Life and Color in Interpretation

To hear Mischa Elman on the concert platform, to listen to him play, "with all that wealth of tone, emotion and impulse which places him in the very foremost rank of living violinists," should be joy enough for any music lover. To talk with him in his own home, however, gives one a deeper insight into his art as an interpreter; and in the pleasant intimacy of familiar conversation the writer learned much that the serious student of the violin will be interested in knowing.

MANNERISMS IN PLAYING

We all know that Elman, when he plays in public, moves his head, moves his body, sways in time to the music; in a word there are certain mannerisms associated with his playing which critics have on occasion mentioned with grave suspicion, as evidences of sensationalism. Half fearing to insult him by asking whether he was "sincere," or whether his motions were "stage business" carefully rehearsed, as had been implied, I still ventured the question. He laughed boyishly and was evidently
much amused.

"No, no," he said. "I do not study up any 'stage business' to help out my playing! I do not know whether I ought to compare myself to a dancer, but the appeal of the dance is in all musical movement. Certain rhythms and musical combination affect me subconsciously. I suppose the direct influence of the music on me is such that there is a sort of emotional reflex: I move with the music in an unconscious translation of it into gesture. It is all so individual. The French violinists as a rule play
very correctly in public, keeping their eye on finger and bow. And this appeals to me strongly in theory. In practice I seem to get away from it. It is a matter of temperament I presume. I am willing to believe I'm not graceful, but then--I do not know whether I move or do not move! Some of my friends have spoken of it to me at various times, so I suppose I do move, and sway and all the rest; but any movements of the sort must be unconscious, for I myself know nothing of them. And the idea that they are 'prepared' as 'stage effects' is delightful!" And again Elman laughed.

"For that matter," he continued, "every real artist has some mannerisms when playing, I imagine. Yet more than mannerisms are needed to impress an American audience. Life and color in interpretation are the true secrets of great art. And beauty of interpretation depends, first of all, on variety of color. Technic is, after all, only secondary. No matter how well played a composition be, its performance must have color, _nuance_, movement, life! Each emotional mood of the moment must be fully expressed, and if it is its appeal is sure. I remember when I once played for Don Manuel, the young ex-king of Portugal, in London, I had an illustration of the fact. He was just a pathetic boy, very democratic, and personally very likable. He was somewhat neglected at the time, for it is well known and not altogether unnatural, that royalty securely established finds 'kings in exile' a bit embarrassing. Don Manuel was a music-lover, and especially fond of Bach. I had had long talks with the young king at various times, and my sympathies had been aroused in his behalf. On the evening of which I speak I played a
Chopin _Nocturne_, and I know that into my playing there went some of my feeling for the pathos of the situation of this young stranger in a strange land, of my own age, eating the bitter bread of exile. When I had finished, the Marchioness of Ripon touched my arm: 'Look at the King!' she whispered. Don Manuel had been moved to tears.

"Of course the purely mechanical must always be dominated by the artistic personality of the player. Yet technic is also an important part of interpretation: knowing exactly how long to hold a bow, the most delicate inflections of its pressure on the strings. There must be perfect sympathy also with the composer's thought; his spirit must stand behind the personality of the artist. In the case of certain famous compositions, like the Beethoven concerto, for instance, this is so well established that the artist, and never the composer, is held responsible if it is not well played. But too rigorous an adherence to 'tradition' in playing is also an extreme. I once played privately for Joachim in Berlin: it was the Bach _Chaconne_. Now the edition I used was a standard one: and Joachim was extremely reverential as regards traditions. Yet he did not hesitate to indicate some changes which he thought should be made in the version of an authoritative edition, because 'they sounded better.' And 'How does it sound?' is really the true test of all interpretation."


ABSOLUTE PITCH THE FIRST ESSENTIAL OF A PERFECTED TECHNIC

"What is the fundamental of a perfected violin technic?" was a natural question at this point. "Absolute pitch, first of all," replied Elman promptly. "Many a violinist plays a difficult passage, sounding every note; and yet it sounds out of tune. The first and second movements of the Beethoven concerto have no double-stops; yet they are extremely difficult to play. Why? Because they call for absolute pitch: they must be played in perfect tune so that each tone stands out in all its
fullness and clarity like a rock in the sea. And without a fundamental control of pitch such a master work will always be beyond the violinist's reach. Many a player has the facility; but without perfect intonation he can never attain the highest perfection. On the other hand, any one who can play a single phrase in absolute pitch has the first and great essential. Few artists, not barring some of the greatest, play with perfect intonation. Its control depends first of all on the ear. And a sensitive ear finds differences and shading; it bids the violinist play a trifle sharper, a trifle flatter, according to the general harmonic color of the accompaniment; it leads him to observe a difference, when the harmonic atmosphere demands it, between a C sharp in the key of E major and a D flat in the same key.

"Every player finds some phases of technic easy and others difficult. For instance, I have never had to work hard for quality of tone--when I wish to get certain color effects they come: I have no difficulty in expressing my feelings, my emotions in tone. And in a technical way spiccato_ bowing, which many find so hard, has always been easy to me. I have never had to work for it. Double-stops, on the contrary, cost me hours of intensive work before I played them with ease and facility. What did I practice? Scales in double-stops--they give color and variety to tone. And I gave up a certain portion of my regular practice time to passages from concertos and sonatas. There is wonderful work in double-stops in the Ernst concerto and in the Paganini _Études_, for instance. With octaves and tenths I have never had any trouble: I have a broad hand and a wide stretch, which accounts for it, I suppose.

