A Method Without Secrets
When that celebrated laboratory of budding musical genius, the Petrograd Conservatory, closed its doors indefinitely owing to the disturbed political conditions of Russia, the famous violinist and teacher Professor Leopold Auer decided to pay the visit to the United States which had so repeatedly been urged on him by his friends and pupils. His fame, owing to such heralds as Efrem Zimbalist, Mischa Elman, Kathleen Parlow, Eddy Brown, Francis MacMillan, and more recently Sascha Heifetz, Toscha Seidel, and Max Rosen, had long since preceded him; and the reception accorded him in this country, as a soloist and one of the greatest exponents and teachers of his instrument, has been one justly due to his authority and preÎminence.
It was not easy to have a heart-to-heart talk with the Master anent his art, since every minute of his time was precious. Yet ushered into his presence, the writer discovered that he had laid aside for the moment other preoccupations, and was amiably responsive to all questions, once their object had been disclosed. Naturally, the first and burning question in the case of so celebrated a pedagogue was: "How do you form such wonderful artists? What is the secret of your method?"
"I know," said Professor Auer, "that there is a theory somewhat to the effect that I make a few magic passes with the bow by way of illustration and--_presto_--you have a Zimbalist or a Heifetz! But the truth is I have no method--unless you want to call purely natural lines of development, based on natural principles, a method--and so, of course, there is no secret about my teaching. The one great point I lay stress on in teaching is never to kill the individuality of my various pupils. Each pupil has his own inborn aptitudes, his own personal qualities as regards tone and interpretation. I always have made an individual study of each pupil, and given each pupil individual treatment. And always, always I have encouraged them to develop freely in their own way as regards inspiration and ideals, so long as this was not contrary to esthetic principles and those of my art. My idea has always been to help bring out what nature has already given, rather than to use dogma to force a student's natural inclinations into channels I myself might prefer. And another great principle in my teaching, one which is productive of results, is to demand as much as possible of the pupil. Then he will give you something!
"Of course the whole subject of violin teaching is one that I look at
from the standpoint of the teacher who tries to make what is already
excellent perfect from the musical and artistic standpoint. I insist on
a perfected technical development in every pupil who comes to me. Art
begins where technic ends. There can be no real art development before
one's technic is firmly established. And a great deal of technical work
has to be done before the great works of violin literature, the sonatas
and concertos, may be approached. In Petrograd my own assistants, who
were familiar with my ideas, prepared my pupils for me. And in my own
experience I have found that one cannot teach by word, by the spoken
explanation, alone. If I have a point to make I explain it; but if my
explanation fails to explain I take my violin and bow, and clear up the
matter beyond any doubt. The word lives, it is true, but often the word
must be materialized by action so that its meaning is clear. There are
always things which the pupil must be shown literally, though
explanation should always supplement illustration. I studied with
Joachim as a boy of sixteen--it was before 1866, when there was still a
kingdom of Hanover in existence--and Joachim always illustrated his
meaning with bow and fiddle. But he never explained the technical side
of what he illustrated. Those more advanced understood without verbal
comment; yet there were some who did not.
"As regards the theory that you can tell who a violinist's teacher is by
the way in which he plays, I do not believe in it. I do not believe that
you can tell an Auer pupil by the manner in which he plays. And I am
proud of it since it shows that my pupils have profited by my
encouragement of individual development, and that they become genuine
artists, each with a personality of his own, instead of violinistic
automats, all bearing a marked family resemblance."
Questioned as to how his various pupils reflected different phases of
his teaching ideals, Professor Auer mentioned that he had long since
given over passing final decisions on his pupils. "I could express no
such opinions without unconsciously implying comparisons. And so few
comparisons really compare! Then, too, mine would be merely an
individual opinion. Therefore, as has been my custom for years, I will
continue to leave any ultimate decisions regarding my pupils' playing to
the public and the press."
HOURS OF PRACTICE
"How long should the advanced pupil practice?" Professor Auer was asked.
"The right kind of practice is not a matter of hours," he replied.
"Practice should represent the utmost concentration of brain. It is
better to play with concentration for two hours than to practice eight
without. I should say that four hours would be a good maximum practice
time--I never ask more of my pupils--and that during each minute of the
time the brain be as active as the fingers.
