CONTENTS
X
FRANZ KNEISEL
THE PERFECT STRING ENSEMBLE
Is there a lover of chamber music unfamiliar
with Franz Kneisel's name? It may be
doubted. After earlier European triumphs
the gifted Roumanian violinist came to this
country (1885), and aside from his activities
in other directions—as a solo artist he was the
first to play the Brahms and Goldmark violin
concertos, and the César Franck sonata in this
country—organized his famous quartet. And,
until his recent retirement as its director and
first violin, it has been perhaps the greatest
single influence toward stimulating appreciation
for the best in chamber music that the
country has known. Before the Flonzaley
was, the Kneisels were. They made plain how
much of beauty the chamber music repertory
offered the amateur string player; not only in
the classic repertory—Haydn, Mozart, Beethoven,
Spohr; in Schubert, Schumann,
Brahms; but in Smetana, Dvořák and Tschaikovsky;
in César Franck, Debussy and Ravel.
Not the least among Kneisel's achievements is,
that while the professional musicians in the
cities in which his organization played attended
its concerts as a matter of course, the average
music lover who played a string instrument
came to them as well, and carried away with
him a message delivered with all the authority
of superb musicianship and sincerity, one
which bade him "go and do likewise," in so
far as his limitations permitted. And the
many excellent professional chamber music organizations,
trios, quartets and ensembles of
various kinds which have come to the fore since
they began to play offer eloquent testimony
with regard to the cultural work of Kneisel
and his fellow artists.
Franz Kneisel
A cheery grate fire burned in the comfortable study in Franz Kneisel's home; the autographed—in what affectionate and appreciative terms—pictures of great fellow artists looked down above the book-cases which hold the scores of those masters of what has been called "the noblest medium of music in existence," whose beauties the famous quartet has so often disclosed on the concert stage. And Mr. Kneisel was amiability personified when I asked him to give me his theory of the perfect string ensemble, and the part virtuosity played in it.
"THE ARTIST RANKS THE VIRTUOSO IN CHAMBER MUSIC"
"The artist, the Tonkünstler, to use a foreign phrase, ranks the virtuoso in chamber music. Joachim was no virtuoso, he did not stress technic, the less important factor in ensemble playing. Sarasate was a virtuoso in the best sense of the word; and yet as an ensemble music player he fell far short of Joachim. As I see it 'virtuoso' is a kind of flattering title, no more. But a Tonkünstler, a 'tone-artist,' though he must have the virtuoso technic in order to play Brahms and Beethoven concertos, needs besides a spiritual insight, a deep concept of their nobility to do them justice—the mere technic demanded for a virtuoso show piece is not enough.
VIOLIN MASTERY IN THE STRING QUARTET
"You ask me what 'Violin Mastery' means in the string quartet. It has an altogether different meaning to me, I imagine, than to the violin virtuoso. Violin mastery in the string ensemble is as much mastery of self as of technical means. The artist must sink his identity completely in that of the work he plays, and though the last Beethoven quartets are as difficult as many violin concertos, they are polyphony, the combination and interweaving of individual melodies, and they call for a mastery of repression as well as expression. I realized how keenly alive the musical listener is to this fact once when our quartet had played in Alma-Tadema's beautiful London home, for the great English painter was also a music-lover and a very discriminating one. He had a fine piano in a beautifully decorated case, and it was an open secret that at his musical evenings, after an artist had played, the lid of the piano was raised, and Sir Lawrence asked him to pencil his autograph on the soft white wood of its inner surface—but only if he thought the compliment deserved. There were some famous names written there—Joachim, Sarasate, Paderewski, Neruda, Piatti, to mention a few. Naturally an artist playing at Alma-Tadema's home for the first time could not help speculating as to his chances. Many were called, but comparatively few were chosen. We were guests at a dinner given by Sir Lawrence. There were some fifty people prominent in London's artistic, musical and social world present, and we had no idea of being asked to play. Our instruments were at our hotel and we had to send for them. We played the Schubert quartet in A minor and Dvořák's 'American' quartet and, of course, my colleagues and myself forgot all about the piano lid the moment we began to play. Yet, I'm free to confess, that when the piano lid was raised for us we appreciated it, for it was no empty compliment coming from Sir Lawrence, and I have been told that some very distinguished artists have not had it extended to them. And I know that on that evening the phrase 'Violin Mastery' in an ensemble sense, as the outcome of ceaseless striving for coördination in expression, absolute balance, and all the details that go to make up the perfect ensemble, seemed to us to have a very definite color and meaning.
