Chapter V: Front Matter (5)

"Experience counts for much with the teacher, but much, more with the pianist. The beginner must go according to rule, until he has thoroughly mastered the rules. He must not think because he sees a great artist holding his hands a certain way at times--turning under his unemployed fingers for octaves perhaps, or any other seeming eccentricity, that he himself is at liberty to do the same things. No, he must learn to play in a normal, safe way before attempting any tricks. What may seem eccentric to the inexperienced student may be quite a legitimate means of producing certain effects to the mature artist, who through wide experience and study knows just the effect he wants and the way to make it. The artist does many things the pupil should not attempt. The artist knows the capabilities of his own hand; his technic is, in a certain sense, individual; it should not be imitated by the learner of little or no experience. If I play a chord passage with high wrist, that I may bring out a certain effect or quality of tone at that point, the thoughtless student might be under the impression that a high wrist was habitual with me, which is not true. For this reason I do not give single lessons to any one, nor coach on single pieces. In the case of the interpretation of a piece, a student can get the ideas of it from hearing it in recital, if he can grasp and assimilate them.

ON INTERPRETATION

"Interpretation! That is a wide subject; how can it be defined? I try to arouse the imagination of the student first of all. We speak of the character of the piece, and try to arrive at some idea of its meaning. Is it _largo_--then it is serious and soulful; is it _scherzo_--then it should be blithe and gay. We cannot depend on metronome tempi, for they are not reliable. Those given in Schumann are generally all wrong. We try to feel the rhythm of the music, the swing of it, the spirit of it. In giving out the opening theme or subject, I feel it should be made prominent, to arrest attention, to make it clear to the listener; when it appears at other times in the piece, it can be softened or varied. Variety of effect we must have; but whether a passage is played with decreasing or increasing tone, whether this run is soft and the next loud, or vice versa, does not matter so much as to secure variety and individuality. I may look at it one way, another player an opposite way. One should be broad-minded enough to see the beauty of each interpretation. I do not expect my pupils to copy me or do things just as I do them. I show them how I do it, then leave them to work it out as they see it.

"_Pianissimo_ is one of the later things to teach. A beginner should not attempt it too soon, for then it will only result in flabbiness. A true _pianissimo_ is not the result of weakness but of strength.

MUSICAL CONDITIONS IN AMERICA

"America has made marvelous progress in the understanding and appreciation of music; even the critics, many of them, know a great deal about music. The audiences, even in small towns, are a pleasure and delight to play to. I am asked sometimes why I attempt the last sonata of Beethoven in a little town. But just such audiences listen to that work with rapt attention; they hang on every note. How are they to learn what is best in music unless we are willing to give it to them?

"The trouble with America is that it does not at all realize how much it knows--how much talent is here. We are so easily tricked with a foreign name and title; our serious and talented musicians are constantly being pushed to the wall by some unknown with a name ending in _ski_. These are the people who tour America (for one season at least), who get the best places in our music schools and colleges, crowding out our native musicians. It makes me very bitter against this utterly mistaken and fallacious idea of ours. I have many talented students, who come to me from all over the country. Some of them become most excellent concert artists. If I recommend them to managers or institutions, should not my word count for something? Ought I not to know what my students can do, and what is required of a concert artist? But instead of their securing an engagement, with such a recommendation, a foreigner with the high-sounding name is the one invariably chosen. When I first started on my career I endeavored in every way to get a proper hearing in America. But not until I had made a name for myself in Europe was I recognized here, in my own land. All honor to those who are now fighting for the musical independence of America!"

A GROUP OF QUESTIONS

Not long after the above conversation with Mme. Zeisler, I jotted down some questions, leading to further elucidation of her manner of teaching and playing, and sent them to her. The artist was then fully occupied with her long and arduous tours and later went to Europe. My questions remained unanswered for nearly a year. When she next played in New York, she sent for me to come to her hotel. As she entered the room to greet me, she held in her hand the paper containing the questions. I expressed surprise that she had preserved the bit of paper so long.

"I am very conscientious," she answered; "I have kept this ever since you sent it, and now we will talk over the topics you suggest."

(1) What means do you favor for gaining power?

"I can say--none. There is no necessity for using special means to acquire power; when everything is right you will have sufficient power; you cannot help having it. If you know the piece thoroughly, your fingers have acquired the necessary strength through efficient practise, so that when the time comes to make the desired effects, you have the strength to make them, provided everything is as it should be with your technic. Power is a comparative term at best; one pianist may play on a larger scale than another. I am reminded of an amusing incident in this connection. My son Paul, when a little fellow, was fond of boasting about his mother; I could not seem to break him of it. One day he got into an argument with another boy, who asserted that his father, an amateur pianist, could play better than Paul's mother, because he 'could play louder, anyway.' I don't know whether they fought it out or not; but my boy told me about the dispute afterward.

"'What do you think makes a great player?' I asked him.

