It would appear that the most distinguished pianist in the world is Russian." Those were the words of Tsar Nicholas addressing himself to the musician whom he met at a concert. But Paderewsky, the patriot, replied:

"You're mistaken, Your Majesty, I am Polish."

In 1860, Poland was under the domination of Russia. On the 6th of November of the same year was born Ignatz Jan Paderewsky. The first breath that he took was to make of him a great lover of freedom.

A great lover of freedom and music. Every life has its own rhythm. That of the young Ignatz was quick and strong like the pace of the mazurkas which expressed the longings of the Polish people and the suffering it has known through the ages. Year after year, the child grew up in an atmosphere of insecurity as his father was thrown into prison, while the Cossacks looted and burned to death the majority of the inhabitants. Memories of this gloomy past would never fade away in the mind of the famous pianist.

He began his studies with the help of a private tutor. It did not take him long to surpass the latter in technical skill and ability but he did learn from him the usefulness of arduous work and self-discipline. At the age of twelve, he already knew what he wanted to do in life. Music was his element, and the instrument he chose was the piano.

But he went through a period of depression when he entered the Warsaw Conservatory of Music. His small hands, he was told, would not allow him to become a good pianist. It would be better for him to play the flute for his strong lungs would come in handy.

He listened courteously but dedicated himself even more to playing the piano. Through hard work and perseverance, he eventually overcame his physical shortcomings and managed to become a consummate pianist. As a child he often went to bed without having had any meal and that was a great privation for an active lad like him. Already he was quite tall, had the face of a poet with long chestnut hair. His impressive looks and his good humour won him many admirers. In particular, Kerntoph, a friend of the Paderewskys and an Arts teacher. Recognizing in the young man a future genius, he took him to his house where food was plentiful and life full of fun. In the company of Kerntoph, Paderewsky made the acquaintance of the greatest opera singers of the time and established contacts with the famous musicians of that epoch.

He evolved in a contagious atmosphere and at only sixteen years of age ambition got hold of him and accompanied by another youngster also named Jan, a violinist, he toured the provinces, thereby going against the rules of the Conservatory. This adventure earned them a lot of money and provided them also with lots of experience. They learned that there was still a lot more they had to master. So, they returned to the Conservatory and studied even harder.

Ignatz was eighteen, an age rich in happenings. He fell in love with a girl named Antonina Korsak, his school mate. Having obtained a position at the Conservatory, he married Antonina. He was not earning a lot at the time and he lived in a single room (having refused a proposed dowry) but notwithstanding his relationship with Antonina was an extremely happy one. Antonina had a very strong faith in her husband and she loved and helped him in a way that inspired the pianist to achieve a pinnacle of success that was quite unusual in so young a person. His happiness was too perfect to last forever. He himself had a premonition that his happiness would be short-lived.

II

"Music is the only living art," he used to say. He was now entering a period of great activity. After a day's work at the Conservatory, he gave private tuition and piano concerts. And for relaxation, he gave himself to composition. His "Improvisation in F Major" was published when he was 19. But although he achieved immediate success, he did not let that go to his head. He kept working, practising, and revising his own works. And always next to him stood Antonina with her radiant and reassuring presence.

And then, all of a sudden, tragedy struck and put his soul through a severe test. Antonina died of puerperal fever leaving behind a sick child. Before dying, she begged Paderewsky to make use of the dowry for the child's sustenance but he kept saying: "One day I will pay it back a hundredfold."

Already a widower at the age of twenty, he turned his back on the past and faced an uncertain future with great courage. He thus followed his father's motto: "Walk head high in the face of calamity!"

He studied for one year in Berlin. He played for Rubinstein who applauded and encouraged him. From Berlin, he went to the mountainous region of Yatra; and thence to Vienna, the Mecca of all musicians. He longed to study under Lechetitsky but he got cold feet. High up on the mountains, he composed the Tatra Album, a collection of melodies from popular legends. There too, he met the famous Modjeska, and the kind-hearted Madame Gorska.

