Ignaz Jan Paderewski plays Schubert, Beethoven, Schumann, Mendelssohn, Wagner & Schelling

by David Dubal









Although the name of Paderewski has of course taken its place in the piano's lore, he was once one of the commanding figures in the world. His deeds and celebrity, his fabled piano playing, the inspired Polish oratory and the compositions of Paderewski are today largely forgotten, his fame now but a fragment of its living manifestation, for he was considered to be one of the marvels of the age, a name as revered as Einstein, Schweitzer, Edison or Liszt and Anton Rubinstein. His life straddled equally the two centuries he lived in, and his participation on the world scene was vast and dazzling. No pianist had so travelled the world, making the piano and its literature accessible and visible. As Liszt had broadened the concert life of Europe, it was "Paddy" who opened the doors to the large American public wanting "culture." If the town had a piano, he would get there. Once, in a very small town, he played with a painful finger injury. Asked why he didn't cancel, Paderewski bluntly answered, "I may never come this way again. I couldn't disappoint them." One of his secrets was his disinterested gallantry, a trait deeply ingrained in his personality, a mixture of Polish pride and a deeply sensitive and poetic nature, possessed of rare idealism. By the 1890s, he symbolised for the public the ideal of male beauty and artistic quality. He looked the very incarnation of the artist-hero, as Liszt had earlier, and Anton Rubinstein in Paderewski's youth. It must be fully understood what the piano meant to the era, and Paderewski, pale, effete-looking, yet strangely masculine, exotic and from a then fashionably beleaguered nation, incomparably fitted the bill. As the piano's chief representative, the ideal male image was not then a dangerously dark Valentino, or the pelvic thrust of Elvis, or still later the body-builder brute, but an almost emaciated, dreamer-troubadour. Paderewski was the personification of the pre-Raphaelite image of beauty. The celebrated painter Sir Edward Burne-Jones was struck by an "apparition" when he first encountered him. He possessed a Swinburnian beauty, with a halo of abundant goldish auburn hair which crowned a bewitching presence so exquisitely captured in Burne-Jones' silverpoint drawing of the pianist. James Huneker saw the drawing and called it, "The most spiritual interpretation we have had as yet of this spiritual artist... His heart is pure, his life clean, his ideals lofty". Hearing him in Australia, the violinist Daisy Kennedy wrote, "This is the most poetic-looking pianist I am ever likely to see." Women of every age flocked to his concerts. He was "girled in", one commentator wrote. Combined with an unerring and subtle sense of the stage, a feline grace, proud bearing, a golden sound at the keyboard and a languorous rubato, he became the greatest box-office attraction of any pianist of the golden age. Unfortunately, his popularity created the usual envy - Paderewski, a brilliant conversationalist on far ranging topics was the burst of petty jealousies. The Liszt pupil Alfred Reisenauer said, "He knows everything - except music." And there was an increasing comment that Paderewski was a technical weakling and a musical simpleton. This was simply not true, as these Nimbus CDs aptly attest. Indeed he was a pianist of exceedingly fine technical equipment living in an age of the unprecedented virtuosity of Hofmann, Rosenthal, Rakhmaninov, Friedman, Backhaus, Godowsky and Busoni. At his finest Paderewski was an heroic grand-manner pianist, with a huge tone as well as a sense of intimacy. He made his recordings on disc and piano rolls with great seriousness and was to the early days of recording the piano what Caruso was to vocal recordings, by far the best seller. But it was his physical presence on a stage that ignited his audiences. Such an alchemy cannot totally be explained and goes far beyond musicianship, manual dexterity or special affinities for certain composers. Indeed Paderewski seemed to reveal a wholeness, and a pure generosity of spirit. Henry James saw him as "exhilarating goodness." Perhaps his art was best summed up by the eminent critic Richard Aldrich writing, "He touched the deepest and tenderest feelings and tugged irresistibly at the heart strings of a whole people. He seemed to speak a new language in music; he raised its poetry, its magic, its mystery, its romantic eloquence, to a higher power than his listeners had known. There was a beauty of line as well as of colour and atmosphere, a poignancy of phrase, a quality of tone, a lyrical accent such, so it seemed, as to make of his playing something never till then quite divined."