"'If you play soft enough and loud enough, slow enough and fast enough, and it sounds nice,' was his answer. It is the whole thing in a nutshell: and he was such a little fellow at the time!

"As I said, you must have everything right with your technic, then both power and velocity will come almost unconsciously."

(2) What do you do for weak finger joints?

"They must be made strong at once. When a new pupil comes to me the first thing we do is to get the hand into correct position, and the fingers rounded and firm. If the pupil is intelligent and quick, this can be accomplished in a few weeks; sometimes it takes several months. But it must be done. Of what use is it to attempt a Beethoven sonata when the fingers are so weak that they cave in. The fingers must keep their rounded position and be strong enough to bear up under the weight you put upon them. As you say, this work can be done at a table, but I generally prefer the keyboard; wood is so unresponsive.

"I think, for this work, children are easier to handle than their elders; they have no faults to correct; they like to hold their hands well and make them look pretty. They ought to have a keyboard adapted to their little delicate muscles, with action much less heavy than two ounces, the minimum weight of the clavier. As they grow and gain strength, the weight can be increased. If they should attempt to use my instrument with its heavy action, they would lame the hand in a few moments or their little fingers could not stand up under the weight."

(3) Do you approve of finger action?

"Most emphatically. Finger action is an absolute essential in playing the piano. We must have finger development. As you say, we can never make the fingers equal in themselves; we might practise five hundred years without rendering the fourth finger as strong as the thumb. Rather let us learn to so adjust the weight and pressure of each finger, that all will sound equal, whenever we wish them to do so. I tell my pupils that in regard to strength, their fingers are in this relation to each other," and the pianist drew with her pencil four little upright lines on the paper, representing the relative natural weight of the four fingers. "The fifth finger," she said, "figures very little in scale or passage playing. By correct methods of study the pupil learns to lighten the pressure of the stronger fingers and proportionately increase the weight of the weaker fingers."

(4) Do you approve of technic practise outside of pieces?

"I certainly do. The amount of time given to technic study varies with the pupil's stage of advancement. In the beginning, the whole four hours must be devoted to technic practise. When some degree of facility and control have been attained, the amount may be cut down to two hours. Later one hour is sufficient, and when one is far advanced a very short time will suffice to put the hand in trim; some rapid, brilliant arpeggios, or an etude with much finger work may be all that is necessary.

"The player gains constantly in strength and technical control while studying pieces, provided correct methods are pursued. Every piece is first of all a study in technic. The foundation must be rightly laid; the principles can then be applied to etude and piece."

(5) What do you consider the most vital technical points?

"That is a difficult question, involving everything about piano playing. There are the scales of all kinds, in single and double notes. Arpeggios are of great importance, because, in one form or another, they constantly occur. Octaves, chords, pedaling, and so on."

"The trill, too," I suggested.

"Yes, the trill; but, after all, the trill is a somewhat individual matter. Some players seem to have it naturally, or have very little trouble with it; others always have more or less difficulty. They do not seem able to play a rapid, even trill. Many are unable to finish it off deftly and artistically. They can trill for a certain number of repetitions; when they become accustomed to the monotonous repetition it is not so easy to go into the ending without a break."

(6) What means do you advise to secure velocity?

"I make the same answer to this question that I made to the first--none. I never work for velocity, nor do I work _up_ velocity. That is a matter that generally takes care of itself. If you know the piece absolutely, know what it means and the effects you want to make, there will be little difficulty in getting over the keys at the tempo required. Of course this does not apply to the pupil who is playing wrong, with weak fingers, uncertain touch and all the rest of the accompanying faults. I grant that these faults may not be so apparent in a piece of slow tempo. A pupil may be able to get through Handel's Largo, for instance; though his fingers are uncertain he can make the theme sound half-way respectable, while a piece in rapid tempo will be quite beyond him. The faults were in the Largo just the same, but they did not show. Rapid music reveals them at once. Certain composers require almost a perfect technical equipment in order to render their music with adequate effect. Mozart is one of these. Much of his music looks simple, and is really quite easy to read; but to play it as it should be played is another thing entirely. I seldom give Mozart to my pupils. Those endless scales, arpeggios and passages, which must be flawless, in which you dare not blur or miss a single note! To play this music with just the right spirit, you must put yourself _en rapport_ with the epoch in which it was written--the era of crinoline, powdered wigs, snuffboxes and mincing minuets. I don't mean to say Mozart's music is not emotional; it is filled with it, but it is not the emotion of to-day, but of yesterday, of more than a century back.

"For myself, I love Mozart's music. One of my greatest successes was in a Mozart concerto with the Chicago Orchestra. I afterward remarked to one of my colleagues that it had been one of the most difficult tasks I had ever accomplished. 'Yes, when one plays Mozart one is so _exposed_,' was his clever rejoinder."

(7) How do you keep repertoire in repair?

