A prodigy, as we know, is a person with extraordinary gifts and abilities. But until a child, no matter how talented, is put on public display, he or she is not regarded as a prodigy, or "Wunderkind," as the German term (literally meaning "wonder-child" or "miracle-child") aptly describes it.
There is indeed something miraculous in the sight of a
diminutive performer on a big stage, alone or in the middle of a large
orchestra, which evokes a mixture of astonishment, awe, admiration and envy.
"Child performers do something very special for audiences," says 
Dorothy DeLay, famous for having trained a record number of violin prodigies and launched them on promising careers. "They confirm our belief that the hope of the human race lies in its gifted children."
However, though extraordinary talent - obviously indispensable to becoming a prodigy - is in itself a kind of miracle, what seems to the public entirely miraculous is achieved by careful training and countless hours of grueling practice, begun at an age when normal children play in sandboxes. DeLay considers it perfectly natural for three- and four-year-olds to practice two or three hours a day and to come to her playing virtuoso concertos at the age of five. Later, she expects them to put in five or six hours' practice on schooldays. "They are lucky," she remarks, "other children spend that time watching TV." Canadian cellist and teacher Claude Kenneson, having himself taught several prodigies, also regards their training and upbringing as fundamentally natural and benign. In his book, Musical Prodigies, Perilous Journeys, Remarkable Lives, he describes it as a successful fusion of nature and nurture, carried out, in an environment designed to foster superior talent, by a dedicated team of loving parents and teachers who know how to turn lessons into a game and make learning fun. Thus, those who teach and "produce" prodigies firmly believe that what they are doing is all for the child's own good.
However, most performers who grew up as prodigies describe the process very differently; even Kenneson, quoting several of them in his book, acknowledges that it has a dark, clearly exploitative side. To speed learning and prevent bad habits, the children practice under the teachers' or parents' watchful eyes, which requires intense concentration and creates enormous pressure. Some recall that these sessions left them drenched with exhaustion, requiring a complete change of clothes. Instead of attending school, they have private tutors; this means more time to practice, but a very lonely life. For example, violinist Ruggiero Ricci lived with his teacher from age seven, practicing four hours morning and evening in addition to his daily lesson; he saw no other children and his parents only on Sunday. Cellist Zara Nelsova and her two sisters were turned into a "prodigy-trio" by their father, who forced them to practice six hours a day from the age of five. Violinist Erica Morini, who created a sensation playing Sarasate's Zigeunerweisen at age three-and-a-half under her father's tutelage, longed for nothing more ardently than to be allowed just once to play in the park like other children. Pianist Ruth Slenczinska's memoir Forbidden Childhood is a harrowing account of the abuse
her sadistic father visited on her. Clearly, a lot of coercion goes into the
process, so it is not surprising that prodigies typically appear in societies
that cultivate docile, submissive children, accustomed to 
unquestioning obedience.
There are two factors that contribute substantially to the early success of child prodigies, but can cause serious problems later on. One is that young children progress amazingly quickly and easily, because they learn almost unconsciously, by instinct and imitation. But as they get older, they may want or need to find out how their technique works; they start analyzing what they do and discover that, like the proverbial centipede, they can no longer do it. Yehudi Menuhin was a famous example: one of the most radiantly talented of all violin prodigies, he became uncertain of his innate gifts when he subjected them to intellectual scrutiny.
The other factor is that children, like Wagner's Young
Siegfried, have not yet learned to be afraid; totally confident and unaware that
anything can go wrong, they do not get nervous on stage. In fact, many gifted
children enjoy being in the limelight and showing what they can do, so the
promise of performing can be a powerful incentive for practicing. Violinist
Vadim Repin says: "My teacher was always arranging concerts and if you didn't
know your piece, you couldn't play, so he would push you and make you work very
hard." Judith Ingolfsson, winner of the last Indianapolis Violin Competition,
who began to appear in public when she was about five, says: "I didn't enjoy
practicing, but I always loved performing." Naturally, DeLay thinks it is good
for them to start concertizing early. "They learn from the experience, and if it
is a happy one, they'll be very pleased to repeat it." But as they grow up, this
state of innocence inevitably ends - and when stage fright sets in, the sudden
shock can be paralyzing. In addition, teen-age performers may find themselves
struggling to live up to the expectations of audiences who no longer look on
them as wonder-children and instead expect them to play like mature artists. But
while physical learning can be dramatically accelerated, 
intellectual and
emotional development will progress at its own pace, so prodigies often play difficult pieces that are technically within their
grasp but far beyond their comprehension and experience. Then their heads and
hearts have to catch up with their fingers - a long, painful process. And if they are already embarked on a performing career, they have no time to reflect, mature, open themselves to the emotional impact of the music and discover their personal response to it. Yet without this, how can they express themselves or communicate with an audience? No wonder the concert world is strewn with promising prodigies who fell by the wayside, casualties of audience rejection, burnout, nervous breakdown or suicide. They are like hothouse plants, forced to bloom and bear fruit prematurely.
Is it possible to become a great performer without having been a prodigy? "Of course," says violinist Christian Tetzlaff, who started a flourishing career in his 20s and by his own account did not practice seriously until he was 14. It seems clear that children are the victims rather than the beneficiaries of their early success, so who reaps the rewards? "It's a passport out of the ghetto for the parents," says violinist Isaac Stern, who has discovered and fostered many prodigies. "In Russia, it was the Jewish ghetto, but it can also be a mental or economic one." Ricci says: "Whenever you find a prodigy, you find an ambitious parent in the background." Add to that an ambitious teacher and perhaps an ambitious manager: they all know that producing successful prodigies brings fame and fortune. "Prodigies sell tickets," says Tetzlaff, and the younger, more brilliant the prodigies the more tickets they sell. It's an old story: 200 years ago, a father-teacher-manager displayed his two prodigiously gifted children around Europe's capitals, publicizing them like circus performers; their name was Mozart. What price childhood?
© andante Corp. June 2001. All rights reserved.
