Chapter 4

"And there are so many different _nuances_, especially in _legato_. It is as a rule produced by a slurred bow; yet it may also be produced by other bowings. To secure a good _legato_ tone watch the singer. The singer can establish the perfect smoothness that _legato_ calls for to perfection. To secure a like effect the violinist should convey the impression that there is no point, no frog, that the bow he uses is of indefinite length. And the violinist should never think: 'I must play this up-bow or down-bow.' Artists of the German school are more apt to begin a phrase with a down-bow; the French start playing a good deal at the point. Up or down, both are secondary to finding out, first of all, what quality, what balance of tone the phrase demands. The conductor of a symphonic orchestra does not care how, technically, certain effects are produced by the violins, whether they use an up-bow or a down-bow. He merely says: 'That's too heavy: give me less tone!' The result to be achieved is always more important than the manner of achievement.

"All phases of technical accomplishment, if rightly acquired, tend to become second nature to the player in the course of time: _staccato_, a brilliant trick; _spiccato_, the reiteration of notes played from the wrist, etc. The _martellato_, a _nuance_ of _spiccato_, should be played with a firm bowing at the point. In a very broad _spiccato_, the arm may be brought into play; but otherwise not, since it makes rapid playing impossible. Too many amateurs try to play _spiccato_ from the arm. And too many teachers are contented with a trill that is merely brilliant. Kneisel insists on what he calls a 'musical trill,' of which Kreisler's beautiful trill is a perfect example. The trill of some violinists is _invariably_ brilliant, whether brilliancy is appropriate or not. Brilliant trills in Bach always seem out of place to me; while in Paganini and in Wieniawski's _Carnaval de Venise_ a high brilliant trill is very effective.

"As to double-stops--Edison once said that violin music should be written only in double-stops--I practice them playing first the single notes and then the two together, and can recommend this mode of practice from personal experience. Harmonics, where clarity is the most important thing, are mainly a matter of bowing, of a sure attack and sustaining by the bow. Of course the harmonics themselves are made by the fingers; but their tone quality rests altogether with the bow.

EDISON AND OCTAVES

"The best thing I've ever heard said of octaves was Edison's remark to me that 'They are merely a nuisance and should not be played!' I was making some records for him during the experimental stage of the disk record, when he was trying to get an absolutely smooth _legato_ tone, one that conformed to Loeffler's definition of it as 'no breaks' in the tone. He had had Schubert's _Ave Maria_ recorded by Flesch, MacMillan and others, and wanted me to play it for him. The records were all played for me, and whenever he came to the octave passages Edison would say: 'Listen to them! How badly they sound!' Yet the octaves were absolutely in tune! 'Why do they sound so badly?' I inquired.

"Then Edison explained to me that according to the scientific theory of vibration, the vibrations of the higher tone of the octaves should be exactly twice those of the lower note. 'But here,' he continued, 'the vibrations of the notes all vary.' 'Yet how can the player control his fingers in the _vibrato_ beyond playing his octaves in perfect tune?' I asked. 'Well, if he cannot do so,' said Edison, 'octaves are merely a nuisance, and should not be played at all.' I experimented and found that by simply pressing down the fingers and playing without any _vibrato_, I could come pretty near securing the exact relation between the vibrations of the upper and lower notes but--they sounded dreadful! Of course, octaves sound well in _ensemble_, especially in the orchestra, because each player plays but a single note. And tenths sound even better than octaves when two people play them.

WIRE AND GUT STRINGS

"You ask about my violin? It belonged to the famous Hawley collection, and is a Giovanni Baptista Guadignini, made in 1780, in Turin. The back is a single piece of maple-wood, having a broadish figure extending across its breadth. The maple-wood sides match the back. The top is formed of a very choice piece of spruce, and it is varnished a deep golden-red. It has a remarkably fine tone, very vibrant and with great carrying power, a tone that has all that I can ask for as regards volume and quality.

"I think that wire strings are largely used now-a-days because gut strings are hard to obtain--not because they are better. I do not use wire strings. I have tried them and find them thin in tone, or so brilliant that their tone is too piercing. Then, too, I find that the use of a wire E reduces the volume of tone of the other strings. No wire string has the quality of a fine gut string; and I regard them only as a substitute in the case of some people, and a convenience for lazy ones.