"Then there are harmonics, flageolets--I, have never been able to understand why they should be considered so difficult! They should not be white, colorless; but call for just as much color as any other tones (and any one who has heard Mischa Elman play harmonics knows that this is no mere theory on his part). I never think of harmonics as 'harmonics,' but try to give them just as much expressive quality as the notes of any other register. The mental attitude should influence their production--too many violinists think of them only as incidental to pyrotechnical display.

"And fingering? Fingering in general seems to me to be an individual matter. A concert artist may use a certain fingering for a certain passage which no pupil should use, and be entirely justified if he can thus secure a certain effect.

"I do not--speaking out of my own experience--believe much in methods: and never to the extent that they be allowed to kill the student's individuality. A clear, clean tone should always be the ideal of his striving. And to that end he must see that the up and down bows in a passage like the following from the Bach sonata in A minor (and Mr. Elman hastily jotted down the subjoined) are absolutely even, and of the same length, played with the same strength and length of bow, otherwise the notes are swallowed. In light _spiccato_ and _staccato_ the detached notes should be played always with a single stroke of the bow. Some players, strange to say, find _staccato_ notes more difficult to play at a moderate tempo than fast. I believe it to be altogether a matter of control--if proper control be there the tempo makes no difference. Wieniawski, I have read, could only play his _staccati_ at a high rate of speed. _Spiccato_ is generally held to be more difficult than _staccato_; yet I myself find it easier.


PROPORTION IN PRACTICE

"To influence a clear, singing tone with the left hand, to phrase it properly with the bow hand, is most important. And it is a matter of proportion. Good phrasing is spoiled by an ugly tone: a beautiful singing tone loses meaning if improperly phrased. When the student has reached a certain point of technical development, technic must be a secondary--yet not neglected--consideration, and he should devote
himself to the production of a good tone. Many violinists have missed their career by exaggerated attention to either bow or violin hand. Both hands must be watched at the same time. And the question of proportion should always be kept in mind in practicing studies and passages: pressure of fingers and pressure of bow must be equalized, coordinated. The teacher can only do a certain amount: the pupil must do the rest.


AUER AS A TEACHER

"Take Auer for example. I may call myself the first real exponent of his school, in the sense of making his name widely known. Auer is a great teacher, and leaves much to the individuality of his pupils. He first heard me play at the Imperial Music School in Odessa, and took me to Petrograd to study with him, which I did for a year and four months. And he could accomplish wonders! That one year he had a little group of four pupils each one better than the other--a very stimulating situation for
all of them. There was a magnetism about him: he literally hypnotized his pupils into doing better than their best--though in some cases it was evident that once the support of his magnetic personality was withdrawn, the pupil fell back into the level from which he had been raised for the time being.

"Yet Auer respected the fact that temperamentally I was not responsive to this form of appeal. He gave me of his best. I never practiced more than two or three hours a day--just enough to keep fresh. Often I came to my lesson unprepared, and he would have me play things--sonatas, concertos--which I had not touched for a year or more. He was a severe critic, but always a just one.

"I can recall how proud I was when he sent me to beautiful music-loving Helsingfors, in Finland--where all seems to be bloodshed and confusion now--to play a recital in his own stead on one occasion, and how proud he was of my success. Yet Auer had his little peculiarities. I have read somewhere that the great fencing-masters of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries were very jealous of the secrets of their famous
feints and _ripostes_, and only confided them to favorite pupils who promised not to reveal them. Auer had his little secrets, too, with which he was loth to part. When I was to make my _début_ in Berlin, I remember, he was naturally enough interested--since I was his pupil--in my scoring a triumph. And he decided to part with some of his treasured technical thrusts and parries. And when I was going over the Tschaikovsky _D minor concerto_ (which I was to play), he would select a passage and say: 'Now I'll play this for you. If you catch it, well and good; if not it is your own fault!' I am happy to say that I did not fail to 'catch' his meaning on any occasion. Auer really has a wonderful intellect, and some secrets well worth knowing. That he is so great an artist himself on the instrument is the more remarkable, since physically he was not exceptionally favored. Often, when he saw me, he'd say with a sigh: 'Ah, if I only had your hand!'

"Auer was a great virtuoso player. He held a unique place in the Imperial Ballet. You know in many of the celebrated ballets, Tschaikovsky's for instance, there occur beautiful and difficult solos for the violin. They call for an artist of the first rank, and Auer was accustomed to play them in Petrograd. In Russia it was considered a decided honor to be called upon to play one of those ballet solos; but in London it was looked on as something quite incidental. I remember when Diaghilev presented Tschaikovsky's _Lac des Cygnes_ in London, the Grand-Duke Andrew Vladimirev (who had heard me play), an amiable young boy, and a patron of the arts, requested me--and at that time the request of a Romanov was still equivalent to a command--to play the
violin solos which accompany the love scenes. It was not exactly easy, since I had to play and watch dancers and conductor at the same time. Yet it was a novelty for London, however; everybody was pleased and the Grand-Duke presented me with a handsome diamond pin as an acknowledgment.


VIOLIN MASTERY

"You ask me what I understand by 'Violin Mastery'? Well, it seems to me that the artist who can present anything he plays as a distinct picture, in every detail, framing the composer's idea in the perfect beauty of his plastic rendering, with absolute truth of color and proportion--he is the artist who deserves to be called a master!

