CULTURAL CURRENCY: NOTGELD, NORDISCHE WOCHE, AND

CULTURAL CURRENCY: NOTGELD, NORDISCHE WOCHE, AND

CULTURAL CURRENCY:
NOTGELD, NORDISCHE WOCHE, AND THE NORDISCHE GESELLSCHAFT,
1921-1945
A dissertation submitted
to Kent State University in partial
fulfillment of the requirements for the
degree of Doctor of Philosophy
by
Erika L. Briesacher
December 2012
Dissertation written by
Erika L. Briesacher
B.A., Illinois Wesleyan University, USA 2002
M.A., Southern Illinois University Edwardsville, USA, 2006
PH.D., Kent State University, USA 2012
Approved by
___________________________________ , Chair, Doctoral Dissertation Committee
Richard Steignmann-Gall
___________________________________ , Members, Doctoral Dissertation Committee
Shelley Baranowski
___________________________________
Rebecca Pulju
___________________________________
Stephen Harp
___________________________________
David Purcell
Accepted by
___________________________________ , Chair, Department of History
Kenneth Bindas
___________________________________ , Dean, College of Arts and Sciences
Timothy Chandler
ii
TABLE OF CONTENTS
List of Figures . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . v
Acknowledgements. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . vi
Introduction: Cultural Currency: Finance, Festival, and Facets of Identity . . . . . . . . . . . 1
Setting and Research Questions. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 2
Historiography . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 7
Theory . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .12
Method . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 14
Overview . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .19
Chapter I: “Recognize this hobby as an ideal end in itself:” The Culture of Collecting
Notgeld . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .25
Culture, Nationalism, and the Construction of Meaning . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 26
The Collection of Notgeld . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 31
Notgeld Exhibitions . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .44
Conclusion . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 46
Chapter II: The Function of Festivals after the Great War . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 48
Emile Durkheim and the Concept of Anomie . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 50
Political Anomie . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 52
Economic Anomie . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .54
Cultural Anomie . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 56
The Cultural Festival and the Battle with Anomie . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 59
Weimar Festivals and the Formation of In-Groups . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 62
Celebration and Commemoration . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .65
Chapter III: The Case of Nordische Woche: The Intersection of Celebration, Culture, and
Commerce . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .77
To Hold or Not to Hold: The Early Stages of Planning. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .79
Formulating the Festival . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .84
Festival Planning in Cultural Context . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .90
Solidifying the Message and Finalizing the Festival . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .102
Conclusion . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .108
Chapter IV: The Production of Nordische Woche: Materiality, Effects, Outcomes . . .111
Notgeld . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .112
The Festschrift . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 113
vi
Advertisements . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 114
Essays . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 121
Foreign Publications . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .130
Supplementary Publications . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 133
End of Nordische Woche and Establishment of Nordische Gesellschaft . . 137
Chapter V: Continuing and Adapting the Work: The Emergence of the Nordische
Gesellschaft. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 140
The Nordische Gesellschaft is Born . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .141
Revisiting Allport, The Nature of Prejudice, and Ingroup Identity . . . . .147
Cultural In-group Formation and the Nordische Gesellschaft . . . . . . . . .153
1923 and the Interference of Hyperinflation . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 156
Rentenmark, Stabilization, and a Renewed Nordische Gesellschaft . . . . 162
Outreach and Cultural Activities . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 167
A More Mature Nordische Gesellschaft . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .173
Chapter VI: From In-Group to the Only Group: Nordic Identity, the Nordische
Gesellschaft, and Nazi Germany . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 176
A Note on Anomie, In-Groups, and National Identity . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 179
The Nordische Gesellschaft and the End of the 1920s . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 184
Polarizing German Society and the Turn of the Decade . . . . . . . . . . . . . .190
Nazi Control and Society . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 201
“Nazified” Festival . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 205
Hamburg’s Nordische Woche, 1938 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 210
Continuities, Contrasts, Conclusions. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 214
Chapter VII: Conclusion: German Society Tested by War . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .219
Bibliography . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 228
iv
LIST OF FIGURES
1.1
Niemals Vergessen! Stamp mounting sheet . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 39
1.2
Dokumente einer irrsinnigen Zeit! Stamp mounting sheet . . . . . . . . . . . .40
3.1
Nordische Woche in Lübeck . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 90
3.2
Schleswig Plebescite Notgeld . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 93
3.3
Nordische Woche letterhead and Notgeld . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 101
3.4
Unterchor, Katharinenkirche, Lübeck . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 106
3.5
Handarbeiten Wettbewerb advertisement . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .109
4.1
Nordische Woche Musterschau Notgeld, 20 Pfg. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 113
5.1
Nordische Gesellschaft Mitgliedskarte . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .146
5.2
Nordische Gesellschaft letterhead. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 147
5.3
Rentenmark, Hochofenwerk, Lübeck . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 163
5.4
Rentenmark, Hochofenwerk, Lübeck . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 163
5.5
Das Problem der Kriegsentschädigung pamphlet . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 172
6.1
Gruppen Reisen travel brochure. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .187
6.2
Nordische Gesellschaft organizational flowchart, 1931 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 198
6.3
Woodcut Lübeck Altstadt model, 1935 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 208
7.1
Marienkirche bells memorial, Lübeck . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .226
7.2
Marienkirche stained-glass window, Lübeck . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 226
v
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
It is difficult to fully articulate the breadth and depth of support I have received
over the course of not only writing this dissertation but my career as a graduate student.
