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Great Pianists on Piano Playing

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Title: Great Pianists on Piano Playing

Author: James Francis Cooke


        
Release date: February 8, 2009 [eBook #28026]
                Most recently updated: May 25, 2023

Language: English

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GREAT PIANISTS ON PIANO PLAYING

Study Talks with Foremost Virtuosos

by

JAMES FRANCIS COOKE

A Series of Personal Educational Conferences with Renowned Masters
of the Keyboard, Presenting the Most Modern Ideas upon the Subjects
of Technic, Interpretation, Style and Expression







[Illustration]


Theo. Presser Co.
Philadelphia, Pa.

Copyright, 1913, by Theo. Presser Co.
International Copyright Secured




CONTENTS


                                                                      PAGE

1. THE ARTIST'S LIFE                                                     5

2. ARE PIANISTS BORN OR MADE?                                           24

3. THE STORY OF A WONDER-CHILD          _Pepito Arriola_                41

4. THE PIANIST OF TO-MORROW             _Wilhelm Bachaus_               52

5. ARTISTIC ASPECTS OF PIANO STUDY      _Harold Bauer_                  64

6. APPEARING IN PUBLIC                  _Fannie Bloomfield-Zeisler_     80

7. IMPORTANT DETAILS IN PIANO STUDY     _Ferruccio Busoni_              97

8. DISTINCTIVE PIANO PLAYING            _Teresa Carreño_               109

9. ESSENTIALS OF TOUCH                  _Ossip Gabrilowitsch_          122

10. THE REAL SIGNIFICANCE OF TECHNIC    _Leopold Godowsky_             133

11. ANALYZING MASTERPIECES              _Katharine Goodson_            144

12. PROGRESS IN PIANO STUDY             _Josef Hofmann_                158

13. PIANO STUDY IN RUSSIA               _Josef Lhévinne_               170

14. SEEKING ORIGINALITY                 _Vladimir de Pachmann_         182

15. MODERN PIANISTIC PROBLEMS           _Max Pauer_                    197

16. ESSENTIALS OF ARTISTIC PLAYING      _S. V. Rachmaninoff_           208

17. SYSTEMATIC MUSICAL TRAINING         _A. Reisenauer_                222

18. THE TRAINING OF THE VIRTUOSO        _E. Sauer_                     236

19. ECONOMY IN MUSIC STUDY              _X. Scharwenka_                252

20. LEARNING A NEW PIECE                _E. Schelling_                 267

21. WHAT INTERPRETATION REALLY IS       _S. Stojowski_                 279




I

THE ARTIST'S LIFE

THE VIRTUOSO'S CAREER AS IT REALLY IS


The father of a young woman who was preparing to become a virtuoso once
applied to a famous musical educator for advice regarding the future
career of his daughter. "I want her to become one of the greatest
pianists America has ever produced," he said. "She has talent, good
health, unlimited ambition, a good general education, and she is
industrious." The educator thought for awhile, and then said, "It is
very likely that your daughter will be successful in her chosen field,
but the amount of grinding study she will be obliged to undergo to meet
the towering standards of modern pianism is awful to contemplate. In the
end she will have the flattery of the multitude, and, let us hope, some
of their dollars as well. In return, she may have to sacrifice many of
the comforts and pleasures which women covet. The more successful she
is, the more of a nomad she must become. She will know but few days for
years when she will not be compelled to practice for hours. She becomes
a kind of chattel of the musical public. She will be harassed by
ignorant critics and perhaps annoyed by unreliable managers. In return
she has money and fame, but, in fact, far less of the great joy and
purpose of life than if she followed the customary domestic career with
some splendid man as her husband. When I was younger I used to preach
quite an opposite sermon, but the more I see of the hardships of the
artist's life the less I think of the dollars and the fame it brings. It
is hard enough for a man, but it is twice as hard for a woman."


GOLDEN BAIT

Some cynic has contended that the much-despised "Almighty Dollar" has
been the greatest incentive to the struggling virtuoso in European music
centers. Although this may be true in a number of cases, it is certainly
unjust in others. Many of the virtuosos find travel in America so
distasteful that notwithstanding the huge golden bait, the managers have
the greatest difficulty in inducing the pianists to come back. Indeed,
there are many artists of great renown whom the managers would be glad
to coax to our country but who have withheld tempting offers for years.
One of these is Moritz Moszkowski, probably the most popular of modern
pianoforte composers of high-class music. Grieg, when he finally
consented to make the voyage to America, placed his price at two
thousand five hundred dollars for every concert--a sum which any manager
would regard prohibitive, except in the case of one world-famous
pianist. Grieg's intent was obvious.

The inconveniences of travel in America have been ridiculously
exaggerated in Europe, and many virtuosos dread the thought of an
American trip, with the great ocean yawning between the two continents,
and red-skinned savages just beyond New York or certainly not far from
Chicago. De Pachmann detests the ocean, and when he comes over in his
favorite month of June he does not dare return until the following June.
Others who have never visited America must get their idea of American
travel from some such account as that of Charles Dickens in his
unforgivable _American Notes_ (1842), in which he said, in describing
one of our railroads:

     "There is a great deal of jolting, a great deal of noise, a
     great deal of wall, not much window, a locomotive engine, a
     shriek and a bell. The cars are like shabby omnibuses
     holding thirty, forty, fifty people. In the centre of the
     carriage there is usually a stove, fed with charcoal or
     anthracite coal, which is for the most part red hot. It is
     insufferably close, and you see the hot air fluttering
     between yourself and any other object you may happen to look
     at."

There could have been but little improvement in our railroads in 1872
when Rubinstein came to America, for although he accepted $40,000 for
215 concerts during his first trip, he refused an offer of $125,000 for
only 50 concerts when a manager tried to persuade him to return.

American railroads now present the acme of comfort, convenience, and
even luxury in travel, yet the European artist has difficulty in
adjusting himself to journeys of thousands of miles crowded in a short
winter season when he has been accustomed to little trips of a few
hundred kilometers. He comes to dread the trains as we might a prison
van. Paderewski resorts to a private car, but even this luxurious mode
of travel may be very monotonous and exhausting.

The great distances must certainly account for some of the evidences of
strain which deform the faces and exhaust the minds of so many
virtuosos. The traveling salesman seems to thrive upon miles of railroad
travel as do the crews of the trains, but the virtuoso, dragged from
concert to concert by his showman, grows tired--oh, so tired, pale, wan,
listless and indifferent! At the beginning of the season he is quite
another person. The magnetism that has done so much to win him fame
shines in his eyes and seems to emanate from his finger-tips, but the
difference in his physical being at the end of the season is sickening.
Like a bedraggled, worn-out circus coming in from the wear and tear of a
hard season, he crawls wearily back to New York with a cinematographic
recollection of countless telegraph poles flying past the windows,
audience after audience, sleeping cars, budding geniuses, the inevitable
receptions with their equally inevitable chicken salad or lukewarm
oysters, and the "sweet young things," who, like Heine's mythical tribe
of _Asra_, must love or perish. Some virtuosos have the physical
strength to endure all this, even enjoy it, but many have confessed to
me that their American tours have been literal nightmares.

One of the greatest pianists was obliged to stay in New York for a while
before attempting the voyage homeward. At the time he was so weak from
the rigors of the tour that he could scarcely write his name. His
haggard face suggested the tortures of a Torquamada rather than Buffalo,
Kansas City, Denver and Pittsburgh. His voice was tired and faltering,
and his chief interest was that of the invalid--getting home as soon as
possible. To have talked with him upon music at that time would have
been an injustice. Accordingly, I led him away from the subject and
dwelt upon the woes of his native Poland, and, much to his surprise,
left him without the educational material of which I had been in quest.
He asked the reason, and I told him that a musical conference at that
time could serve no purpose.

As men and women, aside from the attainments which have made them
illustrious, virtuosos are for the most part very much like ordinary
mortals who have to content themselves at the foot of Parnassus. It has
been my privilege to know thirty or more of the most eminent artists,
and some have become good personal friends. It is interesting to observe
how several very different types of individuals may succeed in winning
public favor as virtuosos. Indeed, except for the long-haired caricature
which the public accepts as the conventional virtuoso there is no
"virtuoso type." Here is a business man, here an artist, here an
engineer, here a jurist, here an actor, here a poet and here a freak,
all of them distinguished performers. Perhaps the enthusiastic
music-lover will resent the idea of a freak becoming famous as a
pianist, but I have known no less than three men who could not possibly
be otherwise described, but who have nevertheless made both fame and
fortune as virtuosos.


FREAK PIANISTS

The anthropologist who chooses to conduct special investigations of
freaks can find no more entertaining field than that of the remarkable
freaks of the brain, shown in the cases of some astonishing performers
whose intelligence and mental capacity in other ways has been
negligible. The classic case of Blind Tom, for instance, was that of a
freak not so very far removed in kind from the Siamese Twins, or General
Tom Thumb. Born a slave in Georgia, and wholly without what teachers
would term a musical education, Blind Tom amazed many of the most
conservative musicians of his time. It was possible for him to repeat
difficult compositions after hearing them played only once. I conversed
with him a number of years ago in New York, only to find that
intellectually and physically he was allied to the _cretin_.

Blind Tom's peculiar ability has led many hasty commentators to conclude
that music is a wholly separate mental faculty to be found particularly
in a more or less shiftless and irresponsible class of gifted but
intellectually limited human beings. The few cases of men and women
whose musical talent seems to eclipse their minds so that they remain in
utter darkness to everything else in life, should not be taken as a
basis for judging other artists of real genius and undisputed mental
breadth. I have in mind, however, the case of one pianist who is very
widely known and highly lauded, but who is very slightly removed from
the class of Blind Tom. A trained alienist, one acquainted with the
difference between the eccentricities which frequently accompany
greatness and the unconscious physical and psychical evidences of idiocy
which so clearly agree with the antics of the chimpanzee or the droll
Capuchin monkeys, might find in the performer to whom I refer a subject
for some very interesting, not to say startling reflections. Few have
ever been successful in inducing this pianist to talk upon any other
subject than music for more than a few minutes at a time. Another
pianist, who was distinguished as a Liszt pupil, and who toured America
repeatedly, seemed to have a hatred for the piano that amounted to an
obsession. "Look," he exclaimed, "I am its slave. It has sent me round
and round the world, night after night, year after year. It has cursed
me like a wandering Jew. No rest, no home, no liberty. Do you wonder
that I drink to forget it?"


A PATHETIC EXAMPLE

And drink he did in Bacchanalian measure! One time he gave an
unconscious exhibition of his technical ability that, while regrettable,
would have been of immense interest to psychologists who are seeking to
prove that music depends upon a separate operation of a special
"faculty." During his American tours I called frequently upon this
virtuoso for the purpose of investigating his method of playing. He was
rarely free from the influence of alcohol for more than a few hours at
a time. One morning it was necessary for me to see him professionally,
and when I found him at his hotel he was in a truly disgraceful
condition. I remember that he was unable to stand, from the fact that he
fell upon me while I was sitting in a Morris chair. He was barely able
to talk, and just prior to my leaving he insisted upon scrawling upon
his visiting card, "Zur freundlichen Errinerung, auf einen sehr späten
Abend." (Friendly remembrances of a very late evening.) Since it was
still very early in the morning, it may be realized that he had lost all
idea of his whereabouts. Nevertheless, he sat at the piano keyboard and
played tremendously difficult compositions by Liszt and
Brahms--compositions which compelled his hands to leap from one part of
the keyboard to the other as in the case of the Liszt _Campanella_. He
never missed a note until he lost his balance upon the piano stool and
fell to the floor. Disgusting and pathetic as the exhibition was, I
could not help feeling that I was witnessing a marvelous instance of
automatism, that wonderful power of the mind working through the body to
reproduce, apparently without effort or thought, operations which have
been repeated so many times that they have become "second nature." More
than this, it indicated clearly that while the better part of the man's
body was "dead to the world," the faculty he had cultivated to the
highest extent still remained alive. Some years later this man succumbed
to alcoholism.


THE PIANIST OF TO-DAY

Contrasted with a type of this kind may be mentioned such men as Sauer,
Rachmaninov, d'Albert, Paderewski, Godowsky, Bachaus, Rosenthal, Pauer,
Joseffy, Stojowski, Scharwenka, Gabrilowitsch, Hofmann, Bauer, Lhévinne,
to say nothing of the ladies, Bloomfield-Zeisler, Carreño, Goodson, _et
al._, many of whom are intellectual giants. Most all are exceedingly
regular in their habits, and at least two are strong temperance
advocates. Intellectually, pianists of this class represent a very
remarkable kind of mentality. One is impressed with the surprising
quickness with which their brains operate even in ordinary conversation.
Speaking in alien languages, they find comparatively little difficulty
in expressing themselves with rapidity and fluency. Very few great
singers ever acquire a similar ease. These pianists are wonderfully well
read, many being acquainted with the literature of three or more tongues
in the original. Indeed, it is not unusual to find them skipping through
several languages during ordinary conversation without realizing that
they are performing linguistic feats that would put the average college
graduate to shame. They are familiar with art, science, politics,
manufactures, even in their most recent developments. "What is your
favorite type of aëroplane?" asked one some years ago in the
kindergarten days of cloud navigation. I told him that I had made no
choice, since I had never seen a flying machine, despite the fact that
I was a native of the country that gave it birth. He then vouchsafed his
opinions and entered into a physical and mechanical discussion of the
matter, indicating that he had spent hours in getting the whole subject
straightened out in his mind. This same man, a German, knew whole cantos
of the _Inferno_ by heart, and could repeat long scenes from _King Lear_
with a very creditable English accent.

The average American "tired business man" who is inclined to look upon
the touring virtuoso as "only a pianist" would be immensely surprised if
he were called upon to compare his store of "universal" information with
that of the performer. He would soon see that his long close confinement
behind the bars of the dollar sign had made him the intellectual
inferior of the musician he almost ignores. But it is hardly fair to
compare these famous interpreters with the average "tired business man."
They are the Cecil Rhodes, the Thomas Edisons, the Maurice Maeterlincks
of their fields. It is easy enough to find musicians of smaller life
opportunities basking in their ignorance and conceit.

While the virtuoso may be described as intellectual in the broader sense
of the term, he usually has a great fear of becoming academic. He
aspires to be artistic rather than scholarly. He strives to elevate
rather than to teach--in the strictly pedagogical sense. Some of the
greatest performers have been notoriously weak as teachers. They do not
seek the walls of the college, neither do they long for the cheap
_Bohemianism_ that so many of the French feuilletonists delight in
describing. (Why should the immorality of the artist's life be laid at
the doors of fair Bohemia?) The artist's life is wrapped up in making
his readings of master works more significant, more eloquent, more
beautiful. He is interested in everything that contributes to his
artistry, whether it be literature, science, history, art or the technic
of his own interpretative development. He penetrates the various mystic
problems which surround piano playing by the infallible process of
persistent study and reflection. The psychical phase of his work
interests him immensely, particularly the phenomena of personal
attraction--often called magnetism.


THE MAGIC OF MAGNETISM

Magnetism is surely one of the most enviable possessions of the
successful pianist. Just what magnetism is and how it comes to be, few
psychologists attempt to relate. We all have our theories, just why one
pianist who often blunders as readily as a Rubinstein, or who displays
his many shortcomings at every concert can invariably draw larger
audiences and arouse more applause than his confrère with weaker vital
forces, although he be admittedly a better technician, a more highly
educated gentleman and perhaps a more sensitive musician.

Charles Frohman, keenest of theatrical producers, attributed the actor's
success to "vitality," and in doing this he merely chose one of the
weaker synonyms of magnetism. Vitality in this sense does not imply
great bodily strength. It is rather soul-strength, mind-strength,
life-strength. Professor John D. Quackenbos, A.M., M.D., formerly of
Columbia University, essays the following definition of magnetism in his
excellent _Hypnotic Therapeutics_:

     "Magnetism is nothing more than earnestness and sincerity,
     coupled with insight, sympathy, patience and tact. These
     essentials cannot be bought and cannot be taught. They are
     'born by nature,' they are dyed with 'the red ripe of the
     heart.'"

But Dr. Quackenbos is a physician and a philosopher. Had he been a
lexicographer he would have found the term magnetism far more inclusive.
He would at least have admitted the phenomenon which we have witnessed
so often when one possessed with volcanic vitality overwhelms a great
audience.

The old idea that magnetism is a kind of invisible form of intellectual
or psychic electricity has gone down the grotesque phrenological
vagaries of Gall as well as some of the pseudoscientific theories of
that very unusual man, Mesmer. We all possess what is known as
magnetism. Some have it in an unusual degree, as did Edwin Booth, Franz
Liszt, Phillips Brooks and Bismarck. It was surely neither the art nor
the ability of Daniel Webster that made his audiences accept some of his
fatuous platitudes as great utterances, nor was it the histrionic talent
alone of Richard Mansfield that enabled him to wring success from such
an obvious theatrical contraption as _Prince Karl_. Both Webster, with
his fathomless eyes and his ponderous voice, and Mansfield, with his
compelling personality, were exceptional examples of magnetism.


A NOTABLE EXAMPLE

Among virtuosos Paderewski is peculiarly forceful in the personal spell
he casts over his audience. Someone has said that it cost one hundred
thousand dollars to exploit his hair before he made his first American
tour. But it was by no means curiosity to see his hair which kept on
filling auditorium after auditorium. I attended his first concert in New
York, and was amazed to see a comparatively small gathering of musical
zealots. His command of the audience was at once imperial. The critics,
some of whom would have found Paderewski's hirsute crown a delightful
rack upon which to hang their ridicule, went into ecstasies instead. His
art and his striking personality, entirely apart from his appearance,
soon made him the greatest concert attraction in the musical world.
Anyone who has conversed with him for more than a few moments realizes
what the meaning of the word magnetism is. His entire bearing--his lofty
attitude of mind, his personal dignity all contribute to the
inexplicable attraction that the arch hypnotist Mesmer first described
as animal magnetism.

That magnetism of the pianist must be considered wholly apart from
personal beauty and great physical strength is obvious to anyone who has
given the subject a moment's thought. Many of the artists already
mentioned (in this book) who possess magnetism similar to that of
Paderewski could surely never make claim for personal beauty. Neither is
magnetism akin to that attraction we all experience when we see a
powerful, well-groomed horse, a sleek hound, a handsome tiger--that is,
it is not mere admiration for a beautiful animal. Whether it has any
similarity to the mysterious charm which makes the doomed bird lose
control of its wings upon the approach of a snake is difficult to
estimate. Certainly, in the paraphernalia of the modern recital with its
lowered lights and its solitary figure playing away at a polished
instrument one may find something of the physical apparatus employed by
the professional hypnotist to insure concentration--but even this can
not account for the pianist's real attractiveness. If Mr. Frohman's
"vitality" means the "vital spark," the "life element," it comes very
close to a true definition of magnetism, for success without this
precious Promethean force is inconceivable. It may be only a smouldering
ember in the soul of a dying Chopin, but if it is there it is
irresistible until it becomes extinct. Facial beauty and physical
prowess all made way for the kind of magnetism that Socrates, George
Sand, Julius Cæsar, Henry VIII, Paganini, Emerson, Dean Swift or Richard
Wagner possessed.

More wonderful still is the fact that magnetism is by no means confined
to those who have finely trained intellects or who have achieved great
reputations. Some vaudeville buffoon or some gypsy fiddler may have
more attractive power than the virtuoso who had spent years in
developing his mind and his technic. The average virtuoso thinks far
more of his "geist," his "talent" (or as Emerson would have it, "the
shadow of the soul--the otherwise") than he does of his technic, or his
cadenzas. By what mystic means magnetism may be developed, the writer
does not pretend to know. Possibly by placing one's deeper self (shall
we say "subconscious self") in closer communion with the great throbbing
problems of the invisible though perpetually evident forces of nature
which surround us we may become more alive, more sensitively vivified.
What would it mean to the young virtuoso if he could go to some occult
master, some seer of a higher thought, and acquire that lode-stone*
which has drawn fame and fortune to the blessed few? Hundreds have spent
fortunes upon charlatans in the attempt.

