“A country which is not yours—” Yet as Paderewski traveled from city to city, from platform to platform, more and more Americans began to sense a kinship with the country that did not even appear on the map. For the first time the bitter irony of the Polish situation became clear to them. Here was a country that had lost its freedom four years before America’s had been declared. Yet Poland had been one of the first nations in the world to advance the beliefs on which America had been founded. “Already in the fifteenth century a self-governing country, Poland became, in 1573, a regular republic, with kings elected. In 1430, consequently 259 years before the habeas corpus of England ... Poland established her famous law ‘No man shall be detained unless legally convicted.’ Our broad, liberal Constitution of 1791 preceded by 57 years the Constitution of Germany and Austria, and by 114 years the so-called Constitution of Russia. And all these momentous reforms ... were accomplished without revolution, without any bloodshed, without the loss of one single human life. Does it prove our dissensions? Does it prove our anarchy? Does it prove our inability to govern ourselves?”

“In a language which is not mine—” Yet somehow he had made it his. Audiences that had loved Paderewski the pianist now realized that he was equally great as an orator, although he spoke simply and without dramatic gestures.

When he finished speaking, he would turn to the piano and continue his plea for Poland in still another language. He would play the music of Chopin, and when the listeners finally left the hall, they knew that they had lived through a unique emotional experience.

It was no wonder that money for Polish relief began to pour in. Few people who heard Paderewski say “Give me seed for this trampled, wasted land, bread for these starving!” could resist the appeal. Generous America took the forgotten Polish people to its heart. By presidential decree a special “Polish Day” was established, because in the eyes of America “Poland” had become synonymous with “Paderewski,” the beloved artist who had so enriched the golden era of peace.

Although the first half of his mission had flourished beyond his greatest hopes, Paderewski felt that so far he had done very little about the second half. He had talked to plenty of government officials and diplomats, but they had little to offer beyond polite interest. Not until he had been in the United States for a year was he able to take the first sizable step. As he had known it must, it came through the intervention of one man, a man who was neither government official nor diplomat. He was the man to whom Paderewski would write, “It has been the dream of my life to find a providential man for my country. I am now sure that I have not been dreaming vain dreams.”

CHAPTER 7
THE PROVIDENTIAL MAN

Colonel Edward Mandell House, who had never accepted a political office, was more powerful than any man in Washington. He was the confidential adviser of President Woodrow Wilson. “His thoughts and mine are one,” Wilson said of House, whom he regarded as the most unselfish, patriotic man he knew. No one in the country had a greater understanding of European affairs than House. “A super-civilized person,” the French statesman, Clemenceau, said of him, “escaped from the wilds of Texas, who sees everything, who understands everything ... a sifting, pondering mind.”

From the day he had left England, Paderewski had known that he could not succeed unless he somehow got to House and convinced him of the justice in Polish claims. But Paderewski was not the only foreigner in the country who wanted something from the Colonel. House was under constant siege by representatives of small countries who were hoping to gain something by the peace settlement. Since America was still neutral, House had to be careful in dealing with these men or even in seeing them. This is why Paderewski proceeded cautiously in his opening moves toward the Colonel. The fact that House’s apartment was a three minute walk from Paderewski’s hotel was an added source of frustration. So short a distance separated him from the man who could do so much for him!

Then one day early in 1916, his prayers were suddenly answered. Paderewski’s discreet diplomacy had born fruit in a typical way. A Paderewski friend had wangled a letter of introduction from an Assistant Secretary of Agriculture to Mr. Robert Wooley, director of the U.S. Mint. Mr. Wooley was known to be a close friend of Colonel House. One day he sent word from Washington that he would be in New York in two days and would try to arrange a meeting between Paderewski and the Colonel. Paderewski was learning his new role in a practical way. As many a diplomat had done before and after him, he had gained his objective through a friend of a friend of a friend of the man he wanted to meet.