Dangerous Melodies

by Jonathan Rosenberg

  The upcoming tour continued to attract attention in New York, this time from an organization supporting the ensemble, which repudiated the protest lodged by the musicians’ union. Weighing in on the matter, author James T. Farrell, the chairman of the American Committee for Cultural Freedom, claimed the Nazi membership of Karajan and Westerman, “while deplorable,” was irrelevant, as the orchestra’s appearance in New York was of a “non-political nature.” Moreover, Farrell asserted, in a statement undermining the assertion that the Berlin Philharmonic was not involved in politics, the ensemble had significantly aided “the cause of free culture in Europe and symbolize[d] the courageous resistance of the people of Berlin to Communist totalitarianism.” According to New York’s Herald Tribune, the committee headed by Farrell was an organization of “scholars, artists and scientists” opposed to communism.198 That the committee (which was backed by the Central Intelligence Agency—a fact that would become known years later) had become involved in the debate over the Berlin tour suggests the degree to which the trip was thought to have political implications.199

  On the day the German musicians left Berlin for New York, the executive board of Local 802 again demanded that James C. Petrillo, the union’s president, halt the tour because of the Nazi membership of Karajan and Westerman. The union’s petition, which now had a thousand members’ signatures, was accompanied by a variety of supporting documents from members of the Local and other organizations. In response, André Mertens, vice president of Columbia Artists Management, which was in charge of the tour, said the union protest would have no impact on the concerts.200 Before leaving Berlin, Westerman denied ever saying that he and Karajan had joined the Nazi Party for professional reasons, and claimed such statements had been “manufactured.”201

  The Berliners reached America on February 24, landing at Idlewild Field in Queens from where buses brought the musicians to their Manhattan hotel. Three days later, they would play their first concert in Washington, DC. But before the public could focus on the music-making of Karajan and his distinguished ensemble, several questions would be posed, a few would be answered, and still more would be brushed aside. Upon arriving, the orchestra’s maestro declared in words that might have been spoken by Walter Gieseking or Wilhelm Furtwängler (had he reached Chicago): “I have nothing to say about politics. I come here as a musician.” Given his background, the notion that there might be something problematic about performing in the United States was not one the Austrian was willing to entertain. By asserting that his role was purely artistic and that there was no moral ambiguity attached to his past, Karajan sought to foreclose the possibility of reflecting upon decisions he had made in the 1930s. During his American sojourn, Karajan believed it was unnecessary to ruminate in a serious way upon his actions as a young musician.202

  Karajan was ill and thus absent from the press conference the following day, where orchestra manager Westerman discussed his own activities during the Nazi era. Westerman acknowledged that, while he had been a member of the Nazi Party, he had never attended a meeting and had joined to keep his position as an official of the orchestra. Concerning Karajan, Westerman said “allegations” that Karajan had joined the Party in Austria in 1933 were untrue. Instead, Westerman claimed, Karajan had joined the party in 1935 when he became general music director in Aachen—a statement that was inaccurate.203 That same day, two orchestra members came to Westerman’s defense. Violinist Bruno Stenzel, who was half Jewish, stated that he had been forced to leave the orchestra during the Hitler era because of his background, and claimed that despite being prohibited from working, Westerman had made sure he was paid regularly. Clarinetist Ernst Fischer also spoke up for Westerman, pointing out that the orchestra manager had used his position to protect Fischer’s Jewish wife during the war, keeping her from being sent to a work camp. But such declarations hardly settled the matter. That day, as the orchestra was trying to ameliorate the situation, the New York director of the Jewish War Veterans, Stanley R. Bookstein, spoke harshly of Karajan: “There can be no doubt his dedication to Nazism was complete and without reservation.”204

  Whatever Herbert von Karajan’s wartime attitudes, and there is little reason to imagine he was a devout Nazi, his American conducting debut in Washington’s Constitution Hall was a triumph. Leading the Berliners in symphonies by Mozart and Brahms, a tone poem by Richard Strauss, and a Wagner overture as an encore, Karajan was acclaimed by the critics and, along with his orchestra, rapturously received by an audience that included representatives from the diplomatic community and the US government. As the orchestra appeared on stage, from the entrance of the first musician, the audience began to applaud, which, in the words of critic Paul Hume, was a “tribute” that had never been seen before. When the forty-six-year-old maestro made his entrance, “the crowd burst into fresh approval.”205