All artists know the part that the audience itself plays in falling
under the magnetic spell of the performer. Its connection with the
phenomena of autosuggestion is very clear. Dr. Wundt, the famous German
psychologist, showed a class of students how superstitions unconsciously
acquired in early life affect sensible adults who have long since passed
the stage at which they might put any credence in omens. At a concert
given by a famous player, the audience has been well schooled in
anticipation. The artist always appears under a halo his reputation has
made for him. This very reputation makes his conquest far easier than
that of the novice who has to prove his ability before he can win the
sympathy of the audience. He is far more likely to find the audience _en
rapport_ than indifferent. Sometime, at the play in a theater, watch how
the audience will unconsciously mirror the facial expressions of the
forceful actor. In some similar manner, the virtuoso on the concert
platform sensitizes the minds and emotions of the sympathetic audience.
If the effect is deep and lasting, the artist is said to possess that
Kohinoor of virtuosodom--magnetism.

Some widely read critics have made the very natural error of confounding
magnetism with personality. These words have quite different
connotations--personality comprehending the more subtle force of
magnetism. An artist's individual worth is very closely allied with his
personality--that is, his whole extrinsic attitude toward the thought
and action of the world about him. How important personality is may be
judged by the widely advertised efforts of the manufacturers of
piano-playing machines to convince the public that their products, often
astonishingly fine, do actually reproduce the individual effects which
come from the playing of the living artist. Piano-playing machines have
their place, and it is an important one. However, wonderful as they may
be, they can never be anything but machines. They bring unquestioned joy
to thousands, and they act as missionaries for both music and the
music-teacher by taking the art into countless homes where it might
otherwise never have penetrated, thus creating the foundation for a
strong desire for a thorough study of music. The piano-playing machine
may easily boast of a mechanism as wonderful as that of a Liszt, a
d'Albert or a Bachaus, but it can no more claim personality than the
typewriter upon which this article is being written can claim to
reproduce the individuality which characterizes the handwriting of
myriads of different persons. Personality, then, is the virtuoso's one
great unassailable stronghold. It is personality that makes us want to
hear a half dozen different renderings of a single Beethoven sonata by a
half dozen different pianists. Each has the charm and flavor of the
interpreter.

But personality in its relation to art has been so exquisitely defined
by the inimitable British essayist, A. C. Benson, that we can do no
better than to quote his words:

"I have lately come to perceive that the one thing which gives value to
any piece of art, whether it be book, or picture, or music, is that
subtle and evasive thing which is called personality. No amount of
labor, of zest, even of accomplishment, can make up for the absence of
this quality. It must be an almost instinctive thing, I believe. Of
course, the mere presence of personality in a work of art is not
sufficient, because the personality revealed may be lacking in charm;
and charm, again, is an instinctive thing. No artist can set out to
capture charm; he will toil all the night and take nothing; but what
every artist can and must aim at is to have a perfectly sincere point of
view. He must take his chance as to whether his point of view is an
attractive one; but sincerity is the one indispensable thing. It is
useless to take opinions on trust, to retail them, to adopt them; they
must be formed, created, felt. The work of a sincere artist is almost
certain to have some value; the work of an insincere artist is of its
very nature worthless."

Mr. Benson's "charm" is what the virtuoso feels as magnetism. It puts
something into the artist's playing that he cannot define. For a moment
the vital spark flares into a bewildering flame, and all his world is
peopled with moths hovering around the "divine fire."


THE GREATEST THING OF ALL

If we have dwelt too long upon magnetism, those who know its importance
in the artist's life will readily perceive the reason. But do not let us
be led away into thinking that magnetism can take the place of hard
work. Even the tiny prodigy has a career of work behind him, and the
master pianist has often climbed to his position over _Matterhorns_ and
_Mt. Blancs_ of industry. Days of practice, months of study, years of
struggle are part of the biography of almost every one who has attained
real greatness. What a pity to destroy time-old illusions! Some prefer
to think of their artist heroes dreaming their lives away in the hectic
cafés of Pesth or buried in the melancholy, absinthe and paresis of some
morbid cabaret of Paris. As a matter of fact, the best known pianists
live a totally different life--a life of grind, grind, grind--incessant
study, endless practice and ceaseless search for means to raise their
artistic standing. In some quiet country villa, miles away from the
center of unlicensed Bacchanalian revels, the virtuoso may be found
working hard upon next season's repertoire.

After all, the greatest thing in the artist's life is W-O-R-K.




II

ARE PIANISTS BORN OR MADE?


Some years ago the Director of the Leipsic Conservatorium gave the
writer a complete record of the number of graduates of the conservatory
from the founding to the late nineties. Of the thousands of students who
had passed through the institution only a few had gained wide
prominence. Hardly one student in one hundred had won his way into the
most voluminous of the musical biographical dictionaries. The proportion
of distinguished graduates to those who fail to gain renown is very high
at Leipsic compared with many other institutions. What becomes of the
thousands of students all working frantically with the hope of becoming
famous pianists? Surely, so much earnest effort can not be wasted even
though all can not win the race? Those who often convince themselves
that they have failed go on to perform a more useful service to society
than the laurel-crowned virtuoso. Unheralded and unapplauded, they
become the teachers, the true missionaries of _Frau Musik_ to the
people.

What is it then, which promotes a few "fortunate" ones from the armies
of students all over America and Europe and makes of them great
virtuosos? What must one do to become a virtuoso? How long must one
study before one may make a _début_? What does a great virtuoso receive
for his performances? How long does the virtuoso practice each day? What
exercises does he use? All these and many more similar questions crop up
regularly in the offices of music critics and in the studios of
teachers. Unfortunately, a definite answer can be given to none,
although a great deal may be learned by reviewing some of the
experiences of one who became great.

Some virtuosos actually seem to be born with the heavenly gift. Many
indeed are sons and daughters of parents who see their own demolished
dreams realized in the triumphs of their children. When little Nathan
creeps to the piano and quite without the help of his elders picks out
the song he has heard his mother sing,--all the neighbors in Odessa know
it the next day. "A wonder child perhaps!" Oh happy augury of fame and
fortune! Little Nathan shall have the best of instruction. His mother
will teach him at first, of course. She will shape his little fingers to
the keyboard. She will sing sweet folk melodies in his ear,--songs of
labor, struggle, exile. She will count laboriously day after day until
he "plays in time." All the while the little mother sees far beyond the
Ghetto,--out into the great world,--grand auditoriums, breathless
crowds, countless lights, nobles granting trinkets, bravos from a
thousand throats, Nathan surrounded by endless wreaths of laurel,--Oh,
it is all too much,--"Nathan! Nathan! you are playing far too fast. One,
two, three, four,--one, two, three, four,--there, that is the tempo
Clementi would have had it. Fine! Some day, Nathan, you will be a great
pianist and--" etc., etc.

Nathan next goes to the great teacher. He is already eight years old and
fairly leaping out of his mother's arms. Two years with the teacher and
Nathan is probably ready for a _début_ as a wonder child. The critics
are kind. If his parents are very poor Nathan may go from town to town
for awhile being exhibited like a trained poodle or a tiny acrobat. The
further he gets from home the more severe his critics become, and Nathan
and his mother hurry back to the old teachers, who tell them that Nathan
must still practice long and hard as well as do something to build up
his general education. The world in these days looks askance at the
musician who aside from his keyboard accomplishments is a numskull. More
sacrifice for Nathan's mother and father,--but what are poverty and
deprivation with such a goal in sight? Nathan studies for some years in
the schools and in the high schools as well as at the conservatory. In
the music school he will doubtless spend six years in all,--two years in
the post-graduate or master classes, following the regular four-year
course. When sufficiently capable he will take a few pupils at a kopeck
or so per lesson to help out with the family expenses.

Nathan graduates from the conservatory with high honors. Will the public
now receive him as a great pianist? A concert is planned and Nathan
plays. Day and night for years his whole family have been looking
forward to that concert. Let us concede that the concert is a triumph.
Does he find fame and fortune waiting for him next morning? No
indeed,--there are a thousand Nathans all equally accomplished. Again he
must work and again he must concertize. Perhaps after years of strife a
manager may approach him some day with a contract. Lucky Nathan,--have
you not a thousand brothers who may never see a contract? Then,--"Can it
be possible Nathan,--is it really America,--America the virtuoso's
Golconda!" Nathan makes a glorious _tournée_. Perhaps the little mother
goes with him. More likely she stays at home in Odessa waiting with
glistening eyes for each incoming mail. Pupils come to Nathan and he
charges for each lesson a sum equaling his father's former weekly wage.
Away with the Ghetto! Away with poverty! Away with oblivion! Nathan is a
real virtuoso,--a veritable _Meister_!


THE AMERICAN VIRTUOSO OF TO-DAY

How does the American aspirant compete with Nathan? Are there not as
fine teachers here in America as in Europe? Is it really necessary to go
to Europe to "finish" one's musical education? Can one not become a
virtuoso in America?--more questions with which editors and teachers are
constantly plied. Can one who for years has waged a battle for the
American teacher and American musical education answer this question
without bias? Can we who trace the roots of our lineage back to barren
Plymouth or stolid New Netherland judge the question fairly and
honestly?

One case suffices to show the road which the American virtuoso is likely
to travel. She is still a young woman, in her twenties. Among her
teachers was one who ranks among the very best in America. Her general
education was excellent,--in fact far superior to that of the average
young lady of good family in continental Europe. While in her early
teens she became the leading feature at conservatory concerts. Her
teacher won many a profitable pupil through her brilliant playing. She
studies, as do so many American pupils, without making a regular
business of it. Compared with the six year all day, week in and week out
course which Nathan pursued in Odessa our little compatriot was at a
decided disadvantage. But who ever heard of a music student making a
regular business of learning the profession as would a doctor or a
lawyer? Have not students contented themselves with two lessons a week
since time immemorial? Need we go further to discover one of the flaws
in our own educational system,--a flaw that is not due to the teacher or
to the methods of instruction, but rather to our time-old custom. Two
lessons a week are adequate for the student who does not aspire to
become a professional, but altogether insufficient for the student who
must accomplish a vast amount of work in a comparatively small number of
years. She requires constant advice, regular daily instruction and
careful attention under experienced instructors. Teachers are not to be
blamed if she does not receive this kind of attention, as there are
abundant opportunities now in America to receive systematic training
under teachers as thorough, as able and as inspiring as may be found in
Europe. The excuse that the expense is greater in America falls when we
learn the very high prices charged by leading teachers in Germany,
Austria and France.

To go back to our particular case, the young lady is informed at the end
of a course of two or three lessons a week during two or three years,
that she is a full-fledged virtuoso and may now enter the concert field
to compete with Carreño, Bloomfield-Zeisler or Goodson. Her playing is
obviously superior to that of her contemporary students. Someone insists
upon a short course of study abroad,--not because it is necessary, but
because it might add to her reputation and make her first flights in the
American concert field more spectacular. Accordingly she goes to Europe,
only to find that she is literally surrounded by budding virtuosos,--an
army of Nathans, any one of whom might easily eclipse her. Against her
personal charm, her new-world vigor, her Yankee smartness, Nathan places
his years of systematic training, his soul saturated in the music and
art of past centuries of European endeavor and perhaps his youth of
poverty which makes success imperative. The young lady's European
teacher frankly tells her that while her playing is delightful for the
salon or parlor she will never do for the great concert hall. She must
learn to play with more power, more virility, more character.
Accordingly he sets her at work along special muscle-building,
tone-cultivating, speed-making lines of technic in order to make up for
the lack of the training which the young lady might easily have had at
home had her parents been schooled to systematic daily study as a
necessity. Her first technical exercises with the new teacher are so
simple that the young woman is on the verge of despair until she
realizes that her playing is really taking on a new and more mature
character. She has been lifting fifty pound weights occasionally. Her
teacher is training her to lift one hundred pound weights every day. She
has been sketching in pastels,--her teacher is now teaching her how to
make Velasquez-like strokes in oils. Her gain is not a mere matter of
loudness. She could play quite as loud before she went to Europe. There
is something mature in this new style of playing, something that
resembles the playing of the other virtuosos she has heard. Who is the
great European master who is working such great wonders for her? None
other than a celebrated teacher who taught for years in America,--a
master no better than dozens of others in America right now. Can the
teachers in America be blamed if the parents and the pupils fail to make
as serious and continued an effort here? Atmosphere,--bosh! Work, long,
hard and unrelenting,--that is the salvation of the student who would
become a virtuoso. With our increasing wealth and advancing culture
American parents are beginning to discover that given the same work and
the same amount of instruction musical education in America differs very
slightly from musical education abroad.

But we are deserting our young virtuoso most ungallantly. In Berlin she
hears so many concerts and recitals, so many different styles of
playing, that she begins to think for herself and her sense of artistic
discrimination--interpretation, if you will--becomes more and more
acute. Provided with funds for attending concerts, she does regularly,
whereas in America she neglected opportunities equally good. She never
realized before that there could be so much to a Brahms _Intermezzo_ or
a Chopin _Ballade_. At the end of her first year her American
common-sense tells her that a plunge into the concert field is still
dangerous. Accordingly she remains two, or possibly three, more years
and at the end if she has worked hard she is convinced that with proper
management she may stand some chance of winning that fickle treasure,
public favor.

"But," persists the reader, "it would have been possible for her to have
accomplished the same work at home in America." Most certainly, if she
had had any one of the hundred or more virtuoso teachers now resident in
the United States all of whom are capable of bringing a highly talented
pupil to virtuoso heights,--and if in their teaching they had exerted
sufficient will-power to demand from the pupil and the pupil's parents
the same conditions which would govern the work of the same pupil
studying in Europe. Through long tradition and by means of endless
experiences the conditions have been established in Europe. The student
who aspires to become a professional is given a distinctively
professional course. In America the need for such a training is but
scantily appreciated. Only a very few of us are able to appraise the
real importance of music in the advancement of human civilization, nor
is this unusual, since most of us have but to go back but a very few
generations to encounter our blessed Puritan and Quaker ancestors to
whom all music, barring the lugubrious Psalm singing, was the
inspiration of the devil. The teachers, as has been said before, are
fully ready and more than anxious to give the kind of training required.
Very frequently parents are themselves to blame for the slender
_dilettante_ style of playing which their well-instructed children
present. They measure the needs of the concert hall by the dimensions of
the parlor. The teacher of the would-be professional pupil aspires to
produce a quantity of tone that will fill an auditorium seating at least
one thousand people. The pupil at home is enjoined not to "bang" or
"pound." The result is a feeble, characterless tone which rarely fills
an auditorium as it should. The actor can not forever rehearse in
whispers if he is to fill a huge theater, and the concert pianist must
have a strong, sure, resilient touch in order to bring about climaxes
and make the range of his dynamic power all-comprehensive. Indeed, the
separation from home ties, or shall we call them home interferences, is
often more responsible for the results achieved abroad than superior
instruction.

Unfortunately, the number of virtuosos who have been taught exclusively
in America is really very small. It is not a question of ability upon
the part of the teacher or talent upon the part of the pupil. It is
entirely a matter of the attitudes of the teacher, the pupil and the
pupil's home advisers. Success demands strong-willed discipline and the
most lofty standards imaginable. Teachers who have taught for years in
America have returned to Europe, doubled and quadrupled their fees, and,
under old-world surroundings and with more rigid standards of artistic
work, have produced results they declare would have been impossible in
America. The author contends that these results would have been readily
forthcoming if we in America assumed the same earnest, persistent
attitude toward the work itself. If these words do no more than reach
the eyes of some of those who are advising students wrongly in this
matter they will not have been written in vain. The European concert
triumphs of Mrs. H. H. A. Beach, whose training was received wholly in
the United States, is an indication of what may be achieved in America
if the right course is pursued. Conditions are changing rapidly in our
country, particularly in the wonderful West and Middle-West. It seems
likely that many pianists without foreign instruction of any kind will
have as great success in our concert field as have many of our best
opera singers who have never had a lesson "on the other side."

Our little pianist has again been playing truant from our manuscript.
Let us see what happens to her when she finished her work with the
famous teacher abroad. Surely the making of a virtuoso is an expensive
matter. Let us take the estimate of the young pianist's father, who
practically mortgaged his financial existence to give his daughter the
right musical training.

    Lessons with first teacher at $1.00 a lesson.
        Eighty lessons a year for four years              $240.00

    Lessons with second American teacher for two
       years at $2.00 a lesson                             320.00

    Lessons with third American teacher at $4.00 a
        lesson for one year and six months                 480.00

    Music, books, etc.                                     160.00

    Piano                                                  750.00

    Maintenance for eight years at $200.00 a year
        (minimum estimate)                                1600.00

    Four years in Europe, travel, board, instruction,
        advertising, etc.                                 6000.00
                                                         ________
            TOTAL                                        $9550.00

But the expense has only begun, if you please. The harvest is still a
long way off. According to the fine traditions established by the late
P. T. Barnum, there must be a European furore to precede the American
advent of the musical star. The journalistic astronomers must point
their telescopes long and steadily at the European firmament and
proclaim their discovery in the columns of their papers. Again, furores
are expensive. One must hire an auditorium, hire an orchestra, and,
according to some very frank and disgusted young virtuosos who have
failed to succeed, hire a critic or so like the amusing Trotter in
_Fanny's First Play_. What with three and four concerts a night why
should not the critics have a _pourboire_ for extra critical attention?
Fortunately the best papers hold their criticisms above price. Bought
criticisms are very rare, and if the young pianist or any representative
approaches certain critics with any such suggestion, she may count upon
faring very badly in cold type on the following day.

If Miss Virtuoso makes a success, her press notices are sent to her
American concert managers, who purchase space in some American musical
newspapers and reprint these notices. Publicity of this kind is
legitimate, as the American public knows that in most cases these press
notices are reprinted solely as advertising. It is simply the commercial
process of "acquainting the trade" and if done right may prove one of
the most fortunate investments for the young artist. Do not imagine,
however, that the pianist's American manager speculates in the
problematical success of the coming virtuoso. On the contrary, his fee
for putting the artist on his "list" and promoting her interests may
range from five hundred dollars to two thousand dollars in advance.
After that the manager usually requires a commission on all engagements
"booked." Graft? Spoils? Plunder? Not a bit of it. If the manager is a
good one--that is, if he is an upright business man well schooled in his
work--the investment should prove a good one. Exploiting a new artist
is a matter demanding brains, energy, ingenuity and experience. A
manufacturing firm attempting to put some new product upon an already
crowded market would spend not $2000.00 a year in advertising, but
$100,000.00. The manager must maintain an organization, he must travel,
he must advertise and he too must live. If he succeeds in marketing the
services of the young virtuoso at one or two hundred dollars a concert,
the returns soon begin to overtake the incessant expenses. However, only
the most persistent and talented artists survive to reap these rewards.
The late Henry Wolfsohn, one of the greatest managers America has ever
produced, told the writer frequently that the task of introducing a new
artist was one of the most thankless and uncertain undertakings
imaginable.

