ARTYSTYCZNA PODRÓŻ
PO KRESACH
PO KRESACH
Z WILNA DO CREMONY
„A niechaj narodowie wżdy postronni znają,
iż Polacy nie gęsi, iż swój język mają”
iż Polacy nie gęsi, iż swój język mają”
powiadał Mikołaj Rej, a ja dopowiadam,
i na budowaniu skrzypiec najlepiej na świecie się znają
Aneta Skarżyński – śpiewaczka operowa, malarka i pisarka w jednej osobie, której znakomity tekst o kastratach wpadł do Studni rok temu (kwiecień, 2017), przypomina się nie mniej pysznym artykułem o mało znanej historii kilku pokoleń wspaniałych polskich lutników, którzy budowali w swoich warsztatach, najwyższej światowej klasy skrzypce i inne instrumenty smyczkowe.
Niebiański dźwięk dawnych polskich skrzypiec, można usłyszeć zjeżdżając na koniec angielskiej wersji tekstu. Sławomir Tomasik, na XVII-wiecznym instrumencie zbudowanym przez Marcina Groblicza, gra Krakowiaka Op. 9 No 5 Paderewskiego, a rumuńska skrzypaczka, Mira Glodeanu, na skrzypacach wykonanych przez Marcina Groblicza w roku 1609, gra Passacaglię, skomponowaną przez Bibera sześćdziesiąt siedem lat później.
* ** * ** *
ARTISTIC JOURNEY THROUGH THE
EASTERN BORDERLANDS OF POLAND
FROM VILNIUS TO CREMONA
 |
Marcin Groblicz signature: the neck end carved in the shape of a dragon's head instead of a scroll. (*1)
For the heavenly sound of old Polish violins, please go to the bottom of the page.
Five hundred years ago said Mikołaj Rej:
Among other nations let it always be known
That Poles are not geese, have a tongue of their own (*2)
to which I do add today,
However, that's not the only talent they have homegrown
However, that's not the only talent they have homegrown
For Poles as the best makers of violins are also known
Aneta Skarżyński – a gifted opera singer, painter, and writer, who has recently staged an artistic ‘triptych’ in Warsaw, during which she painted a picture while singing operatic arias and spicing the moment with witty excerpts from her novels, brings now to “Bottomless Well” (Studnia bez dna) a very little-known story about Polish luthiers, who for several hundred years built in their workshops the world class violins and other string instruments.
The article was originally published in a Polish quarterly “Kresowe Stanice” Nr 2/2017.
With a kind permission of the Author, I here present the text in English in my translation. (*3)
VVV
Today's journey through the nooks and crannies of the history of art of the former Polish Eastern Borderlands (Kresy) will begin with a story of a somewhat sensational color; and it will touch upon mystification. The Greek word mystikós translates as secret, and from mýstēs - the initiate. In colloquial language, it means a deliberate misdirection, creation of guises, arrangement of false situations, or premeditated intrigue for gain. The world is full of mystifications, in art, science, politics, etc. As the author of adventure novels, my responsibility for the conveyed content requires becoming a detective, searching for scandals and the backstage secrets of art history. Mystifications are appealing to such sensibilities. They constitute an excellent leitmotif for numerous book chapters. It so happens that over the last few years I have found many unknown or little-known forgeries in art, but today I address only a few of them, including the ones that relate to the Eastern Borderlands. The paintings of a Dutch artist, named Han van Meegeren (1889 - 1947) belong to one of the loudest and most perfect mystifications. During the years 1932-1947 he created a dozen of counterfeit artworks of great masters, including Pieter de Hooch, Jan Vermeer, and Gerard ter Borch. It must be mentioned that he did not sell(*4) them but forged them as part of his artistic experiments. One of his forgeries, Christ and the Woman Taken in Adultery, by Vermeer, ended up in the collection of Herman Göring.
