“Papa wants me to stay with the orchestra,” I said, “but I don’t see the point. Next winter, when I turn eighteen, I have to leave anyway. What do I do then? There are no women in orchestras. My music career is over. I might as well end it now.”
“You’re a brilliant artist,” she said. “You can’t give up your music. You have to continue to play.”
“Where, Mama? There are no positions for a woman violinist in any major orchestra in the world. Not Berlin, not Vienna, not New York, not Chicago. Should I play dinner music in some restaurant? I would like to continue my education, maybe become a music teacher, but the schools are all closed to Jews. Even the music academies.” Just thinking about it was making me angry.
Mama smiled and patted my shoulder. “Maybe you’ll join an ensemble or a string quartet. Or maybe something else will come up.”
“Or maybe I could find a nice Jewish man and become a housewife, right?” I was immediately sorry I said that. There were tears in her eyes. Oh my God, how do I unring that bell?
“I didn’t mean that, Mama, I’m just feeling sorry for myself. There’s nothing wrong with being a wife and a mother. You’ve always been my role model. I’m just not ready for all that yet. I want a career. I want to be the world’s best violinist.”
“Then you should listen to your father. If it concerns a life in music, he knows best. When you’re with the Junior Orchestra, there’s a spotlight on you. You solo. You shine like a star. If you quit, that spotlight goes out.”
“But it’s only for another eight months.”
“Lots of things can happen in eight months.”
We hugged and smiled and ostensibly ended the conversation on a high note, but I had hurt her feelings.
When we reconvened at the next practice, I came early and sat in the second seat, the one usually occupied by my good friend Lisel Preston. Lisel saw me sitting there and said, “Oh no. I will not take Ada’s chair. I’m a decent player, but I’m no Ada Baumgarten.”
“It’s not your decision,” I said. “It’s for the good of the orchestra.”
From then on, I sat in the second chair. I intended to stay until I turned eighteen.
As for Uncle Wilhelm, he had a rocky time over the past few months as well, but he always landed on his feet. Last fall, one of the baritones from the Berlin State Opera betrayed him to the Gestapo. He testified that he overheard Uncle Wilhelm say, “Those in power should all be shot and things in Germany will not change until this is done.” It was true, Uncle Wilhelm did say those words, and he did not deny it, but he said them in private. Hitler was furious and suspended him from the Philharmonic. It was only a three-week suspension, but it turned out to be an unwise move on Hitler’s part. Uncle Wilhelm immediately started looking around, and because he was the world’s greatest conductor, he didn’t have far to look.
Arturo Toscanini, the famed conductor and music director of the New York Philharmonic, announced his retirement and said that Wilhelm Furtwängler was the only musician worthy of succeeding him. The New York board reached out to Uncle Wilhelm, and to their surprise, he told them he would accept their offer! But the Gestapo had been monitoring overseas conversations and quickly told Hitler. Göring and Goebbels immediately undertook to sabotage the deal. Uncle Wilhelm was in Vienna, and in his absence, Goebbels cleverly appointed Maestro Furtwängler as music director of both the Berlin Philharmonic and the Berlin State Opera. They also gave him the title of Staatsrat, state councilor. Uncle Wilhelm knew nothing about these appointments. Then Goebbels publicly announced the appointment and the news was carried by papers around the world.
When the New York newspapers saw the story, they assumed that Uncle Wilhelm had rejected the New York offer and was now a supporter of the Nazi Party. Uncle Wilhelm was never a member of the Nazi Party, and try as he might, he could not correct the erroneous impression. The mood in New York turned against him. People demonstrated and petitioned the board not to hire a Nazi sympathizer. Rather than take the post under those controversial circumstances, Uncle Wilhelm withdrew his acceptance and stayed in Germany.
When this evening started, my mother told me that Papa and Uncle Wilhelm had a surprise for me and it would be revealed at dinner. Uncle Wilhelm had brought his wife, Zitla, and when I greeted him, he wore a grin like the cat that ate the canary. So, I asked him, “What’s the big surprise?”
“If I told you, it wouldn’t be a surprise, now, would it?”
“How can I be surprised if no one will tell me?”
