Dangerous Melodies

by Jonathan Rosenberg

  On the evening of April 22, 1953, Gieseking played to a packed Carnegie Hall, displaying the artistry of one of the century’s great pianists. As he offered listeners Mozart of “rare beauty,” passionate Beethoven, poetic Brahms, lucid Mendelssohn, and atmospheric readings of Ravel and Debussy, outside the auditorium the mood was less sublime. For some two hours, 250 members of the Jewish War Veterans and 50 members of Brit Trumpeldor of America, a Zionist group, demonstrated, while a sound truck supplied anti-Gieseking statements. Adding their voices to those of the protesters were Manhattan borough president Robert Wagner and the director of the Non-Sectarian Anti-Nazi League, who pleaded with concertgoers not to attend the recital. Developments on Fifty-Seventh Street and Seventh Avenue unfolded under the watchful eyes of dozens of police officers and detectives, and members of the Zionist group “exchanged sharp words” with those entering the hall. At one point, the group unfurled a large Nazi flag to dramatize their message. By 10:00 P.M. the marchers were gone, and by 11:00, the recital was over.128 Despite the mayhem, Gieseking’s playing had enthralled thousands of listeners.

  Other artists, including one with a more elusive connection to the Hitler regime, also inflamed the music scene in these years. Though not from Germany, soprano Kirsten Flagstad encountered grave postwar difficulties, as her wartime activities cast a pall over her reputation. Born in 1895, the Norwegian made her operatic debut in 1913, and more than twenty years later came to America, where she appeared for the first time in 1935, singing Wagner to great acclaim at the Metropolitan Opera House. Over the next few years, not only did critics praise her with gushing superlatives, but she also captured the hearts of American opera lovers. Audiences could not get enough of her magnificent voice, which W. J. Henderson described in a 1937 review: Every note was produced with “exquisite floating tone . . . with perfect breath control and with consummate ease of attack and a sustained legato of celestial texture.” As she ascended to “the upper C,” it was “something for the student of vocal technic to keep in his mind forever.”

  Kirsten Flagstad

  Much to the dismay of her public, in April 1941, Flagstad left the United States for Nazi-occupied Norway to be with her husband, a wealthy Norwegian lumber merchant, whose dubious political affiliations and willingness to conduct business with the Nazi occupiers would land him in jail after the war. For several years in the postwar period, the beloved Wagnerian would be pilloried for her decision to leave the United States to spend the war in her homeland, an act that led some to label her a Nazi sympathizer. Along with repeated assertions that she had sung for Nazi officials during the war, a baseless charge, Flagstad’s wartime departure for Norway raised hackles both inside and outside the American music community and in her native land, as well.129

  With the war’s end and her husband in jail awaiting trial for war profiteering, Flagstad declared her wish to return to the United States as soon as possible to see her daughter, who was living in Montana with her American husband. Besides this maternal lure, it was thought she might resume her career in the United States. Given Flagstad’s status in postwar Norway, her desire to return to America was not surprising. Her people had turned against her, believing she could have aided the country in wartime by remaining overseas and speaking out against the German occupiers. But Flagstad had returned to Norway and remained silent. In light of such difficulties, the soprano insisted she would never again sing in the land of her birth, claiming she was unwilling to endure the hostility of her fellow citizens. Asserting that she had become the object of unfair allegations, Flagstad pointed out that during the war she had sung twice in Sweden and twice in Switzerland. “I had no offer from the Germans to sing in Berlin, and had Germany extended such an invitation,” she said, “I would have refused.” While the soprano made clear that she was glad Norway was free, her plight was a source of pain. “I am a true Norwegian, but our freedom has not been made too happy for me.”130 There was much truth in this observation, which was underscored by an assertion offered by the president of the Norwegian Parliament, who told a group of New Yorkers that from the perspective of the Norwegian people, “Kirsten Flagstad is dead.”131

  It would take two years for Flagstad to return to the United States, and after performing in Europe in early 1947, she alighted on American soil in March for recitals in several cities, where her singing again moved concertgoers. 132 Upon reaching America, Flagstad said she had “nothing to be ashamed of,” and when asked whether she expected any opposition to her recitals, she snapped, “Of course not.”133 But unlike before, she was sometimes forced to endure heckling from those distressed by her questionable wartime activities.

