Ignacy Jan Paderewski in Germany

Introduction
 

Paderewski’s connections to Germany, and especially to Berlin, where he lived for an extended period of time in the early 1880s, are a subject worthy of in-depth analysis. It was one of the turning points in the artistic path of this great musician and it partly determined the further development of Paderewski’s career as a pianist and composer.

At the end of the 1870s, Warsaw under Russian partition certainly wasn’t as vibrant and international a cultural center as Berlin, Vienna, or Paris. It is therefore quite obvious that after completing his studies in Warsaw Paderewski – a talented, ambitious and hard-working young musician – wanted to broaden his artistic horizons outside of Poland. Serious complications in his personal life and an uncertain financial situation meant that to begin his studies in Berlin, in addition to his own (and often poorly-paid) performances, Paderewski had to depend on the financial support of his penurious father living in Podolia, as well as various friends in Warsaw whom he had met during his studies. Paderewski initially wanted to deepen his knowledge of composition while in Berlin but, as it later turned out, during his studies in the German metropolis he also received support from many famous musicians who convinced him of the possibility of making a career as a pianist.

Paderewski’s extended sojourns in Berlin (the first from early January 1882 to late June 1882; the second from the beginning of January 1884 to mid-July 1884) coincided with the years of Berlin’s great development as the political hub of the new Prussian State and an important cultural center where musical, artistic and literary life began to flourish. It was also an important period in Germany’s history with the consolidation of the German Empire after the accession of the southern German states to the North German Confederation in January 1871. As Chancellor of the Empire, between 1871–1890 Otto von Bismarck introduced many social reforms, but at the same time initiated the anti-Catholic Kulturkampf and applied serious repressions against the Polish population living in the territories of the Prussian Partition. References to the political situation in Germany and to Bismarck’s attitude towards the Poles can be found in some of Paderewski’s letters from the German metropolis, as well as in reports from his performances on various German concert stages.

 

Berlin in Paderewski’s Memoirs
 

In his Memoirs written together with Mary Lawton in America in the early 1930s, Paderewski devoted the “Berlin and the World of Music” chapter to his impressions of studying in a city universally recognized as one of the world’s music capitals. Recalling the early 1880s, shortly after the tragic events in his personal life when Paderewski became a widower with a seriously ill infant, the artist expressed his decision to go and study in Germany thus:

“After the death of my wife, I realized very keenly that there was no future for me in Warsaw except as a teacher, and so I determined to go to Berlin. I left my child with his grandmother, the mother of my wife, and went directly to Friedrich Kiel, a very famous teacher of that time, to study composition. Everybody said (and I began myself at last almost to believe it) that I could never be a pianist, but that I was very talented at composition. I have already written a few pieces which had been printed in Warsaw and had quite a little success. So, it was very encouraging for me to again study composition – I turned to it naturally. […]”[1]

In Berlin Paderewski devoted himself fully to studying composition and recalled the first six months of lessons with Professor Kiel as follows:

“I worked very hard – really too hard, and my nerves gave way. My health broke down completely. I used to work ten or twelve hours a day. I made, of course, very considerable progress, and Kiel looked upon me as a star pupil. He was very proud of my achievements, for I really accomplished much in that comparatively short time. Kiel applauded and encouraged me constantly and told me many times that he had never had a more gifted pupil. All of this was very satisfactory, of course. But I must repeat again that Kiel was also deeply interested in my playing (he was one of the few), and whenever I played a composition which I had prepared for him, he would say, ‘Oh, you must practice your piano more, because you also have a remarkable talent for piano playing.’”[2]

Besides studying composition, during various social gatherings Paderewski had the pleasure of meeting many interesting and influential people who were keen on helping the young musician:

“It was while I was studying in Berlin that I began to meet some famous musicians that were very helpful to me. I met Richard Strauss at the house of my publisher, Bock. It was a very amusing household consisting of his wife, his mother, and several charming children, for whom I used to play, and the children liked me very much consequently. Sometimes we came in the evening, Strauss and myself, and some other musicians of lesser importance than Strauss, and just to amuse the children we played for them, he and I, dance music. On some occasions the company was not only composed of children but of adults too, and the atmosphere was so gay, so intimate that everyone wanted to dance. So, we used to play for hours, Strauss and myself, I remember.”[3] 

From the Berlin chapter of his Memoirs, we also learn a lot about Paderewski’s general impressions of this great city with its vibrant musical and intellectual life:

“I am tapping now in this little talk a great reservoir of memories. Those days in Berlin were full of new experiences and contacts. Quite a new life opened its doors to me. I was moving forward, a few groping steps at a time, toward the great world – the great world of art.

There were very many students in Berlin at that time. It was a magic rendezvous for them; the University enjoyed great popularity. There were a number of my countrymen studying at the University and at the Polytechnic too. I lived with a family named Rohde, a very fine family from Hamburg. […] I always remember them with the deepest affection, and their constant care and interest in me. Their house, too, became another home like the Kerntopfs’.[4] How fortunate that was! Things might have been so different.

It was not exactly a student’s life that I led in Berlin at that time. I was too serious a man to join the student group and the people who were so constantly enjoying themselves. […] I was a Pole and very much alone. As I remember it, there were few Polish students there at that time. The Germans were not at all sympathetic to me. That was a time of great persecution of the Poles in Germany and I felt it constantly and deeply. […] There were certain political regulations which made me feel rather disgusted with these people and their system. For example, of all the foreign newspapers, only the Polish were prohibited. There was no sale of them at the railway stations (the stations always have foreign newspapers). […]

Berlin was then a very large city with a fine park and a few beautiful buildings. The most beautiful of all was, of course, the Royal Castle, which is an old building dating from the time of the Great Elector. […] I would not say that the city was beautiful then, but the order and cleanliness of the streets were such as to make an impression of a certain kind of beauty. It was really so perfectly clean that it commanded admiration. In appearance Berlin was rather theatrical. It was all very military. Uniforms were to be seen everywhere. There was even then a certain antagonism between the officers in uniform and the civilians in plain clothes, and one could always see the people stepping humbly aside even off the sidewalk, to make room for the officers. […]

All kinds of music were to be heard in Berlin. There were plenty of concerts too, too many. Every day many concerts and very good opera. Wagner was then perfectly established and enjoying tremendous popularity and success, but the Drama was quite mediocre, in my opinion. It was not to be compared with the Burgtheater of Vienna, for instance, one of the most distinguished theatres in Europe.”[5]

One of the most important moments in Paderewski’s life – particularly during his early studies in Berlin, when he was still undecided about what career path to take – was his meeting with the great Russian pianist, Anton Rubinstein. It happened thanks to Paderewski’s publisher, Hugo Bock, who invited Rubinstein to dinner at his home. Paderewski remembered the evening as a great success – Rubinstein asked him to play some of his compositions, which he listened to attentively and afterwards told him that Paderewski should play much more himself: “You have an innate technique, and you could – I am sure of it – make a wonderful career as a pianist.” Half a century later, Paderewski’s reaction to this key moment in his life was just as moving:

