Following the outbreak of the First World War, Will Meisel enlisted and was sent to Ypres in Belgium, where he suffered gas poisoning. While recovering in a hospital back in Germany, he often played the piano for the other injured soldiers. Through trial and error, he learned that the tunes with the catchiest melodies and lightest lyrics garnered the greatest response, and he endeavoured to learn as many of these as possible. At the war’s end, he joined the premier dance venue in Berlin, the Royal Court, on Unter den Linden, and by his twenties he was writing his own songs and performing them around Germany. Not satisfied with being simply a composer and dancer, Will wanted to become the director of a cabaret club.
Since arriving from Paris at the turn of the century, the number of Berlin cabaret clubs had exploded, with over fifty venues concentrated in the city centre. Over the course of an evening, burlesque dances, comedy skits and musical sets were performed before an audience seated at tables, who were served food and drinks. Unlike their French cousins, Berlin’s clubs also became known for their satirical shows. During Wilhelm II’s reign, criticism of the government and royal family had been banned from playhouses. No longer restricted, following the rise of the Weimar Republic, and to the delight of their spectators, the lampooning of politicians and black humour now flourished at the cabaret venues.
Within a few years, Will was not only a club director, he also owned a portfolio of venues, including the Palais, the AmorSäle (Love Salons), the Eulenspiegel (Owl Mirror) and the Paprika (later given the more society name of the Jäger Casino). At the end of 1926, Will Meisel married Ilona von Fövenyessy, a fine-looking Hungarian singer whom he had known since his teenage years. Inspired by her beauty, he wrote a tango melody for her entitled ‘Ilona’. The tune was catchy and proved successful. Yet despite being a hit, Will was disappointed that he earned so little money. If he was to be financially successful, he realised, it was best to control the entire recording and publishing process.
Shortly afterwards, one of Will’s composer friends4, Herman Schulenberg, made a recommendation:, ‘Why don’t you form your own publishing company?’
‘I don’t understand anything about it,’ Will answered.
‘And so what?’ Schulenberg replied. ‘The other publishers don’t understand anything either.’
Convinced, Will founded Edition Meisel & Co. in the back room of one of his clubs, on 15 May 1926, at the age of twenty-nine. His friend Schulenberg became an early partner. While Will would have liked to have published classical music, in the tradition of the great German artists – Brahms, Strauss, Mendelssohn, Wagner and Beethoven – that market was already crowded. Instead, he focused on the light-entertainment music of operettas and movies. Though such songs were disparaged by the critics, they were loved by the German public.
Will Meisel
Within a few months, Will had signed many of the leading lyricists and composers of the day, almost all of whom were Jewish: the cabaret performers Willy Rosen and Harry Waldau, for example, and Richard Rillo who wrote the music for Der Blaue Engel, Germany’s first major sound film. Another rising star to join his list was Kurt Schwabach, who wrote ‘Das lila Lied’, believed to be one of the world’s first gay anthems. Its lines include ‘And still most of us are proud, to be cut from different cloth! / We are just different from the others who are being loved only in lockstep of morality.’ There were many whose music was popular at the time but whose mark has faded, such as Marcel Lion and Harry Hilm, Hans Lengsfelder and Friedrich Schwarz. While others only became later renowned, such as Hans May in the film industry (he wrote the music for Brighton Rock in 1947), or Jean Aberbach in the music industry (in the 1950s, he recorded Elvis Presley’s songs, keeping 50 per cent of the rights).
At this time, the market for published music was highly competitive in Berlin. A number of companies had recently been established, all looking to take advantage of the booming cabaret scene, as well as the emerging opportunities offered by radio. The first German radio station to regularly broadcast to the public debuted in Berlin on 23 October 1923, and by the end of the following year, nine regional stations were in operation around the country. As part of an agreement between the music publishers and the broadcasters, royalties from the songs that were played on the radio were channelled to the music publishers.