  Assessing Karajan’s conducting and the performance, Hume noted that in his technique, there was “not a harsh or angular motion. . . . Commands appear, dynamics are expressed in a wide scale from the merest whisper to a full-bodied ensemble of superb tone.” As for the orchestra’s distinctive character, Hume called it an ensemble comprising “superlative equipment for producing music in its most beautiful state.” Together, conductor and orchestra offered an evening of memorable music: Strauss’s Till Eulenspiegel was notable for its stunning “vitality,” while Mozart’s Haffner Symphony was performed with “high taste.” Brahms’s First left Hume wanting an interpretation with greater fluidity, as the conductor seemed to dally “at every lush moment.” About Wagner’s Tannhäuser Overture, Hume said the effect was “beyond imagination.”206

  In addition to the extraordinary quality of the opening concert, it was striking that no opposition marred the appearance of Karajan. With a touch of pride, the local paper pointed out that the performance had been met with unconditional enthusiasm, even though for several weeks there had been “insistent propaganda on the radio and television” against both orchestra and maestro, causing many to fear an outburst. The city could “congratulate itself” on the way it had received the ensemble, the Washington Post observed. The editors noted that the capital audience had shown the country that Karajan and his men were as welcome there as anywhere in Europe, where orchestras from Germany and Austria had played in recent years “without anybody caring to what political parties the artists [once] belonged.” The editorial contended that no one was forced to attend such concerts, and those who did had the right in a democracy to expect that one’s “enjoyment [would] not be disturbed by political demonstrations.”207 The Austrian conductor was pleased. “We are not accustomed to such welcomes.” Moreover, Karajan remarked, the support enhanced their performance, claiming that one saw “the effect of that warmth in their playing.”208

  The German band headed north, offering a superb concert in Philadelphia the next evening, which was received with enthusiasm by an audience accustomed to distinguished orchestral performances. This concert, too, went off without incident, the only demonstrations being the demand for an encore.209 New York was next, and here the visitors would find the cultural climate more variable, as suggested by two letters to the Herald Tribune, one lauding the orchestra for coming to “share . . . the beauty of music,” while another writer declared he would not permit himself to “erase” the memory of Hitler’s “heinous crimes.”210

  On the day the orchestra was scheduled to play in Carnegie Hall, the press reported that all the musicians, including Karajan and Westerman, had met the State Department’s legal tests for entry into the United States. A statement released by the department noted that the Berlin Senate had paid for the trip as a “tribute to the American people for their many acts of kindness toward the people of Berlin—most notably during the [1948–1949] airlift when Berlin was isolated from the free world.” The visit was intended to represent the Germans’ appreciation for America’s help after the war. As a result of this message, which was also sent to the head of the American Federation of M
usicians and to the national headquarters of the Jewish War Veterans, the Jewish group decided to prohibit organized demonstrations against the Berliners (though it urged members to boycott the performances), and those in the musicians’ union were told there would be no “official picketing” of the concerts.211

  The Berliners’ performances at Carnegie Hall of Haydn’s London Symphony, the Prelude and Love Death from Wagner’s Tristan, and Beethoven’s Fifth received excellent, and sometimes superb, reviews from New York’s community of critics. Writing in the New York World-Telegram, Louis Biancolli said the concert represented an extraordinary example of “symphonic teamwork at its best.” The conductor was “quite the master on the podium,” a feat he accomplished “with a minimum of gestures.”212 Paul Henry Lang wrote that the ensemble’s superb articulation was rarely heard in the United States. The conducting, Lang wrote, was “judicious, well planned, and utterly musical.”213

