1.How may the mechanics of playing be distinguished from the larger subject of technic?2.With what has technic to do?3.What channel in the study of pianoforte must the pupil develop most thoroughly?4.Name three epochs into which the subject of touch may be divided.5.How does weight playing differ from the high angular playing of the Czerny epoch?6.How should the fingers rest in legato playing?7.What may be said of the sensitiveness of the finger tips?8.By what device may pianism descend to a lower level?9.What qualities must the student preserve above all things?10.Will genius or talent take the place of study and work?
katharine goodsonkatharine goodson
Miss Katharine Goodson was born at Watford, Herts, England. She commenced the study of music at so very youthful an age that she made several appearances in the English Provinces before she was twelve years of age. Her talent aroused such interest that she was sent to the Royal Academy of Music in London. There she was placed under the artistic guidance of one of the foremost English teachers of pianoforte, Oscar Beringer, with whom she remained for six years. This was followed by four years under Leschetizky in Vienna.
Leschetizky saw splendid opportunities in such talented and regularly trained material and is said to have given particularly careful attention to Miss Goodson. It is not surprising that upon her return to London Miss Goodson made a profound impression upon the musical public and laid the foundation for a splendid reputation. She toured in England, Germany, Austria and America with great success. In the Grove Dictionary, her playing is described in the following manner: "It is marked by an amount of verve and animation that are most rare with the younger English pianists. She has a great command of tone gradation, admirable technical finish, genuine musical taste and considerable individuality of style." In 1903 Miss Goodson married Mr. Arthur Hinton, one of the most brilliant of modern English composers.
"Judging from the mischievous investigations of things in general, which seem so natural for the small boy to make, it would appear that our tendency to analyze things is innate. We also have innumerable opportunities to observe how children, to say nothing of primitive people, struggle to construct—to put this and that together for the purpose of making something new—in other words, to employ the opposite process to analysis, known as synthesis. Moreover, it does not demand much philosophy to perceive that all scientific and artistic progress is based upon these very processes of analysis and synthesis. We pull things apart to find out how they are made and what they are made of. We put them together again to indicate the mastery of our knowledge.
"The measure of musicianship is the ability to do. All the analyzing in the world will not benefit the pupil unless he can give some visible indications of his proficiency. Indeed, important as the process is, it is possible to carry it to extremes and neglect the building process which leads to real accomplishment.
"A great many of the pupils who have come to me indicate a lamentable neglect in an understanding of the very first things which should have been analyzed by the preparatory teachers. It is an expensive process to study with a public artist unless the preparation has been thoroughly made. Reputation naturally places a higher monetary value upon the services of the virtuoso, and for the student to expect instruction in elementary points in analysis is obviously an extravagance. The virtuoso's time during the lesson period should be spent in the finer study of interpretation—not in those subjects which the elementary teacher should have completed. Often the teacher of an advanced pupil is deceived at the start and assumes that the pupil has a knowledge, which future investigations reveal that he does not possess.
"For instance, the pupil should be able to determine the general structure of a piece he is undertaking and should be so familiar with the structure that it becomes a form of second nature to him. If the piece is a sonata he should be able to identify the main theme and the secondary theme whenever they appear or whenever any part of them appears. Inability to do this indicates the most superficial kind of study.
"The student should know enough of the subject of form in general to recognize the periods into which the piece is divided. Without this knowledge howcould he possibly expect to study with understanding? Even though he has passed the stage when it is necessary for him to mark off the periods, he should not study a new piece without observing the outlines—the architectural plans the composer laid down in constructing the piece. It is one thing for a Sir Christopher Wren to make the plans of a great cathedral like St. Paul's and quite another thing for him to get master builders to carry out those plans. By studying the composer's architectural plan carefully the student will find that he is saving an immense amount of time. For example, let us consider the ChopinF Minor Fantasie. In this composition the main theme comes three times, each time in a different key. Once learned in one key, it should be very familiar in the next key.
"The student should also know something of the history of the dance, and he should be familiar with the characteristics of the different national dances. Each national dance form has something more than a rhythm—it has an atmosphere. The word atmosphere may be a little loose in its application here, but there seems to be no other word to describe what I mean. The flavor of the Spanish bolero is very different from the Hungarian czardas, and who could confound the intoxicating swirl of the Italian tarantella with the stately air of cluny lace and silver rapiers which seems to surround the minuet? The minuet, by the way, is frequently played too fast. The minuet from Beethoven's Eighth Symphony is anotable example. Many conductors have made the error of rushing through it. Dr. Hans Richter conducts it with the proper tempo. This subject in itself takes a tremendous amount of consideration and the student should never postpone this first step in the analysis of the works he is to perform.