"He resembles one of Botticelli's angels," Modjeska would say, adding that if his listeners were invariably hypnotized hy him, it was because he too was mesmerized by them.

Modjeska's friendship for Paderewsky provided a boundless source of inspiration for him. Their relationship had a practical side to it. In advising him on how to proceed as a concert-pianist, she gave him a solid grounding for the continuation of his studies.

In the end, he became a disciple of Lechetitsky, the most demanding of all the teachers. He applied himself to the various tasks at hand with relentless fervour. And he showed great surprise when he was offered a chair at the Strasburg Conservatory for he still considered himself a student. After a year in Strasburg as a music teacher, he returned to his master and worked on with superhuman energy.

Finally, Lechetitsky introduced his "finished product" to the public: Ignatz Paderewsky, 26 years of age, a paragon of sublime beauty that dazzled the musical world. Ecstasy, adoration, fame!

But there lingered a nagging doubt. If an artist is truly a genius, does he have to show humility towards other men? Paderewsky felt elated and apprehensive at the same time. His early success resulted in his asking himself many questions. Wasn't it a freak of nature? Or was he really a genius? And he found the answer.

He had the divine spark, but, it was necessary to turn it into a flame and make it burn higher and higher. Therefore, more and more work was necessary.

In Paris Paderewsky was even more successful. Critics praised him to the skies and could not find suitable words that would adequately pay tribute to such an outstanding genius. One of the laudatory comments ran: "As quick as lightning, a poet of supreme inspiration has come down to sit at the keyboard." But in spite of all the acclamation and social triumphs, the piano virtuoso remained calm for he was endowed with the strongest willpower and was apprehensive by nature.

The English public reacted more sedately. Four concerts were scheduled in London. There was a poor attendance at the first concert which did not receive a warm reception. One critic said that he had expected the piano to literally fall apart under the hands of Paderewsky and another commented: "The results of his training may be amazing, but that is not music." Only George Bernard Shaw applauded him.

Paderewsky did not say anything. But in a spirit of artistic compromise that showed his sense of responsibility, he managed to fill the theatre at his fourth concert. The critics, however, remained sceptical. Paderewsky accepted the challenge posed by the reserved temperament of the British. Ignoring the objections of his impresario, he toured several inner cities of Britain where he was enthusiastically acclaimed. This testified to his great psychological insight and showed his profound knowledge of human nature.

He returned to London once more, but this time as the favourite of a whole nation. Received by the Queen, courted by lords and pursued by autograph-seekers, he remained in the midst of all this frenzy, courteous, good-humoured and simple.

He received an invitation to visit the United States. There, he met with a reception that was without precedent. Carnegie Hall could not keep track of the vast crowds that flocked to his recitals. At the conclusion of his first concert there started a tradition that was to last for the next forty years: the audience gathered on the stage and refused to step down until the pianist returned to perform several musical numbers as extras.

Paderewsky, however, did not like crowds too much. He was akin to those deep and rare souls that felt more comfortable in solitude. His "sacred place of communion" when he was living in New York was a "desolate refuge" in Prospect Park. There he "followed deserted lanes, touching the stars with his forehead."

He did not appreciate the praises of the populace that showed fickleness but he warmed up to the acknowledgement of those who truly responded to his execution even if they did not know a single musical note. A thorough knowledge of music did not necessarily mean that the listener was endowed with sensitive ears. His manager hired a special train for his prolonged tours throughout the U.S.A. Paderewsky practised on his piano on a daily basis in his special compartment with the kitchen staff standing around to listen to his interpretations. "Yes, sir!" one of them would exclaim, "They must play like this in Heaven!"

A musical genius was served by a master chef, one of his own fellow citizens, who supervised the meals. To Paderewsky, cooking was one of the fine arts --an art where neither the British nor the Americans could satisfy him. His chef pampered him like a child. He adored this "angel" tha was entrusted to him. A soul that was so impractical, so agreeable, so generous ... and generous to a fault! One day, he told his chef not to refuse food to any one who dropped by to ask for it. The rumour spread very fast and soon enough hordes of vagrants swarmed Paderewsky's train asking to be served and the chef was compelled to countermand his master's orders but without the latter having had any wind of it, of course!