  Nor was the approbation confined to the critics, for those inside Carnegie Hall were unsparing in their enthusiasm. Howard Taubman of the New York Times described the triumphant welcome the players and their director received, noting the “bursts of applause, which mounted in fervor as the concertmaster appeared,” and “exploded into thunder when Herr von Karajan strode out.” The excitement continued throughout the performance, and the reaction was so “clamorous” that the ensemble rewarded the devoted throng with an encore, the Overture from Tannhäuser. While impressed with the orchestra’s efforts, Taubman offered a reservation or two. He longed for additional “light and sparkle” from the group, and claimed the band’s individual soloists were, in some cases, not on the same level as those found in the United States or some other foreign orchestras. While the Berlin was one of Europe’s “great orchestras,” on this concert, at least, it did not “quite measure up” to Taubman’s memories of the Vienna Philharmonic or Amsterdam’s Concertgebouw Orchestra. As for the Austrian maestro, he was “remarkably gifted.”214

  Karajan’s appearance engendered a different reaction on the streets outside the concert hall, as his Nazi Party membership and decision to enrich the cultural life of Hitler’s Germany led a few hundred New Yorkers to register their anger. As local newspapers reported, approximately two hundred picketers marched outside the hall protesting the Nazi ties of Karajan and orchestra manager Westerman. Two groups led the demonstration, the Citizens Committee of One Hundred, which had been formed to protest the Berlin’s New York appearances, and Brit Trumpeldor, the anti-Nazi, anti-Communist Zionist organization. Members of the musicians’ union were also on hand, though their union had ordered them not to participate. Cries of “Nazis go home” could be heard by those entering the concert hall, and placards proclaiming anti-Nazi messages—“NO HARMONY WITH NAZIS,” “PROTEST HITLER’S PET CONDUCTOR,” “A NEW NAZI TUNE WHILE GAS CHAMBERS FUME,” “PUT NAZIS IN JAIL NOT IN CONCERT HALLS,” and “REMEMBER SIX MILLION JEWS”—were held aloft by the demonstrators. Some sixty policemen were there to keep the protest from spinning out of control. According to a man on the street, a self-described refugee from Hitler’s Germany, the picket line would hurt Karajan “where it hurts most—his pride. He will never come back to this country to conduct.” Whatever the demonstration accomplished, that prediction proved inaccurate, for the Austrian would be a frequent visitor to America. Indeed, he would return with a British orchestra less than a year later.215

  The day after his Carnegie Hall appearance and before leaving New York to continue the tour, Karajan met with local reporters. Claiming he was unaware of the demonstrations outside the hall, Karajan spoke of being “overwhelmed by the friendliness of the people.” The journey was unfolding “as intended from our side—a goodwill tour.” Answering most of the questions in English, Karajan relied, at times, on the help of the tour promoter André Mertens, a German speaker. The conductor was asked if he had ever espoused Nazism or supported Hitler’s policies of persecution of “non-German races or religious groups”; and if he had, would he now disavow such views? In paraphrasing the maestro’s response, Mertens said Karajan’s life was devoted to music. Indeed, he lived “in a world of music.” Politics had never interested him. Of course, he was “not sympathetic to these matters,” by which, Mertens explained, he was referring to the “Hitler persecutions.” As Mertens supplied the English answers to the questions posed to Karajan, the maestro, described as a “slight, nervous man” with graying hair, nodded in agreement.216

  From New York, the ensemble continued its American journey, playing in several cities and even in some smaller settings. In Chicago, the orchestra gave three concerts of traditional orchestral fare, while offering one American work, Barber’s Adagio for Strings. Karajan told the Chicago press of the warm embrace the American people had given his orchestra. “We have never had such a reception. The open mind of the American public for music—it’s really wonderful!” He spoke, too, of his impression of America, observing that he was surprised by the standard of living. He made a point of trying to see something of the country, sometimes traveling between cities by automobile, which offered him the chance to meet regular people, including “music students on campuses and truck drivers at highway eateries.” Chicago readers also learned that the Germans had prepared meticulously for the trip, rehearsing six hours a day for seventeen days.217