No words can express the degree to which I appreciate the academic guidance and
personal sustenance advisors, colleagues, friends, and above all family gave me. First
and foremost, I want to thank my dissertation committee, led by my dissertation director
Dr. Richard Steigmann-Gall. Your reminders about empiricism and letting the
documents cut through the theory were apt, necessary, and invaluable. Many thanks are
due to Dr. Shelley Baranowski, Dr. Rebecca Pulju, Dr. Stephen Harp, and Dr. David
Purcell, who each brought unique and incisive commentary to this dissertation, helping
me to weave together what could have been a very schizophrenic idea. I also thank the
History Department, especially Dr. Ken Bindas and Ms. Kay Dennis for encouragement
and emergency problem-solving.
In the United States, I owe a debt of gratitude to a plethora of research libraries
and archives. Kent State University, especially the InterLibrary Loan office, found
obscure sources for me, while the Graduate Student Senate generously helped fund my
research trip to Germany. The staff of the Hoover Institute in Stanford worked with me
long distance and provided me with invaluable documents. The Newberry Library
Reading Room staff helped me target the Ben Hecht Papers and the Notgeld Collection in
vi
an all-to-brief visit. Importantly and unexpectedly, University of North Carolina
Wilmington special collections staff and archivists allowed me a frantic week of data
collection and priceless copy help. Many thanks go out to The University Museum at
Southern Illinois University Edwardsville, where I worked as a graduate assistant
processing the Milton Harrington Notgeld Collection. Without access to that collection
and the continued guidance of Dr. Laura Milsk Fowler and Dr. Christienne Hinz, also at
SIUE, from my MA program forward, this dissertation would be a very different piece of
work.
In Germany, many thanks to the staff of the Hansestadt Archiv Lübeck, who
pulled and repulled folders and boxes for me throughout the summer of 2010. My
discussion of Notgeld collecting and circulation would not have as thorough or even
possible without the help of the staff at the Altonaer Museum für Kunst und
Kulturgeschichte in Altona, Hamburg, especially Frau Staack and Herr Homann.
Additionally, the reading room staff at the Stadtarchiv Kiel kindly lent their expertise
about regional festivals, pointing me in the direction of Kiel’s Nordische Messe. Lastly, I
am grateful to Regina Kordes and Einhornhaus in Lübeck which let me live near the
archives and really get to know and love Lübeck.
More than anything, I want to thank my friends and family, academic and
otherwise, who have not only put up with me during this process but have provided
countless hours of support and encouragement. I thank my friends in Bowman 205 and
across the country, where spontaneous debate and conversation crystalized and
challenged my perspectives, especially Monika Flaschka (who deserves a special note
vii
due to the inordinate draft-reading of grant applications, job applications, conference
papers, and dissertation chapters—I only hope I can repay you somehow), Rachel Boaz,
Greg Jones, Tom Weyant, Sarah Zabic, Matthew Phillips, Mathew Brundage, Jeff
O’Leary, Bryan Kvet, Laura Herron, Melissa Steinmetz, Dionna Richardson, Lisa Lazear,
Julie Mujic, Adam Hodge, Andy Tremel, Denise Jenison, and Austin McCoy. I also
thank Shannon Hines, Jessica Leveto, Chivon Fitch, Jammie and Shawn Bills, and a host
of other personal friends whose conversation, willingness to watch my (sometimes
unruly) children, and friendship have been as constructive in this process as the research.
The lasting impressions of Mr. Kurt Luedke, Mr. Steve Zenz, Dr. Robert Ubriaco, and
my instructors at SIUE have contributed to my work as a scholar and teacher. I thank
you.