THE FIRST VIOLIN IN THE STRING QUARTET
"What exactly does the first violin represent?" Mr. Kneisel went on in answer to another question. "The first violin might be called the chairman of the string meeting. His is the leading voice. Not that he should be an autocrat, no, but he must hold the reins of discipline. Many think that the four string players in a quartet have equal rights. First of all, and above all, are the rights of the composer, Bach, Beethoven, Brahms, Schubert,—as the case may be. But from the standpoint of interpretation the first violin has some seventy per cent. of the responsibility as compared with thirty per cent. for the remaining voices. In all the famous quartet organizations, Joachim, Hellmesberger, etc., the first violin has been the directing instrument and has set the pace. As chairman it has been his duty to say when second violin, viola and 'cello were entitled to hold the floor. Hellmesberger, in fact, considered himself the whole quartet." Mr. Kneisel smiled and showed me a little book of Hellmesberger's Vienna programs. Each program was headed:
HELLMESBERGER QUARTET
with the assistance of
MESSRS. MATH. DURST, CARL HEISSLER,
CARL SCHLESINGER
"In other words, Hellmesberger was the
quartet himself, the other three artists merely
'assisted,' which, after all, is going too far!
"Of course, quartets differ. Just as we have operas in which the alto solo rôle is the most important, so we have quartets in which the 'cello or the viola has a more significant part. Mozart dedicated quartets to a King of Prussia, who played 'cello, and he was careful to make the 'cello part the most important. And in Smetana's quartet Aus meinem Leben, the viola plays a most important rôle. Even the second violin often plays themes introducing principal themes of the first violin, and it has its brief moments of prominence. Yet, though the second violin or the 'cellist may be, comparatively speaking, a better player than the first violin, the latter is and must be the leader. Practically every composer of chamber music recognizes the fact in his compositions. He, the first violin, should not command three slaves, though; but guide three associates, and do it tactfully with regard to their individuality and that of their instruments.
"ENSEMBLE" REHEARSING
"You ask what are the essentials of ensemble practice on the part of the artists? Real reverence, untiring zeal and punctuality at rehearsals. And then, an absolute sense of rhythm. I remember rehearsing a Volkmann quartet once with a new second violinist." [Mr. Kneisel crossed over to his bookcase and brought me the score to illustrate the rhythmic point in question, one slight in itself yet as difficult, perhaps, for a player without an absolute sense of rhythm as "perfect intonation" would be for some others.] "He had a lovely tone, a big technic and was a prize pupil of the Vienna Conservatory. We went over this two measure phrase some sixteen times, until I felt sure he had grasped the proper accentuation. And he was most amiable and willing about it, too. But when we broke up he pointed to the passage and said to me with a smile: 'After all, whether you play it this way, or that way, what's the difference?' Then I realized that he had stressed his notes correctly a few times by chance, and that his own sense of rhythm did not tell him that there were no two ways about it. The rhythmic and tonal nuances in a quartet cannot be marked too perfectly in order to secure a beautiful and finished performance. And such a violinist as the one mentioned, in spite of his tone and technic, was never meant for an ensemble player.
