"I hope to play both the Brahms and Paderewski concertos in America. To me the latter is a beautiful work—the slow movement is exquisite. I have as yet scarcely done anything with the composition, for I have been on a long tour through Norway, Sweden, and Finland. It was most inspiring to play for these people; they want me to come back to them now, but I cannot do so, nor can I go next season, but after that I shall go. I returned home greatly in need of rest. I shall now begin work in earnest, however, as summer is really the only time I have for study throughout the year. I shall have six full weeks now before we take our usual holiday in the Grindelwald. On the way there we shall stop at Morges and visit Paderewski, and then I will go over the concerto with him and get his ideas as to interpretation.

MEMORIZING BY ANALYSIS

"You ask how I memorize. First I go over the work several times to get a general idea of the whole. Then I analyze it, for I feel it absolutely necessary to know keys, chords, and construction. A work should be so well understood along these lines that it can be played in another key as well as in the one in which it is written. For the actual memorizing of the piece I generally do it phrase by phrase, not always 'each hand alone,' though occasionally I do this also. I remember learning the Bach A minor Prelude and Fugue in this way. If I were now asked to play any measure or passage in any part of it I could do so; it is mine forever, never to be forgotten."

Asked about the different ways of teaching the Leschetizky method by various teachers, Miss Goodson said:

"As we all know, people claim to understand and teach the Leschetizky principles who are not competent to do so. I do not recall, for instance, that the professor requires the tips of the fingers to form a straight line on the edge of the keys. I myself have never done this. I believe in a perfectly easy and natural position of hand at the keyboard. When this is the case the finger-tips form a curve, the middle fingers being placed a little farther in on the keys than is natural for the first and fifth. Of course the hand takes an arched position and the joints nearest the tip of the fingers must be firm; there should be no wavering nor giving in there. The whole arm, of course, is relaxed, and swings easily from the shoulder.

A PIANO HAND

"I have, as you say, a good hand for the piano; much depends on that; I have always had a good deal of what is called a natural technic. Thus when I am obliged to forego practising I do not lose my facility; an hour's work puts the hand in condition again. What do I do to accomplish this? Different things. First some finger movements, perhaps with fingers in an extended chord position; then some scales and arpeggios; then a Chopin etude, and so on. When practising regularly, I do not generally work at the piano more than four hours a day; it seems to me that amount is sufficient, if used with absolute concentration."

Later we adjourned to the pretty garden back of the music-room, and here we were joined by a beautiful gray Angora cat, the pet and pride of his mistress, and a very important personage indeed. He has a trick of climbing to Miss Goodson's shoulder, from which point of vantage he surveys the world about him with all the complaisance of which an animal of such high degree is capable.



XI

MARK HAMBOURG

FORM, TECHNIC, AND EXPRESSION



In one of the most quiet, secluded quarters of London can be found the home of the Russian pianist, Mark Hambourg. Mr. Hambourg lives on a terrace, "far from the madding crowd," and difficult enough of access to keep mere curiosity seekers at a distance. One can scarcely picture to one's self, without an actual sight of them, the quaint charm of these short passages or streets, usually termed "terraces," or "gardens." This particular terrace looks out on a restful green park, where luxuriant trees make long shadows on the sunlit turf. The house is large and comfortable—built over a hundred years ago; its rooms are spacious, and the drawing-room and library, which lead one into the other, form a fine music salon. Surely, amid such surroundings, with priceless pictures and objets d'art all about, with exquisite colors, with space and quiet, an artist must find an ideal spot for both work and play. I expressed this thought to Mr. Hambourg when he entered; then we soon fell to discussing the necessary equipment of the teacher and pianist.

"I agree with you," he said, "that it is the beginning of piano study which is the most difficult of all; this is where the teacher has such great responsibility and where so many teachers are so incompetent. Perhaps there are more poor teachers for the piano than for the voice. The organs of voice production cannot be seen, they can only be guessed at; so there may be a little more excuse for the vocal teacher; but for the piano we have the keys and the fingers. It should not therefore be such a very difficult thing to learn to play intelligently and correctly! Yet few seem to have got hold of the right principles or know how to impart them."

"I have heard a number of the young pianists here," I remarked, "and they all play with very little finger action—with fingers close to the keys. Do you advocate this?"

LOW HAND POSITION

"Do not forget that for centuries England has been a country of organists; without doubt organ playing has had some effect on the piano touch. Some schools of piano playing advise lifting the fingers high above the keys, with a view to producing greater power; but I think the tone thus produced is often of a somewhat harsh and disagreeable quality. Then, too, high lifting interferes with smoothness and velocity. For myself I advocate keeping the fingers close to the keyboard, and pressing the keys, which gives the tone a warmer and more elastic quality."

"A point in hand position I should like to ask you about. Some teachers advise placing the finger-tips close to the edge of the keys, forming a straight line with them; it seems to me such a position is forced and unnatural."

Mr. Hambourg smiled assent.

"I do not advocate anything forced and unnatural," he answered. "So many people think that a beautiful touch is 'born, not made,' but I do not agree with them. One can acquire, I am sure, a fine piano touch with the proper study. The principal requirement is, first of all, a loose wrist. This point seems simple enough, but it is a point not sufficiently considered nor understood. No matter how much the player may feel the meaning of the music, he cannot express this meaning with stiff wrists and arms. Some people have a natural flexibility, and to such the securing of a musical tone presents far less difficulty; but with time, patience, and thought, I fully believe all can arrive at this goal.

AMOUNT OF PRACTISE

"In regard to practise I do not think it wise for the aspiring pianist to spend such a great amount of time at the piano. Four hours of concentrated work daily seems to me sufficient. Of course it is the quality of practise that counts. The old saying, 'Practise makes perfect,' does not mean constant repetition merely, but constant thinking and listening. I advise students to stop after playing a passage several times, and think over what the notes mean. This pause will rest ears and hands; in a few moments work can be resumed with fresh vigor.

"I have been so frequently asked to write on the subject of technic that I have done so in a few articles which have been printed in a small booklet. From these you may see what my ideas are on these points. I do very little teaching myself—just a few talented pupils; they must be something out of the ordinary. You see, I do not live in London continuously; I am here only about four months of the year; the rest of the time is spent traveling all over the world. Only that small part of the year when I am stationary can I do any solid work. Here it is generally quiet enough: the Zoological Garden is not far away, however, and sometimes I have the roaring of the lions as an accompaniment to my piano.

"I am always increasing my repertoire, though I find the public does not care for new things; it prefers the old. It may listen to the new if forced to, but it will not attend a recital unless various familiar things are on the program.

"I have made several tours in America. The rush of travel from place to place over there, is fatiguing, but I feel that your people are very appreciative. You demand the best, and concert giving in America is so costly that a manager can afford to exploit only the highest artists. Here in London, where the expense is only about two hundred dollars, say, to get up a recital, almost any one can scrape together that sum and bring himself or herself before the public. In America the outlay is four or five times greater. No wonder that only a very good artist can take the risk."

On leaving, Mr. Hambourg took us to another room, where he showed us with much satisfaction, a very valuable painting of the old Italian school, by Ghirlandajo, of which he is very fond.



XII

TOBIAS MATTHAY

WATCHING THE ARTIST TEACHER AT WORK

One of the first things accomplished after my arrival in London was to seek out Tobias Matthay, the composer and teacher, for an echo of his fame had reached me across the water.

Matthay has done much to make the principles of piano technic so clear and simple that even a child can understand them. If he has stated facts in a way which seems to some revolutionary it is because these facts are seldom understood by the rank and file of piano teachers. The work he has done has compelled attention and admiration; his ideas are now accepted as undeniable truths by those who at first repudiated them. The writings of Mr. Matthay will doubtless be better known in America a little later on than they are at present. They consist in part of an exhaustive work on The Act of Touch in all its Diversity; First Principles of Piano Playing; Relaxation Studies; The Child's First Steps in Piano Playing; The Principles of Fingering and Laws of Pedaling; Forearm Rotation Principle; and, in press, The Principles of Teaching Interpretation. These very titles are inspiring and suggestive, and show Matthay to be a deep thinker along educational lines.



Matthay's activities are enormous. He is professor of advanced piano playing at the Royal Academy of Music; also founder and head of his own school of piano playing. So occupied early and late is he, that it is almost impossible to get a word with him. I was fortunate enough, however, to obtain an hour's audience, and also permission to attend various private classes at the Royal Academy, and hear a number of pupils in recital.

In appearance Matthay is a striking personality. His head and features recall pictures of Robert Louis Stevenson. His tall, muscular form has the stoop of the scholar; and little wonder when one remembers he must sit in his chair at work day in and day out. His somewhat brusk manner melts into kind amiability when discussing the topics in which he is vitally interested. In his intercourse with students he is ever kind, sympathetic and encouraging. They, on their part, treat him with profound respect.

