Gay Berlin
Page 9
It was the most horrible thing he had ever seen. In order that a better check might be kept on them, the perverts of the capital had been given permission to hold a fancy-dress ball. When it opened everyone behaved ceremoniously, almost as if they were in a madhouse. Men danced with men, mournfully, with deadly seriousness…. The one playing the lady’s role might have the moustache of a cavalryman and pince-nez, he might be ugly, with coarse, masculine features, and not even a trace of femininity…. The Police Inspector and his guests had seated themselves at a table in the centre of one end of the room, close to which all the couples had to pass…. The Inspector called them by their Christian names and summoned some of the most interesting among them to his table, so that the author could study them!… In the female section, where women danced with women, the most noteworthy person was a stately lady…. Her eyes followed a radiant young blonde. The Inspector informed them that the two were bound together by a passionate love for each other, and that, as the elder woman was poor, the younger one supported her by selling herself to men she abhorred.40
Apart from his visceral repulsion, Strindberg’s strongest reaction was to the ball’s openness and the official surveillance. The “Police Inspector” did not even disguise his presence and actually knew and greeted the participants by name.
Simply allowing the growth of a homosexual culture contributed to the burgeoning science of sexology. In one pathbreaking work, the first of its kind, published in 1891, Berlin psychiatrist Albert Moll thanked Hüllessem for helping him with his urban ethnography and for allowing him to view internal police and trial documents on cases related to Paragraph 175.41 The illustrious Richard von Krafft-Ebing thanked Hüllessem for his assistance in the 1893 edition of Psychopathia sexualis.42 These examples illustrate a seeming paradox of Hüllessem’s policies. The self-serving strategy of tolerating bars and other entertainments was intended to enhance surveillance and control; all the while it raised the profile of Berlin’s same-sex milieu, giving it far greater publicity and significance than it would have otherwise enjoyed. Although Hüllessem’s brilliant career was cut short by a scandal, which implicated him in a massive cover-up to protect a powerful friend accused of rape—leading to the commissioner’s suicide in 1900—Hüllessem’s legacy survived his premature death. The investigative techniques he introduced—and more significantly for our interests, his attitude toward Berlin’s sexual minorities—played a tremendous role in establishing a modern homosexual identity.43
The published medical, literary, and popular accounts that Hüllessem facilitated are also some of the most important sources for reconstructing the evolution of same-sex sociability in Berlin before the First World War.44 Unlike earlier literature, many of these publications mentioned the many venues of Berlin’s homosexual nightlife. Albert Moll’s 1891 study, for example, described numerous public venues, including small pubs, restaurants, and Bierkeller. Moll relied on Hüllessem, and also enlisted the expertise of a Berlin editor, Adolf Glaser, whose bona fides included his arrest in 1878 on Paragraph 175 charges. Moll even alluded to Seeger’s Restaurant and the policy of toleration that had since been adopted, explaining that raids “happen seldom now in these locales.” Although pubs opened and closed with relative frequency, according to Moll, decorum “in comparison to early times” had improved, allowing the establishments to operate without police interference. Overtly sexual behavior was not tolerated, Moll claimed, but there was no mistaking the homosexual character of the clientele and their interactions. At some bars the patrons appeared in drag, and many adopted female nicknames—most used the labels “sister” (Schwester) or “aunt” (Tante) to refer to friends and lovers.45 Another work, Die Enterbten des Liebesglückes oder das dritte Geschlecht (Those dispossessed of love or the third sex), appeared in 1893 under the pseudonym Otto de Joux. Unlike Moll, the author claimed to be homosexual himself, and—with an insider’s access—used oral testimonies, journals, memoirs, and creative works from a wide circle of homosexual friends and acquaintances. In addition to bars, clubs, and costume balls, “de Joux” described homosexual marriages (Urning-Ehen), clandestine gay societies with secret codes, and privately printed Urning almanacs.46