"Of course, the instrument the artist uses is an important factor in making it possible for him to do his best. My violin? It is an authentic Strad--dated 1722. I bought it of Willy Burmester in London. You see he did not care much for it. The German style of playing is not calculated to bring out the tone beauty, the quality of the old Italian fiddles. I think Burmester had forced the tone, and it took me some time to make it mellow and truly responsive again, but now...." Mr. Elman beamed. It was evident he was satisfied with his instrument. "As to strings," he
continued, "I never use wire strings--they have no color, no quality!


WHAT TO STUDY AND HOW

"For the advanced student there is a wealth of study material. No one ever wrote more beautiful violin music than Haendel, so rich in invention, in harmonic fullness. In Beethoven there are more ideas than tone--but such ideas! Schubert--all genuine, spontaneous! Bach is so gigantic that the violin often seems inadequate to express him. That is one reason why I do not play more Bach in public.

"The study of a sonata or concerto should entirely absorb the attention of the student to such a degree that, as he is able to play it, it has become a part of him. He should be able to play it as though it were an improvisation--of course without doing violence to the composer's idea. If he masters the composition in the way it should be mastered it becomes a portion of himself. Before I even take up my violin I study a piece thoroughly in score. I read and reread it until I am at home with the composer's thought, and its musical balance and proportion. Then, when I begin to play it, its salient points are already memorized, and the practicing gives me a kind of photographic reflex of detail. After I have not played a number for a long time it fades from my memory--like an old negative--but I need only go over it once or twice to have a clear mnemonic picture of it once more.

"Yes, I believe in transcriptions for the violin--with certain provisos," said Mr. Elman, in reply to another question. "First of all the music to be transcribed must lend itself naturally to the instrument. Almost any really good melodic line, especially a _cantilena_, will sound with a fitting harmonic development. Violinists
of former days like Spohr, Rode and Paganini were more intent on composing music _out of the violin_! The modern idea lays stress first of all on the _idea_ in music. In transcribing I try to forget I am a violinist, in order to form a perfect picture of the musical idea--its violinistic development must be a natural, subconscious working-out. If you will look at some of my recent transcripts--the Albaniz _Tango_, the negro melody _Deep River_ and Amani's fine _Orientale_--you will see what I mean. They are conceived as pictures--I have not tried to analyze
too much--and while so conceiving them their free harmonic background shapes itself for me without strain or effort.


A REMINISCENCE OF COLONNE

"Conductors with whom I have played? There are many: Hans Richter, who was a master of the baton; Nikisch, one of the greatest in conducting the orchestral accompaniment to a violin solo number; Colonne of Paris, and many others. I had an amusing experience with Colonne once. He brought his orchestra to Russia while I was with Auer, and was giving a concert at Pavlovsk, a summer resort near Petrograd. Colonne had a perfect horror of 'infant prodigies,' and Auer had arranged for me to
play with his orchestra without telling him my age--I was eleven at the time. When Colonne saw me, violin in hand, ready to step on the stage, he drew himself up and said with emphasis: 'I play with a prodigy! Never!' Nothing could move him, and I had to play to a piano accompaniment. After he had heard me play, though, he came over to me and said: 'The best apology I can make for what I said is to ask you to
do me the honor of playing with the _Orchestre Colonne_ in Paris.' He was as good as his word. Four months later I went to Paris and played the Mendelssohn concerto for him with great success."


Adopted from "Violin Mastery, Talks With Master Violinists and Teachers by Frederick H. Martens"

Hubay And Auer: Technic - Hints To The Student

HUBAY AND AUER: SOME COMPARISONS

"With whom did I study? With two famous masters; by a strange coincidence both Hungarians. First with Jenö Hubay, at the National Academy of Music in Budapest, later with Leopold Auer in Petrograd. Hubay had been a pupil of Vieuxtemps in Brussels, and is a justly celebrated teacher, very thorough and painstaking in explaining to his pupils how to do things; but the great difference between Hubay and Auer is that while Hubay tells a student how to do things, Auer, a temperamental teacher, literally drags out of him whatever there is in him, awakening latent powers he never knew he possessed. Hubay is a splendid builder of virtuosity, and has a fine sense for phrasing. For a year and a half I worked at nothing but studies with him, giving special attention to technic. He did not believe in giving too much time to left hand development, when without adequate bow technic finger facility is
useless. Here he was in accord with Auer, in fact with every teacher seriously deserving of the name. Hubay was a first-class pedagog, and under his instruction one could not help becoming a well-balanced and musicianly player. But there is a higher ideal in violin playing than mere correctness, and Auer is an inspiring teacher. Hubay has written some admirable studies, notably twelve studies for the right hand, though he never stressed technic too greatly. On the other hand, Auer's
most notable contributions to violin literature are his revisions of such works as the Bach sonatas, the Tschaikovsky Concerto, etc. In a way it points the difference in their mental attitude: Hubay more concerned with the technical educational means, one which cannot be overlooked; Auer more interested in the interpretative, artistic educational end, which has always claimed his attention. Hubay personally was a _grand seigneur_, a multi-millionaire, and married to an Hungarian countess. He
had a fine ear for phrasing, could improvise most interesting violin accompaniments to whatever his pupils played, and beside Rode, Kreutzer and Fiorillo I studied the concertos and other repertory works with him. Then there were the conservatory lessons! Attendance at a European conservatory is very broadening musically. Not only does the individual violin pupil, for example, profit by listening to his colleagues play in class: he also studies theory, musical history, the piano, _ensemble_playing, chamber-music and orchestra. I was concertmaster of the
conservatory orchestra while studying with Hubay. There should be a national conservatory of music in this country; music in general would advance more rapidly. And it would help teach American students to approach the art of violin playing from the right point of view. As it is, too many want to study abroad under some renowned teacher not, primarily, with the idea of becoming great artists; but in the hope of
drawing great future commercial dividends from an initial financial investment. In Art the financial should always be a secondary consideration.

