Chapter 10: "after That--Art!"

An announcement the world had been hoping to hear came from Paderewski on July 14--Bastille Day--1922. As he boarded the _S.S. Savoie_ in New York for a trip back to Europe, he announced that in the fall of that year he would return to the United States to resume his concert career. He had not played in public for five years, not since the night he played in the Metropolitan Opera House at a special concert in honor of the French hero, Marshal Joffre. But now he was ready to move back to Carnegie Hall and the other concert platforms of the world. Or at least he would be ready, he felt, after four more months of the kind of hard work he had been doing behind closed doors for over two years.

Although certain of his friends advised against the step, the fact of the matter was that Paderewski had no choice. He had to return to the stage because it was the only way he knew how to make a living. He had to work for a living because he had no money. He, who had been the richest artist appearing before the public, was now all but penniless. Nearly all of his great fortune had been given away to the war-hungry people of Europe.

The announcement created a sensation. Paderewski was returning to the stage! Newspaper editorials around the world--and even his close friends and staunchest admirers--asked the same question: would his second concert career be a triumph or a failure? Yet the answer should have been clear to anyone who gave a moment's thought to Paderewski's life and work. Clearly he would never have made the decision to return to the scenes of his former greatness if he had not been sure of his own powers and of his ability to use them again as fully as before.

But never before had Paderewski spent more painstaking hours on his beloved music than he did in the months just before his second Carnegie Hall debut. The great French violinist, Jacques Thibaud, who crossed the Atlantic with him, said that Paderewski even sacrificed his favorite pastime of bridge in favor of extra hours of practicing.

It was thirty-one years, almost to the very day, since his well-remembered debut in Carnegie Hall in 1891. Now, on November 22, 1922, he walked out on the famous stage to begin again. This time an audience that months before had bought every seat in the house filled the hall with a great cheering at his entrance, and kept up the applause until he seated himself at the Steinway and struck the few chords with which he always liked to quiet his listeners. That he was nervous was certain. But that his fingers had every ounce of the control, of the magic singing sound, and the thundering excitement they had had in the past was clear to him and to his audience. It was clear, also, to the critics, who were unanimous as they sought, almost desperately, to describe the mature playing of this man who was now so much more than a pianist.

There was no dissent anywhere from the critical opinions. But there was one special friend who, under unique circumstances, summed it up better than any other. He was Georges Clemenceau, France's wartime premier.

On the night before his own return concert in Carnegie Hall, Paderewski had gone to the Metropolitan Opera House to hear Clemenceau speak. But Clemenceau had to make another speech on November 22 and had not been able to hear the great triumph of Paderewski's return. When Paderewski's concert was over, he was driven to the home of Charles Dana Gibson, a fashionable artist of the day, with whom Clemenceau was staying. There, the two men greeted each other with the deepest affection.

Paderewski said to Clemenceau, "You are the greatest man I ever knew. You told them the truth in a splendid way of which you alone are capable." He was referring to Clemenceau's speech at the Metropolitan Opera, when the "tiger of France" had called upon America to help Europe in the difficult postwar days.

"No, no, you are the greatest man," Clemenceau replied. "At the peace conference you made such a wonderful speech that I was nearly moved to tears." Then the old Frenchman paused. "I missed your concert," he said apologetically. "When will you play for me?"

"Master," Paderewski answered. "I will do anything for you. I will play for you now!" And for nearly an hour, the man who had only a short time before played for three hours in Carnegie Hall played in the half-light of the Gibson mansion. When it was over, Clemenceau said, "Marvelous, marvelous. You are not only a great musician and a great statesman, but a great poet also."

From New York, Paderewski's tour led him across America, as it had so many times in the past. His private car again became a familiar sight on the railroad tracks of the country. Again switchmen, brakemen, and the freight handlers across the country were treated to the glorious sounds that came from this very special Pullman car. In Minneapolis, Paderewski played an entire impromptu recital in the car one day for ten nuns who could not attend his regular concert. Sitting at his upright, with the noises of switching cars and passing engines for background, Paderewski played as if he were on the stage of a great auditorium. And surely he had never had a more appreciative audience.