"Despite the popular impression that music is imitative in the sense of being able to reproduce different pictures and different emotions, it is really very far from it. The subject of program music and illustrative music is one of the widest in the art, and at the same time one of the least definite. Except in cases like the BeethovenPastoral Symphony, where the composer has made obvious attempts to suggest rural scenes, composers do not as a rule try to make either aquarelles or cycloramas with their music. They write music for what it is worth as music, not as scenery. Very often the public or some wily publisher applies the title, as in the case of theMoonlight Sonataor some of the MendelssohnSongs Without Words. Of course there are some notable exceptions, and many teachers may be right in trying to stimulate the sluggish imaginations of some pupils with fanciful stories. However, when there is a certain design in a piece which lends itself to the suggestion of a certain idea, as does, for instance, the Liszt-WagnerSpinning Songfrom theFlying Dutchman, it is interesting to work with a specific picture in view—but never forgetting the real beauty of the piece purely as a beautiful piece of music.
"Some pieces with special titles are notoriously misnamed and carry no possible means of definitely intimating what the composer intended. Even some forms are misleading in their names. TheScherzosof Chopin are often very remote from the playful significance of the word—a significance which is beautifully preserved in theScherzosof Mendelssohn.
"A third point in analyzing a new piece might be analyzing the rhythm. It is one thing to understand or to comprehend a rhythm and another to preserve it in actual playing. Rhythm depends upon the arrangement of notes and accents in one or two measures which give a characteristic swing to the entire composition. Rhythm is an altar upon which many idols are smashed. Sometimes one is inclined to regard rhythm as a kind of sacred gift. Whatever it may be, it is certainly most difficult to acquire or better to absorb. A good rhythm indicates a finely balanced musician—one who knows how and one who has perfect self-control. All the book study in the world will not develop it. It is a knack which seems to come intuitively or 'all at once' when it does come. My meaning is clear to anyone who has struggled with the problem of playing two notes against three, for at times it seems impossible, but in the twinkling of an eye the conflicting rhythms apparently jumpinto place, and thereafter the pupil has little difficulty with them.
"Rhythmic swing is different from rhythm, but is allied to it as it is allied to tempo. To get the swing—the impelling force—the student must have played many pieces which have a tendency to develop this swing. The big waltzes of Moszkowski are fine for this. If one of Leschetizky's pupils had difficulty with rhythm he almost invariably advised them to go to hear the concerts of that king of rhythm and dance, Eduard Strauss. Dances are invaluable in developing this sense of rhythm—swift-moving dances like the bolero and the tarantella are especially helpful. Certain pieces demand a particularly strict observance of the rhythm, as does the Opus 42 of Chopin, in which the left hand must adhere very strictly to the Valse rhythm.
"The ability to see the phrases by which a composition is built, clearly and readily, simplifies the study of interpretation of a new piece wonderfully. This, of course, is difficult at first, but with the proper training the pupil should be able to see the phrases at a glance, just as a botanist in examining a new flower would divide it in his mind's eye into its different parts. He would never mistake the calyx for a petal, and he would be able to determine at once the peculiarities of each part. In addition to the melodic phrases the pupil should be able to see the metricaldivisions which underlie the form of the piece. He should be able to tell whether the composition is one of eight-measure sections or four-measure sections, or whether the sections are irregular.
"What a splendid thing it would be if little children at their first lessons were taught the desirability of observing melodic phrases. Teachers lay great stress upon hand formation, with the object of getting the pupil to keep the hand in a perfect condition—a condition that is the result of a carefully developed habit. Why not develop the habit of noting the phrases in the same way? Why not a little mind formation? It is a great deal nearer the real musical aim than the mere digital work. The most perfectly formed hand in the world would be worthless for the musician unless the mind that operates the hand has had a real musical training."
"Every piano student ought to have a knowledge of harmony. But this knowledge should be a practical one. What do I mean by a practical knowledge of harmony? Simply this—a knowledge of harmony which recognizes the ear as well as the eye. There are students of harmony who can work out some harmonic problem with the skill of an expert mathematician and yet they never for one single moment think of the music their notes might make. This is due to the great neglect of the study of ear-training in early musical education.
"To be able to recognize a chord when you see it on paper is not nearly such an acquisition as the ability to recognize the same chord when it is played. The student who can tell a diminished seventh, or an augmented sixth at a glance, but who could not identify the same chords when he saw them through his ears instead of his eyes is severely handicapped. But how many musicians can do this? Ear-training should be one of the first of all studies. It may be acquired more easily in childhood if the student is not naturally gifted with it, and it is the only basis of a thorough knowledge of harmony. The piano teacher cannot possibly find time to give sufficient instruction in the subject of harmony at the piano lesson. It demands a separate period, and in most cases it is necessary and advisable to have a separate teacher; that is, one who has made a specialty of harmony.
