Fogiel to Fogg: Stories of Famous Interwar Polish Stage Names
Across history, many Polish artists, musicians, actors and performers have adopted stage names at the start of their professional lives. These slick, glamorous monikers have allowed them to kick-start their careers, to construct artistic personas – or to evade prejudice, dishonour and even danger.
In the Interwar period, this was no different.
Mieczysław Fogiel became the now-famed Mieczysław Fogg. Adolf Loewinsohn transformed into the suave Adam Aston – or, on occasion, Adam Wiński, Jerzy Kierski and Ben Lewi. Bohdan Eugène Junod turned into Eugeniusz Bodo; Zofia Pogorzelska switched her first name for the sparkling Zula and entered the Polish cabaret history books. Apolonia Chalupec chose Pola Negri as she became an international film star.
And, according to an extensive essay on ‘The Stage Names of Polish Interwar Artists’, by Professor Justyna Walkowiak, some traditional styles for Polish Interwar pseudonyms were also adopted in the post-war world too.
But why did so many Polish artists choose to change their names? And what were the stories behind the names themselves? Culture.pl investigates…
What’s in a name?
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Rialto cinema in Katowice, viewers waiting in front of the cinema for the screening of the film from the funeral of Marshal Józef Piłsudski, 1935, photo: National Digital Archives / https://audiovis.nac.gov.pl
There have been many famous artistic pseudonyms in Polish history, and many different reasons behind artistic pseudonyms too. An artist would sometimes adopt a snappy name to use for specific work – including to engage in political dissent – or jettison their full name altogether for a new, permanent nom de plume.
This was often the case in literature: for example, novelist Henryk Sienkiewicz used the pseudonym Litwos for some of his journalistic and literary work. And Aleksander Głowacki took the name Prus from his family’s coat of arms to become the now famous Bolesław Prus – allegedly reserving his real name for more serious literary pursuits.
During the wartime and post-WWII period, pseudonyms took on even more significance as artists defied the control and censorship of occupying forces. Czesław Miłosz, for example, wrote under Jan Syruć to publish poetry during WWII, whilst Wisława Szymborska used the pseudonym ‘Stańczykówna’ to write for the samizdat periodical Arka (Ark) in the 1980s.
Although motivations may have been different in the Interwar period, a noticeably large number of artists also adopted stage names in the early 20th century – and not just in literature.
Why were Interwar pseudonyms so common?
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Scala cinema and revue theatre in Kraków (former Bagatela theatre), 1938, photo: National Digital Archives / https://audiovis.nac.gov.pl
Walkowiak suggests several important reasons behind the proliferation of artistic pseudonyms in the Interwar period:
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First, they helped separate private from professional life — or stage activities from other, “more serious” professional activities; this was especially important in view of the fact that in the analysed period, acting, singing or dancing was frequently considered a somewhat suspicious way of making a living, unworthy of an upper-class member or of an “honest woman”. Moreover, in the case of a common birth name, stage names individualized an artist, and thus facilitated the creation of a stage persona. Apart from that, they may also have been useful in fostering a career abroad […] Finally, and rather similarly to the case of a foreign career, an artist may want to avoid prejudice.
Walkowiak includes an excerpted list of more than 200 examples of Interwar stage names at the end of her essay. Other academics, including linguist Kinga Zawodzińska-Bukowiec, estimate that artistic pseudonyms across Polish history number around 1,200.
Zawodzińska-Bukowiec also suggests that pseudonyms were not initially popular in Poland, but began to take off in the 19th century, adopted by actors – with ‘the full flourish of artistic pseudonyms […] occur[ing] in the first half of the twentieth century.’
But she, like Walkowiak, emphasises that there were both social and psychological reasons behind the use of pseudonyms, including family reputation, as well as personal and artistic inspiration, and even chance:
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Among the social-customary causes [behind artists’ stage names], the need to stand outside of or be accepted by a particular social group or environment is quite significant.
As both scholars thus imply, stage names testify to the myriad of difficulties faced by many Interwar artists – who, to pursue a career in cultural and artistic spheres, sometimes had to negotiate racial, class and gender barriers.
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'Serwus Jarosy' revue in the Qui Pro Quo cabaret in Warsaw, 'Wojnar-Girls' in one of the scenes of the revue, 1926, photo: Narodowe Archiwum Cyfrowe / https://audiovis.nac.gov.pl
The story of Interwar pseudonyms wasn’t always clear-cut, however, and the background to the prolific use of stage names in the period involved a complex network of socio-economic influences, personal traditions and ambition, and artistic styles.
