The Lion of Poland: The Story of Paderewski

by Ruth Fox Hume; Paul Hume

Woodrow Wilson had won an ally.

It worked both ways. Wilson, too, had won an ally. 1916 was an election year. Paderewski campaigned actively for Wilson’s reelection all during the fall. Many Polish voters, following the lead of the Polish clergy, were Republicans. Paderewski convinced them that their country’s first real hope in a hundred years depended on a victory for Wilson. In the end he delivered the large Polish vote almost one hundred percent.

On the day before elections, when the campaigner had expected to relax a little, came shattering news from Europe. Germany had issued a proclamation declaring that Poland was a free and independent nation. The freedom and independence, of course, were the affectionate gift of the German government. The story behind the “gift” was actually a simple one. Germany had previously shown no sign of any such good will to the Polish people. Far from it. As soon as the Russians had been driven out, the German and Austrian leaders had gathered over a map of Poland and had once more divided it up, this time in a two-way split—one half for Germany, one half for Austria. Now suddenly they were declaring the country reunited and free! Why?

Paderewski knew why. It was not Polish freedom the German leaders wanted. It was Polish manpower. They were convinced that if they presented Poland with independence, a million Polish volunteers would gratefully flock to enlist in the German army and could be used to fight the Russians in the East. The other reason for the move was a more subtle danger. If the Poles appeared to accept the offer and consented to be taken under the loving wing of Germany, then America and the Allies would lose interest in the cause of Polish freedom. Poland herself would be regarded as a friend of the enemy.

Paderewski saw through the trick easily. “This means only more suffering for my people,” he told House. “It means that another army will be raised and that there will be more killing and more devastation!” He realized that everything he had won during the past few years was in danger of being destroyed in one day. Unless he acted quickly. But what could he do? Never before had he felt so cruelly his lack of real authority. If only he were the official spokesman for some truly representative Polish groups, so that when he spoke a firm majority of Poles spoke with him.

There was only one thing to be said for the fact that he had everything to lose: he could afford to take a desperate gamble. Cable lines buzzed between New York and Paris, Paris and Chicago, Chicago and New York. Within a few hours a statement was issued and flashed to every Allied country. The German offer was rejected, flatly and permanently. The message was signed by Paderewski and was approved by the Paris Committee and by several groups in the United States.

But what about the rest of his countrymen, Paderewski wondered. What about the millions of poor Poles who were not trained thinkers, who might not see the worm in the shining German apple? Would they support him, or would they demand the right to seize their freedom no matter who offered it to them?

He soon had his answer. Every Polish society in the country immediately voted to make Paderewski its official representative. They gave him full power of attorney to make decisions and to act for them in all political matters. From then on, when he spoke he was speaking with the voice of three million Polish-Americans.

Of everything that Paderewski had done, this was the coup that really made its mark on official Washington. “The first direct evidence of his capacity as a leader which impressed me,” wrote an observer, “was his successful efforts to unite the jealous and bickering Polish factions in the United States.... I am convinced that Mr. Paderewski was the only Pole who could have overcome this menace.... His entire freedom from personal ambition made him the one man about whom the Poles, regardless of factions, appeared to be willing to rally. It was a great achievement, a triumph of personality.”

The man who wrote this was Robert Lansing, the Secretary of State who had once smiled when an eccentric piano player had tried to talk to him about Poland.