Lastly, and certainly not least, I thank my family. To my mother, mother-in-law,
siblings and siblings-in-law, all of your help and continued encouragement, even if you
didn’t always understand what it was I “did,” was invaluable. To my sister Susan, who
unexpectedly served as my research assistant in Germany and perhaps the best travel
partner I’ve ever had, much of this dissertation is because of you. To Alex, my partner
and friend, I cannot articulate enough how much of you is in this project (even though
some of it is in German). To Kael and Tobin, who dealt with Mom being gone for two
months and countless hours of writing and revising, I hope you know how much I
appreciate you both and how proud I am of you. And finally, to Robert L. Kamholz, Jr.
and Allen Briesacher, father and father-in-law, I wish you could see the culmination of
the work you saw me start. This work is in large measure dedicated to your memories.
viii
Introduction
Cultural Currency: Finance, Festival, and Facets of Identity
The word “currency” is one that describes a host of complex and complicated
concepts, ranging from tangible specie to temporal boundaries. In terms of theoretical
concepts, “currency” recalls not only Pierre Bourdieu’s concept of “cultural capital,”
which will be discussed in detail throughout the following chapters, but also economic
exchange, the understanding of contemporary trends or what was in “vogue,” and a
connotation of purchasing and cultural power. When one is current, has currency, and
the ability to mobilize cultural currency in terms of ideas, fashions, and debates, one can
exert significant influence in shaping ideas, norms, and social patterns.
This study analyzes all of the different definitions of the term “currency,”
focusing especially on economic, social, and political trends that emerged after World
War I and transformed local, national, and international discourse in Lübeck, Germany.
In some ways, the term “currency” highlights the different levels on which social actors
operate, participating in identity formation, the international market, dominant political
and philosophical ideas, and how they all intersect. On the one hand, currency is money.
Money denotes the ability to purchase goods. Money is also culturally constructed,
especially in the era of paper bills and even less tangible virtual transfers via credit.
Thus, “currency” is not a static value but one that can change based upon outside
influences. On the other hand, “currency,” or being up-to-date, implies being in touch
with what society values. Value is still present, but it manifests in status and is non-
1
2
transferable. More than an individual exercise, remaining current required the acceptance
of social behavior and individuals’ negotiation of the cultural constructions of
community.
This study is inherently cultural as well. Currency points to expressions and
productions of culture with its diverse tangible and intangible meanings, affecting how
people viewed culture on the one hand while their opinions were simultaneously shaped
and produced by culture. The way people act, what society deems “current,” and the
value of currency shifts in relation to local, national, and international norms. At the
same time, all of these factors harness social and cultural capital—cultural “currency”—
that demonstrates and dictates power an individual or group of individuals has in
determining societal forces. For this reason, against the backdrop of a cataclysmic and
inimitable World War I and its aftermath, analyzing the intersection of economics,
politics, social factors, and nationalism in Lübeck, Germany provides perspective on
identity formation on many levels.
Setting and Research Questions
Lübeck provides a vital and dynamic example where finance, culture, and identity
combined and evolved to help shape twentieth-century Germany. Part of the reason
Lübeck is so important is that it was not a major economic or political hub after World
War I; rather, its reputation rested on its Hanseatic tradition and its cultural contributions
to the region and the nation. Lübeck’s population had to define itself in the context of a
new, democratic Germany in a new international system, and it chose to do so through
3
cultural festival. It built on an already-emergent community of collectors and cultural
tourists who took advantage of the economic climate and turned currency into a
collectable. Wooing visitors and an audience to Nordische Woche [Nordic Week] with
the promise of collectable notes and a trade show, Lübeck defined not only its own
identity but also what German identity in the northwest looked like.
Over the course of the 1920s and into the 1930s, Lübeck’s identity evolved, in
part because of the activity its business and cultural leaders promoted, such as the birth of
the Nordische Gesellschaft [Nordic Society]. This society proved to be incredibly
important as the Nazis gained power, with very strong support in Schleswig-Holstein.1
Under Nazi control, the Nordische Gesellschaft provided access to Scandinavia via
established contacts and networks, and a reincarnated Nordische Woche in 1938 in
Hamburg utilized Lübeck’s plans and institutions as a model. In this way, Lübeck’s
importance continued in terms of defining “who Germany was,” regardless of the nowracialized framework that informed national identity. The cultural import Lübeck
enjoyed, especially after the end of World War I, is evident in the fact that Britain’s
Royal Air Force began large-scale bombing raids on German cities of little strategic
significance in an effort to shatter German morale with Lübeck in March 1942. Lübeck
was, and remains, an “everyday” city, one that was outside modern-day and economic
political power circles; for this reason, Lübeck and other cities like it are important
historical foci.