Matthay believes, and rightly, that the beginning pupil should learn essentials of note values, rhythm, time, ear-training and so on, before attempting to play anything at the piano. When first taken to the instrument, its mechanism is carefully explained to the learner, and what he must do to make a really musical tone. He says (Child's First Steps): "Before you take the very first step in tone production, be sure to understand that you must never touch the piano without trying to make music. It is only too easy to sound notes without making music at all. To make music we must make all the sounds mean something, just as it is no use to pretend to speak unless the sounds we make with our lips mean something, that is unless they form reasoned phrases and sentences."

Here nothing is left vague. Matthay shows clearly how all musical Form and Shape imply Movement and Progression: the movement of a phrase toward its cadence; the movement of a group of notes toward a beat or pulse ahead, or the movement of a whole piece toward its climax, etc. This original view of his regarding form, which he has advocated for the last twenty years, is now being accepted generally by the more up-to-date of the English theorists and teachers.

In regard to key mechanism and what must be done to produce all varieties of touch and tone, Matthay has made exhaustive studies. He says (First Principles of Piano Playing): "The two chief rules of technic, as regards the key, are, therefore: Always feel how much the key resists you: feel how much the key wants for every note. Second, Always listen for the moment each sound begins, so that you may learn to direct your effort to the sound only, and not to the key bed. You must never hit a key down, nor hit at it. The finger-tip may fall on the key, and in gently reaching the key you may follow up such fall by acting against the key. This action against the key must be for the sole purpose of making it move—in one of the many ways which each give us quite a different kind of sound. And you must always direct such action to the point in key descent where the sound begins."

I quote also this little summary from the same work:

"(a) It is only by making the hammer-end of the key move that you can make a sound. (b) The swifter the movement the louder the sound. (c) The more gradual this swiftness is obtained the more beautiful the quality of sound. (d) For brilliant tone you may hit the string by means of the key, but do not, by mistake, hit the key instead. (e) You must 'aim' the key to the beginning of each sound, because the hammer falls off the string as you hear that beginning, and it is too late then to influence the sound except its continuance. (f) It is wrong to squeeze the key beds, because it prevents tone, impairs musical result, impedes agility, and is, besides, fatiguing. (g) You must feel the 'giving way point' of the key, so that you may be able to tell how much force is required for each note. Never, therefore, really hit the keys."

Mr. Matthay as minutely gives directions as to the muscular problems of touch and technique. For instance, he explains how all varieties of tone, good and bad, are caused, all inflections of Duration, and the laws which govern the attainment of Agility and ease of Technique; and also explains the nature of incorrect muscular actions which prevent the attainment of all these things. He shows where the released arm weight should be applied, and again, where it should be eliminated; makes clear the two opposite forms of technic implied by "flat" and "bent" finger actions, and he goes exhaustively into the little-understood question of forearm rotary exertions, the correct application of which he proves to be necessary for every note we play.

In speaking of methods in piano teaching, Mr. Matthay said to me:

"I can say I have no method of playing, and moreover I have not much faith in people who have. My teachings merely show how all playing, good or bad, is accomplished. There are certain principles, however, which every player should know, but which, I am sorry to say, are as yet scarcely apprehended even by the best teachers. The great pianists have experimented till they have hit upon effects which they can repeat if all conditions are favorable, and they are in the mood. As a rule they do not know the laws underlying these effects. You may ask the greatest pianists, for example, how to play octaves. 'Oh, I play them thus'—illustrating. Just what to do to attain this result they cannot explain. In my own case I have done much experimenting, but always with the view to discovering how things are done—the facts and laws governing actual tone production and interpretation. I made a study of Rubinstein's playing, for I found he played a great deal better than I did. So I discovered many things in listening to him, which he perhaps could not have explained to me. These facts are incontrovertible and I have brought many of my colleagues to see the truth of them. More than this, I have brought many even of my older colleagues who had a life-time of wrong mental habits to impede them, to realize the truth of my teachings.

"The work of a teacher should speak for itself. For my own part I never advertise, for I can point to hundreds of pupils—this is no exaggeration in the least!—who are constantly before the public, as concert pianists and successful teachers.

"If there is one thing that rouses me deeply, it is the incompetence of so many teachers of piano. They say to the pupil: 'You play badly, you must play better'; but they do not tell the pupil how to play better. They give doses of etudes, sonatas and pieces, yet never get at the heart of the matter at all. It is even worse than the fake singing teachers; I feel like saying it is damnable!"

It was my privilege to be present at some of Mr. Matthay's private lessons, given at the Royal Academy. Several young men were to try for one of the medals, and were playing the same piece, one of the Strauss-Tausig Valse Caprices.

Matthay listens to a complete performance of the work in hand, then turns back to the beginning and goes over it again for corrections and suggestions. He enters into it with absolute devotion, directing with movements of head and hands as a conductor might direct an orchestra; sometimes he dashes down a chord in the treble to urge more force; at other times lays a restraining hand on the player's arm, where the tone should be softer. His blue pencil is often busy adding phrasing marks. In the pauses he talks over with the pupil the character of the piece, and the effects he thinks should be made. In short his lessons are most helpful and illuminating.

I also had the opportunity to attend a pupils' "Practise Concert," and here the results attained were little short of marvelous. Small children, both boys and girls, played difficult pieces, like the Grieg Variations for two pianos, the Weber Invitation to the Dance, and works by Chopin and Liszt, with accuracy and fluency. Almost every selection was played from memory. The tone was always musical and often of much power, and the pupils seemed thoroughly to understand what they were doing and the meaning of the music. They certainly exemplified the professor's maxim:

"Never touch the piano without trying to make music."

* * * * *

Not long afterward I received a copy of the new book, which had just come from the press. Its comprehensive title is Musical Interpretation, its Laws and Principles, and their Application in Teaching and Performing. The material was first presented in the form of lectures; on repeated requests it has been issued in book form. The author at the outset claims no attempt to treat such a complex problem exhaustively; he has, however, selected the following seven points for elucidation:

1. The difference between Practise and Strumming. 2. The difference between Teaching and Cramming. 3. How one's mind can be brought to bear on one's work. 4. Correct ideas of Time and Shape. 5. Elements of Rubato and its application. 6. Elements of Duration and Pedaling and their application. 7. Some details as to the application of the Element of Tone-variety.

Such themes must cause the thoughtful reader to pause and think. They are treated with illuminating originality. The great aim of the teacher must ever be to awaken thought along correct lines; the pupil must be assisted to concentrate his thought on what he is doing: to constantly think and listen. Teaching does not consist merely in pointing out faults; the teacher must make clear the cause of each fault and the way to correct it. That section of the book devoted to the Element of Rubato, is illustrated with many examples from well-known compositions, by which the principle is explained. He shows how frequently this principle is misunderstood by the inexperienced, who seem to think that rubato means breaking the time; whereas true rubato is the bending of the time, but not breaking it. If we give extra time to certain notes, we must take some time from other notes, in order to even things up.

The subject of Pedaling is aptly explained by means of numerous illustrations. The author deplores the misuse of the damper pedal, which can be made to ruin all the care and effort bestowed on phrasing and tonal effects by the fingers. The fault can, in most cases, be traced to inattention to the sounds coming from the piano.

There are quotable paragraphs on every page, which in their sincerity and earnestness, their originality of expression, stamp themselves on the reader's imagination. Every teacher who is serious in his work and has the best interests of his pupils at heart, should read and ponder these pages.



XIII

HAROLD BAUER

THE QUESTION OF PIANO TONE

Buried deep in the heart of old Paris, in one of the narrow, busy thoroughfares of the city, stands the ancient house in which the master pianist, Harold Bauer, has made a home.

One who is unfamiliar with Paris would never imagine that behind those rows of uninviting buildings lining the noisy, commercial street, there lived people of refined and artistic tastes. All the entrances to the buildings look very much alike—they seem to be mere slits in the walls. I stopped before one of the openings, entered and crossed a paved courtyard, climbed a winding stone stairway, rang at a plain wooden doorway, and was ushered into the artist's abode. Once within, I hardly dared to speak, lest what I saw might vanish away, as with the wave of a fairy's wand. Was I not a moment before down in that dusty, squalid street, and here I am now in a beautiful room whose appointments are all of quiet elegance—costly but in exquisite taste, and where absolute peace and quiet reign. The wide windows open upon a lovely green garden, which adds the final touch of restful repose to the whole picture.

Mr. Bauer was giving a lesson in the music salon beyond, from which issued, now and again, echoes of well-beloved themes from a Chopin sonata. When the lesson was over he came out to me.

