CHIN RESTS

"And while we are discussing the physical aspects of the instrument there is the 'chin rest.' None of the great violin makers ever made a 'chin rest.' Increasing technical demands, sudden pyrotechnical flights into the higher octaves brought the 'chin rest' into being. The 'chin rest' was meant to give the player a better grasp of his instrument. I absolutely disapprove, in theory, of chin rest, cushion or pad. Technical reasons may be adduced to justify their use, never artistic ones. I admit that progress in violin study is infinitely slower without the use of the pad; but the more close and direct a contact with his instrument the player can develop, the more intimately expressive his playing becomes. Students with long necks and thin bodies claim they have to use a 'chin rest,' but the study of physical adjustments could bring about a better cooerdination between them and the instrument. A thin pad may be used without much danger, yet I feel that the thicker and higher the 'chin rest' the greater the loss in expressive rendering. The more we accustom ourselves to mechanical aids, the more we will come to rely on them.... But the question you ask anent 'Violin Mastery' leads altogether away from the material!

VIOLIN MASTERY

"To me it signifies technical efficiency coupled with poetic insight, freedom from conventionally accepted standards, the attainment of a more varied personal expression along individual lines. It may be realized, of course, only to a degree, since the possessor of absolute 'Violin Mastery' would be forever glorified. As it is the violin master, as I conceive him, represents the embodier of the greatest intimacy between himself, the artist, and his medium of expression. Considered in this light Pablo Casals and his 'cello, perhaps, most closely comply with the requirements of the definition. And this is not as paradoxical as it may seem, since all string instruments are brethren, descended from the ancient viol, and the 'cello is, after all, a variant of the violin!"



XIV

TIVADAR NACHEZ

JOACHIM AND LEONARD AS TEACHERS

Tivadar Nachez, the celebrated violin virtuoso, is better known as a concertizing artist in Europe, where he has played with all the leading symphonic orchestras, than in this country, to which he paid his first visit during these times of war, and which he was about to leave for his London home when the writer had the pleasure of meeting him. Yet, though he has not appeared in public in this country (if we except some Red Cross concerts in California, at which he gave his auditors of his best to further our noblest war charity), his name is familiar to every violinist. For is not Mr. Nachez the composer of the "Gypsy Dances" for violin and piano, which have made him famous?

Genuinely musical, effective and largely successful as they have been, however, as any one who has played them can testify, the composer of the "Gypsy Dances" regards them with mixed feelings. "I have done other work that seems to me, relatively, much more important," said Mr. Nachez, "but when my name happens to be mentioned, echo always answers 'Gypsy Dances,' my little rubbishy 'Gypsy Dances!' It is not quite fair. I have published thirty-five works, among them a 'Requiem Mass,' an orchestral overture, two violin concertos, three rhapsodies for violin and orchestra, variations on a Swiss theme, Romances, a Polonaise (dedicated to Ysaye), and Evening Song, three Poemes hongrois, twelve classical masterworks of the 17th century—to say nothing of songs, etc.—and the two concertos of Vivaldi and Nardini which I have edited, practically new creations, owing to the addition of the piano accompaniments and orchestral score. I wrote the 'Gypsy Dances' as a mere boy when I was studying with H. Leonard in Paris, and really at his suggestion. In one of my lessons I played Sarasate's 'Spanish Dances,' which chanced to be published at the time, and at once made a great hit. So Leonard said to me: 'Why not write some Hungarian Gypsy dances—there must be wonderful material at hand in the music of the Tziganes of Hungary. You should do something with it!' I took him at his word, and he liked my 'Dances' so well that he made me play them at his musical evenings, which he gave often during the winter, and which were always attended by the musical Tout Paris! I may say that during these last thirty years there has been scarcely a violinist before the public who at one time or the other has not played these 'Gypsy Dances.' Besides the original edition, there are two (pirated!) editions in America and six in Europe.



THE BEGINNING OF A VIOLINISTIC CAREER: PLAYING WITH LISZT

"No, Leonard was not my first teacher. I took up violin work when a boy of five years of age, and for seven years practiced from eight to ten hours a day, studying with Sabathiel, the leader of the Royal Orchestra in Budapest, where I was born, though England, the land of my adoption, in which I have lived these last twenty-six years, is the land where I have found all my happiness, and much gratifying honor, and of which I have been a devoted, ardent and loyal naturalized citizen for more than a quarter of a century. Sabathiel was an excellent routine teacher, and grounded me well in the fundamentals—good tone production and technical control. Later I had far greater teachers, and they taught me much, but—in the last analysis, most of the little I have achieved I owe to myself, to hard, untiring work: I had determined to be a violinist and I trust I became one. No serious student of the instrument should ever forget that, no matter who his teacher may be, he himself must supply the determination, the continued energy and devotion which will lead him to success.

"Playing with Liszt—he was an intimate friend of my father—is my most precious musical recollection of Budapest. I enjoyed it a great deal more than my regular lesson work. He would condescend to play with me some evenings and you can imagine what rare musical enjoyment, what happiness there was in playing with such a genius! I was still a boy when with him I played the Grieg F major sonata, which had just come fresh from the press. He played with me the D minor sonata of Schumann and introduced me to the mystic beauties of the Beethoven sonatas. I can still recall how in the Beethoven C minor sonata, in the first movement, Liszt would bring out a certain broken chromatic passage in the left hand, with a mighty crescendo, an effect of melodious thunder, of enormous depth of tone, and yet with the most exquisite regard for the balance between the violin and his own instrument. And there was not a trace of condescension in his attitude toward me; but always encouragement, a tender affectionate and paternal interest in a young boy, who at that moment was a brother artist.

"Through Liszt I came to know the great men of Hungarian music of that time: Erkel, Hans Richter, Robert Volkmann, Count Geza Zichy, and eventually I secured a scholarship, which the King had founded for music, to study with Joachim in Berlin, where I remained nearly three years. Hubay was my companion there; but afterward we separated, he going to Vieuxtemps, while I went to Leonard.

JOACHIM AS A TEACHER AND INTERPRETER

"Joachim was, perhaps, the most celebrated teacher of his time. Yet it is one of the greatest ironies of fate that when he died there was not one of his pupils who was considered by the German authorities 'great' enough to take the place the Master had held. Henri Marteau, who was not his pupil, and did not even exemplify his style in playing, was chosen to succeed him! Henri Petri, a Vieuxtemps pupil who went to Joachim, played just as well when he came to him as when he left him. The same might be said of Willy Burmester, Hess, Kes and Halir, the latter one of those Bohemian artists who had a tremendous 'Kubelik-like' execution. Teaching is and always will be a special gift. There are many minor artists who are wonderful 'teachers,' and vice versa!

"Yet if Joachim may be criticized as regards the way of imparting the secrets of technical phases in his violin teaching, as a teacher of interpretation he was incomparable! As an interpreter of Beethoven and of Bach in particular, there has never been any one to equal Joachim. Yet he never played the same Bach composition twice in the same way. We were four in our class, and Hubay and I used to bring our copies of the sonatas with us, to make marginal notes while Joachim played to us, and these instantaneous musical 'snapshots' remain very interesting. But no matter how Joachim played Bach, it was always with a big tone, broad chords of an organ-like effect. There is no greater discrepancy than the edition of the Bach sonatas published (since his death) by Moser, and which is supposed to embody Joachim's interpretation. Sweeping chords, which Joachim always played with the utmost breadth, are 'arpeggiated' in Moser's edition! Why, if any of his pupils had ever attempted to play, for instance, the end of the Bouree in the B minor Partita of Bach a la Moser, Joachim would have broken his bow over their heads!

STUDYING WITH LEONARD

"After three years' study I left Joachim and went to Paris. Liszt had given me letters of introduction to various French artists, among them Saint-Saens. One evening I happened to hear Leonard play Corelli's La Folia in the Salle Pleyel, and the liquid clarity and beauty of his tone so impressed me that I decided I must study with him. I played for him and he accepted me as a pupil. I am free to admit that my tone, which people seem to be pleased to praise especially, I owe entirely to Leonard, for when I came to him I had the so-called 'German tone' (son allemand), of a harsh, rasping quality, which I tried to abandon absolutely. Leonard often would point to his ears while teaching and say: 'Ouvrez vos oreilles: ecoutez la beaute du son!' ('Open your ears, listen for beauty of sound!'). Most Joachim pupils you hear (unless they have reformed) attack a chord with the nut of the bow, the German method, which unduly stresses the attack. Leonard, on the contrary, insisted with his pupils on the attack being made with such smoothness as to be absolutely unobtrusive. Being a nephew of Mme. Malibran, he attached special importance to the 'singing' tone, and advised his pupils to hear great singers, to listen to them, and to try and reproduce their bel canto on the violin.

"He was most particular in his observance of every nuance of shading and expression. He told me that when he played Mendelssohn's concerto (for the first time) at the Leipsic Gewandhaus, at a rehearsal, Mendelssohn himself conducting, he began the first phrase with a full mezzo-forte tone. Mendelssohn laid his hand on his arm and said: 'But it begins piano!' In reply Leonard merely pointed with his bow to the score—the p which is now indicated in all editions had been omitted by some printer's error, and he had been quite within his rights in playing mezzo-forte.

"Leonard paid a great deal of attention to scales and the right way to practice them. He would say, 'Il faut filer les sons: c'est l'art des maitres. ('One must spin out the tone: that is the art of the masters.') He taught his pupils to play the scales with long, steady bowings, counting sixty to each bow. Himself a great classical violinist, he nevertheless paid a good deal of attention to virtuoso pieces; and always tried to prepare his pupils for public life. He had all sorts of wise hints for the budding concert artist, and was in the habit of saying: 'You must plan a program as you would the menu of a dinner: there should be something for every one's taste. And, especially, if you are playing on a long program, together with other artists, offer nothing indigestible—let your number be a relief!'