After World War II, the painting was found and tracked back to Van Meegeren, who was arrested and charged of ... collaborating with Hitler. However, it wasn’t suspected that ‘Christ and the Harlot’ and other canvases were false. The author, like a repentant sinner, had to reveal the truth to avoid the punishment of many years in prison. Van Meegeren's confession caused public outrage, not necessarily as a sensation, but because nobody believed him. The media hoopla around his paintings took many months. The case quieted however suddenly in 1947 after the chemical studies of the paintings, and when at the court's request Van Meegeren painted a new work in front of the audience and in front of the cameras. That led to sentencing the artist to one year in prison, however not for collaboration, but for the forgery. Yet, the crook-artist did not complete his punishment because the same year he said his final goodbye to the world. Two musical pieces will serve as next examples of mystification. The first is one of the most popular hits of the classical music, namely Albinoni’s Adagio in G Minor. Rumor has it that Tomaso Albinoni (1671 - 1751) wrote a sonata for strings and organs, which as a result of a series of circumstances found home at one of the Dresden libraries, and during the World War II was believed to be destroyed during the heavy bombing of Dresden. Then in 1948 just this piece of music, was apparently found in a fragmented state, by the Italian musicologist, critic, and composer, Remo Giazotto.
Unfortunately, due to the destruction of the score, it was possible to read only the bass part. The disconsolate Remo Giazotto added a melody, thus giving the work a completely different dimension. It took exactly fifty years for the Dresden State Library to announce that such a score had never been in their collection! Therefore, thanks to Giazotto, the author of the famous Adagio, maestro Albinoni, is appreciated by the work he did not compose. The same applies to Ave Maria from 1606 by Giulio Caccini (1551 - 1618) – a baroque precursor. As a matter of fact, the composition comes from 1972 and is the work of the Soviet guitarist and lutenist - Vladimir Vavilov (1925 - 1973). Where, after three hundred and sixty plus years, comes the clue to hark back to Ave Maria? Is it a tribute to Caccini? For the sake of explanation, let’s add that Vavilov often attributed his works to Renaissance and Baroque composers, while not retaining the style of these epochs. Three years after the creation of Ave Maria, Vavilov left for the afterlife, however not in the glory of the laudable culture agent, but in great poverty. Unfortunately, he took the secret along to his grave. On a side note, the works by Vavilow and Giazotto are very popular, although not credited formally to them. These mystifications are upheld to the present day mainly by unaware music lovers.
And now let's board our imaginary vehicle for time travel to the former Kresy region. There, on the green glade surrounded by forests, bushes, and bulrush, a fine-looking man, Baltazar Dankwart, is pacing deeply focused. He walks in the woods in search of a good violin material. Baltazar stops under almost every tree and carefully knocks the trunks, listening to the woods’ resonance. When he finds the right tree, it will be cut and used to make a real gem. Which is what? Well, it would be a violin! It is hard to imagine how much poorer music would be without their existence. And when speaking about the violin, it's time to introduce the masters of violin making. Many musicians dream of playing at least once in their lives violoncello, violin or viola produced by the famous luthiers from Cremona or Brescia. The common believe is that "there’s no violin greater than Stradivarius". That’s a great marketing and effective PR! However, few people are aware that instruments made by Guarneri and Amati are equally excellent. And even a small number of those interested know that in the seventeenth century the second-best violin making region in the world - next to Italy - was Poland! Yes, Poland, and more precisely, its Eastern frontier, called at those times Kresy. Whose instruments led the way or were the best in the past centuries is hard to prove today. Nonetheless, an interesting quote can be found about the Polish violins: "To the Pole only God and violin" according to Polish Proverbs, published by Salomon Rysiński between 1619-1634, and the nascent period of Polish violin making occurred in the 17th century.
