Returning to the more specific issue of the role physical appeal has played in the lives of women musicians, let’s revisit those ospedali students of two hundred years ago. In his Confessions, Jean-Jacques Rousseau gave an unwitting testimonial to this association of feminine beauty and musical talent. He wrote of his experience attending concerts at Venice’s I Mendicanti:

“What grieved me was those accursed grills, which allowed only tones to go through and concealed the angels of loveliness of whom they were worthy. I talked of nothing else. One day I was speaking of it at M. le Blond’s. ‘If you are so curious,’ he said to me, ‘to see these little girls, I can easily satisfy you. I am one of the administrators of the house, and I invite you to take a snack with them.’ I did not leave him in peace until he had kept his promise. When going into the room that contained these coveted beauties, I felt a tremor of love such as I had never experienced before. M. le Blond introduced me to one after another of those famous singers whose voices and names were all that were known to me. ‘Come, Sophie’-- she was horrible. ‘Come, Cattina’-- she was blind in one eye. ‘Come, Bettina’-- the smallpox had disfigured her, Scarcely one was without some considerable blemish. The inhuman wretch le Blond laughed at my bitter surprise. Two or three, however, looked tolerable; they sang only in the choruses. I was desolate...”

Clearly Rousseau anticipated a high level of physical beauty to correspond with the higher level of musicianship found in the soloists. To be fair, he does end this passage with a slight change of heart: “Ugliness does not exclude charms, and I found some in them. I said to myself that one cannot sing thus without soul; they have that. Finally, my way of looking at them changed so much that I left nearly in love with all these ugly girls.”

The students of the ospedali were, for the most part, orphans or illegitimate children. Being of a lower social class excused them from the prohibition against playing instruments considered disfiguring (such as the violin) or immodest (such as the cello). To quote again from Unsung: “the accepted instruments for girls were those that could be played in a demure seated position, that is, the keyboard instruments (not including the organ, whose pedals required an ungainly posture)... Efforts to learn the violin or flute were frowned on as unsuitable, as late as the 1870's...” While modesty was often given as the reason to keep women from these instruments, the effect on their appearance was sure to draw comment. For example, an 1878 Worchester Evening Gazette reviewer of a concert by the Eichberg Violin Quartet said, “A violin seems an awkward instrument for a woman, whose well-formed chin was designed by nature for other purposes than to pinch down this instrument into position. Nevertheless, we cheerfully bear witness that four bright damsels in a row, all a-bowing with tuneful precision, is an interesting and even a pretty sight.”

As the damage to our chins became less of a distraction and public performance less of a stigma, new issues arose. The late 19th and early 20th centuries seem to have been a time of transition in the reasons used against women in music. “Appearance,” previously defined as “looks,” could now be defined as “existence.” The central issue became the effect of female musicians on the men around them. They were thought to lower the quality of music-making, as well as distract the men. This was (and sadly still can be) part of the prejudice against women orchestral musicians. Ernst Rudorff, the deputy director of the Berlin Hochschule made his case to his superior, Joseph Joachim, in 1881:

“I would like to ask you to consider seriously whether it is right for us to allow women to take part in orchestra classes and performances. They add nothing to the performances; indeed, I am more and more convinced by the last few rehearsals that the weak and uncertain playing of the young girls not only does no good at all but actually makes the sound indistinct and out of tune... It is bad enough that women are meddling in every possible place where they don’t belong; they have already taken over in almost every area of music. At the very least, we have to make sure that orchestras will not have men and women playing together in the future. It is possible that the general currents are heading in that direction and in the coming decades we may see the last bit of disciplined behavior and artistic seriousness driven out of public productions of pure instrumental music. In any case, I would not like it to be said that an institution like the Royal Hochschule has taken the lead in entering upon this path towards immorality. Thus I propose that in the new year... the participation of women in orchestra classes and performances come to an end, once and for all. If I had to add anything to this, I would go one step further and exclude the women from auditing the orchestra classes as well. With only a very few exceptions, they do nothing but exchange looks with the men and chatter.”