SIVORI

"While studying with Leonard I met Sivori, Paganini's only pupil (if we except Catarina Caleagno), for whom Paganini wrote a concerto and six short sonatas. Leonard took me to see him late one evening at the Hotel de Havane in Paris, where Sivori was staying. When we came to his room we heard the sound of slow scales, beautifully played, coming from behind the closed door. We peered through the keyhole, and there he sat on his bed stringing his scale tones like pearls. He was a little chap and had the tiniest hands I have ever seen. Was this a drawback? If so, no one could tell from his playing; he had a flawless technic, and a really pearly quality of tone. He was very jolly and amiable, and he and Leonard were great friends, each always going to hear the other whenever he played in concert. My four years in Paris were in the main years of storm and stress—plain living and hard, very hard, concentrated work. I gave some accompanying lessons to help keep things going. When I left Paris I went to London and then began my public life as a concert violinist.

GREAT MOMENTS IN AN ARTIST'S LIFE

"What is the happiest remembrance of my career as a virtuoso? Some of the great moments in my life as an artist? It is hard to say. Of course some of my court appearances before the crowned heads of Europe are dear to me, not so much because they were court appearances, but because of the graciousness and appreciation of the highly placed personages for whom I played.

"Then, what I count a signal honor, I have played no less than three times as a solo artist with the Royal Philharmonic Society of London, the oldest symphonic society in Europe, for whom Beethoven composed his immortal IXth symphony (once under Sir Arthur Sullivan's baton; once under that of Sir A.C. Mackenzie, and once with Sir Frederick Cowen as conductor—on this last occasion I was asked to introduce my new Second concerto in B minor, Op. 36, at the time still in ms.) Then there is quite a number of great conductors with whom I have appeared, a few among them being Liszt, Rubinstein, Brahms, Pasdeloup, Sir August Manns, Sir Charles Halle, L. Mancinelli, Weingartner and Hans Richter, etc. Perhaps, as a violinist, what I like best to recall is that as a boy I was invited by Richter to go with him to Bayreuth and play at the foundation of the Bayreuth festival theater, which however my parents would not permit owing to my tender age. I also remember with pleasure an episode at the famous Pasdeloup Concerts in the Cirque d'hiver in Paris, on an occasion when I performed the F sharp minor concerto of Ernst. After I had finished, two ladies came to the green room: they were in deep mourning, and one of them greatly moved, asked me to 'allow her to thank me' for the manner in which I had played this concerto—she said: 'I am the widow of Ernst!' She also told me that since his death she had never heard the concerto played as I had played it! In presenting to me her companion, the Marquise de Gallifet (wife of the General de Gallifet who led the brigade of the Chasseurs d'Afrique in the heroic charge of General Margueritte's cavalry division at Sedan, which excited the admiration of the old king of Prussia), I had the honor of meeting the once world famous violinist Mlle. Millanollo, as she was before her marriage. Mme. Ernst often came to hear me play her late husband's music, and as a parting gift presented me with his beautiful 'Tourte' bow, and an autographed copy of the first edition of Ernst's transcription for solo violin of Schubert's 'Erlking.' It is so incredibly difficult to play with proper balance of melody and accompaniment—I never heard any one but Kubelik play it—that it is almost impossible. It is so difficult, in fact, that it should not be played!

VIOLINS AND STRINGS: SARASATE

"My violin? I am a Stradivarius player, and possess two fine Strads, though I also have a beautiful Joseph Guarnerius. Ysaye, Thibaud and Caressa, when they lunched with me not long ago, were enthusiastic about them. My favorite Strad is a 1716 instrument—I have used it for twenty-five years. But I cannot use the wire strings that are now in such vogue here. I have to have Italian gut strings. The wire E cuts my fingers, and besides I notice a perceptible difference in sound quality. Of course, wire strings are practical; they do not 'snap' on the concert stage. Speaking of strings that 'snap,' reminds me that the first time I heard Sarasate play the Saint-Saens concerto, at Frankfort, he twice forgot his place and stopped. They brought him the music, he began for the third time and then—the E string snapped! I do not think any other than Sarasate could have carried off these successive mishaps and brought his concert to a triumphant conclusion. He was a great friend of mine and one of the most perfect players I have ever known, as well as one of the greatest grand seigneurs among violinists. His rendering of romantic works, Saint-Saens, Lalo, Bruch, was exquisite—I have never, never heard them played as beautifully. On the other hand, his Bach playing was excruciating—he played Bach sonatas as though they were virtuoso pieces. It made one think of Hans von Buelow's mot when, in speaking of a certain famous pianist, he said: 'He plays Beethoven with velocity and Czerny with expression.' But to hear Sarasate play romantic music, his own 'Spanish Dances' for instance, was all like glorious birdsong and golden sunshine, a lark soaring heavenwards!

THE NARDINI CONCERTO IN A

"You ask about my compositions? Well, Eddy Brown is going to play my Second violin concerto, Op. 36 in B flat, which I wrote for the London Philharmonic Society, next season; Elman the Nardini concerto in A, which was published only shortly before the outbreak of the war. Thirty years ago I found, by chance, three old Nardini concertos for violin and bass in the composer's original ms., in Bologna. The best was the one in A—a beautiful work! But the bass was not even figured, and the task of reconstructing the accompaniment for piano, as well as for orchestra, and reverently doing justice to the composer's original intent and idea; while at the same time making its beauties clearly and expressively available from the standpoint of the violinist of to-day, was not easy. Still, I think I may say I succeeded." And Mr. Nachez showed me some letters from famous contemporaries who had made the acquaintance of this Nardini concerto in A major. Auer, Thibaud, Sir Hubert Parry (who said that he had "infused the work with new life"), Pollak, Switzerland's ranking fiddler, Carl Flesch, author of the well-known Urstudien—all expressed their admiration. One we cannot forbear quoting a letter in part. It was from Ottokar Sevcik. The great Bohemian pedagogue is usually regarded as the apostle of mechanism in violin playing: as the inventor of an inexorably logical system of development, which stresses the technical at the expense of the musical. The following lines show him in quite a different light:

"I would not be surprised if Nardini, Vivaldi and their companions were to appear to you at the midnight hour in order to thank the master for having given new life to their works, long buried beneath the mold of figured basses; works whose vital, pulsating possibilities these old gentlemen probably never suspected. Nardini emerges from your alchemistic musical laboratory with so fresh and lively a quality of charm that starving fiddlers will greet him with the same pleasure with which the bee greets the first honeyed blossom of spring."

VIOLIN MASTERY

"And now you want my definition of 'Violin Mastery'? To me the whole art of playing violin is contained in the reverent and respectful interpretation of the works of the great masters. I consider the artist only their messenger, singing the message they give us. And the more one realizes this, the greater becomes one's veneration especially for Bach's creative work. For twenty years I never failed to play the Bach solo sonatas for violin every day of my life—a violinist's 'daily prayer' in its truest sense! Students of Bach are apt, in the beginning, to play, say, the finale of the G minor sonata, the final Allegro of the A minor sonata, the Gigue of the B minor, or the Preludio of the E major sonata like a mechanical exercise: it takes constant study to disclose their intimate harmonic melodious conception and poetry! One should always remember that technic is, after all, only a means. It must be acquired in order to be an unhampered master of the instrument, as a medium for presenting the thoughts of the great creators—but these thoughts, and not their medium of expression, are the chief objects of the true and great artist, whose aim in life is to serve his Art humbly, reverently and faithfully! You remember these words:

"'In the very torrent, tempest, and, as I may say, the whirlwind of passion, you must acquire and beget a temperance that may give it smoothness. Oh, it offends me to the soul to hear a robustious, periwig-pated fellow tear a passion to tatters, to very rags, to split the ears of the groundlings, who for the most part are capable of nothing but inexplicable dumbshows and noise!...'"



XV

MAXIMILIAN PILZER

THE SINGING TONE AND THE VIBRATO

Maximilian Pilzer is deservedly prominent among younger American concert violinists. A pupil of Joachim, Shradieck, Gustav Hollander, he is, as it has already been picturesquely put, "a graduate of the rock and thorn university," an artist who owes his success mainly to his own natural gifts plus an infinite capacity for taking pains. Though primarily an interpreter his interlocutor yet had the good fortune to happen on Mr. Pilzer when he was giving a lesson. Essentially a solo violinist, Mr. Pilzer nevertheless has the born teacher's wish to impart, to share, where talent justifies it, his own knowledge. He himself did not have to tell the listener this—the lesson he was giving betrayed the fact.

It was Kreisler's Tambourin Chinois that the student played. And as Mr. Pilzer illustrated the delicate shades of nuance, of phrasing, of bowing, with instant rebuke for an occasional lack of "warmth" in tone, the improvement was instantaneous and unmistakable. The lesson over, he said:

THE SINGING TONE

"The singing tone is the ideal one, it is the natural violin tone. Too many violin students have the technical bee in their bonnet and neglect it. And too many believe that speed is brilliancy. When they see the black notes they take for granted that they must 'run to beat the band.' Yet often it is the teacher's fault if a good singing tone is not developed. Where the teacher's playing is cold, that of the pupil is apt to be the same. Warmth, rounded fullness, the truly beautiful violin tone is more difficult to call forth than is generally supposed. And, in a manner of speaking, the soul of this tone quality is the vibrato, though the individual instrument also has much to do with the tone.