One of the most important chroniclers of Berlin’s homosexual milieu, sexologist and homosexual rights activist Dr. Magnus Hirschfeld, cooperated closely with Hüllessem and with his successor, Hans von Tresckow, who directed the Department of Homosexuals after Hüllessem’s death in 1900. In his Berlins drittes Geschlecht (Berlin’s third sex) from 1904, Hirschfeld identified fifteen bars and taverns, and he claimed in 1914 to know of at least thirty-eight Berlin establishments that catered primarily to homosexuals and lesbians.47 Like Hüllessem before him, Tresckow supported the investigations of other psychiatrists, journalists, and popular authors. Both psychiatrist Paul Näcke and sexologist Iwan Bloch were given expert tours of Berlin’s homosexual clubs for their scholarly studies. French and Swiss journalists Oscar Méténier, Octave Mirbeau, Henri de Weindel, and F. P. Fischer reported on Berlin’s increasingly notorious, public homosexual culture in the decade before the First World War to Francophone audiences. Even American sociologist Abraham Flexner received a tour for his study of European prostitution published in 1914.48
These sources document not only a surprising number of homosexual establishments but also their remarkable longevity. Clearly this reflected the tacit toleration established by Hüllessem after 1885. Although the oldest bars—contemporaneous with Seeger’s and located just south of Unter den Linden—disappeared by about 1900, at least one, the Krause Kasino, which had opened in a cramped basement in the 1870s, remained in business as late as 1910.49 After about 1890 new locales opened in Berlin’s southern and eastern neighborhoods, along Potsdamer Straße to the southwest, and even in the north. Most of these were neighborhood affairs that catered primarily to their immediate communities. For example, the Hannemann Bar, named for its manager, Gustav Hannemann, opened in 1892 at 123 Alexandrinenstraße. The tavern attracted a crowd of “respectable” older men and enjoyed the “best reputation” with police and neighbors, who never “took offense that homosexuals came and went.” One source reported that Hannemann’s was “one of the oldest bars in Berlin and thrived for decades without complaint.”50 Around the block at 62 Brandenburgstraße was the Schöne Müllerin, the feminized nickname of owner Otto Müller, who ran his bar from 1906 until it closed in 1921. An accomplished pianist, Müller entertained his guests in drag. “The entire neighborhood knew what was up with her [Müller],” according to the insider’s guide Das perverse Berlin, “but she [Müller] was nevertheless a popular presence.”51 Restaurant Frohsinn had a similar profile at 4 Willibald-Alexis-Straße, a few blocks further south, where the Bavarian Peter Sonnenholzer opened for business in 1903. Although the management changed several times, the Frohsinn endured as a same-sex venue into the 1930s.52
By 1900 several distinctly working-class locales had opened in the city’s eastern neighborhoods. One tavern along Müncheberger Straße in the blue-collar district of Friedrichshain was staid and respectable, patronized by laborers. “The majority of the same-sex-oriented men who flirt with each other there come from the working class,” according to one observer. “They slave away the entire week so they can enjoy a Sunday evening indulging their tendencies…. And when they go to the voting booth, they vote as workers, always and without exception—Social-Democratic.” The tavern had such a respectable reputation that “the police do not consider it necessary to impose their 11 pm closing.”53 By contrast, a second working-class bar on nearby Weberstraße was subjected to constant surveillance. Hans Ostwald reported in 1906 that the venue was rowdy and “the police keep a sharp and watchful eye.” With an uncommonly large backroom, the bar also served as a dance hall for same-sex costume balls.54
At least two locales had opened in northern Berlin by the early 1900s. An establishment on Kleine Hamburger Straße just north of the Museumsinsel was run by a former soldier, “der dicke Franz”�
��the fat Franz—assisted by his male piano player “Rita” and a “large-breasted waitress named Minka,” who was actually a man in woman’s garb. Regulars played skat at small tables, and the bar sponsored youth dances on Saturday and Sunday. Further north a small locale along Ackerstraße served middle-aged and older men who lived in the neighborhood.55 Although most homosexual venues after 1900 were located south of the center city, the bars in northern Berlin—like their southern Berlin counterparts and the working-class taverns of Friedrichshain—were integrated into their immediate neighborhoods, where they offered local homosexuals the sociability and entertainment of a same-sex-oriented milieu.
