Sam H. Shirakawa: The Devil’s Music Master – The Controversial Life and Career of Wilhelm Furtwängler. NY, Oxford: Oxford UP, 1992. 506 pp, ill.
In this highly-sourced and thorough biography of Wilhelm Furtwängler, arguably the 20th century’s greatest conductor, it’s the personal touch makes the difference. Sam Shirakawa draws on published accounts, private diaries and interviews with people who knew him, backed up by correspondence from friends, eye-witnesses and their family members. Without trumpeting his connections, he has tracked down many obscure sources as well as the few surviving interlocutors in this labor of love.
At the same time, he does not gloss over his subject’s shortcomings: his overweening self-confidence, obstinacy, and a tendency to the pugnacious, oddly coupled with hesitancy and vacillation. Furtwängler was also subject to paranoia: “From childhood he was never really secure in his knowledge of himself, and to the end of his life, he was prone to bouts of obsessive suspicion.” (pg. 95)
In the Political World
While Shirakawa provides a thorough survey of the maestro’s entire career, unsurprisingly it is his role in the Third Reich that continues to attract attention. Here I share the author’s sentiments, which tend towards the exculpatory. Furtwängler belonged to the conservative, apolitical tradition in German culture. He supported and promoted what he considered the best music and musicians, not caring if they were German or not, Jewish or not – the only thing that mattered to him was musicianship in the widest sense, one that encompassed all of humanity.
Whenever Shirakawa steps back from his core subject, however, and tries to address the larger historical context, he succumbs to some rather common misconceptions, or is simply careless with the facts. In his chapter on “Weimar and the Third Reich,” he makes so many errors it is hardly worth picking them apart. He misstates, for example, both the date and the method of the Nazi seizure of power. He makes no mention of Hindenburg’s appointment of Hitler as chancellor; in fact, President Hindenburg is barely mentioned at all, and then he is repeatedly mischaracterized as “chancellor.” What’s more, Shirakawa creates the impression that Hitler “simply seized control of the government” in January 1933 as the result of winning an election. (pg. 134) The truth, of course, is that he was appointed to the position by Hindenburg, acting on the suggestion of his advisors. To these insiders, it seemed a politically astute maneuver, since the Nazis’ wings had been clipped in the most recent election (November 1932). Though it proved a disastrous blunder, the appointment was something well within the president’s powers under the Weimar constitution.
We return to surer ground when the focus shifts back to Furtwängler, who was convinced that safeguarding German music required his presence in the country. His strategy was initially to resist, then circumvent, and finally just wait the Nazis out. Trying to prevent the worst, the best he managed to do was ameliorate it. By the time he came to realize the failure of his efforts at maintaining the separation of politics and music, it was too late.
Clearly, Furtwängler was no Nazi; the question is – did he ultimately make too many compromises with the devil? It was hardly a fair fight. Shirakawa is surely right to characterize Furtwängler as “painfully naïve.” (pg. 149) He actually hoped to avoid involvement in politics by refusing the read the newspapers. In retrospect such naiveté seems almost unbelievable: “Despite the vise that was tightening around him, he continued to believe that he could persuade the Nazis that their racial policies would kill German culture instead of vitalizing it.” (pg. 159)
The following words express Furtwängler’s creed, whether or not he actually said them when he ran into Toscanini on the street in Salzburg in 1937: “Human beings are free wherever Wagner and Beethoven are played and if they are not free at first they are freed while listening to these works. Music transports them to regions where the Gestapo can do them no harm.” (pg. 217)
He remained characteristically persistent in his attempts at persuasion. “For all his unwillingness to participate in the political tide that was engulfing Germany, he felt compelled to articulate and act as a German. At the same time, he was infused with an irascible stubbornness to have his own way. However altruistic or untainted by greed or self-gain, his confidence in the rightness of his actions constituted that unforgivable offense to the gods of antiquity: Hubris – overweening pride.” (pg. 267)
Shirakawa tries to argue that Furtwängler was the unsung hero of German resistance. He makes the best case that can be made for this view, given that any open, undisguised opposition was impossible. Furtwängler rationalized that his music-making itself was a form of resistance. He played to inspire the listeners by reminding them of the old Germany, the one before 1933. But there was no way he could prevent the fanatics of the regime from being inspired either. “While Furtwängler indubitably was performing for ‘true Germans,’ he also had to play for all Germans at these concerts, even Hitler on a few unavoidable occasions.” (pg. 436)
De-Nazification
The blessing of Hitler’s admiration before 1945 would prove a curse after the war’s end.
