Violin Mastery: Talks with Master Violinists and Teachers

THE DANGER OF PRACTICING TOO MUCH

He laughed when I put forward the theory that he worked many hours a day, perhaps as many as six or eight? "No," he said, "I do not think I could ever have made any progress if I had practiced six hours a day. In the first place I have never believed in practicing too much—it is just as bad as practicing too little! And then there are so many other things I like to do. I am fond of reading and I like sport: tennis, golf, bicycle riding, boating, swimming, etc. Often when I am supposed to be practicing hard I am out with my camera, taking pictures; for I have become what is known as a 'camera fiend.' And just now I have a new car, which I have learned to drive, and which takes up a good deal of my time. I have never believed in grinding. In fact I think that if one has to work very hard to get his piece, it will show in the execution. To interpret music properly, it is necessary to eliminate mechanical difficulty; the audience should not feel the struggle of the artist with what are considered hard passages. I hardly ever practice more than three hours a day on an average, and besides, I keep my Sunday when I do not play at all, and sometimes I make an extra holiday. As to six or seven hours a day, I would not have been able to stand it at all."

I implied that what Mr. Heifetz said might shock thousands of aspiring young violinists for whom he pointed a moral: "Of course," his answer was, "you must not take me too literally. Please do not think because I do not favor overdoing practicing that one can do without it. I'm quite frank to say I could not myself. But there is a happy medium. I suppose that when I play in public it looks easy, but before I ever came on the concert stage I worked very hard. And I do yet—but always putting the two things together, mental work and physical work. And when a certain point of effort is reached in practice, as in everything else, there must be relaxation.

THE DEVELOPMENT OF A VIRTUOSE TECHNIC

"Have I what is called a 'natural' technic? It is hard for me to say, perhaps so. But if such is the case I had to develop it, to assure it, to perfect it. If you start playing at three, as I did, with a little violin one-quarter of the regular size, I suppose violin playing becomes second nature in the course of time. I was able to find my way about in all seven positions within a year's time, and could play the Kayser études; but that does not mean to say I was a virtuoso by any means.

"My first teacher? My first teacher was my father, a good violinist and concertmaster of the Vilna Symphony Orchestra. My first appearance in public took place in an overcrowded auditorium of the Imperial Music School in Vilna, Russia, when I was not quite five. I played the Fantaisie Pastorale with piano accompaniment. Later, at the age of six, I played the Mendelssohn concerto in Kovno to a full house. Stage-fright? No, I cannot say I have ever had it. Of course, something may happen to upset one before a concert, and one does not feel quite at ease when first stepping on the stage; but then I hope that is not stage-fright!

"At the Imperial Music School in Vilna, and before, I worked at all the things every violinist studies—I think that I played almost everything. I did not work too hard, but I worked hard enough. In Vilna my teacher was Malkin, a pupil of Professor Auer, and when I had graduated from the Vilna school I went to Auer. Did I go directly to his classes? Well, no, but I had only a very short time to wait before I joined the classes conducted by Auer personally.

PROFESSOR AUER AS A TEACHER

"Yes, he is a wonderful and an incomparable teacher; I do not believe there is one in the world who can possibly approach him. Do not ask me just how he does it, for I would not know how to tell you. But he is different with each pupil—perhaps that is one reason he is so great a teacher. I think I was with Professor Auer about six years, and I had both class lessons and private lessons of him, though toward the end my lessons were not so regular. I never played exercises or technical works of any kind for the Professor, but outside of the big things—the concertos and sonatas, and the shorter pieces which he would let me prepare—I often chose what I wanted.

"Professor Auer was a very active and energetic teacher. He was never satisfied with a mere explanation, unless certain it was understood. He could always show you himself with his bow and violin. The Professor's pupils were supposed to have been sufficiently advanced in the technic necessary for them to profit by his wonderful lessons in interpretation. Yet there were all sorts of technical finesses which he had up his sleeve, any number of fine, subtle points in playing as well as interpretation which he would disclose to his pupils. And the more interest and ability the pupil showed, the more the Professor gave him of himself! He is a very great teacher! Bowing, the true art of bowing, is one of the greatest things in Professor Auer's teaching. I know when I first came to the Professor, he showed me things in bowing I had never learned in Vilna. It is hard to describe in words (Mr. Heifetz illustrated with some of those natural, unstrained movements of arm and wrist which his concert appearances have made so familiar), but bowing as Professor Auer teaches it is a very special thing; the movements of the bow become more easy, graceful, less stiff.

"In class there were usually from twenty-five to thirty pupils. Aside from what we each gained individually from the Professor's criticism and correction, it was interesting to hear the others who played before one's turn came, because one could get all kinds of hints from what Professor Auer told them. I know I always enjoyed listening to Poliakin, a very talented violinist, and Cécile Hansen, who attended the classes at the same time I did. The Professor was a stern and very exacting, but a sympathetic, teacher. If our playing was not just what it should be he always had a fund of kindly humor upon which to draw. He would anticipate our stock excuses and say: 'Well, I suppose you have just had your bow rehaired!' or 'These new strings are very trying,' or 'It's the weather that is against you again, is it not?' or something of the kind. Examinations were not so easy: we had to show that we were not only soloists, but also sight readers of difficult music.

