity, and the most recalcitrant
temperaments would shudder at the sight of its surging crescendo, like the roar of an
immense and sublime conflagration!…