"The piano itself is of course a great help to the student in the study of harmony, providing the student listens all the time he is playing. Few adult piano students study string instruments, such as the violin or 'cello—instruments which cultivate the perception of hearing far more than can the piano. For this reason all children should have the advantage of a course in ear-training. This should not be training for pitch alone, but for quality of tone as well. It may be supplemented with exercises in musical dictation until the pupil is able to write down short phrases with ease after he has heard them once. A pupil who has had such a training would make idealmaterial for the advanced teacher, and because of the greatly developed powers of the pupil would be able to memorize quicker and make much better progress. In fact, ear-training and harmony lead to great economy of time. For instance, let us suppose that the pupil has a chord like the following in a sonata:
If the same chord appeared again in the piece it would probably be found in the key of the dominant, thus:
It seems very obvious that if the pupil could perceive the harmonic relationship between these two chords he would be spared the trouble of identifying an entirely different chord when he finds the repetition of it merely in another key. This is only one of scores of instances where a knowledge of the harmonic structure proves to be of constant importance to the student.
"Here again we find an interminable subject. Although there are only a few principal divisions into which the subject of touch might be divided, the number of different subdivisions of these best known methods of striking the keys to produce artistic effects is very considerable. The artist working day in and day out at the keyboard will discover some subtle touch effects which he will always associate with a certain passage. He may have no logical reason for doing this other than that it appeals to his artistic sense. He is in all probability following no law but that of his own musical taste and sense of hearing.
It is this more than anything else which gives individuality to the playing of the different virtuosos and makes their efforts so different from the playing of machines. Time and time again mechanical efforts have been made to preserve all these infinite subtilities and some truly wonderful machines have been invented, but not until the sculptor's marble can be made to glow with the vitality of real flesh can this be accomplished. Wonderful as the mechanical inventions are there is always something lacking.
"Here, again, ear-training will benefit the pupil who is studying with a virtuoso teacher. It is impossible to show exactly how certain touches produce certain effects. The ear, however, hears these effects, and if the pupil has the right kind of persistence he will work and work until he is able to reproduce the same effect that he has heard. Then it will be found that the touch he employs will be very similar to that used by the virtuoso he has heard. It may take weeks to show a certain pupil a kind of touch. The pupil with the trained ear and the willingness to work might be able to pick up the same touch and produce the same effect after a few days. A highly developed sense of hearing is of immense value to the student who attends concerts for the purpose of promoting his musical knowledge.
"The more one contemplates this subject the more one realizes the responsibilities of the teacher in the first years of music study. Of all the pupils who commence in the art there are but few who make it a part of their lives; many of those who do continue find themselves handicapped when they reach the more advanced stages of the journey, owing to inefficient early training. At the period when their time is the most valuable to them they have to take up studies which should have been mastered eight or ten years before. The elementary teachers all over the world have a big responsibility. If they belittle their work with children and pine for the kind of teaching which the virtuosos attempt to do, let them realize that they are in a sense the foundation of the structure, and although perhaps not as conspicuous asthe spire which towers up into the skies, they are certainly of equal importance."
1.Is analysis natural to children?2.When should the first steps in analysis be made?3.Why is a knowledge of the different dance forms desirable?4.What may be said of the poetic idea of the piece?5.What indicates a finely balanced musician?6.Should phrase analysis be taught at an early age?7.Is the ability to identify a chord by hearing more important than the ability to identify it by sight?8.Does a trained ear help in the acquisition of touch?9.What may the pupil learn from concerts?10.When is the teacher's responsibility greatest?
Josef Hofmann was born at Cracow, Russia, January 20, 1877. His father was an exceptionally successful teacher and was for a time Professor of Harmony and Composition at the Warsaw Conservatory. The elder Hofmann's talents were by no means limited to teaching, however, since he conducted the Opera at Warsaw for many performances. He undertook the training of his son with great care and since the child showed remarkable promise the musicians of Russia took an extraordinary interest in him. He appeared in public at the age of six and before he was ten years of age he was the most celebrated child prodigy of his time. He traveled thousands of miles, including tours of America, playing complicated classical compositions in a manner which surprised musicians everywhere. Fortunately for his health and education his tours were terminated in time for him to study for the advanced work of the more mature artist. Accordingly he was placed with the great Anton Rubinstein with whom he remained for two years. At seventeen he resumed his concert work again appearing in Dresden in 1894. By thoroughly dignified methods, scholarly analysis, and his natural poetical sense Hofmann introduced new ideas in virtuosoship which made him immensely popular at once.