"If you mean my own, I would answer that I don't try to keep all my pieces up, for I have hundreds and hundreds of them, and I must always save time to study new works. A certain number are always kept in practise, different programs, according to the requirements of the hour. My method of practise is to play slowly through the piece, carefully noting the spots that are weak and need special treatment. To these I give a certain number of repetitions, and then repeat the whole to see if the weak places are equal in smoothness to the rest. If not, they must have more study. But always slow practise. Only occasionally do I go through the piece at the required velocity.

"My pupils are always counseled to practise slowly. If they bring the piece for a first hearing, it must be slowly and carefully played; if for a second or third hearing, and they know it well enough to take it up to time, they can play it occasionally at this tempo before coming to me. But to constantly play a piece in rapid tempo is very harmful; it precludes all thought of analysis, of _how_ you are doing it. When you are playing at concert speed, you have no time to think of fingering, movement or condition--you are beyond all that. It is only in slow practise that you have time and opportunity to think of everything.

"As an illustration, take the case of a pianist in a traveling concert company. He must play the same pieces night after night, with no opportunity to practise between. For the first few days the pieces go well; then small errors and weak spots begin to appear. There is no time for slow practise, so each nightly repetition increases the uncertainty. In a few months his playing degenerates so it is hardly fit to listen to. This is the result of constant fast playing."

(8) How do you keep technic up to the standard?

"If one is far advanced a few arpeggios and scales, or a brilliant etude will put the hand in condition. After one has rested, or had a vacation, some foundational exercises and finger movements may be necessary, to limber up the muscles and regain control and quickness. One may often have to review first principles, but technical facility is soon regained if it has once been thoroughly acquired. If one has stopped practise for quite a period, the return is slower, and needs to be more carefully prepared.

"I use considerable Czerny for technical purposes, with my pupils. Op. 299, of course, and even earlier or easier ones; then Op. 740. A few of the latter are most excellent for keeping up one's technic. The Chopin Studies, too, are daily bread."

(9) The best way to study chords?

"From the wrist and with fingers of steel Small hands must of course begin with smaller positions."

(10) What gymnastic exercises do you suggest?

"Whatever seems necessary for the special hand. Tight hands need to be massaged to limber the fingers and stretch the web of flesh between them. The loose, flabby hand may also be strengthened and rendered firm by massage; but this is often a more difficult task than to stretch the right hand. If technical training is properly given, it is sure to render the hand flexible and strong."

XXV

AGNES MORGAN

SIMPLICITY IN PIANO TEACHING

One of the busiest of New York piano teachers, whose list of students taking private lessons in a season, almost touches the hundred mark, is Mrs. Agnes Morgan. Mrs. Morgan has been laboring in this field for more than two decades, with ever increasing success. And yet so quietly and unobtrusively is all this accomplished, that the world only knows of the teacher through the work done by her pupils. The teacher has now risen to the point where she can pick and choose her own pupils, which is a great comfort to her, for it dispels much of the drudgery of piano teaching, and is one of the reasons why she loves her work.

When one teaches from nine in the morning till after six every day of the season, it is not easy to find a leisure hour in which to discuss means and methods. By a fortunate chance, however, such an interview was recently possible.

The questions had been borne in upon me: By what art or influence has this teacher attracted so large a following? What is it which brings to her side not only the society girl but the serious art-student and young teacher? What is the magnet which draws so many pupils to her that five assistants are needed to prepare those who are not yet ready to profit by her instruction? When I came in touch with this modest, unassuming woman, who greeted me with simple cordiality, and spoke with quiet dignity of her work, I felt that the only magnet was the ability to impart definite ideas in the simplest possible way.

"Dr. William Mason, with whom I studied," began Mrs. Morgan, "used to say that a musical touch was born, not made; but I have found it possible to so instruct a pupil that she can make as beautiful a tone as can be made; even a child can do this. The whole secret lies in arm and wrist relaxation, with arched hand, and firm nail joint.

INSPIRATION FROM AN AMERICAN TEACHER

"I feel that Dr. Mason himself was the one who made me see the reason of things. I had always played more or less brilliantly, for technic came rather easy to me. I had studied in Leipsic, where I may say I learned little or nothing about the principles of piano playing, but only 'crammed' a great number of difficult compositions. I had been with Moszkowski also; but it was really Dr. Mason, an American teacher, who first set me thinking. I began to think so earnestly about the reason for doing things that I often argued the points out with him, until he would laugh and say, 'You go one way and I go another, but we both reach the same point in the end.' And from that time I have gone on and on until I have evolved my own system of doing things. A teacher cannot stand still. I would be a fool not to profit by the experience gained through each pupil, for each one is a separate study. This has been a growth of perhaps twenty-five years--as the result of my effort to present the subject of piano technic in the most concise form. I have been constantly learning what is not essential, and what can be omitted.