More Catch-22's. While Herr Rudorff complained about the level of ability among the women students, he strove to deny them the opportunity to improve their skills! Two developments in the late 19th century helped to circumvent this particular argument. First, exceptional violin soloists of the time, such as Camilla Urso and Maud Powell, disproved the notion that women were incapable of great artistic achievement. Second, the all-female orchestras such as the Boston Fadette Lady’s Orchestra, led by Caroline B. Nichols, began to provide necessary training, and career opportunities as well. Interviewed by the Pittsburgh Gazette Times in 1908, Ms. Nichols commented, “The field for women musicians is growing... Why, when the Fadettes began to appear for professional engagements, people looked askance, and the men musicians smiled and said wait until the public hears them. Well, the public did hear them, and the public liked them so much that we’ve never had an open week from that day to this that was not of our own making.”

Uh oh. Now women were definitely having an effect on the male musicians around them, and it was one that really hurt. They became an economic threat. 


more to come...

The next few posts will be a serialization of a paper I wrote back in the dim recesses of memory (meaning 1999), and presented at the Feminist Music and Theory V conference in London, England. It seems to me the main changes since then are the increasing "babe-ification" of men (google Charlie Siem, for an example)... I suppose that's a kind of progress?

Two hundred years ago, the female musicians of the Venetian ospedali could be heard but not seen, sheltered from view as they performed. Today it seems that the music industry has decided that women musicians must be seen– and often a great deal of the woman’s body must be seen– before she will be heard; that is, before her recording will be marketed or purchased. Why is it that a woman’s appearance, whether judged as suitable or unsuitable, continually captures the attention of the musical establishment? Have we really progressed so far beyond the attitudes towards those ospedali students, or is this merely the other side of the same coin?

This paper had its genesis about five years ago, from what at first seemed to me an innocuous observation. While browsing through violin recordings (my particular interest), I began noticing an increasing number of “cheesecake” photos on cd covers. Delighted as I am to note the upsurge of talented young women violinists, it did strike my middle-aged and chubby self that perhaps the already tough criteria for success as a Classical musician was getting tougher– if you were female, you’d better be a “babe.”

What a mystery! A recording is an aural, not a visual experience– if the musician is accomplished, why should we care about his or her form? As I began to look at the perception of women musicians it became clear that, in one way or another, their appearance has always been as significant as their skill in the public’s eye and mind.

Perception-- what we appear to be and what others wish we would appear to be. The perception of proper feminine roles has always been a major issue for women in music. Those roles have perhaps been debated with the greatest heat in regard to women as composers. While these women were not actively in the limelight like performers, their “womanliness” (which, of course, would be reflected in their appearance) was nonetheless of great interest to the public. To quote Christine Ammer in her book Unsung: “If... a woman should produce a respectable composition, it was argued that she could do so only at the expense of her ‘womanhood.’ For example, one writer pointed out that, even if matrimony and lack of strength and endurance did not deter a woman composer, it still took a considerable amount of ‘fight’ to make one’s way. Even many men found themselves temperamentally ill equipped for such battle. And if a woman should be suited for it, it would diminish her ‘womanly qualities,’ and then what would become of her power of writing ‘womanly music?’”

So many Catch-22's! Writers often worked hard to assure their readers that these risqué women composers had not lost this mysterious “womanliness” by virtue of their musical pursuits. Here, for example, the introduction to an article from the February 1904 issue of Etude Magazine interviewing Amy Beach:

“When Mr. George Whitfield Chadwick first heard Mrs. Beach’s symphony, he is said to have exclaimed, ‘Why was I not born a woman?’ It was the delicacy of thought and finish in her musical expression that had struck him, an expression of true womanliness, absolute in its sincerity... She is a woman of charmingly simple manners, and, as foregone conclusion, of high, innate refinement. She is of medium height. Her eyes are of a grayish blue, large, and smiling. Her complexion is fresh and brilliant... Her straightforwardness is like her personality– gentle, direct, convincing... If you should put direct questions to her as I did you would learn that she composes when she feels the inclination move her to it; that she studies the piano when she is not writing; that one time of day is as good to work in as another, and that her housekeeping is of a very earnest interest to her. This last, however, was an admission, not an answer; but there was such ample proof of it that it must be put down. So many great ladies in art have told me what good housekeepers they were, and, after leaving them, I have had to stop, on turning the first shielding corner, to brush from my overcoat the veneer of dust it had acquired on their hall bench. Mrs. Beach’s domestic regime is not of this type. It fills you with chagrin, indeed, not at the prospect of dust carried out, but at the fearful possibilities of dust carried in.”