"It stands to reason that no matter how great a student's gifts may be, he can profit by study with a great teacher. This, I think, applies to all. After I had already appeared in concert at Albert Hall, London, in 1909, where I played the Beethoven Concerto with orchestra, I decided to study with Auer. When I first came to him he wanted to know why I did so, and after hearing me play, told me that I did not need any lessons from him. But I knew that there was a certain 'something' which I wished to add to my violinistic make-up, and instinctively felt that he alone
could give me what I wanted. I soon found that in many essentials his ideas coincided with those of Hubay. But I also discovered that Auer made me develop my individuality unconsciously, placing no undue restrictions whatsoever upon my manner of expression, barring, of course, unmusicianly tendencies. When he has a really talented pupil the Professor gives him of his best. I never gave a thought to technic while I studied with him--the great things were a singing tone, bowing,
interpretation! I studied Brahms and Beethoven, and though Hubay always finished with the Bach sonatas, I studied them again carefully with Auer.

"At the bottom of all technic lies the scale. And scale practice is the ladder by means of which all must climb to higher proficiency. Scales, in single tones and intervals, thirds, sixths, octaves, tenths, with the incidental changes of position, are the foundation of technic. They should be practiced slowly, always with the development of tone in mind, and not too long a time at any one session. No one can lay claim to a perfected technic who has not mastered the scale. Better a good tone,
even though a hundred mistakes be made in producing it, than a tone that is poor, thin and without quality. I find the Singer _Fingerübungen_ are excellent for muscular development in scale work, for imparting the great strength which is necessary for the fingers to have; and the Kreutzer _études_ are indispensable. To secure an absolute _legato_ tone, a true singing tone on the violin, one should play scales with a perfectly well sustained and steady bow, in whole notes, slowly and
_mezzo-forte_, taking care that each note is clear and pure, and that its volume does not vary during the stroke. The quality of tone must be equalized, and each whole note should be 'sung' with a single bowing. The change from up-bow to down-bow and _vice versa_ should be made without a break, exclusively through skillful manipulation of the wrist. To accomplish this unbroken change of bow one should cultivate a loose wrist, and do special work at the extreme ends, nut and tip.

"The _vibrato_ is a great tone beautifier. Too rapid or too slow a _vibrato_ defeats the object desired. There is a happy medium of _tempo_, rather faster than slower, which gives the best results. Carl Flesch has some interesting theories about vibration which are worth investigating. A slow and a moderately rapid _vibrato, from the wrist_, is best for practice, and the underlying idea while working must be
tone, and not fingerwork.

_Staccato_ is one of the less important branches of bow technic. There is a knack in doing it, and it is purely pyrotechnical. _Staccato_ passages in quantity are only to be found in solos of the virtuoso type. One never meets with extended _staccato_ passages in Beethoven, Brahms, Bruch or Lalo. And the Saint-Saëns's violin concerto, if I remember rightly, contains but a single _staccato_ passage.

"_Spiccato_ is a very different matter from _staccato_: violinists as a rule use the middle of the bow for _spiccato_: I use the upper third of the bow, and thus get most satisfactory results, in no matter what _tempo_. This question as to what portion of the bow to use for _spiccato_ each violinist must decide for himself, however, through experiment. I have tried both ways and find that by the last mentioned use of the bow I secure quicker, cleaner results. Students while
practicing this bowing should take care that the wrist, and never the arm, be used. Hubay has written some very excellent studies for this form of 'springing bow.'

"The trill, when it rolls quickly and evenly, is a trill indeed! I never had any difficulty in acquiring it, and can keep on trilling indefinitely without the slightest unevenness or slackening of speed. Auer himself has assured me that I have a trill that runs on and on without a sign of fatigue or uncertainty. The trill has to be practiced very slowly at first, later with increasing rapidity, and always with a firm pressure of the fingers. It is a very beautiful embellishment, and
one much used; one finds it in Beethoven, Mendelssohn, Brahms, etc.

"Double notes never seemed hard to me, but harmonics are not as easily acquired as some of the other violin effects. I advise pressing down the first finger on the strings _inordinately_, especially in the higher positions, when playing artificial harmonics. The higher the fingers ascend on the strings, the more firmly they should press them, otherwise the harmonics are apt to grow shrill and lose in clearness. The majority of students have trouble with their harmonics, because they do not
practice them in this way. Of course the quality of the harmonics produced varies with the quality of the strings that produce them. First class strings are an absolute necessity for the production of pure harmonics. Yet in the case of the artist, he himself is held responsible, and not his strings.

"Octaves? Occasionally, as in Auer's transcript of Beethoven's _Dance of the Dervishes_, or in the closing section of the Ernst Concerto, when they are used to obtain a certain weird effect, they sound well. But ordinarily, if cleanly played, they sound like one-note successions. In the examples mentioned, the so-called 'fingered octaves,' which are very difficult, are employed. Ordinary octaves are not so troublesome. After all, in octave playing we simply double the notes for the purpose of making them more powerful.

