Chapter 14

The distinction made by Mr. Burnham clears up the uncertainty about arched hand and articulate touch, or low hand and flat fingers. Both are used in their proper place, according to the demands of the music. The player, however, who desires a clean, reliable technic, should first acquire a coloratura hand before attempting a melody hand.

SECTION III

_The Art of Practise_

We have seen that if the pianist hopes to perfect himself in his art he must lay the foundation deep down in the fundamentals of hand position, body condition, correct finger movements and in careful attention to the minutest details of touch and tone production.

The remark is often heard, from persons who have just listened to a piano recital: "I would give anything in the world to play like that!" But would they even give the necessary time, to say nothing of the endless patience, tireless energy and indomitable perseverance which go to the making of a virtuoso.

How much time does the artist really require for study? Paderewski owns to devoting _all_ his time to it during the periods of preparation for his recital tours. At certain seasons of the year most of the artists give a large portion of each day to the work. Godowsky is an incessant worker; Burnham devotes his entire mornings to piano study; Germaine Schnitzer gives six hours daily to her work, and if interrupted one day the lost time is soon made up. Eleanor Spencer "practises all her spare time," as she quaintly puts it. A professional pianist must give a number of hours each day to actual practise at the keyboard, besides what is done away from it. The work is mentally going on continually, whether one really sits at the instrument or not.

The point which most concerns us is: How shall one practise so as to make the most of the time and accomplish the best results? What etudes, if any, shall we use, and what technical material is the most useful and effectual?

Wilhelm Bachaus, whose consummate technic we have so often admired, says: "I am old-fashioned enough to still believe in scales and arpeggios. Some of the players of the present day seem to have no use for such things, but I find them of great importance. This does not necessarily mean that I go through the whole set of keys when I practise the scales. I select a few at a time and work at those. I start with ridiculously simple forms--just the thumb under the hand and the hand over the thumb--a few movements each way, but these put the hand in trim for scales and arpeggios. I practise the latter about half an hour a day. I have to overhaul my technic once or twice a week to see that everything is in order. Scales and arpeggios come in for their share of criticism. I practise them in various touches, but oftener in _legato_, as that is more difficult and also more beautiful than the others. I practise technic, when possible, an hour a day, including Bach."

Sigismond Stojowski considers that scales and arpeggios must form a part of the daily routine.

Thuel Burnham says: "Of my practise hours at least one is given to technic, scales, arpeggios, octaves, chords, and Bach! I believe in taking one selection of Bach and perfecting it--transposing it in all keys and polishing it to the highest point possible. So with etudes, it is better to perfect a few than to play _at_ so many."

THE PIANIST A MECHANIC

Edwin Hughes, the American pianist and teacher in Munich, remarks: "Technic is the mechanical part of music making; to keep it in running order one must be constantly tinkering with it, just as the engine driver with his locomotive or the chauffeur with his automobile. Every intelligent player recognizes certain exercises as especially beneficial to the mechanical well-being of his playing; from these he will plan his daily schedule of technical practise."

Teresa Carreno asserts she had in the beginning many technical exercises which her teacher wrote out for her, from difficult passages taken from the great composers. There were hundreds of them, so many that it took just three days to go the rounds. She considers them invaluable, and constantly uses them in her own practise and in her teaching. Each exercise must be played in all keys and with every possible variety of touch and tone.

Paderewski gives much time daily to pure technic practise. He has been known to play scales and arpeggios in a single key for three quarters of an hour at a stretch. These were played with every variety of touch, velocity, dynamic shading and so on.

It is seen from the instances quoted that many great pianists believe in daily technic practise, or the study of pure technic apart from pieces. Many more testify that scales, chords, arpeggios and octaves constitute their daily bread. Some have spoken to me especially of octave practise as being eminently beneficial. They feel these things are essential to the acquiring of a fine technic, and keeping it up to concert pitch.

Some artists are partial to certain technical studies. Bachaus highly recommends those of Brahms, for instance. All artists use Bach in connection with their technic practise; in fact the works of Bach may be considered to embody pure technic principles, and pianists and teachers consider them a daily necessity.

INVENTING EXERCISES

Together with their studies in pure technic alone, the artists invent exercises out of the pieces they study, either by playing passages written for both hands with one hand, by turning single notes into octaves, by using more difficult fingering than necessary, thus bringing into use the weaker fingers, changing the rhythm, and in numerous other ways increasing the effort of performance, so that when the passage is played as originally written, it shall indeed seem like child's play.