The double standard becomes so clear when we turn the tables and apply the same treatment to men! The brilliant mystery writer Dorothy L. Sayers does just that in a collection of essays from the 1930's, entitled Are Women Human?

“Probably no man has ever troubled to imagine how strange his life would appear to himself if it were unrelentingly assessed in terms of his maleness; if everything he wore, said or did had to be justified by reference to female approval; if he were compelled to regard himself, day in and day out, not as a member of society, but merely as a virile member of society... If he were vexed by continual advice how to add a rough male tough to his typing, how to be learned without losing his masculine appeal, how to combine chemical research with seduction, how to play bridge without incurring the suspicion of impotence... He would be edified by solemn discussions about ‘Should Men Serve in Drapery Establishments?’ and acrimonious ones about ‘Tea-Drinking Men’; by cross-shots of public affairs ‘from the masculine angle,’ and by irritable correspondence about men who expose their anatomy on beaches (so masculine of them), conceal it in dressing-gowns (so feminine of them), think about nothing but women, pretend an unnatural indifference to women, exploit their sex to get jobs, lower the tone of the office by their sexless appearance, and generally fail to please a public opinion which demands the incompatible... If he gave an interview to a reporter, or performed any unusual exploit, he would find it recorded in such terms as these: ‘Professor Bract, although a distinguished botanist, is not in any way an unmanly man. He has, in fact, a wife and seven children. Tall and burly, the hands with which he handles his delicate specimens are as gnarled and powerful as those of a Canadian lumberjack, and when I swilled beer with him in his laboratory, he bawled his conclusions at me in a voice that implemented the promise of his swaggering moustache.’”

A recurring theme in Ms. Sayers 1936 novel, Gaudy Night, is the importance of finding one’s “job” in life, and remaining faithful to it, no matter the outside opinion. Interesting to hear this sentiment echoed two years later by Nadia Boulanger, when asked by a reporter how it felt to be the first woman to ever conduct the Boston Symphony: “I’ve been a woman for a little over fifty years, and have gotten over my initial astonishment. As for conducting an orchestra, that’s a job. I don’t think sex plays much part.”

Alas, this clarity of vision seems all too rare. 


stay tuned for more...

Now we turn to the second unsung hero, Arthur P. Schmidt. Schmidt and his publishing company were notable for their support of contemporary American composers in the early 20th century, and for our purposes, particularly notable for their support of women composers of the time. The company's extensive archives are housed at the Library of Congress. In an uncharacteristic (and perhaps unintentional) display of humor, the library's website lists the following description of the collection:

Linear feet of shelf space occupied: 212 
Number of Containers: 514 
Approximate number of items: ?????

In addition to a catalog of the company's archives housed at the Library of Congress, the website http://lcweb2.loc.gov/service/music/eadxmlmusic/eadpdfmusic/mu2005.wp.0035.pdf
also provides the following biography of Schmidt:

"Arthur Paul Schmidt was born in Altona, Germany on 1 April 1846 and came to the United States in 1866. He worked for the G.D. Russell publishing house in Boston before opening his own retail and foreign music importing business in 1876. The A.P. Schmidt company soon gained a reputation for publishing works of many distinguished American composers. And, with branches in New York from 1894 to 1937 and in Leipzig from 1889 to 1910, it would become one of the largest music publishing and importing firms in the United States. Mr. Schmidt died on 5 May 1921 but the firm continued until it was absorbed by the Summy-Birchard Company of Evanston, Illinois in 1960. The influence of the A.P. Schmidt Publishing Company on the development and dissemination of American music is immeasurable."