At that time, over three hundred and fifty violin builders were active there. Spread throughout Poland and particularly its Eastern Borderlands, they created instruments amazing in color, and more importantly, in terms of construction precision. There were many luthiers, but the most distinguished of them - Marcin Groblicz from Cracow and Baltazar Dankwart from Vilnius – commemorated themselves in the history of violin making with gilded letters. They created instruments that did not differ in quality from the famous Stradivari, Guarneri or Amati. Due to the shortage of documents about the Dankwart family, historians focus their studies on surviving instruments assembled in the collection of the Museum of Musical Instruments in Poznań. Baltazar Dankwart's violin, furnished with a certificate, resembles the construction of violins made by Marcin Groblicz (1540 - 1609), who is believed by the experts to be a student of the Italian luthier Gaspar da Salo (1542 - 1609). Groblicz’s violins, still numerous in the nineteenth century, and now very rare, used to be characterized by a beautiful, soft, and quite dark sound. Their key characteristic is a neck end carved in the shape of a dragon's head instead of a scroll.
Nearly twenty instruments of his authorship have survived, including twelve priceless instruments in the collection of the Museum of Musical Instruments in Poznań, and one viola da gamba, dated back to 1601, in the National Museum in Cracow. The Groblicz violins were highly appreciated already in the Baroque era, and the inventory of court bands described them as violin done with Groblicz handiwork. Groblicz used sycamore wood for the bottom plates. He sold his instruments all over Poland and Europe. Of course, most of them in Cracow, and then Galicia region. Their fame grew from year to year. The same thing happened with the violin of Dankwart from Vilnius. And now the question arises: if so, why did the memory of them drift away into the void of nonexistence? Well, for three reasons. The first of these was the fact that between 1772 and 1795 Poland disappeared from the map of the world, and everything that testified about its existence. Russia, Prussia and Austria picked a part for themselves. Poland lost its freedom and sovereignty for one hundred and twenty-three years. Secondly, Polish luthiers’ craftsmanship, based mainly on the handicraft, could not even begin to compete. The mass influx of instruments constructed in Western Europe flooded the Polish market. Better and more expensive Polish instruments did not withstand the collision with the inferior Western quality. Smaller workshops, one by one, ended their many years of activity. The brutal law of the cost and the price, right? Yes. And thirdly, the final impact on the Polish brand was inflicted by international traders and swindlers.
Original luthier's label (*1)
In the nineteenth century there was a trend of collecting old Italian instruments. It is common wisdom that there’s no shortage of speculators and weirdos in any field. This method was started by a carpenter from Milan, Luigi Tarisio (1790 - 1854). An enthusiastic musician and lover of the violin who dropped his carpentry profession and started buying old instruments, however not because he intended to establish an orchestra playing on vintage instruments, but to trade violins or violas, and to exchange them for other models. What's more interesting, that wasn’t supposed to be for profit, but out of purest passion. With time, this love put him in such a extensive financial ruin that he passed away in extreme poverty and loneliness. When the police, alerted by the neighbors, entered his apartment, they found it completely empty, a corpse in the state of decomposition and ... several dozen instruments, mostly violins. Additionally, also a suitcase with money intended for the purchase of more instruments – an amount that could guarantee him more than a decent existence. The tragic story of Luigi Tarisio aroused interest in old instruments, which quickly transformed into a European wave of agitated collecting. This mania has whipped up the desire for quick profit among traffickers, cheaters, and fraudsters. When the Italian violins just ran out, some clever guys remembered about another great violin making area and started touring Poland, driving from Cracow through all Galicia region, including Lviv, and even past Vilnius in Polish Lithuania. For small amounts of money, they bought old instruments, including Groblicz and Dankwart. Then, counting on the ignorance and naivety of buyers, they made "retouches". Namely, they removed from the inside of the resonance boxes the records with the builder’s signature, pasting in the counterfeit cards with the signatures of Amati, Guarneri, and finally Stradivari. How to relate to the situation? Are we dealing with a fake product or just ordinary cheating?