Shirakawa’s agenda is to set the record straight by refuting in detail all the false allegations that Furtwängler was somehow a collaborator. Sadly, the hysteria that was whipped up – especially in the US – makes this still necessary. It would have been far better for Furtwängler’s reputation had he emigrated, but then he would not have been able to assist so many desperate people. How many did he help? Without trying to pin down an exact figure, the author shows it was a significant number, likely in the thousands.
The book features testimonials from people whose lives he saved. Not all of them were Jews, and not all of them were musicians. Those who think Furtwängler made the obviously wrong choice by remaining should listen to Albert Catell, the original principal cellist for the Palestine Symphony: “Nearly all of us understood what he was doing by staying behind. It is hard to explain or categorize a specific reason like protecting German culture. We all respected that because most of us came from that culture and understood that safeguarding it was important – a mission. […] There was disagreement on whether he made the right decision. But everybody in the Palestine Symphony understood why, and we sympathized with him openly or secretly. At least, I know I did.” (pg. 214)
Shirakawa quotes from the Austrian de-Nazification verdict: “Furtwängler was never a member of the Nazi Party or any of the organizations subsidiary to the Party. In a number of instances he proved himself to be a definite opponent of the Nazi philosophy of life and cultural policy, and he took this stand regardless of personal and professional disadvantages to himself.” (pg. 302)
In Germany, though, Furtwängler’s hearings took much longer, in contrast with “bona fide Party members such as von Karajan [who] had been walked through the process and were already working again.” (pg. 309) In part this was the result of Furtwängler’s unshakable naiveté, which led him to show up at the proceedings without a lawyer, supporting documents or even notes to aid his memory, since he thought his innocence was self-evident.
(At the hearing in December 1946)
Shirakawa recreates scenes from these hearings – a high point in terms of drama. When asked if he had ever conducted in countries conquered by the Nazis, Furtwängler responded with the declaration that he had “no desire to follow tanks into countries where I had formerly been an invited guest.” (pg. 225) A slightly different version has him stating he would “not follow tanks into occupied countries.” (pg. 316) One could quibble that he did conduct in Denmark twice in 1940, which he explained after the war by saying that, based on the behavior of Danish musicians, the country did not make the impression of being enemy territory under occupation. He also conducted in Prague in 1944 on the fifth anniversary of declaration of the “Protectorate.”
Be that as it may, the authorities in Germany eventually cleared him at the end of May 1947, and he was able to resume conducting.
By remaining in Germany, Furtwängler did enjoy one consolation – he avoided the fate of many exiles, who were made to feel unwelcome on their return. These included Marlene Dietrich, Thomas Mann and Friedelind Wagner. She, by the way, was especially forthcoming in her interviews with the author.
Nemesis Karajan
The author transitions rather abruptly from a discussion of Fritz Busch’s particular problems that led to his move to Glyndebourne in 1933, to a general discussion of the number of émigrés who left Europe, culminating in the appearance of Herbert von Karajan. Not so subtly, he seems to be hinting that his emergence was due to a lack of competition, at least at first.
Shirakawa points out that Karajan became a Nazi party member in Austria (Nr 1 607 525) on April 8, 1933, well before the Anschluß; he signed up in Germany a few weeks later, on May Day (Nr. 3 430 914). To me, this suggests more opportunism than conviction. The author is somewhat harsher on Karajan supporters than on the man himself, who is described as “ruthless” but not a convinced Nazi. (pg. 336) In political terms, he was merely doing what he had to to climb the ladder. Shirakawa concedes his talent and charisma while quoting at length Elisabeth Schwarzkopf’s opinion of his “bad character.” (pg. 381) He argues that his rapid rise was due to the support of Göring, who was seeking an alternative to Furtwängler, who if not totally uncompromising was proving stubbornly independent-minded and difficult.
