msterdam, now Willy Hess's successor at the head of
the Cologne Conservatory, and then spent a year with Sevcik in Prague.
Yet--without being his pupil--I have learned more from Ysaye than from
any of my teachers. It is rather the custom to decry Sevcik as a
teacher, to dwell on his absolutely mechanical character of
instruction--and not without justice. First of all Sevcik laid all the
stress on the left hand and not on the bow--an absolute inversion of a
fundamental principle. Eldering had taken great pains with my bow
technic, for he himself was a pupil of Hubay, who had studied with
Vieuxtemps and had his tradition. But Sevcik's teaching as regards the
use of the bow was very poor; his pupils--take Kubelik with all his
marvelous finger facility--could never develop a big bow technic. Their
playing lacks strength, richness of sound. Sevcik soon noticed that my
bowing did not conform to his theories; yet since he could not
legitimately complain of the results I secured, he did not attempt to
make me change it. Musical beauty, interpretation, in Sevcik's case were
all subordinated to mechanical perfection. With him the study of some
inspired masterpiece was purely a mathematical process, a problem in
technic and mental arithmetic, without a bit of spontaneity. Ysaye used
to roar with laughter when I would tell him how, when a boy of fifteen,
I played the Beethoven concerto for Sevcik--a work which I myself felt
and knew it was then out of the question for me to play with artistic
maturity--the latter's only criticisms on my performance were that one
or two notes were a little too high, and a certain passage not quite
clear.

"Sevcik did not like the Dvorak concerto and never gave it to his
pupils. But I lived next door to Dvorak at Prague, and meeting him in
the street one day, asked him some questions anent its interpretation,
with the result that I went to his home various times and he gave me his
own ideas as to how it should be played. Sevcik never pointed his
teachings by playing himself. I never saw him take up the fiddle while I
studied with him. While I was his pupil he paid me the compliment of
selecting me to play Sinigaglia's engaging violin concerto, at short
notice, for the first time in Prague. Sinigaglia had asked Sevcik to
play it, who said: 'I no longer play violin, but I have a pupil who can
play it for you,' and introduced me to him. Sinigaglia became a good
friend of mine, and I was the first to int