Dangerous Melodies

by Jonathan Rosenberg

  Despite this measured plan, the city’s musical waters remained choppy, as Furtwängler and the orchestra’s hiring committee endured withering criticism. To understand why they thought Furtwängler was a good choice to head the Philharmonic, one must consider both his status and his recent activities in Germany.

  On purely musical grounds, Furtwängler was, without question, a conductor of the highest rank, which made him a reasonable choice to succeed Toscanini. Moreover, the Italian maestro had recommended the German to the orchestra, a decision, according to Harvey Sachs, motivated by Toscanini’s high regard for Furtwängler’s ability and because he wished to offer Furtwängler an opportunity to leave Germany. This, Toscanini believed, was an artist’s only moral choice.78 Beyond this, Furtwängler’s professional behavior in Nazi Germany during these years allowed some to argue that he had comported himself honorably in the face of Hitler’s toxic policies. Furtwängler was not a member of the Nazi Party, and there was considerable evidence pointing to his opposition to the Hitler regime, in both its repressive actions and ideological foundation.

  Though it was not clear how much Furtwängler was doing to save Jewish musicians, it became known that he had refused to dismiss Jews from his orchestra, the Berlin Philharmonic. While Americans were not yet completely familiar with his actions, what had been widely reported was the public letter Furtwängler had written in April 1933 to Joseph Goebbels, the Nazi propaganda minister, protesting the persecution of Jewish musicians, or at least the mistreatment of those who, in Furtwängler’s formulation, had done nothing to warrant it. If aspects of Furtwängler’s reasoning were disturbing and framed to appeal to Nazi officials—he suggested “real artists” should be left alone, while the fight could be directed against those whose spirit was “rootless, disintegrating, shallow, [and] destructive”—he seemed to reject the Nazis’ uncompromising policy of persecuting all Jewish artists, a view he was willing to express publicly.79

  The following year, in November 1934, Furtwängler was involved in another celebrated affair in which he made a second public declaration, this time in defense of German composer Paul Hindemith, who, though not a Jew, had come under a state-sponsored attack due to the alleged “degenerate” character of his music, which Hitler loathed. It did not help Hindemith’s cause that his wife and some of his close musical associates were Jewish, thus making his “decadent” music even more unpalatable and his status still more perilous. The Hindemith episode, which received international attention, led Furtwängler to resign his positions at the Berlin Philharmonic and the State Opera, a decision which, for a time, enhanced his reputation and convinced some that he was not reluctant to stand up to the thuggery that characterized life under Hitler.80

  In New York, the Times portrayed Furtwängler’s behavior in the Hindemith affair in almost heroic terms, claiming the conductor had “often courageously defended artistic interests against anti-Jewish . . . tendencies.” Quoting Furtwängler’s bold words on the subject, the press had helped fortify his standing, as when he spoke candidly about the question of artistic expression. “What would we come to,” he asked, “if political denunciations were to be turned unchecked against art?”81 Columbia University music professor Daniel Gregory Mason weighed in, calling Furtwängler’s resignation, a “splendid and inspiring” act, which served as a “warning to the Nazi government that politics has no place in the realm of art.”82

  Americans reflected upon the German musician’s willingness to challenge Nazi values, which he demonstrated by defending Hindemith. According to the conductor, it was a “question of principle. We cannot afford to renounce a man like Hindemith.”83 The publication of Furtwängler’s statement in a leading German newspaper had created a stir in that country, and a blistering response directed at both conductor and composer followed from the Nazi Chamber of Culture. To an American, Furtwängler would have seemed a defender of artistic liberty, and his decision to resign as director of the State Opera and conductor of the Berlin Philharmonic, the two most important musical positions in Germany, suggested his unwillingness to compromise in the face of Nazi demands.84 Writing from Berlin in the New York Times, music critic Herbert F. Peyser observed that Furtwängler’s dual resignations represented a “crossing of the Rubicon,” which placed him in the anti-Nazi camp.85