SIMPLICITY

"Simplicity Is the keynote of my work. I try to teach only the essentials. There are so many etudes and studies that are good, Czerny, for instance, is splendid. I believe in it all, but there is not time for much of it. So with Bach. I approve of studying everything we have of his for piano, from the 'Little Pieces' up to the big Preludes and Fugues. Whenever I can I use Bach. But here again we have not time to use as much of Bach as we should like. Still I do the best I can. Even with those who have not a great deal of time to practise, I get in a Bach Invention whenever possible.

"When a new pupil comes who is just starting, or has been badly taught, she must of course begin with hand formation. She learns to form the arch of the hand and secure firm finger joints, especially the nail joint. I form the hand away from the piano, at a table. Nothing can be done toward playing till these things are accomplished. I often have pupils who have been playing difficult music for years, and who consider themselves far advanced. When I show them some of these simple things, they consider them far too easy until they find they cannot do them. Sometimes nothing can be done with such pupils until they are willing to get right down to rock bottom, and learn how to form the hand. As to the length of time required, it depends on the mentality of the pupil and the kind of hand. Some hands are naturally very soft and flabby, and of course it is more difficult to render them strong.

FINGER ACTION

"When the arch of the hand is formed, we cultivate intelligent movement in the finger tips, and for this we must have a strong, dependable nail joint. Of course young students must have knuckle action of the fingers, but I disapprove of fingers being raised too high. As we advance, and the nail joint becomes firmer and more controlled, there is not so great need for much finger action. Velocity is acquired by less and less action of the fingers; force is gained by allowing arm weight to rest on the fingers; lightness and delicacy by taking the arm weight off the fingers--holding it back.

"I use no instruction books for technical drill, but give my own exercises, or select them from various sources. Certain principles must govern the daily practise, from the first. When they are mastered in simple forms later work is only development. Loose wrist exercises, in octaves, sixths, or other forms, should form a part of the daily routine. So should scale playing, for I am a firm believer in scales of all kinds. Chords are an important item of practise. How few students, uninstructed in their principles, ever play good chords? They either flap the hand down from the wrist, with a weak, thin tone, or else they play with stiff, high wrists and arms, making a hard, harsh tone. In neither case do they use any arm weight. It often takes some time to make them see the principles of arm weight and finger grasp.

QUESTIONS OF PEDALING

"Another point which does not receive the attention it deserves is pedaling. Few students have a true idea of the technic of the foot on the pedal. They seem to know only one way to use the damper pedal, and that is to come down hard on it, perhaps giving it a thump at the same time. I give special preparatory exercises for pedal use. Placing the heel on the floor, and the forepart of the foot on the pedal, they learn to make one depression with every stroke of the metronome; when this can be done with ease, then two depressions to the beat, and so on. In this exercise the pedal is not pressed fully down; on the contrary there is but a slight depression; this vibration on the pedal has the effect of a constant shimmering of light upon the tones, which is very beautiful." Here the artist illustrated most convincingly with a portion of a Chopin Prelude. "One needs a flexible ankle to use the pedal properly; indeed the ankle should be as pliant as the wrist. I know of no one else who uses the pedal in just this fashion; so I feel as though I had discovered it.

"Yes, I have numbers of pupils among society people; girls who go out a good deal and yet find time to practise a couple hours a day. The present tendency of the wealthy is to take a far more serious view of music study than was formerly the case. They feel its uplifting and ennobling influence, respect its teachers, and endeavor to do carefully and well whatever they attempt.

"While necessary and important, the technical foundation is after all but a small part compared to the training for rhythmic sense, and for the knowledge of how to produce good and beautiful results in musical interpretation."

XXVI

EUGENE HEFFLEY

MODERN TENDENCIES IN PIANO MUSIC

Eugene Heffley, the Founder and first President of the MacDowell Club, of New York, a pianist and teacher of high ideals and most serious aims, came to New York from Pittsburg, in 1900, at the suggestion of MacDowell himself. He came to make a place for himself in the profession of the metropolis, and has proved himself a thoroughly sincere and devoted teacher, as well as a most inspiring master; he has trained numerous young artists who are winning success as pianists and teachers.

Mr. Heffley, while entertaining reverence for the older masters, is very progressive, always on the alert to discover a new trend of thought, a new composer, a new gospel in musical art. He did much to make known and arouse enthusiasm for MacDowell's compositions, when they were as yet almost unheard of in America. In an equally broad spirit does he introduce to his students the works of the ultra modern school, Debussy, Rachmaninoff, Florent Schmitt, Reger, Liadow, Poldini and others.

