Now that Paderewski had his diploma, he determined that he would no longer be an expense to his father. Much as the young man disliked teaching (a dislike from which he never recovered), he knew he had no choice in the matter. If he intended to eat, he would have to teach. But at least he did not have to look very hard for pupils. Immediately after graduation he was offered a position on the faculty of the Conservatory.
Among the students that year was a beautiful young girl named Antonina Korsak. Although Paderewski’s future was uncertain, Antonina had complete faith in it. It did not matter in the least to her that at the moment he was only a struggling, poorly-paid piano teacher. In 1880, when Paderewski had just turned twenty, they were married.
He found a small apartment where the two talented young musicians lived in complete happiness and made glowing plans for the future. Paderewski would look back on it as though he were recalling a brief but unforgettable dream. One year after her marriage the beautiful Antonina was dead, leaving her young husband with an infant son.
During her last conscious hours, Antonina, knowing that she was dying, had made her husband promise to take some of her small inheritance and use it to continue his musical studies. Her faith in his future was as bright and untroubled at the moment of her death as it had been during her life.
Now that he had a son to support, Paderewski knew that he must be practical. Nearly everyone who knew anything about it assured him that although he could never make a career as a pianist, he would be a success as a composer. Since no one in Warsaw could teach him any more than he already knew about composition, he decided to go to Berlin to study with a famous teacher named Friederich Kiel. Antonina’s mother happily agreed to take care of little Alfred for him.
Professor Kiel was greatly impressed both by Paderewski’s talent as a composer and by the young Pole’s enormous capacity for work. Too saddened by his wife’s death to enjoy the boisterous student life of Berlin, Paderewski devoted himself entirely to his studies. Ten or twelve hours a day of uninterrupted work was not the least unusual.
Although most Berliners were automatically anti-Polish, Paderewski made some good friends among German musicians. His warmest affection was for the great composer, Richard Strauss, whose family accepted the young foreigner as a member from his first appearance in the house. Of all his kindnesses to Paderewski, the greatest favor Strauss ever did for him was a completely unconscious one.
Paderewski knew that he had the habit of making faces while he played the piano. The more complex the music, the more tortured the grimaces that distorted his handsome face. He had never given the failing much thought, however, until he realized that Strauss had the same bad habit. As he watched the great man play—his face almost as busy as his hands—Paderewski thought, “Good Heavens! That is how I look!” He determined to reform at all costs and did so, but only after months of practicing with a mirror propped up on the music rack of the piano.
Although he did not forget his promise to Antonina to continue his studies, he worried more and more about earning money for his little son. The music he published brought him a great deal of praise but little money. But he soon found a way to increase his earnings. He was in great demand as an accompanist for violinists and singers, since he could sight read music so brilliantly that the performers who hired him did not have to spend much time or money on rehearsals.