Ignaz Jan Paderewski was born on 6th November 1860 in Podolia, an isolated region of the Russian partition of Poland. As a child he had two dreams: to become a pianist and to be of service to Poland. Both dreams would be fulfilled far beyond his wildest expectation.

Patriotism was engendered early, especially knowing his father was in prison for a time because of participation in the failed 1863 Polish uprising against the Czar. The boy's early piano teachers were poor and ineffective, and Paderewski later complained, "I did not know how to practise. I did not get even the first rudiments of piano technique." At twelve he was taken to Warsaw where he worked diligently, learning harmony, piano and attempting to play flute and trombone. By the age of sixteen he was composing, but he was still dissatisfied with his work at the piano. Half-heartedly he finished his studies at the Institute of Music, receiving his diploma in 1878, for which he performed with the school orchestra the still-new Grieg Concerto.

Forced to earn a living, the eighteen-year-old youth taught, wrote some piano pieces, and two years later completed his Violin Sonata which Brahms, reading through it five years later, called "a very fine concert sonata."

The twenty-year-old musician had fallen in love with Antonina Korsak, and the impoverished couple married in January of 1880, with a child born to them in October of that year. After a terrible child-birth his beloved young bride died, leaving Paderewski with a crippled son who lived until he was twenty. After providing for the infant's care, Paderewski settled in Berlin, studying with the distinguished composer Friedrich Kiel. It was through the kindness of his fellow Pole, Moritz Moszkowski, that his compositions were recommended to the publisher Bock. In Berlin he played for Anton Rubinstein who saw promise in his music, but told him that he played like a composer and must work on his technique. Rubinstein had fired his repressed ambition to be a pianist.

Back in Poland he had become friends with the famed actress Modjeska who thought there was something special in his playing. She encouraged him to prepare a recital in Cracow, where she too would appear reading poetry between the musical selections. The recital, through her appearance, was a financial success; earning enough money for him to go to Vienna with the object of obtaining lessons from Leschetizky.

After the audition Leschetizky roared, "It is too late! Too late! You cannot become a great pianist, because you have wasted your time studying perhaps more pleasant things for yourself, such as counterpoint, orchestrations, and so on." But the twenty-four-year-old composer was not to be thwarted, convincing the piano teacher that he would persevere. With practically no repertoire, he soon found out how weak and undisciplined his fingers were. But he worked, as few are capable of working. Paderewski bloomed in the hothouse atmosphere of the Leschetizky atelier, also studying technique with Annette Essipova, Leschetizky's wife and the future teacher of Prokofiev and Simon Barere.

Leschetizky was to find out that "there was no remark so insignificant, no detail so small, as to deserve less than his whole passionate attention," soon realising that his pupil had "a great heart, a great head and an immeasurably strong will." Continuing to compose when he could, he wrote the seven pieces Op. 14 titled Humoresques de Concert, No. 1 being the Minuet à l'antique, which would become one of the all-time best-selling pieces of sheet music. The Minuet was at first popularised by Essipova, who also gave the première of Paderewski's A minor concerto fittingly dedicated to Leschetizky.

After four years of heart-rendering drudgery, usually practising from eight to twelve hours a day, Paderewski decided on Paris for his début. The concert was an unprecedented success; Paderewski, at twenty-eight possessing a unique glamour and indefinable allure, instantly became the darling of Parisian high society. Because of his amazing mane he was promptly called the Lion of Paris. The concert offers poured in, but his repertoire was small, forcing him into a never-ending battle with practising, which he faced with fortitude throughout his long life.

Soon he conquered England, and by 1891 Queen Victoria commanded him to Windsor Castle, writing in her diary, "Paderewski played quite marvellously, such power, such tender feeling. I think he is quite equal to Rubinstein." Later that year, under the auspices of the Steinway piano firm, he sealed his fame with a triumphant American tour.

Year after year he toured in the style of a prince, including a private railway car, but throughout these hectic years he never forgot his native land. To the millions of American-Poles who looked up to him, he became the symbol of their unfortunate country. Paderewski's other boyhood dream was soon to take on reality with the great war. Through those tragic and trying years he honed his considerable and magnetic gift as an orator, raising great amounts of money for his nation. By the war's end Paderewski was not only a Polish hero but a world leader, assuming the premiership of a Free Polish Republic in January 1919, signing for his country at the Versaillies Peace Conference later that year.