Incidentally, Sviatoslav Richter tells the story that he (along with Oistrakh and Rostropovich) was not satisfied with their performance of the slow movement of Beethoven’s Triple Concerto, and asked Karajan if they could do it again. The maestro refused, saying they had to save time for the photo shoot!
Performances and Recordings
Another subject that continues to attract discussion is of course Furtwängler’s performances, both in the concert hall and the studio. A good case can be made that it was his misfortune to have been born too early. His best years largely coincided with the 20th century’s worst. I always assumed it was tragic that he died age 68, surely depriving us of his pinnacle. But Shirakawa argues persuasively that the main reason doctors were unable to cure him of his pneumonia was that he had lost the will to live; no doubt his growing deafness played a role.
I also assumed that the reason we have only one Mahler recording, that of the Lieder eines fahrenden Gesellen with Fischer-Dieskau, was primarily because this composer could not be performed under the Nazis. It seems, though, that this was not the main reason. Furtwängler’s horizons could encompass Bruckner, but Mahler proved too sprawling, undisciplined, and at times of questionable taste. As it happened, my father – Lewis White Beck – was of exactly the same opinion. In the mid 1930s, he had studied in Berlin for a year and remembered hearing Eugen Jochum conduct at the Philharmonie, but never saw Furtwängler lead the orchestra.
Shirakawa describes Furtwängler as a communicator who preferred live performance, not a documentarian who wanted to make definitive recordings. Nonetheless, he was realist enough to recognize the growing importance of this medium which improved so markedly during his lifetime. Shirakawa provides a thorough survey of his recorded oeuvre, including the less successful efforts, such as “Fidelio.” An entire chapter is devoted to “Tristan und Isolde,” a good bit of which deals with Furtwängler’s contractual arrangements and difficulties with producer Walter Legge. He also gives extensive treatment to “Walküre,” the last recording Furtwängler completed, a little over a month before his death at the end of November 1954. The end came without ever his ever hearing the final, edited master.
The only case where I have serious disagreement with the author is his characterization of the postwar Beethoven “Pastoral” with the Vienna Philharmonic as “lethargic.” (pg. 429) One wonders which recording he thinks is ideal. For my part, I recall an afternoon spent comparing performances of this piece with a Karajan fan in Bavaria. This was many years ago, probably in 1973, when I was studying at the Goethe Institute in Brannenburg-Degerndorf am Inn. We agreed to settle our disagreement about which conductor was superior by listening to each movement of this symphony back-to-back, without adjusting the settings on his hi-fi. After the first movement, Furtwängler was the clear winner – as even the Karajan supporter, a gracious host, had to admit. He grew visibly distressed the longer we listened, until in the last movement he cranked up the volume for his recording, so that in the end he felt able to claim at least a partial victory.
Shirakawa’s survey culminates, somewhat surprisingly, with his discussion of the 1951 Beethoven 9th at Bayreuth, a live performance “imbued with a feeling of jubilant celebration in tragedy surmounted.” (pg. 483) Though he acknowledges “a momentary lapse in a transitional horn solo” in the third movement, he does rather downplay its significance. Whenever I consider whether to listen to that particular recording again or some other, that single disastrous passage is, I confess, sometimes a deciding factor.
When it comes to Brahms, Furtwängler’s early efforts were highly rated by critics old enough to have heard the composer himself conduct. One of his first performances after de-Nazification in 1949 featured the Brahms 3rd, performed in the Titania Palast, a cinema in West Berlin that had survived the bombing, unlike the old Philharmonie. Dedicated scholars may wish to track down my program on “Furtwängler as Conductor,” broadcast in 1981 on WVRU, the radio station of Radford University, VA. There I showed how, in this performance at least, Furtwängler extended the final drum roll shortly before the end of the first movement by a full extra measure. (It occurs at about the 11:38 mark of the version on YouTube.) This is the only case I am aware of where he did not merely interpret, but actually changed the score he was conducting. Purists would doubtless disapprove, but the result is not just persuasive, it is positively electrifying, as I tried to make clear by comparing it with a traditional performance that follows the score exactly as written. (Note – see Update at the conclusion of this essay.)