THE VIBRATO

"But not," Mr. Pilzer continued, "not as it is too often mistakenly employed. Of course, any trained player will draw his bow across the strings in a smooth, even way, but that is not enough. There must be an inner, emotional instinct, an electric spark within the player himself that sets the vibrato current in motion. It is an inner, psychic vibration which should be reflected by the intense, rapid vibration in the fingers of the left hand on the strings in order to give fluent expression to emotion. The vibrato can not be used, naturally, on the open strings, but otherwise it represents the true means for securing warmth of expression. Of course, some decry the vibrato—but the reason is often because the vibrato is too slow. One need only listen to Ysaye, Elman, Kreisler: artists such as these employ the quick, intense vibrato with ideal effect. An exaggerated vibrato is as bad as what I call 'the sentimental slide,' a common fault, which many violinists cultivate under the impression that they are playing expressively.

VIOLIN MASTERY AND ITS ATTAINMENT

"Violin mastery expresses more or less the aspiration to realize an ideal. It is a hope, a prayer, rather than an actual fact, since nothing human is absolutely perfect. Ysaye, perhaps, with his golden tone, comes nearest to my idea of what violin mastery should be, both as regards breadth and delicacy of interpretation. And guide-posts along the long road that leads to mastery of the instrument? Individuality in teaching, progress along natural lines, surety in bowing, a tone-production without forcing, cultivating a sense of rhythm and accent. I always remember what Moser once wrote in my autograph album: 'Rhythm and accent are the soul of music!'

THE SHINING GOAL

"And what a shining goal is waiting to be reached! The correct interpretation of Bach, Haendel and the old Italian and French classics, and of the vast realm of ensemble music under which head come the Mozart and Beethoven violin sonatas, and those of their successors, Schumann, Brahms, etc. And aside from the classics, the moderns. And then there are the great violin concertos, in a class by themselves. They represent, in a degree, the utmost that the composer has done for the interpreting artist. Yet they differ absolutely in manner, style, thought, etc. Take Joachim's own Hungarian concerto, which I played for the composer, of which I still treasure the recollection of his patting me on the shoulder and saying: 'There is nothing for me to correct!' It is a work deliberately designed for technical display, and is tremendously difficult. But the wonderful Brahms concerto, those of Beethoven and Max Bruch; of Mozart and Mendelssohn—it is hard to express a preference for works so different in the quality of their beauty. The Russian Conus has a fine concerto in E, and Sinding a most effective one in A major. Edmund Severn, the American composer and violinist, has also written a notably fine violin concerto which I have played, with the Philharmonic, one that ought to be heard oftener.

PLAYING BACH

"Bach is one of the most difficult of the great masters to interpret on the violin. His polyphonic style and interweaving themes demand close study in order to make the meaning clear. In the Bach Chaconne, for instance, some very great violinists do not pay enough attention to making a distinction between principal and secondary notes of a chord. Here [Mr. Pilzer took up a new Strad he has recently acquired and illustrated his meaning] in this four-note chord there is one important melody note which must stand out. And it can be done, though not without some study. Bach abounds in such pitfalls, and in studying him the closest attention is necessary. Once the problems involved overcome, his music gains its true clarity and beauty and the enjoyment of artist and listener is doubled.



XVI

MAUD POWELL

TECHNICAL DIFFICULTIES: SOME HINTS FOR THE CONCERT PLAYER

Maud Powell is often alluded to as our representative "American woman violinist" which, while true in a narrower sense, is not altogether just in a broader way. It would be decidedly more fair to consider her a representative American violinist, without stressing the term "woman"; for as regards Art in its higher sense, the artist comes first, sex being incidental, and Maud Powell is first and foremost—an artist. And her infinite capacity for taking pains, her willingness to work hard have had no small part in the position she has made for herself, and the success she has achieved.

THE DEVELOPMENT OF A CONCERT VIOLINIST

"Too many Americans who take up the violin professionally," Maud Powell told the writer, "do not realize that the mastery of the instrument is a life study, that without hard, concentrated work they cannot reach the higher levels of their art. Then, too, they are too often inclined to think that if they have a good tone and technic that this is all they need. They forget that the musical instinct must be cultivated; they do not attach enough importance to musical surroundings: to hearing and understanding music of every kind, not only that written for the violin. They do not realize the value of ensemble work and its influence as an educational factor of the greatest artistic value. I remember when I was a girl of eight, my mother used to play the Mozart violin sonatas with me; I heard all the music I possibly could hear; I was taught harmony and musical form in direct connection with my practical work, so that theory was a living thing to me and no abstraction. In my home town I played in an orchestra of twenty pieces—Oh, no, not a 'ladies orchestra'—the other members were men grown! I played chamber music as well as solos whenever the opportunity offered, at home and in public. In fact music was part of my life.



"No student who looks on music primarily as a thing apart in his existence, as a bread-winning tool, as a craft rather than an art, can ever mount to the high places. So often girls [who sometimes lack the practical vision of boys], although having studied but a few years, come to me and say: 'My one ambition is to become a great virtuoso on the violin! I want to begin to study the great concertos!' And I have to tell them that their first ambition should be to become musicians—to study, to know, to understand music before they venture on its interpretation. Virtuosity without musicianship will not carry one far these days. In many cases these students come from small inland towns, far from any music center, and have a wrong attitude of mind. They crave the glamor of footlights, flowers and applause, not realizing that music is a speech, an idiom, which they must master in order to interpret the works of the great composers.

THE INFLUENCE OF THE TEACHER

"Of course, all artistic playing represents essentially the mental control of technical means. But to acquire the latter in the right way, while at the same time developing the former, calls for the best of teachers. The problem of the teacher is to prevent his pupils from being too imitative—all students are natural imitators—and furthering the quality of musical imagination in them. Pupils generally have something of the teacher's tone—Auer pupils have the Auer tone, Joachim pupils have a Joachim tone, an excellent thing. But as each pupil has an individuality of his own, he should never sink it altogether in that of his teacher. It is this imitative trend which often makes it hard to judge a young player's work. I was very fortunate in my teachers. William Lewis of Chicago gave me a splendid start. Then I studied in turn with Schradieck in Leipsic—Schradieck himself was a pupil of Ferdinand David and of Leonard—Joachim in Berlin, and Charles Dancla in Paris. I might say that I owe most, in a way, to William Lewis, a born fiddler. Of my three European masters Dancla was unquestionably the greatest as a teacher—of course I am speaking for myself. It was no doubt an advantage, a decided advantage for me in my artistic development, which was slow—a family trait—to enjoy the broadening experience of three entirely different styles of teaching, and to be able to assimilate the best of each. Yet Joachim was a far greater violinist than teacher. His method was a cramping one, owing to his insistence on pouring all his pupils into the same mold, so to speak, of forming them all on the Joachim lathe. But Dancla was inspiring. He taught me De Beriot's wonderful method of attack; he showed me how to develop purity of style. Dancla's method of teaching gave his pupils a technical equipment which carried bowing right along, 'neck and neck' with the finger work of the left hand, while the Germans are apt to stress finger development at the expense of the bow. And without ever neglecting technical means, Dancla always put the purely musical before the purely virtuoso side of playing. And this is always a sign of a good teacher. He was unsparing in taking pains and very fair.

"I remember that I was passed first in a class of eighty-four at an examination, after only three private lessons in which to prepare the concerto movement to be played. I was surprised and asked him why Mlle.—— who, it seemed to me, had played better than I, had not passed. 'Ah,' he said, 'Mlle.—— studied that movement for six months; and in comparison, you, with only three lessons, play it better!' Dancla switched me right over in his teaching from German to French methods, and taught me how to become an artist, just as I had learned in Germany to become a musician. The French school has taste, elegance, imagination; the German is more conservative, serious, and has, perhaps, more depth.

TECHNICAL DIFFICULTIES

"Perhaps it is because I belong to an older school, or it may be because I laid stress on technic because of its necessity as a means of expression—at any rate I worked hard at it. Naturally, one should never practice any technical difficulty too long at a stretch. Young players sometimes forget this. I know that staccato playing was not easy for me at one time. I believe a real staccato is inborn; a knack. I used to grumble about it to Joachim and he told me once that musically staccato did not have much value. His own, by the way, was very labored and heavy. He admitted that he had none. Wieniawski had such a wonderful staccato that one finds much of it in his music. When I first began to play his D minor concerto I simply made up my mind to get a staccato. It came in time, by sheer force of will. After that I had no trouble. An artistic staccato should, like the trill, be plastic and under control; for different schools of composition demand different styles of treatment of such details.

"Octaves—the unison, not broken—I did not find difficult; but though they are supposed to add volume of tone they sound hideous to me. I have used them in certain passages of my arrangement of 'Deep River,' but when I heard them played, promised myself I would never repeat the experiment. Wilhelmj has committed even a worse crime in taste by putting six long bars of Schubert's lovely Ave Maria in octaves. Of course they represent skill; but I think they are only justified in show pieces. Harmonics I always found easy; though whether they ring out as they should always depends more or less on atmospheric conditions, the strings and the amount of rosin on the bow. On the concert stage if the player stands in a draught the harmonics are sometimes husky.

THE AMERICAN WOMAN VIOLINIST AND AMERICAN MUSIC

"The old days of virtuoso 'tricks' have passed—I should like to hope forever. Not that some of the old type virtuosos were not fine players. Remenyi played beautifully. So did Ole Bull. I remember one favorite trick of the latter's, for instance, which would hardly pass muster to-day. I have seen him draw out a long pp, the audience listening breathlessly, while he drew his bow way beyond the string, and then looked innocently at the point of the bow, as though wondering where the tone had vanished. It invariably brought down the house.

