To the Editor:

Among the never-ending writings on Wilhelm Furtwängler in the past few years, I found Samuel Lipman’s article, “Furtwängler & the Nazis” [Music, March], to be the most humane and even wise, in spite of the fact that Mr. Lipman probably does not consider himself a Furtwängler admirer. Permit me, however, belatedly to add a few, let us say, marginal notes to the piece. What qualifies me to write this letter? Sixty-two years ago I heard a full season of Furtwängler concerts in Berlin. Later, the last three Jews in the Berlin Philharmonic—Szymon Goldberg, Nikolai Graudan, and Gilbert Back—became close friends of mine. A better source about Furtwängler the musician and the human being could hardly be found. Then, just about a quarter-century ago, Frau Furtwängler became and remained a close and dear friend. . . .

Let me first comment on Mr. Lipman’s characterization of Hans-Hubert Schönzeler’s biography of Furtwängler, which he calls “quasi-official.” This is not the case. As a biography, it is rather weak and superficial, although reliable in its facts.

Next, let me say something about the reminiscences of Berta Geissmar, Furtwängler’s longtime secretary, which Mr. Lipman also mentions. I remember once reading aloud to Goldberg, Graudan, and Back a passage from Geissmar’s book describing a scene in which they had been present. They laughed their heads off and called her a liar—a word, I believe, that can be applied to other passages in the book as well.

Mr. Lipman says that the conductor Fritz Busch, although not Jewish, left Germany on principle after Hitler came to power. This is not so. Busch waited for several weeks, expecting to be named head of the Berlin Staatsoper, a post Goering had supposedly promised him. When the job went to Furtwängler instead, Busch left. I saw him several times in Berlin during this period, and, if memory serves, he writes about it openly in his autobiography. But I do not mention this to accuse Busch; he was a decent and largely unpolitical man.

Here, let me say something about emigration in general. In any country, but particularly in Germany, only a tiny minority emigrates, even when a regime as extreme as the Nazis takes over. This is why so many Jews did not want to leave and made up their minds too late and perished. (This, of course, is only one factor; the other was that no country wanted to take them in.) If anti-Semitism had not been part of the Nazi program, but all the other horrifying things remained, I do not have the slightest doubt that Otto Klemperer, Bruno Walter, and others would have stayed. To this can be added the fact that Hitler at first was not taken seriously by intellectuals. The widespread opinion was that he would last only a few months.

Furtwängler, to be sure, was a special case. I have no right to offer guesses about his motives, but one thing is certain: he did not stay in order to help the Nazis, whom he detested.

Mr. Lipman says that Furtwängler did not save Jewish musicians because he liked Jews. Does Mr. Lipman have any specific facts to back up this assertion? . . . It took me a long time to learn how unwise it is to make such large and vague statements; if made in print, they must be backed up by indisputable facts. From all I know, I can say with confidence that Mr. Lipman is wrong. I do not base my statement on the fact that Furtwängler helped so many Jews and in some cases saved their lives. He did not do this out of love for the Jews (and, of course, would not have done it had he been a Jew-hater), but to do his duty as a human being. It certainly did not help make him popular with the Nazi regime. But quite aside from all this, what makes me so sure on this point are simple human traits, little events my Jewish orchestra friends told me about. Also, a person growing up in a family like Furtwängler’s, with so many ties to Jewish relatives and friends, is most likely to be immune from hatred. . . .

Mr. Lipman writes that “by carrying the baton in his right hand, [Furtwängler] seems to have avoided giving the Hitler salute.” A Jewish eyewitness (a distant relative) described the scene to me: imagine about 2,000 people in the concert hall—the audience, the orchestra, Hitler’s entourage—all 2,000 with raised arms (including my relative, who was not proud to admit it . . .), and one lonely person on the podium not participating. Would Mr. Lipman have had Furtwängler’s courage? Would I? . . .

Mr. Lipman says that after the war Yehudi Menuhin helped Furtwängler resume conducting. Again, not so. Germany and all of Europe were eagerly waiting for Furtwängler and for that which only he could give them. Menuhin’s purpose was different: his help was intended as a demonstration against hatred. . . .