"Yes, this is one of the old houses, of the sort that are fast passing away in Paris," he said, answering my remark; "there are comparatively few of them left. This building is doubtless at least three hundred years old. In this quarter of the city—in the rue de Bac, for instance—you may find old, forbidding looking buildings, that within are magnificent—perfect palaces; at the back of them, perhaps, will be a splendid garden; but the whole thing is so hidden away that even the very existence of such grandeur and beauty would never be suspected from without."

He then led the way to the music-room, where we had an hour's talk.



"I was thinking as I drove down here," I began, "what the trend of our talk might be, for you have already spoken on so many subjects for publication. It occurred to me to ask how you yourself secure a beautiful tone on the piano, and how you teach others to make it?"

Mr. Bauer thought an instant.

"I am not sure that I do make it; in fact I do not believe in a single beautiful tone on the piano. Tone on the piano can only be beautiful in the right place—that is, in relation to other tones. You or I, or the man in the street, who knows nothing about music, may each touch a piano key, and that key will sound the same, whoever moves it, from the nature of the instrument. A beautiful tone may result when two or more notes are played successively, through their difference of intensity, which gives variety. A straight, even tone is monotonous—a dead tone. Variety is life. We see this fact exemplified even in the speaking voice; if one speaks or reads in an even tone it is deadly monotonous.

VARIETY OF TONE

"Now the singer or the violinist can make a single tone on his instrument beautiful through variety; for it is impossible for him to make even one tone which does not have shades of variation in it, however slight they may be, which render it expressive. But you cannot do this on the piano: you cannot color a single tone; but you can do this with a succession of tones, through their difference, through their relation to each other. On the other hand you may say any tone is beautiful if in the right place, no matter how harsh it may be. The singer's voice may break from emotion, or simulated emotion, in an impassioned phrase. The exact note on which it breaks may not be a beautiful one, it may even be very discordant, but we do not think of that, for we are moved by the meaning back of the tones. So on the piano there may be one note in a phrase which, if heard alone, would sound harsh and unpleasant, but in its relation to other tones it sounds beautiful, for it gives the right meaning and effect. Thus it is the relation of tones which results in a 'beautiful tone' on the piano.

"The frequent trouble is that piano teachers and players generally do not understand their instrument. A singer understands his, a violinist, flutist or drummer knows his, but not a pianist. As he only has keys to put down and they are right under his hand, he does not bother himself further. To obviate this difficulty, for those who come to me, I have had this complete model of piano-key mechanism made. You see I can touch the key in a variety of ways, and the results will be different each time. It is necessary for the pianist to look into his instrument, learn its construction, and know what happens inside when he touches a key.

"As you say, there are a great many methods of teaching the piano, but to my mind they are apt to be long, laborious, and do not reach the vital points. The pianist may arrive at these after long years of study and experimenting, but much of his time will be wasted in useless labor.

"In my own case, I was forced by necessity to make headway quickly. I came to Paris years ago as a violinist, but there seemed no opening for me then in that direction. There was opportunity, however, for ensemble work with a good violinist and 'cellist. So I set to work to acquire facility on the piano as quickly as possible. I consulted all the pianists I knew—and I knew quite a number—as to what to do. They told me I must spend many months on technic alone before I could hope to play respectably, but I told them I had no time for that. So I went to work to study out the effects I needed. It didn't matter to me how my hand looked on the keyboard; whether my fingers were curved, flat, or stood on end. I was soon able to get my effects and to convince others that they were the effects I wanted. Later on, when I had more leisure, I took more thought about the position of hand and fingers. But I am convinced that much time is spent uselessly on externals, which do not reach the heart of the matter.

"For instance, players struggle for years to acquire a perfectly even scale. Now I don't believe in that at all. I don't believe a scale ever should be even, either in tone or in rhythm. The beginner's untrained efforts at a scale sound like this"—the speaker illustrated at the piano with a scale in which all the tones were blurred and run into each other; then he continued, "After a year's so-called 'correct training,' his scale sounds like this"—again he illustrated, playing a succession of notes with one finger, each tone standing out by itself. "To my thinking such teaching is not only erroneous, it is positively poisonous—yes, poisonous!"

"Is it to be inferred that you do not approve of scale practise?"

"Oh, I advise scale playing surely, for facility in passing the thumb under and the hand over is very necessary. I do not, however, desire the even, monotonous scale, but one that is full of variety and life.

"In regard to interpretation, it should be full of tonal and rhythmic modifications. Briefly it may be said that expression may be exemplified in four ways: loud, soft, fast, and slow. But within these crude divisions what infinite shades and gradations may be made! Then the personal equation also comes in. Variety and differentiation are of supreme importance—they are life!

"I go to America next season, and after that to Australia; this will keep me away from my Paris home for a long time to come. I should like to give you a picture to illustrate this little talk. Here is a new one which was taken right here in this room, as I sat at the piano, with the strong sunlight pouring in at the big window at my left."

* * * * *

On a subsequent occasion, Mr. Bauer spoke further on some phases of his art.

"As you already know I do not believe in so-called 'piano technic,' which must be practised laboriously outside of pieces. I do not believe in spending a lot of time in such practise, for I feel it is time wasted and leads nowhere. I do not believe, for instance, in the struggle to play a perfectly even scale. A scale should never be 'even,' for it must be full of variety and life. A perfectly even scale is on a dead level; it has no life; it is machine-made. The only sense in which the word 'even' may be applied to a scale is for its rhythmic quality; but even in this sense a beautiful scale has slight variations, so that it is never absolutely regular, either in tone or rhythm.

"Then I do not believe in taking up a new composition and working at the technical side of it first. I study it in the first place from the musical side. I see what may be the meaning of the music, what ideas it seeks to convey, what was in the composer's mind when he wrote it. In other words, I get a good general idea of the composition as a whole; when I have this I can begin to work out the details.

"In this connection I was interested in reading a statement made by Ruskin in his Modern Painters. The statement, which, I think, has never been refuted, is that while the great Italian painters, Raphael, Coreggio, and the rest have left many immature and imperfect pictures and studies in color, their drawings are mature and finished, showing that they made many experiments and studies in color before they thought of making the finished black and white drawing. It seems they put the art thought first before the technical detail. This is the way I feel and the way I work.

AVOID RESTRICTING RULES

"Because our ancestors were brought up to study the piano a certain way, and we—some of us—have been trained along the same rigid lines, does not mean there are no better, broader, less limited ways of reaching the goal we seek. We do not want to limit ourselves or our powers. We do not need to say: 'Now I have thought out the conception of this composition to my present satisfaction; I shall always play it the same way.' How can we feel thus? It binds us at once with iron shackles. How can I play the piece twice exactly alike? I am a different man to-day from what I was yesterday, and shall be different to-morrow from what I am to-day. Each day is a new world, a new life. Don't you see how impossible it is to give two performances of the piece which shall be identical in every particular? It is possible for a machine to make any number of repetitions which are alike, but a human, with active thought and emotion, has a broader outlook.

"The question as to whether the performer must have experienced every emotion he interprets is as old as antiquity. You remember in the Dialogues of Plato, Socrates was discussing with another sage the point as to whether an actor must have felt every emotion he portrayed in order to be a true artist. The discussion waxed warm on both sides. Socrates' final argument was, If the true artist must have lived through every experience in order to portray it faithfully, then, if he had to act a death scene he would have to die first in order to picture it with adequate fidelity!"

THE QUESTION OF VELOCITY

In speaking of velocity in piano playing and how it is to be acquired, Mr. Bauer continued:

"I believe the quality of velocity is inherent—an integral part of one's thought. Even a child, if he has this inherent quality, can play a simple figure of five notes as fast as they need to be played. People of the South—not on this side of the water—but of Spain and Italy, are accustomed to move quickly; they gesticulate with their hands and are full of life and energy. It is no trouble for them to think with velocity. Two people will set out to walk to a given point; they may both walk fast, according to their idea of that word, but one will cover the ground much more quickly than the other. I think this idea of a time unit is again a limiting idea. There can be no fixed and fast rule as to the tempo of a composition; we cannot be bound by such rules. The main thing is: Do I understand the meaning and spirit of the composition, and can I make these clear to others? Can I so project this piece that the picture is alive? If so, the fact as to whether it is a few shades slower or faster does not enter into the question at all.

OBTAINING POWER

"Many players totally mistake in what power consists. They think they must exert great strength in order to acquire sufficient power. Many women students have this idea; they do not realize that power comes from contrast. This is the secret of the effect of power. I do not mean to say that we must not play with all the force we have at times; we even have to pound and bang occasionally to produce the needed effects. This only proves again that a tone may be beautiful, though in itself harsh, if this harshness comes in the right time and place.

