BEETHOVEN IN THE BUNKER: Musicians Under the Nazi Regime
By Fred Brouwers (Translated by Eileen J. Stevens) 

Other Press. 268 pages. £15.68. ISBN‏: ‎ 978-1635423297 

 Reviewed by Tony Roberts

 

The literature on Hitler and the Nazis has grown exponentially in recent years. There are now excellent works in translation from the German about this period: in history (Michael H. Kater, Frank Trentmann), biography (Volker Ullrich, Ralf Georg Reuth), and fiction (Ulrich Alexander Boschwitz, Gabriele Tergit). There is also a market for books on what might be called peripheral aspects of the Third Reich. Hitler, as subject, is never out of fashion. One recent example is Fred Brouwers’s, Beethoven in the Bunker, which concerns the Führer’s secret musical tastes and those who created it.

The Nazi hierarchy loved classical music and harnessed it for their cause. Goebbels proclaimed that ‘National Socialism is not only the political and social conscience but also the cultural conscience of the nation.’ He cleared it of Jewish music and Jewish influence —except, that is, from Hitler’s private record collection. 

Brouwers, a Flemish radio and television presenter, explains in his introduction, ‘During my research, I stumbled across an article from August 2007 in the German magazine Der Spiegel. It was about the Russian invasion after the liberation and described the astonishing discovery made by a music-loving Russian soldier in Hitler’s Berlin bunker: music written and performed by some very unexpected musicians. The idea for a book was born, focusing on the complex relationship between Hitler, the Nazis, and music.’ 

His book actually focuses on composers, conductors and musicians, many of them Jewish, and their experience as victims, opponents or collaborators. At the end is ‘A Playlist’ which makes reference to http://www.otherpress.com/beethoven, where almost all of the one hundred and two pieces connected with Beethoven in the Bunker can be heard on YouTube. 

The appeal of the book lies in its colourful cast of characters, many but not all of whom are known. Each is given a short chapter, accompanied by a portrait photo, and headed with a descriptive phrase that indicates his or her relevance. The great Polish Jewish violinist, Bronisław Huberman is dubbed ‘Public Enemy Number One’, for instance. In founding the  Palestine Symphony Orchestra  in 1936, he saved many Jewish musicians’ lives. Another impressive life is that of the cellist, dubbed ‘Anita Lasker: A Little-Known but Noble Woman’, who is better known here as Anita Lasker-Wallfisch. There are collaborators also, like ‘Paul Douliez: From Socialist to Nazi’. This conductor became a Nazi war correspondent and radio director. Or ‘Elly Ney: The Fervent Anti-Semite’, unregenerate Nazi, romantic pianist and Beethoven admirer. 

One interesting inclusion is the chapter on ‘Arturo Toscanini: The Tyrant’. The anti-Fascist conductor took his stand against Mussolini and Hitler, but also seemingly against his own orchestras. Brouwers is vivid in his description here of almost comical rage: ‘Just picture it: a small angry man on a rostrum stamping his foot, swearing, throwing scores, kicking the piano, snatching the bow from a violinist’s hands, breaking his baton in two, tearing his jacket in search of a handkerchief, spraying saliva while bellowing.’

Some composers are in the book and in the playlist though not in the bunker. ‘Paul Hindemith: The Atonal Noisemaker’ (according to Goebbels) is one example. The murder at the war’s end of another, the aristocratic Viennese Anton Webern, is given in three versions. We also learn that ‘In 1933 the Austrian Nazi leaders had mistakenly labeled him “a Jew,” because of his “reprehensible” atonality.’ 

On several occasions Brouwers draws our attention to the ironies of the Nazi position on classical music. One could be born Jewish but become an honorary Aryan (an Ehrenarier) if it were thought necessary to indulge the composer. This was the case with the wife of the very popular Austrian Franz Lehár, composer of the score of The Merry Widow and other operettas. The Nazi ideologist Alfred Rosenberg had condemned Lehár’s librettos as lacking  ‘German sentiment because they are produced by Jews’. Goebbels removed the problem: he had those of Hitler’s favourite “revised” by Aryan lyricists. Another irony affected one of Lehár’s friends, the fated Fritz Löhener-Beda. He languished in prison when their The Land of Smiles (Das Land des Lächelns) received a gala performance in Vienna.  