  Whatever his bold statements, within months of his dual resignations in 1934, Furtwängler was again standing before the Berlin Philharmonic. After a reconciliation with the Nazi leadership, which included meetings with Goebbels and Hitler, he returned to the podium on April 25, 1935, to conduct what, until recently, had been his orchestra.86 According to Time, it was not clear whether “Furtwängler had swallowed his artistic conscience or whether Nazi Germany suddenly decided it could dispense with him no longer.” What was clear was the response of the Berlin audience, which, Americans learned, offered a tumultuous welcome when Furtwängler returned to the stage.87

  Just as Berliners were thrilled to welcome Furtwängler back, a contingent of Americans, believing his artistry would enrich their country’s cultural life, expressed support for his New York appointment. In the wake of the Philharmonic’s announcement in February 1936, those supportive voices could be heard, even if they were in the minority. A Washington Post editorial pointed to the “wisdom” of the choice, and touching on the Hindemith episode, contended that Furtwängler’s “temporary disgrace with the Nazi regime was all to his credit.” As the editors made clear, the Philharmonic’s selection was entirely sensible.88

  Also backing the German musician were three writers to the New York Times, one celebrated, and all of a universalist bent. Brooklynite Bernice Sara Cooper considered the significance of music, noting that German soprano Lotte Lehmann had said that “music brings the peoples of the world together, while politics divides them.” Just because the Nazis rejected this view, Cooper asserted, did not mean Americans should disregard it.89 In a short letter, Franz Boas, the distinguished German-born anthropologist at Columbia University, expressed surprise about the opposition to the appointment. According to Boas, Americans objected strenuously to the “coercion of art and science and the intrusion of political motives into matters” unrelated to politics. While his observation was historically dubious, Boas warned the American people that they should take care not to commit the same mistakes that have “destroyed science and art in Germany.”90

  A final pro-Furtwängler missive, penned by a William Harrar, featured a dram of sarcasm and a dash of anti-Semitism. Harrar wondered if New Yorkers feared an “Aryan reading” of Brahms's Fourth or Beethoven through “the veil of the swastika.” His response was clear. The “grandeur and beauty of symphonic music are completely divorced from any possible connection with politics.” The only criterion for selecting a conductor should be his skill. Should he provide “shoddy Wagner” and “spurious Bach, away with him!” But why care if a man has conducted the Berlin State Opera or “looked in his time on Hitler”? In considering—and disdaining—“the Jews and their sympathizers,” Harrar said their threat to boycott next season’s concerts revealed an “almost abject subservience to the intolerable example of Nazism.”91 Those upset by the prospect of hearing Furtwängler, Harrar believed, embraced values akin to those of the Nazis.

  But few were as sanguine about bringing the German to New York as Harrar, Boas, and Cooper, and of the many who disagreed with their position, two publications offered especially scathing assessments of Furtwängler. The American Hebrew, a Jewish weekly, declared the Philharmonic should rescind the appointment at once, calling Furtwängler an “official agent of the Nazi government,” while the Marxist monthly the New Masses argued that not once during the last three years had Furtwängler acted out of anything resembling genuine moral conviction. He was self-interested and cared little for the rights of Jews, even those in his own orchestra.92 Similarly unimpressed with Furtwängler’s alleged defiance of the Nazi regime, the American Hebrew said his protests sought to “hoodwink” the world. Ha
rdly a man of noble sentiment, Furtwängler was the “highest musical official of a government which . . . has relegated musical art to the gutter.”93

  More sober but still critical in assessing the Furtwängler problem was one of New York’s most distinguished music critics, W. J. Henderson of the New York Sun, who provided one of the only critiques of the conductor’s interpretive skills. He spoke of Furtwängler’s disappointing earlier work in New York, which, after a promising start, descended into “mediocrity, mannerism, and platitude.” Turning to politics, Henderson called Furtwängler a “prominent and active Nazi,” which was not an unknown allegation. This was problematic, Henderson suggested, especially because at least half the New York Philharmonic’s patrons were of the “race” the Nazis had “singled out” for persecution. No musical organization could succeed in this “great Jewish city,” he asserted, without Jewish support. Deploying dubious empirical skills, Henderson claimed that even the “most casual observer” could see that “fully half of every audience consists of people of the Jewish race.” The orchestra’s decision-makers had made an “incomprehensible blunder.”94