Will’s philosophy, as he told anyone who would listen, was that you could not leave success to chance. Keen to market his sheet music, he travelled around the city, performing the latest tunes to radio producers, cabaret directors and musicians. Whenever he could, he encouraged the critics to write stories about him, his shows or one of his artists. Unlike other publishers, he did not charge bands to purchase his scores, and to build a relationship with the bandleader – who he realised was the decision-maker in the group – he often delivered baskets of luxury foods, which he called ‘Meisel’s surprise parcels’. Frequently attending social functions, he ensured that he was in as many photographs as possible. He even distributed a thousand megaphones to chorus singers who performed in clubs across Berlin, each emblazoned with his slogan, Meisel Schlager – Nie Versager, ‘Meisel’s hits – never fail’.
It was around this time, in mid 1932, that his marriage fell apart. Ilona had returned to her native Hungary and then, fearing the rise of the Nazi Party, refused to return. On 12 November 1932, when the couple split up, the story was widely covered in the media, the Berliner Presse running with the headline: ‘WILL MEISEL SUDDENLY DIVORCED’. The break-up did little, however, to slow the expansion of Will’s burgeoning music empire.
As Will’s business grew, so too did his fame and reputation, and soon he was invited to write musical scores for films. Several were huge hits5, including the score for his first picture, Liebe im Ring, which transformed the boxing champion Max Schmeling into a movie star, and Wenn die Soldaten, with Otto Wallburg, a Jewish actor who was also a First World War hero.
In March 1933, Joseph Goebbels was appointed Minister for People’s Enlightenment and Propaganda, having declared his intent of removing all Jews from German culture. With Goebbels now in charge of the licensing of publishing houses, studio recordings, radio broadcasts and theatres, Will realised that he could be facing trouble, given that over 80 per cent of his composers were Jewish6. Before long, Edition Meisel’s songs were banned from the radio and theatres were refusing to perform his operettas. Then, his Jewish creative director was thrown out of the Reich Chamber of Culture, preventing him from being employed. Over the next few months, most of his talent were either organising their flight out of the country or had already left. ‘I was forced to take a deep breath,’ Will later said of this loss of Jewish talent7. He felt he needed to find a way to demonstrate his support for the Nazi Party and he needed to do so fast.
Six weeks later, on 1 May 1933, Will attended a Labour Day rally at Berlin’s Tempelhof airport. Around him stood over one million people, all waiting to hear Hitler speak. After many hours, Goebbels appeared in order to introduce the Führer, calling him the ‘standard-bearer’ of the German people. Hitler strode onto the stage to thunderous applause, surrounded by his personal bodyguards.
The First of May shall convey to the German people the realisation that industry and work alone do not make up life if they are not wed to the power and will of the people. Industry and work, power and will – only if they join forces, and only when the strong fist of the nation is raised to protect and shelter the work, only then can real blessings result.
To Will, Hitler’s message was clear: if you want to succeed in business, join the party. By the end of the day8, Will had made his decision. He submitted his name, date of birth and address to a functionary and handed over his membership fee. A short while later, he was given his Nazi Party number: 2849490.
Within a few weeks9, Will was pleased to hear that his songs were once again being played on the radio. But whenever he suspected that he or his composers had been dropped from the playlists, he wrote to the station manager, urging them to broad
cast his music.
Will now found himself busy with the film industry. By the summer of 1934, he was commissioned to compose music for eight films. One of these productions took him to Johannistal Film Studios, in south-east Berlin. After a morning’s effort, he and an actor friend, Hans Söhnker, walked over to the canteen to have lunch. There he saw a dark-haired young woman eating with her friends10. Judging by her beauty and charisma she had to be an actress. ‘Look at that,’ Will said to Hans. ‘Your wife is on holiday, right over there is something for you!’ The actress was so infuriated by Will’s comments that she refused to talk to him.
A short while later they met again on the set for Was bin ich ohne Dich, and Will now learned her name, Eliza Illiard. She was acting in the same film for which Will was writing music. This time Will made a better impression, sending Eliza a bunch of roses with a note praising her interpretation of his songs.