  The results in Chicago and beyond suggested the arduous rehearsal schedule had been worth it. Chicago’s distinguished critic Claudia Cassidy gushed over the performances, describing them as “mesmeric and deeply electrifying.” The music produced by the orchestra and shaped by their maestro was not unlike “a great wine,” she wrote.218 As for the conductor who had aroused so much ire earlier in the tour, Cassidy was unmoved by such concerns. Karajan was “the magnetic center” of the orbit of music, “a dynamic force both centripetal in its attraction and centrifugal in its release.” He was “possessed by music,” but with a sense of “self-discipline,” which let “the deep, inner fires of music blaze” and “in their light,” produce “revelation.”219

  Clevelanders likewise thrilled to the Berlin musicians. It was said that the auditorium in the Ohio city had never before witnessed such thunderous applause.220 Bostonians were similarly enraptured and one heard no protests from the Symphony Hall crowd, which stamped and cheered enthusiastically, leading the Globe’s Cyrus Durgin to remark that “every decibel” of the reception was richly deserved. Calling the group “one of the greatest orchestras in the world,” Durgin claimed he had never heard Haydn and Wagner played so well.221

  Though the tour was enormously successful, there was a measure of discontent along the way, which revealed persistent feelings of distress over the presence of Karajan and Westerman on American soil. In Cincinnati, half the student body and some faculty members at the Hebrew Union College–Jewish Institute of Religion protested the upcoming Berlin concert in their city, asserting that the Nazi connections of Karajan and Westerman should have kept the local orchestra from sponsoring the performance.222 Musicians in Detroit spoke out against the concert the Berliners were scheduled to play, and student groups at the University of Michigan protested the orchestra’s upcoming performance on the Ann Arbor campus.223 Another Detroit organization, the Polish National Alliance Council, was distressed that Karajan would be performing, contending he had “never recanted or disavowed his Nazi affiliations.” According to the group, the upcoming concert represented an “insult to the memories of those left on the beaches of Europe.”224 Nevertheless, the city’s symphonic devotees filled the local concert hall and cheered the maestro and his ensemble.225

  Before departing for home, the orchestra returned to New York for two final concerts at Carnegie Hall, the first of which, in particular, was marked by unrest inside and outside the auditorium. The evening of the penultimate concert, March 30, provided those who appreciated symphonic music a chance to hear a memorable orchestral performance and to encounter several unlikely visitors whose breeding left them unprepared for a night o
f music. Before the concert, hundreds began protesting near the entrance to the hall on West Fifty-Seventh Street. According to press accounts, for two hours, between seven and nine o’clock, two groups gathered. The larger comprised some five hundred members of the Jewish War Veterans, who were demonstrating against both the appearance of Karajan and Westerman and against a recently passed law, the McCarran-Walter Immigration Act. The new law, they said, made it impossible for the government to keep ex-Nazis and Nazi sympathizers out of the United States. The second group, made up of some twenty to thirty members of the Zionist youth organization Brit Trumpeldor, also registered its disapproval of Karajan and Westerman. A contingent of several dozen policemen on foot and horseback sought to keep the peace.226

  Inside the hall, as the ensemble played Beethoven’s Leonore Overture no. 3, several pigeons bearing anti-Nazi messages were released from the upper balconies by “young zealots,” which was how a local paper described the perpetrators. The birds “fluttered harmlessly about” during the Beethoven, as the musicians continued to play, ignoring the distraction overhead.227 Two of the birds were captured quickly by ushers who released them outside, while a third flew around the dress circle, out over the patrons in the orchestra seats, and then perched atop the proscenium arch, where it remained throughout intermission, after which it listened to most of Tchaikovsky’s Fifth Symphony. Later, two birds, smuggled into the hall by members of the Zionist Youth of New York, were found suffocated in a duffle bag in the dress circle, with messages attached to their legs, written on white cards: “Heil von Karajen [sic] the cleansed Nazi”; “Death to the Nazis”; and “Deuts land [sic] Unter Alles Now and Forever.”228

  Three days later, with their final New York concert behind them, the 104-member orchestra departed for home, arriving in Berlin on April 3. Upon leaving, Karajan spoke well of the American people, emphasizing “their warm and friendly reception, which was far above our expectations.”229 When his band touched down in Germany, he reiterated those sentiments.230 Within six months, Karajan would return to America with the Philharmonia Orchestra of London on a four-week tour in the autumn of 1955 that would garner extraordinary reviews.231