"As regards the playing of tenths, it seems to me that the interval always sounds constrained, and hardly ever euphonious enough to justify its difficulty, especially in rapid passages. Yet Paganini used this awkward interval very freely in his compositions, and one of his 'Caprices' is a variation in tenths, which should be played more often than it is, as it is very effective. In this connection change of
position, which I have already touched on with regard to scale playing, should be so smooth that it escapes notice. Among special effects the _glissando_ is really beautiful when properly done. And this calls for judgment. It might be added, though, that the _glissando_ is an effect which should not be overdone. The _portamento_--gliding from one note to another--is also a lovely effect. Its proper and timely application calls for good judgment and sound musical taste.


A SPANISH VIOLIN

"I usually play a 'Strad,' but very often turn to my beautiful 'Guillami,'" said Mr. Brown when asked about his violins. "It is an old Spanish violin, made in Barcelona, in 1728, with a tone that has a distinct Stradivarius character. In appearance it closely resembles a Guadagnini, and has often been taken for one. When the dealer of whom I bought it first showed it to me it was complete--but in four distinct
pieces! Kubelik, who was in Budapest at the time, heard of it and wanted to buy it; but the dealer, as was only right, did not forget that my offer represented a prior claim, and so I secured it. The Guadagnini, which I have played in all my concerts here, I am very fond of--it has a Stradivarius tone rather than the one we usually associate with the make." Mr. Brown showed the writer his Grancino, a beautiful little instrument about to be sent to the repair shop, since exposure to the
damp atmosphere of the sea-shore had opened its seams--and the rare and valuable Simon bow, now his, which had once been the property of Sivori. Mr. Brown has used a wire E ever since he broke six gut strings in one hour while at Seal Harbor, Maine. "A wire string, I find, is not only easier to play, but it has a more brilliant quality of tone than a gut string; and I am now so accustomed to using a wire E, that I would feel ill at ease if I did not have one on my instrument. Contrary to
general belief, it does not sound 'metallic,' unless the string itself is of very poor quality.

PROGRAMS

"In making up a recital program I try to arrange it so that the first half, approximately, may appeal to the more specifically musical part of my audience, and to the critics. In the second half I endeavor to remember the general public; at the same time being careful to include nothing which is not really _musical_. This (Mr. Brown found one of his recent programs on his desk and handed it to me) represents a logical compromise between the strictly artistic and the more general taste:"


PROGRAM

I. Beethoven . . . . . Sonata Op. 47 (dedicated to Kreutzer)

II. Bruch . . . . . . Concerto (G minor)

III. (a) Beethoven . . . . Romance (in G major)
(b) Beethoven-Auer . . Chorus of the Dervishes
(c) Brown . . . . . Rondino (on a Cramer theme)
(d) Arbos . . . . . Tango

IV. (a) Kreisler . . . . La Gitana
(Arabo-Spanish Gipsy Dance of the 18th Century)
(b) Cui . . . . . . Orientale
(c) Bazzini. . . . . La Ronde des Lutins


"As you see there are two extended serious works, followed by two smaller 'groups' of pieces. And these have also been chosen with a view to contrast. The _finale_ of the Bruch concerto is an _allegro energico_: I follow it with a Beethoven _Romance_, a slow movement. The second group begins with a taking Kreisler novelty, which is succeeded by another slow number; but one very effective in its working-up; and I end my program with a brilliant virtuoso number.


"My own personal conception of violin mastery," concluded Mr. Brown, "might be defined as follows: 'An individual tone production, or rather tone quality, consummate musicianship in phrasing and interpretation, ability to rise above all mechanical and intellectual effort, and finally the power to express that which is dictated by one's imagination and emotion, with the same natural simplicity and spontaneity with which the thought of a really great orator is expressed in the easy, unconstrained flow of his language.'"


Adopted from "Violin Mastery, Talks With Master Violinists and Teachers by Frederick H. Martens"

Leopold Auer - A Method Without Secrets

When that celebrated laboratory of budding musical genius, the Petrograd Conservatory, closed its doors indefinitely owing to the disturbed political conditions of Russia, the famous violinist and teacher Professor Leopold Auer decided to pay the visit to the United States which had so repeatedly been urged on him by his friends and pupils. His fame, owing to such heralds as Efrem Zimbalist, Mischa Elman, Kathleen Parlow, Eddy Brown, Francis MacMillan, and more recently Sascha Heifetz, Toscha Seidel, and Max Rosen, had long since preceded him; and the
reception accorded him in this country, as a soloist and one of the greatest exponents and teachers of his instrument, has been one justly due to his authority and preëminence.

It was not easy to have a heart-to-heart talk with the Master anent his art, since every minute of his time was precious. Yet ushered into his presence, the writer discovered that he had laid aside for the moment other preoccupations, and was amiably responsive to all questions, once their object had been disclosed. Naturally, the first and burning question in the case of so celebrated a pedagogue was: "How do you form such wonderful artists? What is the secret of your method?"

"I know," said Professor Auer, "that there is a theory somewhat to the effect that I make a few magic passes with the bow by way of illustration and--_presto_--you have a Zimbalist or a Heifetz! But the truth is I have no method--unless you want to call purely natural lines of development, based on natural principles, a method--and so, of course, there is no secret about my teaching. The one great point I lay stress on in teaching is never to kill the individuality of my various pupils. Each pupil has his own inborn aptitudes, his own personal qualities as regards tone and interpretation. I always have made an individual study of each pupil, and given each pupil individual treatment. And always, always I have encouraged them to develop freely in their own way as regards inspiration and ideals, so long as this was
not contrary to esthetic principles and those of my art. My idea has always been to help bring out what nature has already given, rather than to use dogma to force a student's natural inclinations into channels I myself might prefer. And another great principle in my teaching, one which is productive of results, is to demand as much as possible of the pupil. Then he will give you something!