Does the work, the time, the expense frighten you, little miss at the
keyboard? Do you fear the grind, the grueling disappoints, the unceasing
sacrifices? Then abandon your great career and join the army of useful
music workers who are teaching the young people of the land to love
music as it should be loved,--not in hysterical outbursts in the concert
hall but in the home circle. If you have the unextinguishable fire
within your soul, if you have the talent from on high, if you have
health, energy, system, vitality, nothing can stop you from becoming
great. Advice, interferences, obstacles will be nothing to you. You will
work day and night to reach your goal. What better guide could you
possibly have than the words of the great pianists themselves? While
the ensuing pages were compiled with the view of helping the amateur
performer quite as much as the student who would become a professional
pianist, you will nevertheless find in the expressions of the really
great virtuosos a wealth of information and practical advice.

Most of the following chapters are the results of many different
conferences with the greatest living pianists. All have had the revision
of the artists in person before publication was undertaken. In order to
indicate how carefully and willingly this was done by the pianists it is
interesting to note the case of the great Russian composer-virtuoso
Rachmaninoff. The original conference was conducted in German and in
French. The material was arranged in manuscript form in English. M.
Rachmaninoff then requested a second conference. In the mean time he had
had the better part of the manuscript translated into his native
Russian. However, in order to insure accuracy in the use of words, the
writer translated the entire matter back into German in the pianist's
presence. M. Rachmaninoff did not speak English and the writer did not
speak Russian.

The chapter relating to Harold Bauer is the result of a conference
conducted in English. Mr. Bauer's use of his native tongue is as fluent
and eloquent as a poet or an orator. In order that his ideas might have
the best possible expression the entire chapter was written several
times in manuscript and carefully rearranged and rephrased by Mr. Bauer
in person.

Some of the conferences lasted well on through the night. The writer's
twenty years' experience in teaching was constantly needed to grasp
different shadings of meaning that some pianists found difficult to
phrase. Many indeed have felt their weakness in the art of verbal
expression and have rejoiced to have their ideas clothed with fitting
words. Complete frankness and sincerity were encouraged in every case.
The results of the conference with Wilhelm Bachaus, conceded by many
other pianists to be the foremost "technicalist" of the day, are, it
will be observed, altogether different in the statement of teaching
principles from those of Harold Bauer. Each is a sincere expression of
individual opinion and the thoughtful student by weighing the ideas of
both may reach conclusions immensely to his personal advantage.

No wider range of views upon the subject of pianoforte playing could
possibly come between the covers of a book. The student, the teacher,
and the music lover who acquaints himself with the opinions of the
different masters of the keyboard can not fail to have a very clear
insight into the best contemporary ideas upon technic, interpretation,
style and expression. The author--or shall he call himself a
collector?--believes that the use of the questions following each
chapter will be found practical and useful in the work of both clubs and
classes. Practice, however, is still more important than precept. The
student might easily learn this book "by heart" and yet be unable to
play a perfect scale. Let him remember the words of Locke:

    "Men of much reading are greatly learned: but may be little knowing."

After all, the virtuoso is great because he really knows and W-O-R-K-S.




PEPITO ARRIOLA

BIOGRAPHICAL


Pepito Arriola was born on the 14th of December, 1897. A careful
investigation of his ancestry reveals that no less than twelve of his
forefathers and relations have been pronouncedly musical. His father was
a physician, but his mother was a musician. His early musical training
was given to him exclusively by his mother. The following was prepared
when he was twelve years old and at that time he was apparently a
perfectly healthy child, with the normal activity of a boy of his age
and with a little more general education in addition to his music than
the average child at fifteen or sixteen possesses. He spoke French,
German (fluently) and Spanish, but little English. Despite the fact that
he had received numerous honors from European monarchs and famous
musicians, he was exceptionally modest. In his playing he seemed never
to miss a note in even very complicated compositions and his musical
maturity and point of view were truly astonishing. The following is
particularly valuable from an educational standpoint, because of the
absolute unaffectedness of the child's narrative of his own training.

(The following conference was conducted in German and French.)

[Illustration: PEPITO ARRIOLA]




III

THE STORY OF A WONDER CHILD

PEPITO ARRIOLA


MY EARLIEST RECOLLECTIONS

So much that was of interest to me was continually occurring while I was
a child that it all seems like a kind of haze to me. I cannot remember
when I first commenced to play, for my mother tells me that I wanted to
reach out for the keyboard before I was out of her arms. I have also
learned that when I was about two and one-half years of age, I could
quite readily play after my mother anything that the size of my hand
would permit me to play.

I loved music so dearly, and it was such fun to run over the keyboard
and make the pretty sounds, that the piano was really my first and best
toy. I loved to hear my mother play, and continually begged her to play
for me so that I could play the same pieces after her. I knew nothing of
musical notation and played entirely by ear, which seemed to me the most
natural way to play. At that time, word was sent to the King of Spain
that I showed talent, and he became interested in me, and I played
before him.


MY FRIENDSHIP WITH ARTHUR NIKISCH

A short time afterward, Herr Arthur Nikisch, conductor of the
_Gewandhaus_ Orchestra at Leipsic, and at one time conductor of the
Boston Symphony Orchestra in America, came to Madrid to conduct the
Philharmonic Orchestra for a special concert. Some one told him about my
playing and I was permitted to play for him. He became so interested
that he insisted upon my being taken to Leipsic for further study. I was
then four years of age, and although musical advantages in Spain are
continually increasing, my mother thought it best at the time that she
should follow the great musician's advice and that I should be taken to
the German city.

I want to say that in my earliest work, my mother made no effort to push
me or urge me to go ahead. I loved to play for the sake of playing, and
needed no coaxing to spend time at the keyboard. In my very early years
I was permitted to play in public very little, although there were
constant demands made to engage me. I was looked upon as a kind of
curiosity and my mother wanted me to study in the regular way with good
masters, and also to acquire more strength before I played in public
very much.

I did, however, play at the great Albert Hall, in London. The big
building holds 8000 people, but that was so long ago that I have almost
forgotten all about it, except that they all seemed pleased to see a
little boy of four playing in so very big a place. I also played for
royal personages, including the Kaiser of Germany, who was very good to
me and gave me a beautiful pin. I like the Kaiser very much. He seems
like a fine man.


MY FIRST REGULAR INSTRUCTION

My first teacher, aside from my mother, was a Herr Dreckendorf, of
Leipsic. He was very kind to me and took the greatest pains, but the
idea of learning the notes was very distasteful to me. I was terribly
bored with the technical exercises he gave me, but have since learned
that one can save much time by practicing scales and exercises. Although
I do not like them, I practice them every day now, for a little while,
so as to get my fingers in good working order.

In about six weeks I knew all that was expected of me in the way of
scales in octaves, sixths, thirds, double thirds, etc., and my teacher
commenced to turn his attention to studies and pieces. For the first
time I found musical notation interesting, for then I realized that it
was not necessary for me to wait until some one else played a piece
before I could begin to explore its beauties. Ah! it was wonderful,
those first days with the pieces. I was in a new country and could
hardly wait to master one at a time, so eager was I to reach the next
one and see just what it was like.

Herr Dreckendorf gave me some studies by Dussek, Cramer, the
_Inventions_ of Bach, etc., but before long the fascination of playing
beautiful pieces was so great that he found it hard to keep me away from
them.


EARLY REPERTORY

So hungry was I to find new musical works that when I was eight and a
half years old I could play from memory such pieces as the B flat minor
Scherzo, the A flat major Polonaise, and most of the Valses and Études
of Chopin. I also played the Sixth Rhapsody of Liszt and the C minor
Concerto of Beethoven.

In the mean time we moved to Berlin and this has been our home ever
since, so you see I have seen far more of Germany than of my native
country, Spain. In fact, it seems more natural for me to speak German
than Spanish. At the age of seven it was my good fortune to come under
the instruction of Alberto Jonas, the Spanish virtuoso, who for many
years was at the head of a large music school in America. I can never be
grateful enough to him, for he has taught me without remuneration and
not even a father could be kinder to me. When I left Berlin for my
present tour, tears came to our eyes, because I knew I was leaving my
best friend. Most of my present repertory has been acquired under Jonas
and he has been so, so exacting.

He also saw to it that my training was broad, and not confined to those
composers whose works appealed most to me. The result is that I now
appreciate the works of all the composers for the piano. Beethoven I
found very absorbing. I learned the _Appassionata Sonata_ in one week's
time, and longed for more. My teacher, however, insisted upon my going
slowly, and mastering all the little details.

I have also developed a great fondness for Bach, because I like to find
how he winds his melodies in and out, and makes such beautiful things of
them. I play a great deal of Bach, including the G minor organ Fugue,
which Liszt played the devil with in arranging it for the piano.
Goodness knows, it was difficult enough for the organ in its original
form! I don't see why Liszt wanted to make it more difficult.

Liszt is, of course, considered a great master for the piano, and I play
his works with great delight, especially the _Campanella_ with its
beautiful bell effect, but I cannot look upon Liszt as a pianistic
composer in the same way that one thinks of Chopin as a pianistic
composer. The piano was Chopin's natural tongue. Liszt's tongue, like
that of Beethoven, was the orchestra. He knew no difficulties, according
to the manner in which he wrote his own works. Consequently one must
think of the orchestra in playing Liszt's works, while the works of
Chopin suggest only the piano.


MY DAILY PRACTICE

During most of my life my practice has never exceeded two hours a day.
In this country, while on tour, I never practice more than one and
one-half hours. This is not necessary, because of the concerts
themselves, which keep up my technical work. I never worry about my
fingers. If I can think the pieces right, my fingers will always play
the notes. My mother insists upon my being out in the open air all the
time I am not studying and practicing, and I am out the better part of
the day.

At my practice periods, I devote at least fifteen or twenty minutes to
technical exercises, and strive to play all the scales, in the different
forms, in all the keys, once each day. I then play some of my concert
numbers, continually trying to note if there is any place that requires
attention. If there is, I at once spend a little time trying to improve
the passage.

It is very largely a matter of thinking the musical thought right, and
then saying it in the right way. If you think it right, and your aim at
the keyboard is good, you are not likely to hit the wrong notes, even in
skips such as one finds in the Rubinstein Valse in E flat. I do not ever
remember of hitting the upper note wrong. It all seems so easy to me
that I am sure that if other children in America would look upon other
examples in the same way, they could not find their work so very
difficult. I love to practice Chopin. One cannot be so intimate with
Bach; he is a little cold and unfriendly until one knows him very well.


GENERAL EDUCATION

I have said that we play as we think. The mind must be continually
improved or the fingers will grow dull. In order to see the beauties in
music we must see the beauties in other studies. I have a private
teacher who comes to me in Berlin and teaches me different studies. I
have studied some Latin, French, and the regular school studies.
Electricity interests me more than I can tell you and I like to learn
about it, but my greatest interest is in the study of astronomy. Surely
nothing could be finer than to look at the stars. I have friends among
the astronomers of Berlin who let me look through their telescopes and
tell me all about the different constellations and the worlds that look
like moons when you see them enlarged. It is all so wonderful that it
makes one never cease thinking.

I also like to go to factories and learn how different things are made.
I think that there are so many things that one can learn outside of a
school-room. For instance, I went to a wire factory recently, and I am
sure that I found out a great many things I might never have found out
in books. One also learns by traveling, and when I am on my tours I feel
that I learn more of the different people and the way they live than I
ever could from geographies. Don't you think I am a lucky boy? One must
study geography, however, to learn about maps and the way in which
countries are formed. I have toured in Germany, Russia, and England, and
now in America. America interests me wonderfully. Everything seems so
much alive and I like the climate very much.


THEORETICAL STUDIES

Musical theory bores me now, almost as much as my first technical
studies did. Richard Strauss, the great German composer, has very kindly
offered to teach me. I like him very much and he is so kind, but his
thundering musical effects sometimes seems very noisy to me. I know many
of the rules of harmony, but they are very uncomfortable and
disagreeable to me.

I would far rather write my music as it comes to me. Herr Nikisch says
that when I do it that way, I make very few blunders, but I know I can
never be a composer until I have mastered all the branches of musical
theory. I am now writing a symphony. I played some parts for Herr
Nikisch and he has agreed to produce it. Of course, the orchestral parts
will have to be written for me, but I know what instruments I want to
express certain ideas.

Putting down the notes upon paper is so tiresome. Why can't one think
the musical thoughts and have them preserved without the tedious work of
writing them out! Sometimes before I can get them on paper they are
gone--no one knows where, and the worst of all is that they never come
back. It is far greater fun to play the piano, or play football, or go
rowing.


READING AND STUDY

I love to read, and my favorite of all books is _The Three Musketeers_.
I have also read something of Shakespeare, Goethe, Schiller, and many
other writers. I like parts of the great Spanish novel _Don Quixote_,
but I find it hard to read as a whole. I think that music students ought
to read a great deal. It makes them think, and it gives them poetical
thoughts.

Music is, after all, only another kind of poetry, and if we get poetical
ideas from books we become more poetical, and our music becomes more
beautiful. The student who thinks only of hammering down keys at the
piano cannot play in a manner in which people will take pleasure. Piano
playing is so much more than merely pressing down keys. One has to tell
people things that cannot be told in words--that is what music is.


AT THE CONCERT

I do not know what it is to be nervous at concerts. I have played so
much and I am always so sure of what I am going to play that nervousness
is out of the question. Of course, I am anxious about the way in which
audiences will receive my playing. I want to please them so much and
don't want them to applaud me because I am a boy, but would rather have
them come as real music-lovers to enjoy the music itself. If I cannot
bring pleasure to them in that way I do not deserve to be before the
public.

My concerts are usually about one hour in length, although I sometimes
play encores for some time after the concert. I make it a practice not
to eat for a few hours before the concert, as doctors have told my
mother that my mind will be in better shape. I want to thank the many
friends I have made among the students who have come to my concerts, and
I hope that I may have told them some things which will help them in
their work.


QUESTIONS IN STYLE, INTERPRETATION, EXPRESSION
AND TECHNIC OF PIANOFORTE PLAYING

SERIES I

PEPITO ARRIOLA

1. Should the talented child be urged or pushed ahead?

2. In what period of time should a very talented child master the
elementary outlines of technic?

3. Can Liszt be regarded as a pianistic composer in the same sense as
that in which Chopin is considered pianistic?

4. How should a very talented child's practice time be divided?

5. What part does right thinking play in execution?

6. How should the child's general education be conducted?

7. Should the education be confined to the classroom?

8. Should the musical child be encouraged to read fiction?

9. Does music resemble poetry?

10. Should one be careful about the body before concerts?




[Illustration: WILHELM BACHAUS]

WILHELM BACHAUS

BIOGRAPHICAL


Wilhelm Bachaus was born at Leipsic, March 24, 1884, two years before
the death of Franz Liszt. Nine years younger than Josef Hofmann and a
trifle more than one-half the age of Paderewski he represents a
different decade from that of other pianists included in this work.
Bachaus studied for nine years with Alois Reckendorf, a Moravian teacher
who was connected with the Leipsic Conservatory for more than thirty
years. Reckendorf had been a student of science and philosophy at the
Vienna and the Heidelberg Universities and was an earnest musician and
teacher with theories of his own. He took an especial interest in
Bachaus and was his only teacher with the exception of one year spent
with d'Albert and "three lessons with Siloti." Although Bachaus
commenced playing when he was eight years old he feels that his
professional _début_ was made in London in June, 1901, when he played
the tremendously difficult Brahms-Paganini Variations. In 1905, when
Bachaus was only twenty-one, he won the famous Rubinstein Prize at
Paris. This consists of 5000 francs offered every five years to young
men between the ages of twenty and twenty-six.

(The following conference was conducted in English and German.)




IV

THE PIANIST OF TO-MORROW

WILHELM BACHAUS


TO-DAY, YESTERDAY AND TO-MORROW

"It is somewhat surprising how very little difference exists between the
material used in piano teaching to-day and that employed forty or fifty
years ago. Of course, there has been a remarkable amount of new
technical material, exercises, studies, etc., devised, written and
published, and some of this presents the advantage of being an
improvement upon the old--an improvement which may be termed an
advance--but, taken all in all, the advance has been very slight when
compared with the astonishing advances made in other sciences and other
phases of human progress in this time.

"It would seem that the science of music (for the processes of studying
the art are undoubtedly scientific) left little territory for new
explorers and inventors. Despite the great number of études that have
been written, imagine for one moment what a desert the technic of music
would be without Czerny, Clementi, Tausig, Pischna--to say nothing of
the great works of Scarlatti and Bach, which have an effect upon the
technic, but are really great works of musical art.


THE WONDERFUL EFFICACY OF SCALES

"Personally, I practice scales in preference to all other forms of
technical exercises when I am preparing for a concert. Add to this
arpeggios and Bach, and you have the basis upon which my technical work
stands. Pianists who have been curious about my technical
accomplishments have apparently been amazed when I have told them that
scales are my great technical mainstay--that is, scales plus hard work.
They evidently have thought that I had some kind of alchemic secret,
like the philosopher's stone which was designed to turn the baser metals
into gold. I possess no secrets which any earnest student may not
acquire if he will work in the laboratory of music long enough. There
are certain artistic points which only come with long-continued
experiment.

"As the chemist finds the desired result by interminable heart-breaking
eliminations, so the artist must weigh and test his means until he finds
the one most likely to produce the most beautiful or the most
appropriate result. But this seeking for the right effect has little to
do with the kind of technic which necessitates one to keep every muscle
employed in piano-playing properly exercised, and I may reiterate with
all possible emphasis that the source of my technical equipment is
scales, scales, scales. I find their continued daily practice not only
beneficial, but necessary. I still find it desirable to practice scales
for half an hour a day.


BACH MUSICALLY OMNIPOTENT

"It seems almost foolish to repeat what has been said so many times
about the wonderful old cantor of Leipsic, Johann Sebastian Bach.
However, there may still be some who have not yet become acquainted with
the indisputable fact that the practice of Bach is the shortest,
quickest road to technical finish. Busoni has enlarged upon Bach,
impossible as that may seem; but as a modern bridge is sometimes built
upon wonderful old foundations, Busoni has taken the idea of Bach and,
with his penetrative and interpretative ability, has been able to make
the meaning more clear and more effective. Any young pianist who aspires
to have his hands in condition to respond to the subtle suggestions of
his brain may acquire a marvelous foundation by the use of scales, Bach
and arpeggios.


THE OLD THAT IS EVER NEW

"I have seen many ways and means tried out. Some seem like an attempt to
save time at the expense of thoroughness. Furthermore, the means which
have produced the great pianists of the past are likely to differ but
little from those which will produce the pianists of the future.

"The ultra-modern teacher who is inclined to think scales old-fashioned
should go to hear de Pachmann, who practices scales every day. De
Pachmann, who has been a virtuoso for a great many years, still finds
daily practice necessary, and, in addition to scales, he plays a great
deal of Bach. To-day his technic is more powerful and more comprehensive
than ever, and he attributes it in a large measure to the simplest of
means.


DIFFICULTIES IN NEW PIANOFORTE COMPOSITIONS

"I have often been asked if the future of pianoforte composition seemed
destined to alter the technic of the instrument, as did the compositions
of Liszt, for instance. This is a difficult question, but it would seem
that the borderland of pianistic difficulty had been reached in the
compositions and transcriptions of Busoni and Godowsky. The new French
school of Debussy, Ravel and others is different in type, but does not
make any more severe technical demands.

"However, it is hard for one to imagine anything more complicated or
more difficult than the Godowsky arrangements of the Chopin studies. I
fail to see how pianoforte technic can go much beyond these, unless one
gets more fingers or more hands. Godowsky's treatment of these studies
is marvelous not only from a technical standpoint, but from a musical
standpoint as well. He has added a new flavor to the individual
masterpieces of Chopin. He has made them wonderfully clever and really
very interesting studies in harmony and counterpoint, so that one
forgets their technical intricacies in the beauty of the compositions.
One cannot say that their original beauty has been enhanced, but he has
made them wonderfully fascinating compositions despite their aggravating
complications for the student.