“Those fateful words of his left me almost stunned for the moment. I did not know how to answer him – it overwhelmed me. It was such a surprise. This experience with Rubinstein had a tremendous effect. What he said changed my world completely.”[6]

In Berlin Paderewski befriended another fabulous musician, a virtuoso violinist, Joseph Joachim:

“Among the celebrities then in Berlin, I must put first the great violinist Joseph Joachim, who was a noble          and an admirable artist. As an interpreter of classical music, especially of Beethoven, he was absolutely supreme – a highly cultured man in general. He was not only accessible to the younger musicians, but was always ready to assist them in art, and in other ways too. […] He was a very brilliant technician. He had an absolute command of his instrument. He was a thorough musician and had a great nobility in playing, which was extremely impressive. […] The principal point that impressed everyone at first sight and first hearing of him was a marvelous dignity, which is an extremely rare quality.”[7]

Paderewski recalled that at one of such meetings at Joachim’s – where Berlin’s elite social and academic circles gathered – the host was so fascinated by a piece from the cycle Chants du voyageur that he asked Paderewski to repeat this piano miniature several times. He added, “Joachim invited me to play a few of my compositions, which I of course did without hesitation, and I considered it as an exceptional favor on his part – a great encouragement.”[8] Reflecting on his stay in Berlin during the early 1880s, Paderewski concluded that, “In those early years I met and knew almost all the musical giants of the time. It was a glorious period – great composers, pianists and conductors. These contacts enriched my life.”[9]

After a break of well over a year in his Berlin studies, Paderewski returned to Warsaw and began teaching at the Conservatory. However, he soon determined that he had had enough teaching and had to become a pianist, even though he was constantly discouraged from such a career choice by his circle of friends and acquaintances. Paderewski wrote about this decision in his Memoirs as follows:

“It was then that I said, “Now it is enough – enough of teaching!” At that moment the inner conviction became a reality never to be shaken again. I was determined then upon a pianistic career, but I realized that first of all I must go away and finish my studies of composition, which had been interrupted. So, I returned to Berlin. But before going there I had to do something about my poor boy, who had become very ill. I took him to my father because he was living in a place where there was a possibility of having a good physician. He was already showing a serious weakness in walking. It was practically the beginning of infantile paralysis. But, in those days, they did not know much about that dreadful affliction. The boy was then about four years old.”[10]

 

Berlin in Paderewski’s Letters
 

For many years after the publication of the Memoirs – which appeared in the 1930s in America and decades later in Poland – the chapter in which Paderewski described his two periods of study in Berlin in the years 1882–1884 was the only source of first-hand information on the subject.[11] It was not until 2001 – when the autographs of 308 letters by Paderewski reached the Institute of Musicology at the Jagiellonian University in Kraków – that, in addition to the Memoirs, the world gained Paderewski’s direct impressions of his studies in Berlin, written “in the heat of the moment” and maintained in a very personal, even intimate tone. They are addressed mainly to Helena Górska (who became Paderewski’s second wife in 1899), and his father, Jan Paderewski, who died in Zhytomyr in 1894.

The history of Paderewski’s letters is very interesting – they were carefully guarded throughout her life by Helena Górska and, after her death in 1934, by her personal secretary, Helena Liibke[12]. Their existence was unknown to Paderewski until his death in 1941, because his wife not only never admitted to retaining this part of the correspondence but also left instructions for her secretary not to mention Paderewski’s youthful letters to her to anyone. After closing her apartment in Switzerland in the early 1950s Helena Liibke emigrated to America and lived next to the Strakacz family in Los Angeles. After many years as a confidante and tender caregiver for his wife, Paderewski had considered Helena Liibke a member of his family, just like the family of his secretary, Sylwin Strakacz, his wife Aniela and their daughter, Anetka, who was Paderewski’s goddaughter.

A few years after Sylwin Strakacz’s death in Los Angeles in 1973, his daughter and her family relocated to the Sacramento area in northern California. They were soon joined by Helena Liibke, who moved in with them. It was only after Helena Liibke’s death in 1986 that Anetka Strakacz discovered, among many other documents, Paderewski’s letters in Helena Liibke’s room, covering the period from the early 1870s to the mid-1920s. Most of the correspondence dates from the period 1872–1899, that is, up until Paderewski’s marriage to Helena Górska. Dr. Małgorzata Perkowska-Waszek – author of numerous books and articles about Paderewski – became familiar with this collection of correspondence only in the late 1980s during a visit to Anetka Strakacz in California, and in the early 1990s began preparatory work for its publication.

The next stage in this important discovery was the donation of this correspondence by Anetka Strakacz in 2001 to the Ignacy Jan Paderewski Institute of Musicology at the Jagiellonian University in Kraków. This collection of 308 letters was partially edited by Dr. Perkowska-Waszek and, after her death in 2011, work on these exceptional documents revealing previously unknown aspects of Paderewski’s life and personality was completed by Małgorzata Sułek and Justyna Szombara.

Paderewski’s letters discussed hereafter date from the period of his youth and studies in Berlin. They allow the reader to develop a substantially different point of view about the artist, his private life, the course of his studies, family problems, and professional dreams. We also find fascinating descriptions of many outstanding artists of that era (Johannes Brahms, Pablo de Sarasate, Eugène d’Albert, Richard Strauss), various concerts, exhibitions, theatre performances, artistic evenings and other captivating events in Paderewski’s life as he studied composition with Fryderyk Kiel and Heinrich Urban in Berlin, and in subsequent years piano with Teodor Leschetizky in Vienna.

The first 46 letters in this collection date from 1872–1881. They are mainly addressed to Paderewski’s father and stepmother and describe his studies in Warsaw. They also include occasional notes in French to Paderewski’s sister, Antonina, and to Michał Babiański, who taught the pianist and his sister history and French at their home in Podolia. Paderewski’s first letter to Helena Górska dates from September 1881. Writing from Vitebsk and beginning with “Dear Lady!” Paderewski informs the addressee that he has spent a few days in this district town “dealing with various matters in the official [Russian] language and visiting local dignitaries.” He continues: “I finally remembered that I have to leave for Berlin soon and that I still need money for it, so I came to Vitebsk to give a concert and from here I send you [here Paderewski also addresses Helena’s husband] news about myself.”[13] In conclusion, Paderewski rather cautiously switches to a more familiar tone and partly reveals his true feelings towards Helena Górska:

“I do not need to express how much I long for your sight, as well as news about your health and the state of your heart (I give this the most philological meaning), and finally news about everything that concerns you, Mr. Władysław and your family. [...] In anticipation of a gracious answer, I place an abstract but heartfelt kiss on your hands, the same on the cheeks of your husband and son, and I remain always the same, IJPaderewski.”

