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"With regard to Paderewski's journey, everything is arranged for him weeks before hand, so that it works like a machine. Whenever we arrive in a town, a carriage has to be waiting at a station, and the same in the evening from the hotel to the hall and back again. This, in many instances, is essential as he leaves the concert platform so exhausted that he might easily contract an illness if he were not immediately taken to his hotel without any delay on the way. On one occasion, however, all our arrangements were upset in consequence of a snow-storm, which delayed the train from Toronto, Ontario, to Suspension Bridge. We arrived, instead of twelve o'clock in the day, at seven o'clock in the evening. At eight there was to be a concert at Buffalo, New York: it was impossible to get there in time, so we telegraphed to inform the audience that if they would wait an hour longer the artist would appear and play his programme through. But the only way for him to accomplish this was to dress in the train. When he had decided to do so, it was found that our baggage had been removed into the Custom House, and the Custom House attendants, not knowing of the arrival of this train, had gone home. The only possible way to get at his dress-suit was for me to break open the Custom House window, go in, bring out his dress-suit and lock up the box again. I accomplished this without being detected, and we arrived, finally, at Buffalo in time for the concert."

Mr. Görlitz's account gives the English reader a vivid idea of the arduous work before a celebrated artist. How a pianist can be in a good mood for his art after a few weeks of such high-pressure work is not easy to understand. On the whole M. Paderewski has stood the arduous work of his American recitals extremely well, but in 1896 at the end of a tremendous tour through the United States he was compelled to take a rest, cancelling an engagement to play a new fantasia by Sir Alexander Mackenzie at one of our Philharmonic Concerts, and postponing a recital already arranged for him in London.

V
LATER TOURS

It will not be necessary to describe in detail the triumphant career of the virtuoso in America and Europe. Such a description would become a mere catalogue of towns visited with an enumeration of the fees received, enlivened by a few more or less apocryphal anecdotes. It will be sufficient to say that M. Paderewski's second tour in America included sixty-seven concerts in twenty-six cities and that the receipts amounted to $180,000 (about £36,000), a sum which had never been reached by any instrumentalist. As far as England is concerned the highest fee paid the pianist was that given by Mr. Robert Newman, which I have already mentioned. It must be confessed that the pianist's agent in England, Mr. Daniel Mayer, the well-known concert agent, has managed his affairs with the utmost discretion. We have never had an opportunity of becoming surfeited with M. Paderewski's talent. His visits have been comparatively few and far between and the announcement of a recital to be given by him in London arouses a curious interest. This is the more remarkable when we remember that the pianist has been accepted as the chief virtuoso of his instrument ever since 1891, a season after he made his début here. In July of that year he gave a Chopin recital which drew the largest audience since the last recital of Rubinstein, and also appeared at a Philharmonic and a Richter concert. In fifteen years many new pianists have come forward, and, of recent years, season after season has gone by without Paderewski having given a series of concerts. His last recital was held in November 1902. It might be thought that he would be forgotten in the midst of such fine playing as we hear in London; but the pianist has one of those temperaments which impress themselves on the public, so that even quite young people who cannot have any close acquaintance with his playing know all about Paderewski and are ready to sacrifice time and patience to attend one of his rare recitals. Those who understand the temper of London will agree that many a fine artist's reputation has suffered from his recitals being so frequent that they become almost a drug in the market. We have never had an opportunity of becoming tired of M. Paderewski.¹

Before leaving the subject of the pianist's active career as virtuoso a few words must be said on his rather tardy conquest of Germany. It is a strange fact that the Berlin public and critics invariably lag behind the rest of the world in accepting a new virtuoso. Signor Busoni, for instance, had to wait some time for the enthusiasm which had greeted his playing in England. He was accused of dealing with the great classical composers in a virtuoso spirit. With regard to Paderewski it is said that there was a good reason for his dislike of Berlin in particular. After playing his own concerto with the orchestra of the Berlin Philharmonic Society on one occasion he was repeatedly recalled and had to play an encore, for which he selected a piece of Chopin's. The late von Bülow, the conductor, is said to have openly shown his resentment of the ovation accorded to the pianist. During his playing of the encore Bülow indulged in an apparently uncontrollable series of sneezes, which it may be imagined, rather upset the pianist. But it can hardly be true that so trivial a reason made Paderewski dislike the idea of Berlin. If so he might put our own Manchester on the black list, for a few years ago he was obliged to stop in the middle of Chopin's Ballade in G minor and leave the platform in consequence of the inconsiderate restlessness of part of the audience who would enter and depart from the hall during the performance.