  The New York Post’s music critic Samuel Chotzinoff rebuked the orchestra’s board for the closed selection process, calling it wholly inadequate when the future of “Civilization” is uncertain. The current moment, Chotzinoff contended, was one in which the sanctity of the “human soul” was imperiled; even art, which once had stood above the fray, was being compelled to serve the “forces of darkness.” There were moments in the struggle for freedom, Chotzinoff claimed, “when principle must take precedence over art.” At such moments, the “fight for life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness is a sweeter theme than any . . . penned” by Beethoven. Furtwängler ought to sever his ties with the Nazis.95

  With opposition rising inside and outside the music community, a tepid response emerged from the two principal characters in the drama, Furtwängler and the Philharmonic’s executive committee. The conductor issued a statement seeking to explain his position and to allay the concerns roiling the landscape. Traveling in Cairo, Furtwängler cabled, “I am not chief of the Berlin Opera but conduct as guest. My job is only music.”96 This succinct message represented the conductor’s attempt to highlight what he thought most important, namely, that he had assumed no permanent position in a state-sponsored musical institution and was not, therefore, a full-fledged part of the Nazi state apparatus. Moreover, Furtwängler suggested, as an artist, he stood above politics, an idea he would long maintain. For most observers in the United States, the first contention was a distinction without a difference, and the second, even if Furtwängler believed deeply in the notion, proved unconvincing. To those troubled by the appointment, Furtwängler’s reinstatement at the Berlin Opera, whatever his precise job description, demonstrated that he was part of the Nazi political and cultural establishment, which meant his position could not possibly be confined to music.

  As the Philharmonic released Furtwängler’s cable to the press in a futile effort to quell the uproar, the orchestra’s executive committee issued a statement of its own explaining why the committee had chosen the German. Published widely, the statement claimed that press reports had given the impression that Furtwängler’s appointment had a “national or racial significance.” This idea was unfounded; indeed, Furtwängler’s selection was based solely on “artistic considerations.” Both Toscanini and the orchestra’s directors believed the German maestro, one of the world’s leading conductors, could generate enormous excitement among New York’s music public. He had been acclaimed wherever he performed, and it was incorrect to suggest that his engagement involved “recognition” of the Nazi regime or acceptance of its “artistic policies.” The committee also defended Furtwängler’s actions, claiming it was well to recall that he had “risked and sacrificed” his position in German musical life by “waging . . . earnestly and persistently, a contest for tolerance” and open-mindedness toward musicians and composers.97

  While the Philharmonic’s statement had no impact on an unsettled situation, the manner in which the committee presented its message and its characterization of the opposition missed the point. Few opponents of the selection questioned Furtwängler’s conducting skills, though some offered critical commentary about what he would bring to the city’s musical life. Nor did most of his critics believe the Philharmonic’s board supported the Nazi regime or approved its artistic policies. As for the so-called risks and sacrifices Furtwängler had endured by advocating tolerance and open-mindedness, some doubted and even rejected such a claim. In the end, the opposition, while not monolithic in its views, questioned the morality of inviting to New York someone who had chosen to remain in Nazi Germany for the past three years, working as an artist when many of his colleagues, especially Jews, could no longer do so. Here was a man who had maintained a relationship, even if ill-defined, with some of the leading figures in the Nazi hierarchy. Exacerbating this, Furtwängler had been invited to lead one of America’s foremost cultural institutions in a city in which Jews comprised a significant segment of the population and a still larger portion of those involved in New York’s cultural life.