A DIFFICULTY OVERCOME

"The greatest technical difficulty I had when I was studying?" Jascha Heifetz tried to recollect, which was natural, seeing that it must have been one long since overcome. Then he remembered, and smiled: "Staccato playing. To get a good staccato, when I first tried seemed very hard to me. When I was younger, really, at one time I had a very poor staccato!" [I assured the young artist that any one who heard him play here would find it hard to believe this.] "Yes, I did," he insisted, "but one morning, I do not know just how it was—I was playing the cadenza in the first movement of Wieniawski's F♯ minor concerto,—it is full of staccatos and double stops—the right way of playing staccato came to me quite suddenly, especially after Professor Auer had shown me his method.

VIOLIN MASTERY

"Violin Mastery? To me it means the ability to make the violin a perfectly controlled instrument guided by the skill and intelligence of the artist, to compel it to respond in movement to his every wish. The artist must always be superior to his instrument, it must be his servant, one that he can do with what he will.

TECHNICAL MASTERY AND TEMPERAMENT

"It appears to me that mastery of the technic of the violin is not so much of a mechanical accomplishment as it is of mental nature. It may be that scientists can tell us how through persistency the brain succeeds in making the fingers and the arms produce results through the infinite variety of inexplicable vibrations. The sweetness of tone, its melodiousness, its legatos, octaves, trills and harmonics all bear the mark of the individual who uses his strings like his vocal chords. When an artist is working over his harmonics, he must not be impatient and force purity, pitch, or the right intonation. He must coax the tone, try it again and again, seek for improvements in his fingering as well as in his bowing at the same time, and sometimes he may be surprised how, quite suddenly, at the time when he least expects it, the result has come. More than one road leads to Rome! The fact is that when you get it, you have it, that's all! I am perfectly willing to disclose to the musical profession all the secrets of the mastery of violin technic; but are there any secrets in the sense that some of the uninitiated take them? If an artist happens to excel in some particular, he is at once suspected of knowing some secret means of so doing. However, that may not be the case. He does it just because it is in him, and as a rule he accomplishes this through his mental faculties more than through his mechanical abilities. I do not intend to minimize the value of great teachers who prove to be important factors in the life of a musician; but think of the vast army of pupils that a master teacher brings forth, and listen to the infinite variety of their spiccatos, octaves, legatos, and trills! For the successful mastery of violin technic let each artist study carefully his own individuality, let him concentrate his mental energy on the quality of pitch he intends to produce, and sooner or later he will find his way of expressing himself. Music is not only in the fingers or in the elbow. It is in that mysterious EGO of the man, it is his soul; and his body is like his violin, nothing but a tool. Of course, the great master must have the tools that suit him best, and it is the happy combination that makes for success.

"By the vibrations and modulations of the notes one may recognize the violinist as easily as we recognize the singer by his voice. Who can explain how the artist harmonizes the trilling of his fingers with the emotions of his soul?

"An artist will never become great through mere imitation, and never will he be able to attain the best results only by methods adopted by others. He must have his own initiative, although he will surely profit by the experience of others. Of course there are standard ways of approaching the study of violin technic; but these are too well known to dwell upon them: as to the niceties of the art, they must come from within. You can make a musician but not an artist!

REPERTORY AND PROGRAMS

"Which of the master works do I like best? Well, that is rather hard to answer. Each master work has its own beauties. Naturally one likes best what one understands best, I prefer to play the classics like Brahms, Beethoven, Mozart, Bach, Mendelssohn, etc. However, I played Bruch's G minor in 1913 at the Leipzig Gewandhouse with Nikisch, where I was told that Joachim was the only other violinist as young as myself to appear there as soloist with orchestra; there is the Tschaikovsky concerto which I played in Berlin in 1912, with the Berlin Philharmonic Orchestra with Nikisch. Alsa Bruch's D minor and many more. I played the Mendelssohn concerto in 1914, in Vienna, with Safonoff as conductor. Last season in Chicago I played the Brahms concerto with a fine and very elaborate cadenza by Professor Auer. I think the Brahms concerto for violin is like Chopin's music for piano, in a way, because it stands technically and musically for something quite different and distinct from other violin music, just as Chopin does from other piano music. The Brahms concerto is not technically as hard as, say, Paganini—but in interpretation!... And in the Beethoven concerto, too, there is a simplicity, a kind of clear beauty which makes it far harder to play than many other things technically more advanced. The slightest flaw, the least difference in pitch, in intonation, and its beauty suffers.

"Yes, there are other Russian concertos besides the Tschaikovsky. There is the Glazounov concerto and others. I understand that Zimbalist was the first to introduce it in this country, and I expect to play it here next season.