But if it is with some difficulty that he is persuaded to play in Germany, it cannot be because of a want of enthusiasm on the part of amateurs. In May of 1894, three years after he had finally captured London, he played his Polish Fantasia at the Nether-Rhenish Musical Festival, held at Aix-la-Chapelle. The enthusiasm he aroused was extraordinary. Encouraged by this reception, he gave recitals in Leipzig and Dresden during the following year. "Not since Liszt has a pianist been received as Paderewski was last night," and "Never since the Albert Hall was built has such applause been heard there as last evening," are typical extracts from the Press notices. The Tageblatt critic wrote: "Paderewski has for some years been enjoying the greatest triumphs in Austria, France, England and America, but, for unknown reasons, avoided Germany almost entirely. Concerning his colossal success in our sister city of Dresden our readers have already been informed. Such positively fabulous enthusiasm no other artist has aroused in Leipzig as far back as our memory goes. The public did not applaud; it raved. If Paderewski has hitherto avoided Germany in the belief that he might be coolly received, he must have been radically cured of that idea last evening." At this recital, which was given in aid of the Liszt Memorial, the audience insisted on the pianist playing for more than an hour after the programme had been completed, and would not leave the concert-hall until all the lights were extinguished.

VI
PERSONAL TRAITS

"Paderewski," said Pachmann in one of those speeches with which he sometimes enlivens his recitals, "Paderewski is the most modest artist that I have ever seen. I myself am the most unmodest artist, except Hans von Bülow. He is more unmodest than I am." It is curious, indeed, how little is known at first hand of Paderewski. Knowledge of him as a man is confined to the friends with whom he is intimate. The outside world knows no more than that he is an accomplished linguist and a man of considerable reading and catholic tastes; that he is the soul of generosity to those with whom he is acquainted; that he is an expert billiard player – a talent he may have learnt from his master Leschetitzky; that he is a brilliant conversationalist; that he smokes a great many cigarettes; and that he is fond of staying up until the early hours of the morning. It is not, perhaps, so generally known that he is an expert swimmer. With regard to the billiard playing, the pianist once explained to an interviewer the place it takes in the economy of his life. The necessity of practising during his tours for a series of recitals has sometimes meant playing nearly seventeen hours a day, counting the time taken by the recitals themselves – a circumstance which has often happened during the pianist's American tours – and M. Paderewski confessed it was playing billiards that had saved his life. "If I walk or ride, or merely rest," he said, "I go on thinking all the time, and my nerves get no real rest. But when I play billiards I can forget everything, and the result is mental rest and physical exercise combined."

Very few people understand what a life of nervous stress a great pianist must lead. When Paderewski, in the ordinary course, has to prepare for a recital tour, he seldom practises less than ten or twelve hours a day. And that does not end his work, for he once told Mr. Henry T. Finck, the celebrated American critic, that he often lies awake for hours at night, going over his programme mentally, note for note, trying to get at the essence of every bar. Mr. Finck goes on to say: "This mental practice at night explains the perfection of his art, but it is not good for his health. Indeed, if he ever sins, it is against himself and the laws of health. He smokes too many cigarettes, drinks too much lemonade, loses too much sleep, or sleeps too often in the daytime. For this last habit he is, however, not entirely to blame; for whenever he gives a concert, all his faculties are so completely engaged that he is quite exhausted at the end, and unable to go to sleep for hours."

The pianist's life has its compensations, however. He is not one of those artists whose whole life is made up of concert-tours, and this is even less the case now than it was some years ago. In the intervals between his tours he lives an ideal life in his Swiss home, busy with composition, which from the very first was his real aim in life. A writer in a German newspaper has given an interesting account of Paderewski's home on the lake of Geneva. "It is situated some distance away from the road, yet is easily accessible. If you visit the pleasing little town of Morges, on the lake of Geneva, and walk westward to the picturesque village of Islochenaz, you will, in a quarter of an hour, reach a shady park, amid which the châlet de Riond Bosson presents an imposing appearance. If you heed the warning notice on the gate: 'N'entrez pas sans sonner. Prenez garde aux chiens,' you may enter the grounds without danger. At most you will risk having your clothes torn, for Paderewski's dogs have particularly sharp teeth. By way of compensation, there are many beautiful things to see on the other side of the wire fence. Of course, the little castle of the Polish virtuoso is not open to everybody, not even in the absence of the owner, but all may visit the beautiful park which was planted by the Duchess of Otranto. The widow of Fouché, the notorious Police Commissioner of Napoleon I., bought this place in 1823, and occupied it a long time. After her death the Châlet de Riond Bosson came into the possession of her heirs, the Vicomte d'Estournel and the Comte Le Marois, who sold it in 1898 to Paderewski. On emerging from the shady walks of the park, the visitor comes upon an enchanting scene. In the foreground lies the antique little town of Morges; behind it is the semicircular blue expanse of the lake, and beyond that tower the snowy peaks of the Alps. Behind the orchard is a big greenhouse containing nothing but grapes for the table." Paderewski by no means spends his time in the dolce far niente for which there would be an excuse in so beautiful a spot. In addition to his composition he interests himself in everything connected with his estate, and particularly, like M. Jean de Reszke, in the breeding of live-stock.