"My students like to learn these new things, and the audiences that gather here in the studio for our recitals, come with the expectation of being enlightened in regard to new and seldom heard works, and we do not disappoint them. Florent Schmitt, in spite of his German surname, is thoroughly French in his manner and idiom, though they are not of the style of Debussy; he has written some beautiful things for the piano; a set of short pieces which are little gems. I rank Rachmaninoff very highly, and of course use his Preludes, not only the well-known ones--the C and G minor--but the set of thirteen in one opus number; they are most interesting. I use a good deal of Russian music; Liadow has composed some beautiful things; but Tschaikowsky, in his piano music, is too complaining and morbid, as a rule, though he is occasionally in a more cheerful mood. It seems as though music has said all it can say along consonant lines, and regular rhythms. We must look for its advancement in the realm of Dissonance; not only in this but in the way of variety in Rhythm. How these modern composers vary their rhythms, sometimes three or four different ones going at once! It is the unexpected which attracts us in musical and literary art, as well as in other things: we don't want to know what is coming next; we want to be surprised.

"Of the classic literature, I use much Bach, when I can. I used to give more Mozart than I do now; latterly I have inclined toward Haydn; his Variations and Sonatas are fine; my students seem to prefer Haydn also. I thoroughly believe in the value of polyphonic music as a mental study; it is a necessity. And Bach is such a towering figure, such a rock of strength in musical art. Bach was essentially a Christian, and this element of devoutness, of worship, shines out in everything he wrote. I do not believe that music, without this element of worship, will live. Tschaikowsky did not have it, nor Berlioz, nor even Mozart, for Mozart wrote merely from the idea of sheer beauty of sound; in that sense he was a pagan. I doubt if Strauss has it. One cannot foresee how the future will judge the music of to-day; what will it think of Schoenberg? I am holding in abeyance any opinion I might form regarding his work till I have had more time to know it better. I can only say I have heard his string Quartet three times. The first time I found much in it to admire; the second time I was profoundly moved by certain parts of it, and on the third occasion I felt that the work, especially the latter part, contained some of the most beautiful music I had ever listened to.

"In regard to the technical training my pupils receive, it is not so easy to formulate my manner of teaching. Each pupil is a separate study, and is different from every other. As you well know, I am not a 'method man': I have little use for the so-called piano method. To be a true teacher of the piano is a high calling indeed; for there are many pedagogues but comparatively few real teachers. I make a distinction between the two. A pedagogue is one who, filled with many rules and much learning, endeavors to pour his knowledge into the pupil; whereas the true teacher seeks to draw out what is in the pupil. He strives to find what the pupil has aptitude for, what he likes to do and can do best. The teacher must be something of a psychologist, or how can he correctly judge of the pupil's temperament, his tastes, his mentality, and what to do for him?

"When a new pupil comes, I must make a mental appraisement of his capacity, his likelihood to grasp the subject, his quickness of intelligence, his health, and so on. No two pupils can be treated in the same way. One who has little continuity, who has never followed out a serious line of thought in any direction, must be treated quite differently from one of an opposite mentality and experience. It would be useless to give Bach to the first pupil, it would only be a waste of time and patience: he could not comprehend the music in any sense; he would have no conception of the great things that Bach stands for. Such a course of treatment would only make him hate music; whereas to one of a more serious and thoughtful turn of mind, you might give any amount of Bach.

"A student with a poor touch and undeveloped hand, must go through a regular course of training. The hand is first placed in position, either at the keyboard or on a table; the fingers are taught to start with up movements, as the lifting muscles need special attention. A muscle or a finger, is either _taut_, _flabby_ or _stiff_; it is the taut condition I strive for--to make the finger responsive, like a fine steel spring.

"It is absolutely necessary to establish correct finger action at the outset; for the sake of finger development, clearness, and accuracy. When single fingers can make accurate up and down movements, we can put two fingers together and acquire a perfect legato. I teach three kinds of legato--the _passage_ legato, the _singing_ legato, and the _accompanying_ legato; the pupil must master the first before attempting the others. I advise technic practise with each hand alone, for you must know I am a firm believer in the study of pure technic outside of pieces.

"As the student advances we take up chord playing with different touches, scales, arpeggios and octaves. I institute quite early what I call polyphonic technic--one hand doing a different movement or touch from the other. This works out in scales and arpeggios with a variety of touches--one hand playing a passage or scale staccato while the other plays legato, and vice versa."

Asked if he taught technical material without a book, Mr. Heffley replied:

"No, I generally use the Heinrich Germer work, as it covers the ground very satisfactorily; it is compact, concise, and complete in one volume. I also use Mertke to some extent. Every form of exercise must be worked out in all keys; I find the books useful for all kinds of students. I may add that I use comparatively few etudes.

"If the student seems to have a very imperfect rhythmic sense, I use the metronome, but as sparingly as possible, for I want to establish the inner sense of rhythm.

"In regard to memorizing. I give no special advice, but counsel the student to employ the way which is easiest and most natural to him. There are three distinct ways of committing music: the Analytic, Photographic, and Muscular. The Analytic memory picks the passage apart and learns just how it is constructed, and why; the Photographic memory can see the veritable picture of the passage before the mind's eye; while the Muscular memory lets the fingers find the notes. This is not a very reliable method, but some pupils have to learn in this way. Of course the Analytical memory is the best; when the pupil has the mental ability to think music in this way, I strongly recommend it.