"As with velocity so with power; there is no fixed and infallible rule in regard to it, for that would only be another limitation to the feeling, the poetry, the emotion of the executant's thought. The quality and degree of power are due to contrast, and the choice of the degree to be used lies with the player's understanding of the content of the piece and his ability to bring out this content and place it in all its perfection and beauty before the listener. This is his opportunity to bring out the higher, the spiritual meaning."



XIV

A VISIT TO RAOUL PUGNO

TRAINING THE CHILD

"An audience has been arranged for you to-day, with M. Raoul Pugno; he will await you at four o'clock, in his Paris studio." Thus wrote the courteous representative of Musical America in Paris.

It had been very difficult to make appointments with any of the famous French musicians, owing to their being otherwise engaged, or out of the city. I therefore welcomed this opportunity for meeting at least one of the great pianists of France.

At the appointed hour that afternoon, we drove through the busy rue de Clicy, and halted at the number which had been indicated. It proved to be one of those unpromising French apartment buildings, which present, to the passer-by, a stern facade of flat wall, broken by rows of shuttered windows, which give no hint of what may be hidden behind them. In this case we did not find the man we sought in the front portion of the building, but were directed to cross a large, square court. The house was built around this court, as was the custom in constructing the older sort of dwellings.

At last we discovered the right door, which was opened by a neat housekeeper.

"M. Pugno is not here, he lives in the country," she said, in answer to our inquiry. (How difficult these French musicians are to find; they seem to be one and all "in the country"!)

"But, madame, we have an appointment with M. Pugno; will you not be good enough to see if he is not here after all?"

She left us standing, but returned almost immediately with the message that M. Pugno had only that moment entered his studio, to which she would conduct us.



In another moment we had crossed the tiny foyer and were standing within the artist's sanctuary. At first glance one felt as though in an Oriental chamber of some Eastern monarch. Heavy gold and silver Turkish embroideries hung over doors and windows. The walls were covered with many rare paintings; rich objets d'art were scattered about in profusion; an open door led out into a pretty garden, where flowers bloomed, and a fountain dripped into its marble basin. A raised dais at one side of the room held a divan, over which were draperies of Oriental stuffs. On this divan, as on a throne, sat the great pianist we had come to see. He made a stately and imposing figure as he sat there, with his long silvery beard and his dignified bearing. Near him sat a pretty young woman, whom we soon learned was Mlle. Nadia Boulanger, a composer and musician of brilliant attainments.

"I regret that I am unable to converse with you in English, as I speak no language but my own," began M. Pugno, with a courteous wave of the hand for us to be seated.

"You wish to know some of my ideas on piano playing—or rather on teaching. I believe a child can begin to study the piano at a very early age, if he show any aptitude for it; indeed the sooner he begins the better, for then he will get over some of the drudgery by the time he is old enough to understand a little about music.

TRAINING THE CHILD

"Great care must be taken with the health of the child who has some talent for music, so that he shall not overdo in his piano study. After all a robust physical condition is of the first importance, for without it one can do little.

"A child in good health can begin as early as five or six years. He must be most judiciously trained from the start. As the ear is of such prime importance in music, great attention should be paid to tone study—to listening to and distinguishing the various sounds, and to singing them if possible, in solfeggio.

"At the outset a good hand position must be secured, with correct finger movements. Then there must be a thorough drill in scales, arpeggios, chords, and a variety of finger exercises, before any kind of pieces are taken up. The young student in early years, is expected to play various etudes, as well as the technic studies I have mentioned—Czerny, Cramer, Clementi, and always Bach. In my position, as member of the faculty of the Conservatoire, a great many students pass before me. If I personally accept any pupils, they naturally must be talented and advanced, as I cannot give my time to the children. Still it is interesting to see the child-thought develop."

The conversation turned upon the charming studio with its lovely garden—where absolute quiet could be secured in spite of the noise and bustle of one of the busiest quarters of Paris. The studio itself, we were told, had formerly belonged to the painter Decamps, and some of the pictures and furnishings were once his. A fine portrait of Pugno, life size, filling the whole space above the piano, claimed our attention. He kindly rose, as we admired the painting, and sought a photograph copy. When it was found—the last one he possessed—he presented it with his compliments.

We spoke of Mlle. Boulanger's work in composition, a subject which seemed deeply to interest M. Pugno.

"Yes, she is writing an opera; in fact we are writing it together; the text is from a story of d'Annunzio. I will jot down the title for you."

Taking a paper which I held in my hand, he wrote,

"La Ville Morte, 4 Acts de d'Annuncio; Musique de Nadia Boulanger et Raoul Pugno"

"You will certainly have it performed in America, when it is finished; I will tell them so," I said.

The great pianist smiled blandly and accepted the suggestion with evident satisfaction.

"Yes, we will come to America and see the work performed, when it is completed," he said.

With many expressions of appreciation we took our leave of the Oriental studio and its distinguished occupants; and, as we regained the busy, noisy rue de Clicy, we said to ourselves that we had just lived through one of the most unique experiences of our stay in Paris.

* * * * *

(The above is the last interview ever taken from this great French artist, who passed away a few months later.)

* * * * *

The following items concerning M. Pugno's manner of teaching and personal traits, were given me by Mme. Germaine Schnitzer, the accomplished French pianist and the master's most gifted pupil.

"Pugno had played the piano almost from infancy, and in early youth had taken several piano prizes. Later, however, he gave much more of his time to the organ, to the seeming neglect of the former instrument. How his serious attention was reverted to the piano happened in this wise. It was announced that Edward Grieg, the noted Norwegian, was coming to Paris. Pugno was one day looking over his piano Concerto which had recently appeared. 'Why don't you play the work for the composer when he comes?' asked a friend. 'I am no pianist,' objected Pugno. 'Why not?' said his friend; 'you know enough about the piano, and there are still four weeks in which to learn the Concerto.' Pugno took the advice, practised up the work, played it in the concert given by Grieg, and scored a success. He was then thirty-nine years of age. This appearance was the beginning; other engagements and successes followed, and thus he developed into one of the great pianists of France.

"Pugno was a born pianist; he had a natural gift for technic, and therefore never troubled himself much about teaching technical exercises nor practising them. If the work of a pupil contained technical faults, he made no remarks nor explanations, but simply closed the music book and refused to listen any further. The pupil, of course, retired in discomfiture. He was fond of playing along with the pupil (generally with the left hand), or singing the melodies and themes, in order to give him ideas of the meaning and interpretation of the music. This gave independence to the pupils, though it often afforded them much amusement.

"With advanced students Pugno spoke much about music and what it could express; he translated themes and passages back into the feelings and emotions which had originated them; he showed how all emotions find their counterpart in tones. 'Above all let kindness and goodness control you,' he once wrote; 'if you are filled with kindness, your tone will be beautiful!'

"Pugno's instruction took the form of talks on the inner meaning of the composition, and the art of interpreting it, rather than any training on the technical side; about the latter he concerned himself very little. It goes without saying that only talented pupils made progress under such a master; indeed those without talent interested him not at all. He was a wonderful teacher for those who had the insight to read between the lines, and were able to follow and absorb his artistic enthusiasms.

"I have said that Pugno did not concern himself about teaching the technical side of piano playing. Even with me, his best pupil, he rarely touched upon technical points. I must mention a notable exception. He gave me one technical principle, expressed in a few simple exercises, which I have never heard of from any one else. The use of this principle has helped me amazingly to conquer many knotty passages. I have never given these exercises to any one; I am willing however, to jot them down for you."

(The following is a brief plan of the exercises, as sketched by Mme. Schnitzer)



"Pugno wished the thirty-seconds and sixty-fourths to be played with the utmost quickness. This idea is not alone applicable to all scales, but can be used with any difficult passage found in a composition.

"Pugno took a keen interest in my work, my progress and career. A few sentences culled here and there from the many letters of his which I have preserved, may serve to throw more light on the inner nature of the man:

"'I have endeavored to make clear to your young mind the thoughts expressed in music, so that your understanding and your emotions also might grow; all this has created a link of gratitude in you and an affection within me. I have opened the windows for you and have given you light, and I have reaped the satisfaction of my sowing.'

"'Hear all the music you can—do not miss any of the pianists either good or bad; there is always something to be learned, even from a poor player—if it is only what to avoid! Study great works, but even in those there are some figures and phrases which need not be brought into the foreground, lest they attain too much significance.'

"(After playing with Hans Richter's Orchestra): 'What intoxication of sound—what exhilaration and collaboration in music! What a force within us, which sways us and throbs through us, developing and expressing each sentiment and instinct! What art can be compared to music, which finds expression through this medium, called an orchestra. I feel myself greater amid the orchestra, for I have a giant to converse with. I keep pace with him, I lead him where I will—I calm him and I embrace him. We supplement each other; in a moment of authority I become his master and subdue him. The piano alone is too small for me; it does not tempt me to play it except under such conditions—with a grand orchestra!'"