He laughed. “After dinner, we will tell you.”
So all through dinner and dessert I was fidgeting, and my father and Uncle Wilhelm were getting the biggest kick out of teasing me. Finally, I said, “Okay, that’s it. You’ve had enough fun. What’s the big surprise?”
They laughed. “What are you doing from May 13 to May 21?” Uncle Wilhelm said.
“I don’t know,” I said. “That’s almost a month away.”
“Well, if you’re not too busy, Miss Baumgarten, I’m conducting Massenet’s Thaïs for the Berlin State Opera.”
“Well, thank you very much. I’d love to go.”
“Well, that’s not exactly what I had in mind,” he said.
“That’s the surprise? I don’t get to go?”
Uncle Wilhelm leaned forward. “No, Ada. I want you to sit in the pit, in the first violin section. I want you to play the whole score with the orchestra, and at the end of act two, scene one, I want you to play the intermezzo. I want you to solo the ‘Meditation.’ For five performances.”
Oh my God. Knock me out. Playing solo with the Berlin State Opera! “But there are no women in the orchestra,” I said.
“There will be between May 13 and May 21.”
“Are you sure that’s all right?”
“I am the newly appointed director of the Berlin State Opera, thank you very much, Dr. Goebbels. I can assure you, no one will object. You won’t be a permanent member; you’ll be a guest soloist. We’ve had women solo before.”
“But I’d also get to play the entire opera with the orchestra?”
“Yes, you would. And that would be a first.”
EIGHTEEN
Berlin, May 13, 1936
I auditioned for the Junior when I was only eleven. I performed a Mozart concerto before a packed hall at the Philharmonie when I was fourteen. I soloed the “Meditation” when I was fifteen and the Carmen Fantasy when I was sixteen. And on none of those occasions was I frightened or even nervous. But tonight, oh my goodness. Operagoers tend to be discriminating listeners. They are demanding. They are critical. And there is nothing casual about attending Massenet’s Thaïs. It is a long opera with many slow passages. My solo comes at a critical phase of the story in act two. Tonight, I am playing with the big boys. There is no place to hide. Tonight, I am nervous.
The theme of Thaïs is unsettling and, from my perspective, preposterous. Taking place in fourth-century Egypt, it portrays a clash between monastic austerity and wild debauchery. Thaïs is a courtesan, and a very pricey one at that. Athanaël is a Cenobite monk who travels to Alexandria with the impossible mission of converting Thaïs to Christianity and persuading her to leave her life of partying and enter a convent. In the end, Athanaël falls victim to his lust and Thaïs, purified, rises to the angels. Conversion complete. The “Meditation” is played while Thaïs is weighing the plusses and minuses of leaving her sumptuous, voluptuous life and entering the austere Egyptian convent. Really? This is a choice? Only in an opera. The story is goofy, but Massenet’s music is gorgeous.
I had butterflies. I watched the audience file in and listened to the sounds of multiple conversations echoing off the walls and ceilings. Orchestra members were taking their seats, reviewing their music and warming up. I was seated next to an older man, Gustav. I met him in practice. He was nice. Some of the other orchestra members eyed me suspiciously. What is she doing here? A woman. She wouldn’t be here if she wasn’t Furtwängler’s pet project.
/> The house lights dimmed. Uncle Wilhelm entered to applause, took his bow, mounted the podium, tapped his baton, raised his arms and off we went. Before this month, I had only seen Uncle Wilhelm conduct from behind, from the seats. Now he was facing us, directing us, setting the tempo, the flow, the mood. It was well known that Uncle Wilhelm was fitness-conscious. He skied, he swam, he hiked and he watched his weight. When he conducted, he was full of energy and animation. He bounced on his heels, his arms flew around, his head bobbed with intensity and the orchestra fed on it. And tonight, I was part of the whole. I was playing with consummate professionals in one of the finest opera orchestras in the world. My nerves calmed. I was in my music.
Act one ended and the orchestra used the break to get a drink of water or tea. Uncle Wilhelm winked at me. “Everything okay?” I nodded. He whispered, “I saw your friend, Reinhard Heydrich. He’s with a group of high-level party members in a box on stage left.” This gave me the chills. If it wasn’t for my violin, he’d just as soon send me to a detention camp.