Another means to acquire technical mastery is through transposition. One would think Bach's music difficult enough when performed as written, but the artists think nothing of putting it through the different keys. Burnham relates that during early lessons with Dr. Mason, that master gave him a Bach Invention to prepare, casually remarking it might be well to memorize it. The simple suggestion was more than sufficient, for the ambitious pupil presented himself at the next lesson with not only that particular Invention learned by heart, but likewise the whole set! De Pachmann, in his eagerness to master the technic and literature of the piano, says that when a Bach Prelude and Fugue was on one occasion assigned him by his teacher, he went home and learned the whole twenty-four, which he was able to play in every key for the next lesson!

SLOW PRACTISE

The question is often put to artists: "Do you deem it necessary to work for velocity, or do you practise the composition much at the required speed?" Many pianists practise very slowly. This was William H. Sherwood's custom. Harold Bauer believes velocity to be inherent in the individual, so that when the passage is thoroughly comprehended it can be played at the necessary rate of speed. Bachaus testifies he seldom works for velocity, saying that if he masters the passage he can play it at any required tempo. "I never work for velocity as some do," he remarks. "I seldom practise fast, for it interferes with clearness. I prefer to play more slowly, giving the greatest attention to clearness and good tone. By pursuing this course I find that when I need velocity I have it."

Clarence Adler counsels pupils always to begin by practising slowly--faster tempo will develop later, subconsciously. Velocity is only to be employed after the piece has been thoroughly learned, every mark of expression observed, all fingering, accents and dynamic marks mastered. "You would scarcely believe," he adds, "how slowly I practise myself."

A FEW EXCEPTIONS

There are very few exceptions to the general verdict in favor of technic practise apart from pieces. Godowsky asserts he never practises scales. Bauer cares little for pure technic practise, believing the composition itself contains sufficient material of a technical nature.

Whether or not these brilliant exceptions merely prove the rule, the thoughtful student of the piano must decide for himself. He has already discovered that modern piano playing requires a perfect technic, together with the personal equation of vigorous health, serious purpose and many-sided mentality. Mme. Rider-Possart says: "Technic is something an artist has to put in the background as something of secondary importance, yet if he does not possess it he is nowhere." The student will not overlook the fact that to acquire the necessary technical control he must devote time and thought to it outside of piece playing. He must understand the principles and follow out a certain routine in order to secure the best results in the quickest and surest way. While each one must work out his own salvation, it is an encouragement to know that even the greatest artists must toil over their technic, must keep eternally at it, must play slowly, must memorize bit by bit. The difference between the artist and the talented amateur often lies in the former's absolute concentration, perseverance and devotion to the highest ideals.

SECTION IV

_How to Memorize_

At the present stage of pianistic development, an artist does not venture to come before the public and "use his notes." No artist who values his reputation would attempt it. Everything must be performed from memory--solos, concertos, even accompaniments. The pianist must know every note of the music he performs. The star accompanist aspires to the same mastery when he plays for a famous singer or instrumentalist. We also have the artist conductor, with opera, symphony or concerto at his finger-tips. Hans von Buelow, who claimed that a pianist should have more than two hundred compositions in his repertoire, was himself equally at home in orchestral music. He always conducted his Meiningen Orchestra without notes.

Let us say, then, that the present-day pianist ought to have about two hundred compositions in his repertoire, all of which must be played without notes. The mere fact of committing to memory such a quantity of pages is no small item in the pianist's equipment. The problem is to discover the best means of memorizing music quickly and surely. Here again we are privileged to inquire of the artist and of the artist teacher. His knowledge and experience will be practical, for he has evolved it and proved it over and over again.

It is a well-known fact that Leschetizky advises memorizing away from the instrument. This method at once shuts the door on all useless and thoughtless repetition employed by so many piano students, who repeat a passage endlessly, to avoid thinking it out. Then they wonder why they cannot commit to memory! The Viennese master suggests that a short passage of two or four measures be learned with each hand alone, then tried on the piano. If not yet quite fixed in consciousness the effort should be repeated, after which it may be possible to go through the passage without an error. The work then proceeds in the same manner throughout the composition.

ONE YEAR'S MEMORIZING

A player who gives five or six hours daily to study, and who has learned how to memorize, should be able to commit one page of music each day. This course, systematically pursued, would result in the thorough assimilation of at least fifty compositions in one year. This is really a conservative estimate, though at first glance it may seem rather large. If we cut the figure in half, out of consideration for the accumulative difficulties of the music, there will still remain twenty-five pieces, enough for two programs and a very respectable showing for a year's study.

It may be that Leschetizky's principle of memorizing will not appeal to every one. The player may find another path to the goal, one more suited to his peculiar temperament. Or, if he has not yet discovered the right path, let him try different ways till he hits upon one which will do the work in the shortest and most thorough manner. All masters agree that analysis and concentration are the prime factors in the process of committing music to memory.