"I have never believed in a quartet getting together and 'reading' a new work as a preparation for study. As first violin I have always made it my business to first study the work in score, myself, to study it until I knew the whole composition absolutely, until I had a mental picture of its meaning, and of the interrelation of its four voices in detail. Thirty-two years of experience have justified my theory. Once the first violin knows the work the practicing may begin; for he is in a position gradually and tactfully to guide the working-out of the interpretation without losing time in the struggle to correct faults in balance which are developed in an unprepared 'reading' of the work. There is always one important melody, and it is easier to find it studying the score, to trace it with eye and mind in its contrapuntal web, than by making voyages of discovery in actual playing.
"Every player has his own qualities, every instrument its own advantages. Certain passages in a second violin or viola part may be technically better suited to the hand of the player, to the nature of the instrument, and—they will sound better than others. Yet from the standpoint of the composition the passages that 'lie well' are often not the more important. This is hard for the player—what is easy for him he unconsciously is inclined to stress, and he must be on his guard against it. This is another strong argument in favor of a thorough preliminary study on the part of the leading violin of the construction of the work."
THE FIRST VIOLIN IN CHAMBER MUSIC VERSUS
THE ORCHESTRA CONDUCTOR
The comparison which I asked Mr. Kneisel to make is one which he could establish with authority. Aside from his experience as director of his quartet, he has been the concert-meister of such famous foreign orchestras as Bilse's and that of the Hofburg Theater in Vienna and, for eighteen years, of the Boston Symphony Orchestra in this country. He has also conducted over one hundred concerts of the Boston Symphony, and was director of the Worcester Music Festivals.
"Nikisch once said to me, after he had heard us play the Schumann A minor quartet in Boston: 'Kneisel, it was beautiful, and I felt that you had more difficulty in developing it than I have with an orchestral score!' And I think he was right. First of all the symphonic conductor is an autocrat. There is no appeal from the commands of his baton. But the first violin of a quartet is, in a sense, only the 'first among peers.' The velvet glove is an absolute necessity in his case. He must gain his art ends by diplomacy and tact, he must always remember that his fellow artists are solo players. If he is arbitrary, no matter how right he may be, he disturbs that fine feeling of artistic fellowship, that delicate balance of individual temperaments harmonized for and by a single purpose. In this connection I do not mind confessing that though I enjoy a good game of cards, I made it a rule never to play cards with my colleagues during the hours of railroad traveling involved in keeping our concert engagements. I played chess. In chess the element of luck does not enter. Each player is responsible for what he does or leaves undone. And defeat leaves no such sting as it does when all may be blamed on chance. In an ensemble that strives for perfection there must be no undercurrents of regret, of dissatisfaction—nothing that interferes with the sympathy and good will which makes each individual artist do his best. And so I have never regretted giving cards the go-by!"
HINTS TO THE SERIOUS VIOLIN STUDENT
Of late years Mr. Kneisel's activity as a teacher has added to his reputation. Few teachers can point to a galaxy of artist pupils which includes such names as Samuel Gardner, Sascha Jacobsen, Breskin, Helen Jeffry and Olive Meade (who perpetuates the ideals of his great string ensemble in her own quartet). "What is the secret of your method?" I asked him first of all. "Method is hardly the word," he told me. "It sounds too cut-and-dried. I teach according to principles, which must, of course, vary in individual cases; yet whose foundation is fixed. And like Joachim, or Leschetiszky, I have preparatory teachers.
THE GENERAL FAULT
"My experience has shown me that the fundamental fault of most pupils is that they do not know how to hold either the bow or the violin. Here in America the violin student as a rule begins serious technical study too late, contrary to the European practice. It is a great handicap to begin really serious work at seventeen or eighteen, when the flexible bones of childhood have hardened, and have not the pliability needed for violin gymnastics. It is a case of not bending the twig as you want the tree to grow in time. And those who study professionally are often more interested in making money as soon as possible than in bending all their energies on reaching the higher levels of their art. Many a promising talent never develops because its possessor at seventeen or eighteen is eager to earn money as an orchestra or 'job' player, instead of sacrificing a few years more and becoming a true artist. I've seen it happen time and again: a young fellow really endowed who thinks he can play for a living and find time to study and practice 'after hours.' And he never does!