The world's capitals, political and musical, saw and heard Paderewski once more as he traveled from Hawaii to London in the old, familiar crossing and recrossing pattern. Honors came to him, more than were ever given to any pianist before or since. Universities vied with each other to give him honorary degrees. One, from New York University, had to be delivered to him in his hotel room when he was too ill to leave it for the formal convocation. To the University's Chancellor, Paderewski said, with a smile, "You have come to a sick man to make a doctor of him!"

Paderewski easily recovered from a sudden appendectomy, in the fall of 1929, and made one of the longest of all his American tours the following year, playing 87 concerts in the winter of 1930-31. The death of his wife in January, 1934, was less upsetting to Paderewski than some of his friends had feared it might be, because for five years before she died, Mme. Paderewska had suffered from a loss of memory and her tragic illness had actually withdrawn her from all the activities in which for over 35 years she had played so busy a role.

On his tours, Paderewski played many benefits for war veterans. In the years when the depression spread across the U.S. and Europe, he was always glad to play concerts whose proceeds went to unemployed musicians. One of these, in Madison Square Garden in 1932, raised nearly $50,000. And in the midst of his renewed career, Paderewski kept in intimate touch with the political development in Poland and throughout Europe.

One of the greatest of his speeches was given in May, 1932, at a banquet in his honor in New York City. Broadcast across the entire country, Paderewski's address that day was a magnificently outlined, superbly delivered history and analysis of the so-called Polish Corridor. His country's vital need for an outlet to the Baltic Sea was at stake, and Poland's position and rights were being threatened. The entire speech was later published in _Foreign Affairs_. It was built as a master symphony is built, with its principal themes stated in varying manner during its course, and its closing pages rising to a superb climax. As he reached its final lines, Paderewski said:

"We do not wish to be crippled or enslaved again. We will never accept so monstrous an injury, no matter by whom inflicted. The territory restored to us is justly ours. And we will stand by it with all our strength and uphold it by all our means. For if that restoration is wrong, then the partitions of Poland were right--and nobody should expect us to subscribe to such an iniquitous verdict....

"We do not want war. Everyone in Poland is longing for peace. We need peace more than any other country in the whole world. Nevertheless, if a war--and I am speaking now not as an official person, because I am not an official; I am a plain citizen, and I assume my own responsibility--if a war, I repeat it, by a formal declaration or by surprise is imposed on us, we shall defend ourselves." Once again Paderewski was speaking the language of prophecy, though seven years still lay ahead before Poland would once again be invaded, this time by the armies of Hitler.

The year 1936 brought a brand new career into a life already crowned in two widely separated areas, music and politics. On August 8, Paderewski, the movie star, was born. For months, Paderewski's chief aide had been working quietly, without Paderewski's knowledge, to arrange the making of a movie about Paderewski. Finally when negotiations with a British company had reached a stage where Paderewski's consent was necessary, the subject was brought up and met with none of the resistance that had been expected. Despite his lifelong dislike of bright lights, especially while playing, Paderewski spent two weeks on a movie lot outside of London making what is really a weakly sentimental production entitled "Moonlight Sonata." Its one distinguishing feature is the ennobling sight and sound of the great artist moving through a few scenes.

The movie did have the effect of returning Paderewski to at least semi-public playing for the first time since the death of Mme. Paderewska, two years before. Late in 1938, Paderewski agreed to a short tour of England, where he played with ease and vigor. Their surprise turned to genuine dismay, however, a few weeks later when Paderewski announced his return to the U.S. for the early spring of 1939. The cold, undeniable fact was that Paderewski once again needed money. He could only earn enough to meet his obligations by returning to the United States at the age of 79 to play again for the thousands who clamored to hear him. He had never saved any money for the days when he might need it for himself. There had always seemed some better reason for giving it away. Against this real need was Paderewski's rapidly failing health. In her diary, a friend said of him at this time, "He looks so feeble and moves about with such difficulty that I simply don't see how he can contemplate a concert tour of the U.S., of all places.... How on earth will the President walk on the stage during his recitals? Surely not with the support of his cane, which he uses to get from room to room!"

He did come to the United States and played the first concert of his 20th tour in that country in Studio 8-H of Radio City, before an invited audience of several hundred and a radio audience that was estimated at fifty million. Olin Downes said of Paderewski's playing of the _Moonlight Sonata_ on that day, "We had not heard him play this music with such tonal beauty and poetical effect." The program included Liszt and Chopin, and at the end, naturally, _the_ Minuet, of which the audience literally forced an encore.

