eye on finger and bow. And this
appeals to me strongly in theory. In practice I seem to get away from
it. It is a matter of temperament I presume. I am willing to believe I'm
not graceful, but then--I do not know whether I move or do not move!
Some of my friends have spoken of it to me at various times, so I
suppose I do move, and sway and all the rest; but any movements of the
sort must be unconscious, for I myself know nothing of them. And the
idea that they are 'prepared' as 'stage effects' is delightful!" And
again Elman laughed.

LIFE AND COLOR IN INTERPRETATION

"For that matter," he continued, "every real artist has some mannerisms
when playing, I imagine. Yet more than mannerisms are needed to impress
an American audience. Life and color in interpretation are the true
secrets of great art. And beauty of interpretation depends, first of
all, on variety of color. Technic is, after all, only secondary. No
matter how well played a composition be, its performance must have
color, _nuance_, movement, life! Each emotional mood of the moment must
be fully expressed, and if it is its appeal is sure. I remember when I
once played for Don Manuel, the young ex-king of Portugal, in London, I
had an illustration of the fact. He was just a pathetic boy, very
democratic, and personally very likable. He was somewhat neglected at
the time, for it is well known and not altogether unnatural, that
royalty securely established finds 'kings in exile' a bit embarrassing.
Don Manuel was a music-lover, and especially fond of Bach. I had had
long talks with the young king at various times, and my sympathies had
been aroused in his behalf. On the evening of which I speak I played a
Chopin _Nocturne_, and I know that into my playing there went some of my
feeling for the pathos of the situation of this young stranger in a
strange land, of my own age, eating the bitter bread of exile. When I
had finished, the Marchioness of Ripon touched my arm: 'Look at the
King!' she whispered. Don Manuel had been moved to tears.

"Of course the purely mechanical must always be dominated by the
artistic personality of the player. Yet technic is also an important
part of interpretation: knowing exactly how long to hold a bow, the most
delicate inflections of its pressure on the strings. There must be
perfect sympathy also with the composer's thought; his spirit must stand
behind the personality of the artist. In the case of certain fa