On 3 July 1934, they bumped into each other at the premiere of Eliza’s latest film11, Paganini. In this adaptation of Franz Lehár’s 1925 operetta, Eliza played the Duchess Anna Elisa of Lucca who becomes infatuated with a famous composer. At the film’s climax, and wearing a sparkling ankle-length dress and a black feather in her hair, she sings a passionate love song to the film’s eponymous character. With the camera on an extreme close-up, revealing every glowing aspect of her twenty-eight-year-old face, Will fell in love.
Eliza Illiard in Paganini
Two months after the premiere, the music publisher and the movie star met again. Now more relaxed, and away from the film sets, they made love. A few weeks later, Eliza informed Will that she was pregnant and, hoping to avoid a scandal, they agreed to marry. Eliza had already experienced trouble at work resulting from her personal affairs. A year earlier she had discovered that the Nazi Party had written to her film guild enquiring about her then husband, a certain Herr Mertens12. Why, they had wanted to know, was an up-and-coming film star like Eliza Illiard married to a Jew? The message had been clear: she would not succeed if she stood by her husband. Shortly afterwards she and Mertens divorced. If she was married to Will Meisel, Eliza calculated, the party would leave her alone.
On 12 March 193513, with the bride six months pregnant, Will and Eliza were married at the Wilmersdorf town hall, in western Berlin, near where they both lived. Three months later, on 22 June 1935, their first child, Peter Hans Meisel, was born. Will Meisel was then thirty-seven years old, and Eliza twenty-nine.
On the morning of 15 October 1935, a tall thirty-five-year-old man had walked into Will Meisel’s office. Even more memorable than his narrow moustache and short thinning hair parted to one side was a four-inch scar diagonally carved into his forehead14.
Hanns Hartmann had worked as creative director for a number of theatres, and was now looking for a job. Following Nazi Party pressure, he had been fired from his post at Chemnitz, a city located 250 kilometres south of Berlin. Will Meisel realised that a creative director with a reputation for financial control would be a huge asset to his company, and he hired Hanns on the spot. He just hoped that the party in Berlin would not catch wind of his new employee’s previous troubles.
Over the next two years, and partly out of his collaboration with Hartmann, Will’s output increased unabated. Between 1935 and 1937 he wrote and published fifty-eight songs and fourteen film scores. Eliza had been busy too; in addition to her numerous engagements as a music-hall singer she had starred in two movies in twelve months: Liebeserwachen and Skandal um die Fledermaus. By 1937, the Meisels were exhausted.
For a while they had talked about needing a place to relax, a house out in the country, but not too far from the city, where they could invite friends for the weekend, or have business colleagues over for long summer lunches. Their discussions grew more serious once Peter was born. There was no garden for their young son to crawl around at their city apartment in western Berlin. In addition, Eliza had put her career on hold so that she could spend more time with her son. No longer stuck on set or in rehearsal, she longed for a bolt-hole from the city, a project she could channel her energy into.
The Meisels were soon approached by a Jewish estate agent, Herbert Würzburg, who claimed to have found the perfect property for them: a small but elegant wooden house on a lake in the nearby village of Groß Glienicke, on offer at a good price. The tenants, Würzburg said, were Jewish, and had fled to London. The Meisels needn’t worry about the house being reclaimed any time soon.
10
MEISEL
1937
IT WAS EARLY spring when the Meisels first arrived at the lake house. While the months of snow and ice were past, the garden showed little sign that winter was over. The needles of the evergreen firs and the April flowers’ few leaves were the only signs of life. Yet it was certainly warmer than it had been just weeks before and there was a sense of promise in the air.
The house came fully furnished as part of the lease. It was exciting to open the door, to choose who took which room, to open the cupboards, and to see what they contained. Walking around, Eliza checked off the three-page typed inventory detailing its contents1. The living room was listed as having 24 wine glasses, 8 white beer glasses, and over 100 plates – flat, fruit, deep, middle and salad – many of which were monogrammed with an ‘A’. In the kitchen, there were items such as 34 cups, 17 finger bowls, 14 egg cups, 11 glasses and 12 glass plates – as well as more esoteric items including a bread machine, 5 lemonade spoons and 4 milk pots. Items in the garden were also recorded, such as an incubator, presumably for hatching chicks, 2 fruit stands and a rocking-horse swing. She was delighted that so much was available, impressed by its quality.
