muscular relaxation at the piano to a singer’s deep breathing. He would remark to his
students about ‘what deep breaths Rubinstein used to take at the beginning of long
phrases, and also what repose he had and what dramatic pauses.’
Schonberg describes Rubinstein’s playing as that ‘of extraordinary breadth, virility and
vitality, immense sonority and technical grandeur in which all too often technical
sloppiness asserted itself.’ When caught up in the moment of performance, Rubinstein
did not seem to care how many wrong notes he played as long as his conception of the
piece he was playing came through. Rubinstein himself admitted, after a concert in
Berlin in 1875, ‘If I could gather up all the notes that I let fall under the piano, I could
give a second concert with them.’
Part of the problem might have been the sheer size or Rubinstein’s hands. They were
gargantuan, and many observers commented on them. Josef Hofmann commented that
Rubinstein’s fifth finger ‘was as thick as my thumb – think of it! Then his fingers were
square at the ends, with cushions on them. It was a wonderful hand. Pianist Josef
Lhevinne described them as ‘fat, pudgy ... with fingers so broad at the finger-tips that he
often had difficulty in not striking two notes at once.’ Equally outsized was what
Rubinstein did with those hands. German piano teacher Ludwig Deppe advised
American pianist Amy Fay to watch carefully how Rubinstein struck his chords:
‘Nothing cramped about him! He spreads his hands as if he were going to take in the
universe, and takes them up with the greatest freedom and abandon!’
Because of the slap-dash moments in Rubinstein’s playing, some more academic,
polished players, especially German-trained ones, seriously questioned Rubinstein’s
greatness. Those who valued interpretation as much as, or more than, pure technique
found much to praise. Pianist and conductor Hans von Bülow, who had his pedantic
moments himself, nevertheless called Rubinstein ‘the Michaelangelo of music. The
German critic Ludwig Rellstab called him ‘the Hercules of the piano, the Jupiter Tonans
of the instrument.’
Schonberg called Rubinstein’s piano tone the most sensuous of any of the great pianists.
Fellow pianist Rafael Joseffy compared it to ‘a golden French horn’. Rubinstein himself
told an interviewee, ‘Strength with lightness, that is one secret of my touch. I have sat
hours trying to imitate the timbre of [Italian tenor Giovanni Battista ] Rubini’s voice in
my playing.’
Pressman attested to the singing quality of Rubinstein’s playing, and much more:
‘His tone was strikingly full and deep. With him the piano sounded like a whole
orchestra, not only as far as the power of sound was concerned but in the variety of
timbres. With him, the piano sang as Patti sang, as Rubini sang.’
Rubinstein told the young Rachmaninoff how he achieved that tone: ‘Just press upon the
keys until the blood oozes from your fingertips’. When he wanted to, Rubinstein could
play with extreme lightness, grace and delicacy, although he rarely displayed that side of