The orchestra assembled. Uncle Wilhelm once again took to the podium and the second act began. Soon the first scene would be coming to an end. Athanaël and Thaïs are arguing on the stage: he is begging her to give up her life of sin and she is equivocating. Finally, Athanaël says that he will wait for her: “J’attendrai ta venue.” And Thaïs, in inner torment, declares she will not change: “Je reste Thaïs, Thaïs la courtisane.” She laughs derisively and then begins to sob. The curtain falls—and it’s time for the intermezzo. My intermezzo.
I knew this piece so well, it just flowed. Uncle Wilhelm, his arms stretched regally over the orchestra, his head slowly nodding, his body lifting, felt the music just as I did. He drew the pathos out of me. I played it from my sitting position in the second section. The hall was totally silent but for my violin and the orchestra quietly supporting me like a pillow. In five minutes, I was finished. The applause was loud. I heard shouts of “Bravo.” I saw my string section tipping their bows and smiling. And then it was on to scene two.
When the opera ended and we were packing our instruments, several of the members came over to congratulate me. They asked how I liked playing with the orchestra. I told them it was a dream come true. But some of the members avoided me. A small cadre confronted Uncle Wilhelm. There was arm gesticulation and raised voices. I heard the word “girl” several times. I saw Uncle Wilhelm shrug and shake his head. Then I heard the word “Jew.”
Two SS officers in black uniforms and long leather coats came backstage. They went into a corner with Uncle Wilhelm and talked quietly, but the conversation was not friendly. I knew it was about me.
When everyone had left, I asked Uncle Wilhelm what the conversation was about. At first, he tried to brush it away. I told him I heard some members say “girl” and “Jew.” He nodded.
“First of all, Ada, you better get used to this backstabbing if you intend to pursue a career in music. Ever since we started rehearsals, I’ve been hearing grumbling from a few members who resent my giving a seat to a woman. They feel that the ‘Meditation’ was meant to be played by the first chair. By a man. I told them I made the decision on the basis of talent and I am the music director. That didn’t make them happy, but they know it’s true. Then, of course, they played the ‘Jewish’ card. Why did I invite a Jew to play with the orchestra when Goebbels removed six of the members last fall solely because they were Jewish?”
“That’s a fair question,” I said. “They’re right to resent me.”
Uncle Wilhelm grabbed me by the shoulders and looked at me sternly. “No, they’re wrong. You are innocent, just as the six members were last fall. My players should resent the Reich for its racist policies, not you. You didn’t displace anyone, Ada. That chair was empty. It was Chaim Rosenberg’s chair and he was barred last October. The truth is we were short and needed another talented violinist and I filled it with the best one I know. It was strictly a professional decision.”
“Thank you,” I said. “What did the two Nazis want? I saw them talk to you.”
“Same thing. Someone sent word to Goebbels that you were sitting in the pit and playing a prominent piece. They ordered me to release you.”
Now I felt terrible. Not only did members of the orchestra resent me, but Uncle Wilhelm was in trouble with the SS. “Please let me resign. I’m causing too much trouble. There’s dissension among the members, and now you are in trouble with the SS.”
“And what about tomorrow night’s performance?” he said. “Shall I just hum the ‘Meditation’?”
“Peter Strom can play it. He’s first violin.”
“Did you hear the applause tonight, Ada? Did you hear the shouts of ‘Bravo’? Strom cannot deliver that performance. Look, I’m not afraid of the SS. I’m not afraid of Goebbels, Hitler, Göring or any of them. I am Furtwängler. I told those two SS officers that I will make the decisions on who plays and who doesn’t. If they don’t like it, then they can get another music director. Believe me, they’re not going to do anything, especially six weeks before the Summer Olympics.”
It was empowering to have the great Furtwängler standing in my corner. “Thank you,” I said. “Thank you for everything you are doing for my career.”