"Yet an artist must be a virtuoso in the modern sense to do his full duty. And here in America that duty is to help those who are groping for something higher and better musically; to help without rebuffing them. When I first began my career as a concert violinist I did pioneer work for the cause of the American woman violinist, going on with the work begun by Mme. Camilla Urso. A strong prejudice then existed against women fiddlers, which even yet has not altogether been overcome. The very fact that a Western manager recently told Mr. Turner with surprise that he 'had made a success of a woman artist' proves it. When I first began to play here in concert this prejudice was much stronger. Yet I kept on and secured engagements to play with orchestra at a time when they were difficult to obtain. Theodore Thomas liked my playing (he said I had brains), and it was with his orchestra that I introduced the concertos of Saint-Saens (C min.), Lalo (F min.), and others, to American audiences.

"The fact that I realized that my sex was against me in a way led me to be startlingly authoritative and convincing in the masculine manner when I first played. This is a mistake no woman violinist should make. And from the moment that James Huneker wrote that I 'was not developing the feminine side of my work,' I determined to be just myself, and play as the spirit moved me, with no further thought of sex or sex distinctions which, in Art, after all, are secondary. I never realized this more forcibly than once, when, sitting as a judge, I listened to the competitive playing of a number of young professional violinists and pianists. The individual performers, unseen by the judges, played in turn behind a screen. And in three cases my fellow judges and myself guessed wrongly with regard to the sex of the players. When we thought we had heard a young man play it happened to be a young woman, and vice versa.

"To return to the question of concert-work. You must not think that I have played only foreign music in public. I have always believed in American composers and in American composition, and as an American have tried to do justice as an interpreting artist to the music of my native land. Aside from the violin concertos by Harry Rowe Shelly and Henry Holden Huss, I have played any number of shorter original compositions by such representative American composers as Arthur Foote, Mrs. H.H.A. Beach, Victor Herbert, John Philip Sousa, Arthur Bird, Edwin Grasse, Marion Bauer, Cecil Burleigh, Harry Gilbert, A. Walter Kramer, Grace White, Charles Wakefield Cadman and others. Then, too, I have presented transcriptions by Arthur Hartmann, Francis Macmillan and Sol Marcosson, as well as some of my own. Transcriptions are wrong, theoretically; yet some songs, like Rimsky-Korsakov's 'Song of India' and some piano pieces, like the Dvorak Humoresque, are so obviously effective on the violin that a transcription justifies itself. My latest temptative in that direction is my 'Four American Folk Songs,' a simple setting of four well-known airs with connecting cadenzas—no variations, no special development! I used them first as encores, but my audiences seemed to like them so well that I have played them on all my recent programs.

SOME HINTS FOR THE CONCERT PLAYER

"The very first thing in playing in public is to free oneself of all distrust in one's own powers. To do this, nothing must be left to chance. One should not have to give a thought to strings, bow, etc. All should be in proper condition. Above all the violinist should play with an accompanist who is used to accompanying him. It seems superfluous to emphasize that one's program numbers must have been mastered in every detail. Only then can one defy nervousness, turning excess of emotion into inspiration.

"Acoustics play a greater part in the success of a public concert than most people realize. In some halls they are very good, as in the case of the Cleveland Hippodrome, an enormous place which holds forty-three hundred people. Here the acoustics are perfect, and the artist has those wonderful silences through which his slightest tones carry clearly and sweetly. I have played not only solos, but chamber music in this hall, and was always sorry to stop playing. In most halls the acoustic conditions are best in the evening.

"Then there is the matter of the violin. I first used a Joseph Guarnerius, a deeper toned instrument than the Jean Baptista Guadagnini I have now played for a number of years. The Guarnerius has a tone that seems to come more from within the instrument; but all in all I have found my Guadagnini, with its glassy clearness, its brilliant and limpid tone-quality, better adapted to American concert halls. If I had a Strad in the same condition as my Guadagnini the instrument would be priceless. I regretted giving up my Guarnerius, but I could not play the two violins interchangeably; for they were absolutely different in size and tone-production, shape, etc. Then my hand is so small that I ought to use the instrument best adapted to it, and to use the same instrument always. Why do I use no chin-rest? I use no chin-rest on my Guadagnini simply because I cannot find one to fit my chin. One should use a chin-rest to prevent perspiration from marring the varnish. My Rocca violin is an interesting instance of wood worn in ridges by the stubble on a man's chin.

"Strings? Well, I use a wire E string. I began to use it twelve years ago one humid, foggy summer in Connecticut. I had had such trouble with strings snapping that I cried: 'Give me anything but a gut string.' The climate practically makes metal strings a necessity, though some kind person once said that I bought wire strings because they were cheap! If wire strings had been thought of when Theodore Thomas began his career, he might never have been a conductor, for he told me he gave up the violin because of the E string. And most people will admit that hearing a wire E you cannot tell it from a gut E. Of course, it is unpleasant on the open strings, but then the open strings never do sound well. And in the highest registers the tone does not spin out long enough because of the tremendous tension: one has to use more bow. And it cuts the hairs: there is a little surface nap on the bow-hairs which a wire string wears right out. I had to have my four bows rehaired three times last season—an average of every three months. But all said and done it has been a God-send to the violinist who plays in public. On the wire A one cannot get the harmonics; and the aluminum D is objectionable in some violins, though in others not at all.

"The main thing—no matter what strings are used—is for the artist to get his audience into the concert hall, and give it a program which is properly balanced. Theodore Thomas first advised me to include in my programs short, simple things that my listeners could 'get hold of'—nothing inartistic, but something selected from their standpoint, not from mine, and played as artistically as possible. Yet there must also be something that is beyond them, collectively. Something that they may need to hear a number of times to appreciate. This enables the artist to maintain his dignity and has a certain psychological effect in that his audience holds him in greater respect. At big conservatories where music study is the most important thing, and in large cities, where the general level of music culture is high, a big solid program may be given, where it would be inappropriate in other places.

"Yet I remember having many recalls at El Paso, Texas, once, after playing the first movement of the Sibelius concerto. It is one of those compositions which if played too literally leaves an audience quite cold; it must be rendered temperamentally, the big climaxing effects built up, its Northern spirit brought out, though I admit that even then it is not altogether easy to grasp.

VIOLIN MASTERY

"Violin mastery or mastery of any instrument, for that matter, is the technical power to say exactly what you want to say in exactly the way you want to say it. It is technical equipment that stands at the service of your musical will—a faithful and competent servant that comes at your musical bidding. If your spirit soars 'to parts unknown,' your well trained servant 'technic' is ever at your elbow to prevent irksome details from hampering your progress. Mastery of your instrument makes mastery of your Art a joy instead of a burden. Technic should always be the hand-maid of the spirit.

"And I believe that one result of the war will be to bring us a greater self-knowledge, to the violinist as well as to every other artist, a broader appreciation of what he can do to increase and elevate appreciation for music in general and his Art in particular. And with these I am sure a new impetus will be given to the development of a musical culture truly American in thought and expression."



XVII

LEON SAMETINI

HARMONICS

Leon Sametini, at present director of the violin department of the Chicago Music College, where Sauret, Heermann and Sebald preceded him, is one of the most successful teachers of his instrument in this country. It is to be regretted that he has not played in public in the United States as often as in Europe, where his extensive tournees in Holland—Leon Sametini is a Hollander by birth—Belgium, England and Austria have established his reputation as a virtuoso, and the quality of his playing led Ysaye to include him in a quartet of artists "in order of lyric expression" with himself and Thibaud. Yet, the fact remains that this erstwhile protege of Queen Wilhelmina—she gave him his beautiful Santo Serafin (1730) violin, whose golden varnish back "is a genuine picture,"—to quote its owner—is a distinguished interpreting artist besides having a real teaching gift, which lends additional weight to his educational views.

REMINISCENCES OF SEVCIK

"I began to study violin at the age of six, with my uncle. From him I went to Eldering in Amsterdam, now Willy Hess's successor at the head of the Cologne Conservatory, and then spent a year with Sevcik in Prague. Yet—without being his pupil—I have learned more from Ysaye than from any of my teachers. It is rather the custom to decry Sevcik as a teacher, to dwell on his absolutely mechanical character of instruction—and not without justice. First of all Sevcik laid all the stress on the left hand and not on the bow—an absolute inversion of a fundamental principle. Eldering had taken great pains with my bow technic, for he himself was a pupil of Hubay, who had studied with Vieuxtemps and had his tradition. But Sevcik's teaching as regards the use of the bow was very poor; his pupils—take Kubelik with all his marvelous finger facility—could never develop a big bow technic. Their playing lacks strength, richness of sound. Sevcik soon noticed that my bowing did not conform to his theories; yet since he could not legitimately complain of the results I secured, he did not attempt to make me change it. Musical beauty, interpretation, in Sevcik's case were all subordinated to mechanical perfection. With him the study of some inspired masterpiece was purely a mathematical process, a problem in technic and mental arithmetic, without a bit of spontaneity. Ysaye used to roar with laughter when I would tell him how, when a boy of fifteen, I played the Beethoven concerto for Sevcik—a work which I myself felt and knew it was then out of the question for me to play with artistic maturity—the latter's only criticisms on my performance were that one or two notes were a little too high, and a certain passage not quite clear.

