Chapter 12

In teaching, Von Buelow 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 attitude 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 circumspect and meek. At other times, when the weather was fair in the class-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 passages 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 class, 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 analyzed 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 passages, 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 passages 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 passage 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 Buelow'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 passing 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_, _Chasse 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 passed 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."_

Of Joachim Raff the Suite Op. 91 held the most important place. Each number received minute attention, the Giga being played by Ethelbert Nevin. The _Metamorphosen_ received a hearing, also the Valse Caprice, Op. 116, of which the master was particular about the staccato left hand against the legato right. Then came the Scherzo Op. 74, the Valse Caprice and the Polka, from Suite Op. 71. Von Buelow described the little group of notes in left hand of middle section as a place where the dancers made an unexpected slip on the floor, and suggested it be somewhat emphasized. "We must make this little witticism," he said, as he illustrated the passage at the piano.

"Raff showed himself a pupil of Mendelssohn in his earlier compositions; his symphonies will find more appreciation in the coming century--which cannot be said of the Ocean Symphony, for instance."

Of Mendelssohn the Capriccios Op. 5 and 22 were played, also the Prelude and Fugue in E. Von Buelow deplored the neglect which was overtaking the works of Mendelssohn, and spoke of the many beauties of his piano compositions. "There should be no sentimentality about the playing of Mendelssohn's music," he said; "the notes speak for themselves.

"The return to a theme, in every song or instrumental work of his is particularly to be noticed, for it is always interesting; this Fugue in E should begin as though with the softest register of the organ."

The subject of Brahms has been deferred only that it may be spoken of as a whole. His music was the theme of the second, and a number of the following lessons. Buelow was a close friend of the Hamburg master, and kept in touch with him while in Berlin. One morning he came in with a beaming face, holding up a sheet of music paper in Beethoven's handwriting, which Brahms had discovered and forwarded to him. It seemed that nothing could have given Buelow greater pleasure than to receive this relic.

The first work taken up in class was Brahms' Variations on a Handel theme. Von Buelow was in perfect sympathy with this noble work of Brahms and illumined many passages with clear explanations. He was very exact about the phrasing, "What cannot be sung in one breath cannot be played in one breath," he said; "many composers have their own terms for expression and interpretation; Brahms is very exact in these points--next to him comes Mendelssohn. Beethoven not at all careful about markings and Schumann extremely careless. Brahms, Beethoven, and Wagner have the right to use their own terms. Brahms frequently uses the word _sostenuto_ where others would use _ritardando_."

Of the Clavier Stuecke, Op. 76, Von Buelow said: "The Capriccio, No. 1 must not be taken too fast. First page is merely a prelude, the story begins at the second page. How wonderfully is this melody formed, so original yet so regular. Compare it with a Bach gigue. Remember, andante does not mean dragging (_schleppando_), it means going (_gehend_)." To the player who gave the Capriccio, No. 5 he said: "You play that as if it were a Tarantelle of Stephan Heller's. Agitation in piano playing must be carefully thought out; the natural sort will not do at all. We do not want _blind_ agitation, but _seeing_ agitation (_aufregung_). A diminuendo of several measures should be divided into stations, one each for F, MF, M, P, and PP. Visit the Zoological Gardens, where you can learn much about legato and staccato from the kangaroos."

The Ballades were taken up in these lessons, and the light thrown upon their poetical content was often a revelation. The gloomy character of the _Edward Ballade_, Op. 10, No. 1, the source of the Scottish poem, the poetic story, were dwelt upon. The opening of this first Ballade is sad, sinister and mysterious, like the old Scotch story. The master insisted on great smoothness in playing it--the chords to sound like muffled but throbbing heartbeats. A strong climax is worked up on the second page, which dies away on the third to a _pianissimo_ of utter despair. From the middle of this page on to the end, the descending chords and octaves were likened to ghostly footsteps, while the broken triplets in the left hand accompaniment seem to indicate drops of blood.

The third Ballade also received an illumination from Von Buelow. This is a vivid tone picture, though without motto or verse. Starting with those fateful fifths in the bass, it moves over two pages fitfully gloomy and gay, till at the end of the second page a descending passage leads to three chords so full of grim despair as to impart the atmosphere of a dungeon. The player was hastily turning the leaf. "Stop!" cried the excited voice of the master, who had been pacing restlessly up and down, and now hurried from the end of the salon. "Wait! We have been in prison--but now a ray of sunshine pierces the darkness. You must always pause here to make the contrast more impressive. There is more music in this little piece than in whole symphonies by some of the modern composers."

Both Rhapsodies Op. 79 were played; the second, he said, has parts as passionate as anything in the _Goetterdammerung_. Both are fine and interesting works.

