"A beautiful tone? Ah, that is difficult to describe, whether in one hour or in many hours. It is first a matter of experiment, of individuality, then of experience and memory. We listen and create the tone, modify it until it expresses our ideal, then we try to remember how we did it.
"I cannot say that I always produce a beautiful tone; I try to produce a characteristic tone, but sometimes it may not be beautiful: there are many times when it may be anything but that. I do not think there can be any fixed rule or method in tone production, because people and hands are so different. What does for one will not do for another. Some players find it easier to play with high wrist, some with low. Some can curve their fingers, while others straighten them out. There are of course a few foundation principles, and one is that arms and wrists must be relaxed. Fingers must often be loose also, but not at the nail joint; that must always be firm. I advise adopting the position of hand which is most comfortable and convenient. In fact all forms of hand position can be used, if for a right purpose, so long as the condition is never cramped or stiff. I permit either a high or low position of the wrist, so long as the tone is good. As I said, the nail joint must remain firm, and never be crushed under by the weight of powerful chords, as is apt to be the case with young players whose hands are weak and delicate.
[Ill.u.s.tration: TO MISS HARRIETTE BROWER, OSSIP GABRILOWITSCH]
TECHNICAL STUDY
"Yes, I am certainly in favor of technical practise outside of pieces.
There must be scale and arpeggio study, in which the metronome can be used. But I believe in striving to make even technical exercises of musical value. If scales are played they should be performed with a beautiful quality and variety of tone; if one attempts a Czerny etude, it should be played with as much care and finish as a Beethoven sonata.
Bring out all the musical qualities of the etude. Do not say, "I"ll play this measure sixteen times, and then I"m done with it." Do nothing for mechanical ends merely, but everything from a musical standpoint. Yes, I give some Czerny to my students; not many etudes however. I prefer Chopin and Rubinstein. There is a set of six Rubinstein Studies which I use, including the Staccato etude.
"In regard to technical forms and material, each player may need a different tonic. I have found many useful things in a work by your own Dr. William Mason, _Touch and Technic_. I have used this to a considerable extent. To my knowledge he was the first to ill.u.s.trate the principle of weight, which is now pretty generally accepted here as well as in Europe.
"An ancient and famous philosopher, Seneca, is said to have remarked that by the time a man reaches the age of twenty-five, he should know enough to be his own physician, or he is a fool. We might apply this idea to the pianist. After studying the piano for a number of years he should be able to discover what sort of technical exercises are most beneficial; if he cannot do so he must be a fool. Why should he always depend on the exercises made by others? There is no end to the list of method books and technical forms; their name is legion. They are usually made by persons who invent exercises to fit their own hands; this does not necessarily mean that they will fit the hands of others. I encourage my pupils to invent their own technical exercises. They have often done so with considerable success, and find much more pleasure in them than in those made by others.
"Two of the most important principles in piano playing are: full, round, exact tone; distinct phrasing. The most common fault is indistinctness--slurring over or leaving out notes. Clearness in piano playing is absolutely essential. If an actor essays the role of Hamlet, he must first of all speak distinctly and make himself clearly understood; otherwise all his study and characterization are in vain.
The pianist must likewise make himself understood; he therefore must enunciate clearly.
VELOCITY
"You speak of velocity as difficult for some players to acquire. I have found there is a general tendency to play everything too fast, to rush headlong through the piece, without taking time to make it clear and intelligible. When the piece is quite clear in tone and phrasing, it will not sound as fast as it really is, because all the parts are in just relation to each other. As an ill.u.s.tration of this fact, there is a little Gavotte of mine, which I had occasion to play several times in Paris. A lady, a very good pianist, got the piece, learned it, then came and asked me to hear her play it. She sat down to the piano, and rushed through the piece in a way that so distorted it I could hardly recognize it. When she finished I remonstrated, but she a.s.sured me that her tempo was exactly like mine as she had heard me play the piece three times. I knew my own tempo exactly and showed her that while it did not differ so greatly from hers, yet my playing sounded slower because notes and phrasing were all clear, and everything rightly balanced.
POWER
"How do I gain power? Power does not depend on the size of the hand or arm; for persons of quite small physique have enough of it to play with the necessary effect. Power is a nervous force, and of course demands that arms and wrists be relaxed. The fingers must be so trained as to be strong enough to stand up under this weight of arms and hands, and not give way. I repeat, the nail joint must remain firm under all circ.u.mstances. It is so easy to forget this; one must be looking after it all the time.
MEMORIZING
"In regard to memorizing, I have no special rule or method. Committing to memory seems to come of its own accord. Some pieces are comparatively easy to learn by heart; others, like a Bach fugue, require hard work and close a.n.a.lysis. The surest way to learn a difficult composition, is to write it out from memory. There is a great deal of benefit in that. If you want to remember the name of a person or a place, you write it down.
