THOUGHTS ON PIANO-PLAYING.
My daughters play the music of all the principal composers, and also the
best salon music. Limited views of any kind are injurious to art. It is
as great a mistake to play only Beethoven's music as to play none of it,
or to play either classical or salon music solely. If a teacher confines
himself to the study of the first, a good technique, a tolerably sound
style of playing, intelligence, and knowledge are generally sufficient
to produce an interpretation in most respects satisfactory. The music
usually compensates for a style which may be, according to
circumstances, either dry, cold, too monotonous or too strongly shaded,
and even for an indifferent or careless touch. Interest in the
composition frequently diverts the attention of even the best player
from a thoroughly correct and delicate mode of execution, and from the
effort to enhance the beauty of the composition, and to increase its
appreciation with the hearer. In the performance of classical music,
inspiration--that is, the revelation of an artistic nature and not
empty affectation--can be expected only from an artist, and not from a
pupil. Therefore, with more advanced pupils, I take up in my lessons, in
connection with a sonata by Beethoven, a nocturne or waltz by Chopin,
and a piece by St. Heller or Schulhoff, Henselt, C. Meyer, &c. Elegance
and polish, a certain coquetry, nicety, delicacy, and fine shading
cannot be perfected in the study of a sonata by Beethoven; for which,
however, the latter pieces present much greater opportunities. Besides
this, variety is much more sustaining to the learner; it excites his
interest; he does not so soon become weary, and is guarded from
carelessness; his artistic knowledge is increased, and he is agreeably
surprised to find himself able to perform three pieces so distinct in
character.
* * * * *
"Expression cannot be taught, it must come of itself." But when are we
to look for it? When the stiff fingers are fifty or sixty years old, and
the expression is imprisoned in them, so that nothing is ever to be
heard of it? This is a wide-spread delusion. Let us look at a few of
those to whom expression has come of itself. X. plays skilfully and
correctly, but his expression continues crude, cold, monotonous; he
shows too pedantic a solicitude about mechanical execution and strict
time; he never ventures on a _pp._, uses too little shading in _piano_,
and plays the _forte_ too heavily, and without regard to the instrument;
his _crescendi_ and _diminuendi_ are inappropriate, often coarse and
brought in at unsuitable places; and--his _ritardandi_! they are tedious
indeed! "But Miss Z. plays differently and more finely." Truly, she
plays differently; but is it more finely? Do you like this gentle violet
blue, this sickly paleness, these rouged falsehoods, at the expense of
all integrity of character? this sweet, embellished, languishing style,
this _rubato_ and dismembering of the musical phrases, this want of
time, and this sentimental trash? They both have talent, but their
expression was allowed to be developed of itself. They both would have
been very good players; but now they have lost all taste for the ideal,
which manifests itself in the domain of truth, beauty, and simplicity.
If pupils are left to themselves, they imitate the improper and
erroneous easily and skilfully; the right and suitable with difficulty,
and certainly unskilfully. Even the little fellow who can hardly speak
learns to use naughty, abusive words more quickly and easily than fine,
noble expressions. What school-master has not been surprised at this
facility, and what good old aunt has not laughed at it? But you say, "It
is not right to force the feelings of others!" That is quite
unnecessary; but it is possible to rouse the feelings of others, to
guide and educate them, without prejudicing their individuality of
feeling, and without restraining or disturbing them, unless they are on
the wrong path. Who has not listened to performers and singers who were
otherwise musical, but whose sentiment was either ridiculous or
lamentable?
* * * * *
It is generally acknowledged that, among other things, I have succeeded
more or less with all my scholars in the attainment of a fine touch.
People desire to obtain from me the requisite exercises for the
development of this; but not much can be gained from these. The
important thing is _how_ and _when_ they are to be used; and that most
careful attention shall be paid in the selection of other études and
pieces, in order that nothing shall be played which shall endanger the
confirmation of the correct touch already acquired, or shall undo what
has been accomplished in the lessons. As I have said before, it does not
depend upon much practising, but upon correct practising; and that the
pupils shall not be allowed to fall into errors. I am constantly asked,
"How many hours a day do your daughters practise?" If the number of
hours spent in practising gives the measure of the standing of a
_virtuoso_, then my daughters are among the most insignificant, or in
fact should not belong to the order at all.
This is the place for me to explain myself more fully with regard to
playing with a loose wrist, in order that I shall not be misunderstood.