XV

THUEL BURNHAM

THE "MELODY" AND "COLORATURA" HAND

A prominent figure in the musical life of Paris is Thuel Burnham, pianist and teacher.

Mr. Burnham is an American, who for a number of years has made his home in Paris. He has studied with the greatest masters of his instrument on both sides of the water. More than this he is a musical thinker who has worked out things for himself, amalgamating what he has found best in other methods with what he has discovered in his own experience. He has been able to simplify the whole fabric of technical material, so there is no time lost in useless labor.

As a pianist Mr. Burnham takes high rank. Technical difficulties do not exist for him. He has come to the last turning of the road; before him rise the heights of supreme spiritual mastery. A touch that is limpid, clear, and capable of many gradations of tints; splendid power in fortissimo; delicacy, velocity and variety are all his; together with all this he has a sympathetic insight into the mood and meaning of the composer. Of late he has been giving several recitals of a semi-private nature, at which he has brought out some of the larger works in his repertoire. These recitals have taken place in his charming studios, and it was my good fortune to be present when two concertos were played, the MacDowell in D minor, and the Grieg in A minor. Mr. Burnham is a warm admirer of the works of our great American composer, and has prepared an entire program of MacDowell's music, which included the Tragica Sonata, Polonaise, and many of the shorter pieces.

In a conversation with Mr. Burnham in regard to methods of teaching, he gave many helpful points, explaining how he had reduced technical difficulties to a minimum through the exercise of a few simple principles.

PRINCIPLES OF TOUCH

"The position and condition of the hand varies according to the character of the music, and the tone you wish to produce. If you give out a melody, you want a full, luscious tone, the weight of arm on the key, everything relaxed, and a clinging, caressing pressure of finger. Here then, you have the 'Melody Hand,' with outstretched, flat fingers. If, on the contrary, you want rapid passage work, with clear, bright, articulate touch, the hand must stand up in well-arched, normal playing position, with fingers well rounded and good finger action. Here you have the 'Technical' or 'Coloratura Hand.'

MELODY HAND

"The Melody Hand is weighty and 'dead,' so to speak. The touch is made with flat fingers; the ball of the finger comes in contact with the key, the whole arm, hand and fingers are relaxed—as loose as possible. You caress the keys as though you loved them, as though they were a very part of you; you cling to them as to something soft, velvety or downy—with pressure, pressure, pressure, always."

(This illustration recalled to the listener's mind one of Kitty Cheatham's stories, the one about the little girl caressing a pet kitten. She was asked which she loved best—her mother or the kitten. "Of course I love her best," was the rather hesitating answer; "but I love kitty too—and she has fur!")

"To acquire the melody touch, I teach it with the simplest exercises, sometimes with only single tones. When the idea is apprehended, the pupil works it out in some lyric piece, like a Song without Words, by Mendelssohn.

"There are three touches for melody playing: First, the down touch, made by descending arm and hand; second, the up touch, made by elevating the wrist, while the finger lies upon the key; third, the wiping-off touch, which draws the finger off the key, with an arm and hand movement.

THE TECHNICAL HAND

"The technical hand employs finger touch and finger action; the hand is held up, in military position, so to speak; the finger movements are quick, alert and exact; the hand is alive, not dead and heavy, as is the melody hand. The two ways of playing are quite opposite in their fundamental character, but they can be modified and blended in endless ways.

"For the technical or coloratura touch, the hand is in arched position, the five fingers are well rounded and curved, their tips are on the keys, everything is rounded. When a finger is lifted, it naturally assumes a more rounded position until it descends to the same spot on the key from which it was lifted, as though there were five little imaginary black spots on the keys, showing exactly where the finger-tips should rest. The fingers are lifted cleanly and evenly and fall on the keys—no hitting nor striking. I make a great distinction between the coloratura touch and the melody touch. The first is for rapid, brilliant passage work, sparkling, glittering, iridescent—what you will—but cold. It is made, as I said, with arched hand and raised finger action. Melody touch expresses warmth and feeling; is from the heart. Then there are the down and up arm movements, for chords, and, of course, scale and arpeggio work, with coloratura touch. I generally expect pupils who come to me to go through a short course of preparatory study with my assistant, Miss Madeleine Prosser, who has been with me for years, and does most thorough work in this line.

ASSIMILATION OF PRINCIPLES

"Many pupils come to me with no very definite ideas as to touch and what they may express through it. They think if they feel a passage sufficiently, they will be able to use the right touch for it. Sometimes they may be able to hit upon the effect they want, but they don't know quite how they got it, nor can they repeat it another time at will. I believe the principles governing certain touches can be so thoroughly learned and assimilated that when the player sees a certain passage, he knows at once what touch is required to express it. A great actor illustrates what I mean—he knows how to employ his features and body to express the thought of his lines. When you go to the Theatre Francais in Paris, you know every member of the company is thoroughly trained in every phase of his art. You are aware that each actor has studied expression to such an extent that the features naturally fall into the required lines and curves whenever a certain emotion comes up for expression. So with the pianist—he should have the various touches at his finger-tips. The step beyond is to express himself, which he will do easily and naturally, when his has such a preparation as I have referred to.

MEMORIZING

"I am often questioned on the subject of memorizing. Some pupils think if they play the piece a sufficient number of times they will know it; then are troubled because they cannot at all times remember the notes. Such players must know every note of the piece away from the piano, and be able to recite them. I have students who are able to learn their music away from the instrument, and can play it to me without having tried it on the piano. I require the piece so thoroughly memorized that if I correct a measure or phrase, the pupil can go right on from that point, without being obliged to start farther back, or at the beginning. In some cases, however, if the pupil has her own method of committing to memory, and it is successful, I have no desire to change it.

OCTAVE STUDIES

"For octave study, form the hand with the 'octave grimace,'—that is with arched hand, the unemployed fingers slightly curved. In staccato touch of course use light wrist. Begin with one beat in sixteenths and finish with the 'wiping off' touch. Build up more and more beats in notes of the same value, always ending the passage with the same touch, as above mentioned. This exercise can be played the full length of the keyboard, in all keys, and also chromatically. It can be played in the same fashion, using four-voiced chords instead of octaves. When such an exercise can be prolonged for twenty minutes at a time, octave passages in pieces have no terrors for the pianist. For the octaves in Chopin's Polonaise Op. 53, he would merely have to learn the notes, which can be done away from the piano; there is no need for exhaustive practise of the passage.

KEEPING UP REPERTOIRE

"In order to keep repertoire in repair, one should have it arranged so that old pieces are gone over once a week. Group your repertoire into sections and programs. It might be well to begin the week with Chopin, playing through the whole list; after which pick out the weak places, and practise those. Tuesday, take Schumann, and treat him in the same way. Then comes Liszt, Russian music, modern composers, concertos, and chamber music. In this systematic way the whole repertoire is kept up.

DETAILS OF PRACTISE

"My mornings are given up to practise, my afternoons to teaching. Of these practise hours, at least one hour is given to technic, scales, arpeggios, octaves, chords—and Bach! I believe in taking one selection of Bach, say a Two-voiced Invention, and perfecting it, playing it in various ways—transposing it into all keys and polishing it to the highest degree possible. The B flat Invention is a useful one for this treatment. So with etudes; instead of playing at so many, is it not better to perfect a few and bring them up to the highest degree of completeness?

"I am very susceptible to color, anywhere, in anything—especially in pictures. Music should express color. Certain compositions seem to embody certain colors. As you suggest, red is certainly the motif of Chopin's great Polonaise, Op. 53."

* * * * *

Mr. Burnham should certainly look forward to success in his visit to his native land. His fine touch and tone, sincere and musicianly style, and buoyant, genial personality will make friends for his art and himself everywhere.



XVI

EDWIN HUGHES

SOME ESSENTIALS OF PIANO PLAYING

When one has read with pleasure and profit the published ideas of a musical worker and thinker, it is always an interesting experience to meet such an one personally, and have the opportunity to discuss points of special import, particularly when the meeting can take place in some ideal spot in the old world. Such was my thought in visiting Mr. Edwin Hughes, an American who has made a name and place for himself among the pianists and teachers of Europe. After years of study in Vienna with Leschetizky, where he also acted as one of the Vorbereiters, he has established himself in Munich, where he feels he has found a true home of music and art. Here, amid beautiful and artistic surroundings, he lives and works, dividing his time between teaching and concert playing. As a pianist Mr. Hughes has met with gratifying success in the most important cities of Germany, while as a teacher he has been sought by students from almost every State in America, from Maine to Texas, and also from Canada. What has given him special satisfaction is that during the past year a number of pupils have come to him from the Conservatory here in Munich. They have been greatly pleased with their progress, only regretting they had not come to him before.