1
Lübeck was not formally part of Schleswig-Holstein until the 1937 Greater Hamburg Act; I
discuss this legal status change later in the dissertation and the effect it had in Lübeck.
4
Scholars often consider the history of twentieth-century Europe beginning with
World War I in terms of blocks of time interrupted by catastrophe and the emergence or
renegotiation of broad ideologies such as nationalism, Marxism, and fascism competing
with each other, which ended the “long nineteenth century” started by the French
Revolution.2 Secondary literature is especially rich regarding how World War I changed
Europe socially, culturally, and politically.3 For Germany, in particular, World War I
forced an intense political change from authoritarian monarchy to liberal democracy.
The goal of the Weimar Republic was sharply different from that of Imperial Germany
or, indeed, any conception of a German nation-state up until the twentieth century.
Consensus building underscored the Weimar Constitution. Gone was the Prussian tiered
voting structure; gone was the dominance of the Junker class in politics. Also gone was
the swagger that accompanied the Wilhelmine war machine, replaced with a severely
decentered sense of identity.
2
Some examples include Ivan T. Berend, History Derailed: Central and Eastern Europe in the
Long Nineteenth Century (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2003); David Blackbourn, History of
Germany, 1780-1918: The Long Nineteenth Century (Malden, MA: Blackwell Publishing, 2003); Mark
Mazower, Dark Continent: Europe’s Twentieth Century (New York: Vintage Books, 1998); Maarten Van
Ginderachter and Marnix Beyen, eds., Nationhood from Below: Europe in the Long Nineteenth Century
(London: Palgrave Macmillan, 2012); Robert O. Paxton and Julie Hessler, Europe in the Twentieth Century
(Boston: Wadsworth, 2005);and Richard Vinen, A History in Fragments: Europe in the Twentieth Century
(London: Da Capo Press, 2002), among others. Mazower and Paxton are both commonly used in
undergraduate classrooms as textbooks and contribute to a large body of literature that attempt to distill
complex and challenging contexts into digestible histories.
3
Some groundbreaking works are Modris Eksteins, Rites of Spring: The Great War and Birth of
the Modern Age (New York: Houghten Mifflin & Company, 1989); Paul Fussell, The Great War and
Modern Memory (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2000); Margaret MacMillian, Paris 1919: Six Months
that Changed the World (New York: Random House, 2001); Nicholas J. Saunders, ed., Matters of Conflict:
Material Culture, Memory, and the First World War (London: Routledge, 2004); Jay Winter, ed., The
Legacy of the Great War: Ninety Years On (Columbia, MO: University of Missouri Press, 2009) ; Jay
Winter, Sites of Memory, Sites of Mourning: The Great War in European Cultural History (Cambridge:
Cambridge University Press, 1998); and Robert Wohl, The Generation of 1914 (Cambridge, MA: Harvard
University Press, 1979).
5
In its place was a republic that had its work cut out for it but the best intentions,
placing the government’s legitimacy as well as the nation itself squarely in the hands of
the people. The constitution was an invention of “The German people [Volk], united. . .
and inspired by the determination to renew and establish its realm of freedom and
justice.”4 While the preamble explicitly put “the people” in charge, it opened up the very
questions of German existence and destiny that had followed the nation since its official
inception in 1871.
Europe, too, was culturally different after World War I. The League of Nations
assumed a formalized sense of global obligation and interconnectedness, designed to
prevent another devastating war. It was also a way to police a European-led world,
designating which nations participated in diplomacy and which did not. On a national
level, the years after World War I were tumultuous for Germany, which had to redefine
itself and navigate a new international order. Social, political, and economic rules were
in flux and had to be rewritten utilizing new voices such as women and the working class.
Similar trends emerged in other nations around the world, and Germany provides a
dynamic case study to elucidate how those factors and actors interacted.
Central to my dissertation is the fundamental question of how German national
identity after World War I re-emerged and how regions and municipalities fit into a
national narrative. How did the locality of Lübeck invent both itself and the German
nation in the wake of global war? Additionally, how did Germans negotiate the very real
tensions between local, regional, and national identity in an international context? How,
4
“Weimar Constitution”, in Anton Kaes, et al. The Weimar Republic Sourcebook (Berkeley:
University of California Press, 1995), 46.
6
in particular, did Lübeckers construct, express, and reconstruct these identities?
Especially considering the German experience in World War I, these essential questions
needed answers in order for the nation to go forward.