The tones which are produced with a loose wrist are always more tender
and more attractive, have a fuller sound, and permit more delicate
shading than the sharp tones, without body, which are thrown or fired
off or tapped out with unendurable rigidity by the aid of the arm and
fore-arm. A superior technique can with few exceptions be more quickly
and favorably acquired in this way than when the elbows are required to
contribute their power. I do not, however, censure the performance of
many _virtuosos_, who execute rapid octave passages with a stiff wrist;
they often do it with great precision, in the most rapid _tempo_,
forcibly and effectively. It must, after all, depend upon individual
peculiarities whether the pupil can learn better and more quickly to
play such passages thus or with a loose wrist. The present style of
bravoura playing for _virtuosos_ cannot dispense with facility in octave
passages; it is a necessary part of it.
I will now consider the use of loose and independent fingers, in playing
generally; _i.e._, in that of more advanced pupils who have already
acquired the necessary elementary knowledge. The fingers must be set
upon the keys with a certain decision, firmness, quickness, and vigor,
and must obtain a command over the key-board; otherwise, the result is
only a tame, colorless, uncertain, immature style of playing, in which
no fine _portamento_, no poignant _staccato_, or sprightly accentuation
can be produced. Every thoughtful teacher, striving for the best result,
must, however, take care that this shall only be acquired gradually, and
must teach it with a constant regard to individual peculiarities, and
not at the expense of beauty of performance, and of a tender, agreeable
touch.
* * * * *
It is a mortifying fact for many critics, artists, composers, and
teachers, that the general public show much more correct judgment and
appreciation of a fine, noble piano performance, and of a simple, pure,
well-taught style of singing, and also understand the characteristics
of the performer, much more quickly than they do. The sensibility and
appreciation of beauty with the public is less prejudiced, less
spurious, more receptive, and more artless. Its perceptions are not
disturbed by theories, by a desire to criticise, and many other
secondary matters. The public do not take a biassed or stilted view. The
admiration for Jenny Lind is a striking proof of this, as is also the
appreciation of many piano-players.
* * * * *
The age of progress announces, in piano-playing also, "a higher beauty"
than has hitherto existed. Now, I demand of all the defenders of this
new style, wherein is this superior beauty supposed to consist? It is
useless to talk, in a vague way, about a beauty which no one can
explain. I have listened to the playing--no, the thrumming and
stamping--of many of these champions of the modern style of beauty; and
I have come to the conclusion, according to my way of reasoning, that it
ought to be called a higher,--quite different, inverted beauty,--a
deformed beauty, repugnant to the sensibilities of all mankind. But our
gifted "age of the future" protests against such cold conservatism. The
period of piano fury which I have lived to see, and which I have just
described, was the introduction to this new essay, only a feeble
attempt, and a preliminary to this piano future. Should this senseless
raging and storming upon the piano, where not one idea can be
intelligently expressed in a half-hour, this abhorrent and rude
treatment of a grand concert piano, combined with frightful misuse of
both pedals, which puts the hearer into agonies of horror and spasms of
terror, ever be regarded as any thing but a return to barbarism, devoid
of feeling and reason? This is to be called music! music of the future!
the beauty of the future style! Truly, for this style of music, the ears
must be differently constructed, the feelings must be differently
constituted, and a different nervous system must be created! For this
again we shall need surgeons, who lie in wait in the background with the
throat improvers. What a new and grand field of operations lies open to
them! Our age produces monsters, who are insensible to the plainest
truths, and who fill humanity with horror. Political excesses have
hardly ceased, when still greater ones must be repeated in the world of
music. But comfort yourselves, my readers: these isolated instances of
madness, these last convulsions of musical insanity, with however much
arrogance they may be proclaimed, will not take the world by storm. The
time will come when no audience, not even eager possessors of
complimentary tickets, but only a few needy hirelings, will venture to
endure such concert performances of "the future."
* * * * *
I ought to express myself more fully with regard to expression in
piano-playing. It is difficult to perform this task, at least in
writing; for it can more easily be practically explained to individual
learners. Intelligent teachers, who are inclined to understand my
meaning, will find abundant material, as well as all necessary
explanations, in the preceding chapters; and I will merely say that a
teacher who is endowed with the qualities which I have designated as
"the three trifles" will seek to excite the same in his pupils; will
refine and cultivate them, according to his ability, with
disinterestedness, with energy, and with perseverance; and truth and
beauty will everywhere be the result. Thus he will remain in the
present, where there is so much remaining to be accomplished. These
three trifles certainly do not have their root in folly, want of talent,
and hare-brained madness; therefore the possessors of the latter must
look to the "future," and proclaim a "higher," that is, an "inverted
beauty."
_Rules for Piano Pupils._
You must never begin to learn a second piece until you have entirely
conquered the first.