  Performing first in Boston’s Symphony Hall, Flagstad was hailed by critics, who wrote that she sounded as good as ever, with Cyrus Durgin of the Globe claiming she remained the “Queen of the Big Voices.”134 Virgil Thomson, the distinguished composer and critic, who was there, reported that she was “singing like an angel.” Among Bostonians, there was no “unfavorable demonstration” at all. As to whether such a demonstration was merited, Thomson pointed out that Flagstad’s own government had declared her “without taint of disloyalty.” His task was to assess the artist’s singing, about which he wrote, never had her voice “seemed so lovely.”135 In Boston, at least, Flagstad’s political problems had been forgotten.136

  The next few weeks were not quite so trouble free, as pickets marched outside Flagstad’s concerts in New York and Chicago, while in Milwaukee the demonstrators were aided by some who defaced her concert posters. But the reviews were superb, with Chicago’s Claudia Cassidy writing that “Flagstad’s is one of the wonder voices of the world.” The Chicago picketers, mainly female, numbered no more than thirty, but their incendiary signs referred to traitors and to virtuous Norwegian women, who, unlike Flagstad, had fought in the underground.137

  Flagstad’s experience in New York was a study in contrasts. Inside Carnegie Hall she encountered boundless affection, as an adoring audience clapped, cheered, stomped its feet, and whistled, as she offered Beethoven, Grieg, Brahms, Wolf, and several American pieces. Responding to the repeated shouts of “Wagner,” she concluded with the “Liebestod” from Tristan.138 While policemen and plainclothes officers made sure order reigned inside the auditorium, outside, dozens of picketers, mostly from the American Veterans Committee, proclaimed their distress over Flagstad’s wartime behavior.139 “We want to register our disapproval of an artist who has been connected with Nazi activities,” declared one of the organizers. “She represents the very things we fought against.”140 Marching before, during, and after the concert, the protesters chanted in unison, calling the soprano a traitor, and, as newspaper photos made clear, they held signs emblazoned with swastikas and damning accusations: “DON’T LOOK NOW FLAGSTAD BUT YOUR SWASTIKA IS SHOWING”; “KIRSTEN ENTERTAINED NAZIS! WE FOUGHT THEM”; “LET FREEDOM SING . . . NOT FLAGSTAD.” Despite the demonstrators, at concert’s end, a throng of admirers gathered outside to cheer their heroine, though they never encountered her, for she slipped off into the night, unseen.141

  A few days later, things took a more dramatic turn as the soprano confronted a more threatening group of detractors in Philadelphia’s venerable Academy of Music. Hundreds of demonstrators paraded outside the auditorium, chanting and carrying the usual signs: “ARTISTS ARE NOT ABOVE JUDGMENT WE CONDEMNED HITLER! WE CONDEMN FLAGSTAD! STAY OUT.” “FLAGSTAD PREFERRED A NAZI REGIME.”142 While dozens of police officers worked to maintain order on the streets, the concert hall was far from tranquil, as an evening of vocal artistry was repeatedly interrupted by boos and angry cries, some from the front rows, practically at Flagstad’s feet: “Nazi!” “Fascist!” “Norwegian traitor!” And just before the soprano offered the “Liebestod” from Tristan, an irate heckler screamed, “Send her back to Norway!” Adding to the mayhem, such exclamations engendered violent reactions from the singer’s supporters, some of whom leapt from their seats to lash out at the protesters. In one instance,
a middle-aged Flagstad defender sprang up, snatched the glasses from a noisy heckler, and proceeded to beat him “about the face and ears,” after which she returned to her seat, satisfied.143