When the eye sees it, the mind retains a much more vivid impression.
This is visual memory. When I play with orchestra, I of course know every note the orchestra has to play as well as my own part. It is a much greater task to write out a score from memory than a piano solo, yet it is the surest way to fix the composition in mind. I find that compositions I learned in early days are never forgotten, they are always with me, while the later pieces have to be constantly looked after. This is doubtless a general experience, as early impressions are most enduring.
"An orchestral conductor should know the works he conducts so thoroughly that he need not have the score before him. I have done considerable conducting the past few years. Last season I gave a series of historical recitals, tracing the growth of the piano concerto, from Mozart down to the present. I played nineteen works in all, finishing with the Rachmaninoff Concerto."
Mr. Gabrilowitsch has entirely given up teaching, and devotes his time to recital and concert, conducting, and composing.
HANS VON BuLOW AS TEACHER AND INTERPRETER
Those who heard Hans von Bulow in recital during his American tour, in 1876, listened to piano playing that was at once learned and convincing.
A few years before, in 1872, Rubinstein had come and conquered. The torrential splendor of his pianism, his mighty crescendos and whispering diminuendos, his marvelous variety of tone--all were in the nature of a revelation; his personal magnetism carried everything before it.
American audiences were at his feet.
[Ill.u.s.tration: HANS VON BuLOW]
In Von Bulow was found a player of quite a different caliber. Clarity of touch, careful exactness down to the minutest detail caused the critics to call him cold. He was a deep thinker and a.n.a.lyzer; as he played one saw, as though reflected in a mirror, each note, phrase and dynamic mark of expression to be found in the work. From a Rubinstein recital the listener came away subdued, awed, inspired, uplifted, but disinclined to open the piano or touch the keys that had been made to burn and scintillate under those wonderful hands. After hearing Von Bulow, on the other hand, the impulse was to hasten to the instrument and reproduce what had just seemed so clear and logical, so simple and attainable. It did not seem to be such a difficult thing to play the piano--like _that_! It was as though he had said: "Any of you can do what I am doing, if you will give the same amount of time and study to it that I have done. Listen and I will teach you!"
Von Bulow was a profound student of the works of Beethoven; his edition of the sonatas is noted for recondite learning, clearness and exactness in the smallest details. Through his recitals in America he did much to make these works better known and understood. Nor did he neglect Chopin, and though his readings of the music of the great Pole may have lacked in sensuous beauty of touch and tone, their interpretation was always sane, healthy, and beautiful.
Toward the end of a season during the eighties, it was announced that Von Bulow would come to Berlin and teach an artist cla.s.s in the Klindworth Conservatory. This was an unusual opportunity to obtain lessons from so famous a musician and pedagogue, and about twenty pianists were enrolled for the cla.s.s. A few of these came with the master from Frankfort, where he was then located.
Carl Klindworth, pianist, teacher, critic, editor of Chopin and Beethoven, was then the Director of the school. The two men were close friends, which is proved by the fact that Von Bulow was willing to recommend the Klindworth Edition of Beethoven, in spite of the fact that he himself had edited many of the sonatas. Another proof is that he was ready to leave his work in Frankfort, and come to Berlin, in order to shed the l.u.s.ter of his name and fame upon the Klindworth school--the youngest of the many musical inst.i.tutions of that music-ridden, music-saturated capital.
It was a bright May morning when the Director entered the music-room with his guest, and presented him to the cla.s.s. They saw in him a man rather below medium height, with large intellectual head, beneath whose high, wide forehead shone piercing dark eyes, hidden behind gla.s.ses.
He bowed to the cla.s.s, saying he was pleased to see so many industrious students. His movements, as he looked around the room, were quick and alert; he seemed to see everything at once, and the students saw that nothing could escape that active mentality.
The cla.s.s met four days in each week, and the lessons continued from nine in the morning until well on toward one o"clock. It was announced that only the works of Brahms, Raff, Mendelssohn and Liszt would be taught and played, so nothing else need be brought to the cla.s.s; indeed Brahms was to have the place of honor.
While many interesting compositions were discussed and played, perhaps the most helpful thing about these hours spent with the great pedagogue was the running fire of comment and suggestion regarding technic, interpretation, and music and musicians in general. Von Bulow spoke in rapid, nervous fashion, with a mixture of German and English, often repeating in the latter tongue what he had said in the former, out of consideration for the Americans and English present.
In teaching, Von Bulow required the same qualities which were so patent in his playing. Clearness of touch, exactness in phrasing and fingering were the first requirements; the delivery of the composer"s idea must be just as he had indicated it--no liberties with the text were ever permitted. He was so honest, so upright in his att.i.tude toward the makers of good music, that it was a sin in his eyes to alter anything in the score, though he believed in adding any marks of phrasing or expression which would elucidate the intentions of the composer.