  It was up to the Philharmonic’s executive board to act. A letter sent by member Walter W. Price to several others on the board outlined his evolving thinking on the controversy and asked the committee to reconsider the appointment. In a cover note to Charles Triller, another board member and apparently a good friend, Price quoted Shakespeare: “To thine own self be true,” while reminding his friend, “We all want to do right.” While he had done all he could to bring Furtwängler to the orchestra, he noted the controversy had caused him great distress.98

  Price’s letter said he saw little merit in maintaining his stance out of fear of being labeled a “coward” because he was unwilling to “stick to his guns.” He had been pleased when Furtwängler had accepted the position, believing this would allow the orchestra to offer superb music with an esteemed conductor. Price acknowledged reading Henderson’s piece in the Sun and being in contact with Ira Hirschmann, whom he characterized as a man “opposed to any reason” on the subject. Certain developments had created “doubt” about the appointment, and that doubt was becoming “a conviction.”

  Price told his fellow committee members that he had received a large number of letters from Jewish subscribers, passed along by the chair of the Ladies Committee, Mrs. Richard Whitney, who was trying to secure subscriptions for the following season. These were not “offensive,” Price observed, but expressed an understandable “resentment” against the decision to appoint Furtwängler, a man “whose sympathies are with the Nazi Government, at whose hands” Jews had received “treatment which they bitterly resent.” He encouraged the committee to read the letters, which he described as “calm and dignified.” While disturbed by the actions of those seeking to initiate a boycott against the orchestra, admit it or not, he wrote, all of us are animated by “a certain tribal instinct.” In some cases that instinct was “racial,” while in others it was “international.” Price then mixed this whiff of anti-Semitism with a touch of empathy, pointing out that Jews deeply resented Hitler’s anti-Jewish policies. “I cannot help saying . . . , would I not, as a Jew, feel justified in taking the positions which the Jews” have embraced. He noted his own anti-German bitterness, when, during the world war, he felt “hostility” toward all things German, believing Germany was responsible for the war.

  The composition of the Philharmonic audience provided little cause for hope, Price acknowledged, since the “Jewish subscription” to the orchestra represented 50 percent of the seats sold, an assessment that rested (rather unscientifically) on his perusal of the audience from his Thursday night orchestra seats. This led Price to ask whether the institution had the “right, in opposition to [that] fifty per cent,” to maintain its position. Would bringing Furtwängler to New York be in the orchestra’s best interest, he wondered, and if the conductor came, could the organization address its fi
nancial challenges if its subscribers and the press were hostile to him?

  After arguing that it was only fair to inform Furtwängler about the opposition to his selection, Price pointed out that five women on one of the Philharmonic committees, all of whom were Christian, had called the appointment a mistake. Finally, with more than a hint of condescension and another splash of anti-Semitism, Price registered distress over the behavior of the “representatives of the Jewish race in New York,” who, for “racial reasons and because of tribal instincts,” had opposed what the executive committee thought was in the “best interests of music.” Indeed, he resented it deeply. Nevertheless, the facts made it essential for the committee to reflect upon its decision, for the situation was more challenging than any the orchestra had ever faced.99

  Price penned these reflections to his executive committee colleagues on March 9, 1936. Two days earlier, thirty-five thousand German troops had marched into the Rhineland in violation of the 1919 Treaty of Versailles and the Locarno Pact of 1925. Remilitarizing the Rhineland, which one historian has called “Hitler’s most brazen gamble” to that point, received widespread coverage in the American press and did little to improve America’s view of Nazi Germany. While no direct link connected the developing Furtwängler affair to Hitler’s aggressive action, it is easy to imagine that the overseas crisis would have hardened the position of those opposing Furtwängler, a man seen as the instrument of a lawless regime.100

  On the day the German army marched westward, flouting international law, the Reverend Harry Abramson wrote to Mrs. Richard Whitney of the Philharmonic’s Ladies Committee, responding to her invitation to subscribe to the orchestra’s 1936–1937 season. “Because of the appointment of the apostle and tool of Naziism [sic], Furtwaengler, I must decline to attend” the Philharmonic’s concerts. Abramson informed Whitney that he would use his influence with “relatives, friends, and parishoners [sic]” to convince them not to renew their subscriptions and not to attend future concerts. The orchestra had done a “dastardly thing in choosing Furtwaengler,” and he hoped the coming season would be the “worst failure” in its history.101