  At another point, about a dozen men interrupted the proceedings by bellowing “The Star-Spangled Banner,” making it impossible for Flagstad to continue, though their pseudo-patriotic efforts were drowned out by vigorous applause from an overwhelmingly pro-Flagstad audience. Adding to the chaos, between pieces, “stench bombs” were released in the theater more than once, which was hardly the sort of behavior the esteemed singer had bargained for, though the foul air caused none to flee. It was an evening of “stench bombs, boos, and fisticuffs,”144 which did not conclude until the singer was taken by police through a little-used side entrance, thus allowing her to avoid the crowd of both antagonists and supporters that had massed outside to await her after she had completed her evening’s toil.145

  Responding to the Philadelphia episode, one of America’s most distinguished classical musicians, eighty-five-year-old Walter Damrosch, a man who had lived through periods of political upheaval in the music world, spoke in Flagstad’s defense. In a statement to the press, he said, if she planned to perform again in New York, he would happily accompany her on the piano on one piece. Commenting on the Philadelphia recital, the immigrant musician declared, “I am sure I am only one of the many Americans who feel a sense of shame over the indignities to which that great artist . . . was subjected.” What made it even worse, the charges against her were unsubstantiated.146

  Fellow singers also came to Flagstad’s defense. The revered soprano Geraldine Farrar asserted that the “wicked, misleading impressions” that had been spread about Flagstad had done nothing to erode the “loyalty” of those thousands who believed in her. How “disgusting” it was that people had misused the “democratic process” to destroy a great artist.147

  Nor were musicians alone in sharing their thoughts on Flagstad’s return, as newspapers and magazines were filled with a range of reactions. Columnist Walter Winchell was especially nasty, referring to the singer as a “Nazi pet.”148 In one of his more vicious observations, Winchell noted that Flagstad had spoken of becoming an American citizen, which led him to snarl, “a voice which lifts itself in song amid the screams of torture of its own country—certainly can’t mean much when it swears allegiance to the American Flag.”149 In late 1948, after the soprano slipped on the stage during a Carnegie Hall performance, Winchell wondered what caused the stumble: “Prob’ly thought she saw Hitler in a box-seat.”150

  Not everyone was as brutal, even if they were uncomfortable with Flagstad’s wartime behavior. Olin Downes acknowledged her complicity was uncertain, noting that some claimed she had acted out of “wifely devotion” and had not understood how her actions would be seen. Questioning those artists who implored everyone to forget the past for the sake of music, Downes insisted that was neither possible nor desirable. Such a course would leave one “fearful for the future” of both “art” and “humanity.”151

  Irving Kolodin pondered what Flagstad had done to help her country in the war, observing that she had chosen her own “domestic interests” over the best interests of Norway. To those who suggested Flagstad’s brilliance was the only criterion for assessing whether she should return to the Met, Kolodin demurred. Artists are “rational beings,” who “must be held accountable for their actions.” While Flagstad had a right to hire Carnegie Hall for a public concert, performing at the Met was different, for it received a New York exemption as an educational institution and offered season subscriptions to patrons who had to accept the artists that were presented. The company had been fine without her for several years. “Why reverse the course now?”152

  But others thought differently. Writing in the New York Sun in support of Flagstad, columnist George Sokolsky called suppressing thought and speech “a crime against democratic existence.” If one chose not to see a Chaplin movie because of the actor’s politics, that was fine, but one had no right to “throw a brick at the theater” where the movie was playing. In the case of Flagstad, opposition to her performing was based on her politics not her art, and Sokolsky insisted she had the right to “sing unmolested.” Likewise, those who wished to hear her had the right to do so. This was essential in a democracy because we must prove that “we can tolerate differences.”153

  Responding to an editorial in the Washington Post, which suggested that it might be time to move beyond the vengefulness of the war, one reader insisted, as a gifted artist, Flagstad was not “above politics,” and claimed the issue hinged not on politics at all, but on “life itself.” If Flagstad was not, strictly speaking, a collaborator, she had lived for five years with “one of the most notorious Nazi entrepreneurs of the land—her husband.” What was at stake was whether “civilized people [could] afford to cover up cancerous growths by wishful thinking.”154

