In the first, there will be a repetition of chandeliers in the mirrored walls, each wall definitely reflecting the image of each particular light. In the second room there will be reflection also, and economy of light, but no reflection of definite images; the apartment will appear to be filled with a general and well-diffused luminosity, rendering every object distinctly visible, and there will be no deep shadows anywhere.
In scientific language, we shall have, in the first room, regular reflection; in the second, scattering reflection; in the third room we should have comparative gloom, owing to the absorption of the light by the black cloth.
We may easily suppose the parallels of these in the case of sound. If the velarium and side walls of the transept and orchestra were made of sheet iron, or smooth, bare, unbroken vibrating wooden boards, we should have a certain amount of regular reflection of sound or echo. Just as we should see the particular lights of the chandelier reflected in the first room, so should we hear the particular notes of the singer or player echoed by such regularly vibrating walls and ceiling.
If, again, the velarium and side drapery of the transept and orchestra had been thick, soft woollen cloths, the sound, like the light, would have been absorbed or “muffled,” and, though very clear, it would be weak and insufficient.
The reader will now ask—What, then, is the right material for such velarium and walls? I cannot pretend to say what is the best possible, believing that it has yet to be discovered. The best yet known, and attainable at moderate expense, is common canvas or calico, washed or painted over with a mixture of size and lime, or other attainable material that will fill up the pores of the fabric, and give it a moderately smooth face or surface. Thus prepared, it is found to reflect sound, as paper, ground glass, etc., reflect light, by scattering reverberation, but without definite echo.
It will now be understood how the velarium acted in rendering the solos so clearly audible at the great height and distance of the Upper Press Gallery. Instead of being wasted by diffusion in the great vault above, they were stopped and reflected by the velarium, but not so reflected as to produce disagreeable repetition notes, just audible at particular points, as the lights of the mirror reflections of the chandeliers would be.
Flat surfaces reflect radially, while concave surfaces with certain curves reflect sound, light, heat, etc., in parallel lines. The walls and roof of a music-hall should scatter their reflections on all sides, and, therefore, should be flat, or nearly so, excepting at the angles, which should be curved or hollowed. From the orchestra the sound is chiefly required to be projected forward as from the singer’s mouth; and, therefore, an orchestra should have curved walls and roof.
Space will not permit a dissertation here on the particular curve required. This has, I believe, been carefully calculated in constructing the Crystal Palace orchestra. Viewed from a distance, the whole orchestra is curiously like a huge wide-opened mouth that only requires to close a little and open a little more, according to the articulations of the choir, to represent the vocal effort of one gigantic throat.
There is, I think, one fault in the shape of this mouth. It extends too far laterally in proportion to its perpendicular dimensions. The angles of the mouth are too acute; the choir extends too far on each side. The singers should be packed more like those of the Birmingham Festival Choir.
There is an acoustic limit to the magnitude of choirs. Sound travels at about 1100 feet per second, and thus, if one of the singers of a choir is 110 feet nearer than another singer to any particular auditor, the near singer will be heard one-tenth of a second before the more distant, though they actually sing exactly together. In rapid staccato passages this would produce serious confusion, though in such music as most of Handel’s it would be scarcely observable.