"Of course one cannot always play concertos, and one cannot always play Bach and Beethoven. And that makes it hard to select programs. The artist can always enjoy the great music of his instrument; but an audience wants variety. At the same time an artist cannot play only just what the majority of the audience wants. I have been asked to play Schubert's Ave Maria, or Beethoven's Chorus of Dervishes at every one of my concerts, but I simply cannot play them all the time. I am afraid if program making were left altogether to audiences the programs would become far too popular in character; though audiences are just as different as individuals. I try hard to balance my programs, so that every one can find something to understand and enjoy. I expect to prepare some American compositions for next season. Oh, no, not as a matter of courtesy, but because they are really fine, especially some smaller pieces by Spalding, Cecil Burleigh and Grasse!"

On concluding our interview Mr. Heifetz made a remark which is worth repeating, and which many a music lover who is plus royaliste que le roi might do well to remember: "After all," he said, "much as I love music, I cannot help feeling that music is not the only thing in life. I really cannot imagine anything more terrible than always to hear, think and make music! There is so much else to know and appreciate; and I feel that the more I learn and know of other things the better artist I will be!"

DAVID HOCHSTEIN

THE VIOLIN AS A MEANS OF EXPRESSION
AND EXPRESSIVE PLAYING

The writer talked with Lieutenant David Hochstein, whose death in the battle of the Argonne Forest was only reported toward the end of January, while the distinguished young violinist, then only a sergeant, was on the eve of departure to France with his regiment and, as he modestly said, his "thoughts on music were rather scattered." Yet he spoke with keen insight and authority on various phases of his art, and much of what he said gains point from his own splendid work as a concert violinist; for Lieutenant Hochstein (whose standing has been established in numerous European as well as American recitals) could play what he preached.

SEVČIK AND AUER: A CONTRAST IN TEACHING

Knowing that in the regimental band he was, quite appropriately, a clarinetist, "the clarinet in the military band being the equivalent of the violin in the orchestra"—and a scholarship pupil of the Vienna Meisterschule, it seemed natural to ask him concerning his teachers. And the interesting fact developed that he had studied with the celebrated Bohemian pedagog Sevčik and with Leopold Auer as well, two teachers whose ideas and methods differ materially. "I studied with Sevčik for two years," said the young violinist. "It was in 1909, when a class of ten pupils was formed for him in the Meisterschule, at Vienna, that I went to him. Sevčik was in many ways a wonderful teacher, yet inclined to overemphasize the mechanical side of the art. He literally taught his pupils how to practice, how to develop technical control by the most slow and painstaking study. In addition to his own fine method and exercises, he also used Gavinies, Dont, Rode, Kreutzer, applying in their studies ideas of his own.

"Auer as a teacher I found altogether different. Where Sevčik taught his pupils the technic of their art by means of a system elaborately worked out, Auer demonstrated his ideas through sheer personality, mainly from the interpretative point of view. Any ambitious student could learn much of value from either; yet in a general way one might express the difference between them by saying that Sevčik could take a pupil of medium talent and—at least from the mechanical standpoint—make an excellent violinist of him. But Auer is an ideal teacher for the greatly gifted. And he is especially skilled in taking some student of the violin while his mind is still plastic and susceptible and molding it—supplying it with lofty concepts of interpretation and expression. Of course Auer (I studied with him in Petrograd and Dresden) has been especially fortunate as regards his pupils, too, because active in a land like Russia, where musical genius has almost become a commonplace.

"Sevčik, though an admirable teacher, personally is of a reserved and reflective type, quite different from Auer, who is open and expansive. I might recall a little instance which shows Sevčik's cautious nature, the care he takes not to commit himself too unreservedly. When I took leave of him—it was after I had graduated and won my prize—I naturally (like all his pupils) asked him for his photo. Several other pupils of his were in the room at the time. He took up his pen (I was looking over his shoulder), commenced to write Meinem best.... And then he stopped, glanced at the other pupils in the room, and wrote over the best ... he had already written, the word liebsten. But though I would, of course, have preferred the first inscription, had Sevčik completed it, I can still console myself that the other, even though I value it, was an afterthought. But it was a characteristic thing for him to do!

THE VIOLIN AS A MEANS OF EXPRESSION

"What is my idea of the violin as a medium of expression? It seems to me that it is that of any other valid artistic medium. It is not so much a question of the violin as of the violinist. A great interpreter reveals his inner-most soul through his instrument, whatever it may be. Most people think the violin is more expressive than any other instrument, but this is open to question. It may be that most people respond more readily to the appeal made by the violin. But genuine expression, expressive playing, depends on the message the player has to deliver far more than on the instrument he uses as a means. I have been as much moved by some piano playing I have heard as by the violin playing of some of the greatest violinists.

"And variety, nuance in expressive playing, is largely a matter of the player's mental attitude. Bach's Chaconne or Sicilienne calls for a certain humility on the part of the artist. When I play Bach I do it reverentially; a definite spiritual quality in my tone and expression is the result. And to select a composer who in many ways is Bach's exact opposite, Wieniawski, a certain audacious brilliancy cannot help but make itself felt tonally, if this music is to be played in character. The mental and spiritual attitude directly influences its own mechanical transmission. No one artist should criticize another for differences in interpretation, in expression, so long as they are justified by larger concepts of art. Individuality is one of the artist's most precious possessions, and there are always a number of different angles from which the interpretation of an art work may be approached.