Michael von Zadora, pianist and teacher, said to me recently: "Suppose you have a difficult passage to learn by heart. The ordinary method of committing to memory is to play the passage over and over, till the fingers grow accustomed to its intervals. That is not my manner of teaching. The only way to master that passage is to analyze it thoroughly, know just what the notes are, the sequences of notes, if you will, their position on the keyboard, the fingering, the positions the hands must take to play these notes, so that you know just where the fingers have to go before you put them on the keys. When you thus thoroughly understand the passage or piece, have thought about it, lived with it, so that it is in the blood, we might say, the fingers can play it. There will be no difficulty about it and no need for senseless repetitions."

PHRASE BY PHRASE

Most of the artists agree that memorizing must be done phrase by phrase, after the composition has been thoroughly analyzed as to keys, chords, and construction. This is Katharine Goodson's way, and also Eleanor Spencer's and Ethel Leginska's, three of Leschetizky's pupils now before the public. "I really know the composition so thoroughly that I can play it in another key just as well as the one in which it is written, though I do not always memorize it each hand alone," says Miss Goodson. "I first play the composition over a few times to become somewhat familiar with its form and shape," says Eleanor Spencer, "then I begin to analyze and study it, committing it by phrases, or ideas, one or two measures at a time. I do not always take the hands alone, unless the passage is very intricate, for sometimes it is easier to learn both hands together." Germaine Schnitzer avers that she keeps at a difficult passage until she really knows it perfectly, no matter how long it takes. "What is the use of going on," she says, "until you are absolutely sure of the work in hand."

It is plain from the opinions already cited and from many I have heard expressed that the artists waste no time over useless repetitions. They fully realize that a piece is not assimilated nor learned until it is memorized. When they have selected the composition they wish to learn, they begin at once to memorize from the start. The student does not always bring to his work this definiteness of aim; if he did, much precious time would be saved. The ability to memorize ideas expressed in notes grows with use, just as any other aptitude grows with continued effort.

Instead, then, of playing _with_ a piece, why do you not at once begin to make it your own? Look at the phrases so intently that they become as it were, photographed on your mind. Ruskin said: "Get the habit of looking intently at words." We might say the same of notes. Look at the phrase with the conviction that it can be remembered after a glance or two. It is only an indication of indolence and mental inertness to look continually at the printed page or passage and keep on playing it over and over, without trying to fix it indelibly in the mind.

In my work as teacher I constantly meet students, and teachers too, who do little or no memorizing. Some do not even approve of it, though it is difficult to conceive how any one in his right mind can disapprove knowing a thing thoroughly. The only way to know it thoroughly is to know it by heart.

CONSTANT REPAIRS NECESSARY

A repertoire once committed must be constantly kept in repair. The public player, in his seasons of study, generally has a regular system of repetition, so that all compositions can be gone over at least once a week. One artist suggests that the week be started with the classics and concluded with modern compositions and concerted numbers. Thus each day will have its allotted task. The pieces are not merely to be played over, but really overhauled, and all weak places treated to a dose of slow, careful practise, using the printed pages. Artists on tour, where consecutive practise is difficult or unattainable, always carry the printed notes of their repertoire with them, and are ceaselessly studying, repairing, polishing their phrases, thinking out their effects.

To those who wish to become pianists, I would say: "Keep your memory active through constant use. Be always learning by heart; do it systematically, a little at a time. So it will be daily progress. So your repertoire is built!"

SECTION V

_Rhythm and Tone Color in Piano Playing_

How shall two such opposites as rhythm and tone color be connected, even in name, some will ask. One belongs to the mechanical side of piano playing, while the other appertains to the ideal, the poetic, the soulful. The two subjects, however, are not so wide apart as might at first appear; for the beauty and variety of the second depends largely upon the mastery of the first. You must play rhythmically before you can play soulfully; you must first be able to keep time before you can attempt to express color and emotion through any fluctuation of rhythm. One depends on the other, therefore time and rhythm come first; when these are well under control, not before, we can go further and enter the wider field of tonal variety.

Rhythm is one of the pianist's most important assets, something he cannot do without. It might be said that the possession of a well-developed rhythmic sense is one point in which the artist differs greatly from the amateur. The latter thinks nothing of breaking the rhythm at any time and place that suits his fancy; while the artist is usually conscientious about such matters, because his time sense is more highly developed. A perfect time sense is often inherent in the artist, a part of the natural gift which he has cultivated to such a high state of achievement. It may be he has never had any difficulty with this particular point in piano playing, while the amateur has constantly to struggle with problems of time and rhythm.