The Bruno Walter letter condemning Furtwängler that Mr. Lipman quotes is sickening in its holier-than-thou attitude, as were similar letters by Thomas Mann. . . . I find it touching how Furtwängler reached out to resume old relationships and cruel how he was rebuked by some.

The wisdom of Mr. Lipman’s article is fully evident in his final section dealing with the moral dilemma of artists, intellectuals, and all citizens living under Nazism and Communism. With all my criticism, my main purpose in writing this letter is to express my admiration for the article and my gratitude to Mr. Lipman.

Theodore Front
Los Angeles, California

_____________

Samuel Lipman writes:

I thank Theodore Front for his kind words about my article; I am indeed not a particular admirer of Furtwängler the man, but I am a great admirer of Furtwängler the artist. The points Mr. Front raises are often highly interesting, and all of them require an answer, if in some cases only a brief one.

I called Schönzeler’s biography “quasi-official” precisely because he writes in the preface, “I admired and adored him [Furtwängler] . . .”; a bit down the page he adds, “My sincerest thanks go to Frau Elisabeth Furtwängler for her generous help and hospitality”; and, finally, he remarks, “All pictorial material was kindly put at my disposal by Frau Elisabeth Furtwängler out of the Furtwängler archives. . . .”

The case of the absolute reliability of the reminiscences of Berta Geissmar is difficult to decide after the passage of 50 (and more) years. I have checked the scene Mr. Front alludes to, in both the English and German editions of her book; it briefly describes a picnic on April 1, 1933, the day of a Nazi-enforced boycott of Jewish establishments. Geissmar was concerned that the office of the Berlin Philharmonic, which she, as Furtwängler’s secretary, effectively ran, would be put under siege. The picnic participants, according to Geissmar, included the wives of the artists mentioned by Mr. Front and also the Philharmonic’s famed cellist Joseph Schuster and his wife. I do not know what constitutes the lie in this passage; in any case, it seems too unimportant a matter to impugn, without the provision of any further evidence, the rest of Geissmar’s book.

The reason behind the conductor Fritz Busch’s departure from Germany is a more important question. From the recently published letters of Adolf Busch, his violinist brother, it does seem that Fritz was less publicly outspoken than Adolf about the Nazis. It must be remembered, however, that Fritz lived with his family in Germany, where the locus of his career was; Adolf lived with his family in Switzerland, and possessed a worldwide career. Fritz was sufficiently outspoken to have been the subject of a Nazi demonstration which prevented him from conducting a performance of the Dresden Opera in March 1933, and resulted immediately in his ouster as music director of the Dresden Staatsoper. Immediately thereafter, he received from Hermann Goering the promise of the directorship of the Berlin Opera, a promise reneged on a short time later by Goering at the demand (according to Goering) of Hitler himself. In any case, Fritz Busch left Germany for good at the beginning of May 1933; in the middle of that month he received an official invitation from Winifred Wagner, which he refused, to conduct at Bayreuth, and in June left Europe for a post at the Teatro Colon in Buenos Aires. He did not return to Germany until 1951.

I must agree with Mr. Front about the complexities of emigration. He is certainly right that many intelligent and prosperous Germans thought that such madness as Hitler and the Nazis could not last. Many of these privileged people—not only in Germany—paid for this political misjudgment with their lives. However, I see no real evidence that Furtwängler liked Jews; he seems to me to have always been over-ready to make distinctions between the right kind of Jews, who should be protected, and the wrong kind, whom it was good for Germany to suppress. I agree with Mr. Front that Furtwängler showed great courage in refusing, via a ruse, to salute Hitler; it certainly counts strongly in his favor on the moral balance sheet.

I believe that Mr. Front underestimates the role played by the prestige and efforts of the great Jewish violinist Yehudi Menuhin in Furtwängler’s rehabilitation. I do not believe that this was necessarily wrong of Menuhin, though I can certainly understand why honest men—especially the multitude who had personally suffered from the Nazis—might differ on this point. I agree with Mr. Front that the tone of Bruno Walter’s letter to Furtwängler, written from the sunny climes of Beverly Hills—with its mordant question: “Of what significance is your assistance in the isolated case of a few Jews?”—is unpleasantly pious.