"One point I make much of in my teaching, and that is Tone Color, as a distinct factor in musical interpretation. It is not merely a question of using the marks of expression, such as FF, MF, PP, and so on; it is more subtle than that--it is the _quality_ of tone I seek after. Sometimes I work with a pupil for several minutes over a single tone, until he really comprehends what he has to do to produce the right quality of tone, and can remember how he did it. The pedal helps wonderfully, for it is truly the 'soul of the piano.'

"Some pupils have fancy but no imagination, and vice versa. The terms are not synonymous. Reading poetry helps to develop the aesthetic sense; pictures help also, and nature. I must necessarily take into account the pupil's trend of temperament while instructing him.

"Interpretative expression is not a positive but a relative quantity. One player's palette is covered with large blotches of color, and he will paint the picture with bold strokes; another delights in delicate miniature work. Each will conceive the meaning and interpretation of a composition through the lens of his own temperament. I endeavor to stimulate the imagination of the pupil through reading, through knowledge of art, through a comprehension of the correlation of all the arts.

"The musical interpreter has a most difficult, exacting and far-reaching task to perform. An actor plays one part night after night; a painter is occupied for days and weeks with a single picture; a composer is absorbed for the time being on one work only. The pianist, on the other hand, must, during a recital, sweep over the whole gamut of expression: the simple, the pastoral, the pathetic, the passionate, the spiritual--he is called upon to portray every phase of emotion. This seems to me a bigger task than is set before any other class of art-workers. The pianist must be able to render with appropriate sentiment the simplicity and fresh naivete of the earlier classics, Haydn, Mozart; the grandeur of Bach; the heroic measures of Beethoven; the morbid elegance of Chopin; the romanticism of Schumann; the magnificent splendor of Liszt.

"In choosing musical food for my pupils, I strive to keep away from the beaten track of the hackneyed. The mistake made by many teachers is to give far too difficult music. Why should I teach an old war-horse which the pupil has to struggle over for six months without being really able to master, and which he will thoroughly hate at the end of that time? The Scherzo Op. 31, of Chopin, and the Liszt Rhapsodies he can hear in the concert room, where he can become familiar with most of the famous piano compositions. Why should he not learn to know many less hackneyed pieces, which do not so frequently appear on concert programs?

"Herein lies one of the great opportunities for the broad-minded teacher--to be individual in his work. According to his progressive individuality will his work be valued."

XXVII

GERMAINE SCHNITZER

MODERN METHODS IN PIANO STUDY

"It is difficult to define such a comprehensive term as technic, for it means so much," remarked Germaine Schnitzer the French pianist to me one day, when we were discussing pianistic problems. "There is no special sort or method of technic that will do for all players, for every mentality is different; every hand is peculiar to itself, and different from every other. Not only is each player individual in this particular, but one's right hand may differ from one's left; therefore each hand may require separate treatment.

"An artistic technic can be acquired only by those who have an aptitude for it, plus the willingness to undertake the necessary drudgery; practise alone, no matter how arduous, is not sufficient. Technic is evolved from thought, from hearing great music, from much listening to great players; intent listening to one's own playing, and to the effects one strives to make. It is often said that the pianist cannot easily judge of the tonal effects he is producing, as he is too near the instrument. With me this is not the case. My hearing is so acute that I know the exact dynamics of every tone, every effect of light and shade; thus I do not have to stand at a distance, as the painter does, even if I could do so, in order to criticize my work, for I can do this satisfactorily at close range.

"I hardly know when I learned technic; at all events it was not at the beginning. At the start I had some lessons with quite a simple woman teacher. We lived near Paris, and my elder sister was then studying with Raoul Pugno; she was a good student and practised industriously. She said she would take me to the master, and one day she did so. I was a tiny child of about seven, very small and thin--not much bigger than a fly. The great man pretended he could hardly see me. I was perched upon the stool, my feet, too short to reach the floor, rested on the extension pedal box which I always carried around with me, I went bravely through some Bach Inventions. When I finished, Pugno regarded me with interest. He said he would teach me; told me to prepare some more Inventions, some Czerny studies and the Mendelssohn Capriccio, Op. 22, and come to him in four weeks. Needless to say, I knew every note of these compositions by heart when I took my second lesson. Soon I was bidden to come to him every fortnight, then every week, and finally he gave me two lessons a week.

