I FIRST began to play the violin when I was just a little over six years old. My teacher was the first violin of the small orchestra which on Sundays and festival days provided music for the Catholic church in the little town in Hungary where I was born. But this versatile teacher of mine did not confine himself to the violin: he gave piano lessons as well, and like most of his colleagues in those days, he combined the offices of organist and conductor, and while he was pedalling away with his feet, would direct with either hand, turn and turn about, while the other was playing on the manuals. Sixty or seventy years ago, we were far from having the wealth of teaching material at our disposal that we have in these days—especially in that little town in Hungary! There was no such thing, then, as a special method, nor special principles or systems of instruction. Every teacher taught as best he knew how, and without any supervision.

Since that time pedagogy in general has made tremendous progress, and the art of violin teaching has by no means lagged behind. Thanks now to special exercises devised for special purposes, scales, studies, études systematically and progressively arranged—so to speak—put up in tabloid form or by the ounce, like the medicines of the modern pharmacopoeia, this huge body of study material is easily accessible to the student youth of our own day. With such a wealth of material placed at his disposal, he cannot, if he is in any degree competent to take advantage of his opportunities, fail to profit thereby.

But of my own violin lessons almost seventy years ago I can remember little. I went to my teacher three or four times a week to take my lessons, but I no longer recall what the master had me play or how he taught me. But I kept on taking lessons from him for some two or three years until my parents—though they were very far from being wealthy—quite the contrary, in fact!—decided, following the advice of friends, to send me to Buda-Pest, the capital of Hungary, to enter the Conservatory of Music there.

My parents were acquainted with one of the violin professors at the Conservatory, Mr. Ridley Kohné, who had come from our home town, and was there regarded as one of its most famous men, because he had conquered a place for himself in the great city. At that time the great art of advertisement had not as yet been developed, and the reputation of an artist was established by tale and rumour, by the things which were said of him. Mr. Kohné, my future teacher, had by no means acquired a European reputation. He was well known only in his—and my own—natal town, and, to a lesser extent, in Buda-Pest. But in that little village in Hungary where I lived, his standing—since he was a professor at the Conservatory in the greatest city in Hungary—was very high indeed.

When I reached Buda-Pest, I was accepted at the Conservatory as a pupil, and at the same time placed in a boarding school, where it was arranged that I should take up my general studies. And in addition to studying regularly at the Conservatory, it was arranged that I should be given private lessons by my teacher.

I might remark that my teacher was Concert-meister at the Buda-Pest National Opera House, and that his companion among the first violins of the orchestra and also on the Conservatory staff, was the father of Jenö Hubay, the famous violinist-composer of to-day, who was at that time known by the name of Huber. I can remember that it was in Buda-Pest that I first began to study systematically, along lines laid down in the École de Violon by Alard, then professor at the Paris Conservatory.

In those days France dominated all Europe, musically speaking, and particularly Eastern Europe. Paris was the dream-vision that floated before the eyes of every young student, of every artist who yearned for recognition. But Paris seemed so far away, the dream of ever reaching it appeared so difficult of attainment! The actual physical process of getting to the city of our desires was anything but easy, owing to the lack of adequate railroads in Hungary. Yet every musician was drawn by all the magnetism of the imagination and all the powers of suggestion to that city on the Seine. Paris, the Paris Conservatory—that was our goal! The Conservatories of Vienna and Leipsic were scarcely known at the time, in spite of the real importance of both of them and of the Leipsic Conservatory especially.

In the conservatory at Buda-Pest, however, I acquired a little technical facility, as the result of my study of Alard’s École, and I began to play little pieces within the compass of my ability—études by such composers as De Bériot and Artot (the latter a Belgian violinist whose music was much affected by his contemporaries). I cannot recall having practised the Kreutzer and Rode Études while I was at Buda-Pest, but I do recall having played the Rovelli Études.

I spent two years in the Hungarian capital, and then I was transferred to Vienna, to continue my studies in the home of Professor Jacques Dont, who, perhaps because his manner was so modest, was at that time not so very well known, in spite of his real genius as a teacher. It was due to M. Dont’s rare skill as a teacher, and thanks to the interest he took in me, that I now really began to grasp and to understand the true character of the violin, and at the same time began to get some inkling of how very difficult it really is to master the instrument. It was Dont who laid the foundation for the technique which I acquired later on; for until I began to study with him I had been groping alone in darkness, feeling my way from one technical point to another. He guided me in my practice of his own preparatory studies for the Kreutzer and Rode Etudes (Vorübungen zu den Kreutzer und Rode Étuden), without allowing me to neglect the scales, and gradually introduced me to Dont’s twenty-four Caprices, now used throughout the violinistic world, but at the time when I was learning to play them (between 1855–1856) almost entirely unknown.