You ought to fix your eyes very carefully on the notes, and not to trust
to memory; otherwise, you will never learn to play at sight.
In order to avoid the habit of false fingering, you should not play any
piece which is not marked for the proper fingers.
You should learn to play chords and skipping notes, without looking at
the keys, as this interferes with a prompt reading of the notes.
You must learn to count nicely in playing, in order always to keep
strict time.
To use for once the language of the times, which boldly proclaims, "Such
things as these belong to a stand-point which we have already reached,"
I wish that the musicians of "the future" may as happily reach their
"stand-point," not by hollow phrases and flourishes, and the threshing
of empty straws, but by practical, successful efforts, and striving for
that which is better.
* * * * *
"What is the value of your method, in the instruction of pupils who have
for years played many pieces from notes, but have played them badly,
and whom we are called upon to lead into a better way of playing?"
A reply to this frequent inquiry can be found in my first chapter. Above
all things, let the notes which have already been played be laid aside
for a long time; for a mistaken style of playing these has become so
confirmed that to improve them is hopeless, and the tottering edifice
must fall to the ground. First, improve the touch; help to acquire a
better and more connected scale; teach the formation of different
cadences on the dominant and sub-dominant; and the construction of
various passages on the chord of the diminished seventh, to be played
with correct, even, and quiet fingering, _legato_ and _staccato_,
_piano_, and _forte_; pay strict attention to the use of loose fingers
and a loose wrist; and allow no inattentive playing. You may soon take
up, with these studies, some entirely unfamiliar piece of music, suited
to the capacity of the pupil. It is not possible or desirable to attempt
to make a sudden and thorough change with such pupils, even if they
should show the best intentions and docility. You should select a light,
easy piece of salon music, but of a nature well adapted to the piano,
which shall not be wearisome to the pupil, and in the improved
performance of which he will take pleasure. But, if you still find that
he falls into the old, faulty manner of playing, and that the recently
acquired technique, which has not yet become habitual, is endangered by
it, lay this too aside, and take instead some appropriate étude, or
perhaps a little prelude by Bach. If, in the place of these, you choose
for instruction a ponderous sonata, in which the music would distract
the attention of the pupil from the improved technique, you give up the
most important aim of your instruction, and occupy yourself with
secondary matters; you will censure and instruct in vain, and will never
attain success. You must consider, reflect, and give your mind to the
peculiar needs of the pupil, and you must teach in accordance with the
laws of psychology. You will succeed after a while, but precipitation,
compulsion, and disputes are useless. The improvement of a soprano
voice, ruined by over-screaming, requires prudence, patience, calmness,
and modesty, and a character of a high type generally. It is also a very
thankless task, and success is rare; while on the piano a fair result
may always be accomplished.
* * * * *
I return once more to the subject so frequently discussed, that I may
try to relieve the universal difficulty of our lady pianists. I have
heard much playing of late, in parties both small and large, on
well-tuned and on ill-tuned pianos, on those with which the performer
was familiar, and on those to which she was unaccustomed; from the timid
and the self-possessed; from ladies of various ages, possessed of more
or of less talent, and in various cities: the result was always the
same.
We hear from the ladies that they could play their pieces at home before
their parents or their teachers; but this is never sufficient to enable
them to save their hearers from weariness, anxiety, and all sorts of
embarrassment. My honored ladies, you play over and over again two
mazourkas, two waltzes, two nocturnes, and the Funeral March of Chopin,
the Mazourka and other pieces by Schulhoff, the Trill-Etude, and the
Tremolo by Carl Meyer, &c.: "it makes no difference to you which." You
might be able to master these pieces pretty well, but, instead of this,
you yourselves are mastered. You become embarrassed, and your hearers
still more so: the affair ends with apologies on both sides, with
equivocal compliments, with encouragement to continue in the same
course, with acknowledgment of fine hands for the piano, with uneasy,
forced congratulations to the parents and teacher; but it is always a
happy moment when the fatal soirée is over. The next day I am forced to
sigh again over the same, miserable, poorly and tediously performed
Funeral March of Chopin, and over the timorous B major Mazourka by
Schulhoff. The left hand is always left in the lurch in the difficult,
skipping basses of this piece, and in others of the present style, which
are rich in harmony and modulations. The bass part in this piece is apt
to suffer from timid and false tones; frequently the fundamental tone is
omitted, or the little finger remains resting upon it, instead of giving
the eighth note with a crisp, elastic, and sprightly touch, and the
chords are tame and incomplete. You do not give them their full value;
you leave them too quickly, because you are afraid of not striking the
next low note quickly enough; but, on the other hand, you do not strike
it at all, and one missing tone brings another one after it. The right
hand, being the most skilful, is supposed to play with expression, and
really does so; but this only makes the performance the worse. The
fundamental tone is wanting, and you are led to make a mistake in the
skip, and strike the wrong key. Finally, the whole thing is ended in
terror. I have an uneasy night; I dream of your fine hands, but the
false and the weak notes start up between like strange spectres or will
o' the wisps, and I wake with the headache, instead of with pleasant
memories.
