From the ARCHIVE

Eleven years after Henryk Wieniawski’s death, his former accompanist Arno Kleffel recalls how the famed violinist and composer told him how he achieved his famous staccato

FROM THE STRAD

OCTOBER 1891 VOL.2 NO.18

It was at Riga, in the Spring of 1865, that I first met Wieniawski, who had stopped there on his way to London in order to give a concert. His arrival at Riga was hailed with delight and in fact his reception there was so enthusiastic that he made up his mind to remain in the neighbourhood for the present, and appear for the first time in various little towns. When I had met him a few times in Society and accompanied him on the pianoforte, he asked me to go with him on a little tour.

As everybody knows, Wieniawski’s staccato playing was almost his strongest point; even in the most rapid movements his unerring precision in that respect was something marvellous. I said something to this effect one day and he replied, “Would you like to know how this came about? Well I will tell you. I daresay you are aware that I was trained at the Conservatoire in Paris. When I was leaving it—not without honours—the Director made a few parting remarks to me. ‘I can promise you a brilliant future,’ said he ‘but there is just one thing without which you can never be a first rate violinist. You have not been able to master the art of playing staccato. Do not take this to heart however; it is quite possible to be a very admirable performer without it.” impression these words made upon me. Night and day did I practise in order to gain the lightness of wrist so indispensable to good staccato playing. I made up my mind I would master it,

You have no idea what a deep but for ever so long my efforts were in vain. I was at last quite in despair, for it seemed as if I never could attain my object. But one night I went to bed after practising for many hours, and, whilst half asleep, I still mechanically continued the same movement, my right arm going up and down. Suddenly it flashed upon me that the whole matter lay in a nutshell. I sprang out of bed, seized my fiddle, and lo and behold the thing was done! There was the staccato, as fine as you could wish to hear it, only played with the entire arm, not from the wrist in the orthodox fashion. If you hold my upper arm—so—you can feel the movement of the muscle distinctly; the number of pulsations corresponds with the number of notes contained in the staccato passage. It is not exaggerating to say that then for the first time I began to take real pleasure in my art. Without being vexed or hampered by tiresome mechanical difficulties, I am free to put my whole soul into the music. Is not this that every artist would desire above everything?”

LISA-MARIE MAZZUCCO