I also commenced to play some of the Spohr Concertos, and the same composer’s Duos for two violins, which Professor Dont greatly admired. And it was Dont, also, who gave me my first piano lessons, and, in due course of time, while I was still living and working in his home, acquainted me with the Mozart piano sonatas and the Czerny Études.

Unfortunately, the state of my finances—or rather, those of my parents—made it impossible for me to continue my studies with this excellent teacher, this man who had shown me such generous kindness, and who had taken such an interest in my career.

While living in Vienna, I had been encouraged by Professor Dont to attend the Vienna Conservatory, principally in order to continue my study of harmony, chamber-music and ensemble playing in the orchestra class, and I had occasionally attended the violin classes of Joseph Hellmesberger, a musician of the highest order, and a celebrated interpreter of string-quartet music. He was the first violin of an organization then widely known: the “Hellmesberger Quartet.” Hellmesberger was also the conductor of the orchestra class, in whose work I was keenly interested, though I had not the slightest idea how to go about playing in an orchestra. Hence I was very much excited the first time I took part in one of its sessions. As I was in the conductor’s own class in the Conservatory, I was given a place among the first violins, and when I had to attack the first measure—it was the “Egmont” overture, by Beethoven—I lost my head completely, owing to the unaccustomed burst of sonority from the instruments surrounding me. Nevertheless, I soon grew used to the ensemble, and in the course of time greatly enjoyed taking part in the orchestra work; while at the same time I laid a foundation for my knowledge of the orchestra. What I learned there in Vienna was of great service to me some forty years later in Petrograd, where I conducted the symphonic concerts of the “Imperial Russian Musical Society,” founded by Anton Rubinstein—an organization which flourished up to the time of the Revolution of 1917.

It was in 1858 that I completed my course in Vienna and received the medal and diploma of the Conservatory, which later I found served me everywhere very acceptably as a passport in the provincial towns in which I played! But a career as a concert artist playing in small towns was by no means my dream! I played in them through force of circumstances, for my parents could no longer support me, and I had to gain my living as best I could, and whenever possible give such help as I could to my family who had done so much for me. I was only a young artist then, whose musical education was as yet uncompleted, handicapped at first by my lack of a sufficiently large and varied repertory. Little by little, however, I built up my repertory by using every opportunity that came to me to hear genuine virtuosos play while “on tour,” and by hearing them play in Vienna, during my rare visits to that city—on which occasions I never failed to profit greatly by the advice of Professor Dont.

In those days there were comparatively few violinists travelling on concert tours. The means of transportation were inadequate, and travelling was anything but comfortable; hence the great artists of the time, men like Vieuxtemps, Bazzini, Laub, made but rare appearances. These three violinists, whom I was able to hear occasionally, made the greatest impression upon me, and I endeavoured to profit to the greatest possible degree by the example by their playing set. Vieuxtemps impressed me particularly by the grandeur of his tone and the nobility of style displayed in his Concertos. Bazzini, a virtuoso in the true sense of the word, was distinguished by the singing quality of his tone, and the then altogether novel piquancies which he introduced in his compositions, and which made a veritable sensation in Vienna.

Every violinist of the day knew his scherzo La Ronde des Lutins, but few were acquainted with his fine Allegro de Concert—a new edition of which, revised by myself, is soon to appear. Considered as violin music, Allegro de Concert is a composition of really superior merit, well worth intensive study—which is sure to repay the student. Laub, as a violinist, shone by reason of his warmth and compactness of tone, and his perfect technique. I strove to perfect myself by observation of these models until that moment, when, owing to a fortunate combination of circumstances, and being very warmly recommended to him, I went to Joachim, in Hanover, in 1862.

This was a milestone in my student life. Joachim was already celebrated in consequence of his affiliation with Liszt at Weimar, and, later, because of the fame he had acquired as a solo player in the great musical centres. He held an honorary position at the court of King George of Hanover, which was then an independent kingdom, later to be absorbed by the German Empire. King George was blind and a passionate lover of music. In order to induce Joachim to remain in his capital and make his permanent home there the King appointed him conductor of the Court Orchestra, to direct its symphonic concerts. Thus he secured an opportunity of hearing the master play for him frequently, in the most intimate way.

Besides myself there were half a dozen other young violinists whom the master had accepted as pupils. Our schedules were more than irregular! We had to be ready to take a lesson at any hour of the day that he came to town to teach us! His servant used to come to summon one or another of us. At the first lesson Joachim gave me I played Spohr’s Eighth Concerto, the “Vocal Scene,” for him, and I think my intonation was dubious; he told me as much, criticizing my style as well, and advising me to pay more careful attention to it. Then, in order to test me at the following lesson—our lesson-time was never fixed in advance—he gave me Rode’s third Etude, in the second position, to prepare. We hardly ever played any scales or études for him during the lesson, with the single exception of some of the Paganini Caprices. Anything which had to do with the technique of the two ...