As to whether he uses the Leschetizky method in its entirety, Mr. Hughes testified in the affirmative.

"If you were to ask Leschetizky about the 'Leschetizky Method,' he would probably laugh and tell you he has no method, or he would tell you his 'method' consists of only two things—firm fingers and pliable wrist.

"These are the principles upon which I base the technical training of my pupils. I first establish an arched hand position, and then test the firmness of the fingers and knuckle joints by tapping them. At first the joints, particularly the nail joints, are very apt to sink in when tapped by a lead pencil; but by having the pupil continue the tapping process at home, it is not long before he acquires the feeling of conscious firmness in his fingers.

"Along with this exercise it is most important to begin at once with wrist exercises, as otherwise, from the effort to acquire firmness of finger, the wrist may become stiff and unwieldy. The wrist exercises consist in raising and lowering this joint, with the hand and arm supported first on each finger separately, then on two, three, four and five fingers. The wrist should not be so limp as to be incapable of resistance; but rather it should be like a fine steel spring—a 'spring-wrist,' I call it—capable of every degree of resistance or non-resistance the quality of tone demands.

"High finger action is not so necessary for beginners as most piano teachers imagine. It is much easier to teach pupils to raise their fingers high, than it is to teach them the acquisition of the legato touch at the piano, which is only to be attained by playing close to the keys, without raising the fingers. It is difficult to get pupils to play a perfect legato who have had years of training with high finger action, something which should be taken up for non-legato and staccato finger work after the more difficult legato touch has been mastered.

TONE PRODUCTION

"The subject of tone production is one which is much neglected by piano teachers. Viewed from this standpoint the piano is an instrument apart from every other, except in some respects the organ. A young violinist, 'cellist or flutist has to study for some time before he can produce a tone of good musical quality on his instrument. Think what the beginner on the violin has to go through before he can make a respectable middle C; but anybody, even a totally unmusical person, can play middle C on the piano without the least trouble. It is just this ease in tone production at the piano which leads to carelessness as to the kind of tone produced; and so piano teachers, above all others, complain they cannot get their pupils to listen to what they are playing. Pupils should be made to listen, by means of a special course in tone production, which should go hand in hand with the technical exercises used at the very beginning. Otherwise they imagine they are making music when they place the printed page on the rack, and set the correct keys in motion.

"There is no other instrument with which it is so easy to 'bluff' a large part of the audience; for the character of the piano is such that the general public often think it fine music if the player makes a big noise. Pianists of considerable reputation often take advantage of this lack of discrimination on the part of piano-recital audiences, which, above all the other audiences, seem peculiarly incapable of judging correctly the musical value of a performance.

"Of the hundreds of piano recitals which take place yearly in the musical centers of Europe, only a comparatively small number are of real musical interest. In many cases it seems as though the players were merely repeating something learned by rote, in an unknown language; just as though I should repeat a poem in Italian. The words I might pronounce after a fashion, but the meaning of most of them would be a blank to me—so how could I make others understand them.

RHYTHM IN PIANO PLAYING

"The subject of rhythm is an important one, and more attention should be given it. Leschetizky once said that tones and rhythm are the only things which can keep the piano alive as a solo instrument. I find in pupils who come to me so much deficiency in these two subjects, that I have organized classes in ear-training and rhythm.

"If pupils have naturally a poor sense of rhythm, there is no remedy equal to practising with a metronome, using this instrument of torture daily until results are evident, when, of course, there must be a judicious slowing down in its use. The mechanical sense of rhythm, the ability to count three or four to a measure, and to group the notes of a piece correctly, can be taught to any person, if one has the patience; but for those delicate rhythmic nuances required by a Chopin mazurka or a Viennese waltz, a specific rhythmic gift must be possessed by the pupil.

"Leschetizky says little to his pupils on the subject of technic; I cannot remember his having spoken a dozen words to me on the subject, during all the time I have known him. His interest, of course, lies wholly in the matter of interpretation, and technic comes into consideration only as a means and never as an end.

"Leschetizky likes to have the player talk to him, ask questions, do anything but sit still and not speak. 'How do I know you comprehend my meaning,' he asks, 'that you understand what I am talking about, if you say nothing?' At first a student may be silent from nervousness, but if he is bright he will soon 'catch on,' and see what is expected of him. Leschetizky says sometimes: 'When the Lord made the ten commandments He omitted the eleventh, "Thou shalt not be stupid."' If one is not very quick, one may have a hard time with this master.

"As a high school in technic I use Joseffy's School of Advanced Piano Playing with my pupils. This work leads to the highest possible technical development at the keyboard, and I consider it the last word in piano technic. The hundreds of exercises have been devised with most wonderful ingenuity, and the musicianship of the author stands out on every page. The book is not a dry series of technics but has vital connection with all the big technical problems found in the literature of the piano.

"In teaching, I consider a second piano an absolute necessity. There are so many things in piano playing which cannot be put into words, and the teacher must constantly illustrate. How can one teach the interpretation of a Chopin nocturne, for instance, by merely talking about it. I can say, 'play loud here—soft there'; but how far do such directions go toward an artistic conception of the piece? One cannot indicate the swell of a melody, the tonal and rhythmic nuance of a groupetto—and a thousand other things in any other way than by the living example. Through imitation one learns rapidly and surely, until one reaches the point where the wings of one's own individuality begin to sprout.

ABOUT MEMORIZING

"On the subject of memorizing who can lay down rules for this inexplicable mental process, which will hold good for every one? For myself, I hear the notes mentally, and know their position on the keyboard. In actual performance much must be left to finger memory, but one must actually have the notes in his mind as well as in his fingers. Before a concert I go over all my program mentally, and find this an excellent method of practise when traveling from one city to another. To those who study with me I say, you must try various methods of memorizing; there is no universal way; each must find out by experiment which is most suited to his individual case.

"With some pianists visual memory of the printed page plays the principal role in memorizing; with others visual memory of the notes on the keyboard; with still others ear-memory, or memory of the harmonic progressions. I believe in making the pupil familiar with all these different ways, so that he may find out which one is most helpful to him.

"For pupils with weak hands and arms I recommend simple gymnastic exercises to be done morning and evening. Physical strength is a very necessary essential for a brilliant technic; the student who would accomplish big things must possess it in order to succeed.

KEEPING TECHNIC IN REPAIR

"The only way to keep one's technic in repair is to be constantly working at it. Technic is the mechanical part of music-making; to keep it in good working order one must be constantly tinkering with it, just as the engine driver tinkers with his locomotive or the chauffeur with his automobile. In the course of his technical study every intelligent pupil will recognize certain exercises which are particularly important for the mechanical well-being of his playing; from these exercises he will plan his daily schedule of technical practise.

"In order to keep a large repertoire going at the same time, one must have a weekly practise plan, which will allow for a frequent repetition of the pieces. Those pieces which have been recently added to one's list will require more frequent repetition, while those which have been played for a longer period may be left for an occasional brushing up. Frequent playing before others, either publicly or privately, is above everything else to be recommended to the pianist, as the greatest incentive to keeping up his repertoire and toward growing in his art.

AMERICAN VERSUS EUROPEAN CONDITIONS

"In America many people who have little talent study music, intending to make it their profession; whereas in Europe there is such a profusion of music and music-making that only those of more than average gifts think of making music their life work. In America we are still 'in the making,' from a musical standpoint, and although we have accomplished much there is still much to be done. It is the office of the piano teacher in America to make music study easy and interesting to pupils of moderate ability. Just these conditions have brought about very excellent methods of piano and music study for American children, which have no counterpart in Europe."



XVII

FERRUCCIO BUSONI

AN ARTIST AT HOME

As a man's surroundings and environment are often reflections of his character, it is always a matter of deep interest to get in touch with the surroundings of the creative or executive musician. To meet him away from the glare of the footlights, in the privacy and seclusion of the home, gives one a far more intimate knowledge of the artist as a man. Knowing how difficult it often is to obtain such an opportunity, I can be the more thankful that this privilege has been granted me many times, even with those artists who hold themselves most aloof. I was told Busoni was exceedingly difficult to approach, and the only way I could see him was to call at his house quite unannounced, when I might have the good fortune to find him at home and willing to see me. Not wishing to take him by storm in this way, I quietly waited, until I received the following note: "While I am not fond of interviews, if you will come to tea on Thursday afternoon, you will be welcome."

Busoni is located in a stately Wohnung overlooking the handsome Victoria Luise Platz, in the newer western section of Berlin. Mme. Busoni met us as we arrived, and conducted us to the master, who rose from a cozy nook in a corner of the library to greet us. Tea was soon brought in and our little party, which included a couple of other guests, was soon chatting gaily in a mixture of French, German and English.

