"For that matter," he continued, "every real artist has some mannerisms
when playing, I imagine. Yet more than mannerisms are needed to impress
an American audience. Life and color in interpretation are the true
secrets of great art. And beauty of interpretation depends, first of
all, on variety of color. Technic is, after all, only secondary. No
matter how well played a composition be, its performance must have
color, _nuance_, movement, life! Each emotional mood of the moment must
be fully expressed, and if it is its appeal is sure. I remember when I
once played for Don Manuel, the young ex-king of Portugal, in London, I
had an illustration of the fact. He was just a pathetic boy, very
democratic, and personally very likable. He was somewhat neglected at
the time, for it is well known and not altogether unnatural, that
royalty securely established finds 'kings in exile' a bit embarrassing.
Don Manuel was a music-lover, and especially fond of Bach. I had had
long talks with the young king at various times, and my sympathies had
been aroused in his behalf. On the evening of which I speak I played a
Chopin _Nocturne_, and I know that into my playing there went some of my
feeling for the pathos of the situation of this young stranger in a
strange land, of my own age, eating the bitter bread of exile. When I
had finished, the Marchioness of Ripon touched my arm: 'Look at the
King!' she whispered. Don Manuel had been moved to tears.
"Of course the purely mechanical must always be dominated by the
artistic personality of the player. Yet technic is also an important
part of interpretation: knowing exactly how long to hold a bow, the most
delicate inflections of its pressure on the strings. There must be
perfect sympathy also with the composer's thought; his spirit must stand
behind the personality of the artist. In the case of certain famous
compositions, like the Beethoven concerto, for instance, this is so well
established that the artist, and never the composer, is held responsible
if it is not well played. But too rigorous an adherence to 'tradition'
in playing is also an extreme. I once played privately for Joachim in
Berlin: it was the Bach _Chaconne_. Now the edition I used was a
standard one: and Joachim was extremely reverential as regards
traditions. Yet he did not hesitate to indicate some changes which he
thought should be made in the version of an authoritative edition,
because 'they sounded better.' And 'How does it sound?' is really the
true test of all interpretation."
ABSOLUTE PITCH THE FIRST ESSENTIAL OF A
PERFECTED TECHNIC
"What is the fundamental of a perfected violin technic?" was a natural
question at this point. "Absolute pitch, first of all," replied Elman
promptly. "Many a violinist plays a difficult passage, sounding every
note; and yet it sounds out of tune. The first and second movements of
the Beethoven concerto have no double-stops; yet they are extremely
difficult to play. Why? Because they call for absolute pitch: they must
be played in perfect tune so that each tone stands out in all its
fullness and clarity like a rock in the sea. And without a fundamental
control of pitch such a master work will always be beyond the
violinist's reach. Many a player has the facility; but without perfect
intonation he can never attain the highest perfection. On the other
hand, any one who can play a single phrase in absolute pitch has the
first and great essential. Few artists, not barring some of the
greatest, play with perfect intonation. Its control depends first of all
on the ear. And a sensitive ear finds differences and shading; it bids
the violinist play a trifle sharper, a trifle flatter, according to the
general harmonic color of the accompaniment; it leads him to observe a
difference, when the harmonic atmosphere demands it, between a C sharp
in the key of E major and a D flat in the same key.