III

Paderewsky was a genius of many facets. His generosity, lime a rainbow, arched over and touched every one and everything that came near him. At times, his affability got him in strange situations. For instance, once while on a tour, he decided to come to the help of a compatriot whom he met in the streets, sick and weak. As she did not know English, she was unable to explain her predicament. Paderewsky rushed to her help. He himself saw to it that the woman obtained proper treatment in a hospital, at his own cost, and in spite of his tight schedules, found time to visit her daily. However, although he showed great generosity to others, he expected that they dealt with him correctly. During one of his tours in one of the states out West, a couple of young enthusiasts convinced him to perform in a small town, promising him a sum of two thousand dollars. At the end of the performance, the youngsters found out that the cash receipts fell far short of the two thousand dollars promised Paderewsky. So they went to see him and anxiously awaited his reaction.

The pianist looked at them sternly. He reminded them of their promise and suggested to them a practical way of solving the problem. They would have to pay off all the expenses and after taking a percentage for their work they would give him whatever money remained in their hands. This "justice tempered by charity" did not only earn Paderewsky two more friends, but also gave a friend to Poland, for one of the two youngsters in question was Herbert Hoover who, many years later (1917-1918), would be of such an invalubale help to millions of Poles dying of starvation as result of the First World War in Paderewsky's fatherland.

There were more tours, more concerts, more triumphs, but hovering above all this the sickness of his son. The baroness of Rosen --Mrs Gorska -- had for a number of years shown a natural affection for the child who had never known motherly love. After marrying Paderewsky in 1899, the three of them lived happily together. The child was present at the lively gatherings in the house of the Paderewskys and showed precocious talent by entertaining the guests with his satiricial remarks.

Paderewsky knew only too well that the days of his son were numbered. But hearing that there was a famous doctor living in Hapsburg, he sent him there for treatment and kept hoping for a cure. But during the trip the young lad caught a cold followed by pneumonia and he died. He was nineteen years old. This second loss left a feeling of emptiness in Padrewsky's heart. "Shy away from the world, Jan. Leave the turmoil of this life and give yourself entirely to your music and to your thoughts."

He went to Morges, Switzerland. There, surrounded by historical ruins, he looked after his flowers and reflected on the mysteries of life and death. On the planting of a seed, of its decomposition in the soil, and its return to life in the form of a beautiful plant or flower. Wasn't that an appropriate symbol for life itself? It was as if God was telling him: "There, in the flowers' petals I teach you the history of man." Death is nothing but the rebirth into something greater, the final blossoming of the seed of life.

There was something prophetic in what Paderewsky learned in Switzerland, the land of eternal freedom. Two years after having resided there, he addressed his first important words to the Polish people. He made an appeal for them to revolt against oppression, although in veiled terms, for no Pole was then free to express his thoughts or feelings. Any patriotic feeling of any kind was strictly prohibited and the only means left were either through fiction or poetry. Paderewsky's audience, so familiar with double entente, understood the secret messages that his words carried. Echoes of his appeals for arousing new hopes reached the humble villages of Poland. The Russian police, alarmed by these activities, prevented the publication of patriotic speeches. But it was already too late. Thousands of copies had already been distributed throughout the country. The Poles saluted Paderewsky as their new prophet. He thus became a prophet of music as well as a prophet of freedom and in both capacities he profoundly influenced the aspirations of the human heart.

His innumerable tours, conferences and compositions were beginning to have a deleterious effect on his health. He felt tired and began to show signs of neuritis. Often, he had to cancel his engagements. He was reminded of his mortal condition: "Be humble. In spite of all your greatness, this frail body of mud that is yours cannot express the fire of your soul."

He devoted more time and energy to the fight for freedom in his country. In his encomium at Chopin's funeral, he addressed his compatriots in these terms: "Let's steel our hearts in the fire of renewed resistance... A nation that possesses a spirit like Chopin's cannot perish."