Cabaret – a genre central to Polish interwar culture – is a prime example. In his Warsaw: The Cabaret Years, Ron Nowicki details the pervasive ‘class conscious[ness]’ in Polish society – a trend which continued into the Interwar years, forcing many artists to defy their families to seek careers in what was then seen as ‘lower’ forms of art and culture. But some artistic fields – even those associated with lower forms of entertainment, like cabaret – also had tangible connections to high culture: for example, Nowicki writes that whilst Warsaw’s ‘lively, political, satirical’ interwar cabarets were ‘on a par’ with Berlin’s cabarets, they also had a more literary edge, attracting ‘major writers […to write] cabaret sketches between volumes of more serious work.’
Beth Holmgren argues that there it would be ‘inaccurate’ to claim Poland’s cabarets had ‘poetic pedigree’; she instead suggests ‘exciting changes [were] actually taking place in early twentieth-century Polish theatre and entertainment’. At the heart of Polish cabaret, for example, were a variety of artists from all backgrounds, but particularly talented Polish-Jewish musicians, writers and composers. Holmgren writes that many Jewish artists came from classical backgrounds, and ‘did not perceive writing and performed for the cabaret, revue, radio, recording studio, or film as sociocultural descent, as their parents certainly did.’ Holmgren adds:
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As they blended different ethnic motifs and modalities with modern American rhythms, these young Jewish artists were not lowering their standards, but striving to break into a ‘bigtime’ of at once elemental and sophisticated world music.
Polish-Jewish artists – like Julian Tuwim, Marian Hemar and Andrzej Włast – wrote some of the most renowned and popular songs of the era even despite, as Holmgren notes, quoting Ronald Modras, ongoing discrimination from right-wing groups. These wielded the term ‘zazydzenie’ (Judaisation) to demonize “some sort of new Jewish-Polish culture” that was perverting “true Poland”’. Some Polish-Jewish artists even lampooned existing prejudices, as well as social and political issues of the age, targeting politicians and celebrities alike with raucously funny skits.
But many of these Polish-Jewish artists (including Hemar and Włast) also used pseudonyms during their careers, testifying to the underlying and continuous prejudices faced by Polish Jews in the period.
As Nowicki and Holmgren argue, class also played a role in the choice to adopt a stage name. Highbrow artists upended cultural expectations by penning an endless stream of szlagiers (happy-go-lucky songs), with many drawing on ubiquitous symbols of popular culture – love, heartbreak, desire – as well as sometimes also referencing underworld cultures. This aroused admiration as well as snobbery – Włast, for example, was deemed ‘the King of Trash’ for his sentimental hits, but also praised by fellow artists for his tireless production of popular song.
And the performers of such songs – many of whom were women – also adopted pseudonyms. From her list of names, Walkowiak concludes that women mostly took stage names ‘due to the stigma attached to cabaret and film acting [which meant] women were more likely to conceal their identity’. Nonetheless, the stage provided opportunities for artists to experience more revolutionary and independent lifestyles: Holmgren writes that Warsaw cabaret chorus girls, for example, enjoyed ‘a sexually liberated lifestyle’, but only in ‘the one performative space in Polish society where their risqué appearance, work, and behaviour were approved by savvy producers and chic patrons.’
The melting-pot world of Polish interwar cabaret was certainly lively: it could be bawdy and risqué and could be influenced by low culture and even the Polish underworld. It was a platform for astute commentary on the social and political issues of the day, as well as for exciting literary experimentation. Above all, it was serious fun, but all managed and mastered by clever and erudite artists, who came from different backgrounds. As Nowicki notes, Poland’s cabaret stages – especially Qui Pro Quo – attracted leading artists and rivalled the Polish theatre, with the latest jokes and classic catchphrases seen as fashionable across society. But bigotry, discrimination and prejudice were still in the background – and so, despite the progress, popularity and liberation, artists often had to choose pseudonyms to navigate still-existing social, political and economic tensions.
But cabaret, popular song, stage, and later screen was just one part of the history of Interwar pseudonyms. Some Polish artists of the early 20th century also changed their names to assimilate when seeking careers abroad. And it wasn’t just artists who changed their names, either: notably, the Polish Interwar politician Edward Rydz-Śmigły adopted the pseudonym ‘Śmigły’ (nimble) during World War I, which he later added to his surname.