VIOLIN MASTERY

"Violin Mastery? Off-hand I might say the phrase stands for a life-time of effort with its highest aims unattained. As I see it the achievement of violin mastery represents a combination of 90 per cent. of toil and 10 per cent. of talent or inspiration. Goetschius, with whom I studied composition, once said to me: 'I do not congratulate you on having talent. That is a gift. But I do congratulate you on being able to work hard!' The same thing applies to the fiddle. It seems to me that only by keeping everlastingly at it can one become a master of the instrument."

VI

ARTHUR HARTMANN

THE PROBLEM OF TECHNIC

Arthur Hartmann is distinctly and unmistakably a personality. He stands out even in that circle of distinguished contemporary violinists which is so largely made up of personalities. He is a composer--not only of violin pieces, but of symphonic and choral works, chamber music, songs and piano numbers. His critical analysis of Bach's _Chaconne_, translated into well-nigh every tongue, is probably the most complete and exhaustive study of "that triumph of genius over matter" written. And besides being a master of his own instrument he plays the _viola d'amore_, that sweet-toned survival, with sympathetic strings, of the 17th century viol family, and the Hungarian _czimbalom_. Nor is his mastery of the last-named instrument "out of drawing," for we must remember that Mr. Hartmann was born in Maté Szalka, in Southern Hungary. Then, too, Mr. Hartmann is a genial and original thinker, a _littérateur_ of no mean ability, a bibliophile, the intimate of the late Claude Debussy, and of many of the great men of musical Europe. Yet from the reader's standpoint the interest he inspires is, no doubt, mainly due to the fact that not only is he a great interpreting artist--but a great artist doubled by a great teacher, an unusual combination.

Characteristic of Mr. Hartmann's hospitality (the writer had passed a pleasant hour with him some years before, but had not seen him since), was the fact that he insisted in brewing Turkish coffee, and making his caller feel quite at home before even allowing him to broach the subject of his visit. And when he learned that its purpose was to draw on his knowledge and experience for information which would be of value to the serious student and lover of his art, he did not refuse to respond.

WHAT VIOLIN PLAYING REALLY IS

"Violin playing is really no abstract mystery. It's as clear as geography in a way: one might say the whole art is bounded on the South by the G string, on the North by the E string, on the West by the string hand--and that's about as far as the comparison may be carried out. The point is, there are definite boundaries, whose technical and esthetic limits may be extended, and territorial annexations made through brain power, mental control. To me 'Violin Mastery' means taking this little fiddle-box in hand [and Mr. Hartmann suited action to word by raising the lid of his violin-case and drawing forth his beautiful 1711 Strad], and doing just what I want with it. And that means having the right finger on the right place at the right time--but don't forget that to be able to do this you must have forgotten to think of your fingers as fingers. They should be simply unconscious slaves of the artist's psychic expression, absolutely subservient to his ideal. Too many people reverse the process and become slaves to their fingers.

THE PROBLEM OF TECHNIC

"Technic, for instance, in its mechanical sense, is a much exaggerated microbe of _Materia musica_. All technic must conform to its instrument.[A] The violin was made to suit the hand, not the hand to suit the violin, hence its technic must be based on a natural logic of hand movement. The whole problem of technical control is encountered in the first change of position on the violin. If we violinists could play in but one position there would be no technical problem. The solution of this problem means, speaking broadly, the ability to play the violin--for there is only one way of playing it--with a real, full, singing 'violin' tone. It's not a question of a method, but just a process based on pure reason, the working out of rational principles.

[Footnote A: This is the idea which underlies my system for ear-training and absolute pitch, "Arthur Hartmann's System," as I call it, which I have published. A.H.]

"What is the secret of this singing tone? Well, you may call it a secret, for many of my pupils have no inkling of it when they first come here, though it seems very much of an 'open secret' to me. The finished beauty of the violin 'voice' is a round, sustained, absolutely smooth _cantabile_ tone. Now [Mr. Hartmann took up his Strad], I'll play you the scale of G as the average violin student plays it. You see--each slide from one tone to the next, a break--a rosary of lurches! How can there be a round, harmonious tone when the fingers progress by jerks? Shifting position must not be a continuous movement of effort, but a continuous movement in which effort and relaxation--that of dead weight--alternate. As an illustration, when we walk we do not consciously set down one foot, and then swing forward the other foot and leg with a jerk. The forward movement is smooth, unconscious, coordinated: in putting the foot forward it carries the weight of the entire body, the movement becomes a matter of instinct. And the same applies to the progression of the fingers in shifting the position of the hand. Now, playing the scale as I now do--only two fingers should be used--

I prepare every shift. Absolute accuracy of intonation and a singing legato is the result. These guiding notes indicated are merely a test to prove the scientific spacing of the violin; they are not sounded once control of the hand has been obtained. _They serve only to accustom the fingers to keep moving in the direction in which they are going_.