Several more concerts followed, each of them packed to the rafters. Then came May 25, the day of the final concert scheduled for Madison Square Garden. It had been sold out for days, and as the hands of the clock moved down to 8:30, more than 15,000 people full of a special expectancy waited for the famous old man to appear. 8:35 came, and 8:40, and still they waited. A little before 9 o'clock, an announcement came over the Garden's loudspeakers. "Ladies and gentlemen, Mr. Paderewski has had a slight heart attack in his dressing room, and his doctor is moving him back to his private car." Slowly, not quite believing what had happened, the crowd quietly began to leave, many of them without any thought of getting their money back, for already someone had suggested that a fund in honor of Paderewski could be started with the money that was in the box office. Paderewski had played his last concert.

But still there was strength in the grand old lion. And he would need every ounce of it. Five days after his collapse, Paderewski was strong enough to sail for France on the _Normandie_. After resting in Paris for several weeks, he returned to his beloved Riond-Bosson. On August 1, 1914, he had once stood and said, "My friends, the war is here." And here, on September 1, 1939, twenty-five years and one month later, the news came to him that the Nazi army, at Hitler's orders, had invaded Poland. On that day Paderewski broke his long-standing rule never to listen to the radio. The only set in the villa was brought down to the dining room where, throughout the day, it poured out its tragic reports: Warsaw and many other Polish cities being laid waste by German bombs. His prophecy of a quarter of a century before had come true all too soon!

Now the blows came faster, with the fall of France, and, in Paderewski's opinion, with the complete failure of the machinery of the League of Nations to function as his old friend, Woodrow Wilson, had intended it to. "Dishonorably discharged!" was Paderewski's final verdict against the League one evening after a long, discouraging discussion.

In 1940 Paderewski was named President of the National Council, which was the Polish government-in-exile. Together with President Raczkiewicz and General Sikorski, the three men were to operate wherever and however they could to keep alive the body and the spirit of Poland. But when France fell, Paderewski felt that he could do more if he could return to America. He was also sure that the United States could not remain much longer outside the conflagration that was sweeping across Europe.

In September Paderewski began his last (and what was to prove by far his most hectic) trip. His friends had been urging him for weeks to leave Switzerland as soon as possible. Great as his personal prestige and international reputation were, it was feared that, as the living spirit of exiled Poland, his life might be put in real danger at any moment. There were seven passengers in the two cars that left Riond-Bosson on September 23. One car was a Cadillac that Herbert Hoover had given Paderewski in Warsaw. The other one helped to carry the luggage of the party. At the Swiss-French border they were joined by an agent of the Sûreté Générale, the political police. Monsieur Garric had been assigned to the Paderewski party by the French Government to assist them in their journey, and he proved an invaluable addition before they were out of France. Time after time when the party was stopped for questions by various authorities, M. Garric merely flipped his lapel, revealing his badge, and the party continued on its way. And, of course, the name of Paderewski had the greatest possible effect. An official in the customs office at the Spanish border began to whistle the Minuet when he saw whose passports were passing over his desk.

Saragossa in Spain is the city that will go down in history as the only place ever to put Paderewski in prison. The President's entire party was placed under house arrest, and the fact that they were allowed to stay in their hotel did little to relieve the affront.

For five days, under a flimsy pretext of being concerned for Paderewski's safety, the authorities of Saragossa kept the seven unwilling visitors confined to their hotel. Finally a cable from President Franklin Roosevelt direct to Generalissimo Franco got them out. No apology, no further explanation was ever heard from Saragossa. But by October, after a happy and reasonably relaxed trip through Portugal, they all boarded the American Export liner _Excambion_, and on November 6 they sailed into New York harbor. It was Paderewski's 80th birthday.

The Americans, who had loved and admired Paderewski for almost half a century, would have worn him out with receptions and dinners in his honor. But settling himself quietly in the Buckingham Hotel, he spent his time and strength in talking and corresponding with those who were most important to the present and future welfare of Poland. In June he asked to speak at a Polish war veterans' rally in Oak Ridge, New Jersey. The day was hot and the rally itself was a steamy, exhausting affair. Paderewski went home very tired and feeling as though he had caught a cold. Within a week, on the 29th of June, several hours after a priest had given him the sacrament of Extreme Unction, Paderewski died.

