It was not easy to have a heart-to-heart talk with the Master anent his art, since every minute of his time was precious.  Yet ushered into his presence, the writer discovered that he had laid aside for the moment other preoccupations, and was amiably responsive to all questions, once their object had been disclosed.  Naturally, the first and burning question in the case of so celebrated a pedagogue was:  “How do you form such wonderful artists?  What is the secret of your method?”

[Illustration:  LEOPOLD AUER, with hand-written note]

A METHOD WITHOUT SECRETS

“I know,” said Professor Auer, “that there is a theory somewhat to the effect that I make a few magic passes with the bow by way of illustration and—­presto—­you have a Zimbalist or a Heifetz!  But the truth is I have no method—­unless you want to call purely natural lines of development, based on natural principles, a method—­and so, of course, there is no secret about my teaching.  The one great point I lay stress on in teaching is never to kill the individuality of my various pupils.  Each pupil has his own inborn aptitudes, his own personal qualities as regards tone and interpretation.  I always have made an individual study of each pupil, and given each pupil individual treatment.  And always, always I have encouraged them to develop freely in their own way as regards inspiration and ideals, so long as this was not contrary to esthetic principles and those of my art.  My idea has always been to help bring out what nature has already given, rather than to use dogma to force a student’s natural inclinations into channels I myself might prefer.  And another great principle in my teaching, one which is productive of results, is to demand as much as possible of the pupil.  Then he will give you something!

“Of course the whole subject of violin teaching is one that I look at from the standpoint of the teacher who tries to make what is already excellent perfect from the musical and artistic standpoint.  I insist on a perfected technical development in every pupil who comes to me.  Art begins where technic ends.  There can be no real art development before one’s technic is firmly established.  And a great deal of technical work has to be done before the great works of violin literature, the sonatas and concertos, may be approached.  In Petrograd my own assistants, who were familiar with my ideas, prepared my pupils for me.  And in my own experience I have found that one cannot teach by word, by the spoken explanation, alone.  If I have a point to make I explain it; but if my explanation fails to explain I take my violin and bow, and clear up the matter beyond any doubt.  The word lives, it is true, but often the word must be materialized by action so that its meaning is clear.  There are always things which the pupil must be shown literally, though explanation should always supplement illustration.  I studied with Joachim as a boy of sixteen—­it was before 1866, when there was still a kingdom of Hanover in existence—­and Joachim always illustrated his meaning with bow and fiddle.  But he never explained the technical side of what he illustrated.  Those more advanced understood without verbal comment; yet there were some who did not.