From the published collection of Paderewski’s letters to his father and Helena Górska, it is abundantly clear that Helena became the key recipient of Paderewski’s personal feelings, affectionate confessions, and friendly asides. The letters to her – written over time in an increasingly exalted and intimate tone – eventually became the cause of Górska’s divorce from her first husband, Władysław, who discovered Paderewski’s correspondence with his wife, Helena. One of the causes might have been the October 8, 1886, letter from Paderewski to Helena Górska from Vilnius. At its conclusion, Paderewski composed two stanzas of a poem in French – the first begins with the words: Je t’aime! Et je ne pense qu’à Toi and second with, Je t’aime! Et je pleure après Toi.[14] In parting, Paderewski adds, “I’ve been here for an hour, and waiting for tomorrow morning as well as the letter. What news will it bring? Yours, yours with all my heart and soul, Ignacy.”

Another interesting and easily noticeable feature of this letter collection is the fact that Paderewski’s correspondence with Helena Górska is much more extensive and more detailed than letters to his father written in the same period but kept mostly in a more cursory, reporting-like style.

Since Paderewski often concertized with Helena’s violinist husband, many music-related issues concerning Paderewski’s compositions, performances, and his life in the Berlin musical, theatrical, and intellectual world are described in detail in these letters from Germany. Their author’s reflections on the course of his career, successful or less successful concerts and compositions, give the reader of Paderewski’s correspondence a more discerning insight into the personality of their author as well as into his private views on music, art, and politics.

 

The First Visit to Berlin
 

In a letter dated 6 January 1882 addressed to Helena Górska, we learn that Paderewski’s initial impressions of Berlin are rather negative, conveying a somewhat provincial and decidedly patriotic tone:

“Despite its beautiful streets [and] magnificent edifices Berlin did not make a great impression on me. […] The inhabitants of Berlin are like those greedy for pennies and bread creatures who with holes in their shoes and the word ‘Kultur’ on their foreheads are invading our poor Poland; the only difference is in their clothing. Personally, I have no right to complain about them since those to whom I have turned for advice or explanations, gave me these willingly, and those with whom I have become friendly have acquired the right to my gratitude. I am only indicating a general impression.”

In the same letter Paderewski writes to Górska about assistance given to him by pianist and composer, Maurycy Moszkowski:[15]

“Moszkowski is a good, helpful colleague, thanks to whom I have made a few contacts, and it is he who – advising me ahead of time that I no longer need this at all – took me to Kiel.[16] Kiel dazzled me with his modesty. After hearing a few of my things, he said a few sentences which I didn’t understand, patted me on the shoulder, which seemed to me very understandable, after which in his own hand ordered me to be enrolled in the ranks of his students. So that already on Tuesday, I begin the lessons I have longed for.”

Later in the same letter, Paderewski described how he found his first apartment in Berlin:

“I’ll probably have an apartment far from the city center, out on the Brücken-Allee, which, relative to Unter den Linden, presents itself like Mokotów to the Plac Teatralny.[17] What attracts me to this place, above all, is the fresh air; next, that I shall have a table at home, and all the… discomforts; finally, the price: 100 marks monthly, which is still not very expensive.”

Two days later, on January 8, 1882, Paderewski wrote to his father about his visit to Professor Kiel and his rented apartment on the outskirts of Berlin, a city “huge, beautiful, cleanly kept and densely populated,” adding, “I will just have to work a lot on the German language, because no one here speaks French, or rather does not want to.”

Writing on 16 January 1882 to Helena Górska, Paderewski informed his friend that he was “as they say, settled” and that his “large, clean drawing room today, thanks to Mr. Bechstein’s kindness, has been decorated with a concert grand piano.” Later in the letter he complains a bit about his composition teacher:

“I have been to see Kiel twice already. Up until now the good old chap has not told me anything new: I do counterpoint and all the comments I hear in the process are already well-known to me, or else I have long since… intuited them for myself. And I must say, my dear lady, that doing counterpoint exercises is sterile, unbearable work for me, but alas… I must do it.”

Another interesting detail in this letter is the mention of Paderewski’s visit to the Nationalgalerie in Berlin and his extensive discourse on the collection of “German brush and chisel artworks” as well as the acceptance of the proposed loan of five hundred rubles, which Helena Górska offered to Paderewski before his departure for Berlin. It was a considerable sum at that time, which the pianist promised to pay back “most solemnly” by 1 January 1883. Paderewski ends his 21 January 1882 letter to Górska by complaining about his health and insomnia, and reveals some of his daily activities:

“I didn’t go to see the doctor, but instead I’m taking showers; in the mornings in my flat I engage in wild gymnastics and, in the evenings, I go to T[h]iergarten and there, along its dark and secluded lanes, I run like a madman until I’m thoroughly exhausted…”

On 27 January 1882 Paderewski writes to Górska from Berlin:

“I don’t feel well. I’ve had a fever for a few days, I’m a bit restless, and although I don’t have a cough or chest pains, I’m worried about my lungs. Besides, I don’t feel like working. I’m surprised at this feeling and don’t know what to attribute it to!”

Fortunately, by February 3, 1882, Paderewski informed Górska that he was healthy, the fever had left him, he was sleeping like a log and had a good appetite as well as a desire to work. Writing to his father on February 6, Paderewski stated that:

“I have been working here for a while, and I cannot complain about a lack of success. People everywhere are pleased with me; all who know me speak most flatteringly of my talent, and Kiel is delighted. I pay him 30 marks a month, which is 15 rubles. That’s reasonable; however, other expenses for sheet music, concerts, etc., which are unforeseeable, absorb a lot of money.”

In a long letter to Helena Górska dated also 6 February 1882, Paderewski writes about being invited to a soiree at the residence of Herman Erler, music publisher and a composer:

“I had to play my compositions and must objectively admit it was a disaster. Mr. Erler found them ‘zu schwer, zu melancholisch…’ in a word – he didn’t like them. […] One half hour after me Moszkowski played a few of his simple and not even well-constructed pieces. Mr. Erler’s and his guests’ admiration seemed boundless… My belief in Mr. Erler’s judgment was challenged…”

Later in the same letter, Paderewski describes his visit with Juliusz Janotha and his daughter, Natalie, also a fine pianist and composer:[18]

“I also visited the Janothas. I was very warmly welcomed and asked to play. Here I experienced justement le contraire, since both father and daughter tried to be exceedingly appreciative.”