  New York readers also expressed strong feelings about Flagstad’s return, with one Times letter writer observing that music, because it “transcend[ed] national boundaries and political narrowness,” could unite diverse people. Since there was no proof that Flagstad embraced Nazi ideas, this Brooklynite believed her status as an esteemed artist trumped any political considerations.155

  Against the backdrop of this national conversation, Flagstad sang to great acclaim in the last years of the decade, though her recitals continued to attract picketers. Whatever the demonstrators had to say on the streets, and it was often harsh, inside America’s auditoriums, there was unanimity that the quality of her voice was undimmed. If a contingent of veterans was determined to remind concertgoers of Flagstad’s wartime actions—“Mme. Flagstad, where were you during the Battle of the Bulge?”156—music critics offered their distinctive perspective, with one comparing the “luminosity” of her voice to “the glint of the noonday summer sun on a mountain lake.”157

  Nevertheless, Flagstad continued to encounter problems. In January 1949, Maestro Gaetano Merola of the San Francisco Opera reached out to see if the soprano would be interested in singing during the coming fall season. Flagstad expressed hesitation, noting she did not wish to embarrass the conductor and the opera company as a result of a possible “militant protest.” But Merola and her agent convinced the singer to sign a contract, reminding her she had done nothing wrong.158

  The contract was signed in June, and the protests, spearheaded by local veterans’ organizations, began. The War Memorial Opera House, where Flagstad’s four performances of Wagner were scheduled to take place, was controlled by a small board that proved sensitive to the distressed public response to the soprano’s upcoming appearances.159 After a public meeting in mid-July, the board decided—because Flagstad was scheduled to sing at the house—that they were not prepared to rent the venue to the San Francisco Opera Association, which meant it would be impossible to offer Flagstad’s performances. The board was concerned that it would be difficult to protect the safety of the company’s patrons or the security of the opera house.160

  In the wake of the decision, opera company officials claimed that without the financial benefit provided by the four Flagstad performances, it would not be possible to present any opera at all that year, a startling assertion in a city that had not missed an opera season in more than twenty-five years. Either the full season would proceed as planned, the company said, or there would be no opera.161 In response, Judge Milton Sapiro, who was representing the local branch of the American Legion (which fiercely opposed Flagstad), declared it would be better for the opera company to go out of business than to employ “a traitor to Norway.”162 According to Sapiro, “We object to traitors singing in this country.” The soprano should have remained in the United States during the war, he said, to raise money for Norway. “We wouldn’t want a Benedict Arnold to sing in this Opera House, and she’s just as guilty.”163

  Over the next several days, there would be no peace in San Francisco’s political and musical community, as the “warrin
g factions in l’affaire Flagstad”164 staked out their positions on whether the singer should be permitted to appear. The press entered the fray, with the Chronicle setting the decision to ban Flagstad in the context of the nation’s values, calling it “an act unworthy of the American tradition.” Banning an artist for political reasons, the editors asserted, was something the “Soviet Politburo” does, and “we as a free people don’t like it.”165 Acting mayor George Christopher spoke up on Flagstad’s behalf, and readers of the local papers expressed a range of views on tolerance, bigotry, and chauvinism in a democratic society.166

  A second editorial in the Chronicle, which rejected the position of the opera house board, noted the many letters the paper had received which overwhelmingly favored allowing Flagstad to perform. The case against her was “preposterously flimsy,” the editors insisted, claiming it was the responsibility of the police to protect the singer and the audience. Those intimidated by the fear of “stink bombs and picket lines” were “opening the door to the cultural rule of . . . hooligans.”167 In turn, one board member pointed out that the War Memorial buildings, of which the opera house was part, had been constructed to honor the nation’s war dead. Flagstad’s appearance would not just endanger the physical structure, but would “darken them spiritually.” The city should allow Flagstad to perform, but not at the War Memorial Opera House.168