MERE DIFFICULTY NO LONGER ASTOUNDS

"The day when the show of startling technical skill was sufficient to
make a reputation for a pianist is, fortunately, past. The mechanical
playing devices have possibly been responsible for this. The public
refuses to admire anything that can be done by a machine, and longs for
something finer, more subtle, more closely allied to the soul of the
artist. This does not mean, however, that the necessity for a
comprehensive technic is depreciated. Quite the contrary is true. The
need for an all-comprehensive technic is greater than ever before. But
the public demand for the purely musical, the purely artistic, is being
continually manifested.

"Modern composers are writing with this in view rather than huge
technical combinations. The giant of to-day, to my mind, is indisputably
Rachmaninoff. He is writing the greatest original music for piano of any
living composer. All of his compositions are pianistic and he does not
condescend to pander to a trifling public taste. He is a man with a
great mind, and, in addition to this, he has a delightful sense of
proportion and a feeling for the beautiful, all of which makes him a
composer of the master mould. His compositions will endure as long as
music.


MODERN COMPOSITIONS

"For others of the type of Scriabine I care less, although I am sensible
to the beauty of many of their compositions. They have not, however,
the splendid mould of Rachmaninoff, nor have they his vigorous
originality. Doubtless some of these men will produce great original
compositions in the future. Compositions that are simply not bad are
hardly worth the paper they are written upon, for they will not last as
long. The composition that will last is a great, new, original thought,
inspired, noble and elemental, but worked out with the distinctive
craftsmanship of the great master.

"I am very partial to Debussy. He has an extraordinary atmosphere, and,
after one has formed a taste for him, his compositions are alluring,
particularly his _Homage à Rameau_, _Jardins sous la pluie_ and _D'un
cahier d'esquisses_, which I have been playing upon my American tour.


THE MOST DIFFICULT COMPOSITIONS

"I have continually been asked, 'What is the most difficult
composition?' The question always amuses me, but I suppose it is very
human and in line with the desire to measure the highest building, the
tallest mountain, the longest river or the oldest castle. Why is such a
premium put upon mere difficulty? Strange to say, no one ever seems to
think it necessary to inquire, 'What is the most beautiful piece?'

"Difficulty in music should by no means be estimated by technical
complications. To play a Mozart concerto well is a colossally difficult
undertaking. The pianist who has worked for hours to get such a
composition as near as possible to his conception of perfection is never
given the credit for his work, except by a few connoisseurs, many of
whom have been through a similarly exacting experience. Months may be
spent upon comparatively simple compositions, such as the Haydn Sonatas
or the Mozart Sonatas, and the musical public is blind to the additional
finish or polish so evident to the virtuoso.


PRAISE THAT IRRITATES

"The opposite of this is also true. A little show of bravura, possibly
in a passage which has not cost the pianist more than ten minutes of
frivolous practice, will turn many of the unthinking auditors into a
roaring mob. This is, of course, very distressing to the sincere artist
who strives to establish himself by his real worth.

"Of course, there are some compositions which present difficulties which
few work hard enough to surmount. Among these might be mentioned the
Godowsky-Chopin _études_ (particularly the _étude_ in A flat, Opus 25,
No. 1, which is always especially exasperating for the student
sufficiently advanced to approach it); the _Don Juan Fantasie_ of Liszt;
the Brahms-Paganini _variations_ and the Beethoven, Opus 106, which,
when properly played, demands enormous technical skill. One certainly
saves a lot of bother when one discards it from one's repertoire. If
these four pieces are not the most difficult pieces, they are certainly
among the most difficult.


WHY NOT SEEK THE BEAUTIFUL?

"But why seek difficulty when there is so much that is quite as
beautiful and yet not difficult? Why try to make a bouquet of oak trees
when the ground is covered with exquisite flowers? The piano is a solo
instrument and has its limitations. Some piano music is said to sound
orchestral. As a matter of fact, a great deal of it would sound better
with the orchestra.

"Real piano music is rare. The piano appears to be too small for some of
our modern Titans among the composers. When they write for the piano
they seem to be exhibiting a concealed longing for the one hundred or
more men of the modern orchestra. One of the reasons why the works of
Debussy appeal to me is that he manages to put so much color into his
piano pieces without suggesting the orchestra. Much of his music is
wonderful in this respect, and, moreover, the musicians of the future
will appreciate this fact more and more.


EXERCISES THAT GIVE IMMEDIATE HELP

"No one exercise can be depended upon to meet all the varied conditions
which arise in the practice of the day, but I have frequently employed a
simple exercise which seems to 'coax' the hand into muscular activity in
a very short time. It is so simple that I am diffident about suggesting
it. However, elemental processes lead to large structures sometimes.
The Egyptian pyramids were built ages before the age of steam and
electricity, and scientists are still wondering how those massive stones
were ever put in place.

"The exercise I use most, apart from scales, is really based upon a
principle which is constantly employed in all scale playing and in all
piano playing, that of putting the thumb over and under the fingers. Did
you ever stop to think how continually this is employed? One hardly goes
one step beyond the elemental grades before one encounters it. It
demands a muscular action entirely different from that of pressing down
the keys either with the finger, forearm or arm motion.

"Starting with the above-named principle and devising new exercises to
meet the very human need for variety, I play something like this:

[Illustration]

"The next form would employ another fingering--

[Illustration]

"The next form might be--

[Illustration]

"These I transpose through several keys, for instance--

[Illustration]

"Note that I am not giving an arbitrary exercise, but simply suggesting
the plan upon which the student may work. There is a great deal of fun
in devising new exercises. It assists in helping the student to
concentrate. Of course, these exercises are only attempted after all the
standard exercises found in books have been exhausted.


AVOID TOO COMPLICATED EXERCISES

"I often think that teachers make a great mistake by giving too
complicated exercises. A complicated exercise leads away from clear
thinking and concentration. The simple exercise will never seem dull or
dry if the pupil's ambition is right. After all, it is not so much what
is done as how it is done. Give less thought to the material and more to
the correction of the means with which one plays. There should be
unceasing variety in studies. A change at every practice period is
advisable, as it gives the pupil new material for thought. There are
hundreds of different exercises in the different books, and the student
has no reason for suffering for want of variety."


QUESTIONS IN STYLE, INTERPRETATION, EXPRESSION
AND TECHNIC OF PIANOFORTE PLAYING

SERIES II

WILHELM BACHAUS

1. Does the technical material of to-day differ greatly from that of
forty or fifty years ago?

2. State something of the efficacy of scales.

3. State three sources of technical material sure to interest the
student.

4. Do celebrated virtuosos use scales regularly?

5. State what else besides technical skill is required in these days to
gain recognition as a virtuoso pianist.

6. Why does Rachmaninoff excel as a composer for pianoforte?

7. State what may be considered the most difficult of piano
compositions.

8. Wherein does the appeal of Debussy lie?

9. Give some simple exercises suitable for daily practice.

10. Why are too complicated exercises undesirable?




[Illustration: HAROLD BAUER]

HAROLD BAUER

BIOGRAPHICAL


Harold Bauer was born in London, England, April 28, 1875. His father was
an accomplished amateur violinist. Through him, the future virtuoso was
enabled to gain an excellent idea of the beautiful literature of chamber
music. When a boy Mr. Bauer studied privately with the celebrated violin
teacher, Politzer. At the age of ten he became so proficient that he
made his _début_ as a violinist in London. Thereafter in his tours of
England he met with great success everywhere.

In the artistic circles of London Mr. Bauer met a musician named Graham
Moore, who gave him some idea upon the details of the technic of
pianoforte playing, which Mr. Bauer had studied or rather "picked up" by
himself, without any thought of ever abandoning his career as a
violinist. Mr. Moore had expected to rehearse some orchestral
accompaniments on a second piano with Paderewski, who was then preparing
some concertos for public performance. Mr. Moore was taken ill and sent
his talented musical friend, Mr. Bauer, in his place. Paderewski
immediately took an interest in his talented accompanist and advised him
to go to Paris to continue his studies with Gorski.

After many privations in Paris Mr. Bauer, unable to secure engagements
as a violinist, went on a tour of Russia as an accompanist of a singer.
In some of the smaller towns Bauer played an occasional piano solo.
Returning to Paris, he found that he was still unable to secure
engagements as a violinist. His pianistic opportunity came when a
celebrated virtuoso who was to play at a concert was taken ill and Bauer
was asked to substitute. He gradually gave more attention to the piano
and rose to a very high position in the tone world.




V

ARTISTIC ASPECTS OF PIANO STUDY

HAROLD BAUER


THE IMMEDIATE RELATION OF TECHNIC TO MUSIC

"While it gives me great pleasure to talk to the great number of
students studying the piano, I can assure you that it is with no little
diffidence that I venture to approach these very subjects about which
they are probably most anxious to learn. In the first place, words tell
very little, and in the second place, my whole career has been so
different from the orthodox methods that I have been constantly
compelled to contrive means of my own to meet the myriads of artistic
contingencies as they have arisen in my work. It is largely for this
reason that I felt compelled recently to refuse a very flattering offer
to write a book on piano playing. My whole life experience makes me
incapable of perceiving what the normal methods of pianistic study
should be. As a result of this I am obliged with my own pupils to invent
continually new means and new plans for work with each student.

"Without the conventional technical basis to work upon, this has
necessarily resulted in several aspects of pianoforte study which are
naturally somewhat different from the commonly accepted ideas of the
technicians. In the first place, the only technical study of any kind I
have ever done has been that technic which has had an immediate relation
to the musical message of the piece I have been studying. In other
words, I have never studied technic independently of music. I do not
condemn the ordinary technical methods for those who desire to use them
and see good in them. I fear, however, that I am unable to discuss them
adequately, as they are outside of my personal experience.


THE AIM OF TECHNIC

"When, as a result of circumstances entirely beyond my control, I
abandoned the study of the violin in order to become a pianist, I was
forced to realize, in view of my very imperfect technical equipment,
that in order to take advantage of the opportunities that offered for
public performance it would be necessary for me to find some means of
making my playing acceptable without spending months and probably years
in acquiring mechanical proficiency. The only way of overcoming the
difficulty seemed to be to devote myself entirely to the musical
essentials of the composition I was interpreting in the hope that the
purely technical deficiencies which I had neither time nor knowledge to
enable me to correct would pass comparatively unnoticed, provided I was
able to give sufficient interest and compel sufficient attention to the
emotional values of the work. This kind of study, forced upon me in the
first instance through reasons of expediency, became a habit, and
gradually grew into a conviction that it was a mistake to practice
technic at all unless such practice should conduce to some definite,
specific and immediate musical result.

"I do not wish to be misunderstood in making this statement, containing,
as it does, an expression of opinion that was formed in early years of
study, but which, nevertheless, I have never since felt any reason to
change. It is not my intention to imply that technical study is
unnecessary, or that purely muscular training is to be neglected. I mean
simply to say that in every detail of technical work the germ of musical
expression must be discovered and cultivated, and that in muscular
training for force and independence the simplest possible forms of
physical exercises are all that is necessary.

"The singer and the violinist are always studying _music_, even when
they practice a succession of single notes. Not so with the pianist,
however, for an isolated note on the piano, whether played by the most
accomplished artist or the man in the street, means nothing, absolutely
nothing.


SEEKING INDIVIDUAL EXPRESSION

"At the time of which I speak, my greatest difficulty was naturally to
give a constant and definite direction to my work and in my efforts to
obtain a suitable muscular training which should enable me to produce
expressive sounds, while I neglected no opportunity of closely observing
the work of pianoforte teachers and students around me. I found that
most of the technical work which was being done with infinite pains and
a vast expenditure of time was not only non-productive of expressive
sounds, but actually harmful and misleading as regards the development
of the musical sense. I could see no object in practicing evenness in
scales, considering that a perfectly even scale is essentially devoid of
emotional (musical) significance. I could see no reason for limiting
tone production to a certain kind of sound that was called 'a good
tone,' since the expression of feeling necessarily demands in many cases
the use of relatively harsh sounds. Moreover, I could see no reason for
trying to overcome what are generally called natural defects, such as
the comparative weakness of the fourth finger for example, as it seemed
to me rather a good thing than otherwise that each finger should
naturally and normally possess a characteristic motion of its own.

"It is _differences_ that count in art, not similarities. Every
individual expression is a form of art; why not, then, make an artist of
each finger by cultivating its special aptitudes instead of adapting a
system of training deliberately calculated to destroy these individual
characteristics in bringing _all_ the fingers to a common level of
lifeless machines?

"These and similar reflections, I discovered, were carrying me
continually farther away from the ideals of most of the pianists,
students and teachers with whom I was in contact, and it was not long
before I definitely abandoned all hope of obtaining, by any of the means
I found in use, the results for which I was striving. Consequently,
from that time to the present my work has necessarily been more or less
independent and empirical in its nature, and, while I trust I am neither
prejudiced nor intolerant in my attitude towards pianoforte education in
its general aspect, I cannot help feeling that a great deal of natural
taste is stifled and a great deal of mediocrity created by the
persistent and unintelligent study of such things as an 'even scale' or
a 'good tone.'

"Lastly, it is quite incomprehensible to me why any one method of
technic should be superior to any other, considering that as far as I
was able to judge, no teacher or pupil ever claimed more for any
technical system than that it gave more technical ability than some
other technical system. I have never been able to convince myself, as a
matter of fact, that one system does give more ability than another; but
even if there were one infinitely superior to all the rest, it would
still fail to satisfy me unless its whole aim and object were to
facilitate musical expression.

"Naturally, studying in this way required my powers of concentration to
be trained to the very highest point. This matter of concentration is
far more important than most teachers imagine, and the perusal of some
standard work on psychology will reveal things which should help the
student greatly. Many pupils make the mistake of thinking that only a
certain kind of music demands concentration, whereas it is quite as
necessary to concentrate the mind upon the playing of a simple scale as
for the study of a Beethoven sonata.


THE RESISTANCE OF THE MEDIUM

"In every form of art the medium that is employed offers a certain
resistance to perfect freedom of expression, and the nature of this
resistance must be fully understood before it can be overcome. The poet,
the painter, the sculptor and the musician each has his own problem to
solve, and the pianist in particular is frequently brought to the verge
of despair through the fact that the instrument, in requiring the
expenditure of physical and nervous energy, absorbs, so to speak, a
large proportion of the intensity which the music demands.

"With many students the piano is only a barrier--a wall between them and
music. Their thoughts never seem to penetrate farther than the keys.
They plod along for years apparently striving to make piano-playing
machines of themselves, and in the end result in becoming something
rather inferior.

"Conditions are doubtless better now than in former years. Teachers give
studies with some musical value, and the months, even years, of keyboard
grind without the least suggestion of anything musical or gratifying to
the natural sense of the beautiful are very probably a thing of the
past. But here again I fear the teachers in many cases make a perverted
use of studies and pieces for technical purposes. If we practice a piece
of real music with no other idea than that of developing some technical
point it often ceases to become a piece of music and results in being a
kind of technical machinery. Once a piece is mechanical it is difficult
to make it otherwise. All the cogs, wheels, bolts and screws which an
overzealous ambition to become perfect technically has built up are made
so evident that only the most patient and enduring kind of an audience
can tolerate them.


THE PERVERSION OF STUDIES

"People talk about 'using the music of Bach' to accomplish some
technical purpose in a perfectly heart-breaking manner. They never seem
to think of interpreting Bach, but, rather, make of him a kind of
technical elevator by means of which they hope to reach some marvelous
musical heights. We even hear of the studies of Chopin being perverted
in a similarly vicious manner, but Bach, the master of masters, is the
greatest sufferer.

"It has become a truism to say that technic is only a means to an end,
but I very much doubt if this assertion should be accepted without
question, suggesting as it does the advisability of studying something
that is not music and which is believed at some future time to be
capable of being marvelously transformed into an artistic expression.
Properly understood, _technic is art_, and must be studied as such.
There should be no technic in music which is not music _in itself_.


THE UNIT OF MUSICAL EXPRESSION

"The piano is, of all instruments, the least expressive naturally, and
it is of the greatest importance that the student should realize the
nature of its resistance. The action of a piano is purely a piece of
machinery where the individual note has no meaning. When the key is once
struck and the note sounded there is a completed action and the note
cannot then be modified nor changed in the least. The only thing over
which the pianist has any control is the length of the tone, and this
again may not last any longer than the natural vibrations of the
strings, although it may be shortened by relinquishing the keys. It
makes no difference whether the individual note is struck by a child or
by Paderewski--it has in itself no expressive value. In the case of the
violin, the voice and all other instruments except the organ, the
individual note may be modified after it is emitted or struck, and in
this modification is contained the possibility of a whole world of
emotional expression.

"Our sole means of expression, then, in piano playing lies in the
relation of one note to the other notes in a series or in a chord.
Herein lies the difficulty, the resistance to perfect freedom of which I
have spoken before, the principal subject for intelligence and careful
study, and yet so few students appear to understand it. Their great
effort seems to be to make all the noise in a given series as much alike
as coins from a mint. They come to the piano as their only instrument,
and never seek to take a lesson from the voice or from the other
instruments which have expressive resources infinitely superior to those
possessed by the piano. The principal charm of the piano lies in the
command which the player has over many voices singing together. But
until the pianist has a regard for the individual voice in its relation
to the ensemble he has no means with which to make his work really
beautiful.

"There is a great need for more breadth in music study. This, as I know,
has been said very often, but it does not hurt to say it again. The more
a man knows, the more he has experienced, the wider his mental vision in
all branches of human information, the more he will have to say. We need
men in music with big minds, wide grasp and definite aims. Musicians are
far too prone to become overspecialized. They seem to have an
unquenchable thirst to master the jargon and the infinite variety of
methods which are thrust upon us in these days rather than a genuine
desire to develop their musical aims. Music is acquiring a technology as
confusing and as extensive as bacteriology. There seems to be no end to
the new kinds of methods in the minds of furtive and fertile inventors.
Each new method in turn seems to breed another, and so on _ad nauseam_.

"Among other things I would suggest the advisability for pianists to
cultivate some knowledge of the construction of their instrument.
Strange as it may seem, it is nevertheless a fact that the average
pianist knows practically nothing of a piano, being in many cases
entirely unaware of such simple things as how the tone is produced. The
function of the pedals is as unknown to them as geology is to the coal
heaver. This ignorance leads frequently to the employment of motions and
methods that can only be characterized as ridiculous in the extreme.


MUSIC FIRST, THE INSTRUMENT AFTERWARDS

"From the manner in which many ambitious and earnest students play, it
would seem that they had their minds fixed upon something which could
not be conveyed to the world in any other form than that of the sounds
which come from the piano. Of course, the piano has an idiom peculiarly
its own, and some composers have employed this idiom with such natural
freedom that their music suffers when transposed for any other
instrument. The music of Chopin is peculiarly pianistic, but it is,
first of all, music, and any one of the wonderful melodies which came
from the fertile brain of the Polish-French genius could be played upon
one of many different instruments besides the piano. The duty of the
interpreter should surely be to think of the composition as such, and to
interpret it primarily as music, irrespective of the instrument. Some
students sit down before the keyboard to 'play' the piano precisely as
though they were going to play a game of cards. They have learned
certain rules governing the game, and they do not dare disobey these
rules. They think of rules rather than of the ultimate result--the
music itself. The idiom of the Italian language is appropriate here. The
Italians do not say 'I play the piano,' but rather 'I sound the piano.'
(_Suono il pianoforte._) If we had a little more 'sounding' of the
piano, that is, producing real musical effects, and a little less
playing on ivory keys, the playing of our students would be more
interesting.