josef hofmannjosef hofmann
The question of progress in pianoforte playing is one that admits of the widest possible discussion. One is frequently asked whether the manner of playing the pianoforte has undergone any change since the time of Hummel, and, if it has advanced, of what nature are the advances, and to what particular condition are the advances due. Johann Nepomuk Hummel, it will be remembered, was contemporary with Beethoven, and was, in fact, a kind of bridge between the old and the new. He made his début at a concert given by Mozart at Dresden. For a time he was a kind of assistantkapellmeisterto Haydn, and indeed many at that time thought his works were quite on a par with those of the great master, Beethoven. Hummel was a really great virtuoso, and was noted for his remarkable improvisations. His style of playing was taken as a model in his time, and consequently we may safely start with this epoch by way of example.
It is sometimes said that the changes in the construction of the piano have caused a different treatment of it, but this reasoning is superficial, inasmuchas the structural changes of the instrument itself are called forth by the ever-increasing demands of thecomposermade upon the instrument. So long as the tone quality, action and nature of the instrument sufficed for compositions of the type of those of Domenico Scarlatti, or François Couperin, or Rameau, there was little need for change, but as the more modern composers longed for new and more comprehensive effects, the piano-makers kept up with their desires and aims. Thus it is that after all is said and done, the composer, and the composer only, is responsible for the changes. The literature of the piano determines them. It is the same in the advancement of piano technic and interpretation. The composers conceive new and often radically different musical ideas. These in turn demand a new manner of interpretation. This kind of evolution has been going on continually since the invention of the instrument and is going on to-day, only it is more difficult for us to see it in the present than it is to review it in the past.
The general mental tendencies of the times, the artistic and cultural influences of the world taken as a whole, have also had a conspicuous though somewhat less pronounced share in these matters since they inevitably exert an influence upon the interpreter. Speaking from a strictly pianistic point of view, it is the player's individuality, influenced by the factors just stated, which is the determining element in producing new pianistic tendencies. It isthus very evident that progress in piano playing since the epoch of Hummel has been enormous.
You ask me what are the essential differences between the modern technic and the technic of the older periods? It is very difficult to discuss this question off-hand and it is one which might better be discussed in an article of a different character. One difficulty lies in the regrettable tendency of modern technic toward being a purpose in itself. Judging from the manner in which some ambitious young players work, their sole aim is to become human piano-playing machines quite without any real musical consciousness. Before radically condemning this tendency, however, it should be remembered that it has brought us many undeniable advantages. It cannot be doubted that we owe to the ingenious investigators of technical subjects greater possibilities in effective polyphonic playing, economy of power and arm motion, larger participation of the mind in the acquisition of technic, and numerous other praiseworthy factors in good piano playing. In the olden days, while technical exercises were by no means absent, they were not nearly so numerous, and more time was given to the real musical elements in the study of the musical compositions themselves. If the excellent technical ideas to be found in some of the systems of to-day are employed solely to secure real musical and artistic effects—that is, effects basedupon known æsthetic principles—the new technic will prove valuable, and we should be very grateful for it. However, as soon as it becomes an objective point in itself and succeeds in eclipsing the higher purposes of musical interpretation, just so soon should it be abolished. If the black charcoal sketch which the artist puts upon canvas to use as an outline shows through the colors of the finished painting, no masterpiece will result. Really artistic piano playing is an impossibility until the outlines of technic have been erased to make way for true interpretation from the highest sense of the word. There is much more in this than most young artists think, and the remedy may be applied at once by students and teachers in their daily work.
Again you ask whether technic has made any significant advance since the time of Franz Liszt. Here again you confront me with a subject difficult to discuss within the confines of a conference. There is so much to be said upon it. A mere change in itself does not imply either progress or retrogression. It is for this reason we cannot speak of progress since the time of Liszt. To play as Liszt did—that is, exactly as he did, as a mirror reflects an object—would not be possible to anyone unless he were endowed with an individuality and personality exactly like that of Liszt. Since no two people are exactly alike, it is futile to compare the playing of any modernpianist with that of Franz Liszt. To discuss accurately the playing of Liszt from the purely technical standpoint is also impossible because so much of his technic was self-made, and also a mere manual expression of his unique personality and that which his own mind had created. He may perhaps never be equalled in certain respects, but on the other hand there are unquestionably pianists to-day who would have astonished the great master with their technics—I speak technically, purely technically.