Again and again the players were counseled to make everything sound well. Some intervals, fourths for instance, are harsh; make them as mild as possible. For one can play correctly, but horribly! Some staccatos should be shaken out of the sleeve as it were.

The first time a great work is heard there is so much to occupy the attention that only a small amount of pleasure can be derived from it. At the second hearing things are easier and by the twelfth time one's pleasure is complete. The pianist must consider the listener in a first rendering, and endeavor to soften the sharp discords.

With a group of five notes, play two and then three--it sounds more distinguished. Remember that unlearning gives much more trouble than learning.

* * * * *

In this brief resume of the Von Buelow lessons, the desire has been to convey some of the hints and remarks concerning the music and its interpretation. The master's fleeting sentences were hurriedly jotted down during the lessons, with no thought of their ever being seen except by the owner. But as Buelow's fame as a teacher became so great, these brief notes may now be of some value to both teacher and student.

If it were only possible to create a picture of that Berlin music-room, with its long windows opening out to a green garden--the May sunshine streaming in; the two grand pianos in the center, a row of anxious, absorbed students about the edge of the room--and the short figure of the little Doctor, pacing up and down the polished floor, or seating himself at one piano now and then, to illustrate his instruction. This mental picture is the lifelong possession of each of those players who were so fortunate as to be present at the sessions. It can safely be affirmed, I think, that the principles of artistic rectitude, of exactness and thorough musicianship which were there inculcated, ever remained with the members of that class, as a constant incentive and inspiration.

HINTS ON INTERPRETATION FROM TWO AMERICAN TEACHERS

WILLIAM H. SHERWOOD AND DR. WILLIAM MASON

WILLIAM H. SHERWOOD

While a young student the opportunity came to attend a Summer Music School, founded by this eminent pianist and teacher. He had surrounded himself with others well known for their specialties in voice, violin and diction; but the director himself was the magnet who attracted pianists and teachers from the four corners of the land.

Perhaps the most intimate way to come in touch with a famous teacher, is to study with him during the summer months, in some quiet, retired spot. Here the stress of the metropolis, with its rush and drive, its exacting hours, its remorseless round of lesson giving, is exchanged for the freedom of rural life. Hours may still be exact, but a part of each day, or of each week, is given over to relaxation, to be spent in the open, with friends and pupils.

It was under such conditions that I first met Mr. Sherwood. I had never even heard him play, and was glad the session opened with a piano recital. His playing delighted me; he had both power and delicacy, and his tone impressed me as being especially mellow and fine. There was deep feeling as well as poetry in his reading of both the Chromatic Fantaisie of Bach, and the Chopin Fantaisie in F minor which were on the program. This opinion was strengthened at each subsequent hearing, for he gave frequent recitals and concerts during the season.

My summer study with Mr. Sherwood consisted mainly in gaining ideas on the interpretation of various pieces. Many of these ideas seem to me beautiful and inspiring, and I will set them down as fully as I can from the brief notes jotted down at the time. I trust I may be pardoned a few personal references, which are sometimes necessary to explain the situation.

With advanced students Mr. Sherwood gave great attention to tone study and interpretation, even from the first lesson. He laid much stress on the use of slow, gentle motions in practise and in playing; on the spiritualization of the tones, of getting behind the notes to find the composer's meaning. He had, perhaps, a more poetic conception of piano playing than any master I have known, and was able to impart these ideas in clear and simple language.

The first composition considered was Schumann's Nachtstueck, the fourth of the set. He had a peculiar way of turning the hand on the middle finger, as on a pivot, for the extended chords, at the same time raising the whole outer side of the hand, so that the fifth finger should be able to play the upper melody notes round and full. In the middle section he desired great tenderness and sweetness of tone. "There are several dissonances in this part," he said, "and they ought to be somewhat accented--suspensions I might call them. In Bach and Handel's time, the rules of composition were very strict--no suspensions were allowed; so they were indicated where it was not permitted to write them."

Chopin's etude in sixths came up for analysis. "This study needs a very easy, quiet, limpid touch--the motions all gliding and sliding rather than pushing and forceful. I would advise playing it at first _pianissimo_; the wrist held rather low, the knuckles somewhat high, and the fingers straightened. In preparation for each pair of notes raise the fingers and let them down--not with a hard brittle touch, if I may use the word, but with a soft, velvety one. A composition like this needs to be idealized, spiritualized, taken out of everyday life. Take, for instance, the Impromptu Op. 36, Chopin; the first part of it is something like this etude, soft, undulating--smooth as oil. There is something very uncommon, spiritual, heavenly, about the first page of that Impromptu--very little of the earth, earthy. The second page is in sharp contrast to the first, it comes right down to the hard, everyday business of life--it is full of harsh, sharp tones. Well, the idea of that first page we get in this study in sixths. I don't want the bare tones that stand there on the printed page; I want them spiritualized--that is what reveals the artist. In the left hand the first note should have a clear, brittle accent, with firm fifth finger, and the double sixths played with the creeping, clinging movement I have indicated. If I should practise this etude for half an hour, you might be surprised at the effects I could produce. Perhaps it might take ten hours, but in the end I am confident I could produce this floating, undulating effect. I heard Liszt play nearly all these etudes at one time; I stood by and turned the pages. In this etude he doubled the number of sixths in each measure; the effect was wonderful and beautiful.