Perhaps we should choose an intermediate form of a crime – a mystification, burdened with criminal "fame"? I would add that the violin thefts of the instruments made by famous makers are in the forefront in terms of estimated value, right after diamonds, jewelry, numismatics and works of art. There are also many unlikely scandals, anecdotes, and legends with the violin in the key role. Speaking of anecdotes and the Polish violin makers, I will stick to this issue for a moment longer. I am sure that the name of Karol Lipiński (1790-1861) is not foreign to many readers? It is a pity that we still do not know much about him, because this outstanding Polish violinist and composer - connected closely with the Eastern Borderlands of Poland - deserves special attention. To my surprise, he is even forgotten among his countrymen. And yet, Karol Lipiński competed for the right of precedence with Niccolò Paganini (1782 - 1840)! The Italian virtuoso, when asked who according to him the number one violinist in the world was, replied: "Who is the first - I do not know, but the second one is certainly Lipiński". Rumor has it that after the concert, during which Lipiński bravely performed the Devil's Trill Sonata composed by Giuseppe Tartini (1692 - 1770), and at the same time praising Niccolò Paganini publicly, he had the pleasure of encountering a rather unusual manifestation of praise. One of the last pupils of the author of the Devil's Trill Sonata approached the musician, snatched the violin from his hands and ... threw it to the floor! The instrument shattered with a great bang, and both Lipiński and the music lovers were momentarily in astonishment, which after a while was interrupted by the sobbing of the destroyer: "Paganini can be admired, but it's your playing that touches one. You follow the path Tartini pointed out, so please accept this violin, as Tartini’s gift to you. " And he handed a Stradivari's violin from 1715 to the shocked Lipiński. That was a magnificent present, wasn’t it? Only why must have had the benefactor to destroy the other instrument?!
Apparently, the donated Stradivarius from this memorable moment bears the honorable name "Lipiński", however it does not appear on the list of indisputable works of the violin master builder from Cremona! Could that be then that it is an instrument straight from the Kresy, but with an altered maker’s label? It is not known. After the death of Karol Lipiński in 1861, this instrument was in the possession of the family of the German-Dutch composer Julius Röntgen. None of other eighteen owners of this instrument enjoyed it for too long, and the violin ended up finally in the hands of a man named Frank Almond. In January 2014, it was stolen from him, but after a week the instrument was found. Perhaps because of the work of some evil forces? There are many legends around most of the known instruments. Sensational stories attract like flypaper both the connoisseurs and swindlers. However, the most important asset and determinant for them is the sound of the instrument. It is that noble and warm sound that still enchants us today, dazzles listeners with their beauty, and amazes acoustics engineers and scientists. At the end of this journey to the time and space frontier, I will try to present a quick summary. My dear readers, we should not feel at all inferior in the relation to Italians with our ability of violin making. The violins from Groblicz or Dankwart and other Polish Eastern Borderland workshops sound as great as the legendary "Stradivarius" instruments. It is obvious that if not for their unusual dark and deep color, as well as the purity and power of the sound, they certainly would not have ended up in Cremona. After three hundred years, the intricate works of the hands of native Polish violin makers still and continuously delight listeners around the world.
__________________________________
_________________________________
*1 - The picture was originally published here - (typowa dla Groblicza główka w kształcie głowy smoka i jego metryczka)
*3 - Many thanks to Elizabeth Kanski of Los Angeles, who kindly reviewed the translation.
*4 --The following article, found after the publication of Aneta Skarżynski's text, claims that Göring actually paid for some of his art pieces, including that fake Vermeer.
Aneta Skarżyński – a gifted opera singer, painter, and writer, who has recently staged an artistic ‘triptych’ in Warsaw, during which she painted a picture while singing operatic arias and spicing the moment with witty excerpts from her novels, brings now to “Bottomless Well” (Studnia bez dna) a very little-known story about Polish luthiers, who for several hundred years built in their workshops the world class violins and other string instruments.
The article was originally published in a Polish quarterly “Kresowe Stanice” Nr 2/2017.