After nearly two brutal years as Premier, he stepped aside in December 1920. After several years of absence from the keyboard, he once again resumed his world tours. Paderewski was now more than a pianist, he had become a humanitarian and a beloved inspirational force. Wherever he went he was cheered.

In September 1939 Poland's downfall brought the exhausted pianist-patriot to the United States where he was able to provide continuing and valuable service to his country. The man who had earned millions had given it away in cause after cause, dying almost penniless. President Roosevelt, a great admirer, gave him a proper hero's funeral at Washington's Arlington National Cemetery.

This is the first volume of Nimbus' two-volume set of Paderewski's piano rolls for the Aeolian Duo Art company. Volume Two contains works by his compatriot Chopin. Liszt is represented in Volume One by highly sympathetic and fiery performances from a formidable repertoire which included dozens of works by the Hungarian master. Liszt's own pupil William Mason, the doyen of American piano teachers, said, "It seems strange that the best Liszt performer today should be Paderewski, who was not a pupil of Liszt and never even heard him play." Alexander McArthur wrote, "Paderewski's Liszt was a revelation and a novelty - in fact, while listening I could hardly grasp the stupendous fact that new beauties had been interpreted in a Liszt Rhapsody."

The Liszt Hungarian Rhapsody No. 2 recorded in 1923 shows Paderewski to be in top dramatic form after returning to the piano after his premiership, dispelling the myth that he was no longer a pianist of importance. The Rhapsody is played with great depth of sound and many pianistic inflections, which are remarkably captured on this disc. The second Rhapsody remains one of the most celebrated of all Liszt works, known the world over. Indeed, for the majority of music lovers, the work is the only Hungarian Rhapsody, though the composer wrote nineteen works on gypsy themes. The Rhapsodies exhibit Liszt's histrionic, virtuoso nature, and remain a unique literature, requiring from the pianist a high temperament, sense of colour, and gregariousness which Paderewski had in abundance. The Hungarian Rhapsody No. 10 is shorter and less elaborate than the second Rhapsody, but full of gypsy spice and spine-tingling glissandos. It was a Paderewski favourite as was the Paganini-Liszt Campanella which also displays high flair. La Campanella, No. 3 of Liszt's six Etudes after Paganini is based not on a Paganini Caprice but on the Rondo of Paganini's B Minor Violin Concerto.

The two Schumann works on the present CD, the Nachstück, Op. 23, No. 4, and Vogel als Prophet (Prophet Bird), Op. 82, No. 7 were fractions of Paderewski's Schumann repertoire, which consisted of the Carnaval, Sonata in F-sharp minor, C major Fantasia, Etudes Symphoniques, Fantasiestücke, Waldscenen Papillons, Toccata, and the Piano Concerto. In his memoirs Paderewski tells with glee of a London performance where the critic of The Times "did not agree with my playing of Schumann, of course, because he belonged to Madame Clara Schumann's congregation. So my playing of Schumann displeased him very much. It was revolutionary for him, he was accustomed to that modest and very restrained Schumann playing as performed by that very old lady! [Paderewski when saying these words, had already outlived Clara Schumann]. It was a tradition, and I was destroying, or disturbing, that tradition. I played it exactly as Schumann wanted it played - I mean not as to perfection, but as to the dynamics of the composition. When it was fortissimo, I played fortissimo, which Madame Schumann, poor lady, could not produce. Therefore, in all these works, which were played in public by her, and which had established a certain tradition, I surprised the audience, and audiences do not like surprises."

One of Paderewski's constant companions was Mendelssohn's Spinning Song, Op. 67, No. 6 from the forty-eight Songs Without Words. The piece is marvellously played with verve and fine finger control and can compete with the versions of Hofmann, Rakhmaninov and Rubinstein.

Paderewski's roll of Liszt's celebrated sixth Soirées de Vienne finds the pianist elegant and technically adroit. Liszt was a faithful transcriber of Schubert's songs as well as writing marvellous pastiches from the Viennese master's voluminous waltz output.

The two rolls of Schubert's A flat Impromptu, Op. 142, No. 2 and the dazzlingly effective B flat Impromptu, Op. 142, No. 3 often graced Paderewski's recital programmes. No. 2 is the easiest technically of Schubert's eight Impromptus but requires meticulous phrase punctuation. No. 3 is a set of glowing variations using a theme from his orchestral score Rosamunde and requires a variety of touch and pearly finger technique in its last variation.