I have always been opposed to definite "methods"—so-called—when they are given in an arbitrary fashion and without the care of the intelligent teacher to adapt special need to special pupils. Methods of this kind can only be regarded as a kind of musical stencil, or like the dies that are used in factories to produce large numbers of precisely similar objects. Since art and its merits are so strangely dependent upon individuality (and this includes anatomical individuality as well as psychological individuality), an inflexible method must necessarily have a deadening effect upon its victims.
The question of whether special technical studies of an arbitrary nature, such as scale studies, should be extensively used is one which has been widely debated, and I fear will be debated for years to come. Let us understand first, there is a wide difference betweenstudying and practicing. They resemble each other only in so far as they both require energy and time. Many sincere and ambitious students make the great mistake of confounding these two very essential factors of pianistic success. Study and practice really are quite widely removed from each other, and at the same time they are virtually inseparable. The real difference lies in the amount and quality of the two elements. Practice means a large number of repetitions, with a fair amount of attention to mere correctness of notes, fingering, etc. Under ordinary circumstances and conditions it usually means a great sacrifice of time and a comparatively small investment of mentality.
Study, on the contrary, implies first of all mental activity of the highest and most concentrated type. Itpresupposesabsolute accuracy in notes, time, fingerings, etc., and implies the closest possible attention to those things which are generally, though erroneously, regarded as lying outside of technic, such as tonal beauty, dynamic shading, rhythmical matters, and the like. Some have the happy gift of combining practice with study, but this is rare.
Hence, in the question of scale exercises, etc., if the word "study" is meant in the true sense, I can only say that the study of scales is more than necessary—it is indispensable. The pedagogical experts of the world are practically unanimous upon this subject. The injunction, "study," applies not only to scales, but to all forms of technical discipline, which only toooften are "practiced" without being studied. I will not deny that mere practicing, as I have defined it, may bring some little benefit, but this benefit is gained at an enormous expenditure of time and physical and mental exertion. Oh! the endless leagues that ambitious fingers have traveled over ivory keys! Only too often they race like automobiles on a race-course—in a circle—and after having gone innumerable miles, and spent a tremendous amount of energy, they arrive at the same point from which they started, exhausted and worn, with very little to show for their work, and no nearer their real goal than when they started. The proportion in which mental and physical activity is compounded, determines, to my mind, the distinction between practicing and real study. One might also say that the proportion in which real study enters into the daily work of the student determines the success of the student.
Study demands that the student shall delve into the minute details of his art, and master them before he attempts to advance. Only the most superficial students fail to do this in these days. All of the better trained teachers insist upon it, and it is hard for the pupil to skim through on the thinnest possible theoretical ice, as they did in past years. The separate study of embellishments, for instance, is decidedly necessary, especially in connection with the embellishments introduced by the writers of the early eighteenth century.
In the study of embellishments it is vitally important for the student to remember one or two very important points in connection with his investigation. One point is the understanding of the nature of the instrument for which the composer wrote when he had the embellishment in mind. The instruments of the early eighteenth century were characterized by a tone so thin and of such short duration that the composers and players (and it should be remembered that in those days practically all of the great composers played, and most of the great performers were composers) had to resort to all kind of subterfuges and tricks to produce the deception of a prolonged tone. For instance, they had a method of moving the finger to and fro (sideways) upon a key after it was struck. Thus they produced a sort of vibrato, not unlike that of which we have received an overdose in recent years from violinists and 'cellists. This vibrato (German,Bebung) was marked like our modern "shake," thus,
but if we interpret it as a "shake" we commit a grave error. We ought never to regard it as a "shake," unless it is obviously an integer of the melody.
The other point to be considered in the study ofembellishments is taste, or rather, let me say, "fashion," for the fashion of those times which over-indulged in ornamentation and over-loaded everything with it, from architecture to dress, was by no means an insignificant factor in music. The point is important because it involves the element of "concessions" which the composers, voluntarily or from habit, made to the public of their day. I seriously question the necessity of retaining these often superabundant embellishments in their entirety, for I contend that we study antique works on account of their musical substance and not for the sake of gewgaws and frills which were either induced by the imperfections of the instrument or by the vitiated taste of times to which the composer had to yield willy-nilly.
It is, of course, a very difficult and responsible task to determine what to retain and what to discard. This, to a large extent, must depend upon what part the ornament plays in the melody of the composition, whether it is really an integral part or an artificial excrescence. By all means never discard any embellishment which may serve to emphasize the melodic curve, or any one which may add to its declamatory character. A well-educated taste assisted by experience will be a fairly reliable guide in this matter. However, it is hardly advisable for amateurs with limited training to attempt any home editing of this kind.