VIOLIN MASTERY

"Violin mastery? There have been only three violinists within my own recollection, whom I would call masters of the violin. These are Kubelik (when at his best), Franz von Vecsey, Hubay's pupil, whom I heard abroad, and Heifetz, with his cameo-like perfection of technic. These I would call masters of the violin, as an instrument, since they have mastered every intricacy of the instrument. But I could name several others who are greater musicians, and whose playing and interpretation, to say nothing of tone, I prefer.

TONE PRODUCTION: RHYTHM

"In one sense true violin mastery is a question of tone production and rhythm. And I believe that tone production depends principally upon the imaginative ear of the player. This statement may seem somewhat ambiguous, and one might ask, 'What is an imaginative ear?' My ear, for instance, demands of my violin a certain quality of tone, which varies according to the music I am playing. But before I think of playing the music, I already know from reading it what I want it to sound like: that is to say, the quality of the tone I wish to secure in each principal phrase. Rhythm is perhaps the greatest factor in interpretation. Every good musician has a 'good sense of rhythm' (that much abused phrase). But it is only the great musician who makes so striking and individual an application of rhythm that his playing may be easily distinguished by his use of it.

"There is not much to tell you as regards my method of work. I usually work directly upon a program which has been previously mapped out. If I have been away from my violin for more than a week or two I begin by practicing scales, but ordinarily I find my technical work in the programs I am preparing."

Asked about his band experiences at Camp Upton, Sergeant Hochstein was enthusiastic. "No violinist could help but gain much from work with a military band at one of the camps," he said. "For instance, I had a more or less theoretical knowledge of wind instruments before I went to Camp Upton. Now I have a practical working knowledge of them. I have already scored a little violin composition of mine, a 'Minuet in Olden Style' for full band, and have found it possible by the right manipulation to preserve its original dainty and graceful character, in spite of the fact that it is played by more than forty military bandsmen.

"Then, too," he said in conclusion, "I have organized a real orchestra of twenty-one players, strings, brass, wood-wind, etc., which I hope is going to be of real use on the other side during our training period in France. You see, 'over there' the soldier boys' chances for leave are limited and we will have to depend a good deal on our own selves for amusement and recreation. I hope and believe my orchestra is not only going to take its place as one of the most enjoyable features of our army life; but also that it will make propaganda of the right sort for the best music in a broad, catholic sense of the word!"

It is interesting to know that this patriotic young officer found opportunities in camp and in the towns of France of carrying out his wish to "make propaganda of the right sort for the best music" before he gave his life to further the greater purpose which had called him overseas.

FRITZ KREISLER

PERSONALITY IN ART

The influence of the artist's personality in his art finds a most striking exemplification in the case of Fritz Kreisler. Some time before the writer called on the famous violinist to get at first hand some of his opinions with regard to his art, he had already met him under particularly interesting circumstances. The question had come up of writing text-poems for two song-adaptations of Viennese folk-themes, airs not unattractive in themselves; but which Kreisler's personal touch, his individual gift of harmonization had lifted from a lower plane to the level of the art song. Together with the mss. of his own beautiful transcript, Mr. Kreisler in the one instance had given me the printed original which suggested it—frankly a "popular" song, clumsily harmonized in a "four-square" manner (though written in 3/4 time) with nothing to indicate its latent possibilities. I compared it with his mss. and, lo, it had been transformed! Gone was the clumsiness, the vulgar and obvious harmonic treatment of the melody—Kreisler had kept the melodic outline, but etherealized, spiritualized it, given it new rhythmic contours, a deeper and more expressive meaning. And his rich and subtle harmonization had lent it a quality of distinction that justified a comparison between the grub and the butterfly. In a small way it was an illuminating glimpse of how the personality of a true artist can metamorphose what at first glance might seem something quite negligible, and create beauty where its possibilities alone had existed before.

It is this personal, this individual, note in all that Fritz Kreisler does—when he plays, when he composes, when he transcribes—that gives his art-effort so great and unique a quality of appeal.

Talking to him in his comfortable sitting-room in the Hotel Wellington—Homer and Juvenal (in the original) ranked on the piano-top beside De Vere Stackpole novels and other contemporary literature called to mind that though Brahms and Beethoven violin concertos are among his favorites, he does not disdain to play a Granados Spanish Dance—it seemed natural to ask him how he came to make those adaptations and transcripts which have been so notable a feature of his programs, and which have given such pleasure to thousands.

HOW KREISLER CAME TO COMPOSE AND ARRANGE

He said: "I began to compose and arrange as a young man. I wanted to create a repertory for myself, to be able to express through my medium, the violin, a great deal of beautiful music that had first to be adapted for the instrument. What I composed and arranged was for my own use, reflected my own musical tastes and preferences. In fact, it was not till years after that I even thought of publishing the pieces I had composed and arranged. For I was very diffident as to the outcome of such a step. I have never written anything with the commercial idea of making it 'playable.' And I have always felt that anything done in a cold-blooded way for purely mercenary considerations somehow cannot be good. It cannot represent an artist's best."