Paderewski's Beethoven repertoire was quite extensive. Public recitals included: Op. 27, No. 1; Op. 28; Op. 31, Nos. 2 & 3; Op. 53; Op. 54; Op. 57; Op. 101; Op. 109; Op. 110; Op. 111; the B flat trio, Op. 97; the 32 variations; and the Emperor concerto. He also performed Op. 27, No. 2, the Moonlight Sonata and recorded it in the early 1920s for the Aeolian company.

In 1936 Lothar Mendes, an English film producer, convinced Paderewski to perform and act in a movie titled Moonlight Sonata in which Paderewski with his usual gusto gave much energy to the project. In a little known and often charming book titled Paderewski, As I Knew Him, the author Aniela Strakacz, the wife of Paderewski's secretary published her diary. She writes, "The accepted scenario is utterly banal. I don't think it's at all worthy of Paderewski, he is only an incidental figure in it. So instead of a film about Paderewski, the picture will be one with Paderewski.

But we don't take the screen play's shortcoming too much to heart, because we think the most important thing is to have Paderewski's piano-playing immortalised on the screen for posterity... All of us - spectators and actors alike - were astounded by Paderewski's acting ability. He never muffs a line, while the seasoned actors often spoil their scene by a slip of the tongue, necessitating a retake... Paderewski took it all in his stride, maintaining his serenity, patience, and indulgence in spite of his exhaustion. He often relieved the general tension by a witticism. Excellent as all the spoken scenes have been thus so far, the first attempt at recording Paderewski's piano-playing was a miserable failure. You don't have to be an expert to know that the scratchy sounds issuing from the loudspeaker were a far cry from a Steinway grand piano's pure tone and Paderewski's incomparable music... They've made Paderewski play the same piece of music over at least a dozen times... As I watched all this, I kept wondering when the president would lose his patience and chuck everything. The longer I observe the proceedings the sorrier I am that the scenario is so commonplace and so unworthy of Paderewski..." After months of gruelling work she writes, "The President is probably exhausted after the filming of Moonlight Sonata, although he doesn't show it a bit. He's in good humour, looks pale and lately hasn't even complained of his eyesight or of eye aches which he thought the film might bring on... But the part that wasn't in the picture and won't appear on the screen was the deluge of flowers awaiting Paderewski in his dressing room. The extras presented him with countless bouquets and wreaths as an expression of homage and, I suppose, gratitude for having been privileged to enjoy such a rare treat. I thought the President played divinely... when the virtuosi of the world see the agility of those hands on the screen, they will have to admit there is no one quite like Paderewski..."

The Sonata No. 14 in C-sharp minor, Op. 27, No. 2, "Sonata quasi una Fantasia", of 1801 is one of the most popular of the Beethoven thirty-two Sonatas. Its evocative title, Moonlight, was given by Ludwig Rellstab, the Berlin critic, who saw moonlight over Lake Lucerne. The first movement was truly something new, the emotion expressed having nothing in common with anything written previously. Ernest Hutcheson felt, "The least-disciplined fingers can easily play the notes, but only profoundest feeling can give expression to its yearning anguish." The second movement is an Allegretto, which Liszt called, "a flower between two abysses." It is neither a Scherzo, nor a Minuet, yet it contains elements of both. It is a perfect resting place for the demons waiting to appear in the third movement Presto Agitato. This movement is not a Rondo, but a surging Sonata form. It was surely the wildest music of the time, with its heated and frenzied upward arpeggio theme. The Sonata brings to music a new element of ruthlessness.

The roll of the transcription of Wagner's Isoldes Liebestod from Tristan und Isolde dates from the late 1920s but was issued as late as 1936, the year that the film Moonlight Sonata appeared. Liszt wrote fourteen Wagner adaptations. The erotic, trembling Liebestod, splendidly "reorchestrated" for the piano, is the best known of this group. Finally Ernest Schelling's Nocturne Ragusa completes this compact disc. Schelling (1876-1939) studied with Paderewski for three years, and the two pianists remained close friends. As a pianist, Schelling achieved a fine reputation, and his music, now largely forgotten, was often performed. Paderewski's reading of his Nocturne à la Ragusa is stunning.


© 1997 David Dubal

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