The reserve which his bearing on the concert platform suggests is the effect of an artist's well-poised, nervous control. In private life among his intimate friends he is a most sympathetic, pleasant companion, ready and able to talk brilliantly on other arts than his own, as well as on literature and life itself. Among those whose appreciation he values, he is willing to exercise his particular art without any of that false pride which has been characteristic of some virtuosi. Mr. Hermann Klein, in his interesting "Thirty Years of Musical Life in London" (Heinemann), gives an instance of this. Paderewski had been asked to meet Sir Arthur Sullivan, Signor Piatti, Sir Alexander Mackenzie and a few other well-known musicians at a dinner-party in Mr. Klein's house on May 3, 1904. "Just before dinner a quaint sort of letter was placed in my hand. It was from some one in the famous pianist's entourage, reminding me that M. Paderewski was very fatigued after his heavy work in the provinces, and begging that I would under no circumstances ask him to play that evening. I was half amused, half annoyed by this unexpected communication, which, of course, I knew better than to regard as inspired by my guest of honour himself. However, I thought no more about it until after dinner, when I took an opportunity to inform Paderewski, in a whispered 'aside,' of the strange warning I had received. I assured him seriously that I had not the slightest idea of asking him to play, and that my friends were more than satisfied to have the pleasure of meeting him and enjoying his society. He replied: —

"'Do you imagine I think otherwise? This is a case of "Save me from my friends!" That I am tired is perfectly true. But when I am in the mood to play fatigue counts for nothing. And I am in that mood to-night. Are you really going to have some music?'

"'Yes, Piatti has brought his 'cello, and he is going to take part in the Rubinstein sonata in D.'

"'Then I should like to play it with him; and more besides, if he will permit me, Piatti and I are now old colleagues at the "Pops," and we always get on splendidly together.'

"What could I say? – save express my gratitude, and apprise my friends of the treat that was in store. It was the more welcome because it was virtually unexpected. An unalloyed delight was the performance of that lovely sonata by the Prince of 'cellists and the greatest of living pianists. Both seemed to revel in the beauties of a work admirably designed for the display of their respective instruments, and the rendering was in every way perfect. After it was over, dear old Piatti, who rarely talked much, said to me in his quiet way, 'I quite enjoyed that. I have played the sonata with Rubinstein many times, but it never went better than to-night.' Later on he played again; and so did Paderewski – with Sullivan close by his side, watching with fascinated eyes the nimble fingers as they glided over the keys. That evening the illustrious pianist was inspired. Fatigue was forgotten; indeed, he seemed much fresher than on the preceding night, when he introduced his fine Polish Fantasia at the Philharmonic. He went on and on from one piece to another, with characteristic forgetfulness of self, and it was well on to dawn before we parted."

This type of anecdote is told of most great instrumentalists, and especially of Rubinstein. To the lay mind it always seems strange that an artist who earns fabulous sums from public and private recitals should display his gifts for the mere love of the thing, but to the artist himself there is an enjoyment in the appreciation of a few gifted brother-artists which not all the thunder of popular applause can equal. And M. Paderewski is, above all, an artist. His public career of course necessitates advertisement, but he has never sought after means to bring himself forward apart from his playing. In consequence an air of mystery surrounds him as an atmosphere. On the few occasions when he has broken through this retirement it has always been for the sake of some project connected with his art or to show his esteem for a fellow artist. As an instance of this may be mentioned the fund for the encouragement of American composers which he founded after his 1895-96 tour. He placed a sum of £2000 in the hands of three trustees of which the interest was to be devoted to triennial prizes for composers of American birth irrespective of age or religion.

Another instance is the prominent part he meant to take in the testimonial given to Mme. Modjeska at Boston in May 1905. It will be remembered that the great pianist as a young man owed a deal to the encouragement of the celebrated actress, and it may be imagined how ardently he desired to make some public acknowledgment of his friendship. Unfortunately the serious accident which brought about the nervous breakdown of the pianist happened just previous to the benefit performance. The American Press teemed with alarmist reports of the permanent character of this breakdown, and to some extent there was justification for them. According to M. Paderewski's business manager, Mr. J. G. Francke, the following are the facts of the case: "I was with M. Paderewski when the accident occurred in Syracuse which upset his nerves. We were coming from Auburn, twenty-six miles from Syracuse, where the artist had been playing. We had a special engine. When the switch leading from the Auburn line to the tracks of the New York Central Railroad, half a mile from the station, was entered, the switchman gave our engine-driver the signal to stop. This signal was disregarded. The switchman, noting the arrival of the Buffalo express, threw our engine off the track, and just in time, or we should have been cut to pieces by the incoming train. M. Paderewski was seated at the head of the table where he was supping. The force of the sudden jolt threw him against the table as it hurled us to the floor. He did not suffer much from the shock at the time, but he felt it more the next day. A muscle in the back of his neck, connected in some way with the muscles of the spinal column, was affected by the collision. That has been his trouble. He did play after that in some Canadian cities, but the complaint developed in Boston, and overwhelmed him eventually." On April 29 he had arrived in Boston but was too ill to play at the Symphony Concert to be held in aid of the Orchestral Pension Fund. This and his inability to assist at the Modjeska benefit seemed to have preyed on his mind and naturally did not improve his condition.