Allow me to give you a piece of advice. Play and practise the bass part
a great deal and very often, first slowly, then quicker, during one or
two weeks, before playing the right hand with it, in order that you may
give your whole attention to playing the bass correctly, delicately, and
surely. Even when you can get through the mazourka tolerably well, you
must not think, on that account, that you will be able to play it in
company, under trying circumstances. You ought to be able to play the
piece by yourself with ease, very frequently, perfectly, and distinctly,
and in very rapid _tempo_, before you trust yourself to perform it even
slowly in company. At least, practise the more difficult passages for
the right hand very frequently, particularly the difficult and bold
conclusion, that it may not strike the hearer as rough, weak, tame, or
hurried. It is an old rule, "If you begin well and end well, all is
well." You ought to practise the skipping bass over and over again by
itself, otherwise it will not go. An incorrect or deficient bass,
without depth of tone and without accentuation, ruins every thing, even
the good temper of the hearer. One thing more: you know very well
Chopin's Nocturne in E flat, and have played it, among other things, for
the last four weeks. Suddenly you are called upon to play in company.
You choose this Nocturne because you have played it nearly every day for
four weeks. But alas! the piano fiends have come to confuse you! You
strike a false bass note, and at the modulation the weak little finger
touches too feebly: bah! the fundamental tone is wanting. You are
frightened, and grow still more so; your musical aunt is frightened
also; the blood rushes to your teacher's face, and I mutter to myself,
"_C'est toujours la même._" The present style of skipping basses
requires a great deal of practice and perfect security; it is necessary
for you to know the piece by heart, in order to give your whole
attention to the left hand. It is also essential that you shall have
acquired a clear, sound touch; otherwise, you cannot give a delicate
accent and shading. You must never allow yourself, _without previous
preparation_, to play those pieces of music in company, in which an
elegant mode of execution is all-important; otherwise, you will be taken
by surprise by unexpected difficulties. You must always pay special
attention to the fundamental tones, even if there should be
imperfections elsewhere. Where one fault is less important than another,
of two evils choose the least. You have been playing now for six or
eight years: are you repaid for the trouble, if it only enables you to
prepare embarrassments for others? You are not willing to play easy,
insignificant pieces; and such pieces as you choose require industry,
earnestness, and perseverance.
* * * * *
Young ladies, it is easy to discover the character of a person from his
manner of standing, walking, moving, and speaking, from the way he bows,
puts on and takes off his hat, or the arrangements of the household; and
we seldom are in error about it. It is also possible to infer beforehand
how you will play and what sort of a performance you will give, from the
manner in which you take your seat at the piano. You sidle up to the
piano lazily, bent over in a constrained manner; in your embarrassment,
you place yourself before the one-lined or two-lined _c_, instead of
before _f_; you sit unsteadily, either too high or too low, only half on
the seat, leaning either too much to the right or to the left; in a
word, as if you did not belong to the fatal music-stool. Your manner
awakens no confidence, and in this way announces that you have none
yourself. How do you expect to exercise control over a grand seven
octave piano, if you do not sit exactly in the middle, with the body
erect and the feet on the two pedals? You are not willing to look the
friend straight in the face, with whom you are to carry on a friendly,
confidential discourse! Even if your attitude and bearing were not so
injurious and dangerous for the performer as it is, still propriety and
good sense would require that you should excite the confidence of your
hearers in you and in your playing by a correct position of the body,
and by a certain decision and resolution, and should prepare him to form
a good opinion of you.
There are, indeed, many _virtuosos_ who think they give evidence of
genius, by throwing themselves on to the music-stool in a slovenly,
lounging manner, and try to show in this way their superiority to a
painstaking performance, and to make up by a showy _nonchalance_ for
what is wanting in their playing. You are, however, a stranger to such
assertion of superior genius, and to such an expression of intensity of
feeling; you do it only from embarrassment, and from a modest want of
confidence in your own powers, which is quite unnecessary. Our great
masters, such as Field, Hummel, Moscheles, Mendelssohn, and others, had
no taste for such improprieties, for such manifestations of genius. They
applied themselves to their task with earnest devotion, and with respect
for the public.