FEBRUARY 1933 : THE WINTER OF LITERATURE
By Uwe Wittstock
Polity Press. 256 pages. £25, ISBN 978-1-5095-5379-2
Reviewed by Jim Burns
It should have been obvious what was likely to happen once Hitler
came to power. The signs had been there for some time, though many
people preferred to ignore them. Or to think that they were
temporary manifestations of dissatisfaction with current
circumstances and would quickly fade away. Life would soon return to
some sort of normality. But, as Uwe Wittstock points out:
“Everything happened in a frenzy. Four weeks and two days elapsed
between Hitler’s accession to power and the
Emergency Decree for
the Protection of People and State, which abrogated all
fundamental civil rights. It took only this one month to transform a
state under the rule of law
into a violent dictatorship without scruples”
Wittstock’s account of what happened to writers and others connected
with the world of literature, whether in teaching, journalism,
publishing, theatre, broadcasting, takes us through the month of
February 1933 almost on a daily basis. Not quite, but it’s easy to
imagine that what happened on the days he does cover more than
probably also happened on those that he doesn’t. In other words,
once a situation evolved where people could be arrested not by the
police, but by members of the Nazi Party’s (NSDAP) paramilitary
groups like the SA and SS, then it became dangerous for anyone not
conforming to the dictates of Nazi ideology to draw attention to
themselves. It was already too late for many of them to keep their
heads down. Their names were known and the lists of those to be
taken into custody had been compiled. They didn’t only relate to
writers. Communists, socialists, liberals, trade unionists were all
seen as suspect and therefore marked for attention. And to be
Jewish, as well as in any of the categories referred to, could be
close to a death sentence.
A reader not too familiar with German history might ask how it was
that Hitler had achieved prominence and been appointed Chancellor by
1933? This isn’t the place to go into a lengthy analysis of events
in the 1920s and early-1930s. A quick summary might refer to the
lingering effects of Germany’s defeat in 1918, the harsh reparations
demanded by the victorious Allies, inflation, unemployment, anger at
the humiliation felt by many Germans at how they were treated, the
threat from a large and active Communist Party, and weakness and
indecision on the part of the Weimar authorities. The atmosphere
easily led to the rise of right-wing populist groups, primarily the
Nazis, even if in their early days they were mocked and reviled by
writers, entertainers, and intellectuals. By 1933 they had gained a
great deal of popular support, enough to have a majority in the
Reichstag and form large paramilitary units.
The likely effective
opposition groups - liberals, socialists, communists - were
inevitably falling out with each other. That was certainly true of
the Socialist Party (SPD) and the Communist Party (KPD), who might
have been expected to come together in a “united front” to offer
some sort of opposition to the Nazis. I’m aware that this brief
summary is incomplete in many ways. The reader wanting to know more
is recommended to read Richard J. Evans’s
The Coming of the
Third Reich (Penguin, 2004).
On Saturday, 28th January, 1933 a performance of Bertolt Brecht’s
The Measures Taken,
with music by Hans Eisler, is closed down by the police.
The reason? The play is
said to be “a communist-revolutionary depiction of the class
struggle for the purpose of bringing about global revolution”.
Brecht is a known-communist and other plays by him will run into
opposition. In Darmstadt the Nazis, backed by the German People’s
Party and the Catholic Centre Party, campaign against his
Saint Joan of the
Stockyards. It won’t take him long to recognise what’s
happening and begin to make arrangements to leave Germany. When he
does he heads for Prague and then goes to Vienna with Helene Wiegel
and their son. A daughter has to be left behind, but is later
smuggled out of Germany by an English Quaker who has a passport
which includes her young son. Luckily, the border guards fail to
spot that it’s a young girl she has with her.
On the 4th February Hitler, who had been appointed Chancellor on the
30th January, asks Hindenburg to sign a
Decree of the Reich
President for the Protection of the German People.
Hindenburg agrees, and the new law establishes that “the freedoms of
assembly and of the press are placed under the
discretion of the Ministry of the Interior which since Monday
is headed by Nazi crony Wilhelm Frick”. It’s a clever way of doing
things, making it all appear legal and in the interests of the
general public. What it, in fact, amounts to is that, during the
campaign leading up to National Elections on March 5th, the KPD and
SPD “can hardly hold any events and their newspapers are not
permitted to appear in print for weeks”. Hitler is tightening his
grip and “Throughout the country people with nary a political
scruple are waiting in the wings, aligning themselves with the Nazis
in order to snatch up positions” in local government, the academic
world, theatres, museums, and elsewhere. Anyone with a hint of
liberal or left-wing leanings is being forced out, especially if
they’re Jews.
There are, of course, other ways to remove people from office.
Wittstock has obviously studied the reports in the press and records
that at Stafsfurt (outside Magdeburg) the Social Democrat mayor
Herman Kasten is shot dead, allegedly by a National Socialist. And
there are daily reports of street fights between communists and
Nazis with casualties on both sides. In the mid-1950s I was in the
army in Germany and worked alongside local civilians employed in the
camp offices and workshops. One of them, a friendly and pleasant
man, talked to me about voting for Hitler in the 1933 elections and
said that one of the reasons for doing so was because he would stop
all the disorder in the streets. There were other reasons – jobs,
resentment at how he thought Germany had been weakened, etc. When I
made a brief reference to aspects of Nazi rule, he said, “Well, I
wasn’t a communist or a Jew or an intellectual so they didn’t affect
me”. I think he may have used a slang word, something akin to
“egghead” instead of “intellectual”, but I knew what he meant.