On February 18, Paderewski wrote to his father that he played some four-hand piano music with Professor Kiel, who said, “I’ve never played with so much pleasure. You’re a great music reader and accompanist.” Continuing on the subject of accompanying, Paderewski informed his father that he appeared in concert with a famous Polish violinist, Stanisław Barcewicz.

About two months later, on 11 April 1882, Paderewski writes to his father:

“I have been without money for several days now, and since I have no one to turn to here at the moment, and the letter to Mother takes too long to get there, it is with great heartache, believe me, that I am writing to you, Father, to ask for help.[19] I need one hundred and fifty rubles. This sum will be enough until the middle of May, and then I will probably receive something from Mother. So be kind, send me this sum as soon as possible, and I will try to pay you back in the summer. Even if I had to pay interest on this money, I am prepared for it.”

Perhaps still waiting for the money, at the end of April 1882 Paderewski informs his stepmother about finishing the first movement of his Sonata for Violin and Piano: “The Sonata’s first movement is already done. I find it still needs much improvement, despite Kiel’s ‘ganz reizend’ opinion of it.” And in a very short letter to Helena Górska dated May 8, Paderewski writes:

“I cannot remain in Berlin any longer. I’m leaving. Maybe I’ll write, but if I don’t or if I can’t, please don’t be angry with me, dear lady!”

As it turned out, Paderewski didn’t leave Berlin at the beginning of May, and tersely informed Helena that:

“I’m not in good health. I cannot play due to unpleasant muscle spasms in my fingers during the past few weeks; nonetheless, I’ll try to extend my stay here until June 15.”

Paderewski finally left Berlin in late June, describing several months of experiencing ill health in a letter to his father, dated 12 August 1882 and posted from Nałęczów, where he sought a cure:

“Throughout the entire period from February to June, that is, until I left, I was ill, and so much so that I was several times closer to the other world than to this one. [...] Doctors gave me different explanations for my illness. Some attribute headaches, severe hair loss, itching of the eyebrows, eyelashes, hands and the whole body, and a decline in strength to a nervous exhaustion; others saw traces of my old illness in it. After long and unsuccessful treatment with the first doctors, I finally consulted others and gained only that when I returned to Warsaw, I could no longer walk. [...] I barely managed to get to Nałęczów. Currently, after a 10-day treatment, I feel much better. I do not know if the improvements will continue. If they do, I can regain my health completely. I am treated here for nerves, stomach, and stomach bleeding that’s connected to hemorrhoids. Cold water is used as a remedy, either in the form of baths or in the form of compresses and massage treatments.”

In the same letter, Paderewski writes to his father about his wish to purchase a “small estate with good soil in the Volhynia Province, near to a rail connection,” adding that, “I can allocate 10 to 11 thousand rubles cash for this purpose. I wouldn’t want to go to debt over it.”

 

A Quick Concert Sortie to Berlin…
 

After yet another cure in Busko at the beginning of September 1882, from a letter to his father written on December 27 we learn that Paderewski obtained a leave from the Warsaw Conservatory and, taking advantage of the Christmas break, went to concertize with Władysław Górski (Helena’s husband) first in Prague and then in Berlin “with fresh compositions” that should bring some income, because income from concerts “cannot be counted on” and “it will probably be a long time before I can start paying off my, unfortunately numerous, debts.” He also provides his address in Berlin: Brückenallee 35.

Already on 1 January 1883, in a long letter to his father Paderewski wrote that was very warmly welcomed not only by his landlady (“Ach! Lieber Herr Paderewski!”), but also by Bock, the owner of the large publishing house, Bote & Bock, who undertook to organize concerts for Paderewski and Górski in Berlin and to publish the pianist’s latest compositions. Writing two days later to Helena Górska, Paderewski provides further details of the concert with her husband on 12 January in the auditorium of the Grand Hotel de Rome. He also describes the many concerts he had heard, the group of friends he saw, and a visit to Professor Kiel, for whom he played the Sonata for Violin and Piano, and who advised him not to play it at the concert with Górski on 12 January. At the end of the letter, Paderewski commented on this instruction as follows: “You will probably not be surprised when I tell you that I do not intend to follow the advice of the honest Kiel.”

The January Berlin concert of Paderewski and Górski was “quite a success,” as Paderewski informed his father on 22 January 1883 in a letter written already from Warsaw. He described it further as follows:

“There can be no talk of income, because in Berlin nobody earns money from concerts. But I achieved my main goal, which is a satisfying opinion from critics. Some magazines gave us a good thrashing, mainly for the national, Polish character of our compositions, but most of the harsh Berlin critics were very flattering. For the compositions, many of which will be published, I was paid quite well.”

In the same letter written after returning to Warsaw from Berlin, Paderewski admits to his father that he hates teaching at the Warsaw Conservatory and adds that he’d be more than happy to leave and continue his studies:

“It is not without reluctance that I return to the old hardships of teaching. This work does not tempt me, it does not appeal to me, it makes me lose the wish to compose, and I have no desire to play. God willing, maybe it will not last that long, maybe in the autumn I will go abroad to complete my education there.”

 

Berlin Studies, Part Two…
 

As it turned out, Paderewski did not return to Berlin until early 1884. In a letter to Helena Górska dated 5 January, he described a visit to his former professor Kiel (“chatted only for 4 hours”) and shared his impressions after the premiere of Brahms’s Symphony No. 3 (“A rather odd, inconsistent work – and most importantly – not an organic whole. But the Germans applauded, shouted, because he’s their musical idol.”) He also reported that his publisher Bock had decided to issue all of Paderewski’s works, even though – quoting Bock: “After all, the only accusation they make against you,” he told me – ”is this: dass Sie zu Polnisch sind!” Bock did, however, pay Paderewski an advance of 400 marks as the first installment of the honorarium for the rights to publish the group of Polish Dances for Piano, Op. 9.

Just a week later, on 12 January 1884, Paderewski notified Helena Górska that his former professor Kiel was seriously ill and had recommended that Paderewski continue with Heinrich Urban, whose students included some younger Polish composers, including Mieczysław Karłowicz, Henryk Opieński and Wanda Landowska. Paderewski also informed Helena Górska that the postman had stopped delivering his mail and was sending everything back to Warsaw because it seemed to him that “someone with a Polish surname” no longer lived at Brückenallee 35.

From the letter to Helena Górska dated 23 January 1884, we learn that the composition lessons with the new professor began rather inauspiciously:

“Today I was at his place and showed him the first movement of my Suite for String Orchestra, written in the form of a march. In it he found many awkward violin and viola passages, paid close attention to [parallel] fifths, voice-leading, and to other schoolboy prejudices. From this I conclude that [Urban] is the Roguski of Berlin – only slightly fatter.[20] Otherwise, this Teuton is quite bearable.”