One aspect to appreciate about Schmidt's championship of American composers in that time is that he did so with little expectation of financial reward. His support extended to composers of the New England school such as Amy Beach, George Whitefield Chadwick, Arthur Foote, John Knowles Paine and Horatio Parker, and also Edward MacDowell (who was more lucrative). He was the first American publisher to publish an American symphony, Chadwick's Symphony No. 2, in 1888. In addition to Amy Beach, women published by Schmidt include Florence Newell Barbour (1866-1946), Marion Bauer (1887-1955), Gena Branscombe (1881-1977), Mabel Daniels (1878-1971), Helen Hopekirk (1856-1945), Lucinda Jewell (1874-?), Margaret Ruthven Lang (1867-1972), Frances McCollin (1892-1960), Edna Rosalind Park, Olga von Radecki (fl. 1882), Anna Priscilla Risher (1875-1946), Clara Kathleen Rogers (1844-1931), and Mildred Weston. A scroll through the music archive pdf (at the website listed above) reveal many less-celebrated names of women: Mildred Adair, Mrs. Crosby Adams, Blanche Ray Alden, Emma Ashford, Alice H. Baker, Mertena Bancroft, Charlotte Barnard, Gertrude Bartlett, Irenee Berger, Helen Lee Bidwell, Sarah Coleman Bragdon, Minna Brinkman, Radie Britain, Gail Ridgway Brown, Kate L. Brown, Mary A. Browne, and Carrie Bullard, just to name those in the A's and B's.

After Schmidt's death, the company continued its enlightened policy towards women, especially as it turned to publishing more "educational" works. In addition to the three works of Kemp Stillings discussed in a previous post (and I just saw a fourth one on the list I hadn't known about till now), pedagogical works by the intriguingly-named Ida Mae Crombie (Scale Stories and three other works-- I don't know why, I just love to say her name), Ruth Laighton (First Steps in Shifting and four other books), Edith Hatch (Melodious Etudes in Double Notes and Octaves, a scale book, and 18 character pieces), and Lillian Shattuck (Bowings for Three-Octave Scales, and The Very First Lesson for Violin) can be found on the archive list. There are other composers with numerous descriptive titles to their credit, but there is no way of telling the instrumentation from the information provided. Field trip...  

Speaking of field trips, I did say I would find out how Harvey Whistler's personal music collection ended up at Arizona State University. Jacob Dakon, author of the article from which I quoted extensively, let me know that "it was started by Georgeanna Whistler (his wife) after his death. She was looking for someone to take his music and ASU stepped up to the plate." The collection Jacob started at Ohio State contains Whistler's methods, theses, research articles, personal documents, etc. He says they are waiting for a few boxes from California to complete the collection. If you're in Columbus, stop by and have a look!

As I was researching music for inclusion in the anthology, two trends caught my attention. When music came via interlibrary loan, more often than not it came from the "Harvey Whistler Memorial Collection" at Arizona State University. And often, the music had been published by the Arthur P. Schmidt Publishing Company. 

As always, I'm so thrilled by the very interesting responses I've gotten from these blog posts! The article on Kemp Stillings elicited two responses. The first was from New York violinist Jon Kass, who had studied with Stillings as a child in her very late years. We had a great talk on the phone while he was stuck in traffic on the way to a gig. Jon's father discovered that Stillings was still teaching in New York, in her studio that overlooked the stage door of Carnegie Hall. His dad frequently exclaimed to him, "My God! She studied with Joachim! What an opportunity!" Stillings was nearly if not completely blind at the time, and would have to feel Jon's hands to check position. Jon said what he remembers most was her amazing sound; even at that time in her life she had a glorious tone. He did confess that she probably was not the right teacher for him at that time; when working on vibrato, for example, she suggested that he just "waggle his hand." It was a treat to get to talk with Jon. If you live in the New York area, hire him for a gig!

The other response was from Hartmut Schutz, a researcher in Germany who is trying to identify all the violinists in a picture of Leopold Auer and 43 of his students taken in 1914. The picture is owned by the Dresden State Opera historic archive, so I do not have permission to reproduce it here. I poured over it, comparing the unidentified women to the picture of Stillings from a 1923 promo ad. I thought I'd found her, but Dr. Schutz thinks my choice is someone else, the Swedish violinist Greta af Sillen. A new name for me! Anyone have any information on this violinist?

