Now Paderewski knew how someone feels who must begin learning to walk all over again after a leg injury. As he thumped out his scales and exercises, he realized more clearly than ever how slipshod his playing really was. "I could not improve in a few weeks or months even, because bad habits were already deeply rooted in me, an amateurish way of treating the piano, just play the piano, fingering--anyhow!" No wonder poor Leschetizky almost gave up hope during the early days. "No, no, it's impossible!" he would say, tugging nervously at his beard. "It's too late! It's too late! You have wasted your time on pleasant things like orchestration!" And here he would add the most heart-breaking judgment of all: "Ah, but if you had begun to study earlier. Then you could have become a great pianist!"
But Leschetizky had not reckoned with Paderewski's stubborn determination to work. He practiced seven or eight exhausting hours a day. By the end of each session he felt as though his arms would drop off at the shoulder. There was no time in his life now for anything but work. He who had such a gift for friendship now found that his closest friend was a little spider who ran down a thread and sat on the music rack while he practiced.
In spite of his Spartan existence, Paderewski was completely happy. He knew that he had, at last, found exactly the man he needed. "He opened up another world to me," he wrote later. "After those groping, struggling years, even in a few lessons things became clear. I began to see, to understand, to know how to work. And my thankfulness to Leschetizky is as great today as it was then!"
But life in Vienna was expensive, and although the generous Leschetizky refused to take any money at all for these priceless lessons, Paderewski's small supply of cash finally ran out. Through Leschetizky's influence he was offered a decently paid post at the Strasbourg Conservatory. During that year, he played five important public concerts. The more he played, the more he could see not only how far he had come but how far he still had to go. When the school term was over, he left Strasbourg, determined to get back to Vienna and Leschetizky at all costs. But how?
Once more it was Edward Kerntopf who came to his rescue. He insisted on giving his friend the necessary money. Much as Paderewski hated to impose his problems on anyone else, he felt a strong conviction that some day, in some small way, he would be able to repay Edward's kindness.