"Of course the whole subject of violin teaching is one that I look at from the standpoint of the teacher who tries to make what is already excellent perfect from the musical and artistic standpoint. I insist on a perfected technical development in every pupil who comes to me. Art begins where technic ends. There can be no real art development before one's technic is firmly established. And a great deal of technical work has to be done before the great works of violin literature, the sonatas and concertos, may be approached. In Petrograd my own assistants, who
were familiar with my ideas, prepared my pupils for me. And in my own experience I have found that one cannot teach by word, by the spoken explanation, alone. If I have a point to make I explain it; but if my explanation fails to explain I take my violin and bow, and clear up the matter beyond any doubt. The word lives, it is true, but often the word must be materialized by action so that its meaning is clear. There are always things which the pupil must be shown literally, though
explanation should always supplement illustration. I studied with Joachim as a boy of sixteen--it was before 1866, when there was still a kingdom of Hanover in existence--and Joachim always illustrated his meaning with bow and fiddle. But he never explained the technical side of what he illustrated. Those more advanced understood without verbal comment; yet there were some who did not.

"As regards the theory that you can tell who a violinist's teacher is by the way in which he plays, I do not believe in it. I do not believe that you can tell an Auer pupil by the manner in which he plays. And I am proud of it since it shows that my pupils have profited by my encouragement of individual development, and that they become genuine artists, each with a personality of his own, instead of violinistic
automats, all bearing a marked family resemblance."

Questioned as to how his various pupils reflected different phases of his teaching ideals, Professor Auer mentioned that he had long since given over passing final decisions on his pupils. "I could express no such opinions without unconsciously implying comparisons. And so few comparisons really compare! Then, too, mine would be merely an individual opinion. Therefore, as has been my custom for years, I will
continue to leave any ultimate decisions regarding my pupils' playing to the public and the press."

HOURS OF PRACTICE

"How long should the advanced pupil practice?" Professor Auer was asked. "The right kind of practice is not a matter of hours," he replied. "Practice should represent the utmost concentration of brain. It is better to play with concentration for two hours than to practice eight without. I should say that four hours would be a good maximum practice time--I never ask more of my pupils--and that during each minute of the time the brain be as active as the fingers.


NATIONALITY VERSUS THE CONSERVATORY SYSTEM

"I think there is more value in the idea of a national conservatory than in the idea of nationality as regards violin playing. No matter what his birthplace, there is only one way in which a student can become an artist--and that is to have a teacher who can teach! In Europe the best teachers are to be found in the great national conservatories. Thibaud, Ysaye--artists of the highest type--are products of the conservatory system, with its splendid teachers. So is Kreisler, one of the greatest
artists, who studied in Vienna and Paris. Eddy Brown, the brilliant American violinist, finished at the Budapest Conservatory. In the Paris Conservatory the number of pupils in a class is strictly limited; and from these pupils each professor chooses the very best--who may not be able to pay for their course--for free instruction. At the Petrograd Conservatory, where Wieniawski preceded me, there were hundreds of free scholarships available. If a really big talent came along he always had his opportunity. We took and taught those less talented at the
Conservatory in order to be able to give scholarships to the deserving of limited means. In this way no real violinistic genius, whom poverty might otherwise have kept from ever realizing his dreams, was deprived of his chance in life. Among the pupils there in my class, having scholarships, were Kathleen Parlow, Elman, Zimbalist, Heifetz and Seidel.


VIOLIN MASTERY

"Violin mastery? To me it represents the sum total of accomplishment on the part of those who live in the history of the Art. All those who may have died long since, yet the memory of whose work and whose creations still lives, are the true masters of the violin, and its mastery is the record of their accomplishment. As a child I remember the well-known composers of the day were Marschner, Hiller, Nicolai and others--yet most of what they have written has been forgotten. On the other hand
there are Tartini, Nardini, Paganini, Kreutzer, Dont and Rode--they still live; and so do Ernst, Sarasate, Vieuxtemps and Wieniawski. Joachim (incidentally the only great German violinist of whom I know--and he was a Hungarian!), though he had but few great pupils, and composed but little, will always be remembered because he, together with David, gave violin virtuosity a nobler trend, and introduced a higher
ideal in the music played for violin. It is men such as these who always will remain violin 'masters,' just as 'violin mastery' is defined by what they have done."


THE BACH VIOLIN SONATAS AND OTHER COMPOSITIONS

Replying to a question as to the value of the Bach violin sonatas, Professor Auer said: "My pupils always have to play Bach. I have published my own revision of them with a New York house. The most impressive thing about these Bach solo sonatas is they do not need an accompaniment: one feels it would be superfluous. Bach composed so rapidly, he wrote with such ease, that it would have been no trouble for
him to supply one had he felt it necessary. But he did not, and he was right. And they still must be played as he has written them. We have the 'modern' orchestra, the 'modern' piano, but, thank heaven, no 'modern' violin! Such indications as I have made in my edition with regard to bowing, fingering, _nuances_ of expression, are more or less in accord with the spirit of the times; but not a single note that Bach has written has been changed. The sonatas are technically among the most
difficult things written for the violin, excepting Ernst and Paganini. Not that they are hard in a modern way: Bach knew nothing of harmonics, pizzicati, scales in octaves and tenths. But his counterpoint, his fugues--to play them well when the principal theme is sometimes in the outer voices, sometimes in the inner voices, or moving from one to the other--is supremely difficult! In the last sonatas there is a larger number of small movements--- but this does not make them any easier to play.