How to build an interwar pseudonym…
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'Schnitzel' sketch in the Qui Pro Quo cabaret in Warsaw, pictured: Adolf Dymsza (left) and Tadeusz Olsza, 1925-1931, photo: National Digital Archives / https://audiovis.nac.gov.pl
According to Walkowiak, there were also several traditions around Interwar Polish stage names. Many, she notes, kept an artist’s first name, changing only the surname, whilst sometimes the forms of the names were also adapted:
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Most of the discussed stage names were styled to look like real names, i.e. they were composed of a given name, often in an unofficial, diminutive or diminutive-looking form (Tola, Zula, Mila, Ina, Jaga, Bela, Lala, Pola, Dela, Mura) and occasionally with reduplication (Zizi, Lili), and of a surname-like component, sometimes exotic-sounding, like Ordeyg, Dal-Atan, Sari, Ari or Kittay […] minority names — mostly German/Jewish or Russian ones — were often made to look Polish […] certain stage surnames resemble artificial surnames which in the past used to be given to illegitimate offspring of a nobleman.
Other names, Walkowiak adds, were exoticised, or ‘in the case of ostensibly Jewish names (which were mostly artificial German-based coinages) the typical trend was towards domestication to Polish-sounding names.’
Zawodzińska-Bukowiec writes that some pseudonyms were taken from the names of beloved family members and personal experiences, or were inspired by artists, or just plain luck.
But, as Walkowiak notes, stories around the origins of stage names also differ and sometimes conflict, whilst the etymology of some names can only be deduced from artists’ biographies. Below are some of the most famous interwar Polish stage names – and some of the legendary stories behind them…
In film & theatre…
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Pola Negri in the film 'Mania', directed by Eugen Illés, 1918, photo: Filmoteka Narodowa / www.fototeka.fn.org.pl
Many interwar artists who used pseudonyms were performers on stage and screen. One of the most internationally famous was Apolonia Chalupec – who changed her name to Pola Negri, and became a global film superstar. Pola was a shortened version of her first name, whilst Negri came from the Italian novelist and poet Ada Negri, whose works she had read whilst undergoing treatment for tuberculosis in a sanatorium.
But in Poland, too, performers on stage and in film also changed their names. Other film stars to adopt pseudonyms included Sonia Najman (Zofia Neuman), who changed her name to Nora Ney – after, as Walkowiak writes, she ran away from home to pursue a stage career, and tried to conceal her background. Then, there was the poster-boy of the Interwar era, Bohdan Eugène Junod, who merged his first name with his mother’s name to become Eugeniusz Bodo as he began performing on the stage. Zofia Pogorzelska, meanwhile, adopted the diminutive form Zula to become Zula Pogorzelska.
Another was Maria Anna Pietruszyńska, who was encouraged by fellow star Karol Hanusz to change her name to the more glitzy Anna Ordon – from a recent production of Mickiewicz’s Ordon’s Redoubt. Then, her name became Hanka Ordonówna. And there was Adolf Bagiński, who become Adolf Dymsza – though, as Walkowiak notes, accounts vary as to the reason behind this:
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[Dymsza] reportedly owed his stage name to his sister Zuzanna. He is said to have invented for himself the Italian-sounding moniker Scipio del Scampio; however, when somebody phoned from the theatre in which he was to act, asking for the pseudonym to be printed on a poster, his sister allegedly could not find the slip of paper with the scribbled name and improvised Dymsza instead. According to a different story, Dymsza was the surname of an MP to a Russian parliament of the time, found in an almanac-calendar of a popular daily „Kurier Poranny”, after a secretary of the theatre “Miraż” suggested that the budding actor should invent a pseudonym for himself.
That’s not to mention the artists who rose to fame playing adored characters – whose names then became their professional pseudonyms. One example is Kazimierz Krukowski, who adopted the name Lopek after the figure he played in cabaret szmonces.
And even behind the scenes, many artists adopted pseudonyms: including the writer, critic and translator Tadeusz Żeleński, who, as Nowicki notes, adopted the middle name Boy (becoming Tadeusz Boy-Żeleński), ‘in jest’. And film directors also went under pseudonyms – including Henoch Szapiro, who became Henryk Szaro, and Feliks Kuczkowski, who used the name Canis de Canis.
In music…
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Adam Aston, 1923, photo: National Library Polona
Interwar music was also packed with pseudonyms, used by composers, lyricists, and performers alike. The ‘King of Polish Jazz’, Henryk Wars, was born Henryk Warszawski – and post-war, he changed his name again, to Henry Vars, in order to assimilate in Hollywood.
One of the central lyricists of the era, the aforementioned Marian Hemar, was born Marian Hescheles – he also used other pen names, including Jan Mariański and Marian Wallenrod (the later was probably a reference to Mickiewicz’s Konrad Wallenrod). Then there was Gustaw Baumritter, who adopted the name Andrzej Włast – and became a leading light of interwar song, cabaret and revue.
Poet and lyricist Jerzy Glejgewicht adopted the name Jerzy Jurandot; whilst Feliks Konarski became Ref-Ren (meaning refrain) – a name, as Anna Mieszkowska notes, which was later used for his car license plates.