During the sprightly chat I could not help glancing from time to time around the great library in which we sat, noting its artistic furnishings, and the rows upon rows of volumes in their costly bindings, which lined the walls. One appreciates what Dr. Johnson meant when he said that whenever he saw shelves filled with books he always wanted to get near enough to them to read their titles, as the choice of books indicates character.

Presently Busoni turned to me: "I am composing a rhapsodie on American Indian themes."

"And where did you capture the themes?" he was asked.



"From a very charming lady, a countrywoman of yours, Miss Natalie Curtis. She has taken great interest in the idea and has been most helpful to me."

"One of the German music papers announced that you are about to leave Berlin, and have accepted an offer elsewhere—was it in Spain?"

"I intend leaving Berlin for a time," he admitted, "and will go to Bologna—perhaps you thought that was in Spain," with a sly side glance and a humorous twinkle in his eyes. "My offer from Bologna appears most flattering. I am appointed head of the great conservatory, but I am not obliged to live in the city, nor even to give lessons. I shall, however, go there for a time, and shall probably teach. I am to conduct six large orchestral concerts during the season, but aside from this I can be absent as much as I wish. We shall probably close up our house here and go to Italy in the autumn. Living is very cheap in Bologna; one can rent a real palace for about $250 a year."

Mme. Busoni now invited us to inspect other parts of the house. We passed to the adjoining room, which contains many rare old prints and paintings and quaint old furniture—"everything old," as Mme. Busoni said, with a smile. In this room stands a harpsichord, with its double keyboard and brilliant red case. It is not an antique but an excellent copy made by Chickering.

Farther on is a veritable musician's den, with upright piano, and with a large desk crowded with pictures and mementoes. On the walls hang rare portraits chiefly of Chopin and Liszt. Beyond this room came the salon, with its two grand pianos side by side. This is the master's teaching and recital room, and here are various massive pieces of richly carved furniture. Mme. Busoni called our attention to the elaborate chandelier in old silver, of exquisite workmanship, which, she said, had cost her a long search to find. There are several portraits here of the composer-pianist in his youth—one as a boy of twelve, a handsome lad—bildschoen, with his curls, his soulful eyes and his big white collar.

Busoni soon joined us in the salon and the conversation was turned to his activities in the new field.

"When you have finished the new rhapsodie you will come and play it to us in America—and in London also," he was urged.

"Ah, London! I am almost homesick for London; it is beautiful there. I am fond of America, too. You know I lived there for some years; my son was born there; he is an American citizen. Yes, I will return, though just when I do not yet know, and then I will assuredly play the rhapsodie."



XVIII

ADELE AUS DER OHE

ANOTHER ARTIST AT HOME

Another opportunity to see the home of an artist was afforded me when Frl. Aus der Ohe invited me to visit her in her Berlin home. She also lives in the newer western portion of the city, where so many other artists are located. One feels on entering the spacious rooms that this home has the true German atmosphere. Adele Aus der Ohe, whose personality is well remembered in America, on account of her various pianistic tours, now wears her brown hair softly drawn down over her ears, in Madonna fashion, a mode which becomes her vastly.

"My time is divided between playing in concert, composing, and my own studies," began the artist. "I give almost no lessons, for I have not time for them. I never have more than a couple of pupils studying with me at one time; they must be both talented and eager. The amount of time I consider necessary for practise depends, of course, on quickness of comprehension. In general, I may say four, or at most five hours are quite sufficient, If used with absolute concentration. The quality of practise is the great essential. If the passage under consideration is not understood, a thousand times going over it will be only vain repetitions; therefore, understand the construction and meaning of the passage in the beginning, and then a thousand repetitions ought to make it perfect.

"There is so much practise which can be done away from the instrument, by reading the notes from the printed page and thinking about them. Is this understood in America? Always listen to your playing, to every note you make on the piano; I consider this point of the very first importance. My pupils are generally well advanced or are those who intend making music a profession. I have, however, occasionally taken a beginner. This point of listening to every note, of training the ear, should stand at the very foundation.

LETTING THE HAND FIND ITSELF

"In regard to hand position, I endeavor not to be narrow and pedantic. If pupils play with good tone and can make reasonably good effects, I take them, at the point where they are and try to bring them forward, even if the hand position is not just what I would like. If I stop everything and let them do nothing but hand position, they will be discouraged and think they are beginning all over again. This beginning again is sometimes detrimental. To take a pupil at his present point, and carry him along was also Liszt's idea. He did not like to change a hand position to which the player has grown accustomed for one which seems unnatural, and which the pianist has to work a long time to acquire. He felt that one's time could be spent to more advantage. There are so many legitimate positions, each hand is a separate study, and is apt to take the position most natural to itself.

"I shall play numerous concerts and recitals in Europe the coming season, but shall not be in America. I know your country well as I have made several tours and have lived there. I left it the last time under sad circumstances, as my sister, who always accompanied me, had just passed away after quite a long illness. So you see I have not much zest to return.

"However I am fond of America, and admire the great progress you are making in music and art. And you have the courage of your convictions; you do not admire a musical work simply because some one else says you should, or the critics tell you to. You do not ask your neighbor's opinion before you applaud it. If you do not like it you are not afraid to say so. Even when it is only ragtime that pleases you, you are not afraid to own up to it. When you learn what is better you say so. It Is this honesty which leads to progressive results. You are rapidly becoming competent to judge what is best. I have found the most appreciative audiences in America."

Miss Aus der Ohe had much to relate of the Woman's Lyceum. The Department of Music was founded by Aus der Ohe herself. Not long ago there was an exhibition of woman's work in music. Women composers from all over the country sent examples of their work. Our own Mrs. H.A.A. Beach, who has been located for some time in Munich, was well represented. There are branches of this institution in other German cities.

Several paintings of large size and striking originality hang on the walls of the pianist's home. They all illustrate religious themes and are the work of Herr Aus der Ohe, the pianist's only brother, who passed away at the height of his career.

"Yes," said the composer, "my mother, brother and sister have been taken away, since I was last in America, and now I am quite alone; but I have my art."



XIX

ELEANOR SPENCER

MORE LIGHT ON LESCHETIZKY'S IDEAS

Eleanor Spencer, whose first American tour is announced for the coming season, happened to be in Berlin during my visit there. I found her in her charming apartments in the Schoenberg section of the city, far away from the noise and bustle of traffic. Her windows look out upon a wide inner court and garden, and she seems to have secured the quiet, peaceful environment so essential to an artist's development. Indeed Miss Spencer has solved the problems of how to keep house, with all the comforts of an American home, in a great German city.

"I grew so tired of living in pensions that I took this little apartment over two years ago," she said, "and I like it so much better.

"I have been away from America for nine years, so the foreign cities where I have lived seem almost more like home to me than my native land, to which I have only paid two short visits during those nine years. But I love America, and perhaps you can imagine how eagerly I am looking forward to my coming tour.

"The first eight years of my life were spent in Chicago, and then my family moved to New York. Here I studied with Dr. William Mason. When I was about fifteen I went to Europe for further study, and although I had another master at first, it was not so very long before I went to Vienna, to Leschetizky, for I felt the need of more thorough preparation than I had yet had. There is nothing like a firm technical foundation; it is a rock to build upon; one cannot do great things without it. I have had to labor hard for what I have attained, and am not ashamed to say so. I practise 'all my spare time,' as one of my colleagues expresses it; though, of course, if one studies with the necessary concentration one cannot practise more than five hours to advantage.



"I thoroughly believe in practising technic outside of pieces; I have always done so and still continue to do it. This brings the hand into condition, and keeps it up to the mark, so that difficult compositions are more readily within the grasp, and the technical requirements in them are more easily met. When the hand is in fine condition, exhaustive technical practise in pieces is not necessary, and much wear and tear of nerve force is saved. In this technical practise, to which I give an hour or more daily, I use very simple exercises, but each one contains some principle of touch, movement or condition. Hand over thumb and thumb under hand; different qualities of tone; staccato or clinging touch; scales, arpeggios and various other forms are used. Part of the technic study period is always given to Bach.

"I began my studies in Vienna with Mme. Bree, to get the preparatory foundation, but before long combined her lessons with those of the professor, and later went to him entirely."

"Just here I should like to mention a trifling point, yet it seems one not understood in America by those who say they are teachers of the Leschetizky method. These teachers claim that the professor wishes the fingers placed on a straight line at the edge of the keys, and in some cases they place the tip of the thumb in the middle of its key, so that it extends considerably beyond the tips of the other fingers. Is this the position taught by the Vorbereiters, or favored by Leschetizky?"