VARIETY THE SPICE OF ART

"It can hardly be questioned that the genesis of all musical art is to
be found in song, the most natural, the most fluent and the most
beautiful form of musical expression. How much every instrumentalist can
learn from the art of singing!

"It is a physical impossibility for the voice to produce two notes in
succession exactly alike. They may sound very similar, but there is a
difference quite perceptible to the highly trained ear. When a singer
starts a phrase a certain amount of motive power is required to set the
vocal apparatus in vibration. After the first note has been attacked
with the full force of the breath, there is naturally not so much weight
or pressure left for the following notes. It is, however, possible for
the second note to be as loud, or even louder, than the first note. But
in order to obtain the additional force on the second note, it is
necessary to compensate for the lack of force due to the loss of the
original weight or pressure by increasing what might be called the
nervous energy; that is to say, by expelling the breath with
proportionately greater speed.


MUSCULAR AND NERVOUS ENERGY

"The manifestation of nervous energy in this manner is quite different
from the manifestation of muscular energy, although both are, of course,
intimately connected. Muscular energy begins at its maximum and
gradually diminishes to the point of exhaustion, whereas nervous energy
rises in an inconceivably short space of time to its climax, and then
drops immediately to nothing. Nervous energy may be said to be
represented by an increased rapidity of emission. It is what the athlete
would call a 'spurt.'

"What I have said about the voice applies equally to all other
instruments, the piano and the organ alone excepted. It is obvious that
the playing of the wind instruments must be subjected to the limitations
of the breath, and in the case of the violin and the other stringed
instruments, where the bow supplies the motive power, it is impossible
for two notes played in succession to sound absolutely alike. If the
first note of a phrase is attacked with the weight of the whole bow
behind it, the second note will follow with just so much less weight,
and if the violinist desires to intensify any of the succeeding tones,
he must do so by the employment of the nervous energy I have mentioned,
when a difference in the quality of tone is bound to result. The pianist
should closely observe and endeavor to imitate these characteristics,
which so vividly convey the idea of organic life in all its infinite
variety, and which are inherent in every medium for artistic expression.


PHRASING AND BREATHING

"It would take a book, and by no means a small one, to go into this
matter of phrasing which I am now discussing. Even in such a book there
would doubtless be many points which would be open to assaults for
sticklers in psychological technology. I am not issuing a propaganda or
writing a thesis for the purpose of having something to defend, but
merely giving a few offhand facts that have benefited me in my work.
However, it is my conviction that it is the duty of the pianist to try
to understand the analogy to the physical limitations which surround the
more natural mediums of musical expression--the voice and the
violin--and to apply the result of his observations to his piano
playing.


THE NATURAL EFFECT OF EMOTIONS

"There is another relation between phrasing and breathing which the
student may investigate to advantage. The emotions have a direct and
immediate effect upon the breath, and as the brain informs the nervous
system of new emotional impressions the visible evidences may be first
observed in the breathing. It is quite unnecessary to go into the
physiology or psychology of this, but a little reflection will
immediately indicate what I mean.

"It is impossible to witness a disastrous accident without showing
mental agitation and excitement in hurried breathing. Joy, anger, fear,
love, tranquillity and grief--all are characterized by different modes
of breathing, and a trained actor must study this with great closeness.

"The artist at the piano may be said to breathe his phrases. A phrase
that is purely contemplative in character is breathed in a tranquil
fashion without any suggestion of nervous agitation. If we go through
the scale of expression, starting with contemplative tranquillity, to
the climax of dramatic intensity, the breath will be emitted
progressively quicker and quicker. Every musical phrase has some kind of
expressive message to deliver. If a perfectly tranquil phrase is given
out in a succession of short breaths, indicating, as they would,
agitation, it would be a contradiction, just as it would be perfectly
inhuman to suppose that in expressing dramatic intensity it would be
possible to breathe slowly.

"In conclusion, I would urge students to cultivate a very definite
mental attitude as to what they really desire to accomplish. Do you wish
to make music? If so, _think_ music, and nothing but music, all the
time, down to the smallest detail even in technic. Is your ambition to
play scales, octaves, double notes and trills? Then by all means
concentrate your mind on them to the exclusion of everything else, but
do not be surprised if, when, later on, you want to communicate a
semblance of life to your mechanical motions, you succeed in obtaining
no more than the jerky movements of a clock-work puppet."


QUESTIONS IN STYLE, INTERPRETATION, EXPRESSION
AND TECHNIC OF PIANOFORTE PLAYING

SERIES III

HAROLD BAUER

1. What is the nature of the technical study done by Harold Bauer?

2. Should immediate musical results be sought in technical study?

3. Upon what principle is expression in art based?

4. Is the utmost concentration necessary in all piano playing?

5. How may the piano become a barrier between the student and musical
expression?

6. In what spirit should all studies be played?

7. Is the piano an expressive instrument?

8. Should pianists acquire a knowledge of the main feature in the
construction of their instrument?

9. How may variety in piano playing be achieved?

10. How is phrasing related to breathing?




[Illustration: F. BLOOMFIELD-ZEISLER]

FANNY BLOOMFIELD-ZEISLER

BIOGRAPHICAL


Mrs. Fanny Bloomfield-Zeisler was born at Beilitz, Austrian Silesia,
July 16, 1866. Two years later her parents took her to Chicago. Her
first teachers in Chicago were Bernhard Ziehn and Carl Wolfsohn. At the
age of ten she made a profound impression at a public concert in
Chicago. Two years later she had the good fortune to meet Mme. Essipoff,
who advised her to go to Vienna to study with Theodore Leschetizky.
Accordingly she was taken to the Austrian capital and remained under the
instruction of the noted pedagogue for five years. Starting with the
year 1883, she commenced a series of annual recitals and concerts in
different American cities which made her very famous. In 1893 she toured
Europe, attracting even more attention than in the homeland. Since then
she made several tours of Europe and America, arousing great enthusiasm
wherever she appeared. Her emotional force, her personal magnetism and
her keen processes of analysis compelled critics everywhere to rank her
with the foremost pianists of the day.




VI

APPEARING IN PUBLIC

FANNY BLOOMFIELD-ZEISLER


"The secret of success in the career of a virtuoso is not easily
defined. Many elements have to be considered. Given great talent,
success is not by any means assured. Many seemingly extraneous qualities
must be cultivated; many mistakes must be avoided.

"Let me start out with a caution. No greater mistake could possibly be
made than to assume that frequent public appearances or extended concert
touring in early youth is essential to a great career as a virtuoso. On
the contrary, I would say that such a course is positively harmful. The
'experience' of frequent playing in public is essential if one would get
rid of stage fright or undue nervousness and would gain that repose and
self-confidence without which success is impossible. But such experience
should be had only after the attainment of physical and mental maturity.
A young boy or girl, though ever so much of a prodigy, if taken on an
extensive concert tour, not only becomes unduly self-conscious,
conceited, vain and easily satisfied with his or her work, but--and this
is the all-important point--runs the risk of undermining his or her
health. The precious days of youth should be devoted primarily to the
storing up of health, without which lasting success is impossible.
Nothing is more harmful to sound physical development and mental growth
than the strain of extensive tours. It is true that one great virtuoso
now before the public played frequently before large audiences as an
infant prodigy. But, happily, wise and efficient influences served to
check this mad career. The young artist was placed in the hands of a
great teacher and given a chance to reach full physical maturity and
artistic stature before resuming public appearances. Had it been
otherwise, it is a matter of common belief that this great talent would
have fizzled out.

"By this I do not mean that the pupil should be prevented from playing
at recitals in the home city. Playing of this kind gives the pupil
confidence and smooths the way for his work as a mature artist. These
performances should be rare, except in the case of performances given in
the home of the pupil or at the teacher's home. What I object to is the
exploitation on a large scale of the infant prodigy.


THOROUGH PREPARATION NECESSARY

"One of the real secrets of success in public appearance is thorough
preparation. In fact there is no talisman, no secret that one can pass
over to another and say, 'Here is my secret, go thou and do likewise.'
What a valuable secret it would be--the mysterious secret processes of
the Krupp Gun Works in Germany would be trifling in comparison. Genuine
worth is, after all, the great essential, and thorough preparation leads
to genuine worth. For instance, I have long felt that the mental technic
that the study of Bach's inventions and fugues afford could not be
supplied by any other means. The peculiar polyphonic character of these
works trains the mind to recognize the separate themes so ingeniously
and beautifully interwoven and at the same time the fingers receive a
kind of discipline which hardly any other study can secure.

"The layman can hardly conceive how difficult it is to play at the same
time two themes different in character and running in opposite
directions. The student fully realizes this difficulty when he finds
that it takes years to master it. These separate themes must be
individualized; they must be conceived as separate, but their bearing
upon the work as a whole must never be overlooked.

"The purity of style to be found in Bach, in connection with his
marvelous contrapuntal designs, should be expounded to the student at as
early an age as his intellectual development will permit. It may take
some time to create a taste for Bach, but the teacher will be rewarded
with results so substantial and permanent that all the trouble and time
will seem well worth while.

"There is also a refining influence about which I would like to speak.
The practice of Bach seems to fairly grind off the rough edges, and
instead of a raw, bungling technic the student acquires a kind of
finish from the study of the old master of Eisenach that nothing else
can give him.

"I do not mean to be understood that the study of Bach, even if it be
ever so thorough, suffices in itself to give one a perfect technic.
Vastly more is necessary. The student who would fit himself for a
concert career must have the advice of a great teacher and must work
incessantly and conscientiously under his guidance. I emphasize the
study of Bach merely because I find it is not pursued as much as it
deserves. That technical finish is of the very essence of success in
public appearance, goes without saying. It is not only indispensable for
a creditable performance, but the consciousness of possessing it
contributes to that confidence of the player without which he cannot
hope to make an impression upon his audience.


LESCHETIZKY AND 'METHOD'

"Speaking about teachers reminds me to put forth this caution: Do not
pin your faith to a method. There is good and, alas! some bad in most
methods. We hear a great deal these days about the Leschetizky method.
During the five years I was with Leschetizky, he made it very plain that
he had no fixed method in the ordinary sense of the word. Like every
good teacher, he studied the individuality of each pupil and taught him
according to that individuality. It might almost be said that he had a
different method for each pupil, and I have often said that
Leschetizky's method is to have no fixed method. Of course, there are
certain preparatory exercises which with slight variations he wants all
his pupils to go through. But it is not so much the exercises in
themselves as the patience and painful persistence in executing them to
which they owe their virtue. Of course, Leschetizky has his preference
for certain works for their great educational value. He has his
convictions as to the true interpretation to be given to the various
compositions, but those do not form what may properly be called a
method. Personally, I am rather skeptical when anybody announces that he
teaches any particular method. Leschetizky, without any particular
method, is a great force by virtue of his tremendously interesting
personality and his great qualities as an artist. He is himself a
never-ending source of inspiration. At eighty he was still a youth, full
of vitality and enthusiasm. Some student, diffident but worthy, was
always encouraged; another was incited by sarcasm; still another was
scolded outright. Practical illustration on the piano, showing 'how not
to do it,' telling of pertinent stories to elucidate a point, are among
the means which he constantly employed to bring out the best that was in
his pupils. A good teacher cannot insure success and Leschetizky has
naturally had many pupils who will never become great virtuosos. It was
never in the pupils and, no matter how great the teacher, he cannot
create talent that does not exist.

"The many books published upon the Leschetizky system by his assistants
have merit, but they by no means constitute a Leschetizky system. They
simply give some very rational preparatory exercise that the assistants
give in preparing pupils for the master. Leschetizky himself laughs when
one speaks of his 'method' or 'system.'

"Success in public appearance will never come through any system or
method except that which works toward the end of making a mature and
genuine artist.


WELL-SELECTED PROGRAMS

"Skill in the arrangement of an artist's programs has much to do with
his success. This matter has two distinct aspects. Firstly, the program
must _look_ attractive, and secondly, it must _sound_ well in the
rendition. When I say the program must look attractive, I mean that it
must contain works which interest concert-goers. It should be neither
entirely conventional, nor should it contain novelties exclusively. The
classics should be represented, because the large army of students
expect to be especially benefited by hearing these performed by a great
artist. Novelties must be placed on the program to make it attractive to
the maturer habitués of the concert room.

"But more important, to my mind, is the other aspect of program making
which I have mentioned. There must be contrasts in the character and
tonal nature of the compositions played. They must be so grouped that
the interest of the hearers will be not only sustained to the end, but
will gradually increase. It goes without saying that each composition
should have merit and worth as musical literature. But beyond that,
there should be variety in the character of the different compositions:
the classic, the romantic, and the modern compositions should all be
given representation. To play several slow movements or several
vivacious movements in succession would tend to tire the listener.
Anti-climaxes should be avoided.

"It may truly be said that program making is in itself a high art. It is
difficult to give advice on this subject by any general statement.
Generalizations are too often misleading. I would advise the young
artist to study carefully the programs of the most successful artists
and to attempt to discover the principle underlying their arrangement.

"One thing which should never be forgotten is that the object of a
concert is not merely to show off the skill of the performer, but to
instruct, entertain and elevate the audience. The bulk of the program
should be composed of standard works, but novelties of genuine worth
should be given a place on the program.


PERSONALITY

"The player's personality is of inestimable importance in winning the
approval of the public. I do not refer particularly to personal beauty,
although it cannot be doubted that a pleasing appearance is helpful in
conquering an audience. What I mean is sincerity, individuality,
temperament. What we vaguely describe as magnetism is often possessed by
players who can lay no particular claim to personal beauty. Some players
seem fairly to hypnotize their audiences--yes, hypnotize them. This is
not done by practicing any species of black art, or by consciously
following any psychological formula, but by the sheer intensity of
feeling of the artist at the moment of performance.

"The great performer in such moments of passion forgets himself
entirely. He is in a sort of artistic trance. Technical mastery of the
composition being presupposed, the artist need not and does not give
thought to the matter of playing the notes correctly, but, re-creating
in himself what he feels to have been the mood of the composer,
re-creates the composition itself. It is this kind of playing which
establishes an invisible cord, connecting the player's and the hearers'
hearts, and, swayed himself by the feelings of the moment, he sways his
audience. He makes the music he draws from the instrument supreme in
every soul in the audience; his feeling and passion are contagious and
carry the audience away. These are the moments, not only of the greatest
triumph, but of the greatest exultation for the artist. He who cannot
thus sway audiences will never rise above mediocrity.


DO NOT ATTEMPT THE IMPOSSIBLE

"To those who are still in the preparatory stage of development I am
glad to give one word of advice. _Do not play pieces that are away
beyond your grasp._ This is the greatest fault in our American musical
educational systems of to-day. Pupils are permitted to play works that
are technically impossible for them to hope to execute without years of
preparation. What a huge blunder this is!

"The pupil comes to the teacher, let us say, with the _Second Hungarian
Rhapsody_ of Liszt. It takes some fortitude for the conscientious
teacher to tell the pupil that she should work with the _C Major Sonata_
of Haydn instead. The pupil, with a kind of confidence that is, to say
the least, dangerous, imagines that the teacher is trying to keep her
back, and often goes to another teacher who will gratify her whim.

"American girls think that they can do everything. Nothing is beyond
them. This is a country of great accomplishment, and they do not realize
that in music 'Art is long.' The virtuoso comes to a great metropolis
and plays a Moszkowski concerto of great difficulty. The next day the
music stores exhaust their stocks of this work, and a dozen misses, who
might with difficulty play a Mendelssohn _Song With Words_, are buried
in the avalanche of technical impossibilities that the alluring concerto
provides.


FOREIGN DÉBUTS

"Unfortunately, a foreign _début_ seems to be necessary for the artist
who would court the favor of the American public. Foreign pianists get
engagements long before their managers in America ever hear them. In the
present state of affairs, if an American pianist were to have the
ability of three Liszts and three Rubinsteins in one person, he could
only hope for meager reward if he did not have a great European
reputation behind him.

"The condition is absurd and regrettable, but nevertheless true. We have
many splendid teachers in America--as fine as there are in the world.

"We have in our larger cities musical audiences whose judgment is as
discriminating as that of the best European audiences. Many an artist
with a great European reputation has come to this country, and, failing
'to make good' in the judgment of our critics and audiences, went back
with his reputation seriously impaired. Nevertheless, as I have stated,
the American artist without a European reputation, has no drawing power
and therefore does not interest the managers and the piano
manufacturers, who nowadays have largely supplanted the managers. This
being so, I can only advise the American artist to do as others had to
do. Go to Europe; give a few concerts in Berlin, London, Vienna or
Paris. Let the concert director who arranges your concerts paper the
house, but be sure you get a few critics in the audience. Have your
criticisms translated, and get them republished in American papers.
Then, if you have real merit, you may get a chance.

"The interest in music in the United States at the present time is
phenomenal. European peoples have no conception of it. Nowhere in the
world can such interest be found. Audiences in different parts of the
country do not differ very greatly from the standpoint of intelligent
appreciation. When we consider the great uncultured masses of peasants
in Europe and the conditions of our own farmers, especially in the West,
there is no basis of comparison. America is already a musical country, a
very musical country. It is only in its failure to properly support
native musicians that we are subject to criticism.


PRACTICAL SUGGESTIONS

"To the young man or woman who would learn 'The Secret of Public
Appearance' I would say:

"1. Look deeply into your natural qualifications. Use every morsel of
judgment you possess to endeavor to determine whether you are talented
or simply 'clever' at music. Court the advice of unbiased professional
musicians and meditate upon the difficulties leading to a successful
career, and do not decide to add one more musician to the world until
you are confident of your suitability for the work. Remember that this
moment of decision is a very important time and that you may be upon the
threshold of a dangerous mistake. Remember that there are thousands of
successful and happy teachers for one successful virtuoso.

"2. After you have determined to undertake the career of the concert
performer let nothing stand in the way of study, except the
consideration of your health. Success with a broken-down body and a
shattered mind is a worthless conquest. Remember that if you wish a
permanent position you must be thoroughly trained in all branches of
your art.

"3. Avoid charlatanism and the kind of advertisement that will bring you
notoriety at the sacrifice of your self-respect and the respect of your
best friends. Remember that real worth is, after all, the thing that
brings enduring fame.

"4. Study the public. Seek to find out what pleases it, but never lower
the standards of your art. Read the best literature. Study pictures.
Travel. Broaden your mind. Acquire general culture.

"5. Be careful of your stage deportment. Endeavor to do nothing at the
keyboard that will emphasize any personal eccentricity. Always be
sincere and true to your own nature, but within these limits try to make
a pleasing impression.

"6. Always be your own severest critic. Be not easily satisfied with
yourself. Hitch your wagon to a star. Let your standard of perfection be
the very highest. Always strive to reach that standard. Never play in
public a piece that you have not thoroughly mastered. There is nothing
more valuable than public confidence. Once secured, it is the greatest
asset an artist can possess.

"I have repeatedly been asked to give ten rules for practice.

"It is not possible to formulate ten all-comprehensive rules that could
be applied in every case, but the following suggestions will be found
valuable to many students:

"1. Concentrate during every second of your practice. To concentrate
means to bring all your thinking powers to bear upon one central point
with the greatest possible intensity. Without such concentration nothing
can be accomplished during the practice period. One hour of concentrated
thinking is worth weeks of thoughtless practice. It is safe to say that
years are being wasted by students in this country who fail to get the
most out of their practice because they do not know how to concentrate.
A famous thinker has said: 'The evidence of superior genius is the power
of intellectual concentration.'

"2. Divide your practice time into periods of not more than two hours.
You will find it impossible to concentrate properly if you attempt to
practice more than two hours at a time. Do not have an arbitrary program
of practice work, for this course is liable to make your work
monotonous. For one who practices four hours (and that is enough for
almost any student), one hour for purely technical work, one hour for
Bach, and two hours for pieces is to be recommended.