"The tone is produced by the left hand, by the weight of the fingers plus an undercurrent of sustained effort. Now, you see, _if in the moment of sliding you prepare the bow for the next string, the slide itself is lost in the crossing of the bow_. To carry out consistently this idea of effort and relaxation in the downward progression of the scale, you will find that when you are in the third position, the position of the hand is practically the same as in the first position. Hence, in order to go down from third to first position with the hand in what might be called a 'block' position, another movement is called for to bridge over this space (between third and first position), and this movement is the function of the thumb. The thumb, preceding the hand, relaxes the wrist and helps draw the hand back to first position. But great care must be taken that the thumb is not moved until the first finger will have been played; otherwise there will be a tendency to flatten. In the illustration the indication for the thumb is placed after the note played by the first finger.

"The inviolable law of beautiful playing is that there must be no angles. As I have shown you, right and left hand coördinate. The fiddle hand is preparing the change of position, while the change of strings is prepared by the right hand. And always the slides in the left hand are prepared by the last played finger--_the last played finger is the true guide to smooth progression_--just as the bow hand prepares the slides in the last played bowing. There should be no such thing as jumping and trusting in Providence to land right, and a curse ought to be laid on those who let their fingers leave the fingerboard. None who develop this fundamental aspect of all good playing lose the perfect control of position.

"Of course there are a hundred _nuances_ of technic (into which the quality of good taste enters largely) that one could talk of at length: phrasing, and the subtle things happening in the bow arm that influence it; _spiccato_, whose whole secret is finding the right point of balance in the bow and, with light finger control, never allowing it to leave the string. I've never been able to see the virtue of octaves or the logic of double-stops. Like tenths, one plays or does not play them. But do they add one iota of beauty to violin music? I doubt it! And, after all, it is the poetry of playing that counts. All violin playing in its essence is the quest for color; its perfection, that subtle art which hides art, and which is so rarely understood."

"Could you give me a few guiding rules, a few Beatitudes, as it were, for the serious student to follow?" I asked Mr. Hartmann. Though the artist smiled at the idea of Beatitudes for the violinist, yet he was finally amiable enough to give me the following, telling me I would have to take them for what they were worth:

NINE BEATITUDES FOR VIOLINISTS

"Blessed are they who early in life approach Bach, for their love and veneration for music will multiply with the years.

"Blessed are they who remember their own early struggles, for their merciful criticism will help others to a greater achievement and furtherance of the Divine Art.

"Blessed are they who know their own limitations, for they shall have joy in the accomplishment of others.

"Blessed are they who revere the teachers--their own or those of others--and who remember them with credit.

"Blessed are they who, revering the old masters, seek out the newer ones and do not begrudge them a hearing or two.

"Blessed are they who work in obscurity, nor sound the trumpet, for Art has ever been for the few, and shuns the vulgar blare of ignorance.

"Blessed are they whom men revile as futurists and modernists, for Art can evolve only through the medium of iconoclastic spirits.

"Blessed are they who unflinchingly serve their Art, for thus only is their happiness to be gained.

"Blessed are they who have many enemies, for square pegs will never fit into round holes."

ARRANGING VERSUS TRANSCRIBING

Arthur Hartmann, like Kreisler, Elman, Maud Powell and others of his colleagues, has enriched the literature of the violin with some notably fine transcriptions. And it is a subject on which he has well-defined opinions and regarding which he makes certain distinctions: "An 'arrangement,'" he said, "as a rule, is a purely commercial affair, into which neither art nor æsthetics enter. It usually consists in writing off the melody of a song--in other words, playing the 'tune' on an instrument instead of hearing it sung with words--or in the case of a piano composition, in writing off the upper voice, leaving the rest intact, regardless of sonority, tone-color or even effectiveness, and, furthermore, without consideration of the idiomatic principles of the instrument to which the adaptation was meant to fit.