Warm relations with his publisher, Bock, continued. Paderewski played chess with him (“I gave him two great checkmates after dinner”) and it was lucrative (“I shouldn’t hold a grudge against him, because he’s been asking for my stuff again. I’ll probably treat him to some of my May Songs”).[21]

Paderewski’s stay in Berlin continued to go well – on 25 January 1884 he wrote to Helena Górska: “I don’t need money now. I have a lot, but when I run out, I’ll write, and the dear lady will send me some.” He also added at the very end: “I miss you and I’m sad! Even cod liver oil won’t help with that.”

From a letter to the Górskis written on 30 January 1884, we learn that the weather in Berlin “is terrible, and a few days ago there was such a strong wind that it apparently knocked Bismarck’s hat off his bald head.” Paderewski further reports that “dear [professor] Kiel is ill” and the new professor of composition, “Urban, has bored me. He is so slow, clumsy, helpless, dull. Before he reads one bar, his cigar goes out twice. No wonder that with such haste my March has not yet been read in its entirety. When I will finish the whole Suite – I really don’t know.” From the same letter we learn that Paderewski liked the performance of Brahms’s compositions (Piano Concerto No. 2 and Symphony No. 3) much more this time: “The day before yesterday I also heard Brahms in his own Concerto and the new Symphony, which he conducted. This time I liked it more. The tempi were livelier, the execution more careful, because Brahms is an excellent conductor.”

Two weeks later (13 February 1884), in his letter to Helena Górska Paderewski described his financial and creative situation as follows:

“Today I received a letter from you, my dear Lady, along with money. I don’t need it. So far, I have not lacked anything: my room and board are paid for until the end of March, my lessons until the end of February too, and I still have a few dozen marks in reserve. From this you can conclude that Paderek in Berlin is not known for great wastefulness. He wastes a lot, it is true, but only time. Please imagine that so far, apart from the new Krakowiak, nothing noteworthy has been added to the old collection of dances. I am not happy about it. With Urban, the lessons are going quite slowly – I am finishing the Scherzo for the Suite and will soon start the Adagio, but all this will rot in my briefcase. Today Urban was delighted with some details in the Scherzo and promised me that I would soon be able to compose for the drum. Naturally, his promise gave me more joy than unfounded rapture.”

At the end of February 1884, in a letter to his father, Paderewski wrote: “I don’t have any earnings yet, but soon I will get some money for my compositions. That will be enough for me for a while, and later I’ll have to find something.” In a letter to the Górskis written at the same time, Paderewski reports that he has started taking violin lessons, attended a concert by pianist Aleksander Siloti (a student of Liszt), and that he has visited the Panopticum – a Berlin cabinet of curiosities – to see an exhibition devoted to the American Indians of the Sioux tribe, along with their tents, armor, and fabrics, which (as Paderewski noted) were “of dubious authenticity... The tents are made of rubber, the fabrics betray Egyptian origin, the armor looks rather unbelievable, and this last detail has an echt-Berlin odor.”

 

Appearances at Berlin’s Salons…
 

Regarding his professional life, Paderewski did not manage to perform at the Imperial Court, because, as he reported to Helena Górska on March 2, 1884, “it depended solely on Augusta herself,” the wife of Emperor Wilhelm I. He also added that “playing for the Empress does not bring any great honor in the opinion of the locals and, secondly, because of the constant pain in my fingers I’m playing so badly that showing off next to Sarasate would be plainly impossible. True, they pay well – 300 marks per piece, i.e. per artist – and that’s probably the most pleasant thing about such a performance.” However, during an evening at the home of his publisher, Mr. Bock, where Paderewski played Beethoven’s Sonatas for Violin and Piano with the Russian virtuoso Iosif Kotek and was asked to play a solo, he proposed to the host to perform “something by Chopin [or] Schumann.” Mr. Bock, however, insisted that Paderewski play Album majowe, which was greatly appreciated by the publisher’s invited guests.

Writing to Helena Górska on 8 March 1884 Paderewski shared details of an evening at another important publisher, Hans Simrock. Virtuoso violinist Pablo Sarasate introduced Paderewski to the owner of this prestigious firm (founded in the late 18th century) that published many works by Haydn, Mozart, Beethoven, Schumann, Mendelssohn, and Brahms. The evening featured the composer Aleksander Zarzycki (who, according to Paderewski, was slightly tipsy: “I found Zarzyś there in a rosy mood after dinner and a good glass of wine”), the pianist and Chopin’s student Otto Goldschmidt, and Sarasate himself: “Towards the end of the evening, S. played his Dances and the Etude, which he apparently mistakenly called the Serenade. He played beautifully, but I was not so much enchanted by that as by his personality. If there is something devilish about him, it is probably that he is devilishly nice.” The same letter also shows that it wasn’t an evening devoted exclusively to music:

“After the music there were… gymnastics. Sarasate showed off on the trapeze with not quite a devilish dexterity but a simian one. Afterwards he turned somersaults and encouraged me to do likewise. But I didn’t manage to as well as before – in Nałęczów. Goldschmidt argued that he has very strong muscles, especially in his legs, because he was once a prize winner at a gymnastics tournament. He proposed we do jumping jacks. “You’ll see, sir – he said – which one of us will last longer.” Alas! After 15 minutes G. had to sit down – and I could have been jumping for another hour. Good God! Why don’t my fingers have such endurance?”

After such frolics at Simrock’s party, Paderewski fortunately did not have to sit down at the piano because, as he put it: “I was not asked to play and it was a good thing, because despite the pleasant surroundings I was in the mood of a flea held over a candle.” In the same letter, Paderewski informs Helena Górska that he attended an exhibition in Berlin and Christ Before Pilate by Mihály Munkácsy, a Hungarian painter of religious and patriotic scenes, made a huge impression on him: “A few weeks ago I saw one of the greatest masterpieces of contemporary painting. I have no words to express my delight!” Later in this letter, Paderewski states that when comparing Christ Before Pilate to Siemiradzki’s Burning the Russian Corpses, he experienced “... an unpleasant disappointment. I had expected something better.” In a postscript to the letter, he informs Mrs. Górska that “Sarasate plays for the local banker Bleichröder and receives for the evening, a trifle, only 4,500 marks. Long live the Jews!”