"Sevcik did not like the Dvorak concerto and never gave it to his pupils. But I lived next door to Dvorak at Prague, and meeting him in the street one day, asked him some questions anent its interpretation, with the result that I went to his home various times and he gave me his own ideas as to how it should be played. Sevcik never pointed his teachings by playing himself. I never saw him take up the fiddle while I studied with him. While I was his pupil he paid me the compliment of selecting me to play Sinigaglia's engaging violin concerto, at short notice, for the first time in Prague. Sinigaglia had asked Sevcik to play it, who said: 'I no longer play violin, but I have a pupil who can play it for you,' and introduced me to him. Sinigaglia became a good friend of mine, and I was the first to introduce his Rapsodia Piedmontese for violin and orchestra in London. To return to Sevcik—with all the deficiencies of his teaching methods, he had one great gift. He taught his pupils how to practice! And—aside from bowing—he made all mechanical problems, especially finger problems, absolutely clear and lucid.

A QUARTET OF GREAT TEACHERS WITH WHOM ALL MAY STUDY

"Still, all said and done, it was after I had finished with all my teachers that I really began to learn to play violin: above all from Ysaye, whom I went to hear play wherever and whenever I could. I think that the most valuable lessons I have ever had are those unconsciously given me by four of the greatest violinists I know: Ysaye, Kreisler, Elman and Thibaud. Each of these artists is so different that no one seems altogether to replace the other. Ysaye with his unique personality, the immense breadth and sweep of his interpretation, his dramatic strength, stands alone. Kreisler has a certain sparkling scintillance in his playing that is his only. Elman might be called the Caruso among violinists, with the perfected sensuous beauty of his tone; while Thibaud stands for supreme elegance and distinction. I have learned much from each member of this great quartet. And if the artist can profit from hearing and seeing them play, why not the student? Every recital given by such masters offers the earnest violin student priceless opportunities for study and comparison. My special leaning toward Ysaye is due, aside from his wonderful personality, to the fact that I feel music in the same way that he does.

TEACHING PRINCIPLES

'My teaching principles are the results of my own training period, my own experience as a concert artist and teacher—before I came to America I taught in London, where Isolde Menges, among others, studied with me—and what either directly or indirectly I have learned from my great colleagues. In the Music College I give the advanced pupils their individual lessons; but once a week the whole class assembles—as in the European conservatories—and those whose turn it is to play do so while the others listen. This is of value to every student, since it gives him an opportunity of 'hearing himself as others hear him.' Then, to stimulate appreciation and musical development there are ensemble and string quartet classes. I believe that every violinist should be able to play viola, and in quartet work I make the players shift constantly from one to the other instrument in order to hear what they play from a different angle.

"For left hand work I stick to the excellent Sevcik exercises and for some pupils I use the Carl Flesch Urstudien. For studies of real musical value Rode, of course, is unexcelled. His studies are the masterpieces of their kind, and I turn them into concert pieces. Thibaud and Elman have supplied some of them with interesting piano accompaniments.

"For bowing, with the exception of a few purely mechanical exercises, I used Kreutzer and Rode, and Gavinies. Ninety-nine per cent. of pupils' faults are faults of bowing. It is an art in itself. Sevcik was able to develop Kubelik's left hand work to the last degree of perfection—but not his bowing. In the case of Kocian, another well-known Sevcik pupil whom I have heard play, his bowing was by no means an outstanding feature. I often have to start pupils on the open strings in order to correct fundamental bow faults.

"When watching a great artist play the student should not expect to secure similar results by slavish imitation—another pupil fault. The thing to do is to realize the principle behind the artist's playing, and apply it to one's own physical possibilities.

"Every one holds, draws and uses the bow in a different way. If no two thumb-prints are alike, neither are any two sets of fingers and wrists. This is why not slavish imitation, but intelligent adaptation should be applied to the playing of the teacher in the class-room or the artist on the concert-stage. For instance, the little finger of Ysaye's left hand bends inward somewhat—as a result it is perfectly natural for him to make less use of the little finger, while it might be very difficult or almost impossible for another to employ the same fingering. And certain compositions and styles of composition are more adapted to one violinist than to another. I remember when I was a student, that Wieniawski's music seemed to lie just right for my hand. I could read difficult things of his at sight.

DOUBLE HARMONICS

"Would I care to discuss any special feature of violin technic? I might say something anent double harmonics—a subject too often taught in a mechanical way, and one I have always taken special pains to make absolutely plain to my own pupils—for every violinist should be able to play double harmonics out of a clear understanding of how to form them.

"There are only two kinds of harmonics: natural and artificial. Natural harmonics may be formed on the major triad of each open string, using the open string as the tonic. As, for example, on the G string [and Mr. Sametini set down the following illustration]:



Then there are four kinds of artificial harmonics, only three of which are used: harmonics on the major third (1); harmonics on the perfect fourth (2); harmonics on the perfect fifth (3); and harmonics—never used—on the octave:



Where does the harmonic sound in each case? Two octaves and a third higher (1); two octaves higher (2); one octave and a fifth higher (3) respectively, than the pressed-down note. If the harmonic on the octave (4) were played, it would sound just an octave higher than the pressed-down note.

"Now say we wished to combine different double harmonics. The whole principle is made clear if we take, let us say, the first double-stop in the scale of C major in thirds as an example:



"Beginning with the lower of these two notes, the C, we find that it cannot not be taken as a natural harmonic



because natural harmonics on the open strings run as follows: G, B, D on the G string; D, F♯, A on the D string; A, C♯, E on the A string; and E, G♯, B on the E string. There are three ways of taking the C before mentioned as an artificial harmonic. The E may be taken in the following manner:

Nat. harmonic Artificial harmonic

Now we have to combine the C and E as well as we are able. Rejecting the following combinations as impossible—any violinist will see why—



we have a choice of the two possible combinations remaining, with the fingering indicated:



"With regard to the actual execution of these harmonics, I advise all students to try and play them with every bit as much expressive feeling as ordinary notes. My experience has been that pupils do not pay nearly enough attention to the intonation of harmonics. In other words, they try to produce the harmonics immediately, instead of first making sure that both fingers are on the right spot before they loosen one finger on the string. For instance in the following: first play and then then loosen the fourth finger, and play

"The same principle holds good when playing double harmonics. Nine tenths of the 'squeaking' heard when harmonics are played is due to the fact that the finger-placing is not properly prepared, and that the fingers are not on the right spot.

"Never, when playing a harmonic with an up-bow [Symbol: up-bow], at the point, smash down the bow on the string; but have it already on the string before playing the harmonic. The process is reversed when playing a down-bow [Symbol: down-bow] harmonic. When beginning a harmonic at the frog, have the harmonic ready, then let the bow drop gently on the string.

"Triple and quadruple harmonics may be combined in exactly the same way. Students should never get the idea that you press down the string as you press a button and—presto—the magic harmonics appear! They are a simple and natural result of the proper application of scientific principles; and the sooner the student learns to form and combine harmonics himself instead of learning them by rote, the better will he play them. Too often a student can give the fingering of certain double harmonics and cannot use it. Of course, harmonics are only a detail of the complete mastery of the violin; but mastery of all details leads to mastery of the whole.

VIOLIN MASTERY

"And what is mastery of the whole? Mastery of the whole, real violin mastery, I think, lies in the control of the interpretative problem, the power to awaken emotion by the use of the instrument. Many feel more than they can express, have more left hand than bow technic and, like Kubelik, have not the perfected technic for which perfected playing calls. The artist who feels beauty keenly and deeply and whose mechanical equipment allows him to make others feel and share the beauty he himself feels is in my opinion worthy of being called a master of the violin."



XVIII

ALEXANDER SASLAVSKY

WHAT THE TEACHER CAN AND CANNOT DO

Alexander Saslavsky is probably best known as a solo artist, as the concertmaster of a great symphonic orchestra, as the leader of the admirable quartet which bears his name. Yet, at the same time, few violinists can speak with more authority anent the instructive phases of their Art. Not only has he been active for years in the teaching field; but as a pedagog he rounds out the traditions of Ferdinand David, Massard, Auer, and Gruen (Vienna Hochschule), acquired during his "study years," with the result of his own long and varied experience.

Beginning at the beginning, I asked Mr. Saslavsky to tell me something about methods, his own in particular. "Method is a flexible term," he answered. "What the word should mean is the cultivation of the pupil's individuality along the lines best suited to it. Not that a guide which may be employed to develop common-sense principles is not valuable. But even here, the same guide (violin-method) will not answer for every pupil. Personally I find De Beriot's 'Violin School' the most generally useful, and for advanced students, Ferdinand David's second book. Then, for scales—I insist on my pupils being able to play, a perfect scale through three octaves—the Hrimaly book of scales. Many advanced violinists cannot play a good scale simply because of a lack of fundamental work.

"As soon as the pupil is able, he should take up Kreutzer and stick to him as the devotee does to his Bible. Any one who can play the '42 Exercises' as they should be played may be called a well-balanced violinist. There are too many purely mechanical exercises—and the circumstance that we have Kreutzer, Rode, Fiorillo, Rovelli and Dont emphasizes the fact. And there are too many elaborate and complicated violin methods. Sevcik, for instance, has devised a purely mechanical system of this kind, perfect from a purely mechanical standpoint, but one whose consistent use, in my opinion, kills initiative and individuality. I have had experience with Sevcik pupils in quartet playing, and have found that they have no expression.

WHAT THE TEACHER CAN AND CANNOT DO

"After all, the teacher can only supply the pupil with the violinistic equipment. The pupil must use it. There is tone, for instance. The teacher cannot make tone for the pupil—he can only show him how tone can be made. Sometimes a purely physiological reason makes it almost impossible for the pupil to produce a good natural tone. If the finger-tips are not adequately equipped with 'cushions,' and a pupil wishes to use the vibrato there is nothing with which he can vibrate. There is real meaning, speaking of the violinist's tone, in the phrase 'he has it at his fingers' tips.' Then there is the matter of slow practice. It rests with the pupil to carry out the teacher's injunctions in this respect. The average pupil practices too fast, is too eager to develop his Art as a money maker. And too many really gifted students take up orchestra playing, which no one can do continuously and hope to be a solo player. Four hours of study work may be nullified by a single hour of orchestra playing. Musically it is broadening, of course, but I am speaking from the standpoint of the student who hopes to become a solo artist. An opera orchestra is especially bad in this way. In the symphonic ensemble more care is used; but in the opera orchestra they employ the right arm for tremolo! There is a good deal of camouflage as regards string playing in an opera orchestra, and much of the music—notably Wagner's—is quite impracticable.