Some people are determined to stay on, often in the hope that the
forthcoming elections will see the Nazis defeated in the polls.
Others realise that even if they are they may not willingly
relinquish the power they already have, And so the trickle of people
opting to leave Germany continues. Klaus Mann is one of them. His
writings and his left-wing associations have come to the attention
of the SA and SS. He’s also a homosexual which in itself is
sufficient for him to be under suspicion, and a target for arrest if
the Nazis take over. His novel,
Mephisto,
written in 1936, is a savage indictment of an actor who cultivates a
relationship with the Nazis as a way of furthering his career. It is
based on his brother-in-law, Gustav Gründgens, who had been married
to Mann’s sister, Erika. When Klaus
leaves Germany he heads for the United States, as do the
artist George Grosz and the writer and political activist Ernst
Toller. Erika Mann goes to Switzerland and, in due course, marries
W.H. Auden to obtain a British passport. The lasting impact is that
the displacement often affects their work. Grosz never again paints
canvases like those which commented on the failings of German
society in the 1920s. Toller commits suicide in New York in 1939.
The composer Kurt Weill may be an exception and adapts successfully
to the demands of Broadway and American musicals.
But let me quote a passage from Wittstock’s book which refers to
productions of George Kaiser’s play,
Silver Lake,
and which seems to me to summarise the broad effects of what
happened:
“The artistic directors of all three theatres are dismissed over the
following weeks. Georg Kaiser’s literary career is effectively cut
short. Until his death in 1945, no other plays by him will be
performed on German stages. Kurt Weill is forced to flee to Paris.
Detlef Sierck will leave for the United States with his wife, where
he earns acclaim under the name Douglas Sirk as a director of mostly
melodramas. Gustav Brecher takes a circuitous route to the
Netherlands. Fearing the German troops, he along with his wife take
their own lives in May 1940”.
That mention of “a circuitous route” sums up the experiences of more
than a few people as they find ways out of Germany. They have to
switch trains in order to confuse those who are tracking their
movements. There is a novel,
The Passenger
(Pushkin Press, 2021),
by Ulrich Alexander Boschwitz which is about a man fleeing
the Nazis and moving around Germany on a series of trains in an
attempt to evade arrest. Boschwitz himself had left Germany in 1935
and his novel was written in 1938. His
was a sad case. He had settled in England but was rounded up as an
enemy alien in 1939 and sent to Australia. He was allowed to return
in 1942 but the ship he was on was sunk by a German submarine and he
died.
Not all those discussed by Wittstock are writers or personalities
who will be recognised now. It’s one of the merits of his book that
he doesn’t just stick to the well-known names. Oscar Maia Graf and
Mirjam Sachs are popular in the “Bohemian bars, theatres, and
coffeehouses” of Munich’s Schwabing district. He’s Jewish, and “a
writer, but also an anarchist, a radical pacifist”, and a
provocation to the SA who dislike “whatever is different or
nonconformist”. When Graf is invited to give readings in Austria it
seems a good way of crossing the frontier without interference. He
goes, but Mirjam is determined to cast a vote against Hitler in the
March elections and stays. She does eventually join him in Vienna
but only after she has voted.
Gabriele Tergit’s home is invaded by the SA on March 4th, the day
before the elections. She manages to avoid being arrested but
decides it’s time to leave and heads to Prague. She’s well-known as
a journalist writing for left-wing publications and her satirical
novel, Käsebier Takes
Berlin, had been a
success when published in 1932. (It was reissued more
recently by New York Review Books, 2019). Tergit moves from Prague
to Palestine and then to London where she lives for the rest of her
life. But she never fully re-establishes herself as a writer.
Wittstock spends some time looking at the activities of the “poetry
section” of the Prussian Academy (its brief extends beyond poetry
and into literature generally), particularly with regard to the
activities of the novelist Heinrich Mann. The ambitious pro-Nazi
poet Gottfried Benn, whose view of the Weimar period is that they
were “years of social disintegration, decadence, and downfall”, is
of the opinion that Mann has attacked “a legally and
constitutionally formed government”, meaning Hitler and his
followers. The debate surrounding Mann’s resignation and other
Academy matters is interesting. But there’s a telling passage where
Wittstock points out that on the same day, and around the same time
as the Academy meeting is held: “In the palace of the Reich
President, the site of Hermann Göering’s office since 1932,
twenty-six influential economic leaders are arriving”. There is a
speech by Hitler in which he “rhapsodises about the advantages of
dictatorship over democracy, swears to the inviolability of private
property, and touts the NSDAP as the sole saviour in the face of the
communist peril in the nation”. This is followed by an appeal for
funds, to which the businessmen respond by pledging three million
Reichsmarks for the Nazi election campaign.
I’ve only managed to look at a few of the circumstances and
individuals dealt with in Uwe Wittstock’s fascinating and
provocative book. I say “provocative” because it makes one realise
how fragile democracy is and how easily it can be subverted by
extremists. It’s a sobering book, too, and makes the reader reflect
on how thin the line was between arrest or escape. A phone call from
a sympathetic police officer or civil servant could alert someone to
a forthcoming raid. A tip-off from a neighbour about strangers
asking questions could be a warning to make departure plans. It was
often all a matter of chance. The lucky ones survived.
The burning of books written
by left, liberal and Jewish authors was already taking place in
Dresden by March 8th. The police stood by but did nothing to stop
it. And as Heinrich Heine had earlier observed: “Where they burn
books, they will ultimately burn people also”.
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