Already on March 15, 1884, Paderewski wrote to Helena Górska that his Polish friends had left Berlin and noted, “and I am sad about them. I was with them for a whole week – I spent several hours in their company every day and forgot that I was in Berlin. I don’t know if I will ever feel so good here again. From this letter we also learn that Paderewski’s publisher undertook to issue several works by Aleksander Zarzycki: “Bock bought a Polonaise, a Mazur, and a Serenade, apparently he paid well and is very happy with this purchase.” The letter goes on to say that at Bock’s farewell party (“a good dinner and poor music”), Zarzycki’s pieces were performed:

“First, Kotek had to scratch his way through the Mazurka. It was just awful! I wanted to cry. Next, some lady singer howled a few songs with my accompaniment. Then Richard Strauss sat at the piano. He’s from Munich, 19 years old, author of two symphonies, an overture, sonatas, and tons of other works. He played two of his short pieces. They were well put together but played awfully. Finally, upon the host’s request, Zarzysio stepped up to his Serenade. How my heart raced, how I feared for him, I cannot really describe to you, my Lady. There were many guests – unlike the evening at Simrock’s – and I wanted him to play like [Anton] Rubinstein. He succeeded, somehow, and the Serenade made a good impression, even the Mazurka was to the Teutons’ liking despite Kotek’s playing. Dinner was served after the music, but we didn’t finish eating since right after the toasts we had to catch a train.”

Ending the letter, Paderewski writes that he is alone and getting back to work, despite the lack of sleep and generally agitated state and worries about the illness of his little son, Alfred: “Father informed me that Fredzio has been ill with some kind of fever for a week. If it doesn’t get better, maybe I’ll go to see him. It won’t help him, but I’ll be calmer.” It is worth noting here that Paderewski’s orphaned son was at that time under the care of his father and stepmother in the Ukrainian town of Chrolin, very far from civilization, where the pianist finally arrived only a year later, at the beginning of May 1885.

 

Creative Work, Publishing and Financial Success
 

From a letter to his father written in Berlin on April 2, 1884, we learn that Paderewski had given the manuscript of Album de Mai, Op. 10, to the publisher; he also mentioned receiving a proposal from another publishing house regarding Tatra-Album, Op. 12 in a piano-four-hands arrangement. He added with pride:

“This proposal from a new publisher is a very favorable sign for me. While numerous composers are trying to publish their works for free, the publishers themselves are seeking me and even want to pay me a little. Maybe in time I will acquire a good name and recognition here. I want it for two reasons. For myself, my family, and for my country. I would like to serve it sincerely – after all, it is not only by living on the Vistula that one can be useful to our homeland.”

In closing, Paderewski informs his father that he is now a reporter for the Warsaw-based journal, Echo Muzyczne, that already published two of his articles and are about to publish, “a larger piece, that’ll be a study about the German composer, Brahms.” Paderewski also adds, “As you can see, not much is left from my earlier laziness. One day I may become a hardworking child! What do you think, Dad?

In another letter to his father dated 1 May 1884, Paderewski writes that he’ll soon finish writing the Overture for Orchestra, that he is playing a lot and makes a lot of progress as a pianist, and that he’s working on Piano Variations “that will soon be published.” This work, Variations et Fugue sur un thème original pour piano, Op. 11, was published by Bote & Bock in late 1884.

In a letter to Helena Górska (15 May 1884), Paderewski mentions visiting his gravely ill professor Kiel and adds, “Poor fellow… he’s so ill and practically unrecognizable – he may not get better.” Writing to his father a few days later, Paderewski concludes “Most likely I won’t be taking lessons from Kiel anymore. The poor old fellow is ill again and there’s no hope that he’ll return to teaching.”[22] Another interesting story in this letter is the Józef Kraszewski’s court case after he was accused by the Prussian authorities of working with the French intelligence service. Here’s how Paderewski describes this famous case:

“At present, not only in Poland, but also in Germany, the public is feverishly interested in Kraszewski, who has been brought before a court in Leipzig for treason against this country (i.e. Germany). How much of his guilt is in this – I do not know, suffice it to say that it has been proved to him that he sent to his friend in Paris some Prussian military plans, reports on military telegraphs, etc. Hentsch, a former captain of the Prussian army, who made these plans, as well as many others, for the governments of Austria and Russia, is appearing with him before the court. Only the main perpetrator who persuaded Hentsch to carry it out and deliver these plans to Kraszewski, the spy, the Jew Adler, has not been held accountable – and that’s because he denounced Kraszewski, having previously extorted from him about 7,000 marks. Poor Kraszewski!! He has probably fallen victim to his readiness to serve everyone. And now, towards the end of his life, at the summit of his fame and just when he almost became the pride of his nation, he must await the verdicts of the Prussian courts, which, under the pressure of Bismarck, who persecutes everything Polish, will not be merciful to him. If the Emperor does not pardon Kraszewski, he will face two years of imprisonment, maybe more.”[23]

The end of May and the beginning of June in Berlin 1884 was a period for intense work but also brought several professional triumphs. In letters to Helena Górska and to his father from this period, Paderewski writes about scoring his Overture for Orchestra, receiving a “large” honorarium for the Tatra Album, Op. 12 (“500 marks, i.e. about 250 rubles. That’s enough for me, after paying off small debts, for a few months”) and about planning to visit Franz Liszt in Weimar. We also learn that Paderewski saw his friend and publisher Bock, where he not only played the piano but also played chess:

“Yesterday I was at dinner, and then at Bock’s all evening. I gave him some good checkmates and played a lot of things. He is delighted with the Variations and the Overture (especially its second subject). He told me that if the Overture is played here, he will publish it. I was very pleased.”

Paderewski’s finances looked very promising, especially after the Tatra Album publisher pledged to pay an additional 500 marks to the composer if 1000 copies of this suite for piano four hands were sold. Thanks to this windfall, Paderewski could plan his summer vacation in Zakopane. In a letter dated 8 June 1884, he also reported to Helena Górska about an unfortunate and potentially serious accident in Berlin:

“A week ago, I had a rather weird accident. I was on a May Day holiday with the Bock family. Playing a random game, I collided so unluckily with a tree that I was unconscious for several minutes. My face turned a bright red and swelled up so much that people were laughing at me when I ventured out into the street. Now it’s all right, traces of the bruise remain, but probably not for long.”

From a letter to his father composed in Berlin July 1, 1884, we learn that Paderewski “is currently travelling to the Tatra Mountains.” He further adds: “I am rather exhausted by work and on Chałubiński’s advice I shall spend some time in the mountains.”[24] He also informs his father about the publication of several piano pieces (Six Polish Dances, Toccata, Album majowe, Album tatrzańskie for Piano Four-Hands, Variations and Fugue, and Krakowiak for Violin and Piano). We also learn about his “very charming” meeting with the Russian pianist Anton Rubinstein, who liked Paderewski’s piano pieces: “He heard my compositions and spoke very flatteringly of them. I am glad about that, because, after all, Rubinstein is one of the greatest artists in the world.” Paderewski spent the rest of the summer of 1884 in Zakopane and in September he came to Kraków where, in early October, he appeared at a very successful concert with Helena Modrzejewska. The considerable income from that evening allowed Paderewski to travel to Vienna and study with Teodor Leschetizky.