The upscale homosexual cafés of Wilhelmine Berlin served a more exclusive public of professionals, businessmen, and aristocrats, who likely lived in the burgeoning western suburbs. The Café Dorian Gray opened its doors in 1905 on Kleiststraße, close to Nollendorfplatz. It was one of the first bars in a neighborhood that—by the 1920s—would become a center of Berlin’s homosexual nightlife. An obvious reference to Oscar Wilde, the name would have been recognized only by insiders, since Wilde’s novel had only just been published in German translation.56 The Mikado, at 15 Puttkamerstraße, just south of central Berlin, was perhaps the most stylish homosexual bar before 1914. Fashioned after a “Japanese Teahouse” with “Oriental” silk screens and paper lanterns, the Mikado was considered especially reputable: the bar’s proprietor took the men’s bathroom door off its hinges so that no one—especially the police—could claim that “indecent activities took place there.”57 Opened in 1907, the Mikado drew a late-evening crowd and became a hangout for members of Berlin’s homosexual rights movement, including the author and activist Adolf Brand. In 1896 Brand had begun publishing Der Eigene, described as the world’s first homosexual journal, which was offered for sale at the Mikado. A member of Hirschfeld’s Scientific-Humanitarian Committee, Baron Willibald von Sadler-Grün, known as “the Baroness,” was also a regular and played piano there, usually in drag. The avant-garde art critic and journalist Emil Szittya recalled that “the homosexuals have a great affection for Christmas.” The Mikado, Szittya explained, would plan its Christmas Eve festivities throughout the year so that these “sentimental, rejected men,” without other family, could sing “religious songs” dressed in women’s clothing “under the Christmas tree.”58 (By the 1920s, the Mikado had become one of Berlin’s best-known transvestite bars and therefore was an immediate target of the Nazis in 1933.) Two nearby venues along Potsdamerstraße, Café Continental and Café Imperial, attracted a “mixed” public of homosexuals and others, but like the Mikado they were considered well-heeled.59
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In addition to bars and cafés, large same-sex costume balls held in concert halls, theaters, and private clubs became a signal feature of Berlin’s homosexual culture. The earliest account of these events came from Karl Heinrich Ulrichs, who described an “Urning costume ball,” sponsored by a rich Polish count and held in a Berlin restaurant: “Ten handsome soldiers, all Dionings [heterosexuals] were selected to attend, and among the Urnings, six wore women’s clothing.”60 Hugo Friedländer confirmed this, claiming that homosexual and transvestite balls had been common since the 1860s.61 As early as 1886, Die Verbrecherwelt von Berlin (The criminal world of Berlin) reported that elaborate same-sex costume balls, or Puppenbälle (from Puppe, the Berlin slang for male prostitute), were held in prominent public venues, lasting late into the night, with half of the male participants attired in women’s evening gowns. Moll, Hirschfeld, Krafft-Ebing, and many others attended these events and described them as well-organized, seasonal affairs held in the most prominent Berlin theaters and banquet halls, often attracting five hundred or more participants.62
The homosexual balls of Wilhelmine Berlin were generally open, and required official permission like any public entertainment, including concerts or theater productions. Throughout the prewar period, Berlin’s individual police precincts were responsible for reviewing permit requests, which required a detailed description of time, venue, the character of the event, and an application period of two days. Owners of the largest theaters and dance halls were able to apply for annual permits allowing them to rent their spaces to event planners. Since bar and restaurant concessions generally disallowed dancing, and owners faced fines if they failed to enforce this prohibition, the formal permits for dancing events were especially coveted and often quite lucrative.63
Although rarely identified, the impresarios who organized the balls were likely owners or managers of other homosexual bars. Hugo Friedländer mentioned the balls planned by “N” in the “Dresdener Kasino” and those of “L.” held in the “Central-Theater” as especially popular.64 The frequency of the “Homo-Balls” is difficult to determine, although by 1900 they appeared to follow the patterns of the conventional ball season, commencing in November and continuing into the spring with specially themed balls. The venues included Berlin’s most prestigious addresses: the Deutschen Kaiser, the Philharmonie, the Orpheum, the Buggenhagen Theater, and the König von Portugal, in addition to the Dresdener and Central. The largest of these spaces accommodated more than a thousand people. Particularly opulent evenings might begin with a sumptuous buffet dinner, followed by all-night dancing and an early-morning breakfast. The expense must have been formidable, and a large costume ball also generated significant demand for hospitality services, musicians, tailors, and even coach drivers.65