With a kind permission of the Author, I here present the text in English in my translation. (*3)
Today's journey through the nooks and crannies of the history of art of the former Polish Eastern Borderlands (Kresy) will begin with a story of a somewhat sensational color; and it will touch upon mystification. The Greek word mystikós translates as secret, and from mýstēs - the initiate. In colloquial language, it means a deliberate misdirection, creation of guises, arrangement of false situations, or premeditated intrigue for gain. The world is full of mystifications, in art, science, politics, etc. As the author of adventure novels, my responsibility for the conveyed content requires becoming a detective, searching for scandals and the backstage secrets of art history. Mystifications are appealing to such sensibilities. They constitute an excellent leitmotif for numerous book chapters. It so happens that over the last few years I have found many unknown or little-known forgeries in art, but today I address only a few of them, including the ones that relate to the Eastern Borderlands. The paintings of a Dutch artist, named Han van Meegeren (1889 - 1947) belong to one of the loudest and most perfect mystifications. During the years 1932-1947 he created a dozen of counterfeit artworks of great masters, including Pieter de Hooch, Jan Vermeer, and Gerard ter Borch. It must be mentioned that he did not sell(*4) them but forged them as part of his artistic experiments. One of his forgeries, Christ and the Woman Taken in Adultery, by Vermeer, ended up in the collection of Herman Göring.
After World War II, the painting was found and tracked back to Van Meegeren, who was arrested and charged of ... collaborating with Hitler. However, it wasn’t suspected that ‘Christ and the Harlot’ and other canvases were false. The author, like a repentant sinner, had to reveal the truth to avoid the punishment of many years in prison. Van Meegeren's confession caused public outrage, not necessarily as a sensation, but because nobody believed him. The media hoopla around his paintings took many months. The case quieted however suddenly in 1947 after the chemical studies of the paintings, and when at the court's request Van Meegeren painted a new work in front of the audience and in front of the cameras. That led to sentencing the artist to one year in prison, however not for collaboration, but for the forgery. Yet, the crook-artist did not complete his punishment because the same year he said his final goodbye to the world. Two musical pieces will serve as next examples of mystification. The first is one of the most popular hits of the classical music, namely Albinoni’s Adagio in G Minor. Rumor has it that Tomaso Albinoni (1671 - 1751) wrote a sonata for strings and organs, which as a result of a series of circumstances found home at one of the Dresden libraries, and during the World War II was believed to be destroyed during the heavy bombing of Dresden. Then in 1948 just this piece of music, was apparently found in a fragmented state, by the Italian musicologist, critic, and composer, Remo Giazotto.
Unfortunately, due to the destruction of the score, it was possible to read only the bass part. The disconsolate Remo Giazotto added a melody, thus giving the work a completely different dimension. It took exactly fifty years for the Dresden State Library to announce that such a score had never been in their collection! Therefore, thanks to Giazotto, the author of the famous Adagio, maestro Albinoni, is appreciated by the work he did not compose. The same applies to Ave Maria from 1606 by Giulio Caccini (1551 - 1618) – a baroque precursor. As a matter of fact, the composition comes from 1972 and is the work of the Soviet guitarist and lutenist - Vladimir Vavilov (1925 - 1973). Where, after three hundred and sixty plus years, comes the clue to hark back to Ave Maria? Is it a tribute to Caccini? For the sake of explanation, let’s add that Vavilov often attributed his works to Renaissance and Baroque composers, while not retaining the style of these epochs. Three years after the creation of Ave Maria, Vavilov left for the afterlife, however not in the glory of the laudable culture agent, but in great poverty. Unfortunately, he took the secret along to his grave. On a side note, the works by Vavilow and Giazotto are very popular, although not credited formally to them. These mystifications are upheld to the present day mainly by unaware music lovers.
And now let's board our imaginary vehicle for time travel to the former Kresy region. There, on the green glade surrounded by forests, bushes, and bulrush, a fine-looking man, Baltazar Dankwart, is pacing deeply focused. He walks in the woods in search of a good violin material. Baltazar stops under almost every tree and carefully knocks the trunks, listening to the woods’ resonance. When he finds the right tree, it will be cut and used to make a real gem. Which is what? Well, it would be a violin! It is hard to imagine how much poorer music would be without their existence. And when speaking about the violin, it's time to introduce the masters of violin making. Many musicians dream of playing at least once in their lives violoncello, violin or viola produced by the famous luthiers from Cremona or Brescia. The common believe is that "there’s no violin greater than Stradivarius". That’s a great marketing and effective PR! However, few people are aware that instruments made by Guarneri and Amati are equally excellent. And even a small number of those interested know that in the seventeenth century the second-best violin making region in the world - next to Italy - was Poland! Yes, Poland, and more precisely, its Eastern frontier, called at those times Kresy. Whose instruments led the way or were the best in the past centuries is hard to prove today. Nonetheless, an interesting quote can be found about the Polish violins: "To the Pole only God and violin" according to Polish Proverbs, published by Salomon Rysiński between 1619-1634, and the nascent period of Polish violin making occurred in the 17th century.