Performers also adopted pseudonyms. One of the most well-known is Mieczysław Fogiel who, by 1926, was using the pseudonym Mieczysław Fogg – a stylised version of his original last name, with an extra ‘g’ added to distinguish the name from the English word ‘fog’.
Adolf Loewinsohn, a rising singer with a gorgeous baritone, also changed his name in the early 1930s.
Tadeusz Faliszewski in the operetta "Panna Wodna" at the "8.15" Theater in Warsaw, photo: National Digital Archives / https: //audiovis.nac.gov.pl Beguiled by his voice, his co-star Henryk Wars suggested he use the surname Aston (Polish for ‘the ace of tone’) – and thus, Adolf Loewinsohn became Adam Aston. And Aston also used other names too: when recording in Hebrew, he used the pseudonym Ben Lewi; when singing for Columbia records, he used the name Adam Wiński, and he also went by Jerzy Kierski.
According to Zawodzińska-Bukowiec, many artists retained their pseudonyms for their artistic careers – but there was one particular Polish Interwar star who ran the gamut of names unlike any other: Tadeusz Faliszewski. The scholar writes:
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It seems that during that time no one had recorded as many albums as he did, no one worked with so many labels and nobody signed with so many pseudonyms: Jan Saskowski (on the threshold of his career), Jerzy Nowogródzki [which, as Zawodzińska-Bukowiec notes, referred to his house at number 27 Nowogrodzka], Jan Pobóg or Jerzy Orowski.
In the arts…
Pseudonyms were also used in the world of art. A prominent example is Stanisław Ignacy Witkiewicz, who became known as Witkacy after he rebranded his portrait style in 1925. Another Polish artist who used a pseudonym was the painter and engraver Ludwik Kazimierz Wladyslaw Markus, who lived in Paris. He adopted the name Louis Marcoussis, after the village of Marcoussis, near Paris – a suggestion which came from Apollinaire.
In literature…
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'Portrait of Władysław Reymont' by Jacek Malczewski, 1905, photo: National Museum in Warsaw
And that’s not to mention the wealth of pseudonyms which came from the literary world. One was even Nobel Prize winner Władysław Reymont: originally born Władysław Rejment, he changed his name allegedly to evade trouble in Russian-partitioned Poland for publishing a work in Austrian Galicia which was not permitted under the Tsar’s censorship. Kazimierz Wyka also suggests that Reymont was used to avoid associated with the Polish rejmentować, meaning ‘to swear’.
Another writer was Henryk Goldszmit, who adopted the name Janusz Korczak from Janasz Korczak and the Pretty Swordsweeperlady by Józef Ignacy Kraszewski – and became a prominent children’s author and pedagogue. Another prominent early-20th century author who used a pseudonym was Joseph Conrad. He thus anglicised his birth name, Józef Teodor Konrad Korzeniowski. The choice of Konrad may have also been inspired by Mickiewicz’s Konrad Wallenrod.
Poets also adopted pseudonyms. Julian Tuwim (Krukowski’s cousin) went under the name Oldlen, whilst the avant-garde and futurist poet Tadeusz Peiper used Jan Alden, Jan Badyński and Marian Bielski – including using all four in the pages of his magazine Zwrotnica (The Railway Switch).
Then there were the cousins Bolesław Lesman and Jan Wiktor Lesman: the former took the pseudonym Bolesław Leśmian, allegedly to sound more Polish – and he also encouraged his cousin to take the name Jan Brzechwa, referring to the shaft of an arrow.
From individuals to families, and from cultural inspiration to evading social-political difficulties – the world of Interwar Polish pseudonyms shines a light on the connections, interactions and tensions which influenced the art of the period.
Written by Juliette Bretan, Mar 2021
Sources: Justyna B. Walkowiak, 'The Stage Names of Polish Interwar Artists', in Onomastica, LXII (2018); Kinga Zawodzińska-Bukowiec, 'Polish Artistic Pseudonyms', in Oliviu Felecan (ed.), Onomastics in Contemporary Public Space (2013); Ron Nowicki, Warsaw: The Cabaret Years (1992); Beth Holmgren, ‘Polish Language Cabaret Song’ in Tamara Trojanowska, Joanna Nizynska, Przemyslaw Czaplinski and Agnieszka Polakowska (eds.) Being Poland (2018); Beth Holmgren, ‘Acting Out’, in ‘East European Politics and Societies and Cultures’, 27 (2013); Beth Holmgren, ‘Cabaret Nation’, in ‘Polin: Studies in Polish Jewry’, 31 (2019).