At his funeral in St. Patrick's Cathedral, with nearly 5,000 crowded inside and 35,000 outside lining Fifth Avenue and the adjacent streets, Cardinal, then Archbishop, Spellman eulogized Paderewski, saying "his death steeps the entire civilized world in mourning." And then the train took his body to Washington where it lay in state in the Polish Embassy until the following day.

The President of the United States had personally arranged for Paderewski's burial in a way that offered the greatest honor in the country's power. By special order, the body was taken to Arlington Cemetery, ordinarily reserved for American citizens who have served in their country's armed forces. As Paderewski's coffin, mounted on a military caisson, entered the gates of Arlington, cannon fired a 19-gun salute, the highest number possible to anyone not the head of a state. Flanked by United States soldiers, sailors, and marines, and joined by a squad of Polish soldiers in Canadian uniform, the caisson moved to the very center of the Cemetery. There, under the mast of the battleship _Maine_, Paderewski's coffin was placed in a vault "to remain until Poland is free."

The world is indebted to Paderewski in a very special way. To it he brought a flaming vision of great music-making. He placed before his listeners in singular glory the music of Chopin, one of the greatest composers of piano music the world has ever known. He carried to corners of the earth some of the most powerful pianism ever to be heard, never deviating from his own highest standards of excellence. Then, when his country's very existence was at stake, he proved himself an equal or even, in the opinion of some, a greater master in the arena of international politics. His genius extended to the devious ways of statecraft with the same penetration it had shown in the mastering of music's subtlest arts. His ability to influence men was as forceful when he spoke as it had been when channeled through the keys of a Steinway concert grand. He was unique in his lifetime. Nor has he had a successor.

FOR MORE ABOUT PADEREWSKI

Fisher, H. H. _America and the New Poland._ New York: The Macmillan
Co., 1928.

House, Edward Mandell. "Paderewski, the Paradox of Europe," _Harper's
Magazine_ (New York), 1925.

----, and Seymour, Charles (eds.). _What Really Happened at Paris._
New York: Charles Scribner's Sons, 1921.

Kellogg, Charlotte. _Paderewski._ New York: The Viking Press, Inc.,
1956.

Kellogg, Vernon. _Herbert Hoover, The Man and His Work._ New York: D.
Appleton Co., 1920.

Landau, Rom. _Ignace Paderewski._ New York: Thomas Y. Crowell Co.,
1934.

----. _Pilsudski and Poland._ New York: The Dial Press, Inc., 1929.

_War Memoirs of Robert Lansing._ Indianapolis and New York: The
Bobbs-Merrill Co., Inc., 1935.

Paderewski, Ignace Jan, with Lawton, Mary. _The Paderewski Memoirs._
New York: Charles Scribner's Sons, 1938.

Phillips, Charles. _Paderewski, The Story of a Modern Immortal._ New
York: The Macmillan Co., 1933.

Strakacz, Aniela. _Paderewski As I Knew Him._ New Brunswick, New
Jersey: Rutgers University Press, 1934.

INDEX

A
Alexander II, 13
Alma-Tadema, Laurence, 112
American Relief Administration, 149-151
Arlington Cemetery, 181

B
Balfour, Arthur, 144-145
Beethoven, Ludwig van
"Appassionata" Sonata, 81
C minor Piano Sonata, Opus 111, 136-137
"Emperor" Concerto, 75
"Moonlight" Sonata, 175
Thirty-two Variations in C minor, 58
Brahms, Johannes, 49
Bryan, William Jennings, 91
Burne-Jones, Edward, 69-70

C
Carnegie Hall, 72, 74, 79, 134, 141, 164-167
Chopin, Frederic, 28, 58, 98, 101-102, 120, 127, 134, 136, 175,
182
Clemenceau, Georges, 123, 155-156, 166-167
Colonne, Edouard, 58, 60
Cooper, chef, 88
Cortot, Alfred, 59
Czerny studies, 53

D
Damrosch, Walter, 75
Daniels, Josephus, 139
Dmowski, Roman, 111, 144-145, 148, 153-155
Downes, Olin, 174
Dresden Opera, 98