Those embellishments which we do regain should in all cases be executed as the composer of the piecewould desire to hear them executed if he could become acquainted with the instruments of to-day. This, of course, places the study of ornamentation with the many auxiliary musical branches which demand special and separate attention. Johann Sebastian Bach's son, Phillip Emanuel Bach, realized this, and gave years to the proper exposition of embellishments. However, the student should realize that the study of embellishments is only a part of the great whole and he should not be misled into accepting every little shake or other little frippery, and then magnifying it into a matter of more vital importance than the piece itself.
The student should form the habit of determining things for himself. He will soon find that he will be surrounded with many well-meaning advisers who, if they have their own way, may serve to confuse him. Some virtuosos regard their well-meaning admirers and entertainers as the worst penalties of the virtuoso life. Whether they are or are not must, of course, depend upon the artist's character. If he accepts their compliments and courtesies as an expression of the measure of pleasurethey derivedfrom his playing, he has tacitly allowed for that share in their pleasure which is due to their power of appreciation, and he can therefore only rejoice in having provided something worthy of it. The manner of their expression, the observations they make, the very wording of theircompliments will reveal, quickly enough, whether he has a case of real appreciation before him, or a mere morbid mania to hobnob with celebrities, or at least with people who by nature of their professional work are often compelled against their own desires to hold a more or less exposed position in the public eye. If he deals with the latter and still allows their compliments to go further than the physical ear, he must be a man of a character so weak as to make it doubtful that he will ever produce anything worthy of sincere and earnest appreciation. More young students are misled by blatant flattery than anything else. They become convinced that their efforts are comparable with those of the greatest artist, and the desire for improvement diminishes in direct ratio to the rate in which their opinion of their own efforts increases. The student should continually examine his own work with the same acuteness that he would be expected to show were he teaching another.
1.Has piano playing progressed since the time of Hummel?2.How have the changes in the structure of the instrument affected pianistic progress?3.Why should students avoid becoming "piano-playing machines"?4.What must be the sole aim in employing a technical exercise?5.Will the technic of Liszt ever be excelled?6.Why are stencil-like methods bad?7.Is scale study indispensable?8.Must the student know the characteristics of the instrument for which the composer wrote?9.What part did fashion play in the introduction of embellishments?10.Why should the student determine problems for himself?
JOSEF LHÉVINNEjosef lhévinne
Josef Lhévinne is one of the last noted Russian pianists to attain celebrity in America. At his first appearance in New York he amazed the critics and music lovers by the virility of his style, the comprehensiveness of his technic and by his finely trained artistic judgment. Lhévinne was born at Moscow, in 1874. His father was a professional musician, playing "all instruments except the piano." It is not surprising that his four sons became professional musicians. Three are pianists and one is a flutist. When Josef was four his father discovered that he had absolute pitch, and encouraged by this sign of musical capacity placed the child under the instruction of some students from the conservatory. At six Lhévinne became the pupil of a Scandinavian teacher named Grisander. When eight he appeared at a concert and aroused much enthusiasm by his playing. At twelve he became the pupil of the famous Russian teacher, Wassili Safonoff, at the conservatory at Moscow, remaining under his instruction for six years. At the same time his teachers in theory and composition were Taneieff and Arensky. In 1891 Rubinstein selected him from all the students at the conservatory to play at a concert given under the famous master's direction. After that Lhévinne had frequent conferences with the great pianist, and attributes much of his success to his advice. In 1895 he won the famous Rubinstein Prize in Berlin. From 1902 to 1906 he was Professor of Piano at the conservatory at Moscow. One year spent in military service in Russia proved a compulsory setback in his work, and was a serious delay in his musical progress. Lhévinne came to America in 1907 and has been here five times since then. His wife is also an exceptionally fine concert pianist.
"Russia is old, Russia is vast, Russia is mighty. Eight and one-half million square miles of empire not made up of colonies here and there all over the world, but one enormous territory comprising nearly one hundred and fifty million people, of almost as many races as one finds in the United States, that is Russia. Although the main occupation of the people is the most peaceful of all labor—agriculture—Russia has had to deal with over a dozen wars and insurrections during a little more than a century. In the same time the United States has had but five. War is not a thing to boast about, but the condition reflects the unrest that has existed in the vast country of the Czar, and it is not at all unlikely that this very unrest is responsible for the mental activity which has characterized the work of so many artists of Russian birth.