AT THE VIENNA CONSERVATORY

In reply to another query Mr. Kreisler reverted to the days when as a boy he studied at the Vienna Conservatory. "I was only seven when I attended the Conservatory and was much more interested in playing in the park, where my boy friends would be waiting for me, than in taking lessons on the violin. And yet some of the most lasting musical impressions of my life were gathered there. Not so much as regards study itself, as with respect to the good music I heard. Some very great men played at the Conservatory when I was a pupil. There were Joachim, Sarasate in his prime, Hellmesberger, and Rubinstein, whom I heard play the first time he came to Vienna. I really believe that hearing Joachim and Rubinstein play was a greater event in my life and did more for me than five years of study!"

"Of course you do not regard technic as the main essential of the concert violinist's equipment?" I asked him. "Decidedly not. Sincerity and personality are the first main essentials. Technical equipment is something which should be taken for granted. The virtuoso of the type of Ole Bull, let us say, has disappeared. The 'stunt' player of a former day with a repertory of three or four bravura pieces was not far above the average music-hall 'artist.' The modern virtuoso, the true concert artist, is not worthy of the title unless his art is the outcome of a completely unified nature.

VIOLIN MASTERY

"I do not believe that any artist is truly a master of his instrument unless his control of it is an integral part of a whole. The musician is born—his medium of expression is often a matter of accident. I believe one may be intended for an artist prenatally; but whether violinist, 'cellist or pianist is partly a matter of circumstance. Violin mastery, to my mind, still falls short of perfection, in spite of the completest technical and musical equipment, if the artist thinks only of the instrument he plays. After all, it is just a single medium of expression. The true musician is an artist with a special instrument. And every real artist has the feeling for other forms and mediums of expression if he is truly a master of his own.

TECHNIC VERSUS IMAGINATION

"I think the technical element in the artist's education is often unduly stressed. Remember," added Mr. Kreisler, with a smile, "I am not a teacher, and this is a purely personal opinion I am giving you. But it seems to me that absolute sincerity of effort, actual impossibility not to react to a genuine musical impulse are of great importance. I firmly believe that if one is destined to become an artist the technical means find themselves. The necessity of expression will follow the line of least resistance. Too great a manual equipment often leads to an exaggeration of the technical and tempts the artist to stress it unduly.

"I have worked a great deal in my life, but have always found that too large an amount of purely technico-musical work fatigued me and reacted unfavorably on my imagination. As a rule I only practice enough to keep my fingers in trim; the nervous strain is such that doing more is out of the question. And for a concert-violinist when on tour, playing every day, the technical question is not absorbing. Far more important is it for him to keep himself mentally and physically fresh and in the right mood for his work. For myself I have to enjoy whatever I play or I cannot play it. And it has often done me more good to dip my finger-tips in hot water for a few seconds before stepping out on the platform than to spend a couple of hours practicing. But I should not wish the student to draw any deductions from what I say on this head. It is purely personal and has no general application.

"Technical exercises I use very moderately. I wish my imagination to be responsive, my interest fresh, and as a rule I have found that too much work along routine channels does not accord with the best development of my Art. I feel that technic should be in the player's head, it should be a mental picture, a sort of 'master record.' It should be a matter of will power to which the manual possibilities should be subjected. Technic to me is a mental and not a manual thing.

MENTAL TECHNIC: ITS DRAWBACK AND ITS ADVANTAGE

"The technic thus achieved, a technic whose controlling power is chiefly mental, is not perfect—I say so frankly—because it is more or less dependent on the state of the artist's nervous system. Yet it is the one and only kind of technic that can adequately and completely express the musician's every instinct, wish and emotion. Every other form of technic is stiff, unpliable, since it cannot entirely subordinate itself to the individuality of the artist."

PRACTICE HOURS FOR THE ADVANCED STUDENT

Mr. Kreisler gives no lessons and hence referred this question in the most amiable manner to his boyhood friend and fellow-student Felix Winternitz, the well-known Boston violin teacher, one of the faculty of the New England Conservatory of Music, who had come in while we were talking. Mr. Winternitz did not refuse an answer: "The serious student, in my opinion, should not practice less than four hours a day, nor need he practice more than five. Other teachers may demand more. Sevčik, I know, insists that his pupils practice eight and ten hours a day. To do so one must have the constitution of an ox, and the results are often not equal to those produced by four hours of concentrated work. As Mr. Kreisler intimated with regard to technic, practice calls for brain power. Concentration in itself is not enough. There is only one way to work and if the pupil can find it he can cover the labor of weeks in an hour."

And turning to me, Mr. Winternitz added: "You must not take Mr. Kreisler too seriously when he lays no stress on his own practicing. During the concert season he has his violin in hand for an hour or so nearly every day. He does not call it practicing, and you and I would consider it playing and great playing at that. But it is a genuine illustration of what I meant when I said that one who knew how could cover the work of weeks in an hour's time."