These same-sex costume balls established a reputation that extended well beyond the homosexual community. As Berlin journalist Konstantin Grell explained, “If one goes, perhaps in the company of a well-known police official, one is astonished to encounter many familiar faces, who of course only want to witness the scandal first hand but were able all the same to acquire tickets through an acquaintance. The tickets are nowhere on offer, and the promoters sell them only to insiders. Of course there are no announcements for such original entertainments.”66 Whether the many acquaintances Grell surprisingly encountered were merely “slumming” tourists, as they claimed, or more intimately involved in Berlin’s homosexual nightlife is unclear. Grell implied that admission tickets were sold directly by the event planners, perhaps in the homosexual locales that they owned or managed. The events were not advertised, as Grell claimed—and only when censorship laws were relaxed after 1918 was such promotion possible—though accounts of the balls were sometimes published after the fact in the Berlin press. As early as 1894, the Berliner Zeitung included a lengthy description of a same-sex costume ball (Maskenball) under the heading “Ball for the Enemies of Women” (Ball der Weiberfeinde).67 A report on another ball was printed in the Berliner Morgenpost in 1899. According to this piece, the event got under way on a Friday evening a little before midnight in the main hall of the hotel King of Portugal, attended by several hundred men, roughly half of whom wore women’s clothing.68
Grell suggested likewise that the balls were a magnet for journalists, authors, and other urban ethnographers. Like Grell himself, Oscar Méténier, a naturalist author and former Parisian police officer, explored Berlin’s homosexual subculture for a French-language work published in 1904. Naturally Méténier’s study required the requisite visit to a homosexual ball:
We were deposited in front of the brilliant façade of a theater known as the Dresdener Casino. In a broad vestibule the bouncer took our coats, and another determined that we had the necessary invitations. Finally we were admitted through double doors into an enormous, richly decorated hall flanked by columns. I remained standing, dazzled and stupefied. Before me was a crowd of four or five hundred, dancing to an orchestra—excellent like all German orchestras—hidden behind a platform. All or nearly all the dancers were wearing costumes. Only here and there in the swirl of color could one detect the black jacket of the police officers. We slowly made our way to an unoccupied table not far from the buffet. Many of the dancers were wearing women’s clothing.69
Certainly Méténier had been briefed before a
ttending and had some idea what to expect. But his astonishment is palpable: not even the rumors in Paris could convey adequately what transpired in Berlin.
The costume balls drew obvious curiosity seekers—without psychiatric or literary interests—who rarely recorded their impressions. However, one retired Prussian officer, Paul von Hoverbeck, described an early-twentieth-century visit to a Balllokal in eastern Berlin in his 1926 memoir: “I’ll never forget the scene. Hundreds of men and women of all ages, most made-up, many of the men attired as women and many of the women as men. As we entered the brightly lit hall, the entire crowd knew that we were curiosity seekers accompanied by police officials.”70 The impression Hoverbeck conveys is that regular ball participants—namely, homosexuals and lesbians—had come to expect, like the animal inmates of a municipal zoo, both curious outsiders and official surveillance. Indeed, the common element in all these accounts, strikingly, beginning with Moll’s 1891 study, was a police presence, which facilitated in turn the visits of uninitiated observers and helped to make known this distinctive, eccentric sexual minority of imperial Berlin.
Commissioner Hüllessem was far less tolerant of male prostitution, for which Berlin had a notorious reputation. As early as 1782 one scurrilous travel guide described “boy bordellos” and furtive networks of “warm brothers.”71 Nineteenth-century accounts of crime in Berlin often mentioned the young men and especially the soldiers who sold themselves for sex. Lacking the specialized knowledge of “homosexuality,” internal police reports from the 1840s and ’50s sometimes hinted at male prostitution, using expressions such as “depravity” or “moral turpitude” to describe the activities in certain city taverns that attracted both adolescent and adult male patrons. Published accounts describe the outdoor locations where men sought illicit contacts: the Tiergarten Park, Unter den Linden, and the copse of chestnut trees just north of the university. Such established sites for prostitution and cruising were augmented in the second half of the nineteenth century with newly opened public toilets, the canals, the expanded railway stations, and other commercial centers. When the Friedrichstraße train station opened in 1882, it served as the northern terminus of the north-south Friedrichstraße, which formed a T with Unter den Linden just east of the Brandenburg Gate before conducting traffic to the Hallesches Gate. This thoroughfare gained notoriety as an all-purpose market for male and female prostitutes who congregated in the Passage, a six-story corner structure completed in 1874 with a covered market full of shops, cafés, and eateries.72 Berlin’s particular reputation for male prostitution extended well beyond Germany: in his authoritative comparative study of European prostitution, published in 1914, American sociologist Abraham Flexner described Berlin as Europe’s “main mart” for homosexual hustlers.73