E
Essipoff, Annette, wife of Leschetizky, 44

F
Fourteen Points, 141
Franz Ferdinand, Archduke, 105

G
Galli-Curci, Amelita, 83
Ganz, Rudolph, 106
George, Lloyd, 111, 153-154, 156
Germany, offer of Polish freedom, 128, 130
Gibson, Charles Dana, 166-167
Goerlitz, Hugo, 76, 89, 91, 93
Gorska, Helena, _see_ Paderewska, Mme.
Gorski, Ladislas, 41-42
Gounod, Charles, 57
Grieg Concerto in A minor, 37
Grunwald, Battle of, 16-17, 101

H
Hitler, Adolf, 172, 176
Hofmann, Josef, 106
Hoover, Herbert, 91-93, 151, 178
House, Colonel Edward Mandell, 121-126, 129, 132, 134-135, 137,
141, 146, 156

I
Ignatius Loyola, St., 104-105

K
Kellogg, Vernon, 150
Kerntopf, Edward, 20-22, 26, 30, 55, 64, 86
Kontski, Apollinaire de, 19, 23, 29-30, 36
Korsak, Antonina, Paderewski's first wife, 39-41

L
Lamoureux, Charles, 58, 60
Lamoureux Orchestra, 60-61, 75
Lansing, Robert, 113-115, 131, 159
League of Nations, 177
Leschetizky, Theodore, 44, 46, 49, 51-56, 93
Liszt, Franz, 31, 59, 136, 175
Hungarian Fantasia, 75
Loesser, Arthur, 84
Lucca, Pauline, 55

M
Madison Square Garden, 79, 170, 175
Massenet, Jules, 57
Mayer, Daniel, 65-66, 68
Mendelssohn, Felix, 136
Metropolitan Opera House, 99, 164, 166-167
Modjeska, Helen, 46-48
"Moonlight Sonata" (film), 172

N
Nicholas II, 109

P
Paderewska, Antonina, 15, 28, 86-87, 106, 111
Paderewska, Mme. Helena, 63, 95, 97, 99, 116, 124, 161, 170, 173
Paderewski, Alfred, 39-40, 62-63, 86, 97-98
Paderewski, compositions of,
"Manru," 87, 98-99
Minuet in G, 94, 175, 178
Piano Sonata, Opus 21, 136
Symphony, 102
Variations in A minor, 44
Paderewski, Jan, 12-13, 16-22, 34-37, 86-87
Paris Peace Conference, 146, 152-153, 155
Pilsudski, Jozef, 144-153, 159-160
Pius XI, Pope (Achille Ratti), 97-98
Poland, early achievements of, 118
Poland, partitions of, 13-14, 171
Polish army, 139-140
Polish Falcons, Union of, 139
Polish Relief Committee, 112
Pullman, Paderewski's private, 87-89, 168

R
Riond-Bosson, 97, 105-106, 110-111, 176, 178
Roosevelt, Franklin 139, 180-181
Rubinstein, Anton, 44-45, 70
Concerto in D minor, 77
Rubinstein, Artur, 45
Russia, offer of Polish freedom, 110
Russia, Paderewski tours of, 31-35, 96-97

S
Saint-Saens, Camille, 57, 69
Concerto in C minor, 61, 74
Salle Erard, 57, 59, 63
Samaroff, Olga, 106
San Francisco Exposition, 116
Schelling, Ernest, 106-108
Schoenberg, Arnold, 106
Schumann, Robert, 75, 136-137
Concerto in A minor, 75
Sienkiewicz, Henry, 111
Sigismond III, statue of, 27, 142
Sobieski, King John, 27
Spellman, Francis Cardinal, 181
Steinway and Sons, 71, 73, 78
Steinway, William, 74, 78-79, 82
Stojowski, Sigismond, 136
St. Patrick's Cathedral, 181
Strasbourg Conservatory, 54-55
Strauss, Johann, 49
Strauss, Richard, 40-41

T
Thibaud, Jacques, 165
Tretbar, Charles, 73-74, 78-79
Truman, Harry S, 96
Tchaikowsky, Peter, 57