"For the first five years of my musical experience, I simply played the piano. I played everything--sonatas, concertos--everything; large works were absorbed from one lesson to the next. When I was about twelve I began to awake to the necessity for serious study; then I really began to practise in earnest. My master took more and more interest in my progress and career: he was at pains to explain the meaning of music to me--the ideas of the composers. Many fashionable people took lessons of him, for to study with Pugno had become a fad; but he called me his only pupil, saying that I alone understood him. I can truly say he was my musical father; to him I owe everything. We were neighbors in a suburb of Paris, as my parents' home adjoined his; we saw a great deal of him and we made music together part of every day. When he toured in America and other countries, he wrote me frequently; I could show you many letters, for I have preserved a large number--letters filled with beautiful and exalted thoughts, expressed in noble and poetic language. They show that Pugno possessed a most refined, superior mind, and was truly a great artist.

"I studied with Pugno ten years. At the end of that time he wished me to play for Emil Saur. Saur was delighted with my work, and was anxious to teach me certain points. From him I acquired the principles of touch advocated by his master, Nicholas Rubinstein. These I mastered in three months' time, or I might say in two lessons.

"According to Nicholas Rubinstein, the keys are not to be struck with high finger action, nor is the direct end of the finger used. The point of contact is rather just back of the tip, between that and the ball of the finger. Furthermore we do not simply strive for plain legato touch. The old instruction books tell us that legato must be learned first, and is the most difficult touch to acquire. But legato does not bring the best results in rapid passages, for it does not impart sufficient clarity. In the modern idea something more crisp, scintillating and brilliant is needed. So we use a half staccato touch. The tones, when separated a hair's breadth from each other, take on a lighter, more vibrant, radiant quality; they are really like strings of pearls. Then I also use pressure touch, pressing and caressing the keys--feeling as it were for the quality I want; I think it, I hear it mentally, and I can make it. With this manner of touching the keys, and this constant search for quality of tone, I can make any piano give out a beautiful tone, even if it seems to be only a battered tin pan.

TONE WHICH VIBRATES THROUGH THE WHOLE BODY

"Weight touch is of course a necessity; for it I use not only arms and shoulders, but my whole body feels and vibrates with the tones of the piano. Of course I have worked out many of these principles for myself; they have not been acquired from any particular book, set of exercises, or piano method; I have made my own method from what I have acquired and experienced in ways above mentioned.

ON MEMORIZING

"In regard to memorizing piano music I have no set method. The music comes to me I know not how. After a period of deep concentration, of intent listening, it is mine, a permanent possession. You say Leschetizky advises his pupils to learn a small portion, two or four measures, each hand alone and away from the piano. Other pianists tell me they have to make a special study of memorizing. All this is not for me--it is not my way. When I have studied the piece sufficiently to play it, I know it--every note of it. When I play a concerto with orchestra I am not only absolutely sure of the piano part, but I also know each note that the other instruments play. Of course I am listening intently to the piano and to the whole orchestra during a performance; if I allowed myself to think of anything else, I should be lost. This absolute concentration is what conquers all difficulties.

ABSTRACT TECHNIC

"About practising technic for itself alone: this will not be necessary when once the principles of technic are mastered. I, at least, do not need to do so. I make, however, various technical exercises out of all difficult passages in pieces. I scarcely need to look at the printed pages of pieces I place on my recital programs. I have them with me, to be sure, but they are seldom taken out of their boxes. What I do is to think the pieces through and do mental work with them, and for this I must be quiet and by myself. An hour's actual playing at the piano each day is sufficient to prepare for a recital.

"It must not be thought that I do not study very seriously. I do not work less than six hours a day; if on any day I fail to secure this amount of time, I make it up at the earliest moment. During the summer months, when I am preparing new programs for the next season, I work very hard. As I said, I take the difficult passages of a composition and make the minutest study of them in every detail, making all kinds of technical exercises out of a knotty section, sometimes playing it in forty or fifty different ways. For example, take the little piece out of Schumann's _Carneval_, called 'The Reconnaissance.' That needed study. I gave three solid days to it; that means from nine to twelve in the morning, and from one to five in the afternoon. At the end of that time I knew it perfectly and was satisfied with it. From that day to this I have never had to give a thought to that number, for I am confident I know it utterly. I have never had an accident to that or to any of my pieces when playing in public. In my opinion a pianist has a more difficult task to accomplish than any other artist. The singer has to sing only one note at a time; the violinist or 'cellist need use but one hand for notes. Even the orchestral conductor who aspires to direct his men without the score before him, may experience a slip of memory once in awhile, yet he can go on without a break. A pianist, however, has perhaps half a dozen notes in each hand to play at once; every note must be indelibly engraved on the memory, for one dares not make a slip of any kind.

"An artist playing in London, Paris or New York--I class these cities together--may play about the same sort of programs in each. The selections will not be too heavy in character. In Madrid or Vienna the works may be even more brilliant. It is Berlin that demands heavy, solid meat. I play Bach there, Beethoven and Brahms. It is a severe test to play in Berlin and win success.