Next up-- how Arthur P. Schmidt and Harvey S. Whistler were major contributors to the creation of the anthology! 

Well, sorry about the wait... but I had a great vacation! For the finale here, I want to tell you about the three publications I've found by Kemp Stillings. There were hints of more in the newspaper articles, but these are the only ones I've located.

The first, from 1926, is called The Great Adventure. The cover depicts a stern king (who looks a lot like a king in a deck of playing cards) enthroned in the upper right corner of the page, while down in the lower left corner a little boy holding a violin case looks up at him, no doubt with trepidation. The caption on bottom right reads, "'Why didn't you come sooner?' said the Violin King." Gulp! Yet this whole book is an attempt to humanize the process of learning the basics of playing the violin. In a preface "to the grown-ups," Stilling writes:
          Remembering my own childhood days and also recalling how completely the tremendous
          enthusiasm with which I had commenced my violin studies vanished after the first few
          lessons, for many years never to return; Remembering this most vividly, I have endeavored
          to surround the tedious work of laying a firm foundation with enough of imaginative
          glamour to make it attractive to the childish mind.
Stillings then goes on to write the story of Jules, who has longed to meet the Violin King but could not find a proper guide. Having found one "who knew the way well," the author and Jules set out on their journey through rhythmic notation, counting, open strings, and all four fingers. There are delightful illustrations by V. (Vera?) Somoff throughout, and quite a few duets to keep things interesting.

The next book arrived two years later. Entitled The Giant Talks, it continues the story of Jules on his quest for violin mastery. This cover features a giant, the somewhat hapless Jules, and a pile of boots at which the giant is pointing. "'Choose!' said the giant, pointing to the piles of seven-league boots." The subtitle of the book is "Preparatory Scales for Little Violinists," and yes, the seven-league boots are decorated with the seven notes of a scale. The story begins:
          As Jules climbed down from the see-saw, there stood old Giant Facility waiting for him. He 
          was standing by the outer wall looking very important with a large bunch of keys hanging 
          from his belt. "I'm glad you've come at last," he said. "I have been waiting here some time 
          for you. Come along with me now to my castle on the hill. You can't go further on your journey 
          until you are well-equipped with many kinds of the seven league Scale Boots. You need them 
          for there is hard traveling ahead and you would grow weary without them. You need major 
          Scale Boots for the pleasant days and minor Scale Boots for the rainy weather and sharp 
          Scale Boots for the winter days and flat Scale Boots for the heat of the summer.
This Hagrid of music theory sets Jules to the task of learning the structure of a major scale, starting with the definition, "A scale consists of a succession of tones in alphabetical order, arranged according to a definite plan." Jules seems to catch on, and is shown to "...a large sunny room. Jules stared in astonishment. The floor was covered with piles of lovely boots of all sizes and colors. Giant Facility called out, 'Choose, Jules! You'll find them a wonderful help.' Then Jules looked carefully all around because he had no wish to make a mistake. [He chose] a pair of C major (one octave) Scale Boots, plain leather without any sharps or flats." So that is the premise of the book, with boots becoming more elaborate as they gain sharps and flats, and the notated scales gaining more rhythmic and bowing elaboration. The pictures are cute, but a trifle forced; it must have been a challenge to depict boots skiing, huddling under umbrellas, or riding a scooter, to name a few. The book goes through major and minor scales with four sharps and flats, after which Jules declares that he is tired and hungry. And who can blame him?