NATIONALITY VERSUS THE CONSERVATORY SYSTEM
"I think there is more value in the idea of a national conservatory than
in the idea of nationality as regards violin playing. No matter what his
birthplace, there is only one way in which a student can become an
artist--and that is to have a teacher who can teach! In Europe the best
teachers are to be found in the great national conservatories. Thibaud,
Ysaye--artists of the highest type--are products of the conservatory
system, with its splendid teachers. So is Kreisler, one of the greatest
artists, who studied in Vienna and Paris. Eddy Brown, the brilliant
American violinist, finished at the Budapest Conservatory. In the Paris
Conservatory the number of pupils in a class is strictly limited; and
from these pupils each professor chooses the very best--who may not be
able to pay for their course--for free instruction. At the Petrograd
Conservatory, where Wieniawski preceded me, there were hundreds of free
scholarships available. If a really big talent came along he always had
his opportunity. We took and taught those less talented at the
Conservatory in order to be able to give scholarships to the deserving
of limited means. In this way no real violinistic genius, whom poverty
might otherwise have kept from ever realizing his dreams, was deprived
of his chance in life. Among the pupils there in my class, having
scholarships, were Kathleen Parlow, Elman, Zimbalist, Heifetz and
Seidel.
VIOLIN MASTERY
"Violin mastery? To me it represents the sum total of accomplishment on
the part of those who live in the history of the Art. All those who may
have died long since, yet the memory of whose work and whose creations
still lives, are the true masters of the violin, and its mastery is the
record of their accomplishment. As a child I remember the well-known
composers of the day were Marschner, Hiller, Nicolai and others--yet
most of what they have written has been forgotten. On the other hand
there are Tartini, Nardini, Paganini, Kreutzer, Dont and Rode--they
still live; and so do Ernst, Sarasate, Vieuxtemps and Wieniawski.
Joachim (incidentally the only great German violinist of whom I
know--and he was a Hungarian!), though he had but few great pupils, and
composed but little, will always be remembered because he, together with
David, gave violin virtuosity a nobler trend, and introduced a higher
ideal in the music played for violin. It is men such as these who always
will remain violin 'masters,' just as 'violin mastery' is defined by
what they have done."
THE BACH VIOLIN SONATAS AND OTHER COMPOSITIONS
Replying to a question as to the value of the Bach violin sonatas,
Professor Auer said: "My pupils always have to play Bach. I have
published my own revision of them with a New York house. The most
impressive thing about these Bach solo sonatas is they do not need an
accompaniment: one feels it would be superfluous. Bach composed so
rapidly, he wrote with such ease, that it would have been no trouble for
him to supply one had he felt it necessary. But he did not, and he was
right. And they still must be played as he has written them. We have the
'modern' orchestra, the 'modern' piano, but, thank heaven, no 'modern'
violin! Such indications as I have made in my edition with regard to
bowing, fingering, _nuances_ of expression, are more or less in accord
with the spirit of the times; but not a single note that Bach has
written has been changed. The sonatas are technically among the most
difficult things written for the violin, excepting Ernst and Paganini.
Not that they are hard in a modern way: Bach knew nothing of harmonics,
_pizzicati_, scales in octaves and tenths. But his counterpoint, his
fugues--to play them well when the principal theme is sometimes in the
outer voices, sometimes in the inner voices, or moving from one to the
other--is supremely difficult! In the last sonatas there is a larger
number of small movements--- but this does not make them any easier to
play.
"I have also edited the Beethoven sonatas together with Rudolph Ganz. He
worked at the piano parts in New York, while I studied and revised the
violin parts in Petrograd and Norway, where I spent my summers during
the war. There was not so much to do," said Professor Auer modestly, "a
little fingering, some bowing indications and not much else. No reviser
needs to put any indications for _nuance_ and shading in Beethoven. He
was quite able to attend to all that himself. There is no composer who
shows such refinement of _nuance_. You need only to take his quartets
or these same sonatas to convince yourself of the fact. In my Brahms
revisions I have supplied really needed fingerings, bowings, and other
indications! Important compositions on which I am now at work include
Ernst's fine Concerto, Op. 23, the Mozart violin concertos, and
Tartini's _Trille du diable_, with a special cadenza for my pupil,
Toscha Seidel.
AS REGARDS "PRODIGIES"
"Prodigies?" said Professor Auer. "The word 'prodigy' when applied to
some youthful artist is always used with an accent of reproach. Public
and critics are inclined to regard them with suspicion. Why? After all,
the important thing is not their youth, but their artistry. Examine the
history of music--you will discover that any number of great masters,
great in the maturity of their genius, were great in its infancy as
well. There are Mozart, Beethoven, Liszt, Rubinstein, d'Albert, Hofmann,
Scriabine, Wieniawski--they were all 'infant prodigies,' and certainly
not in any objectionable sense. Not that I wish to claim that every
_prodigy_ necessarily becomes a great master. That does not always
follow. But I believe that a musical prodigy, instead of being regarded
with suspicion, has a right to be looked upon as a striking example of a
pronounced natural predisposition for musical art. Of course, full
mental development of artistic power must come as a result of the
maturing processes of life itself. But I firmly believe that every
prodigy represents a valuable musical phenomenon, one deserving of the
keenest interest and encouragement. It does not seem right to me that
when the art of the prodigy is incontestably great, that the mere fact
of his youth should serve as an excuse to look upon him with prejudice,
and even with a certain degree of distrust."
III
Violin Mastery