"And lessons are often made all too short. A teacher in common honesty cannot really give a pupil much in half-an-hour—it is not a real lesson. There is a good deal to be said for class teaching as it is practiced at the European conservatories, especially as regards interpretation. In my student days I learned much from listening to others play the concertos they had prepared, and from noting the teacher's corrections. And this even in a purely technical way: I can recall Kubelik playing Paganini as a wonderful display of the technical points of violin playing.

A GREAT DEFECT

"Most pupils seem to lack an absolute sense of rhythm—a great defect. Yet where latent it may be developed. Here Kreutzer is invaluable, since he presents every form of rhythmic problem, scales in various rhythms and bowings. Kreutzer's 'Exercise No. 2,' for example, may be studied with any number of bowings. To produce a broad tone the bow must move slowly, and in rapid passages should never seem to introduce technical exercises in a concert number. The student should memorize Kreutzer and Fiorillo. Flesch's Urstudien offer the artist or professional musician who has time for little practice excellent material; but are not meant for the pupil, unless he be so far advanced that he may be trusted to use them alone.

TONE: PRACTICE TIME

"Broad playing gives the singing tone—the true violin tone—a long bow drawn its full length. Like every general rule though, this one must be modified by the judgment of the individual player. Violin playing is an art of many mysteries. Some pupils grasp a point at once; others have to have it explained seven or eight different ways before grasping it. The serious student should practice not less than four hours, preferably in twenty minute intervals. After some twenty minutes the brain is apt to tire. And since the fingers are controlled by the brain, it is best to relax for a short time before going on. Mental and physical control must always go hand in hand. Four hours of intelligent, consistent practice work are far better than eight or ten of fatigued effort.

A NATIONAL CONSERVATORY

"Some five years ago too many teachers gave their pupils the Mendelssohn and Paganini concertos to play before they knew their Kreutzer. But there has been a change for the better during recent years. Kneisel was one of the first to produce pupils here who played legitimately, according to standard violinistic ideals. One reason why Auer has had such brilliant pupils is that poor students were received at the Petrograd Conservatory free of charge. All they had to supply was talent; and I look forward to the time when we will have a National conservatory in this country, supported by the Government. Then the poor, but musically gifted, pupil will have the same opportunities that his brother, who is well-to-do, now has.

SOME PERSONAL VIEWS AND REFLECTIONS

"You ask me to tell you something of my own musical preferences. Well, take the concertos. I have reached a point where the Mendelssohn, Mozart, Beethoven, Bach and Brahms concertos seen to sum up what is truly worth while. The others begin to bore me; even Bruch! Paganini, Wieniawski, etc., are mainly mediums of display. Most of the great violinists, Ysaye, Thibaud, etc., during recent years are reverting to the violin sonatas. Ysaye, for instance, has recently been playing the Lazzari sonata, a very powerful and beautiful work.

"My experiences as a 'concertmaster'? I have played with Weingartner; Saint-Saens (whose amiability to me, when he first visited this country, I recall with pleasure); Gustav Mahler, Tschaikovsky, Safonoff, Seidel, Bauer, and Walter Damrosch, whose friend and associate I have been for the last twenty-two years. He is a wonderful man, many-sided and versatile; a notably fine pianist; and playing chamber music with him during successive summers is numbered among my pleasantest recollections.

"In speaking of concertos some time ago, I forgot to mention one work well worth studying. This is the Russian Mlynarski's concerto in D, which I played with the Russian Symphony Orchestra some eight years ago for the first time in this country, as well as a fine 'Romance and Caprice' by Rubinstein.

"Is the music a concertmaster is called upon to play always violinistic? Far from it. Symphonic music—in as much as the concertmaster is concerned, is usually not idiomatic violin music. Richard Strauss's violin concerto can really be played by the violinist. The obbligatos in his symphonies are a very different matter; they go beyond accepted technical boundaries. With Stravinsky it is the same. The violin obbligato in Rimsky-Korsakov's Scheherazade, though, is real violin music. Debussy and Ravel are most subtle; they call for a particularly good ear, since the harmonic balance of their music is very delicate. The concertmaster has to develop his own interpretations, subject, of course, to the conductor's ideas.

VIOLIN MASTERY

"Violin Mastery? It means to me complete control of the fingerboard, a being at home in every position, absolute sureness of fingering, absolute equality of tone under all circumstances. I remember Ysaye playing Tschaikovsky's Serenade Melancolique, and using a fingering for certain passages which I liked very much. I asked him to give it to me in detail, but he merely laughed and said: 'I'd like to, but I cannot, because I really do not remember which fingers I used!' That is mastery—a control so complete that fingering was unconscious, and the interpretation of the thought was all that was in the artist's mind! Sevcik's 'complete technical mastery' is after all not perfect, since it represents mechanical and not mental control."



XIX

TOSCHA SEIDEL

HOW TO STUDY

Toscha Seidel, though one of the more recent of the young Russian violinists who represent the fruition of Professor Auer's formative gifts, has, to quote H.F. Peyser, "the transcendental technic observed in the greatest pupils of his master, a command of mechanism which makes the rough places so plain that the traces of their roughness are hidden to the unpracticed eye." He commenced to study the violin seriously at the age of seven in Odessa, his natal town, with Max Fiedemann, an Auer pupil. A year and a half later Alexander Fiedemann heard him play a De Beriot concerto in public, and induced him to study at the Stern Conservatory in Berlin, with Brodsky, a pupil of Joachim, with whom he remained for two years.

It was in Berlin that the young violinist reached the turning point of his career. "I was a boy of twelve," he said, "when I heard Jascha Heifetz play for the first time. He played the Tschaikovsky concerto, and he played it wonderfully. His bowing, his fingering, his whole style and manner of playing so greatly impressed me that I felt I must have his teacher, that I would never be content unless I studied with Professor Auer! In 1912 I at length had an opportunity to play for the Professor in his home at Loschivitz, in Dresden, and to my great joy he at once accepted me as a pupil.

STUDYING WITH PROFESSOR AUER

"Studying with Professor Auer was a revelation. I had private lessons from him, and at the same time attended the classes at the Petrograd Conservatory. I should say that his great specialty, if one can use the word specialty in the case of so universal a master of teaching as the Professor, was bowing. In all violin playing the left hand, the finger hand, might be compared to a perfectly adjusted technical machine, one that needs to be kept well oiled to function properly. The right hand, the bow hand, is the direct opposite—it is the painter hand, the artist hand, its phrasing outlines the pictures of music; its nuances fill them with beauty of color. And while the Professor insisted as a matter of course on the absolute development of finger mechanics, he was an inspiration as regards the right manipulation of the bow, and its use as a medium of interpretation. And he made his pupils think. Often, when I played a passage in a concerto or sonata and it lacked clearness, he would ask me: 'Why is this passage not clear?' Sometimes I knew and sometimes I did not. But not until he was satisfied that I could not myself answer the question, would he show me how to answer it. He could make every least detail clear, illustrating it on his own violin; but if the pupil could 'work out his own salvation' he always encouraged him to do so.



"Most teachers make bowing a very complicated affair, adding to its difficulties. But Professor Auer develops a natural bowing, with an absolutely free wrist, in all his pupils; for he teaches each student along the line of his individual aptitudes. Hence the length of the fingers and the size of the hand make no difference, because in the case of each pupil they are treated as separate problems, capable of an individual solution. I have known of pupils who came to him with an absolutely stiff wrist; and yet he taught them to overcome it.

ARTIST PUPILS AND AMATEUR STUDENTS

"As regards difficulties, technical and other, a distinction might be made between the artist and the average amateur. The latter does not make the violin his life work: it is an incidental. While he may reasonably content himself with playing well, the artist-pupil must achieve perfection. It is the difference between an accomplishment and an art. The amateur plays more or less for the sake of playing—the 'how' is secondary; but for the artist the 'how' comes first, and for him the shortest piece, a single scale, has difficulties of which the amateur is quite ignorant. And everything is difficult in its perfected sense. What I, as a student, found to be most difficult were double harmonics—I still consider them to be the most difficult thing in the whole range of violin technic. First of all, they call for a large hand, because of the wide stretches. But harmonics were one of the things I had to master before Professor Auer would allow me to appear in public. Some find tenths and octaves their stumbling block, but I cannot say that they ever gave me much trouble. After all, the main thing with any difficulty is to surmount it, and just how is really a secondary matter. I know Professor Auer used to say: 'Play with your feet if you must, but make the violin sound!' With tenths, octaves, sixths, with any technical frills, the main thing is to bring them out clearly and convincingly. And, rightly or wrongly, one must remember that when something does not sound out convincingly on the violin, it is not the fault of the weather, or the strings or rosin or anything else—it is always the artist's own fault!