"3. In commencing your practice, play over your piece once or twice
before beginning to memorize. Then, after working through the entire
composition, pick out the more difficult passages for special attention
and reiteration.

"4. Always practice slowly at first. This is simply another way of
telling the pupil to concentrate. Even after you have played your piece
at the required speed and with reasonable confidence that it is correct,
never fail to go back now and then and play it at the speed at which you
learned it. This is a practice which many virtuosos follow. Pieces that
they have played time and time again before enthusiastic audiences are
re-studied by playing them very slowly. This is the only real way to
undo mistakes that are bound to creep into one's performance when pieces
are constantly played in a rapid tempo.

"5. Do not attempt to practice your whole piece at first. Take a small
section or even a phrase. If you take a longer section than say sixteen
bars, you will find it difficult to avoid mistakes. Of course, when the
piece is mastered you should have all these sections so unified that you
can play the entire composition smoothly and without a break.

"6. First memorize _mentally_ the section you have selected for study,
and then practice it. If you do not know it well enough to practice it
from memory, you have not grasped its musical content, but are playing
mechanically.

"7. Occasionally memorize backwards, that is, take the last few measures
and learn them thoroughly, then take the preceding measures and
continue in this way until the whole is mastered. Even after you have
played the piece many times, this process often compels a concentration
that is beneficial.

"8. When studying, remember that practice is simply a means of
cultivating habits. If you play correctly from the start you will form
good habits; if you play carelessly and faultily your playing will grow
continually worse. Consequently, play so slowly and correctly from the
start that you may insure the right fingering, phrasing, tone, touch
(staccato, legato, portamento, etc.), pedaling and dynamic effects. If
you postpone the attainment of any of these qualities to a later date
they are much more difficult to acquire.

"9. Always listen while you are playing. Music is intended to be heard.
If you do not listen to your own playing it is very probable that other
people will not care to listen to it either.

"10. Never attempt to play anything in public that you have just
finished studying. When you are through working upon a piece, put it
away to be musically digested, then after some time repeat the same
process, and again the third time, when your piece will, have become a
part of yourself."


QUESTIONS IN STYLE, INTERPRETATION, EXPRESSION
AND TECHNIC OF PIANOFORTE PLAYING

SERIES IV

FANNY BLOOMFIELD-ZEISLER

1. How should the public appearances of talented children be controlled?

2. What is the best material for the development of a mental technic?

3. Should one pin one's faith to any one method?

4. What combines to make a program attractive?

5. What should be artist's main object in giving a concert?

6. What part does personality play in the performer's success?

7. What is one of the greatest faults in musical educational work in
America?

8. How should practice time be divided?

9. May one memorize "backwards"?

10. Why should one listen while playing?




FERRUCCIO BENVENUTO BUSONI

Biographical


Ferruccio Benvenuto Busoni was born at Empoli, near Florence, Italy,
April 1, 1866. His father was a clarinetist and his mother whose maiden
name was Weiss, indicating her German ancestry was an excellent pianist.
His first teachers were his parents. So pronounced was his talent that
he made his début at the age of eight in Vienna, Austria. He then
studied in the Austrian city of Graz with W. A. Remy, whose right name
was Dr. Wilhelm Mayer. This able teacher aside from being a learned
jurist was also devoted to music and had among his other pupils no less
a person than Felix Weingartner.

In 1881 Busoni toured Italy and was made a member of the Reale Accademia
Filharmonica at Bologna. In 1886 he went to reside at Leipsic. Two years
later he became teacher of pianoforte at the Helsingfors Conservatory in
the Finnish capital. In 1890 he captured the famous Rubinstein prizes
for both pianoforte and composition. In the same year he became
Professor of pianoforte playing at the Moscow Imperial Conservatory. The
next year he accepted a similar position in the New England Conservatory
at Boston,--returning to Europe for another tour in 1893. After many
successful tours he accepted the position of director of the
Meisterschule at the Imperial Conservatory in Vienna. His compositions
include over one hundred published opus numbers, the most pretentious
probably being his _Choral Concerto_. His editions of Bach are
masterpieces of technical and artistic erudition.

(The following Conference was conducted in English.)

[Illustration: FERRUCCIO B. BUSONI]




VII

IMPORTANT DETAILS IN PIANO STUDY

FERRUCCIO BENVENUTO BUSONI


THE SIGNIFICANCE OF THE DETAIL

"Some years ago I met a very famous artist whose celebrity rested upon
the wonderful colored glass windows that he had produced. He was
considered by most of his contemporaries the greatest of all makers of
high-art windows. His fame had extended throughout the artistic circles
of all Europe. A little remark he made to me illustrates the importance
of detail better than anything of which I can think at present.

"He said, 'If a truly great work of art in the form of a stained glass
window should be accidentally shattered to little bits, one should be
able to estimate the greatness of the whole window by examining one of
the fragments even though all the other pieces were missing.'

"In fine piano playing all of the details are important. I do not mean
to say that if one were in another room that one could invariably tell
the ability of an artist by hearing him strike one note, but if the note
is heard in relation to the other notes in a composition, its
proportionate value should be so delicately and artistically estimated
by the highly trained performer, that it forms part of the artistic
whole.

"For instance, it is quite easy to conceive of compositions demanding a
very smooth running performance in which one jarring or harsh note
indicating faulty artistic calculation upon the part of the player would
ruin the entire interpretation. As examples of this one might cite the
Bach _Choral Vorspiel_, _Nun Freut euch_, of which I have made an
arrangement, and such a composition as the Chopin Prelude Opus 28, No.
3, with its running accompaniment in the left hand.

"It is often perfection in little things which distinguishes the
performance of the great pianist from that of the novice. The novice
usually manages to get the so-called main points, but he does not work
for the little niceties of interpretation which are almost invariably
the defining characteristic of the interpretations of the real
artist--that is, the performer who has formed the habit of stopping at
nothing short of his highest ideal of perfection.


LEARNING TO LISTEN

"There is a detail which few students observe which is of such vast
importance that one is tempted to say that the main part of successful
musical progress depends upon it. This is the detail of learning to
listen. Every sound that is produced during the practice period should
be heard. That is, it should be heard with ears open to give that sound
the intelligent analysis which it deserves.

"Anyone who has observed closely and taught extensively must have
noticed that hours and hours are wasted by students strumming away on
keyboards and giving no more attention to the sounds they produce than
would the inmates of a deaf and dumb asylum. These students all expect
to become fine performers even though they may not aim to become
virtuosos. To them the piano keyboard is a kind of gymnasium attached to
a musical instrument. They may of course acquire strong fingers, but
they will have to learn to listen before they can hope to become even
passable performers.

"At my own recitals no one in the audience listens more attentively than
I do. I strive to hear every note and while I am playing my attention is
so concentrated upon the one purpose of delivering the work in the most
artistic manner dictated by the composer's demands and my conception of
the piece, that I am little conscious of anything else. I have also
learned that I must continually have my mind alert to opportunities for
improvement. I am always in quest of new beauties and even while playing
in public it is possible to conceive of new details that come like
revelations.

"The artist who has reached the period when he fails to be on the
outlook for details of this kind and is convinced that in no possible
way could his performances be improved, has reached a very dangerous
stage of artistic stagnation which will result in the ruin of his
career. There is always room for improvement, that is the development of
new details, and it is this which gives zest and intellectual interest
to the work of the artist. Without it his public efforts would become
very tame and unattractive.


SELF DEVELOPMENT

"In my own development as an artist it has been made evident to me, time
and time again, that success comes from the careful observance of
details. All students should strive to estimate their own artistic
ability very accurately. A wrong estimate always leads to a dangerous
condition. If I had failed to attend to certain details many years ago,
I would have stopped very far short of anything like success.

"I remember that when I concluded my term as professor of piano at the
New England Conservatory of Music I was very conscious of certain
deficiencies in my style. Notwithstanding the fact that I had been
accepted as a virtuoso in Europe and in America and had toured with
great orchestras such as the Boston Symphony Orchestra, I knew better
than anyone else that there were certain details in my playing that I
could not afford to neglect.

"For instance, I knew that my method of playing the trill could be
greatly improved and I also knew that I lacked force and endurance in
certain passages. Fortunately, although a comparatively young man, I was
not deceived by the flattery of well-meaning, but incapable critics, who
were quite willing to convince me that my playing was as perfect as it
was possible to make it. Every seeker of artistic truth is more widely
awake to his own deficiencies than any of his critics could possibly be.

"In order to rectify the details I have mentioned as well as some I have
not mentioned, I have come to the conclusion that I must devise an
entirely new technical system. Technical systems are best when they are
individual. Speaking theoretically, every individual needs a different
technical system. Every hand, every arm, every set of ten fingers, every
body and, what is of greatest importance, every intellect is different
from every other. I consequently endeavored to get down to the basic
laws underlying the subject of technic and make a system of my own.

"After much study, I discovered what I believed to be the technical
cause of my defects and then I returned to Europe and for two years I
devoted myself almost exclusively to technical study along the
individual lines I had devised. To my great delight details that had
always defied me, the rebellious trills, the faltering bravura passages,
the uneven runs, all came into beautiful submission and with them came a
new delight in playing.


FINDING INDIVIDUAL FAULTS

"I trust that my experience will set some ambitious piano students to
thinking and that they may be benefited by it. There is always a way of
correcting deficiencies if the way can only be found. The first thing,
however, is to recognize the detail itself and then to realize that
instead of being a detail it is a matter of vast importance until it has
been conquered and brought into submission. In playing, always note
where your difficulties seem to lie. Then, when advisable, isolate those
difficulties and practice them separately. This is the manner in which
all good technical exercises are devised.

"Your own difficulty is the difficulty which you should practice most.
Why waste time in practicing passages which you can play perfectly well?
One player may have difficulty in playing trills, while to another
player of equal general musical ability trills may be perfectly easy. In
playing arpeggios, however, the difficulties which prove obstacles to
the players may be entirely reversed. The one who could play the trill
perfectly might not be able, under any circumstance, to play an arpeggio
with the requisite smoothness and true legato demanded, while the
student who found the trill impossible possesses the ability to run
arpeggios and cadenzas with the fluency of a forest rivulet.

"All technical exercises must be given to the pupil with great
discretion and judgment just as poisonous medicines must be administered
to the patient with great care. The indiscriminate giving of technical
exercises may impede progress rather than advance the pupil. Simply
because an exercise happens to come in a certain position in a book of
technical exercises is no reason why the particular pupil being taught
needs that exercise at that particular time. Some exercises which are
not feasible and others which are inexpedient at a certain time, may
prove invaluable later in the pupil's progress.

"Take the famous Tausig exercises, for instance. Tausig was a master of
technic who had few, if any, equals in his time. His exercises are for
the most part very ingenious and useful to advanced players, but when
some of them are transposed into other keys as their composer demands
they become practically impossible to play with the proper touch, etc.
Furthermore, one would be very unlikely to find a passage demanding such
a technical feat in the compositions of any of the great masters of the
piano. Consequently, such exercises are of no practical value and would
only be demanded by a teacher with more respect for tradition than
common sense.


DETAILS OF PHRASING AND ACCENTUATION

"Some students look upon phrasing as a detail that can be postponed
until other supposedly more important things are accomplished. The very
musical meaning of any composition depends upon the correct
understanding and delivery of the phrases which make that composition.
To neglect the phrases would be about as sensible as it would be for the
great actor to neglect the proper thought division in the interpretation
of his lines. The greatest masterpiece of dramatic literature whether it
be _Romeo and Juliet_, _Antigone_, _La Malade Imaginaire_ or _The Doll's
House_ becomes nonsense if the thought divisions indicated by the
verbal phrases are not carefully determined and expressed.

"Great actors spend hours and hours seeking for the best method of
expressing the author's meaning. No pianist of ability would think of
giving less careful attention to phrasing. How stupid it would be for
the actor to add a word that concluded one sentence to the beginning of
the next sentence. How erroneous then is it for the pupil to add the
last note of one phrase to the beginning of the next phrase. Phrasing is
anything but a detail.

"Fine phrasing depends first upon a knowledge of music which enables one
to define the limitations of the phrase and then upon a knowledge of
pianoforte playing which enables one to execute it properly. Phrasing is
closely allied to the subject of accentuation and both subjects are
intimately connected with that of fingering. Without the proper fingers
it is often impossible to execute certain phrases correctly. Generally,
the accents are considered of importance because they are supposed to
fall in certain set parts of given measures, thus indicating the meter.

"In instructing very young pupils it may be necessary to lead them to
believe that the time must be marked in a definite manner by such
accents, but as the pupil advances he must understand that the measure
divisions are inserted principally for the purpose of enabling him to
read easily. He should learn to look upon each piece of music as a
beautiful tapestry in which the main consideration is the principal
design of the work as a whole and not the invisible marking threads
which the manufacturer is obliged to put in the loom in order to have a
structure upon which the tapestry may be woven.


BACH, BACH, BACH

"In the study of the subject of accentuation and phrasing it would not
be possible for anyone to recommend anything more instructive than the
works of Johann Sebastian Bach. The immortal Thüringian composer was the
master-weaver of all. His tapestries have never been equalled in
refinement, color, breadth and general beauty. Why is Bach so valuable
for the student? This is an easy question to answer. It is because his
works are so constructed that they compel one to study these details.
Even if the student has only mastered the intricacies of the _Two Voice
Inventions_, it is safe to say that he has become a better player. More
than this, Bach forces the student to think.

"If the student has never thought before during his practice periods, he
will soon find that it is quite impossible for him to encompass the
difficulties of Bach without the closest mental application. In fact, he
may also discover that it is possible for him to work out some of his
musical problems while away from the keyboard. Many of the most
perplexing musical questions and difficulties that have ever confronted
me have been solved mentally while I have been walking upon the street
or lying in bed at night.

"Sometimes the solution of difficult details comes in the twinkling of
an eye. I remember that when I was a very young man I was engaged to
play a concerto with a large symphony orchestra. One part of the
concerto had always troubled me, and I was somewhat apprehensive about
it. During one of the pauses, while the orchestra was playing, the
correct interpretation came to me like a flash. I waited until the
orchestra was playing very loud and made an opportunity to run over the
difficult passage. Of course, my playing could not be heard under the
_tutti_ of the orchestra, and when the time came for the proper delivery
of the passage it was vastly better than it would have been otherwise.

"I never neglect an opportunity to improve, no matter how perfect a
previous interpretation may have seemed to me. In fact, I often go
directly home from the concert and practice for hours upon the very
pieces that I have been playing, because during the concert certain new
ideas have come to me. These ideas are very precious, and to neglect
them or to consider them details to be postponed for future development
would be ridiculous in the extreme."


QUESTIONS ON STYLE, INTERPRETATION, EXPRESSION
AND TECHNIC OF PIANO PLAYING

SERIES V

FERRUCCIO BENVENUTO BUSONI

1. What is it which distinguishes the performance of the great pianist
from that of the novice?

2. Upon what detail of interpretation does musical performance most
depend?

3. Should the student continually estimate his own ability?

4. Which difficulty should you practice most?

5. What was the principle which made the Tausig exercises valuable?

6. Upon what does fine phrasing depend?

7. Why is it that the compositions of Johann Sebastian Bach are so
useful in piano study?

8. How may complex musical problems be solved mentally?

9. Is it advisable to isolate difficulties and practice them separately?

10. How should one seize opportunities to improve?




TERESA CARREÑO

BIOGRAPHICAL


Teresa Carreño was born at Caracas, Venezuela, December 22, 1853. She
descended from one of the foremost families of Spanish America, which
boasted of Simon Bolivar "the Washington of South America" as one of its
members. Artists have been known among her ancestors as far back as the
fourteenth century when the famous painter Carreño lived in Spain.

Mme. Carreño's first teacher was her father. Later she studied with a
German teacher in her native country. At seven she played the _Rondo
Capriccio_ of Mendelssohn with great _éclat_. A revolution obliged the
Carreño family to move to New York. The death of a friend to whom funds
had been entrusted placed the party of eighteen refugees in dire straits
and a concert was arranged at which the tiny Teresa came to the front
and secured sufficient means for their existence.

Gottschalk, then in the height of his fame in New York, became the
child's next teacher. She remained with him for two years. Then she went
to Paris and became a pupil of Georges Mathias, the famous disciple of
Chopin. Her success as a virtuoso pianist in Europe excited the
attention of Rubinstein who devoted a great deal of time to giving her
invaluable advice and instruction in interpretation. Indeed Rubinstein
was so proud of her that he repeatedly introduced her as his daughter in
art and would jokingly say "Are not our hands exactly alike?"

Mme. Carreño's brilliance, force, breadth of thought and almost sensuous
love for the beautiful made her numerous tours through all of the
music-loving countries remarkably successful.

[Illustration: TERESA CARREÑO]




VIII

DISTINCTIVE PIANO PLAYING

TERESA CARREÑO


EARLY EVIDENCES OF INDIVIDUALITY

It is difficult for me to discuss the subject of individuality without
recollecting one of the most impressive and significant events of my
entire career. When I was taken to Europe as a child, for further study,
it was my good fortune to meet and play for the immortal Franz Liszt. He
seemed deeply interested in my playing, and with the kindliness for
which he was always noted he gave me his blessing, a kind of artistic
sacrament that has had a tremendous influence upon all my work as an
artist. He laid his hand upon my head and among other things said:
"Little girl, with time you will be one of us. Don't imitate anyone.
Keep yourself true to yourself. Cultivate your individuality and do not
follow blindly in the paths of others."

In this one thought Liszt embodied a kind of a pedagogical sermon which
should be preached every day in all the schools, conservatories and
music studios of the world. Nothing is so pitiful as the evidences of a
strong individuality crushed out by an artificial educational system
which makes the system itself of paramount importance and the individual
of microbic significance.

The signs of individuality may be observed in little folks at a very
early age. With some children they are not very pronounced, and the
child seems like hundreds of others without any particular inclination,
artistic or otherwise. It is then that the teacher's powers of
divination should be brought into play. Before any real progress can be
made the nature of the child must be studied carefully. In the case of
other children, the individuality is very marked at an early age. As a
rule, the child with the marked individuality is the one from whom the
most may be expected later in life. Sometimes this very individuality is
mistaken for precocity. This is particularly the case with musicians. In
a few instances the individuality of the master has been developed late
in life, as was the case of Richard Wagner, whose early individual
tendencies were toward the drama rather than music.


NEW PROBLEMS AT EVERY STEP

The teacher in accepting a new pupil should realize that there at once
arises new problems at every step. The pupil's hand, mind, body and soul
may be in reality different from those of every other pupil the teacher
has taught. The individual peculiarities of the hand should be carefully
considered. If the hand has long, tapering fingers, with the fingers
widely separated, it will need quite different treatment from that of
the pupil with a short, compact, muscular hand. If the pupil's mind
indicates mental lethargy or a lack of the proper early educational
training, this must be carefully considered by the teacher.

If the pupil's body is frail and the health uncertain, surely the
teacher will not think of prescribing the same work she would prescribe
for a robust, energetic pupil who appears never to have had a sick day.
One pupil might be able to practice comfortably for four and five hours
a day, while another would find her energy and interest exhausted in two
hours. In fact, I would consider the study of individuality the
principal care or study of the teacher.

The individuality of different virtuoso performers is very marked.
Although the virtuoso aspires to encompass all styles--that is, to be
what you would call an "all-around" player--it is, nevertheless, the
individuality of the player that adds the additional charm to the
piano-recital. You hear a great masterpiece executed by one virtuoso,
and when you hear the same composition played by another you will detect
a difference, not of technical ability or of artistic comprehension, but
rather of individuality. Rembrandt, Rubens and Vandyke might have all
painted from the same model, but the finished portrait would have been
different, and that difference would have been a reflection of the
individuality of the artist.


