We who have our pianofortes in our own homes and are content with an
occasional visit from the tuner, little dream of the care bestowed
upon the instrument on which an artist like Paderewski plays.
Instrument? I should have said instruments; for, when he is on tour,
he has a whole suite of them, no less than four, and each is coddled
as if it were a prima donna fresh from the hands of Madame Marchesi,
instead of a thing of wood, metal and ivory. True, these pianos do not
have their throats sprayed on the slightest possible occasion, but
they are carefully protected against extremes of heat and cold, and,
while the prima donna consults her physician only at intervals, a
"piano doctor" is in constant attendance on these instruments.
Paderewski's "piano doctor" has traveled with him for several seasons,
occupying the same private car and practically living with him during
the entire tour. He was with him on the tour, in fact at his table at
breakfast with him, when his special train was run on to an open
siding near East Syracuse and left the track, Paderewski being thrown
forward on his hands against the table and straining the muscles of
one arm so severely that he was obliged to cancel his remaining
engagements. Up to that time, however, his net receipts from
seventy-four concerts had been $137,012.50, while before this American
tour began he gave thirty-six concerts in Australia with average
receipts of $5,000. His record concert was at Dallas, Texas, some
years ago, when the receipts were $9,000. It occurred during a
Confederate reunion. While he was at the pianoforte, the various posts
marched up to the hall with bands and fife-and-drum corps playing.
Paderewski, however, kept right on through the blasts and shrilling.
But when one of the posts let out the famous "rebel yell," the pianist
leaped from his seat as if he expected a tiger to spring at his
throat. Then he realized what had happened, smiled and continued amid
laughter and applause. He had heard of the famous "rebel yell," but
this was the first time he had heard it.
Pianofortes on Their Travels.
But to return to the pianofortes on tour. When Paderewski came to this
country from Australia, his piano doctor met him at San Francisco with
four instruments which had been selected with great care in New York
and been shipped West in charge of the "doctor." One of these the
virtuoso reserved for his private car, for he practices en route
whenever there is a stop long enough to make it worth while. He rarely
plays when the car is in motion. Of the other three instruments, the
two he liked best were sent to his hotel, where during four days
preceding his first concert, he practiced from seven to eight hours a
day, notifying the "doctor" twenty-four hours in advance which
pianoforte he would use. This instrument became, officially, No. 1;
the others No. 2 and No. 3.
The pianist's route took him from San Francisco to Oakland, San Jose,
and Portland, Oregon. To make certain that he always will have a fine
instrument to play on, a method of shipping ahead the instruments not
in use is adopted. Thus, while he was playing on No. 1 in San
Francisco and Oakland, No. 2 was sent on to San Jose and No. 3 to
Portland. Of course, none but an expert could detect the slightest
difference in these pianofortes, but a player like Paderewski is
sensitive to the most delicately balanced distinctions or nuances in
tone and action. One of his idiosyncrasies is that always before going
on he asks the "doctor" which of the three instruments is on the
stage, because, as he himself expresses it, "I don't want to meet a
stranger." After each concert, at supper, this conversation invariably
takes place:
Paderewski: "Well, 'Doctor,' it sounded all right to-night, didn't
it?"
"Doctor": "Yes, sir."