Although Russia is one of the most venerable of the European nations, and although she has absorbed other territory possessed by races even more venerable than herself, her advance in art, letters and music is comparatively recent. When Scarlatti, Handel, and Bach were at their height, Russia, outside of court circles,was still in a state of serfdom. Tolstoi was born as late as 1828, Turgenieff in 1818 and Pushkin, the half-negro poet-humorist, was born in 1799. Contemporary with these writers was Mikhail Ivanovitch Glinka—the first of the great modern composers of Russia. Still later we come to Wassili Vereschagin, the best known of the Russian painters, who was not born until 1842. It may thus be seen that artistic development in the modern sense of the term has occurred during the lifetime of the American republic. Reaching back into the centuries, Russia is one of the most ancient of nations, but considered from the art standpoint it is one of the newest.
The folk songs that sprang from the hearts of the people in sadness and in joy indicated the unconcealable talent of the Russian people. They were longing to sing, and music became almost as much a part of their lives as food. It is no wonder then that we find among the names of the Russian pianists such celebrities as Anton Rubinstein, Nicholas Rubinstein, Essipoff, Siloti, Rachmaninoff, Gabrilowitsch, Scriabin, de Pachmann, Safonoff, Sapellnikoff and many others. It seems as though the Russian must be endowed by nature with those characteristics which enable him to penetrate the artistic maze that surrounds the wonders of music. He comes to music with a new talent, a new gift and finds first of all a great joy in his work. Much the same might be said of the Russian violinists and the Russian singers, many of whom have met with tremendous success.
The Russian parent usually has such a keen love for music that the child is watched from the very first for some indication that it may have musical talent. The parent knows how much music brings into the life of the child and he never looks upon the art as an accomplishment for exhibition purposes, but rather as a source of great joy. Music is fostered in the home as a part of the daily existence. Indeed, business is kept far from the Russian fireside and the atmosphere of most homes of intelligent people is that of culture rather than commerce. If the child is really musical the whole household is seized with the ambition to produce an artist. In my own case, I was taught the rudiments of music at so early an age that I have no recollection of ever having learned how to begin. It came to me just as talking does with the average child. At five I could sing some of the Schumann songs and some of those of Beethoven.
The Russian child is spared all contact with really bad music. That is, he hears for the most part either the songs of the people or little selections from classical or romantic composers that are selected especially with the view of cultivating his talent. He has practically no opportunity to come in contact with any music that might be described as banal. America is a very young country and with the tension that onesees in American life on all sides there comes a tendency to accept music that may be most charitably described as "cheap." Very often the same themes found in this music, skilfully treated, would make worthy musical compositions. "Rag-time," and by this I refer to the peculiar rhythm and not to the bad music that Americans have come to class under this head, has a peculiar fascination for me. There is nothing objectionable about the unique rhythm, any more than there is anything iniquitous about the gypsy melodies that have made such excellent material for Brahms, Liszt and Sarasate. The fault lies in the clumsy presentation of the matter and its associations with vulgar words. The rhythm is often fascinating and exhilarating. Perhaps some day some American composer will glorify it in the Scherzo of a Symphony.
In Russia, teachers lay great stress upon careful grading. Many teachers of note have prepared carefully graded lists of pieces, suitable to each stage of advancement. I understand that this same purpose is accomplished in America by the publication of volumes of the music itself in different grades, although I have never seen any of these collections. The Russian teacher of children takes great care that the advancement of the pupil is not too rapid. The pupil is expected to be able to perform all the pieces in one grade acceptably before going to the next grade. I have had numerous American pupils and most of them seem to have the fault of wanting to advance to a higher step long before they are really able. Thisis very wrong, and the pupil who insists upon such a course will surely realize some day that instead of advancing rapidly he is really throwing many annoying obstacles directly in his own path.
Many juvenile instruction books are used in Russia just as in America. Some teachers, however, find that with pupils starting at an advanced age it is better to teach the rudiments without a book. This matter of method is of far greater importance than the average teacher will admit. The teacher often makes the mistake of living up in the clouds with Beethoven, Bach, Chopin, and Brahms, never realizing that the pupil is very much upon the earth, and that no matter how grandly the teacher may play, the pupil must have practical assistance within his grasp. The main duty in all elementary work is to make the piano study interesting, and the teacher must choose the course likely to arouse the most interest in the particular pupil.
It may surprise the American student to hear that there are really more opportunities for him to secure public appearances right here in his own country than in Russia. In fact, it is really very hard to get a start in Russia unless one is able to attract the attention of the public very forcibly. In America the standard may not be so high as that demanded in the musicalcircles of Russia, but the student has many chances to play that would never come to him in the old world. There, the only chance for the young virtuoso is at the conservatory concerts. There are many music schools in Russia that must content themselves with private recitals, but the larger conservatories have public concerts of much importance, concerts that demand the attendance of renowned artists and compel the serious interest of the press. However, these concerts are few and far between, and only one student out of many hundreds has a chance to appear at them.