AN EXPLANATION BY MR. WINTERNITZ

FRANZ KNEISEL

THE PERFECT STRING ENSEMBLE

Is there a lover of chamber music unfamiliar with Franz Kneisel's name? It may be doubted. After earlier European triumphs the gifted Roumanian violinist came to this country (1885), and aside from his activities in other directions—as a solo artist he was the first to play the Brahms and Goldmark violin concertos, and the César Franck sonata in this country—organized his famous quartet. And, until his recent retirement as its director and first violin, it has been perhaps the greatest single influence toward stimulating appreciation for the best in chamber music that the country has known. Before the Flonzaley was, the Kneisels were. They made plain how much of beauty the chamber music repertory offered the amateur string player; not only in the classic repertory—Haydn, Mozart, Beethoven, Spohr; in Schubert, Schumann, Brahms; but in Smetana, Dvořák and Tschaikovsky; in César Franck, Debussy and Ravel. Not the least among Kneisel's achievements is, that while the professional musicians in the cities in which his organization played attended its concerts as a matter of course, the average music lover who played a string instrument came to them as well, and carried away with him a message delivered with all the authority of superb musicianship and sincerity, one which bade him "go and do likewise," in so far as his limitations permitted. And the many excellent professional chamber music organizations, trios, quartets and ensembles of various kinds which have come to the fore since they began to play offer eloquent testimony with regard to the cultural work of Kneisel and his fellow artists.

A cheery grate fire burned in the comfortable study in Franz Kneisel's home; the autographed—in what affectionate and appreciative terms—pictures of great fellow artists looked down above the book-cases which hold the scores of those masters of what has been called "the noblest medium of music in existence," whose beauties the famous quartet has so often disclosed on the concert stage. And Mr. Kneisel was amiability personified when I asked him to give me his theory of the perfect string ensemble, and the part virtuosity played in it.

"THE ARTIST RANKS THE VIRTUOSO IN CHAMBER MUSIC"

"The artist, the Tonkünstler, to use a foreign phrase, ranks the virtuoso in chamber music. Joachim was no virtuoso, he did not stress technic, the less important factor in ensemble playing. Sarasate was a virtuoso in the best sense of the word; and yet as an ensemble music player he fell far short of Joachim. As I see it 'virtuoso' is a kind of flattering title, no more. But a Tonkünstler, a 'tone-artist,' though he must have the virtuoso technic in order to play Brahms and Beethoven concertos, needs besides a spiritual insight, a deep concept of their nobility to do them justice—the mere technic demanded for a virtuoso show piece is not enough.

VIOLIN MASTERY IN THE STRING QUARTET

"You ask me what 'Violin Mastery' means in the string quartet. It has an altogether different meaning to me, I imagine, than to the violin virtuoso. Violin mastery in the string ensemble is as much mastery of self as of technical means. The artist must sink his identity completely in that of the work he plays, and though the last Beethoven quartets are as difficult as many violin concertos, they are polyphony, the combination and interweaving of individual melodies, and they call for a mastery of repression as well as expression. I realized how keenly alive the musical listener is to this fact once when our quartet had played in Alma-Tadema's beautiful London home, for the great English painter was also a music-lover and a very discriminating one. He had a fine piano in a beautifully decorated case, and it was an open secret that at his musical evenings, after an artist had played, the lid of the piano was raised, and Sir Lawrence asked him to pencil his autograph on the soft white wood of its inner surface—but only if he thought the compliment deserved. There were some famous names written there—Joachim, Sarasate, Paderewski, Neruda, Piatti, to mention a few. Naturally an artist playing at Alma-Tadema's home for the first time could not help speculating as to his chances. Many were called, but comparatively few were chosen. We were guests at a dinner given by Sir Lawrence. There were some fifty people prominent in London's artistic, musical and social world present, and we had no idea of being asked to play. Our instruments were at our hotel and we had to send for them. We played the Schubert quartet in A minor and Dvořák's 'American' quartet and, of course, my colleagues and myself forgot all about the piano lid the moment we began to play. Yet, I'm free to confess, that when the piano lid was raised for us we appreciated it, for it was no empty compliment coming from Sir Lawrence, and I have been told that some very distinguished artists have not had it extended to them. And I know that on that evening the phrase 'Violin Mastery' in an ensemble sense, as the outcome of ceaseless striving for coördination in expression, absolute balance, and all the details that go to make up the perfect ensemble, seemed to us to have a very definite color and meaning.

THE FIRST VIOLIN IN THE STRING QUARTET

"What exactly does the first violin represent?" Mr. Kneisel went on in answer to another question. "The first violin might be called the chairman of the string meeting. His is the leading voice. Not that he should be an autocrat, no, but he must hold the reins of discipline. Many think that the four string players in a quartet have equal rights. First of all, and above all, are the rights of the composer, Bach, Beethoven, Brahms, Schubert,—as the case may be. But from the standpoint of interpretation the first violin has some seventy per cent. of the responsibility as compared with thirty per cent. for the remaining voices. In all the famous quartet organizations, Joachim, Hellmesberger, etc., the first violin has been the directing instrument and has set the pace. As chairman it has been his duty to say when second violin, viola and 'cello were entitled to hold the floor. Hellmesberger, in fact, considered himself the whole quartet." Mr. Kneisel smiled and showed me a little book of Hellmesberger's Vienna programs. Each program was headed:

HELLMESBERGER QUARTET

with the assistance of

MESSRS. MATH. DURST, CARL HEISSLER,
CARL SCHLESINGER

"In other words, Hellmesberger was the quartet himself, the other three artists merely 'assisted,' which, after all, is going too far!