It didn’t take long for the Meisels to make the house comfortable. Will and Eliza took over the master bedroom, filling it with new furniture, keeping the two bedside tables, as well as the large mirror hanging on the wall. A nursery was established in the small room with the bunk bed, which Peter would sleep in, to be soon joined, they hoped, by a sibling. The cook had the maid’s room next to the kitchen, while the driver stayed in the chauffeur’s annexe. Guests, when they had them, would be given the spare room by the front door.
This left the Blue Room, which Will converted into a music studio. Removing the pull-down beds, he put up shelves and created a library of books about operettas and films. The last few items that Elsie had left in the cupboards were bagged and put out in the rubbish. In their place, Will stored his sheet music in neat stacks. On one wall he hung a poster from a film that he had scored. Against another he positioned an upright piano and leather stool. There was also a couch, on which Will intended to read some books and, perhaps, if he was lucky, enjoy a few afternoon naps.
Liking the house’s natural and unadorned informality, the Meisels left the decor pretty much as it was. The two high-backed wooden chairs, which Henny had found in a local village, still stood to attention in the living room, next to a striped oval rug. From above the fireplace the Delft blue-and-white tiles oversaw the Meisels’ happy family life.
They did make some changes. Outside, they repainted the shutters a burnt Moroccan orange, covering over the diamond motifs at the front of the house. In order to make the lawn wider, they dug up, graded and then turfed over the stone footpath that had run from the garage to the front door. Instead, they laid a new path, made of black gravel, against the fence alongside the Munk property, allowing a small vehicle to make deliveries closer to the house. They also cleared the bushes and wild vegetation that had grown up around the house in the Alexanders’ absence, pruning the lower branches from the remaining trees, resulting in a well-manicured garden. Finally, they removed the mezuzah, which Alfred Alexander had affixed next to the front door.
Will Meisel at the lake house
The family soon settled into life at the weekend house. As with the Alexanders, they had breakfast and dinner around the large red table in the living room. They took tea on the veranda at the white table to the rear of the house overlooking the lake, and drank early-e
vening cocktails sitting on one of the wide wicker armchairs on the terrace above the pump house. In the late spring, as the air warmed and the wind calmed, the Meisels positioned Peter in his pram in the shade under a tree, and sat back in their deckchairs, enjoying a book or a magazine. They relished the chance to shed their formal city attire: Will typically wore a collarless shirt and shorts, rumpled socks and loafers. Sometimes he would walk around without a shirt. When it was warm, Eliza also liked to wear shorts and short sleeves, with her hair up in an untidy bundle. So far away from the film studios, she didn’t care how she looked.
When it was hot enough, they carried Peter into the lake, holding him tightly as he flapped his legs and arms in the cool, clean water, squealing with delight. Or, leaving Peter with the nanny, they would swim out to the middle of the lake, from where they could see other weekenders, also paddling around in the water, or relaxing close to the edge.
In the evenings, they gathered on the veranda, Will and Eliza sitting in the wicker armchairs, and Peter in a high chair, looking out at the lake, still brilliant in the late-summer sun.
For a young family, there were few places more perfect.
After an idyllic first summer at the lake house, Will returned to Berlin to resume his punishing schedule. Focused on developing his publishing house, he wrote letters to the radio stations, encouraging them to play more of his artists’ music. He printed a new catalogue which he posted to theatres and bandleaders. Not forgetting his own career, he continued to write music for the film industry and penned a number of original songs for the radio.
He was also attentive to the political needs of the day, attending meetings at the national film and music societies, as well as the occasional party rally. To demonstrate his support for the Nazi cause, he volunteered at charitable events, such as the Pressefest in Pomerania in aid of Winterhilfswerk, which distributed clothing and coal to the poor during winter.
The House by the Lake Page 11