One singular custom obtains in Russia in reference to concerts. The pianist coming from some other European country is paid more than the local pianist. For instance, although I am Russian by birth, I reside in Germany and receive a higher rate when I play in Russia than does the resident artist. In fact, this rate is often double. The young virtuoso in the early stages of his career receives about one hundred roubles an appearance in Russia, while the mature artist receives from 800 to 1000. The rouble, while having an exchange value of only fifty cents in United States currency, has a purchasing value of about one dollar in Russia.
The Russian pianist is always famed for his technical ability. Even the mediocre artists possess that. The great artists realize that the mechanical side of piano playing is but the basis, but they would nosooner think of trying to do without that basis than they would of dispensing with the beautiful artistic temples which they build upon the substantial foundation which technic gives to them. The Russian pianists have earned fame for their technical grasp because they give adequate study to the matter. Everything is done in the most solid, substantial manner possible. They build not upon sands, but upon rock. For instance, in the conservatory examinations the student is examined first upon technic. If he fails to pass the technical examination he is not even asked to perform his pieces. Lack of proficiency in technic is taken as an indication of a lack of the right preparation and study, just as the lack of the ability to speak simple phrases correctly would be taken as a lack of preparation in the case of the actor.
"Particular attention is given to the mechanical side of technic, the exercises, scales and arpeggios. American readers should understand that the full course at the leading Russian conservatories is one of about eight or nine years. During the first five years, the pupil is supposed to be building the base upon which must rest the more advanced work of the artist. The last three or four years at the conservatory are given over to the study of master works. Only pupils who manifest great talent are permitted to remain during the last year. During the first five years the backbone of the daily work in all Russian schools is scales and arpeggios. All technic reverts to these simple materials and the student is made to understand this from his very entrance to the conservatory. As the time goes on the scales and arpeggios become more difficult, more varied, more rapid, but they are never omitted from the daily work. The pupil who attempted complicated pieces without this preliminary technical drill would be laughed at in Russia. I have been amazed to find pupils coming from America who have been able to play a few pieces fairly well, but who wonder why they find it difficult to extend their musical sphere when the whole trouble lies in an almost total absence of regular daily technical work systematically pursued through several years.
"Of course, there must be other technical material in addition to scales, but the highest technic, broadly speaking, may be traced back to scales and arpeggios. The practice of scales and arpeggios need never be mechanical or uninteresting. This depends upon the attitude of mind in which the teacher places the pupil. In fact, the teacher is largely responsible if the pupil finds scale practice dry or tiresome. It is because the pupil has not been given enough to think about in scale playing, not enough to look out for in nuance, evenness, touch, rhythm, etc., etc.
"Most musicians of to-day appreciate the fact that in many ways the most modern effects sought by the composers who seek to produce extremely new effects have frequently been anticipated in Russia. However, one signal difference exists between the Russians with ultra-modern ideas and the composers of other nations. The Russian's advanced ideas are almost always the result of a development as were those of Wagner, Verdi, Grieg, Haydn and Beethoven. That is, constant study and investigations have led them to see things in a newer and more radical way. In the case of such composers as Debussy, Strauss, Ravel, Reger and others of the type of musical Philistine it will be observed that to all intents and purposes, they started out as innovators. Schönberg is the most recent example. How long will it take the world to comprehend his message if he really has one? Certainly, at the present time, even the admirers of the bizarre in music must pause before they confess that they understand the queer utterings of this newest claimant for the palm of musical eccentricity. With Debussy, Strauss and others it is different, for the skilled musician at once recognizes an astonishing facility to produce effects altogether new and often wonderfully fascinating. With Reger one seems to be impressed with tremendous effort and little result. Strauss, however, is really a very great master; so great that it is difficult to get the proper perspective upon his work at this time. It is safe to say that all the modern composers of the world have been influenced in one way or another by the great Russian masters of to-day and yesterday. Tchaikovsky, Rimsky-Korsakov, Cui, Glazounov, Rachmaninov, Moussorgsky, Arensky, Scriabine and others, have allhad a powerful bearing upon the musical thought of the times. Their virility and character have been due to the newness of the field in which they worked. The influence of the compositions of Rubinstein and Glinka can hardly be regarded as Russian since they were so saturated with European models that they might be ranked with Gluck, Mendelssohn, Liszt and Meyerbeer far better than with their fellow-countrymen who have expressed the idiom of Russia with greater veracity."