THE TEACHER'S RESPONSIBILITY

Again let me emphasize the necessity for the correct "diagnosis" of the
pupil's individuality upon the part of the teacher. Unless the right
work is prescribed by the teacher, the pupil will rarely ever survive
artistically. It is much the same as with the doctor. If the doctor
gives the wrong medicine and the patient dies, surely the doctor is to
blame. It makes no difference whether the doctor had good intentions or
not. The patient is dead and that is the end of all. I have little
patience with these people who have such wonderful intentions, but who
have neither the ability, courage nor willingness to carry out these
intentions. Many teachers would like to accomplish a very great deal for
their pupils, but alas! they are either not able or they neglect those
very things which make the teacher's work a mission. One of the
teacher's greatest responsibilities lies in determining at first upon a
rational educational course by divining the pupil's individuality.
Remember that pupils are not all like sheep to be shorn in the same
identical fashion with the same identical shears.


EDWARD MACDOWELL'S INDIVIDUALITY

One of the most remarkable cases of a pronounced musical individuality
was that of the late Edward MacDowell, who came to me for instruction
for a considerable time. He was then quite youthful, and his motives
from the very first were of the highest and noblest. His ideals were so
lofty that he required little stimulation or urging of any kind. Here it
was necessary to study the pupil's nature very carefully, and provide
work that would develop his keenly artistic individuality. I remember
that he was extremely fond of Grieg, and the marked and original
character of the Norwegian tone-poet made a deep impression upon him. He
was poetical, and loved to study and read poetry. To have repressed
MacDowell in a harsh or didactic manner would have been to have
demolished those very characteristics which, in later years, developed
in such astonishing fashion that his compositions have a distinctiveness
and a style all their own.

It gives me great pleasure to place his compositions upon my programs
abroad, and I find that they are keenly appreciated by music lovers in
the old world. If MacDowell had not had a strong individuality, and if
he had not permitted this individuality to be developed along normal
lines, his compositions would not be the treasures to our art that they
are.


DEVELOPING INDIVIDUALITY THROUGH POETRY

If the teacher discovers a pupil with apparent musical talent, but whose
nature has not been developed to appreciate the beautiful and romantic
in this wonderful world of ours, he will find it quite impossible to
alter the pupil's individuality in this respect by work at the keyboard
alone. The mundane, prosaic individual who believes that the sole aim of
musical study is the acquisition of technic, or the magic of digital
speed, must be brought to realize that this is a fault of individuality
which will mar his entire career unless it is intelligently corrected.
Years and years spent in practice will not make either a musician or a
virtuoso out of one who can conceive of nothing more than how many times
he can play a series of notes within the beats of the metronome, beating
208 times a minute.

Speed does not constitute virtuosity, nor does the ability to unravel
the somewhat intricate keyboard puzzles of Bach and Brahms make in
itself fine piano playing. The mind of the artist must be cultured; in
fact, quite as cultured as that of the composer who conceived the music.
Culture comes from the observation of many things: Nature, architecture,
science, machinery, sculpture, history, men and women, and poetry. I
advise aspiring music students to read a great deal of poetry.

I find great inspiration in Shakespeare, inspiration which I know is
communicated to my interpretations of musical masterpieces at my
concerts. Who can remain unmoved by the mystery and psychology of
_Hamlet_, the keen suffering and misery of _King Lear_, the bitter hate
and revenge of _Othello_, the sweet devotion of _Romeo and Juliet_, the
majesty of _Richard III_, and the fairy beauty of _A Midsummer Night's
Dream_? In this wonderful kaleidoscope of all the human passions one can
find a world of inspiration. I am also intensely fond of Goethe, Heine,
and Alfred de Musset. It gives me pleasure to compare them to the great
masters of music. Shakespeare I compare to Brahms, Goethe to Bach and
Beethoven, and Heine and Musset to Chopin and Liszt.


CULTIVATING VIVACITY AND BRILLIANCY

Vivacity and brilliancy in playing are largely matters of temperament
and a fluent technic. I owe a great deal in this respect to Gottschalk.
When he came back to America fresh from the hands of the inimitable
Chopin, he took the most minute pains to cultivate this characteristic
in my playing. Chopin's own playing was marked by delicacy and an
intensity that was apart from the bravura playing of most of the artists
of his time. Gottschalk was a keen observer, and he did everything
possible to impart this style to me. I have used the studies of Czerny,
Liszt, Henselt and Clementi to develop brilliancy with pupils.

It should be remembered that the root of all brilliant playing lies in
one thing--accuracy. Without accuracy any attempt at brilliancy must
result in "mussiness." It is impossible to explain these things by means
of books and theories. Remember what Goethe says: "Alle Theorie is grau,
mein Freund" (all theory is foggy or hard to comprehend). One can say
fifty times as much in twenty minutes as one can put in a book. Books
are necessary, but by no means depend entirely upon books for technical
instruction.

Individuals who are careless possess a trait that will seriously mar
their individuality as musicians and artists. Carelessness is so often
taken for "abandon" in playing. "Abandon" is something quite different
and pertains to that unconsciousness of technical effort which only
comes to the artist after years of practice. To play with "abandon" and
miss a few notes in this run, play a few false notes in the next, strike
the wrong bass note here and there, mumble trills and overlook the
correct phrasing entirely, with the idea that you are doing the same
thing you have seen some great virtuoso do, is simply the superlative
degree of carelessness.

To one whose individuality is marred by carelessness let me recommend
very slow playing, with the most minute attention to detail. Technically
speaking, Czerny and Bach are of great value in correcting carelessness.
In Czerny the musical structure of the compositions is so clearly and
openly outlined that any error is easily detected, while in Bach the
structure is so close and compact that it is difficult to make an error
without interrupting the movement of some other voice that will reveal
the error. The main consideration, however, is personal carefulness, and
it makes little difference what the study is, so long as the student
himself takes great pains to see that he is right, and exactly right,
before he attempts to go ahead. Most musicians, however, would say that
Bach was the one great stone upon which our higher technical structure
must firmly stand.

Some individuals are so superficial and so "frothy" that it is difficult
to conceive of their doing anything serious or really worth while. It is
very hard for the teacher to work with such a pupil, because they have
not realized themselves as yet. They have not looked into their lives
and discerned those things which make life of most importance. Life is
not all play, nor is it all sorrow. But sorrow often does much to
develop the musician's character, to make him look into himself and
discover his more serious purposes. This might also be accomplished by
some such means of self-introspection as "Christian Science." Although I
am not a "Christian Scientist," I am a great believer in its wonderful
principles.

The greatest care must be taken in developing the individualities of the
superficial pupils. To give them Bach or Brahms at the outstart would be
to irritate them. They must be led to a fondness for music of a deeper
or more worthy character by gradual steps in that direction. In my own
case I was fortunate in having the advice of mature and famous
musicians, and as a child was given music of a serious order only. I
have always been grateful for this experience. At one of my first New
York concerts I had the honor of having Theodore Thomas as first
violinist, and I well remember his natural bent for music of a serious
order, which was in a decided contrast to the popular musical taste of
the times.


THE IMPORTANCE OF STUDYING MUSICAL HISTORY

Every composer has a pronounced individuality. To the experienced
musician this individuality becomes so marked that he can often detect
the composer's style in a composition which he has never heard. The
artist studies the individuality of the composer through the study of
his biography, through the study of musical history in general and
through the analysis of individual compositions.

Every music student should be familiar with the intensely necessary and
extremely valuable subject of musical history. How else can he become
familiar with the personal individualities of the great composers? The
more I know of Chopin, Beethoven, Scarlatti or Mendelssohn as men, and
the more I know of the times in which they lived, the closer I feel to
the manner in which they would have wished their compositions
interpreted. Consider how markedly different are the individualities of
Wagner and Haydn, and how different the interpretations of the works of
these masters should be.

Strauss and Debussy are also very different in their methods of
composition. Strauss seems to me a tremendous genius who is inventing a
new musical language as he goes. Debussy does not appeal to me in the
same manner. He always seems to be groping for musical ideas, while with
Strauss the greatness of his ideas is always evident and all-compelling.

In closing, let me say that _Time_, _Experience_ and _Work_ are the
moulders of all individuality. Few of us close our days with the same
individualities which become evident in our youth. We are either
growing better or worse all the time. We rarely stand still. To the
musician work is the great sculptor of individuality. As you work and as
you think, so will you be. No deed, no thought, no hope is too
insignificant to fail to influence your nature. As through work we
become better men and women, so through work do we become better
musicians. Carlyle has beautifully expressed this thought in "Past and
Present" thus: "The latest Gospel in this world is, 'Know thy work and
do it.' Blessed is he who has found his work; let him ask no other
blessedness. He has a WORK, a life purpose; he has found it and will
follow it."


QUESTIONS ON STYLE, INTERPRETATION, EXPRESSION
AND TECHNIC OF PIANO PLAYING

SERIES VI

TERESA CARREÑO

1. Why should imitation be avoided?

2. Should individuality in playing be developed at an early age?

3. Should individual physical peculiarities be taken into consideration?

4. In what way was Edward MacDowell's individuality marked?

5. How may individuality be developed through poetry?

6. What studies are particularly useful in the cultivation of brilliant
playing?

7. What is the best remedy for careless playing?

8. How must superficial pupils be treated?

9. Why is the study of musical history so important?

10. What may be called the sculptor of individuality in music?




[Illustration: O. GABRILOWITSCH]

OSSIP GABRILOWITSCH

BIOGRAPHICAL


Ossip Gabrilowitsch was born in St. Petersburg, February 8, 1878. His
father was a well-known jurist of the Russian capital. His brothers were
musical and his first teacher was one of his brothers. Later, he was
taken to Anton Rubinstein who earnestly advocated a career as a
virtuoso. Accordingly he entered the classes of Victor Tolstoff at the
St. Petersburg Conservatory, then under the supervision of Rubinstein
himself. His frequent personal conferences with the latter were of
immense value to him. Thereafter he went to Vienna and studied with
Leschetizky for two years. He has made many tours of Europe and America
as a piano virtuoso and has also appeared as an orchestral conductor
with pronounced success. He was a great friend of the late Mark Twain
(Samuel L. Clemens) and married one of his daughters.

(The following conference was conducted in English.)




IX

ESSENTIALS OF TOUCH

OSSIP GABRILOWITSCH


"Modern pianoforte teachers in many instances seem to make deliberate
attempts to complicate the very simple matter of touch. In the final
analyses the whole study of touch may be resolved into two means of
administering force to the keyboard, _i. e._, weight and muscular
activity. The amount of pressure brought to bear upon the keys depends
upon the amount of arm weight and upon the quickness with which the
muscles of the hand, forearm, full-arm and back permit the key to be
struck. Upon these two means of administering force must depend whatever
differentiation in dynamic power and tonal quality the player desires to
produce. The various gradations of tone which the virtuoso's hand and
arm are trained to execute are so minute that it is impossible for me to
conceive of a scientific instrument or scale to measure them.
Physiologists have attempted to construct instruments to do this, but
little of value has come from such experiments.


A RIGID ARM UNDESIRABLE

"Only a comparatively few years ago thousands of teachers were insisting
upon having their pupils keep the arms in a still, even rigid, condition
during practice. This naturally resulted in the stiffest imaginable
kind of a touch, and likewise in a mechanical style of playing that made
what has come to be known in later days as 'tone color' impossible.

"At this day the finger touch as it was formerly known has almost gone
out of existence. By finger touch I refer to the old custom of holding
the hand and forearm almost rigid and depending upon the muscular
strength of the fingers for all tonal effects. In fact, I so rarely
employ the finger touch, except in combination with the arm touch, that
it is almost an insignificant factor as far as my own playing is
concerned. By this the reader must not think that the training of the
fingers, and particularly the finger tips, is to be neglected. But this
training, to my mind, is not so much a matter of acquiring digital
strength to produce force as to accustom the fingers to strike the notes
with the greatest possible accuracy and speed. This belongs rather to
the realm of technic than to that of touch, and behind all technic is
the intellect of the player. Technic is a matter of training the finger
tips to attack and leave the keys under the absolute discipline of the
brain. Touch has a much broader and wider significance. It is touch that
reveals the soul of the player.


TOUCH A DISTINGUISHING CHARACTERISTIC

"Touch is the distinguishing characteristic which makes one player's
music sound different from that of another, for it is touch that
dominates the player's means of producing dynamic shading or tone
quality. I know that many authorities contend that the quality of tone
depends upon the instrument rather than upon the performer.
Nevertheless, I am reasonably confident that if I were to hear a number
of pianists play in succession upon the same instrument behind a screen
and one of these performers were to be my friend, Harold Bauer, I could
at once identify his playing by his peculiarly individual touch. In
fact, the trained ear can identify different individual characteristics
with almost the same accuracy that we identify different voices. One
could never forget Leschetizky's touch, or that of many another
contemporary pianist.

"No matter how wonderful the pianist's technic--that is, how rapidly and
accurately he can play passages of extraordinary difficulty, it is quite
worthless unless he possesses that control over his touch which enables
him to interpret the composer's work with the right artistic shading. A
fine technic without the requisite touch to liberate the performer's
artistic intelligence and 'soul' is like a gorgeous chandelier without
the lights. Until the lights are ignited all its beauty is obscured in
darkness. With an excellent technic and a fine touch, together with a
broad musical and general education and artistic temperament, the young
player may be said to be equipped to enter the virtuoso field.


COMBINING DIFFERENT TOUCHES

"As I have intimated, if the fingers are used exclusively a terribly dry
tone must result. The full-arm touch, in which I experience a complete
relaxation of the arm from the shoulder to the finger tips, is the
condition I employ at most times. But the touches I use are combinations
of the different finger, hand and arm touches. These lead to myriads of
results, and only the experienced performer can judge where they should
be applied to produce desired effects.

"You will observe by placing your hand upon my shoulder that even with
the movement of the single finger a muscular activity may be detected at
the shoulder. This shows how completely relaxed I keep my entire arm
during performance. It is only in this way that I can produce the right
kind of singing tone in cantabile passages. Sometimes I use one touch in
one voice and an entirely different touch in another voice. The
combinations are kaleidoscopic in their multiplicity.


MECHANICAL METHODS DANGEROUS

"I have never been in favor of the many automatic and mechanical methods
of producing touch. They are all dangerous to my mind. There is only one
real way of teaching, and that is through the sense of hearing of the
pupil. The teacher should go to the piano and produce the desired tonal
effect, and the pupil should listen and watch the teacher. Then the
pupil should be instructed to secure a similar result, and the teacher
should persevere until the audible effect is nearly the same. If the
pupil, working empirically, does not discover the means leading to this
effect, the teacher should call the pupil's attention to some of the
physical conditions leading to the result. If the teacher is unable to
play well enough to illustrate this, and to secure the right kind of
touch from his pupils, he has no business to be a teacher of advanced
students. All the theory in the world will never lead to the proper
results.

"Rubinstein paid little or no attention to the theory of touch, and, in
fact, he frequently stated that he cared little about such things, but
who could hear Rubinstein's touch without being benefited? I believe
that in teaching touch the teacher should first give his model of the
touch required and then proceed from this positive ideal, by means of
the so-called Socratic method of inducing the pupil to produce a similar
result through repeated questions. In this way the pupil will not be
obliged to resign his individuality, as would be the case if he followed
strict technical injunctions and rules.


STUDENTS SHOULD HEAR VIRTUOSOS

"For the same reason it is advisable for the pupil to hear many fine
pianists. He should never miss an opportunity to attend the concerts of
great virtuosos. I can frankly say that I have learned as much from
hearing the concerts of great performers as I have from any other source
of educational inspiration. The pupil should listen intelligently and
earnestly. When he hears what appeals to him as a particularly fine
tonal effect, he should endeavor to note the means the pianist employs
to produce this effect.

"He must, however, learn to discriminate between affection or needless
movement and the legitimate means to an end. Consequent upon a relaxed
full arm is the occasional dropping of the wrist below the level of the
keyboard. A few great players practice this at a public recital, and lo!
and behold! a veritable cult of 'wrist-droppers' arises and we see
students raising and lowering the wrist with exaggerated mechanical
stiffness and entirely ignoring the important end in which this wrist
dropping was only an incident.


METHODS, AND STILL MORE METHODS

"I am continually amused at the thousand and one different ways of
striking the keys that teachers devise and then attach with the label
'method.' These varied contortions are, after all, largely a matter of
vision, and have little effect upon the real musical results that the
composition demands. Touch, as I have previously said, all comes down to
the question of the degree of weight applied to the keyboard and the
degree of quickness with which it is applied. In rapid octave and
staccato passages the hand touch is largely used. This is the touch
most dependent upon local muscular activity. Aside from this the
combination of muscular and weight touch almost invariably obtain.


DON'T NEGLECT EAR TRAINING

"I desire to reiterate that if the ideal touch is presented to the
pupil's mind, through the medium of the ear, he will be much more
successful in attaining the artistic ends required. The pupil must
realize clearly _what is good_ and _what is bad_, and his _aural sense_
must be continually educated in this respect. He should practice slowly
and carefully at the keyboard until he is convinced that his arm is at
all times relaxed. He cannot make his sense of touch too sensitive. He
should even be able to sense the weight or upward pressure which brings
the pianoforte key back into position after it has been depressed. The
arm should feel as if it were floating, and should never be tense.

"When I am playing I do not think of the arm motion. I am, of course,
absorbed in the composition being performed. A relaxed arm has become
second nature to me. It comes by itself. Players are rarely able to tell
just how they produce their results. There are too many contributing
factors. Even with the best-known performers the effects differ at
different performances. It is impossible for the performer to give a
program repeatedly in identically the same manner. If he did succeed in
doing this, his playing would soon become stereotyped.

"The teacher should, from the very beginning, seek to avoid stiffness
and bad hand positions, such as crooked fingers or broken-in knuckles.
If these details are neglected the pupil is liable to go through his
entire musical career greatly hampered. I would earnestly advise all
teachers to discourage the efforts of pupils to attain virtuoso heights
unless they are convinced beyond the possibility of a doubt that the
pupil has marvelous talent. The really great performers seem to be
endowed with a 'God-given' insight in the matter of both technic and
touch. They are unquestionably born for it. They possess the right
mental and physical capacity for success. No amount of training would
make a Normandy dray horse that could compete with a Kentucky
thoroughbred on the race course. It is a pitiful sight to watch students
who could not possibly become virtuosos slave year after year before an
ivory and ebony tread-mill, when, if they realized their lack of
personal qualifications, they could engage in teaching or in some other
professional or mercantile line and take a delight in their music as an
avocation that they would never find in professional playing.


ARTISTIC INTERPRETATION PARAMOUNT

"To some, the matter of touch is of little significance. They are
apparently born with an appreciation of tonal values that others might
work years to attain in vain. Those who imagine that touch is entirely
a matter of finger tips are greatly mistaken. The ear is quite as
important as the organs employed in administering the touch to the
keyboard. The pianist should in reality not think of the muscles and
nerves in his arm, nor of the ivory and ebony keys, nor of the hammers
and strings in the interior of the instrument. He should think first and
always of the kind of tone he is eliciting from the instrument, and
determine whether it is the most appropriate tonal quality for the
proper interpretation of the piece he is playing. He must, of course,
spend years of hard thought and study in cultivating this ability to
judge and produce the right touch, but the performer who is more
concerned about the technical claims of a composition than its musical
interpretation can only hope to give an uninteresting, uninspired,
stilted performance that should rightly drive all intelligent hearers
from his audience hall."


