The Human Touch

I THINK that it can be said without fear of successful contradition that Albert Einstein has a more masterly stroke on the violin than on the linotype machine.

The two hundred, and more of us, who sat in our best clothes-perhaps I should be speaking only for myself-in the ballroom of Mr. Adolph Lewissohn’s residence last Wednesday evening and heard the world’s greatest geographer of the stellar spaces tickle the strings of his fiddle as directed by Bach, Beethoven and Mozart were delighted not only in the performance but in the infectiously naive delight of the performer.

I wasn’t only Albert Einstein who played. There were others, quite a number of others and some of them virtuosi of the first water. There was Toscha Seidel, who counts his admirers by the thousands and who was content enough to play second fiddle for a night, and second fiddle in both senses. There was Harriet Cohen, pianist, who had performed the night before in Carnegie Hall and then there was Leon Barzin, orchestra conductor, who worked at the humble viola, while Ossip Gisken was at the ‘cello. In addition, there was, for the first number, the Bach Concerto No. 3 for two violins, a string orchestra of ten pieces which Emil Hilb conducted.

But all eyes were on Einstein and ears seemed to be attuned only to his solo passages, and even when his instrument was heard with one or more others, the ear tended instinctively to extract from the musical design only the passages struck by him and to savor them for themselves-as notes of music having a particular freightage of meaning because brought into sound by him. I think that it may truthfully be said that while the average ear heard in full the Bach Concerto No. 3 for two violins and the Allegretto from the Trio for piano, violin and ‘cello by Beethoven and the Mozart String Quartet in G Major, eye reinforced ear when the great mathematician struck bow on strings. And eye caught his smiles of pleasure at certain passages, in the Bach and Mozart pieces especially, and ear suspected chuckles of delight even when there were none, for there were times when he tooked as if might be, or should be, chuckling. Those who sat in the first row made perhaps a more accurate count of chuckles.

The other performers sened the emotional value of the concert and sought by no device to take glance away from the concentrated gaze at that haloed, tousled head. Once or twice, I believe, Emil Hilb, in conducting the first number, caught himself giving the cue to Einstein as well as to members of the string orchestra playing with the quartet, but remembered that Einstein needed no cue, that even if he came in a note late-and there was no player more vigilant to the demands of the score, vigilant without being keyed up-there would not be the slightest detraction from the beauty and the value of the performance. At the end of the first movement of the Bach Concerto, however, Einstein relaxed a bit to smile his delight to friends who were smiling at him, and to express his pleasure at the music, but seeing that the other performers were ready and that Mr. Hilb was all but raising his arms to start the second movement, he pulled himself into an attentive posture, ready to do his share.

So notable a virtuoso of the violin as Toscha Seidel might have been forgiven had he made a more flourishing descent upon the strings than he did or squeezed from a run of notes all its exhibitionist opportunities, but he bore in mind not only that he was playing quartet, and not solo, but that he was playing quarted with Albert Einstein as first violin. Concert virtuoso do not always play well in the harness of a quartet, but Mr. Seidel had no difficulty in curbing himself and I believe-from the expression that sometimes I observed flit across his face-that he was deriving a pleasure in the occasion, beyond the joy in the gift of the music itself. Needless to say, there was delighted applause and when Einstein trooped in, at the beginning, with violin tucked under his arm, there was an immediate response, on the part of both auditors and collaborating performers; all rose, while Einstein bowed and smiled his thanks and recognition of the ovation.

Curiously enough, the only solo performance of the evening was given by Miss Cohen who played two of Bach’s choral preludes and, as an encore, two additional Bach pieces, Perhaps nothing better illustrates the friendly infornality of the occasion than Miss Cohen’s saying, just before she played the encores, that she would play them provided she could remember them, and then bowing her head in a kind of concentrated inner gaze. Her memory, needless to say, served admirably.

Now, without reflection on Miss Cohen’s performance as soloist, there was the hope that Einstein would play a solo, and he had promised newspapermen he would do a Schubert Sonatina. No solo was announced on the printed program and when the last notes of the Mozart quarted had been heard, the audience rose, applauding and preparing to go. Einstein was standing with his fiddle under his arm. Mr. Morgenthau begged the standers to be seated, as Prof. Einstein was going to play a solo. I overheard the phrase Schubert Sonatina and was ready for a treat, but the audience was for the most part pressing forward to shake Einstern by the hand and by the time any showed an inclination to sit down and hear some more music, the violin had been taken from Einstein, and there was no Schubert Sonatina that night. He had practiced for three hours before the concert and had played in the first number, standing.

Professor Einstein’s scientific achievements belong to the world, but his violin playing is his private affair, his private relaxation. If he chooses to play the violin for the benefit of friends in distress in Germany, he playing remains a private affair which need not concern the music crities who pass upon the performances of professionals. Furthermore. I have no particular standing as critic, and do not choose to make any further answer to the question “But how did he play?” than to save this: that he played competently are casually and correctly, without pretentiousness, without a single flourise. He played with pleasure, with a pleasure no less distinct than that which his playing gave. He played as a delighted amateur. By his playing, his mere appearance, he fixed himself more deeply in the affection of those who were acquainted with him and created a fresh set of admirers. He radiated simplicity and grandeur, at the radiations would have been the less powerful had he appeared in sweater and old pants.