Though Shirakawa also deals with Furtwängler as composer, he takes his ambitions in this field as another indication that the man did not really know himself well. On the one hand, he proclaimed himself a composer first and foremost, yet never seriously considered giving up conducting as a career. While this is true, to my mind the author does not stress enough the close connection between composer and conductor. To oversimplify, conductors who are not composers are more naturally open to the ideal of the faithful reproduction of the score. After all, this is how many of them are trained. Those who are also composers, in contrast, know first-hand that the score is at best a rather inadequate representation of their intentions.
Brahms so distrusted most conductors’ ability to interpret the notes as he meant them – no doubt based on unfortunate personal experience – that instead of writing ritardando, he omitted the word, which was open to wide interpretation, and instead tried to create the precise effect he wanted by writing it into the score – no easy task. Given his insights as a composer, Furtwängler felt confident that he could sense what Brahms and others were attempting to express, and from his podium tried to recreate that intent. Above all, he wanted to make the music unfold almost spontaneously, as if being heard for the first time. This was a higher goal than the literal rendering of the notes as written. Furtwängler’s approach works particularly well for music that is above all a personal expression of the human soul, roughly speaking from Beethoven through the late romantics.
Style
The author is refreshingly unafraid of using rare vocabulary: “The tenor of these brief notes was consistently and appropriately precative” – relating to or expressing entreaty or supplication. (pg. 33) He refers to NY Times correspondent Olin Downes’ “saprogenic brew of complaints” – causing, or produced by, decay, putrefaction. (pg. 87) Furtwängler “chose antagonizing some of the most sarcomatous individuals the world has yet witnessed in this millennium” – malignant, cancerous. (pg. 471)
On the other hand, his choice of words is sometimes unfortunate. Furtwängler “could never shun his basically bourgeois upbringing” – more likely “shed.” (pg. 54) He is compared to “a magician exercising his spell” – should be “exorcising.” (pg. 159) He misquotes historian Herbert A. Strauss as saying that many Jewish victims of the Nazis had “only a tenacious connection with Judaism.” (pg. 236) In fact, a check of the source reveals that Strauss described the connection as “tenuous.”
On one page the actor Albert Bassermann was supposedly “forced out” (pg. 137), yet on the next he is listed among those who worked throughout the Nazi regime. (He did in fact emigrate.) The author seems uncertain whether an opera by Paul von Klenau is titled “Rembrandt von Rijn” or “van Rijn,” so he uses first one, then the other on the same page. (pg. 172) The meteoric rise of “das Wunder Karajan” is described twice. (pp. 237-38 and 241) It is a misstatement that over 1,000 paintings by Emile Nolde were “displayed” at the exhibition of Entartete Kunst; it would be more accurate to say that that number was confiscated by the Nazis (some to be sold, others destroyed); far fewer Noldes were actually part of that infamous exhibit. (pg. 271 n. 1)
The proof-reading was far from rigorous. Especially in the middle chapters, there are rather more errors than one is used to seeing from Oxford Univ. Press. Each of them may be trivial, but their accumulation does tend to annoy after a while. The German references especially are full of careless misspellings.
In sum, an informed, sympathetic view but not a whitewash.
Update: In the summer of 2016 I revisited Radford University’s radio station WVRU for the first time in decades. Unfortunately, for reasons of space they have not maintained their archive. As for my personal copy of the live broadcast of “Furtwängler as Conductor,” years ago I put it some place so safe that now I myself cannot find it. I still have the (less interesting) cassette of “Furtwängler as Composer.”
Of related interest: “Taking Sides” (2001) dir. Istvan Szabo, with Stellan Skarsgard as Furtwängler. The writer, Ronald Harwood, says he was against taking sides on the question whether the conductor should have left in 1934, preferring simply to illustrate the artist’s moral dilemma. The investigator, played by Harvey Keitel, starts out in compete ignorance of German culture and classical music. By the end of the movie, he is able to articulate the best case that can reasonably be made against Furtwängler.
Also see my reviews of the books by Daniel Gillis, Furtwängler in America; Richard Evans, The Third Reich in Power; and The Hitler Book; and “Desert Island Records” elsewhere at this site.
© Hamilton Beck
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