At that time, over three hundred and fifty violin builders were active there. Spread throughout Poland and particularly its Eastern Borderlands, they created instruments amazing in color, and more importantly, in terms of construction precision. There were many luthiers, but the most distinguished of them - Marcin Groblicz from Cracow and Baltazar Dankwart from Vilnius – commemorated themselves in the history of violin making with gilded letters. They created instruments that did not differ in quality from the famous Stradivari, Guarneri or Amati. Due to the shortage of documents about the Dankwart family, historians focus their studies on surviving instruments assembled in the collection of the Museum of Musical Instruments in Poznań. Baltazar Dankwart's violin, furnished with a certificate, resembles the construction of violins made by Marcin Groblicz (1540 - 1609), who is believed by the experts to be a student of the Italian luthier Gaspar da Salo (1542 - 1609). Groblicz’s violins, still numerous in the nineteenth century, and now very rare, used to be characterized by a beautiful, soft, and quite dark sound. Their key characteristic is a neck end carved in the shape of a dragon's head instead of a scroll.
Nearly twenty instruments of his authorship have survived, including twelve priceless instruments in the collection of the Museum of Musical Instruments in Poznań, and one viola da gamba, dated back to 1601, in the National Museum in Cracow. The Groblicz violins were highly appreciated already in the Baroque era, and the inventory of court bands described them as violin done with Groblicz handiwork. Groblicz used sycamore wood for the bottom plates. He sold his instruments all over Poland and Europe. Of course, most of them in Cracow, and then Galicia region. Their fame grew from year to year. The same thing happened with the violin of Dankwart from Vilnius. And now the question arises: if so, why did the memory of them drift away into the void of nonexistence? Well, for three reasons. The first of these was the fact that between 1772 and 1795 Poland disappeared from the map of the world, and everything that testified about its existence. Russia, Prussia and Austria picked a part for themselves. Poland lost its freedom and sovereignty for one hundred and twenty-three years. Secondly, Polish luthiers’ craftsmanship, based mainly on the handicraft, could not even begin to compete. The mass influx of instruments constructed in Western Europe flooded the Polish market. Better and more expensive Polish instruments did not withstand the collision with the inferior Western quality. Smaller workshops, one by one, ended their many years of activity. The brutal law of the cost and the price, right? Yes. And thirdly, the final impact on the Polish brand was inflicted by international traders and swindlers.
 |
| Original luthier's label (*1) |
In the nineteenth century there was a trend of collecting old Italian instruments. It is common wisdom that there’s no shortage of speculators and weirdos in any field. This method was started by a carpenter from Milan, Luigi Tarisio (1790 - 1854). An enthusiastic musician and lover of the violin who dropped his carpentry profession and started buying old instruments, however not because he intended to establish an orchestra playing on vintage instruments, but to trade violins or violas, and to exchange them for other models. What's more interesting, that wasn’t supposed to be for profit, but out of purest passion. With time, this love put him in such a extensive financial ruin that he passed away in extreme poverty and loneliness. When the police, alerted by the neighbors, entered his apartment, they found it completely empty, a corpse in the state of decomposition and ... several dozen instruments, mostly violins. Additionally, also a suitcase with money intended for the purchase of more instruments – an amount that could guarantee him more than a decent existence. The tragic story of Luigi Tarisio aroused interest in old instruments, which quickly transformed into a European wave of agitated collecting. This mania has whipped up the desire for quick profit among traffickers, cheaters, and fraudsters. When the Italian violins just ran out, some clever guys remembered about another great violin making area and started touring Poland, driving from Cracow through all Galicia region, including Lviv, and even past Vilnius in Polish Lithuania. For small amounts of money, they bought old instruments, including Groblicz and Dankwart. Then, counting on the ignorance and naivety of buyers, they made "retouches". Namely, they removed from the inside of the resonance boxes the records with the builder’s signature, pasting in the counterfeit cards with the signatures of Amati, Guarneri, and finally Stradivari. How to relate to the situation? Are we dealing with a fake product or just ordinary cheating?