Miss Spencer's laugh rang out merrily.

"This is the first I have ever heard of the idea! Such a position must seem very strained and unnatural. Leschetizky, on the contrary, wishes everything done in the most easy, natural way. Of course, at first, when one is seeking to acquire strength and firmness of hand and fingers, one must give time and thought to securing an arched hand and steady first joints of fingers. Later, when these conditions have been thoroughly established, the hand can take any position required. Leschetizky's hand often lies quite flat on the keys. He has a beautiful piano hand; the first joints of the fingers have so long been held firmly curved, that they always keep their position, no matter what he is doing; if he only passes his fingers through his hair, his hand is in shape.

"Leschetizky is indeed a wonderful teacher! The player, however, must divine how to be receptive, how to enter into the master's thought, or it may go hard with him. If he does not understand, nor grasp the master's words he may suffer terribly during the ordeal of the lessons. I have witnessed such scenes! Those who are equal to the situation receive most illuminative instruction.

"I trust I do not give you the impression of being so devoted to, and enthusiastic in, the work I enjoyed with my venerated master that I wish to exclude other masters and schools. I think narrowness one of the most unpleasant of traits, and one I should dread to be accused of. I see so much good in others, their ways and ideas, that, to me, all things great and beautiful in art seem very closely related.

MEMORIZING

"How do I memorize a composition? I first play it over a few times to become somewhat familiar with its form and shape. Then I begin to analyze and study it, committing it by phrases, or ideas, one or two measures at a time. I do not always take each hand alone, unless very intricate; sometimes it is easier to learn both hands together. It is a good thing to study out the melodic line, to build each phrase, to work with it till you get it to suit you. Then come the larger proportions, the big climaxes, which have to be thought out and prepared for in advance. A composition should be so thoroughly your own that you can play it at any time, if your hand is in condition. Or, if it has been laid aside for a long time, a couple of days should bring it back.

"The subject of forming a repertoire is one often overlooked or not understood. The repertoire should be comprehensive and built on broad lines. A pupil intending to make music a profession should know the literature of the piano, not only the small and unimportant works of the great composers (as is too often the case), but the big works as well. If one is well grounded in the classics at an early age, it is of great benefit afterwards.

POWER AND VELOCITY

"For gaining power, heavy chords are very beneficial; combinations of five notes that take in all the fingers are most useful.

"The principle of velocity is the doing away with all unnecessary movement—raising the fingers as little as possible, and so on. But in early stages of study, and at all times for slow practise, exactness and clearness, the fingers must be raised, Leschetizky is a great believer in finger action; he holds it to be absolutely necessary for finger development.

"I have been concertizing for the last three years, and studying alone. This does not mean I have learned all the masters can teach, but only that I have come to a place where I felt I had to go alone, that I must work out what is in me. No master can teach us that; we have to find ourselves alone.

"I shall probably play considerably with orchestra next season. There is a Concerto by Rimsky-Korsakow which is quite short, only one movement. It Is charming and brilliant, and I think has not yet been played in America. There is also a new work by Stavenhagen for piano and orchestra, which is a novelty on the other side. I greatly enjoy playing with orchestra, but of course I shall play various recitals as well."

Miss Spencer has appeared with the best orchestras in England and on the continent, and has everywhere received commendation for her pure, singing tone, plastic touch, and musical temperament. She is certain to have success in America, and to win hosts of friends there.



XX

ARTHUR HOCHMAN

HOW THE PIANIST CAN COLOR TONE WITH ACTION AND EMOTION

"A pianist, like a painter, should have an infinitude of colors on his palette," remarked Arthur Hochman, the young Russian pianist, in a recent chat about piano playing. He should paint pictures at the keyboard, just as the artist depicts them upon the canvas. The piano is capable of a wonderful variety of tonal shading, and its keys will respond most ideally to the true musician who understands how to awaken and bring forth all this tonal beauty from the instrument.

"The modern pianist is often lacking in two important essentials—phrasing and shading. Inability to grasp the importance of these two points may be the cause of artistic failure. An artist should so thoroughly make his own the composition which he plays, and be so deeply imbued with its spirit, that he will know the phrasing and dynamics which best express the meaning of the piece. When he has risen to such heights, he is a law to himself in the matter of phrasing, no matter what marks may stand upon the printed page. As a rule the editing of piano music is extremely inadequate, though how can it really be otherwise? How is it possible, with a series of dots, lines, dashes and accents, to give a true idea of the interpretation of a work of musical art? It is not possible; there are infinite shadings between piano and forte—numberless varieties of touch which have not been tabulated by the schools. Great editors like von Buelow, Busoni and d'Albert have done much to make the classics clearer to the student; yet they themselves realize there are a million gradations of touch and tone, which can never be expressed by signs nor put into words.

FOUR REQUISITES FOR PIANISTS

"Four things are necessary for the pianist who would make an artistic success in public. They are: Variety of tone color; Individual and artistic phrasing; True feeling; Personal magnetism. Colors mean so much to me; some are so beautiful, the various shades of red, for instance; then the golden yellows, rich, warm browns, and soft liquid blues. We can make as wonderful combinations with them as ever the painters do. To me dark red speaks of something tender, heart-searching, mysterious." Here Mr. Hochman illustrated his words at the piano with an expressive fragment full of deep feeling. "On the other hand, the shades of yellow express gaiety and brightness"; here the illustrations were all life and fire, in crisp, brilliant staccatos. Other colors were just as effectively represented.

"What I have just indicated at the keyboard," continued the artist, "gives a faint idea of what can be done with tone coloring, and why I feel that pianists who neglect this side of their art, or do not see this side of it, are missing just so much beauty. I could name one pianist, a great name in the world of music—a man with an absolutely flawless technic, yet whose playing to me, is dry and colorless; it gives you no ideas, nothing you can carry away: it is like water—water. Another, with great variety of tonal beauty, gives me many ideas—many pictures of tone. His name is Gabrilowitsch; he is for me the greatest pianist.

MAKING CLIMAXES PIANISSIMO

"In my own playing, when I color a phrase, I do not work up to a climax and make that the loudest note, as most pianists do, but rather the soft note of the phrase; this applies to lyric playing. I will show you what I mean. Here is a fragment of two measures, containing a soulful melody. I build up the crescendo, as you see, and at the highest point, which you might expect to be the loudest, you find instead that it is soft: the sharpness has been taken out of it, the thing you did not expect has happened; and so there are constant surprises, tonal surprises—tone colors not looked for.

"It is generally thought that a pianist should attend many recitals and study the effects made by other pianists; I, on the contrary, feel I gain more from hearing a great singer. The human voice is the greatest of all instruments, and the player can have no more convincing lesson in tone production and tone coloring, than he can obtain from listening to a great emotional singer. The pianist should hear a great deal of opera, for there he will learn much of color, of effect, light and shade, action and emotion.

WE DO NOT WANT CUT-AND-DRIED PERFORMANCES

"The third requisite for the pianist, as I have said, is true feeling. I have no sympathy with dry, mechanical performance, where every effect is coldly calculated beforehand, and the player always strives to do it the same way. How can he always play the same way when he does not feel the same? If he simply seeks for uniformity where does the inspiration come in?

"The true artist will never give a mechanical performance. At one time he may be in a tender, melting mood; at another in a daring or exalted one. He must be free to play as he feels, and he will be artist enough never to overstep bounds. The pianist who plays with true feeling and 'heart' can never play the same composition twice exactly alike, for he can never feel precisely the same twice. This, of course, applies more especially to public performance and playing for others.

"Another essential is breath control. Respiration must be easy and natural, no matter how much physical strength is exerted. In fortissimo and all difficult passages, the lips must be kept closed and respiration taken through the nostrils, as it always ought to be.

DISSECTION OF DETAILS

"Yes, I do a great deal of teaching, but prefer to take only such pupils as are intelligent and advanced. With pupils I am very particular about hand position and touch. The ends of the fingers must be firm, but otherwise the hand, wrist and arm, from the shoulder, are all relaxed. In teaching a composition, I am immensely careful and particular about each note. Everything is dissected and analyzed. When all is understood and mastered, it is then ready for the stage setting, the actors, the lights, and the colors!"

* * * * *

"I was intended for a pianist from the first. Born in Russia, I afterward came to Berlin, studying seven or eight years with Xaver Scharwenka, then with d'Albert, Stavenhagen and others. But when one has all that can be learned from others, a man's greatest teacher is himself. I have done a great deal of concert work and recital playing in Europe, and have appeared with the leading orchestras in the largest cities of America."

Mr. Hochman has done considerable work in composition. Numerous songs have been published and doubtless larger works may be expected later.



XXI

TERESA CARRENO

EARLY TECHNICAL TRAINING