Everything he said or did showed his intellectual grasp of the subject; and he looked for some of the same sort of intelligence on the part of the student. A failure in this respect, an inability to apprehend at once the ideas he endeavored to convey, would annoy the sensitive and nervous little Doctor; he would become impatient, sarcastic and begin to pace the floor with hasty strides. When in this state he could see little that was worthy in the student"s performance, for a small error would be so magnified as to dwarf everything that was excellent. When the lion began to roar, it behooved the players to be circ.u.mspect and meek. At other times, when the weather was fair in the cla.s.s-room, things went with tolerable smoothness. He did not trouble himself much about technic, as of course a pupil coming to him was expected to be well equipped on the technical side; his chief concern was to make clear the content and interpretation of the composition. In the lessons he often played detached phrases and pa.s.sages for and with the student, but never played an entire composition.
One of the most remarkable things about this eccentric man was his prodigious memory. Nearly every work for piano which could be mentioned he knew and could play from memory. He often expressed the opinion that no pianist could be considered an artist unless he or she could play at least two hundred pieces by heart. He, of course, more than fulfilled this requirement, not only for piano but for orchestral music. As conductor of the famous Meiningen orchestra, he directed every work given without a note of score before him--considered a great feat in those days. He was a ceaseless worker, and his eminence in the world of music was more largely due to unremitting labor than to genius.
From the many suggestions to the Berlin cla.s.s, the following have been culled.
"To play correctly is of the first importance; to play beautifully is the second requirement. A healthy touch is the main thing. Some people play the piano as if their fingers had _migrane_ and their wrists were rheumatic. Do not play on the sides of the finger nor with a sideways stroke, for then the touch will be weak and uncertain.
"Clearness we must first have; every line and measure, every note must be a.n.a.lyzed for touch, tone, content and expression.
"You are always your first hearer; to be one"s own critic is the most difficult of all.
"When a new theme enters you must make it plain to the listener; all the features of the new theme, the new figure, must be plastically brought out.
"Brilliancy does not depend on velocity but on clarity. What is not clear cannot scintillate nor sparkle. Make use of your strongest fingers in brilliant pa.s.sages, leaving out the fourth when possible. A scale to be brilliant and powerful must not be too rapid. Every note must be round and full and not too legato--rather a mezzo legato--so that single tones, played hands together, shall sound like octaves. One of the most difficult things in rhythm, is to play pa.s.sages where two notes alternate with triplets. Scales may be practised in this way alternating three notes with two.
"We must make things sound well--agreeably, in a way to be admired. A seemingly discordant pa.s.sage can be made to sound well by ingeniously seeking out the best that is in it and holding that up in the most favorable light. Practise dissonant chords until they please the ear in spite of their sharpness. Think of the instruments of the orchestra and their different qualities of tone, and try to imitate them on the piano.
Think of every octave on the piano as having a different color; then shade and color your playing. (_Also bitte coloriren_)!"
If Bulow"s musical trinity, Bach, Beethoven, and Brahms, had a fourth divinity added, it would surely have been Liszt. The first day"s program contained chiefly works by the Hungarian master; among them _Au bord d"une Source_, Scherzo and March, and the Ballades. The player who rendered the Scherzo was advised to practise octaves with light, flexible wrist; the Kullak Octave School was recommended, especially the third book; the other books could be read through, practising whatever seemed difficult and pa.s.sing over what was easy. Of the Ballades the first was termed more popular, the second finer and more earnest--though neither makes very much noise.
The _Annees de Pelerinage_ received much attention. Among the pieces played were, _Les Cloches_, _Cha.s.se Neige_, _Eclogue_, _Cloches de Geneva_, _Eroica_, _Feux Follets_ and _Ma__zeppa_. Also the big Polonaise in E, the two etudes, _Waldesrauschen_ and _Gnomenreigen_; the Mazourka, Valse Impromptu, and the first etude, of which last he remarked: "You can all play this; thirty years have pa.s.sed since it was composed and people are only just finding out how fine it is. Such is the case with many of Liszt"s works. We wonder how they ever could have been considered unmusical. Yet the way some people play Liszt the hearer is forced to exclaim, "What an unmusical fellow Liszt was, to be sure, to write like that!"
"Exactness in everything is of the greatest importance," he was fond of saying. "We must make the piano speak. As in speaking we use a separate movement of the lips for each word, so in certain kinds of melody playing, the hand is taken up after each note. Then, too, we cannot make the piano speak without very careful use of the pedals."
The Mazourka of Liszt was recommended as one of the most delightful of his lighter pieces. The _Waldesrauschen_ also, was termed charming, an excellent concert number. "Begin the first figure somewhat louder and slightly slower, then increase the movement and subdue the tone.
_Everything which_ _is to be played softly should be practised forte."_