"Of course, quartets differ. Just as we have operas in which the alto solo rôle is the most important, so we have quartets in which the 'cello or the viola has a more significant part. Mozart dedicated quartets to a King of Prussia, who played 'cello, and he was careful to make the 'cello part the most important. And in Smetana's quartet Aus meinem Leben, the viola plays a most important rôle. Even the second violin often plays themes introducing principal themes of the first violin, and it has its brief moments of prominence. Yet, though the second violin or the 'cellist may be, comparatively speaking, a better player than the first violin, the latter is and must be the leader. Practically every composer of chamber music recognizes the fact in his compositions. He, the first violin, should not command three slaves, though; but guide three associates, and do it tactfully with regard to their individuality and that of their instruments.

"ENSEMBLE" REHEARSING

"You ask what are the essentials of ensemble practice on the part of the artists? Real reverence, untiring zeal and punctuality at rehearsals. And then, an absolute sense of rhythm. I remember rehearsing a Volkmann quartet once with a new second violinist." [Mr. Kneisel crossed over to his bookcase and brought me the score to illustrate the rhythmic point in question, one slight in itself yet as difficult, perhaps, for a player without an absolute sense of rhythm as "perfect intonation" would be for some others.] "He had a lovely tone, a big technic and was a prize pupil of the Vienna Conservatory. We went over this two measure phrase some sixteen times, until I felt sure he had grasped the proper accentuation. And he was most amiable and willing about it, too. But when we broke up he pointed to the passage and said to me with a smile: 'After all, whether you play it this way, or that way, what's the difference?' Then I realized that he had stressed his notes correctly a few times by chance, and that his own sense of rhythm did not tell him that there were no two ways about it. The rhythmic and tonal nuances in a quartet cannot be marked too perfectly in order to secure a beautiful and finished performance. And such a violinist as the one mentioned, in spite of his tone and technic, was never meant for an ensemble player.

"I have never believed in a quartet getting together and 'reading' a new work as a preparation for study. As first violin I have always made it my business to first study the work in score, myself, to study it until I knew the whole composition absolutely, until I had a mental picture of its meaning, and of the interrelation of its four voices in detail. Thirty-two years of experience have justified my theory. Once the first violin knows the work the practicing may begin; for he is in a position gradually and tactfully to guide the working-out of the interpretation without losing time in the struggle to correct faults in balance which are developed in an unprepared 'reading' of the work. There is always one important melody, and it is easier to find it studying the score, to trace it with eye and mind in its contrapuntal web, than by making voyages of discovery in actual playing.

"Every player has his own qualities, every instrument its own advantages. Certain passages in a second violin or viola part may be technically better suited to the hand of the player, to the nature of the instrument, and—they will sound better than others. Yet from the standpoint of the composition the passages that 'lie well' are often not the more important. This is hard for the player—what is easy for him he unconsciously is inclined to stress, and he must be on his guard against it. This is another strong argument in favor of a thorough preliminary study on the part of the leading violin of the construction of the work."

THE FIRST VIOLIN IN CHAMBER MUSIC VERSUS
THE ORCHESTRA CONDUCTOR

The comparison which I asked Mr. Kneisel to make is one which he could establish with authority. Aside from his experience as director of his quartet, he has been the concert-meister of such famous foreign orchestras as Bilse's and that of the Hofburg Theater in Vienna and, for eighteen years, of the Boston Symphony Orchestra in this country. He has also conducted over one hundred concerts of the Boston Symphony, and was director of the Worcester Music Festivals.

"Nikisch once said to me, after he had heard us play the Schumann A minor quartet in Boston: 'Kneisel, it was beautiful, and I felt that you had more difficulty in developing it than I have with an orchestral score!' And I think he was right. First of all the symphonic conductor is an autocrat. There is no appeal from the commands of his baton. But the first violin of a quartet is, in a sense, only the 'first among peers.' The velvet glove is an absolute necessity in his case. He must gain his art ends by diplomacy and tact, he must always remember that his fellow artists are solo players. If he is arbitrary, no matter how right he may be, he disturbs that fine feeling of artistic fellowship, that delicate balance of individual temperaments harmonized for and by a single purpose. In this connection I do not mind confessing that though I enjoy a good game of cards, I made it a rule never to play cards with my colleagues during the hours of railroad traveling involved in keeping our concert engagements. I played chess. In chess the element of luck does not enter. Each player is responsible for what he does or leaves undone. And defeat leaves no such sting as it does when all may be blamed on chance. In an ensemble that strives for perfection there must be no undercurrents of regret, of dissatisfaction—nothing that interferes with the sympathy and good will which makes each individual artist do his best. And so I have never regretted giving cards the go-by!"