Also from 1928, the last book, At the Crossroads, dispenses with Jules, stories and pictures. Subtitled "46 technical shortcuts for developing the violinist's left hand," it really delivers! The table of contents includes the following: Shifting exercises (one-finger and two-finger scales); Exercises for strengthening the 4th finger jumping octaves and tenths; One string arpeggios; Broken seconds for correcting faulty hand position; double stops in thirds, octaves, sixths and fourths; Exercises for gaining finger independence; Exercises for correcting finger action; Strengthening exercises and placing of fifths; Exercises for string crossings preparatory to playing scales; Arpeggios; Playing in higher positions; Harmonics; and lastly, Vibrato exercise. They are short and extremely effective. For example, she approaches thirds by first having one section played only with 1 and 3, in which you move up and then down in a three-note group, then go up a second and do it again. The notes move up from first position on the G and D strings to seventh position (and optionally higher) on the E string.  The next section does the same thing, but with 2 and 4 thirds. Only after that is there a section of alternating 1 and 3/2 and 4  thirds. This is a book that really deserves reprinting! It is concise and effective, like an early version of Simon Fischer's Warming Up (go to www.simonfischer.co.uk if you don't know about this book!). In Stillings' words, "These exercises are the result of my own experience in teaching, and are designed to build a reliable left hand technic, using at the same time as little material as possible."

I hope you've enjoyed learning about this seemingly forgotten teacher. If anyone has any more information, I'd love to hear from you!

Stillings turned to teaching. She accepted a position at the New Jersey College for Women (part of Rutgers University) in New Brunswick, New Jersey, in 1927 (and kept it until her retirement in 1952). During this time, she also created the “Kemp Stillings Master Class” in New York City. Apparently based along the lines of Joachim’s teaching, Stillings had about 80 students who would meet in groups of 20 to work individually and together. According to an article in the April 29, 1940 Milwaukee journal, Stillings taught “accomplished musicians who have mastered the technique of their instruments but have yet to find themselves musically,” and that she made “artists out of mere players.” Throughout the 1930’s, numerous notices in the New York Times announced the “Master Class Recitals” of her students, carrying on Auer’s tradition of the “public examination.” A November, 1939, newspaper article described the group class:

“There was an atmosphere of cheerful banter in the studio where 20 students who have individual lessons assembled informally. It looked like a cross between a music lesson and a class in psychology. Several players were getting a practical lesson in poise through gymnastics. One girl played while standing on one leg, and Miss Stillings held a pencil near her cheek to correct improper swaying [see picture below]. Another student practiced while doing bending movements, to improve his timing and rhythm. A pupil who seemed to have reached an impasse in his playing was instructed cheerfully to forget it for awhile, and go for a walk in the country. Another group was doing an exercise to train their eyes to move more quickly while reading music. From a book they read aloud the first letter of each word in a passage.”

Stillings’ students often fell into the category of professionals wanting a short “refresher” course. From the same article comes her philosophy of helping advanced players:

“When an artist, musician, or writer of ability fails to progress, the problem, Miss Stillings believes, is almost always some mental hazard. She never really studied psychology, but evolved her own teaching method which is closely in line with it from a practical basis. She loves to find and defeat a problem, loves working with another personality. ‘It’s like a crossword puzzle,’ she said.”

In addition to her work at Rutgers and her own studio, Stillings also taught at the Lighthouse School for the Blind and the Ely School in Greenwich, Connecticut. Her obituary in the New York Times also states that she gave refresher courses for professionals at the American Theater Wing, and taught summer master classes in Argentina and Mexico. Her travels are documented in an article typical of ones about professional women in the early and mid 20th century, which appeared in the Feb. 18, 1940 Spokesman Review:

“Food Flash-- New Recipes for Fruit
 Kemp Stillings found them in South America and you’ll like them

Because she is internationally recognized among musicians as a foremost authority in the world today on stringed-instrument instruction; because she made a glorious success of a substitute career after the threat of blindness spoiled her opportunity as a very great master-violinist; because she enjoys the good things of life and has a hobby for food and a fine collection of recipes. Kemp Stillings is welcomed to this page.

Much of Kemp’s life has been spent in Europe where she gained an extensive knowledge of food as well as music. She was there as a student, going to class with Heifetz and Elman, and studying under Leopold Auer and Joachim, that great artisit and and intimate friend of Brahms and Schumann. Then after a number of years spent in fighting the mishap to her eyes, she returned summer after summer to conduct master classes in the important cities of Europe, and even went to South America, where women are usually regarded skeptically in any field of endeavor, except being beautiful.