"I have made several tours in America. This is a wonderful country. I don't believe you Americans realize what a great country you have, what marvelous advantages are here, what fine teachers, what great orchestras, what opera, what audiences! The critics, too, are so well informed and so just. All these things impress a foreign artist--the love for music that is here, the knowledge of it, and the enthusiasm for it. A worthy artist can make a name and success in America more quickly and surely than in any country in the world.

"For one thing America is one united country from coast to coast, so it is much easier getting about here than in Europe. For another thing I consider you have the greatest orchestras in the world, and I have played with the orchestras of all countries. I also find you have the most enthusiastic audiences to be found anywhere.

"In Europe a musical career offers few advantages. People often ask my advice about making a career over there, and I try to dissuade them. It sometimes impresses me as a lions' den, and I have the desire to cry out 'Beware' to those who may be entrapped into going over before they are ready, or know what to expect. Of course there are cases of phenomenal success, but they are exceptions to the general rule.

"People go to Europe to get atmosphere (stimmung)--that much abused term! I could tell them they make their own atmosphere wherever they are. I have lived in music all my life, but I can say I find musical atmosphere right here in America. If I listen to the Boston Symphony Orchestra, or to the Kneisel Quartet, when these organizations are giving an incomparable performance of some masterpiece, I am entirely wrapt up in the music; am I not then in a musical atmosphere? Or if I hear a performance of a Wagner opera at the Metropolitan, where Wagner is given better even than in Bayreuth, am I not also in a musical atmosphere? To be sure, if I am in Bayreuth I may see some reminiscences of Wagner the man, or if I am in Vienna I can visit the graves of Beethoven and Schubert. But these facts of themselves do not create a musical atmosphere.

"You in America can well rejoice over your great country, your fine teachers and musicians and your musical growth. After a while you may be the most musical nation in the world."

XXVIII

OSSIP GABRILOWITSCH

CHARACTERISTIC TOUCH ON THE PIANO

Arthur Hochman, Russian pianist and composer, once remarked to me, in reference to the quality of tone and variety of tonal effects produced by the various artists now before the public:

"For me there is one pianist who stands above them all--his name is Gabrilowitsch."

The quality of tone which this rare artist draws from his instrument, is unforgettable. I asked him one morning, when he was kind enough to give me the opportunity for a quiet chat, how he produced this luscious singing quality of tone.

"A beautiful tone? Ah, that is difficult to describe, whether in one hour or in many hours. It is first a matter of experiment, of individuality, then of experience and memory. We listen and create the tone, modify it until it expresses our ideal, then we try to remember how we did it.

"I cannot say that I always produce a beautiful tone; I try to produce a characteristic tone, but sometimes it may not be beautiful: there are many times when it may be anything but that. I do not think there can be any fixed rule or method in tone production, because people and hands are so different. What does for one will not do for another. Some players find it easier to play with high wrist, some with low. Some can curve their fingers, while others straighten them out. There are of course a few foundation principles, and one is that arms and wrists must be relaxed. Fingers must often be loose also, but not at the nail joint; that must always be firm. I advise adopting the position of hand which is most comfortable and convenient. In fact all forms of hand position can be used, if for a right purpose, so long as the condition is never cramped or stiff. I permit either a high or low position of the wrist, so long as the tone is good. As I said, the nail joint must remain firm, and never be crushed under by the weight of powerful chords, as is apt to be the case with young players whose hands are weak and delicate.

TECHNICAL STUDY

"Yes, I am certainly in favor of technical practise outside of pieces. There must be scale and arpeggio study, in which the metronome can be used. But I believe in striving to make even technical exercises of musical value. If scales are played they should be performed with a beautiful quality and variety of tone; if one attempts a Czerny etude, it should be played with as much care and finish as a Beethoven sonata. Bring out all the musical qualities of the etude. Do not say, 'I'll play this measure sixteen times, and then I'm done with it.' Do nothing for mechanical ends merely, but everything from a musical standpoint. Yes, I give some Czerny to my students; not many etudes however. I prefer Chopin and Rubinstein. There is a set of six Rubinstein Studies which I use, including the Staccato Etude.

"In regard to technical forms and material, each player may need a different tonic. I have found many useful things in a work by your own Dr. William Mason, _Touch and Technic_. I have used this to a considerable extent. To my knowledge he was the first to illustrate the principle of weight, which is now pretty generally accepted here as well as in Europe.

"An ancient and famous philosopher, Seneca, is said to have remarked that by the time a man reaches the age of twenty-five, he should know enough to be his own physician, or he is a fool. We might apply this idea to the pianist. After studying the piano for a number of years he should be able to discover what sort of technical exercises are most beneficial; if he cannot do so he must be a fool. Why should he always depend on the exercises made by others? There is no end to the list of method books and technical forms; their name is legion. They are usually made by persons who invent exercises to fit their own hands; this does not necessarily mean that they will fit the hands of others. I encourage my pupils to invent their own technical exercises. They have often done so with considerable success, and find much more pleasure in them than in those made by others.