QUESTIONS IN STYLE, INTERPRETATION, EXPRESSION
AND TECHNIC OF PIANOFORTE PLAYING

SERIES VII

OSSIP GABRILOWITSCH

1. What are the two means of administering touch?

2. State the effect of a rigid arm upon piano playing.

3. Can a pianist's playing be distinguished by touch?

4. How do the muscles of the shoulder come into action in piano playing?

5. How should the sense of hearing be employed in piano playing?

6. How did Rubinstein regard the theory of touch?

7. When is the hand touch generally employed?

8. How should the arm feel during the act of touch?

9. Does the virtuoso hamper himself with details of technic during a
performance?

10. What should be the pianist's first thought during the moment of
performance?




LEOPOLD GODOWSKY

BIOGRAPHICAL

Leopold Godowsky was born at Wilna, Russia (Russian Poland), February
13, 1870. His father was a physician. When Godowsky was nine years old
he made his first public appearance as a pianist and met with
instantaneous success--success so great that a tour of Germany and
Poland was arranged for the child. When thirteen he entered the Royal
High School for Music in Berlin as the _protégé_ of a rich banker of
Königsberg. There he studied under Bargeil and Rudorff. In 1884 he
toured America together with Ovide Musin, the violin virtuoso. Two years
later he became the pupil of Saint-Saëns in Paris. In 1887 and 1888 he
toured France and visited London, where he received a command to appear
at the British Court. In 1890 he returned to America and made this
country his home for ten years, appearing frequently in concert and
engaging in several tours. In 1894-1895 he became head of the piano
department of the South Broad Street Conservatory, Philadelphia. He then
became director of the Piano Department of the Chicago Conservatory and
held this position for five years. In 1900 Godowsky appeared in Berlin
and was immediately recognized as one of the great piano masters of his
time. In 1909 he became director of the Master School of Piano Playing
connected with the Imperial Conservatory of Vienna (a post previously
held by Emil Sauer and F. B. Busoni). His success as a teacher has been
exceptional. His compositions, particularly his fifty studies upon
Chopin Etudes, have won the admiration of the entire musical world.

[Illustration: LEOPOLD GODOWSKY]




X

THE REAL SIGNIFICANCE OF TECHNIC

LEOPOLD GODOWSKY


IDEAS UPON TECHNIC OFTEN ERRONEOUS

"It is quite impossible in a short talk to earnest music students to do
more than discuss a few of the more important points in the subject
proposed. It may safely be said at the start, however, that the popular
conception of technic is quite an erroneous one and one that deserves
correction. It is highly necessary that the student should have a
correct attitude of mind regarding this matter. First of all, I
distinguish between what might be called mere mechanics and technic.

"The art of piano playing as a whole seems to divide itself into three
quite distinct channels when it is considered from the educational
standpoint. The first channel is that of mechanics. This would naturally
include all that pertains to that branch of piano study which has to do
with the exercises that develop the hand from the machine
standpoint--that is, make it capable of playing with the greatest
possible rapidity, the greatest possible power, when power is needed and
also provide it with the ability to play those passages which, because
of fingering or unusual arrangement of the piano keys, are particularly
difficult to perform.


THE BRAIN SIDE OF PIANO STUDY

"In the second channel we would find the study of the technic of the art
of playing the instrument. Technic differs from the mechanics of piano
playing in that it has properly to do with the intellectual phase of the
subject rather than the physical. It is the brain side of the study not
the digital or the manual. To the average student who is short-sighted
enough to spend hours hammering away at the keyboard developing the
mechanical side of his work, a real conscious knowledge of the great
saving he could effect through technic, would be a godsend. Technic
properly has to do with Rhythm, Tempo, Accent, Phrasing, Dynamics,
Agogics, Touch, etc.

"The excellence of one's technic depends upon the accuracy of one's
understanding of these subjects and his skill in applying them to his
interpretations at the keyboard. Mechanical skill, minus real technical
grasp, places the player upon a lower footing than the piano-playing
machines which really do play all the notes, with all the speed and all
the power the operator demands. Some of these instruments, indeed, are
so constructed that many of the important considerations that we have
placed in the realm of technic are reproduced in a surprising manner.


THE EMOTIONS IN PIANO PLAYING

"However, not until man invents a living soul, can piano playing by
machine include the third and vastly important channel through which we
communicate the works of the masters to those who would hear them. That
channel is the emotional or artistic phase of piano playing. It is the
channel which the student must expect to develop largely through his own
inborn artistic sense and his cultivated powers of observation of the
playing of master pianists. It is the sacred fire communicated from one
art generation to the next and modified by the individual emotions of
the performer himself.

"Even though the performer may possess the most highly perfected
mechanism, technical mastery which enables him to play great
masterpieces effectively, if he does not possess the emotional insight,
his performances will lack a peculiar subtlety and artistic power that
will deprive him of becoming a truly great pianist.


INSPIRING THE STUDENT

"Exercises for the mechanical side of pianoforte playing abound. Czerny
alone wrote over one thousand opus numbers. There have also been
valuable attempts to provide books to assist the student in his
technical work, but it should always be remembered that this depends
first of all upon understanding and then upon the ability to translate
that understanding to the instrument.

"There can never be any exercises in the emotional side of the student's
work other than the entire literature of the instrument. One may as well
try to capture the perfume of the flower as define the requirements of
the emotional in pianoforte playing. A great deal may be done to inspire
the student and suggest ideas which may bring him to the proper artistic
appreciation of a passage, but it is this very indefinability which
makes the emotional phase one of the most important of all. Attendance
at the recitals of artistic pianists is of great help in this
connection.

"The student, however, may learn a vast amount about real piano technic
and apply his knowledge to his playing through the medium of the proper
studies. For instance, in the subject of touch alone, there is a vast
store of valuable information which can be gained from a review of the
progressive steps through which this significant phase of the subject
has passed during the last century. The art of piano playing, considered
apart from that of the similar instruments which preceded the piano, is
very little over one hundred years old.


CHANGES IN THE MECHANISM OF THE INSTRUMENT

"During this time many significant changes have been made in the
mechanism of the instrument and in the methods of manufacture. These
changes in the nature of the instrument have in themselves doubtless had
much to do with changes in methods of touch as have the natural
evolutions coming through countless experiments made by teachers and
performers. Thus we may speak of the subject of touch as being divided
into three epochs, the first being that of Czerny (characterized by a
stroke touch), the second being that of the famous Stuttgart
Conservatory (characterized by a pressure touch), and the third or new
epoch which is characterized by weight playing. All my own playing is
based upon the last named method, and I had the honor of being one of
the first to make application of it when I commenced teaching some
twenty years ago.


THE SIGNIFICANCE OF WEIGHT PLAYING

"In this method of playing, the fingers are virtually 'glued to the
keys' in that they leave them the least possible distance in order to
accomplish their essential aims. This results in no waste motion of any
kind, no loss of power and consequently the greatest possible
conservation of energy. In this manner of playing the arm is so relaxed
that it would fall to the side if the keyboard were removed from beneath
it. Since the hand and the arm are relaxed the back (top) of the hand is
almost on a level with the forearm.

"The high angular stroke which characterized the playing of the Czerny
epoch and which could hardly fail to cause tired muscles and unbearably
stiff playing, is seen very little in these days. By means of it the
student was taught to deliver a blow to the keyboard--a blow which
permitted very little modification to the requirements of modern
technic.

"In my experience as a pianist and as a teacher, I have observed that
the weight touch allows the greatest possible opportunity for the proper
application of those all-important divisions of technic without which
piano playing is not only inartistic, but devoid of all interest.
Weight playing permits nothing to interfere with discriminative
phrasing, complicated rhythmical problems, the infinitely subtle
variation of time for expressive purposes now classed under the head of
agogics, all shades of dynamic gradation; in fact everything that falls
in the domain of the artist pianist.


MOULDING THE FINGERS TO THE KEYS

"In weight playing the fingers seem to mould the piano keys under them,
the hand and arm are relaxed, but never heavy. The maximum of relaxation
results in the minimum of fatigue. In legato playing, for instance, the
fingers rest upon the fleshy part behind the tip rather than immediately
upon the tip as they would in passage work when the player desired to
have the effect of a string of pearls. The sensation in legato playing
is that of pulling back rather than striking the keys. In passages where
force is required the sensation is that of pushing.

"Much might be said of the sensibility of the finger tips as they come
in contact with the ivory and ebony keys. Most every artist has a strong
consciousness that there is a very manifest relation between his
emotional and mental conditions and his tactile sense, that is his
highly developed sense of feeling at the finger tips on the keyboard.
However, the phenomena may be explained from the psychological
standpoint, it is nevertheless true that the feeling of longing,
yearning, hope or soulful anticipation, for instance, induces a totally
different kind of touch from that of anger, resentment or hate.

"The artist who is incapable of communicating his emotions to the
keyboard or who must depend upon artifice to stimulate emotions rarely
electrifies his audiences. Every concert is a test of the artist's
sincerity, not merely an exhibition of his prowess, or his acrobatic
accomplishments on the keyboard. He must have some vital message to
convey to his audience or else his entire performance will prove
meaningless, soulless, worthless.

"That which is of great importance to him is to have the least possible
barrier between his artistic conception of the work he would interpret
and the sounds that are conveyed to the ears of his audience. If we
obliterate the emotional side and depend upon artifice or what might be
called in vulgar parlance "tricks of the trade," pianism will inevitably
descend to a vastly lower level. By cultivating a sensibility in touch
and employing the technical means which will bring the interpreter's
message to the world with the least possible obstruction, we reach the
highest in the art. Those who would strain at gnats might contend that
with the machinery of the instrument itself, intervening between the
touch at the keyboard and the sounding wires, would make the influence
of the emotions though the tactile sense (sense of touch) is wholly
negligible. To this I can only reply that the experience of the artist
and the teacher is always more reliable, more susceptible to finer
appreciations of artistic values than that of the pure theorist, who
views his problems through material rather than spiritual eyes. Every
observing pianist is familiar with the remarkable influence upon the
nerves of the voice-making apparatus that any emotion makes. Is it not
reasonable to suppose that the finger tips possess a similar sensibility
and that the interpretations of any highly trained artist are duly
affected through them?


INDIVIDUALITY, CHARACTER AND TEMPERAMENT

"Indeed, Individuality, Character and Temperament are becoming more and
more significant in the highly organized art of pianoforte playing.
Remove these and the playing of the artist again becomes little better
than that of a piano-playing machine. No machine can ever achieve the
distinguishing charm that this trinity brings to pianoforte playing.
Whether the performer is a 'genius' who has carefully developed the
performance of a masterpiece until it evidences that distinguishing mark
of the authoritative interpretation, or whether he is a 'talent' who
improvises as the mood of the moment inspires him and never plays the
same composition twice in anything like a similar manner, he need not
fear the rivalry of any machine so long as he preserves his
individuality, character and temperament.


GENIUS AND WORK

"The fault with many students, however, is the very erroneous idea that
genius or talent will take the place of study and work. They minimize
the necessity for a careful painstaking consideration of the infinite
details of technic. To them, the significance of the developments of
Bach, Rameau, and Scarlatti in fingering means nothing. They are content
with the superficial. They are incapable of comparing the value of the
advances made by Von Bülow, Tausig and other innovators whose lives were
given to a large extent to the higher development of the technic of the
instrument. They struggle laboriously at the keyboard, imagining that
they are dealing with the problem of technic, when in reality they are
doing little more than performing a drill in a kind of musical
gymnasium--a necessary drill to be sure, but at the same time quite
worthless unless directed by a brain trained in the principles of the
technic of the art.


QUESTIONS IN STYLE, INTERPRETATION, EXPRESSION
AND TECHNIC OF PIANOFORTE PLAYING

SERIES VIII

LEOPOLD GODOWSKY

1. How may the mechanics of playing be distinguished from the larger
subject of technic?

2. With what has technic to do?

3. What channel in the study of pianoforte must the pupil develop most
thoroughly?

4. Name three epochs into which the subject of touch may be divided.

5. How does weight playing differ from the high angular playing of the
Czerny epoch?

6. How should the fingers rest in legato playing?

7. What may be said of the sensitiveness of the finger tips?

8. By what device may pianism descend to a lower level?

9. What qualities must the student preserve above all things?

10. Will genius or talent take the place of study and work?




[Illustration: KATHARINE GOODSON]

KATHARINE GOODSON

BIOGRAPHICAL


Miss Katharine Goodson was born at Watford, Herts, England. She
commenced the study of music at so very youthful an age that she made
several appearances in the English Provinces before she was twelve years
of age. Her talent aroused such interest that she was sent to the Royal
Academy of Music in London. There she was placed under the artistic
guidance of one of the foremost English teachers of pianoforte, Oscar
Beringer, with whom she remained for six years. This was followed by
four years under Leschetizky in Vienna.

Leschetizky saw splendid opportunities in such talented and regularly
trained material and is said to have given particularly careful
attention to Miss Goodson. It is not surprising that upon her return to
London Miss Goodson made a profound impression upon the musical public
and laid the foundation for a splendid reputation. She toured in
England, Germany, Austria and America with great success. In the Grove
Dictionary, her playing is described in the following manner: "It is
marked by an amount of verve and animation that are most rare with the
younger English pianists. She has a great command of tone gradation,
admirable technical finish, genuine musical taste and considerable
individuality of style." In 1903 Miss Goodson married Mr. Arthur Hinton,
one of the most brilliant of modern English composers.




XI

ANALYZING MASTERPIECES

KATHARINE GOODSON


THE NATURAL TENDENCY TO ANALYZE

"Judging from the mischievous investigations of things in general, which
seem so natural for the small boy to make, it would appear that our
tendency to analyze things is innate. We also have innumerable
opportunities to observe how children, to say nothing of primitive
people, struggle to construct--to put this and that together for the
purpose of making something new--in other words, to employ the opposite
process to analysis, known as synthesis. Moreover, it does not demand
much philosophy to perceive that all scientific and artistic progress is
based upon these very processes of analysis and synthesis. We pull
things apart to find out how they are made and what they are made of. We
put them together again to indicate the mastery of our knowledge.

"The measure of musicianship is the ability to do. All the analyzing in
the world will not benefit the pupil unless he can give some visible
indications of his proficiency. Indeed, important as the process is, it
is possible to carry it to extremes and neglect the building process
which leads to real accomplishment.


THE FIRST STEP IN ANALYZING A NEW PIECE

"A great many of the pupils who have come to me indicate a lamentable
neglect in an understanding of the very first things which should have
been analyzed by the preparatory teachers. It is an expensive process to
study with a public artist unless the preparation has been thoroughly
made. Reputation naturally places a higher monetary value upon the
services of the virtuoso, and for the student to expect instruction in
elementary points in analysis is obviously an extravagance. The
virtuoso's time during the lesson period should be spent in the finer
study of interpretation--not in those subjects which the elementary
teacher should have completed. Often the teacher of an advanced pupil is
deceived at the start and assumes that the pupil has a knowledge, which
future investigations reveal that he does not possess.

"For instance, the pupil should be able to determine the general
structure of a piece he is undertaking and should be so familiar with
the structure that it becomes a form of second nature to him. If the
piece is a sonata he should be able to identify the main theme and the
secondary theme whenever they appear or whenever any part of them
appears. Inability to do this indicates the most superficial kind of
study.

"The student should know enough of the subject of form in general to
recognize the periods into which the piece is divided. Without this
knowledge how could he possibly expect to study with understanding?
Even though he has passed the stage when it is necessary for him to mark
off the periods, he should not study a new piece without observing the
outlines--the architectural plans the composer laid down in constructing
the piece. It is one thing for a Sir Christopher Wren to make the plans
of a great cathedral like St. Paul's and quite another thing for him to
get master builders to carry out those plans. By studying the composer's
architectural plan carefully the student will find that he is saving an
immense amount of time. For example, let us consider the Chopin _F Minor
Fantasie_. In this composition the main theme comes three times, each
time in a different key. Once learned in one key, it should be very
familiar in the next key.

"The student should also know something of the history of the dance, and
he should be familiar with the characteristics of the different national
dances. Each national dance form has something more than a rhythm--it
has an atmosphere. The word atmosphere may be a little loose in its
application here, but there seems to be no other word to describe what I
mean. The flavor of the Spanish bolero is very different from the
Hungarian czardas, and who could confound the intoxicating swirl of the
Italian tarantella with the stately air of cluny lace and silver rapiers
which seems to surround the minuet? The minuet, by the way, is
frequently played too fast. The minuet from Beethoven's Eighth Symphony
is a notable example. Many conductors have made the error of rushing
through it. Dr. Hans Richter conducts it with the proper tempo. This
subject in itself takes a tremendous amount of consideration and the
student should never postpone this first step in the analysis of the
works he is to perform.


THE POETIC IDEA OF THE PIECE

"Despite the popular impression that music is imitative in the sense of
being able to reproduce different pictures and different emotions, it is
really very far from it. The subject of program music and illustrative
music is one of the widest in the art, and at the same time one of the
least definite. Except in cases like the Beethoven _Pastoral Symphony_,
where the composer has made obvious attempts to suggest rural scenes,
composers do not as a rule try to make either aquarelles or cycloramas
with their music. They write music for what it is worth as music, not as
scenery. Very often the public or some wily publisher applies the title,
as in the case of the _Moonlight Sonata_ or some of the Mendelssohn
_Songs Without Words_. Of course there are some notable exceptions, and
many teachers may be right in trying to stimulate the sluggish
imaginations of some pupils with fanciful stories. However, when there
is a certain design in a piece which lends itself to the suggestion of a
certain idea, as does, for instance, the Liszt-Wagner _Spinning Song_
from the _Flying Dutchman_, it is interesting to work with a specific
picture in view--but never forgetting the real beauty of the piece
purely as a beautiful piece of music.

"Some pieces with special titles are notoriously misnamed and carry no
possible means of definitely intimating what the composer intended. Even
some forms are misleading in their names. The _Scherzos_ of Chopin are
often very remote from the playful significance of the word--a
significance which is beautifully preserved in the _Scherzos_ of
Mendelssohn.


STUDYING THE RHYTHM

"A third point in analyzing a new piece might be analyzing the rhythm.
It is one thing to understand or to comprehend a rhythm and another to
preserve it in actual playing. Rhythm depends upon the arrangement of
notes and accents in one or two measures which give a characteristic
swing to the entire composition. Rhythm is an altar upon which many
idols are smashed. Sometimes one is inclined to regard rhythm as a kind
of sacred gift. Whatever it may be, it is certainly most difficult to
acquire or better to absorb. A good rhythm indicates a finely balanced
musician--one who knows how and one who has perfect self-control. All
the book study in the world will not develop it. It is a knack which
seems to come intuitively or 'all at once' when it does come. My meaning
is clear to anyone who has struggled with the problem of playing two
notes against three, for at times it seems impossible, but in the
twinkling of an eye the conflicting rhythms apparently jump into place,
and thereafter the pupil has little difficulty with them.

"Rhythmic swing is different from rhythm, but is allied to it as it is
allied to tempo. To get the swing--the impelling force--the student must
have played many pieces which have a tendency to develop this swing. The
big waltzes of Moszkowski are fine for this. If one of Leschetizky's
pupils had difficulty with rhythm he almost invariably advised them to
go to hear the concerts of that king of rhythm and dance, Eduard
Strauss. Dances are invaluable in developing this sense of
rhythm--swift-moving dances like the bolero and the tarantella are
especially helpful. Certain pieces demand a particularly strict
observance of the rhythm, as does the Opus 42 of Chopin, in which the
left hand must adhere very strictly to the Valse rhyt

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