"I have also edited the Beethoven sonatas together with Rudolph Ganz. He worked at the piano parts in New York, while I studied and revised the violin parts in Petrograd and Norway, where I spent my summers during the war. There was not so much to do," said Professor Auer modestly, "a little fingering, some bowing indications and not much else. No reviser needs to put any indications for _nuance_ and shading in Beethoven. He was quite able to attend to all that himself. There is no composer who shows such refinement of _nuance_. You need only to take his quartets or these same sonatas to convince yourself of the fact. In my Brahms revisions I have supplied really needed fingerings, bowings, and other indications! Important compositions on which I am now at work include Ernst's fine Concerto, Op. 23, the Mozart violin concertos, and Tartini's _Trille du diable_, with a special cadenza for my pupil, Toscha Seidel.


AS REGARDS "PRODIGIES"

"Prodigies?" said Professor Auer. "The word 'prodigy' when applied to some youthful artist is always used with an accent of reproach. Public and critics are inclined to regard them with suspicion. Why? After all, the important thing is not their youth, but their artistry. Examine the history of music--you will discover that any number of great masters, great in the maturity of their genius, were great in its infancy as
well. There are Mozart, Beethoven, Liszt, Rubinstein, d'Albert, Hofmann, Scriabine, Wieniawski--they were all 'infant prodigies,' and certainly not in any objectionable sense. Not that I wish to claim that every prodigy necessarily becomes a great master. That does not always follow. But I believe that a musical prodigy, instead of being regarded with suspicion, has a right to be looked upon as a striking example of a pronounced natural predisposition for musical art. Of course, full
mental development of artistic power must come as a result of the maturing processes of life itself. But I firmly believe that every prodigy represents a valuable musical phenomenon, one deserving of the keenest interest and encouragement. It does not seem right to me that when the art of the prodigy is incontestably great, that the mere fact of his youth should serve as an excuse to look upon him with prejudice,
and even with a certain degree of distrust."


Adopted from "Violin Mastery, Talks With Master Violinists and Teachers by Frederick H. Martens"

Eugène Ysaye - The Tools Of Violin Mastery

Who is there among contemporary masters of the Violin whose name stands for more at the present time than that of the great Belgian artist, his "extraordinary temperamental power as an interpreter" enhanced by a hundred and one special gifts of tone and technic, gifts often alluded
to by his admiring colleagues? For Ysaye is the greatest exponent of that wonderful Belgian school of violin playing which is rooted in his teachers Vieuxtemps and Wieniawski, and which as Ysaye himself says, "during a period covering seventy years reigned supreme at the_Conservatoire_ in Paris in the persons of Massart, Remi, Marsick, and others of its great interpreters."

What most impresses one who meets Ysaye and talks with him for the first time is the mental breadth and vision of the man; his kindness and amiability; his utter lack of small vanity. When the writer first called on him in New York with a note of introductio from his friend and admirer Adolfo Betti, and later at Scarsdale where, in company with his friend Thibaud, he was dividing his time between music and tennis, Ysaye made him entirely at home, and willingly talked of his art and its ideals. In reply to some questions anent his own study years, he said:

"Strange to say, my father was my very first teacher--it is not often the case. I studied with him until I went to the Liège Conservatory in 1867, where I won a second prize, sharing it with Ovide Musin, for playing Viotti's 22d Concerto. Then I had lessons from Wieniawski in Brussels and studied two years with Vieuxtemps in Paris. Vieuxtemps was a paralytic when I came to him; yet a wonderful teacher, though he could no longer play. And I was already a concertizing artist when I met him. He was a very great man, the grandeur of whose tradition lives in the whole 'romantic school' of violin playing. Look at his seven concertos--of course they are written with an eye to effect, from the virtuoso's standpoint, yet how firmly and solidly they are built up! How interesting is their working-out: and the orchestral score is far more than a mere ccompaniment. As regards virtuose effect only Paganini's music compares with his, and Paganini, of course, did not play it as it is now played. In wealth of technical development, in true musical expressiveness Vieuxtemps is a master. A proof is the fact that his works have endured forty to fifty years, a long life for compositions.

"Joachim, Léonard, Sivori, Wieniawski--all admired Vieuxtemps. In Paganini's and Locatelli's works the effect, comparatively speaking, lies in the mechanics; but Vieuxtemps is the great artist who made the instrument take the road of romanticism which Hugo, Balzac and Gauthier
trod in literature. And before all the violin was made to charm, to move, and Vieuxtemps knew it. Like Rubinstein, he held that the artist must first of all have ideas, emotional power--his technic must be so perfected that he does not have to think of it! Incidentally, speaking of schools of violin playing, I find that there is a great tendency to confuse the Belgian and French. This should not be. They are distinct, though the latter has undoubtedly been formed and influenced by the former. Many of the great violin names, in fact,--Vieuxtemps, Léonard*, Marsick, Remi, Parent, de Broux, Musin, Thomson,--are all Belgian."

*Transcriber's note: Original text read "Leonard".


YSAYE'S REPERTORY

Ysaye spoke of Vieuxtemps's repertory--only he did not call it that: he spoke of the Vieuxtemps compositions and of Vieuxtemps himself. "Vieuxtemps wrote in the grand style; his music is always rich and sonorous. If his violin is really to sound, the violinist must play Vieuxtemps, just as the 'cellist plays Servais. You know, in the Catholic Church, at Vespers, whenever God's name is spoken, we bow the head. And Wieniawski would always bow his head when he said: 'Vieuxtemps is the master of us all!'