At home also Kemp is an extremely busy woman. For the past fifteen years she has had a job as professor of music at Rutgers University. And in New York City she conducts a private class for more then eighty accomplished musicians. Yet Kemp finds time to experiment with recipes. Her most recent interest is in some recipes she acquired last summer in South America. ‘The cooking there is very fine,’ she says, ‘and they do especially interesting things with fruit. They use it in ways that do not usually occur to us in the United States that are very delicious, especially oranges and bananas.’”

(Anyone wishing the recipes, which include boiled bananas as a vegetable, just email me!)

Next installment: Stillings’ publications!

“Jules,” I said, “when I reached the Violin King long ago, he gave me three wonderful secrets. I am going to whisper them to you in the very beginning because they are three magic wands which pull us out of every difficulty and I am going to put signs all along the road so you cannot forget.

And I whispered vey carefully to Jules so that he never did forget, the three wonderful secrets:

1. Practice slowly, very slowly!
2. Listen, listen, and listen again!
3. Watch the bow and teach him to be accurate and exact in his movements!”

This sage advice was given by Kemp Stillings in The Great Adventure, published in 1926. I first ran across Stillings’ name when searching for potential pieces for the anthology, but it sounded like a man’s name to me. Nevertheless, The Great Adventure intrigued me, so I had a look via Interlibrary loan. It was adorable and interesting, but by a man, so with a sigh I put it aside. Fast-forward a few years, when I was looking for something on Ebay, and this flier turned up in the search. Needless to say, I was curious and did some research. Lo and behold, this woman I’d never heard of had clearly been both a fine violinist and a sought-after teacher in New York for much of the 20th century.

Stillings was born into one of Boston’s musical families in 1889. Her grandfather had been one of the founders of the Boston Conservatory, and she began violin lessons at the age of three. In the early years of the 20th century, she won a scholarship to study with Joachim (then aged 70) in Berlin. According to a 1939 article in The Milwaukee Journal, Stillings showed up for her audition “with a big hair ribbon and a Peter Thompson sailor suit,” and was one of four students out of 60 applicants chosen. When Joachim told her “Sie sind aufgenommen” (meaning “You are admitted”) she burst into tears because she didn’t understand German and thought she had failed.

In a Milwaukee Journal newspaper article from 1940, Stillings described the atmosphere of Joachim's class:

“Those were the happy days before the outbreak of the great war [WWI]. I was the only American in a group of 70 accomplished violinists, including four girls, who had to report daily, punctually at 2 in the afternoon, to the great Joachim. His classes, of 30 pupils each, were taught in a large room where the only piece of furniture was a grand piano. As there were no chairs, we had to stand in a circle around him, while he, with the commanding gestures of a great orchestra conductor, approved or disapproved, rarely praising but often criticizing our mistakes.”

After a year and a half of study with Joachim, Stillings moved on to Russia and acceptance into Leopold Auer’s class at the Royal Conservatory in St. Petersburg. She joined pupils Jascha Heifetz and Misha Elman, both studying with Auer at that time. Auer believed in frequent student performances, called “public examinations,” to conquer performance anxiety. At one such performance, Stillings played before Czar Nicholas II and his court, and was given the gift of a “fancy Easter egg”-- Faberge?

In 1923 Stillings toured South America, performing in Peru, Chile, Argentina, Uruguay and Brazil. However, on her return to the U.S., her life took a dramatic turn. She was struck with an illness which caused a rare form of blindness. Unwilling to accept this fate, she spent several years and most of her concert earnings traveling to major medical centers in search of a cure. Recovery was slow and painful, and in the process it became clear that Stillings’ days as a soloist were at an end. 

To be continued!

I was going to move on to another woman violinist this post, but fate has intervened in a most wonderful way. One thing I didn't mention in previous posts was my frustration with not ever being able to find a picture of Josephine Trott. All this research, and I hadn't been able to look her in the eye, so to speak. Enter the internet. Sandy Greene, who is married to one of Trott's great-nephews, came across my website in her genealogical searching and sent me a note. She offered to send pictures, and needless to say, I jumped at the chance. With her permission, they are posted below. Enjoy!