THE METRONOME

When the subject of using such a mechanical aid as the metronome to cultivate rhythmic sense, is broached to the executive artist, it does not always meet with an assenting response. With such bred-in-the-bone sense of time as the artist commands, it is little wonder he takes no great interest in mechanical time-beating. Josef Hofmann's censure of the metronome was probably due to his inborn rhythmic and artistic sense; yet his words have doubtless had their effect on many students, who, lacking his sense of rhythm, would have been greatly benefited by its use.

Godowsky, when asked his opinion of the metronome, replied: "I assuredly approve of its use; I have even devoted a chapter to the metronome in the _Progressive Series_, my great work on piano playing." Edwin Hughes remarks: "If pupils have naturally a poor sense of rhythm, there is no remedy equal to practising with the metronome, using it daily until results are evident, when there can be a judicious letting up of the discipline. The mechanical sense of rhythm, the ability to count and to group the notes of a piece correctly, can be taught to any person, if one has the patience; but for the delicate rhythmic _nuances_ required by a Chopin Mazourka or a Viennese Valse, a special rhythmic gift is necessary."

Artists and teachers who have come under Leschetizky's influence and use his principles, are generally in favor of the metronome, according to their own testimony. The fact is, they as teachers often find such deficiency in their pupils on the subject of time sense and accuracy in counting, that they are forced to institute strict measures to counteract this lack of rhythmic comprehension.

Granting, then, that the correct use, not the abuse, of the metronome is of great assistance in establishing firm rhythmic sense, let us turn our thought to the fascinating subject of--

TONE COLOR

When De Pachmann affirmed that he uses certain fingers to create certain effects, the idea was thought to be one of the eccentric pianist's peculiar fancies. Other players, however, have had the same thought, and have worked along the same line--the thought that on the fingering used depends the quality of tone. For instance you might not play an expressive melody with a consecutive use of the fifth finger, which is called a "cold finger" by Thuel Burnham. He would use instead the third, a "warm finger," to give out a soulful melody.

TONAL VARIETY

The pianist who desires to play effectively, must continually strive for variety of tone, for tonal coloring. These can be studied in scales, chords, arpeggios and other technical forms. The singer seeks to make a tone of resonant color, not a straight, flat tone; the pianist, on his part, endeavors to give color and variety to his playing in the same way. Harold Bauer thinks variety must be secured by the contrast of one tone with another. Even a very harsh tone may be beautiful in its right place, owing to its relation to other tones, and its ability to express an idea. To render the playing expressive by the contrast of light and shade, by tonal gradations, by all varieties of touch, by all the subtleties of _nuance_, is a great art, and only the most gifted ever master it in its perfection. These are the things that enchant us in Paderewski's performance, and in the tonal coloring of Gabrilowitsch. Hofmann's playing is a marvel of atmosphere and color; such playing is an object lesson to students, a lesson in variety of light and shade, the shifting of exquisite tonal tints.

The sensitive musician is highly susceptible to color effects in nature, in art or in objects about him. Certain colors attract him, for he sees an affinity between them and the tonal effects he strives to produce. Other colors repel, perhaps for the opposite reason. Brilliant red is a warlike color, and finds analogous expression in such pieces as Chopin's Polonaise _Militaire_, and MacDowell's Polonaise. We cannot help seeing, feeling the color red, when playing such music. Soft pink and rose for love music, tender blues and shades of gray for nocturnes and night pieces are some of the affinities of tone and color. Warm shades of yellow and golden brown suggest an atmosphere of early autumn, while delicate or vivid greens give thoughts of spring and luscious summer. Certain pieces of Mozart seem to bring before us the rich greens of a summer landscape; the Fantaisie in C minor, and the Pastorale Varie are of this type.

Arthur Hochman says: "Colors mean so much to me; some are so beautiful, the various shades of red for instance, then the golden yellows, rich warm browns, and liquid blues. We can make as wonderful combinations in tone color as ever painter put upon canvas. To me dark red speaks of something tender, heart-searching, mysterious. On the other hand the shades of yellow express gaiety and brightness."

It has been said that a pianist should study color effects in order to express them in his playing. He can do this to special advantage at the theater or opera, where he can see unrolled before him the greatest possible variety in light and shade, in colors, and in the constantly changing panorama of action and emotion.

The pianist can receive many ideas of tone color when listening to a great singer, and watching the infinite tonal gradations produced on the "greatest of all instruments," the human voice.

In short the pianist draws from many sources the experience, the feeling and emotion with which he strives to inspire the tones he evokes from his instrument. The keener his perceptions, the more he labors, suffers, and _lives_, the more he will be able to express through his chosen medium--the piano!