HOW TO STUDY

"Scale study—all Auer pupils had to practice scales every day, scales in all the intervals—is a most important thing. And following his idea of stimulating the pupil's self-development, the Professor encouraged us to find what we needed ourselves. I remember that once—we were standing in a corridor of the Conservatory—when I asked him, 'What should I practice in the way of studies?' he answered: 'Take the difficult passages from the great concertos. You cannot improve on them, for they are as good, if not better, as any studies written.' As regards technical work we were also encouraged to think out our own exercises. And this I still do. When I feel that my thirds and sixths need attention I practice scales and original figurations in these intervals. But genuine, resultful practice is something that should never be counted by 'hours.' Sometimes I do not touch my violin all day long; and one hour with head work is worth any number of days without it. At the most I never practice more than three hours a day. And when my thoughts are fixed on other things it would be time lost to try to practice seriously. Without technical control a violinist could not be a great artist; for he could not express himself. Yet a great artist can give even a technical study, say a Rode etude, a quality all its own in playing it. That technic, however, is a means, not an end, Professor Auer never allowed his pupils to forget. He is a wonderful master of interpretation. I studied the great concertos with him—Beethoven, Bruch, Mendelssohn, Tschaikovsky, Dvorak*, the Brahms concerto (which I prefer to any other); the Vieuxtemps Fifth and Lalo (both of which I have heard Ysaye, that supreme artist who possesses all that an artist should have, play in Berlin); the Elgar concerto (a fine work which I once heard Kreisler, an artist as great as he is modest, play wonderfully in Petrograd), as well as other concertos of the standard repertory. And Professor Auer always sought to have us play as individuals; and while he never allowed us to overstep the boundaries of the musically esthetic, he gave our individuality free play within its limits. He never insisted on a pupil accepting his own nuances of interpretation because they were his. I know that when playing for him, if I came to a passage which demanded an especially beautiful legato rendering, he would say: 'Now show how you can sing!' The exquisite legato he taught was all a matter of perfect bowing, and as he often said: 'There must be no such thing as strings or hair in the pupil's consciousness. One must not play violin, one must sing violin!'

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

FIDDLE AND STRINGS

"I do not see how any artist can use an instrument which is quite new to him in concert. I never play any but my own Guadagnini, which is a fine fiddle, with a big, sonorous tone. As to wire strings, I hate them! In the first place, a wire E sounds distinctly different to the artist than does a gut E. And it is a difference which any violinist will notice. Then, too, the wire E is so thin that the fingers have nothing to take hold of, to touch firmly. And to me the metallic vibrations, especially on the open strings, are most disagreeable. Of course, from a purely practical standpoint there is much to be said for the wire E.

VIOLIN MASTERY

"What is violin mastery as I understand it? First of all it means talent, secondly technic, and in the third place, tone. And then one must be musical in an all-embracing sense to attain it. One must have musical breadth and understanding in general, and not only in a narrowly violinistic sense. And, finally, the good God must give the artist who aspires to be a master good hands, and direct him to a good teacher!"



XX

EDMUND SEVERN

THE JOACHIM BOWING AND OTHERS: THE LEFT HAND

Edmund Severn's activity in the field of violin music is a three-fold one: he is a composer, an interpreting artist and a teacher, and his fortuitous control of the three vital phases of his Art make his views as regards its study of very real value. The lover of string music in general would naturally attach more importance to his string quartet in D major, his trio for violin, 'cello and piano, his violin concerto in D minor, the sonata, the "Oriental," "Italian," "New England" suites for violin, and the fine suite in A major, for two violins and piano, than to his symphonic poems for orchestra, his choral works and his songs. And those in search of hints to aid them to master the violin would be most interested in having the benefit of his opinions as a teacher, founded on long experience and keen observation. Since Mr. Severn is one of those teachers who are born, not made, and is interested heart and soul in this phase of his musical work, it was not difficult to draw him out.

THE JOACHIM BOWING

"My first instructor in the violin was my father, the pioneer violin teacher of Hartford, Conn., where my boyhood was passed, and then I studied with Franz Milcke and Bernard Listemann, concertmaster of the Boston Symphony Orchestra. But one day I happened to read a few lines reprinted in the Metronome from some European source, which quoted Wilhelmj as saying that Emanuel Wirth, Joachim's first assistant at the Berlin Hochschule, 'was the best teacher of his generation.' This was enough for me: feeling that the best could be none too good, I made up my mind to go to him. And I did. Wirth was the viola of the Joachim Quartet, and probably a better teacher than was Joachim himself. Violin teaching was a cult with him, a religion; and I think he believed God had sent him to earth to teach fiddle. Like all the teachers at the Hochschule he taught the regular 'Joachim' bowing—they were obliged to teach it—as far as it could be taught, for it could not be taught every one. And that is the real trouble with the 'Joachim' bowing. It is impossible to make a general application of it.

"Joachim had a very long arm and when he played at the point of the bow his arm position was approximately the same as that of the average player at the middle of the bow. Willy Hess was a perfect exponent of the Joachim method of bowing. Why? Because he had a very long arm. But at the Hochschule the Joachim bowing was compulsory: they taught, or tried to teach, all who came there to use it without exception; boys or girls whose arms chanced to be long enough could acquire it, but big men with short arms had no chance whatever. Having a medium long arm, by dint of hard work I managed to get my bowing to suit Wirth; yet I always felt at a disadvantage at the point of the bow, in spite of the fact that after my return to the United States I taught the Joachim bowing for fully eight years.

"Then, when he first came here, I heard and saw Ysaye play, and I noticed how greatly his bowing differed from that of Joachim, the point being that his first finger was always in a position to press naturally without the least stiffness. This led me to try to find a less constrained bowing for myself, working along perfectly natural lines. The Joachim bowing demands a high wrist; but in the case of the Belgian school an easy position at the point is assumed naturally. And it is not hard to understand that if the bow be drawn parallel with the bridge, allowing for the least possible movement of hands and wrist, the greatest economy of motion, there is no contravention of the laws of nature and playing is natural and unconstrained.

"And this applies to every student of the instrument, whether or no he has a long arm. While I was studying in Berlin, Sarasate played there in public, with the most natural and unhampered grace and freedom in the use of his bow. Yet the entire Hochschule contingent unanimously condemned his bowing as being 'stiff'—merely because it did not conform to the Joachim tradition. Of course, there is no question but that Joachim was the greatest quartet player of his time; and with regard to the interpretation of the classics he was not to be excelled. His conception of Bach, Beethoven, Mozart, Brahms was wonderful. The insistence at the Hochschule on forcing the bowing which was natural to him on all others, irrespective of physical adaptability, is a matter of regret. Wirth was somewhat deficient in teaching left hand technic, as compared with, let us say, Schradieck. Wirth's real strength lay in his sincerity and his ability to make clear the musical contents of the works of the great masters. In a Beethoven or Spohr concerto he made a pupil give its due emphasis to every single note.

A PRE-TEACHING REQUISITE

"Before the violin student can even begin to study, there are certain pre-teaching requisites which are necessary if the teacher is to be of any service to him. The violin is a singing instrument, and therefore the first thing called for is a good singing tone. That brings up an important point—the proper adjustment of the instrument used by the student. If his lessons are to be of real benefit to him, the component parts of the instrument, post, bridge, bass-bar, strings, etc., must be accurately adjusted, in order that the sound values are what they should be.

"From the teaching standpoint it is far more important that whatever violin the student has is one properly built and adjusted, than that it be a fine instrument. And the bow must have the right amount of spring, of elasticity in its stick. A poor bow will work more harm than a poor fiddle, for if the bow is poor, if it lacks the right resilience, the student cannot acquire the correct bow pressure. He cannot play spiccato or any of the 'bouncing' bowings, including various forms of arpeggios, with a poor stick.

DRAWING A LONG BOW

"When I say that the student should 'draw a long bow,'" continued Mr. Severn with a smile, "I do not say so at a venture. If his instrument and bow are in proper shape, this is the next thing for the student to do. Ever since Tartini's time it has been acknowledged that nothing can take the place of the study of the long bow, playing in all shades of dynamics, from pp to ff, and with all the inflections of crescendo and diminuendo. Part of this study should consist of 'mute' exercises—not playing, but drawing the bow above the strings, to its full length, resting at either end. This ensures bow control. One great difficulty is that as a rule the teacher cannot induce pupils to practice these 'mute' exercises, in spite of their unquestionable value. All the great masters of the violin have used them. Viotti thought so highly of them that he taught them only to his favorite pupils. And even to-day some distinguished violinists play dumb exercises before stepping on the recital stage. They are one of the best means that we have for control of the violinistic nervous system.

WRIST-BOWING

"Wrist-bowing is one of the bowings in which the student should learn to feel absolutely and naturally at home. To my thinking the German way of teaching wrist-bowing is altogether wrong. Their idea is to keep the fingers neutral, and let the stick move the fingers! Yet this is wrong—for the player holds his bow at the finger-tips, that terminal point of the fingers where the tactile nerves are most highly developed, and where their direct contact with the bow makes possible the greatest variety of dynamic effect, and also allows the development of far greater speed in short bowings.

"Though the Germans say 'Think of the wrist!' I think with the Belgians: Put your mind where you touch and hold the bow, concentrate on your fingers. In other words, when you make your bow change, do not make it according to the Joachim method, with the wrist, but in the natural way, with the fingers always in command. In this manner only will you get the true wrist motion.

STACCATO AND OTHER BOWINGS

"After all, there are only two general principles in violin playing, the long and short bow, legato and staccato. Many a teacher finds it very difficult to teach staccato correctly, which may account for the fact that many pupils find it hard to learn. The main reason is that, in a sense, staccato is opposed to the nature of the violin as a singing instrument. To produce a true staccato and not a 'scratchato' it is absolutely necessary, while exerting the proper pressure and movement, to keep the muscles loose. I have evolved a simple method for quickly achieving the desired result in staccato. First I teach the attack in the middle of the bow, without drawing the bow and as though pressing a button: I have pupils press up with the thumb and down with the first finger, with all muscles relaxed. This, when done correctly, produces a sudden sharp attack.

