During her exile she had cared for the Polish children in Paris. Now she was anxious to insure religious instruction for the large number of Polish orphans there. It hurt her to think, she said, that their bodies were well nourished and their souls were neglected.
As the day of the unveiling drew near, it became known that Paderewski would not be present. This seemed evidence enough that there was something rotten in Poland. The man who had been Premier; who, more than anyone else, had brought the world’s recognition to Poland after the World War; who had made possible the return of territory snatched fifty years before by Germany; the man who had given most of the money for the nation’s tribute to Wilson—this man alone wasn’t going to be permitted to see the honoring of an American president whom he loved.
Large numbers of Polish-Americans came to share the tribute to Wilson. Three hundred priests had come from the United States, every one carrying a wreath of artificial flowers representing his district at home. The flowers, piled about the base of the statue with the fresh wreaths of local patriots, made an impressive display.
On the morning of the unveiling day Mrs. Woodrow Wilson arrived with her niece and a group of men representing the United States. Among them were Robert Underwood Johnson, ambassador to Italy, and Bernard Baruch, who had taken the opportunity to visit the early home of his parents not far from Poznan. Mrs. Wilson went through the ordeal on the arm of General Mosciki, President of the Polish Republic, and she bore up well despite interminable speechmaking.
The crowning event of the program was a banquet at the old Royal Schloss, which at times had been occupied by Kaiser Wilhelm. After that there was a reception for a thousand or more, with General Mosciki presiding.
At dinner Mrs. Borglum was seated next to a delightful Pole whom she had met before. She asked him why there were so few at the table when she could hear the throng waiting for the reception in the next room. He seemed surprised that she shouldn’t know. “But Madam,” he said. “There are only twenty-four plates in the old Emperor’s dining service.” And he turned over a plate to show the label “W. Rex” stamped on the bottom.
Paderewski sent this telegram to Gutzon:
TODAY ON THE SOLEMN OCCASION OF THE UNVEILING OF YOUR NEW MASTERPIECE, MY HEARTFELT THANKS TO YOU, AND MY MOST AFFECTIONATE GREETINGS. YOUR PEERLESS ART HAS ENABLED MY COMPATRIOTS TO POSSESS AND PRESENT AN ENDURING PROOF OF THEIR EVERLASTING GRATITUDE FOR POLAND’S FREEDOM AND INTEGRITY TO AMERICA AND HER NOBLEST SYMBOL, PRESIDENT WOODROW WILSON.
And what happened to this noble Wilson monument? When Hitler’s troops came plowing through Poland at the beginning of the Second World War it was pulled down and, presumably, turned into ammunition.
The Borglums had several other chance encounters with Paderewski. On one occasion he was to give a concert in Abilene, Texas, and invited Gutzon and his family to see him. He was in a private car and the three met him for dinner after the concert. The evening was delightful—at any rate it was delightful to Paderewski and Gutzon. They talked all night until the car was coupled to an outbound train. And then Paderewski invited them to ride on to the next stop.