Perhaps a little uncertain of his audience, Brouwers pauses to explain one or two things: When writing on Webern, he tells us that the atonal twelve-tone technique is comparable to abstract painting: ‘It is a seemingly random sequence of notes in which the average listener hears little or no connection, let alone melody.’ He informs us, parenthetically, after explaining that Webern, with Berg and Schoenberg, comprise the Second Viennese School: ‘At the risk of being pedantic: the First Viennese School is the name given to the Classical-Romantic era of Mozart, Haydn, and Beethoven.’ He also reminds us, when writing on Hindemith, both a composer and ‘one of the most important violists of his generation’, of the viola’s ‘dubious reputation’, being ‘essentially a supporting instrument’ — and cumbersome.  

Informative as it is, I have to say that I have two reservations about this book. The first concerns the way the author has chosen to write it, the second about his pursuit of his subjects.  

Beethoven in the Bunker has a breezy, conversational style which, while being intended as chattily informal, leads to cliches and embarrassments of tone . We are told, for example, that during Hitler’s Vienna period he was ‘something of a bum’. It is not clear who the quote —if it is a quote — comes from. We learn of ‘The bad guys’,  and ‘the present lot’. Of the popular composer Paul Abraham, we read: ‘Although not entirely unsuccessful, he quickly realized that no pot of gold awaited him in the classical sector. And wouldn’t you know, enormous riches just happened to be one of his fixations!’  

There are moments of pale humour (‘Stravinsky understood he had to change his tune’), as well as the odd nod to the well-informed. The chapter on the French composer Oliver Messiaen ends, ‘In the cemetery Saint-Théoffrey, near Grenoble, he waits patiently for the End of Time.’ (I almost expected a ’Get it?’ there.) There is flippancy, too. Richard Strauss’s first symphony was conducted in Munich by Herman Levi. ‘(What’s in a name?),’ adds Brouwers, presumably implying Strauss would resort even to Jewish assistance. 

Secondly, I had some questions about the book’s biographical sketches. The author seems admirably knowledgeable about classical music and has clearly done his research (see the bibliography). Yet the constraints of these short chapters necessitates superficial treatment of his subjects. ‘What accusations can be brought against the maestro?’ he asks of Nazi Party member, Herbert von Karajan. And yet is there really space to review them? And if we could,

Brouwers knows how easily people are swayed by their predispositions.  

On the subject of ‘Willem Mengelberg: National Hero’ —deemed a Nazi sympathiser — he writes: ‘As is often the case, there are various reasons and different versions to explain why [he stopped conducting]. And even if one version presents the correct facts, people form their own opinions based on their attitudes and convictions.’ 

He has an eye to the opportunists among his subjects, but is too zealous in some of his remarks, despite conceding, ‘Many years after the fact, it remains difficult to sort out which of those opportunists belong in heaven, hell, or purgatory.’  And why the damning biblical language? And what about degrees of complicity?  

A case in point is his chapter on ‘Richard Strauss: the Opportunist’. Brouwer’s balance seems wrong here. The author does not prove a case so much as make damaging remarks then retreat. To him, Strauss ‘had one guiding principle throughout his entire career: he sympathised with any regime that promoted his music. What’s more, he didn’t hide his blatant opportunism.’ Strauss was certainly ambitious and elitist, but Brouwers’s claim simplifies the issue too much in saying his ‘sympathised’ with the Nazis.  

According to Michael Kennedy, in his excellent Richard Strauss Man, Musician, Enigma (1999), ‘He knew in 1933 that he must be prepared to compromise with the regime to protect his beloved family, whatever its cost.’ He had, after all, a Jewish daughter-in-law. (as Brouwers notes). But he also ‘believed he had a patriotic responsibility’ to remain in Germany. Brouwers avoids a final condemnation of the nationalistic Strauss and even fudges the end of the chapter: ‘If someone’s life concludes with a song cycle like Vier Lette Lieder (Four Last Songs), much can be forgiven.’ 

No forgiveness is offered in Igor Stravinsky’s case, where the author writes of ‘the charges against the defendant’. The Russian-born composer is said to have been fuelled by past envy of a more successful Jewish fellow student. The smug ending of the chapter implies that the psychology was obvious: ‘The vain and revengeful Stravinsky would never have been able to cope with that. Life can be so simple.’ Although Brouwers acknowledges that there may have been other sources, his focus is on this cause.  

I am clearly ambivalent about the merits of Beethoven in the Bunker. Perhaps it is too conscious of being entertaining. A final question it does not raise is what would we have chosen to do in the place of these musicians, had we their talent: compromise, collaborate or censure?  Retrospect is cosy, but what if we stood with our kin on the edge of the apocalypse as they did?