But Uncle Wilhelm sighed. “Ada, my dear Ada. There is only so much I can do. I cannot stem the tide in Germany. Right now, this summer, there is an artificial lull, like the eye of a hurricane. There is no overt persecution of Jews. There are no mass arrests, there are no hateful articles in the Nazi newspapers and there are no new laws designed to punish Jews. But after the Olympics, when Hitler will no longer care if the world is watching, the lull will end. You must make plans to leave.”
“Where would I go? What about my parents?”
“I can protect your father, at least for a while. But mark my words, the day after the closing ceremony, you and the other Jews will be dismissed from the Junior Orchestra. We need to find you a place to play.”
“He’s right, Ada. Maybe it’s time for all of us to leave Germany,” my father said after we arrived at the house.
“It would be hard, this is my home,” my mother said. “But I am afraid to walk the streets. When I think about Grandpa and what those monsters did to him, I have no love for the Germans.”
“It’s not the Germans, Mama,” I said. “It’s the Nazis. Maybe things will change. Right now, things are quiet.”
“Only because of the Olympics,” my father added.
“Are you prepared to leave Wilhelm, Jacob?” my mother asked. “I worry he will not have his concertmaster on the eve of the Philharmonic’s fall season. Is that the right thing to do to a man who has been so good to us?”
“I’m torn, Friede. I don’t want to leave Wilhelm short this season. I don’t want to let my colleagues down. All my life I have cared nothing for politics, I’ve taken no sides, I’ve hurt no one. My life has been dedicated to my family and my music.” He shook his head. “I cannot put you in danger any longer. I will talk to Wilhelm. Perhaps I’ll stay one more season. But you and Ada should go.”
“Where?”
“I don’t know. We’ll find a place.”
“I’m not leaving without you,” she said.
NINETEEN
Berlin, August 1, 1936
The XI Olympiad, the 1936 Berlin summer games, was staged as Hitler’s showcase. The Hitler Games. Pomp and pageantry were the stars, and the superiority of his Aryan athletes was to be his exclamation point. Take notice world, Germany is back, powerful again, economically sound and prepared to accept its role as a world leader. And this, only a decade and a half after being vanquished in war and stripped of its pride by the Treaty of Versailles.
Berlin’s avenues were lined with flowers, Nazi banners and Olympic flags. Thousands of young people dressed in white were everywhere, offering to help visitors in any way they could. Colorful posters emphasized the link between ancient Greece and Nazi Germany. Hitler even staged a relay of torchbearers who ran
all the way from Athens to Berlin, a first in Olympic history. For two weeks in August, all signs of German racist policies were masked. To all appearances, Germany was a warm and welcoming society.
But we knew better. During the previous two years, Jewish athletes had been purged from the German sporting clubs. As the games approached, Germany had only two token Jews on the team: Helene Mayer, the world’s greatest woman fencer, and Gretel Bergmann, a record-holder in the high jump. Two weeks before the games began, Gretel was removed from the team. It was rumored that Helene was acceptable to the Nazis because her mother was not Jewish.
Once again, the Junior was scheduled to play during the opening ceremonies and at a Sunday afternoon concert one week later. On August 1, we sat in the stands in the far end of the oval Olympic Stadium, a massive concrete structure built specifically for the games. Like the Roman emperors, Hitler and the elite party members sat in a specially built mezzanine section. A fanfare sounded, and Hitler and his entourage entered to 110,000 shouts of “Seig Heil” and 110,000 arms raised in Hitler salutes.
Germany had 348 athletes, the largest in the games. During the parade of athletes, the Americans insulted Hitler by giving an “eyes right” salute and not a Hitler salute, and by refusing to dip the flag as they passed Hitler’s reviewing stand. I was proud of the brash Americans, that is, until the final days of the games when, for some undisclosed reason, they pulled their Jewish athletes from the 4 by 100 meter relay.
To start the festivities, the airship Hindenburg flew across the stadium pulling the Olympic flag, and the response was deafening. A welcoming speech was given by the head of the Olympic Organizing Committee. Hitler announced, “I proclaim the Games of Berlin, celebrating the eleventh Olympiad of the modern era, to be open.” Richard Strauss then led the Berlin Philharmonic and the National Socialist Symphony Orchestra in the “Olympische Hymne,” a four-minute piece he had composed.
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