"The Chopin Octave study, number 22, needs firm, quiet touch, elevating the wrist for black keys (as Kullak explains) and depressing it for white keys. The hand must be well arched, the end fingers firm and strong, and the touch very pressing, clinging, and grasping. You always want to cling whenever there is any chance for clinging in piano playing. The second part of this etude should have a soft, flowing, poetic touch in the right hand, while the left hand part is well brought out. The thumb needs a special training to enable it to creep and slide from one key to another with snake-like movements.

"Rubinstein's Barcarolle in G major. The thirds on the first page are very soft and gentle. I make a good deal of extra motion with these thirds, raising the fingers quite high and letting them fall gently on the keys. The idea of the first page of this barcarolle is one of utter quietness, colorlessness; one is alone on the water; the evening is quiet and still; not a sound breaks the hushed silence. The delicate tracery of thirds should be very soft, thin--like an airy cloud. The left hand is soft too, but the first beat should be slightly accented, the second not; the first is positive, the second negative. Herein lies the idea of the barcarolle, the ebb and flow, the undulation of each measure.

"Begin the first measure very softly, the second measure a trifle louder, the third louder still, the fourth falling off again. As you stand on the shore and watch the great waves coming in, you see some that are higher and larger than others; so it is here. The concluding passage in sixths should diminish--like a little puff of vapor that ends in--nothing. On the second page we come upon something more positive; here is a tangible voice speaking to us. The melody should stand out clear, broad, beautiful; the accompanying chords should preserve the same ebb and flow, the advancing and receding wave-like movement. The exaggerated movement I spoke of a moment ago, I use in many ways. Any one can hit the piano, with a sharp, incisive touch; but what I refer to is the reaching out of the fingers for the notes, the passing of the hand in the air and the final gentle fall on the key, not in haste to get there, but with confidence of reaching the key in time. If you throw a stone up in the air it will presently fall back again with a sharp thud; a bird rising, hovers a moment and descends gently. This barcarolle is not at all easy; there is plenty of work in it for flexible hands; it is a study in _pianissimo_--in power controlled, held back, restrained."

Taking up the Toccatina of Rheinberger, Mr. Sherwood said: "I like this piece, there is good honest work in it; it is very effective, and most excellent practise. You ought to play this every day of the year. It is written in twelve-eighths, which give four beats to the measure, but I think that gives it too hard and square a character. I would divide each measure into two parts and slightly accent each. Though your temperament is more at home in the music of Chopin and Schumann, I recommend especially music of this sort, and also the music of Bach; these give solidity and strength to your conception of musical ideas."

We went through the Raff Suite, Op. 94. "The Preludio is very good," he said; "I like it. The Menuetto is, musically, the least strong of any of the numbers, but it has a certain elegance, and is the most popular of them all. The Romanza is a great favorite of mine, it is very graceful, flowing and melodious. The concluding Fugue is a fine number; you see how the theme is carried from one hand to the other, all twisted about, in a way old Bach and Handel never thought of doing. I consider this Raff fugue one of the best examples of modern fugue writing."

Mr. Sherwood was fond of giving students the Josef Wieniawski Valse, for brilliancy. "There are many fine effects which can be made in this piece; one can take liberties with it--the more imagination you have the better it will go. I might call it a _stylish_ piece; take the Prelude as capriciously as you like; put all the effect you can into it. The Valse proper begins in a very pompous style, with right hand very staccato; all is exceedingly coquettish. On the fifth page you see it is marked _amoroso_, but after eight measures the young man gives the whole thing away to his father! The beginning of the sixth page is very _piano_ and light--it is nothing more than a breath of smoke, an airy nothing. But at the _poco piu lento_, there is an undercurrent of reality; the two parts are going at the same time--the hard, earthly part, with accents, and the spiritual, thin as air. To realize these qualities in playing is the very idealization of technic."

The Chopin-Liszt _Maiden's Wish_, was next considered. "The theme here is often overlaid and encrusted with the delicate lace-like arabesques that seek to hide it; but it must be found and brought out. There is so much in being able to find what is hidden behind the notes. You must get an insight into the inner idea; must feel it. This is not technic, not method even; it is the spiritualization of playing. There are pieces that will sound well if the notes only are played, like the little F minor Moment Musicale of Schubert; yet even in this there is much behind the notes, which, if brought out, will make quite another thing of the piece.