That year (1925) also saw the publication of a book entitled George Hamlin, American Singer, 1868-1923, by a firm in Denver. Hamlin died in New York; it is unknown what connection Trott may have had to him to prompt her to write “a resume of his career.”  Schirmer also published Two Tuneful Sketches, character pieces for violin and piano, in 1925. Of these two first-position works (“The Town Clock” and “At Dancing School”), I have only seen the first. The violin part is just one page, and like The Puppet Show, it is an ABA form. The outer sections are a lively 6/8 gigue-like tune in F major, while the slower contrasting section is in 2/4, Bb major, and features some simple double stops. Another short piece, In a Spanish Garden, was published by Schirmer in 1926. In A minor, the one-page violin part ventures into third and fourth positions with snappy Spanish rhythms. (N.B. Update: all three pieces are included in the anthology!)

Five years go by before the trail begins again with book two of Melodious Double Stops, published in 1931. This volume bears the dedication, "To Louis Persinger, in friendship and admiration." According to Groves, Persinger (born in 1887) had early lessons in Colorado, appearing in public at the age of 12. Hmmmm. Trott would have been thirteen years his senior. Could they have been students of the same Colorado teacher?

The second volume of Melodious Double Stops was Trott’s last published musical work. However, she published four books in 1932 and 1933. Two of these are written in French and targeted at children. One, Deux Enfants du Far-West, is an adventure story featuring a young girl and boy in the American west. The girl, “Sylvia,” is also the principal character in On demande une maman, Trott’s last published work. Published under the pseudonym of Colin Shepherd, it is a fictionalized account of a six-year-old’s life in an orphanage. It is actually the story of Trott becoming the foster parent of Riccarda McQuie. In the preface, publisher Henri Bourrelier writes, “The story told here... is special because it is true. Miss Colin Shepherd, professor of violin at the Conservatory of Denver, writer, journalist, and author of the celebrated adventure novel Deux Enfants du Far-West, wants to share the emotions of a foster-mother with us through the sweet soul of her little Sylvia.”  In addition to writing these books in French, Trott published an English translation of a book on William the Conqueror by Lucie Delarue-Mardrus in 1932. That year also saw the publication of Jean Kay in Paris, a novelette in English which reads a bit like a Bridget Jones’ Diary from a more innocent time. One chapter begins, “Doesn’t it always happen that way? Here I was, writing long-neglected home letters like mad as the boat-train was leaving at nine-thirty next morning and all mail for U.S.A. must be posted before six in the afternoon. I had finished a short note to Bill, telling him that the Atlantic Ocean was no wider nor more impossible to bridge than the break in our friendship. (I quite prided myself on the neatness of that remark!) And I mentioned casually, but artistically, the charming young Frenchman who was so devoted to me on the boat, and who lives in Paris. I felt a little poetic exaggeration was permissible under the circumstances. And I was just in the midst of a very important letter to the folks—asking for my money P.D.Q. if you must know, as my month’s allowance was practically gone already—when my last stub pen gave up the ghost.”  

Why the sudden literary output, and why in French? Perhaps this is the time during which she brought Riccarda to study with her former teacher in France, and had time on her hands? Could the amorous adventures of Jean Kay on her first trip to Europe have been inspired by the antics of her adopted daughter?

The last, and perhaps most tantalizing, piece of information I have is an entry in the 1938 Macmillan Encyclopedia of Music and Musicians, which reads, “Trott, Josephine, contemporary violinist, teacher, and composer; studied and taught at Berlin and Paris. She has published excellent study material for her instrument.” I wonder how it is that such an accomplished American woman is barely known in this country, yet included in a London encyclopedia? That some of her works, published in this country, can only be viewed at the British Library?

At this point the trail runs cold. Trott would have been sixty-four in 1938, certainly a reasonable age for retirement, and towards the maximum life expectancy for that time. As a professional violinist, teacher, composer, single mother, bilingual author, all in the days when women had only recently gotten the vote, Josephine Trott is a fascinating figure with a legacy beyond Melodious Double Stops.

Postscript: After this article was published in the AST Journal, I was sent a copy of Trott's obituary. She died in 1950 in Topeka, Kansas-- 50 miles from where I live!