"Then, I have the pupil place his bow in the middle, in position to draw a down-stroke from the wrist, the bow-hair being pressed and held against the string. A quick down-bow follows with an immediate release of the string. Repeating the process, use the up-stroke. The finished product is merely the combination of these two exercises—drawing and attacking simultaneously. I have never failed to give a pupil a good staccato by this exercise, which comprises the principle of all genuine staccato playing.

"One of the most difficult of all bowings is the simple up-and-down stroke used in the second Kreutzer etude, that is to say, the bowing between the middle and point of the bow, tete d'archet, as the French call it. This bowing is played badly on the violin more often than any other. It demands constant rapid changing and, as most pupils play it, the legato quality is noticeably absent. Too much emphasis cannot be laid on the truth that the 'singing stroke' should be employed for all bowings, long or short. Often pupils who play quite well show a want of true legato quality in their tone, because there is no connection between their bowing in rapid work.

"Individual bowings should always be practiced separately. I always oblige my pupils to practice all bowings on the open strings, and in all combinations of the open strings, because this allows them to concentrate on the bowing itself, to the exclusion of all else; and they advance far more quickly. Students should never be compelled to learn new bowings while they have to think of their fingers at the same time: we cannot serve two masters simultaneously! All in all, bowing is most important in violin technic, for control of the bow means much toward mastery of the violin.

THE LEFT HAND

"It is evident, however, that the correct use of the left hand is of equal importance. It seems not to be generally known that finger-pressure has much to do with tone-quality. The correct poise of the left hand, as conspicuously shown by Heifetz for instance, throws the extreme tips of the fingers hammerlike on the strings, and renders full pressure of the string easy. Correctly done, a brilliance results, especially in scale and passage work, which can be acquired in no other manner, each note partaking somewhat of the quality of the open string. As for intonation—that is largely a question of listening. To really listen to oneself is as necessary as it is rare. It would take a volume to cover that subject alone. We hear much about the use of the vibrato these days. It was not so when I was a student. I can remember when it was laughed at by the purists as an Italian evidence of bad taste. My teachers decried it, yet if we could hear the great players of the past, we would be astonished at their frugal use of it.

"One should remember in this connection that there was a conflict among singers for many years as to whether the straight tone as cultivated by the English oratorio singers, or the vibrated tone of the Italians were correct. As usual, Nature won out. The correctly vibrated voice outlasted the other form of production, thus proving its lawful basis. But to-day the vibrato is frequently made to cover a multitude of violin sins.

"It is accepted by many as a substitute for genuine warmth and it is used as a camouflage to 'put over' some very bad art in the shape of poor tone-quality, intonation and general sloppiness of technic. Why, then, has it come into general use during the last twenty-five years? Simply because it is based on the correctly produced human voice. The old players, especially those of the German school, said, and some still say, the vibrato should only be used at the climax of a melody. If we listen to a Sembrich or a Bonci, however, we hear a vibration on every tone. Let us not forget that the violin is a singing instrument and that even Joachim said: 'We must imitate the human voice,' This, I think, disposes of the case finally and we must admit that every little boy or girl with a natural vibrato is more correct in that part of his tone-production than many of the great masters of the past. As the Negro pastor said: 'The world do move!'

VIOLIN MASTERY

"Are 'mastery of the violin' and 'Violin Mastery' synonymous in my mind? Yes and no: 'Violin Mastery' may be taken to mean that technical mastery wherewith one is enabled to perform any work in the entire literature of the instrument with precision, but not necessarily with feeling for its beauty or its emotional content. In this sense, in these days of improved violin pedagogy, such mastery is not uncommon. But 'Violin Mastery' may also be understood to mean, not merely a cold though flawless technic, but its living, glowing product when used to express the emotions suggested by the music of the masters. This latter kind of violin mastery is rare indeed.

"One who makes technic an end travels light, and should reach his destination more quickly. But he whose goal is music with its thousand-hued beauties, with its call for the exertion of human and spiritual emotion, sets forth on a journey without end. It is plain, however, that this is the only journey worth taking with the violin as a traveling companion. 'Violin Mastery', then, means to me technical proficiency used to the highest extent possible, for artistic ends!"



XXI

ALBERT SPALDING

THE MOST IMPORTANT FACTOR IN THE DEVELOPMENT OF AN ARTIST

For the duration of the war Albert Spalding the violinist became Albert Spalding the soldier. As First Lieutenant in the Aviation Service, U.S.A., he maintained the ideals of civilization on the Italian front with the same devotion he gave to those of Art in the piping times of peace. As he himself said not so very long ago: "You cannot do two things, and do them properly, at the same time. At the present moment there is more music for me in the factories gloriously grinding out planes and motors than in a symphony of Beethoven. And to-day I would rather run on an office-boy's errand for my country and do it as well as I can, if it's to serve my country, than to play successfully a Bach Chaconne; and I would rather hear a well directed battery of American guns blasting the Road of Peace and Victorious Liberty than the combined applause of ten thousand audiences. For it is my conviction that Art has as much at stake in this War as Democracy."



Yet Lieutenant Spalding, despite the arduous demands of his patriotic duties, found time to answer some questions of the writer in the interests of "Violin Mastery" which, representing the views and opinions of so eminent and distinctively American a violinist, cannot fail to interest every lover of the Art. Writing from Rome (Sept. 9, 1918), Lieutenant Spalding modestly said that his answers to the questions asked "will have to be simple and short, because my time is very limited, and then, too, having been out of music for more than a year, I feel it difficult to deal in more than a general way with some of the questions asked."

VIOLIN MASTERY

"As to 'Violin Mastery'? To me it means effortless mastery of details; the correlating of them into a perfect whole; the subjecting of them to the expression of an architecture which is music. 'Violin Mastery' means technical mastery in every sense of the word. It means a facility which will enable the interpreter to forget difficulties, and to express at once in a language that will seem clear, simple and eloquent, that which in the hands of others appears difficult, obtuse and dull.

THE MOST IMPORTANT FACTOR IN THE DEVELOPMENT OF AN ARTIST

"As to the processes, mental and technical, which make an artist? These different processes, mental and technical, are too many, too varied and involved to invite an answer in a short space of time. Suffice it to say that the most important mental process, to my mind, is the development of a perception of beauty. All the perseverance in the study of music, all the application devoted to it, is not worth a tinker's dam, unless accompanied by this awakening to the perception of beauty. And with regard to the influence of teachers? Since all teachers vary greatly, the student should not limit himself to his own personal masters. The true student of Art should be able to derive benefit and instruction from every beautiful work of Art that he hears or sees; otherwise he will be limited by the technical and mental limitations of his own prejudices and jealousies. One's greatest difficulties may turn out to be one's greatest aids in striving toward artistic results. By this I mean that nothing is more fatally pernicious for the true artist than the precocious facility which invites cheap success. Therefore I make the statement that one's greatest difficulties are one's greatest facilities.

A LESS DEVELOPED PHASE OF VIOLIN TECHNIC

"In the technical field, the phase of violin technic which is less developed, it seems to me is, in most cases, bowing. One often notes a highly developed left hand technic coupled with a monotonous and oftentimes faulty bowing. The color and variety of a violinist's art must come largely from his intimate acquaintance with all that can be accomplished by the bow arm. The break or change from a down-bow to an up-bow, or vice versa, should be under such control as to make it perceptible only when it may be desirable to use it for color or accentuation.

GOOD AND BAD HANDS: MENTAL STUDY

"The influence of the physical conformation of bow hand and string hand on actual playing? There are no 'good' or 'bad' bow hands or string hands (unless they be deformed); there are only 'good' and 'bad' heads. By this I mean that the finest development of technic comes from the head, not from the hand. Quickness of thought and action is what distinguishes the easy player from the clumsy player. Students should develop mental study even of technical details—this, of course, in addition to the physical practice; for this mental study is of the highest importance in developing the student so that he can gain that effortless mastery of detail of which I have already spoken.

ADVANTAGE AND DISADVANTAGE OF CONCERT ATTENDANCE FOR THE STUDENT

"Concerts undoubtedly have great value in developing the student technically and mentally; but too often they have a directly contrary effect. I think there is a very doubtful benefit to be derived from the present habit, as illustrated in New York, London, or other centers, of the student attending concerts, sometimes as many as two or three a day. This habit dwarfs the development of real appreciation, as the student, under these conditions, can little appreciate true works of art when he has crammed his head so full of truck, and worn out his faculties of concentration until listening to music becomes a mechanical mental process. The indiscriminate attending of concerts, to my mind, has an absolutely pernicious effect on the student.

NATIONALITY AS A FORMATIVE INFLUENCE

"Nationality and national feeling have a very real influence in the development of an artist; but this influence is felt subconsciously more than consciously, and it reacts more on the creative than on the interpretative artist. By this I mean that the interpretative artist, while reserving the right to his individual expression, should subject himself to what he considers to have been the artistic impulse, the artistic intentions of the composer. As to type music to whose appeal I as an American am susceptible, I confess to a very sympathetic reaction to the syncopated rhythms known as 'rag-time,' and which appear to be especially American in character." For the benefit of those readers who may not chance to know it, Lieutenant Spalding's "Alabama," a Southern melody and dance in plantation style, for violin and piano, represents a very delightful creative exploitation of these rhythms. The writer makes mention of the fact since with regard to this and other of his own compositions Lieutenant Spalding would only state: "I felt that I had something to say and, therefore, tried to say it. Whether what I have to say is of any interest to others is not for me to judge.