"A 'transcription,' on the other hand, can be raised to the dignity of an art-work. Indeed, at times it may even surpass the original, in the quality of thought brought into the work, the delicate and sympathetic treatment and by the many subtleties* which an artist can introduce to make it thoroughly a _re-creation_ of his chosen instrument.

*Transcriber's note: Original text read "subleties".

"It is the transcriber's privilege--providing he be sufficiently the artist to approach the personality of another artist with reverence--to donate his own gifts of ingenuity, and to exercise his judgment in either adding, omitting, harmonically or otherwise embellishing the work (_while preserving the original idea and characteristics_), so as to thoroughly _re-create_ it, so completely destroying the very sensing of the original _timbre_ that one involuntarily exclaims, 'Truly, this never was anything but a violin piece!' It is this, the blending and fusion of two personalities in the achievement of an art-ideal, that is the result of a true adaptation.

"Among the transcriptions I have most enjoyed making were those of Debussy's _Il pleure dans mon cœur_, and _La Fille aux cheveaux de lin_. Debussy was my cherished friend, and they represent a labor of love. Though Debussy was not, generally speaking, an advocate of transcriptions, he liked these, and I remember when I first played _La Fille aux cheveaux de lin_ for him, and came to a bit of counterpoint I had introduced in the violin melody, whistling the harmonics, he nodded approvingly with a '_pas bête ça!_' (Not stupid, that!)

DEBUSSY'S POÈME FOR VIOLIN

"Debussy came near writing a violin piece for me once!" continued Mr. Hartmann, and brought out a folio containing letters the great impressionist had written him. They were a delightful revelation of the human side of Debussy's character, and Mr. Hartmann kindly consented to the quotation of one bearing on the _Poème_ for violin which Debussy had promised to write for him, and which, alas, owing to his illness and other reasons, never actually came to be written:

"Dear Friend:

"Of course I am working a great deal now, because I feel the need of writing music, and would find it difficult to build an aeroplane; yet at times Music is ill-natured, even toward those who love her most! Then I take my little daughter and my hat and go walking in the Bois de Boulogne, where one meets people who have come from afar to bore themselves in Paris.

"I think of you, I might even say I am in need of you (assume an air of exaltation and bow, if you please!) As to the _Poème_ for violin, you may rest assured that I will write it. Only at the present moment I am so preoccupied with the 'Fall of the House of Usher!' They talk too much to me about it. I'll have to put an end to all that or I will go mad. Once more I want to write it, and above all _on your account_. And I believe you will be the only one to play the _Poème_. Others will attempt it, and then quickly return to the Mendelssohn Concerto!

"Believe me always your sincere friend,

"CLAUDE DEBUSSY."

"He never did write it," said Mr. Hartmann, "but it was not for want of good will. As to other transcriptions, I have never done any that I did not feel instinctively would make good fiddle pieces, such as MacDowell's _To a Wild Rose_ and others of his compositions. And recently I have transcribed some fine Russian things--Gretchaninoff's _Chant d'Automne_, Karagitscheff's _Exaltation_, Tschaikovsky's _Humoresque_, Balakirew's _Chant du Pechêur_, and Poldini's little _Poupée valsante_, which Maud Powell plays so delightfully on all her programs."

VII

JASCHA HEIFETZ

THE DANGER OF PRACTICING TOO MUCH. TECHNICAL MASTERY AND TEMPERAMENT

Mature in virtuosity--the modern virtuosity which goes so far beyond the mere technical mastery that once made the term a reproach--though young in years, Jascha Heifetz, when one makes his acquaintance "off-stage," seems singularly modest about the great gifts which have brought him international fame. He is amiable, unassuming and--the best proof, perhaps, that his talent is a thing genuine and inborn, not the result of a forcing process--he has that broad interest in art and in life going far beyond his own particular medium, the violin, without which no artist may become truly great. For Jascha Heifetz, with his wonderful record of accomplishment achieved, and with triumphs still to come before him, does not believe in "all work and no play."

THE DANGER OF PRACTICING TOO MUCH

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

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

THE DEVELOPMENT OF A VIRTUOSE TECHNIC

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

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