"I have often played his _Fifth Concerto_, so warm, brilliant and replete with temperament, always full-sounding, rich in an almost unbounded strength. Of course, since Vieuxtemps wrote his concertos, a great variety of fine modern works has appeared, the appreciation of chamber-music has grown and developed, and with it that of the sonata. And the modern violin sonata is also a vehicle for violin virtuosity in the very best meaning of the word. The sonatas of César Franck, d'Indy, Théodore Dubois, Lekeu, Vierne, Ropartz, Lazarri--they are all highly
expressive, yet at the same time virtuose. The violin parts develop a lovely song line, yet their technic is far from simple. Take Lekeu's splendid Sonata in G major; rugged and massive, making decided technical demands--it yet has a wonderful breadth of melody, a great expressive
quality of song."

These works--those who have heard the Master play the beautiful Lazarri sonata this season will not soon forget it--are all dedicated to Ysaye. And this holds good, too, of the César Franck sonata. As Ysaye says: "Performances of these great sonatas call for _two_ artists--for their
piano parts are sometimes very elaborate. César Franck sent me his sonata on September 26, 1886, my wedding day--it was his wedding present! I cannot complain as regards the number of works, really important works, inscribed to me. There are so many--by Chausson (his symphony), Ropartz, Dubois (his sonata--one of the best after Franck), d'Indy (the _Istar_ variations and other works), Gabriel Fauré (the Quintet), Debussy (the Quartet)! There are more than I can recall at the moment--violin sonatas, symphonic music, chamber-music, choral
works, compositions of every kind!

"Debussy, as you know, wrote practically nothing originally for the violin and piano--with the exception, perhaps, of a work published by Durand during his last illness. Yet he came very near writing something for me. Fifteen years ago he told me he was composing a 'Nocturne' for
me. I went off on a concert tour and was away a long time. When I returned to Paris I wrote to Debussy to find out what had become of my 'Nocturne.' And he replied that, somehow, it had shaped itself up for orchestra instead of a violin solo. It is one of the _Trois Nocturnes_for orchestra. Perhaps one reason why so much has been inscribed to me is the fact that as an interpreting artist, I have never cultivated a 'specialty.' I have played everything from Bach to Debussy, for real art should be international!"

Ysaye himself has an almost marvelous right-arm and fingerboard control, which enables him to produce at will the finest and most subtle tonal nuances in all bowings. Then, too, he overcomes the most intricate mechanical problems with seemingly effortless ease. And his tone has
well been called "golden." His own definition of tone is worth recording. He says it should be "In music what the heart suggests, and the soul expresses!" "With regard to mechanism," Ysaye continued, "at the present day the tools of violin mastery, of expression, technic, mechanism, are far more necessary than in days gone by. In fact they are indispensable, if the spirit is to express itself without restraint. And the greater mechanical command one has the less noticeable it becomes. All that suggests effort, awkwardness, difficulty, repels the listener, who more
than anything else delights in a singing violin tone. Vieuxtemps often said: _Pas de trait pour le trait--chantez, chantez_! (Not runs for the sake of runs--sing, sing!)

"Too many of the technicians of the present day no longer sing. Their difficulties--they surmount them more or less happily; but the effect is too apparent, and though, at times, the listener may be astonished, he can never be charmed. Agile fingers, sure of themselves, and a perfect
bow stroke are essentials; and they must be supremely able to carry along the rhythm and poetic action the artist desires. Mechanism becomes, if anything, more accessible in proportion as its domain is enriched by new formulas. The violinist of to-day commands far greater
technical resources than did his predecessors. Paganini is accessible to nearly all players: Vieuxtemps no longer offers the difficulties he did thirty years ago. Yet the wood-wind, brass and even the string instruments subsist in a measure on the heritage transmitted by the
masters of the past. I often feel that violin teaching to-day endeavors to develop the esthetic sense at too early a stage. And in devoting itself to the _head_ it forgets the _hands_, with the result that the young soldiers of the violinistic army, full of ardor and courage, are ill equipped for the great battle of art.

"In this connection there exists an excellent set of _Études-Caprices_by E. Chaumont, which offer the advanced student new elements andformulas of development. Though in some of them 'the frame is too large for the picture,' and though difficult from a violinistic point of view,
'they lie admirably well up the neck,' to use one of Vieuxtemps's expressions, and I take pleasure in calling attention to them.

"When I said that the string instruments, including the violin, subsist in a measure on the heritage transmitted by the masters of the past, I spoke with special regard to technic. Since Vieuxtemps there has been hardly one new passage written for the violin; and this has retarded the development of its technic. In the case of the piano, men like Godowsky have created a new technic for their instrument; but although Saint-Saëns, Bruch, Lalo and others have in their works endowed the violin with much beautiful music, music itself was their first concern,
and not music for the violin. There are no more concertos written for the solo flute, trombone, etc.--as a result there is no new technical material added to the resources of these instruments.

"In a way the same holds good of the violin--new works conceived only from the musical point of view bring about the stagnation of technical discovery, the invention of new passages, of novel harmonic wealth of combination is not encouraged. And a violinist owes it to himself to
exploit the great possibilities of his own instrument. I have tried to find new technical ways and means of expression in my own compositions.


Adopted from "Violin Mastery, Talks With Master Violinists and Teachers by Frederick H. Martens"