 

Other Berlin Visits and Additional Concerts in Germany (1888–1913)
 

Over one year later, at the beginning of September 1885, Paderewski is again in Berlin for a while. He writes to his father: “Nothing new with me. I’m staying in Berlin, copying old compositions and currently working on a new Suite for Piano. Soon more of my compositions will be come out in print. My Piano Variations were very well received by the musicians here. The songs are now being translated into German by my good friend, Dr. Wiśniewski.” In the same letter Paderewski mentions that “in three weeks” he will depart for Strasbourg (to teach piano at the Conservatory) and thanks his father for the “kind-hearted care” of his son, Alfred, who was raised by his grandfather almost from the moment he was born.

A few more years had passed before Paderewski visited Berlin yet again. We learn about it from his letter to the Górskis, dated 23 August 1888, about six months after Paderewski’s sensational Paris debut. Paderewski writes that he had been in Berlin for “a few weeks” (i.e. since early August 1888) and that, at first, he had been staying with his publisher, Bock. However, he soon rented an apartment on Turmstrasse, one of the main streets in the Moabit district. During this sojourn in Berlin, Paderewski edited the second movement of his Piano Concerto, Op. 17, which was to have its premiere in early October 1888 in Leipzig with the Gewandhaus Orchestra. However, the Concerto’s premiere was postponed for a few months and did not take place until 20 January 1889 at the Musikverein in Vienna, under the baton of Hans Richter. The soloist was Paderewski’s friend and the wife of his Viennese professor, Anette Essipov[25].

Another report from Berlin can be found in a letter written by Paderewski shortly after December 8, 1890, addressed to the Górskis. This exceptionally personal note, filled with bitterness and pessimism, is worth quoting almost in its entirety:

“I am leaving for Dresden in a few hours – helpless, worried, dejected, and even more depressed than after that first Berlin concert. Probably never before anyone anywhere was treated by the critics so vilely and meanly as I was today. I played perfectly, please believe me, because I am very conscientious and fair when it comes to assessing my own playing. The audience called me out three times with shouts of bravo! During the dress rehearsal with the paying audience, I was given an ovation, about which Mr. Bülow said that he had never seen such in his concerts. He was honest enough with me. He did not spare words of appreciation, even admiration, he told everyone around him: das ist das beste moderne Concert, he put in more than enough effort, because although he conducted divinely at the dress rehearsal, at the concert – with exceedingly good intentions – he confused almost everything and, so to speak, he simply messed it up, he just screwed it all up.

But unexpectedly, the concert was liked a lot. Bock even beamed with joy. Well, what? Today I got a thrashing from which I will never recover in Germany. Except for two relatively polite newspapers, all [others] dragged me through the mud. Apparently, I have no talent. My Concerto was inferior, without a spark of invention, without a single musical phrase, and the only shame for the Philharmonic is that it placed such a miserable composition on the program. My playing is dry and boring; I have neither the tone nor strength, nor rhythm, nor temperament; I have no understanding of Chopin, and I am ridiculously inept when it comes to Liszt.

Everything was expressed with such brutality and hate, that it blurs the eyes when you look at it. In the face of such a great reception in the music capital of the world, I ask myself whether this is the end of my career! Yes, probably, because these critics dealt me a cruel blow. [...] The saddest thing, however, is that my own recital was announced already well in advance of December 13 (a very nice number), so on Saturday I must perform again in front of this gang of scoundrels. I cannot cancel, although I know that I’ll get the thrashing I deserve this time.

I haven’t slept for three days. I’ve got a kind of trembling in my legs and hands, and a real Berlin melancholy has taken hold of me. I’ve never been convinced about this vile city. Well! I wasn’t disappointed. As you can see, I was right to be afraid of the Prussian snakes. [...] On Sunday, after my last disgrace in Germany, I’m leaving this pleasant land. [...]”

After such traumatic experience Paderewski had little interest in returning to Germany, and especially to Berlin. Still, in 1891 he appeared in Dresden (29 January), Braunschweig (31 January), Hamburg (2, 3, 4 February), Breslau (9 February), Berlin (11 and 17 February), and Nuremberg (23 February). Commenting on his appearances with orchestra in Hamburg (Paderewski played his Piano Concerto, Op. 17 with von Bülow again conducting), in the 2 February 1891 letter to the Górskis he noted: “God knows how successful it’ll be, and I don’t care. I’m sick and tired of drifting around Germany, performing in front of demanding audiences and hostile critics and being paid a pittance, even if I just began my tour.” It also turned out that Paderewski experienced serious health problems:

“On my way to Dresden, I fell asleep in my Wagon-lit and woke up with my right hand completely numb. Seemingly nothing out of the ordinary. But when this numbness persisted until the evening, I went to the doctor right before the concert. He massaged me, applied electrical treatments, prescribed some [ointment] rubbing and... of course forbade me from playing, as if that were possible. In the end, the numbness remained only in two fingers, but in my entire left arm and in the crook of my right hand there was this wild, overwhelming, incessant pain. However, I played in Dresden and Braunschweig, even though tears would occasionally come to my eyes. It’s getting worse now; at night I can’t sleep from the pain, and here’s a concert in Wrocław [Breslau] and this awful, disgusting performance in Berlin not far away. Despair is taking hold of me. My career is ending. It has exhausted me out already, and yet I don’t have enough resources to afford some rest. This year’s entire season has gone to waste, and with it everything I achieved last season through lots of hard work. I suffer here more than anywhere else, because I must be so soundly prepared.”

Further on in the same letter, Paderewski thanks the Górskis for taking care of his ailing son, Alfred who, until that time, was being raised by the pianist’s father in Podolia:

“I was somewhat encouraged by the news of Fredzio. I would really like him not to be too much of a burden for you. If by this summer his condition doesn’t improve as expected, I will certainly place him somewhere else. What I saw you coping with was only your torment and it hurt me terribly.”

Ending this unhappy letter, Paderewski adds that “if my hands allow for it, I’ll remain in Germany for 10 more days and for the next 10 I’ll go to Vienna. From another letter to the Górskis written in Berlin around February 11, we learn that the pain in his hands was largely gone after treatments with electricity in Hamburg, and that his concerts in Dresden, Braunschweig, Hamburg and Breslau were successful artistically and financially.

Despite his reluctance to perform in Germany, mainly due to the often-unfavorable press, Paderewski nevertheless undertook many concert tours in that country between 1895 and 1913, scrupulously avoiding Berlin. Detailed data on his concerts during this period can be found in Małgorzata Perkowska-Waszek’s book: “Paderewski’s Concert Diary”. From this source we learn that on 15 February 1895 Paderewski gave a concert in Dresden at the Königliches Hoftheater in the presence of the royal couple of Saxony, and on 22 February played at the Sächsisches Hoftheater, where his entire fee was donated to the artists’ widows and orphans. On 19 February 1895 Paderewski gave a recital in Leipzig at the Alberthalle des Krystallpalasts, and this time he donated the proceeds to the construction of the Liszt monument in Weimar.