IV

1914. Sarajevo. The act of one student sets the world ablaze. Padereswky, so familiar with the political developments and intrigues rampant throughout Europe, already knew that a cataclysm was inevitable. At a party given at his house to celebrate his birthday, he recalled the words of the poet Mickiewicz: "For a universal war for human freedom, oh God, we pray to you."

In the middle of the celebration, his secretary came in and whispered something in his ears. In all sobriety, Paderewsky repeted what he had just heard. Germany had declared a "state of war." Every one present understood the full meaning of such a declaration. The guests quickly and quietly took their leave.

Five hours later in the afternoon, war was officially declared. For the first time, there was hope for Poland to achieve what was hoped for all these years. Would she be able to avail herself of this golden opportunity to liberate herself? But how could she defend herself surrounded as she was on all sides by contending armies?

The following weeks were marked by a series of tragic events. The neutrality of Belgium and Poland was violated. The French and the British took up arms. Russia proclaimed the unification of Poland, a diplomatic coup aimed at attracting the belligerent forces within Poland. And now Paderewsky saw his country sink into a real quagmire, with Poles fighting against Poles, under the banner of Austria, of Germany and of Russia. He spoke with sadness of this carnage "that destroyed all traces of civilization."

The only music that could now be heard in Morges was the staccato of machine-guns firing away. Paderewsky converted his villa into a refugee centre and with the help of his wife and his daughter Antonina as assistants, he worked on without taking any rest. A wave of refugees and wounded soldiers poured into Switzerland as the war progressed and the skillful fingers of Paderewsky were now busy with something quite different from music.

What he now had to do was far removed from he had originally intended. Leaving Morges in the care of his daughter, he tried to obtain help from France and England. He wanted to get them involved in the problems of the refugees, particularly in the cause of Polish freedom. He did not trust in the so-called "tsarist" protection.

From England, he went to the United States. There, he heard of Sembrich and other loyal Polish patriots. He took it upon himself to unite his compatriots, those in the United States as well as in other countries. And he began his campaign to have Poland recognized as an ally. His speeches were applauded as enthusiastically as his concerts in the past.

And after the Russian Revolution in 1917 and the liberation of Poland, Paderewsky continued to know a great measure of success and popularity but that did not make him very happy for Russia would make peace with the Germans and would fall, just like Poland, under their domination.

Paderewsky was now the extra-official ambassador of the Poles in the United States. He was a familiar daily spectacle to the New-Yorkers, this tall and attractive man seen crossing Central Park, followed closely by his patriot friends whom he engages in lively discussions gesticulating like the conductor of an orchestra.

His ambition now was to be heard by Woodrow Wilson. He achieved his goal through Colonel House, the alter ego of Wilson. He was about to realize the dream of his life. A nation that was fighting to be free was going to get help from the very hand of freedom.

V

But there followed yet another disappointment. He had asked for a loan of one million dollars but was refused outright. He was told that the United States could not lend money to a Commission. He retorted that the Americans usually did whatever they wished to. At long last, he was to see his dreams realized. On the 6th of November, the date of his birthday, Paderewsky saw his country, Poland, freed from the Germans. His native land was now a great nation again. He was hopeful that the United States would espouse the Polish cause for he had been assured by Colonel House that Wilson would show cooperation.

The Polish expatriates in America had given Wilson their full support and he in turn proclaimed New Year's day Poland's day. Paderewsky was filled with happiness and decided to take a break for a while from the world of politics. And while sojourning out in the Western States, he heard Wilson declare to the American Senate: "The Allies unanimously agree that Poland should be a united, independent and autonomous country." Plans would be made to organize Kosciuszko's army and the Poles would fight side by side with the Americans.

Paderewsky telegraphed his manager, ordering him to cancel the tour for he had decided to devote all his time and energy to Poland. At his last concert, he said: "I promise that I won't play the piano again until Poland is completely free. He composed from time to time. But he kept his piano quiet except on one occasion: On board the Concordia en route to Danzig, he played for hours on a very old piano that lacked a few keys to the great delight of the passengers. They felt so honoured for Paderewsky had played for them alone.