V
Versailles, Treaty of, 157
Victoria, Queen, 71

W
Warsaw Conservatory, 17-19, 21-24, 29, 35, 38
Wilson, Woodrow, 122, 126-128, 131-133, 137-138, 141, 156, 177
Wooley, Robert, 124-125

Z
Zamek, 27, 142, 151

THE AUTHORS AND THEIR BOOK

Ruth Fox Hume _was born in New York City and attended the College of New Rochelle. She attended medical school briefly, where she discovered that she was more interested in the history of medicine than in its practice._ _The result was_ Great Men of Medicine _(Random House, 1947, revised, 1961) and_ Milestones of Medicine _(Random House, 1950). While she pursued her writing career, she taught at Holy Cross Academy and Catholic University._ _Some recent books include_ Our Lady Came to Fatima _(Farrar, Straus, and Cudahy, 1957),_ Saint Margaret Mary _(Farrar, Straus, and Cudahy, 1958), and_ Florence Nightingale _(Random House, 1959). Mrs. Hume also writes book reviews for the Washington_ Evening Star.

Paul Hume _was born in Chicago and received a degree in music from the University of Chicago. He became music director of a "good music" radio station and then music critic of the Washington_ Post, _a position he has held for sixteen years. He is a Professor of Music at Georgetown University and has been the director of the Georgetown Glee Club for twelve years. He is the author of_ Catholic Church Music _(Dodd, Mead and Co., 1956), as well as many articles that have appeared in_ The Saturday Review, The Sign, The Catholic Digest, _and others_.

THE LION OF POLAND _is the first book on which the Humes have collaborated. They live in Washington, D.C., with their four children, Paul, Michael, Ann, and Peter._

THE LION OF POLAND _(Hawthorn, 1962) was designed by Stefan Salter and completely manufactured by American Book--Stratford Press, Inc. The body type is Linotype Janson, based on the letters of Anton Janson, a Dutch punchcutter who worked between 1660 and 1687._

ABOUT CREDO BOOKS

Credo Books is an important news series of biographies that will appeal to both boys and girls. The subjects of these biographies are Catholic, but their stories are not of their faith so much as how that faith helped them to lead remarkable lives. Past and present will be represented here: a sculptor who left a priceless treasure of art to mankind, or a movie star who was an idol to young and old alike; the president of a South American country who fought against and lost his life to Communist terrorists. Heroes are made by the greatness of the human spirit and all the figures to be portrayed in Credo Books were great in spirit, courage and effort, no matter what task they took upon themselves.

The authors of these new books have been carefully chosen both for their ability to make biography come alive for young people and their knowledge of their subjects. Such authors as Gary Webster, Lon Tinkle, Donald Demarest, Albert Orbaan, Terry Morris, Frank Kolars and Jack Steffan will be represented.

To give Credo Books the benefit of their knowledge and experience, an editorial board of distinguished representatives from the fields of education, librarianship and the Catholic press, as well as Hawthorn's own editorial staff, choose both subject and author for each book in the series.

As an example of the variety of personalities in this new series, you will find the following figures portrayed.

_Operation Escape: The Adventure of Father O'Flaherty_, by Daniel
Madden

_To Far Places: The Story of Francis X. Ford_, by Eva K. Betz

_The Lion of Poland: The Story of Paderewski_, by Ruth and Paul Hume

_The Conscience of a King: The Story of Thomas More_, by Margaret
Stanley-Wrench

_Pen and Bayonet: The Story of Joyce Kilmer_, by Norah Smaridge

_The Man Who Found Out Why: The Story of Gregor Mendel_, by Gary
Webster

_The Tall American: The Story of Gary Cooper_, by Richard Gehman

_Wings of an Eagle: The Story of Michelangelo_, by Anne M. Peck with
Frank and Dorothy Getlein

_The Door of Hope: The Story of Katharine Drexel_, by Katherine Burton

_Fire of Freedom: The Story of Col. Carlos Castillo Armas_, by Jack
Steffan

_Doctor America: The Story of Tom Dooley_, by Terry Morris

_The Sea Tiger: The Story of Pedro Menéndez_, by Frank Kolars

_The First Californian: The Story of Fray Junipero Serra_, by Donald
Demarest

_Wilderness Explorer: The Story of Samuel de Champlain_, by Charles
Morrow Wilson

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