"But to return to the general fault of the violin student. There is a certain angle at which the bow should cross the strings in order to produce those vibrations which give the roundest, fullest, most perfect tone [he took his own beautiful instrument out of its case to illustrate the point], and the violin must be so held that the bow moves straight across the strings in this manner. A deviation from the correct attack produces a scratchy tone. And it is just in the one fundamental thing: the holding of the violin in exactly the same position when it is taken up by the player, never varying by so much as half-an-inch, and the correct attack by the bow, in which the majority of pupils are deficient. If the violin is not held at the proper angle, for instance, it is just as though a piano were to stand on a sloping floor. Too many students play 'with the violin' on the bow, instead of holding the violin steady, and letting the bow play.
"And in beginning to study, this apparently simple, yet fundamentally important, principle is often overlooked or neglected. Joachim, when he studied as a ten-year-old boy under Hellmesberger in Vienna, once played a part in a concerto by Maurer, for four violins and piano. His teacher was displeased: 'You'll never be a fiddler!' he told him, 'you use your bow too stiffly!' But the boy's father took him to Böhm, and he remained with this teacher for three years, until his fundamental fault was completely overcome. And if Joachim had not given his concentrated attention to his bowing while there was still time, he would never have been the great artist he later became.
THE ART OF THE BOW
"You see," he continued, "the secret of really beautiful violin playing lies in the bow. A Blondin crossing Niagara finds his wire hard and firm where he first steps on it. But as he progresses it vibrates with increasing intensity. And as the tight-rope walker knows how to control the vibrations of his wire, so the violinist must master the vibrations of his strings. Each section of the string vibrates with a different quality of tone. Most pupils think that a big tone is developed by pressure with the bow—yet much depends on what part of the string this pressure is applied. Fingering is an art, of course, but the great art is the art of the bow, the 'art of bowing,' as Tartini calls it. When a pupil understands it he has gone far.
"Every pupil may be developed to a certain degree without ever suspecting how important a factor the manipulation of the bow will be in his further progress. He thinks that if the fingers of his left hand are agile he has gained the main end in view. But then he comes to a stop—his left hand can no longer aid him, and he finds that if he wants to play with real beauty of expression the bow supplies the only true key. Out of a hundred who reach this stage," Mr. Kneisel went on, rather sadly, "only some five or six, or even less, become great artists. They are those who are able to control the bow as well as the left hand. All real art begins with phrasing, and this, too, lies altogether in the mastery of bow—the very soul of the violin!"
I asked Mr. Kneisel how he came to write his own "Advanced Exercises" for the instrument. "I had an idea that a set of studies, in which each single study presented a variety of technical figures might be a relief from the exercises in so many excellent methods, where pages of scales are followed by pages of arpeggios, pages of double-notes and so forth. It is very monotonous to practice pages and pages of a single technical figure," he added. "Most pupils simply will not do it!" He brought out a copy of his "Exercises" and showed me their plan. "Here, for instance, I have scales, trills, arpeggios—all in the same study, and the study is conceived as a musical composition instead of a technical formula. This is a study in finger position, with all possible bowings. My aim has been to concentrate the technical material of a whole violin school in a set of études with musical interest."
And he showed me the second book of the studies, in ms., containing exercises in every variety of scale, and trill, bowing, nuance, etc., combined in a single musical movement. This volume also contains his own cadenza to the Beethoven violin concerto. In conclusion Mr. Kneisel laid stress on the importance of the student's hearing the best music at concert and recital as often as possible, and on the value and incentive supplied by a musical atmosphere in the home and, on leaving him, I could not help but feel that what he had said in our interview, his reflections and observations based on an artistry beyond cavil, and an authoritative experience, would be well worth pondering by every serious student of the instrument. For Franz Kneisel speaks of what he knows.