He reached Danzig on Christmas day and received a great ovation. Thereafter, during another demonstration, following a premeditated plan, some Germans who recognized in him the leader of Poland, made an attempt on his life. But the young Poles overpowered the guards and,getting hold of their machine-guns, they stormed the hotel where Paderewsky was staying. A battle ensued and raged for three days and many men were killed on both sides. But the national hero was safe and sound.

Poland was now a nation; it had allies and weapons. But the land was raging internally with passionate emotions and Paderewsky knew better than most that much work still lay ahead in order to reconcile all the conflicting groups and establish unity within the frontiers. But he was not afraid of the challenge. Since early childhood, he had never been afraid of difficult tasks. His colleagues said of him: "His confidence is absolute. He not even once doubted that he would eventually come out on top."

And he won. Though himself a Conservative, he managed to obtain the support of Pilsudsky and his colleagues for a government of coalition. In 1919, a new cabinet was formed and Paderewsky was appointed Prime Minister and in charge of Foreign Affairs.

VI

Paderewsky as Prime Minister was quite remarkable. He was a daring as he was idealistic. Sure of himself and assertive, he pursued his political career with great aplomb. He returned to his first love, music, and once again his villa on the lake resounded to the sound of his piano. His friends happily around him and he dazzled them with his amazing skills. Paderewsky himself felt a little bit nervous, but he crossed the Rubicon and in December 1922, he was once again triumphant. His admirers flocked to Carnegie Hall to hear him. They refused to leave even after the lights were turned off. And Paderewsky kept on playing ...

He performed with the Symphonic Orchestra of Minnesota, and executed his own Symphony in C minor. Polish and American flags waved among the audience and at the end of the performance, Paderewsky remained standing, his head bent low. Perhaps at that moment he recalled the words of Modjeska: "Poland needs Paderewsky, not only as a statesman but also as a musician."

His musical career was at its highest. He returned to Europe. In England, the Queen left her sick husband to attend his concert. He was now 70, his hair had turned gray and he stooped somewhat but his heart was as vibrant and strong as always.

In 1933, the University of New York conferred on him a doctorate in music. The delegation went to his bedside for he was now a sick man and he, having lost none of his sense of humour exclaimed: "Gentlemen, you come to see a sick man to make a doctor of him!"

His hour had not yet arrived and he got better. But death took away the person dearest to his heart, his wife. She had been her constant companion as well as her closest collaborator for the past thirty-five years. Saddened by such a great loss, he decided to liquidate his business in the America and return to Switzerland. It was time for him to take a long rest.

Unfortunately, however, the world would not let him be. He was asked to star in a British movie entitled "Moonlight Sonata." He put all his energy and enthusiasm into it as he had done in all his previous enterprises.

He was now ready for the last act before the curtain is drawn: to have a last word for his beloved Poland, warning his compatriots of the impending danger of Fascism that was about to be unleashed on an unsuspecting world. Once again, the Prussian snake was going to strike, injecting its venom into the blood of Poland. And Paderewsky and the Polish people were once more destined to see a lot blood spill into the Baltic Sea. With all the strength that remained in him, he implored his nation to fight tooth and nail to the bitter end.

And now, it was necessary for him to leave Europe so as to escape from the German hordes. Like a giant octopus, Fascism spread its horrible tentacles over the whole of Europe. He was denied a Spanish passport and had to face innumerable dangers. But after untold hardships, he finally made it to Lisbon. There, accompanied by his daughter and a secretary, he managed to reach America: his country of adoption, the altar where he was venerated like a god for his musical genius. Now he would be offered something even more precious: a place of refuge in a world gone mad.

He spent his last days in the city of New York. He went to Carnegie Hall frequently to listen to music. Music that was the only thing that could soothe his soul and bring new experience to his bereaved heart in the hope that a new world of peace would in the end emerge from the chaos and twilight of a dying era.

Researched & written by

C.Wye.

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