Two years later Paderewski returned to Leipzig and Dresden. On 11 February 1897, he was a soloist with the orchestra led by the legendary Arthur Nikisch at the famous Gewandhaus and on February 15 he played a solo recital at the Gewerbehaus in Dresden.

On February 3 and 5, 1898, Paderewski was again in Leipzig. Warsaw’s “Echo Muzyczne i Teatralne” dated 18 February 1898 reported that “I. J. Paderewski gave two concerts at the Leipzig Gewandhaus with great success.” We also learn from this article that the pianist submitted the manuscript of the orchestral score of his opera Manru to the management of the court opera in Dresden, “where the work is to see the light of the stage at the beginning of the autumn season.” We also know that on March 25, Paderewski performed at the Gurzenich Hall in Cologne as part of the Rhine Festival.

During 1901, Paderewski performed in Germany many times, beginning with a concert with the orchestra at the Königliches Opernhaus in Dresden conducted by Karl Schuh on May 5. He played Beethoven’s Piano Concerto No. 5, and the royal couple were again among those present. All concert proceeds were donated to charity. A week later (12 May 1901), Paderewski performed at a chamber concert in Bonn – he played Beethoven’s Trio in B-flat major, Op. 97, with violinist Joseph Joachim and cellist Robert Hausmann.[26] On May 29, Paderewski’s opera Manru was world premiered at the Königliches Opernhaus in Dresden.

Throughout the fall of 1901 there were many Paderewski concerts in Germany and western Poland, then still under the Prussian Partition. On October 26 he played a recital in Breslau (Grosser Saal des Concerthauses), and a day later he performed at the Saale der Reichshalle in Kattowitz. By October 29 he appeared at the Saal des Apollo-Theaters in Posen (Poznań). 

From Poznań Paderewski went to Hamburg (recital on November 1 in the Grosser Saal) and then to Leipzig (recital on November 8 in the Alberthalle). Then he played in Magdeburg on November 9 (Fürstenhof) and at about that time the German press wrote about Paderewski’s big tour of Germany in the autumn of 1901 “bypassing Berlin.” It was indeed so – on November 11 Paderewski played in Nuremberg (Herkules-Saal), and on November 26 in Stuttgart (Festsaal der Liederhalle). The pianist’s further performances took place on November 27 in Munich (Königlische Odeon), November 28 in Mannheim (Saalbau) and on November 29 Paderewski played again Beethoven’s Piano Concerto No. 5 with an orchestra in Frankfurt am Main.

By 1 December 1901, Paderewski was back in Breslau with a recital and the following day he performed in the Museumssaal in Karlsruhe. On December 3, he played in the Wiesbaden Kurhaus, and on December 5, he was a soloist in Düsseldorf at a concert with the orchestra in the Kaisersaal der Städtischen Tonhalle, conducted by Julius Buths.

On 7 December 1901, Paderewski appeared at the Gürzenich hall in Cologne and donated 8,000 marks of the proceeds from this performance to the construction of a Beethoven monument. Paderewski’s last three concerts in Germany that year were on December 11 (Hanover, Konzerthaus), December 12 (Poznań, Teatr Polski), and December 14 (Dresden, Königliches Hoftheater). A few weeks later, on January 1, 1902, the opera Manru was premiered in Cologne. The Stadttheater orchestra was on this occasion conducted by Arno Kleffel.

In the following years Paderewski made several tours of the USA; he also travelled to Australia in 1904 and returned to Berlin only nine years later. On 29 March 1911 he attended a performance of his Symphony in B minor, “Polonia,” which was presented to the Berlin audience by Ignacy Waghalter, a young conductor and talented composer who had studied in Berlin and was a friend of Joseph Joachim and Johannes Brahms.[27] The last known appearance of Paderewski in Germany was his concert with the orchestra at the Leipzig Gewandhaus on 6 March 1913, conducted by Arthur Nikisch.

 

Epilogue
 

It can be clearly seen from Paderewski’s recently published letters, as well as from his well-known Memoirs and Małgorzata Perkowska-Waszek’s Concert Diary, that the artist’s links with Berlin and his presence on the stages throughout Germany was quite significant and long-lasting. More than thirty years had passed from Paderewski’s initial arrival to study in Berlin in January 1882 to his last known performance in Leipzig in the spring of 1913. During this period, Paderewski achieved world fame not only as a virtuoso pianist, but also as an esteemed composer, whose works were first published in Germany in the mid-1880s and, after his worldwide success as a pianist, appeared in other countries throughout Europe and America.

Paderewski’s repertoire presented in Europe, the United States, Canada, Brazil, Argentina, South Africa, Australia and New Zealand often included works by German composers, from the great solo pieces by Bach to a wide selection of Beethoven’s Piano Sonatas, as well as Beethoven’s chamber music and his Piano Concerto in E-flat major. Paderewski also enjoyed performing solo and chamber works by Brahms, whom he met personally during his studies in Berlin and to whom he had shown some of his compositions in Vienna a few years later. From 1913 onward, Paderewski often played Wagner’s Isoldes Liebestodt in Liszt’s transcription for piano at his recitals, and attended performances of such Wagner operas as Meistersinger, Tannhäuser, Parsifal and Tristan und Isolde. Paderewski’s solo programs also included several compositions by Mendelssohn and Schumann. The following statement is a fitting summary of Paderewski’s feelings towards one of the most important German composers:

“Beethoven I have always regarded as the most soul-satisfying of composers for the piano. He was the master harmonist, and we must all revere his memory – no, not his memory, for how can it be said of such a towering genius that he is dead! Upon his brow there rests the fadeless garland of immortal fame. He speaks to us in music, he lives in sounds that ravish us to hear!”[28]

Concluding this survey of Paderewski’s activities in Germany, one should also remember his artistic credo: “Art is the expression of the immortal part of man.”[29]

 

Marek Żebrowski, June 2025

 

Bibliography:

Paderewski, Ignacy Jan; Lawton, Mary: The Paderewski Memoirs. Charles Scribner’s Sons, New York 1939.

Perkowska, Małgorzata: Diariusz koncertowy Paderewskiego. Polskie Wydawnictwo Muzyczne, Kraków 1990.

Perkowska-Waszek, Małgorzata (opracowanie), Sułek, Małgorzata i Szombara, Justyna (redakcja): Ignacy Jan Paderewski. Listy do Ojca i Heleny Górskiej (1872–1924). Narodowy Instytut Fryderyka Chopina, Warszawa 2018.

Phillips, Charles: Paderewski. The Story of a Modern Immortal. The Macmillan Company, New York 1934.

 

Paderewski Archive – The Paso Robles Collection:

https://polishmusic.usc.edu/research/pmc-archives/collections/