Perhaps we should choose an intermediate form of a crime – a mystification, burdened with criminal "fame"? I would add that the violin thefts of the instruments made by famous makers are in the forefront in terms of estimated value, right after diamonds, jewelry, numismatics and works of art. There are also many unlikely scandals, anecdotes, and legends with the violin in the key role. Speaking of anecdotes and the Polish violin makers, I will stick to this issue for a moment longer. I am sure that the name of Karol Lipiński (1790-1861) is not foreign to many readers? It is a pity that we still do not know much about him, because this outstanding Polish violinist and composer - connected closely with the Eastern Borderlands of Poland - deserves special attention. To my surprise, he is even forgotten among his countrymen. And yet, Karol Lipiński competed for the right of precedence with Niccolò Paganini (1782 - 1840)! The Italian virtuoso, when asked who according to him the number one violinist in the world was, replied: "Who is the first - I do not know, but the second one is certainly Lipiński". Rumor has it that after the concert, during which Lipiński bravely performed the Devil's Trill Sonata composed by Giuseppe Tartini (1692 - 1770), and at the same time praising Niccolò Paganini publicly, he had the pleasure of encountering a rather unusual manifestation of praise. One of the last pupils of the author of the Devil's Trill Sonata approached the musician, snatched the violin from his hands and ... threw it to the floor! The instrument shattered with a great bang, and both Lipiński and the music lovers were momentarily in astonishment, which after a while was interrupted by the sobbing of the destroyer: "Paganini can be admired, but it's your playing that touches one. You follow the path Tartini pointed out, so please accept this violin, as Tartini’s gift to you. " And he handed a Stradivari's violin from 1715 to the shocked Lipiński. That was a magnificent present, wasn’t it? Only why must have had the benefactor to destroy the other instrument?!
Apparently, the donated Stradivarius from this memorable moment bears the honorable name "Lipiński", however it does not appear on the list of indisputable works of the violin master builder from Cremona! Could that be then that it is an instrument straight from the Kresy, but with an altered maker’s label? It is not known. After the death of Karol Lipiński in 1861, this instrument was in the possession of the family of the German-Dutch composer Julius Röntgen. None of other eighteen owners of this instrument enjoyed it for too long, and the violin ended up finally in the hands of a man named Frank Almond. In January 2014, it was stolen from him, but after a week the instrument was found. Perhaps because of the work of some evil forces? There are many legends around most of the known instruments. Sensational stories attract like flypaper both the connoisseurs and swindlers. However, the most important asset and determinant for them is the sound of the instrument. It is that noble and warm sound that still enchants us today, dazzles listeners with their beauty, and amazes acoustics engineers and scientists. At the end of this journey to the time and space frontier, I will try to present a quick summary. My dear readers, we should not feel at all inferior in the relation to Italians with our ability of violin making. The violins from Groblicz or Dankwart and other Polish Eastern Borderland workshops sound as great as the legendary "Stradivarius" instruments. It is obvious that if not for their unusual dark and deep color, as well as the purity and power of the sound, they certainly would not have ended up in Cremona. After three hundred years, the intricate works of the hands of native Polish violin makers still and continuously delight listeners around the world.
__________________________________
_________________________________
*1 - The picture was originally published here - (typowa dla Groblicza główka w kształcie głowy smoka i jego metryczka)
*3 - Many thanks to Elizabeth Kanski of Los Angeles, who kindly reviewed the translation.
*4 --The following article, found after the publication of Aneta Skarżynski's text, claims that Göring actually paid for some of his art pieces, including that fake Vermeer.
