old
fellow, fond of chatting, fond of reminiscences; with the latter I bore
my listeners, I am sure. Nevertheless, I am not old in spirit, and I
feel the liveliest curiosity in matters pianistic, matters musical.
Hence, this month I will make a hasty comparison between new and old
fashions in teaching the pianoforte. If you have patience with me you
may hear something of importance; otherwise, if there is skating down
your way don't miss it--fresh air is always healthier than esthetic
gabbling.

Do they teach the piano better in the twentieth century than in the
nineteenth? Yes, absolutely yes. When a young man survived the "old
fogy" methods of the fifties, sixties and seventies of the past century,
he was, it cannot be gainsaid, an excellent artist. But he was, as a
rule, the survival of the fittest. For one of him successful there were
one thousand failures. Strong hands, untiring patience and a deeply
musical temperament were needed to withstand the absurd soulless
drilling of the fingers. Unduly prolonged, the immense amount of dry
studies, the antique disregard of fore-arm and upper-arm and the
comparatively restricted repertory--well, it was a stout body and a
robust musical temperament that rose superior to such cramping pedagogy.
And then, too, the ideals of the pianist were quite different. It is
only in recent years that tone has become an important factor in the
scheme--thanks to Chopin, Thalberg and Liszt. In the early sixties we
believed in velocity and clearness and brilliancy. Kalkbrenner, Herz,
Dreyschock, Doehler, Thalberg--those were the lively boys who patrolled
the keyboard like the north wind--brisk but chilly. I must add that the
most luscious and melting tone I ever heard on the piano was produced by
Thalberg and after him Henselt. Today Paderewski is the best exponent of
their school; of course, modified by modern ideas and a Slavic
temperament.

But now technic no longer counts. Be ye as fleet as Rosenthal and as
pure as Pachmann--in a tonal sense--ye will not escape comparison with
the mechanical pianist. It was their astounding accuracy that extorted
from Eugen d'Albert a confession made to a friend of mine just before he
sailed to this country last month:

"A great pianist should no longer bother himself about his technic. Any
machine can beat him at the game. What he must excel in
is--interpretation and tone."

Rosenthal, angry that a mere contrivance manipulated by a salesman could