HINTS TO THE SERIOUS VIOLIN STUDENT

Of late years Mr. Kneisel's activity as a teacher has added to his reputation. Few teachers can point to a galaxy of artist pupils which includes such names as Samuel Gardner, Sascha Jacobsen, Breskin, Helen Jeffry and Olive Meade (who perpetuates the ideals of his great string ensemble in her own quartet). "What is the secret of your method?" I asked him first of all. "Method is hardly the word," he told me. "It sounds too cut-and-dried. I teach according to principles, which must, of course, vary in individual cases; yet whose foundation is fixed. And like Joachim, or Leschetiszky, I have preparatory teachers.

THE GENERAL FAULT

"My experience has shown me that the fundamental fault of most pupils is that they do not know how to hold either the bow or the violin. Here in America the violin student as a rule begins serious technical study too late, contrary to the European practice. It is a great handicap to begin really serious work at seventeen or eighteen, when the flexible bones of childhood have hardened, and have not the pliability needed for violin gymnastics. It is a case of not bending the twig as you want the tree to grow in time. And those who study professionally are often more interested in making money as soon as possible than in bending all their energies on reaching the higher levels of their art. Many a promising talent never develops because its possessor at seventeen or eighteen is eager to earn money as an orchestra or 'job' player, instead of sacrificing a few years more and becoming a true artist. I've seen it happen time and again: a young fellow really endowed who thinks he can play for a living and find time to study and practice 'after hours.' And he never does!

"But to return to the general fault of the violin student. There is a certain angle at which the bow should cross the strings in order to produce those vibrations which give the roundest, fullest, most perfect tone [he took his own beautiful instrument out of its case to illustrate the point], and the violin must be so held that the bow moves straight across the strings in this manner. A deviation from the correct attack produces a scratchy tone. And it is just in the one fundamental thing: the holding of the violin in exactly the same position when it is taken up by the player, never varying by so much as half-an-inch, and the correct attack by the bow, in which the majority of pupils are deficient. If the violin is not held at the proper angle, for instance, it is just as though a piano were to stand on a sloping floor. Too many students play 'with the violin' on the bow, instead of holding the violin steady, and letting the bow play.

"And in beginning to study, this apparently simple, yet fundamentally important, principle is often overlooked or neglected. Joachim, when he studied as a ten-year-old boy under Hellmesberger in Vienna, once played a part in a concerto by Maurer, for four violins and piano. His teacher was displeased: 'You'll never be a fiddler!' he told him, 'you use your bow too stiffly!' But the boy's father took him to Böhm, and he remained with this teacher for three years, until his fundamental fault was completely overcome. And if Joachim had not given his concentrated attention to his bowing while there was still time, he would never have been the great artist he later became.

THE ART OF THE BOW

"You see," he continued, "the secret of really beautiful violin playing lies in the bow. A Blondin crossing Niagara finds his wire hard and firm where he first steps on it. But as he progresses it vibrates with increasing intensity. And as the tight-rope walker knows how to control the vibrations of his wire, so the violinist must master the vibrations of his strings. Each section of the string vibrates with a different quality of tone. Most pupils think that a big tone is developed by pressure with the bow—yet much depends on what part of the string this pressure is applied. Fingering is an art, of course, but the great art is the art of the bow, the 'art of bowing,' as Tartini calls it. When a pupil understands it he has gone far.

"Every pupil may be developed to a certain degree without ever suspecting how important a factor the manipulation of the bow will be in his further progress. He thinks that if the fingers of his left hand are agile he has gained the main end in view. But then he comes to a stop—his left hand can no longer aid him, and he finds that if he wants to play with real beauty of expression the bow supplies the only true key. Out of a hundred who reach this stage," Mr. Kneisel went on, rather sadly, "only some five or six, or even less, become great artists. They are those who are able to control the bow as well as the left hand. All real art begins with phrasing, and this, too, lies altogether in the mastery of bow—the very soul of the violin!"

I asked Mr. Kneisel how he came to write his own "Advanced Exercises" for the instrument. "I had an idea that a set of studies, in which each single study presented a variety of technical figures might be a relief from the exercises in so many excellent methods, where pages of scales are followed by pages of arpeggios, pages of double-notes and so forth. It is very monotonous to practice pages and pages of a single technical figure," he added. "Most pupils simply will not do it!" He brought out a copy of his "Exercises" and showed me their plan. "Here, for instance, I have scales, trills, arpeggios—all in the same study, and the study is conceived as a musical composition instead of a technical formula. This is a study in finger position, with all possible bowings. My aim has been to concentrate the technical material of a whole violin school in a set of études with musical interest."

And he showed me the second book of the studies, in ms., containing exercises in every variety of scale, and trill, bowing, nuance, etc., combined in a single musical movement. This volume also contains his own cadenza to the Beethoven violin concerto. In conclusion Mr. Kneisel laid stress on the importance of the student's hearing the best music at concert and recital as often as possible, and on the value and incentive supplied by a musical atmosphere in the home and, on leaving him, I could not help but feel that what he had said in our interview, his reflections and observations based on an artistry beyond cavil, and an authoritative experience, would be well worth pondering by every serious student of the instrument. For Franz Kneisel speaks of what he knows.

ADOLFO BETTI

THE TECHNIC OF THE MODERN QUARTET