Speaking to the basic shift occurring in Germany after 1918, Konrad Jarausch and
Michael Geyer made the point that “the Weimar Republic finally offered the Catholic,
democratic, and socialist skeptics of Bismarckian unification a chance to reconstruct a
shrunken Germany in a more progressive image. . . . [and] sought to reconcile conflicting
views on the shape of national community by stressing ‘the political freedom and
responsibility, the ethical dignity of democracy’.”5 Inherent in the challenges facing
Weimar Germany were questions about economic practices, political expression, and
sociocultural manifestations of identity that would allow Germans to coalesce around a
unified, coherent national identity.
The Weimar Republic, brought into existence contemporaneously with the
signing of the Treaty of Versailles, represented a sociopolitical experiment fraught with
steps and missteps, triumph and destruction, and against which German citizens set about
the work of rebuilding their cultural norms, expectations, and attitudes, perhaps mindful
that the national master narrative was being rewritten. Added to these competing
narratives, especially toward the end of the 1920s, was the increasingly racial sense of
identity, as pseudoscientific studies of race gained traction worldwide during the 1920s
and were ultimately supported and undertaken by the Nazi regime during the Third
Reich.
5
Konrad H. Jarausch and Michael Geyer, Shattered Past: Reconstructing German Histories
(Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2003), 232-233.
7
The transition from the liberal democracy of the Weimar Republic to Nazi
dictatorship has troubled scholars, who continually seek to understand how such a change
could occur. My analyses of the intersection of social, cultural, and political forces over
the course of twenty years in Lübeck provide fresh insight into how Germans formed and
maintained identity during the Interwar period in a mid-sized city away from more
dominant, urban power centers. Additionally, my study of Nordische Woche, the
Nordische Gesellschaft, and their connections to the rest of Germany illuminate Lübeck’s
historical and cultural significance.
Historiography
No study has tied together the seemingly disparate threads of economy, politics, identity,
material culture, and festival into a solid, unified fabric. First, scholars have analyzed
how nationalism functioned in Germany, highlighting how regions and localities
negotiated a national context.6 This study expands upon these perceptive and insightful
investigations by analyzing how Lübeckers and other northwestern Germans, present on
6
Excluding theories of nationalism, a plethora of studies focusing on conceptions and perceptions
of German nationalism have been undertaken, especially considering the concept of Heimat. The following
represent the most relevant studies that informed this dissertation: Celia Applegate, A Nation of
Provincials: The German Idea of Heimat (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1990); Elizabeth Boa
and Rachel Palfreyman, Heimat: A German Dream: Regional Loyalties and National Identity in German
Culture (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2000); Rogers Brubaker, Citizenship and Nationhood in France
and Germany (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1992); Alon Confino, The Nation as a Local
Metaphor: Württemberg, Imperial Germany, and National Memory, 1871-1918 (Chapel Hill: University of
North Carolina Press, 1997); Geoff Eley and Jan Palmowski, eds., Citizenship and National Identity in
Twentieth-Century Germany (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 2008); Mary Fulbrook and Martin
Swales, eds., Representing the German Nation: History and Identity in Twentieth-Century Germany
(Manchester: Manchester University Press, 2000); Abigail Green, Fatherlands: State-Building and
Nationhood in Nineteenth-Century Germany (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2001); Mark
Hewitson, Nationalism in Germany, 1848-1866: Revolutionary Nation (New York: Palgrave MacMillan,
2010); Hagen Schulze, The Course of German Nationalism: From Frederick the Great to Bismarck, 17631867 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1991).
8
historic borderlands with Denmark, discussed and constructed their German national
identity. In terms of treatments of the economic situation in Weimar Germany, historical
literature has focused much more on the economic aspect of the Notgeld (emergency
money) phenomenon, especially how it related to and affected the hyperinflation of the
early 1920s.7
The importance of Notgeld as a cultural symbol and vessel for instilling
nationalism is largely overlooked in the secondary literature. Notgeld, especially
Serienscheine (series notes), should be considered as a mode of visual expression, as it
depicted local and national heroes, myths, norms, and narrative. More recent works, such
as James Carrier’s, have begun to look at economic structures and specie as cultural
objects and symbols, especially in the realm of consumption, art, and meaning, even
arguing that money was an object of consumption itself.8 These studies provide a
necessary bridge to cultural analyses of the Weimar Republic, situating the economic
situation within the context of social change and political experimentation.9
7
Costantino Bresciani-Turroni, The Economics of Inflation: A Study of Currency Depreciation in
Post-War Germany, trans. Millicent E. Sayers (New York: Augustus M. Kelley, 1937, reprinted 1968);
Gerald Feldman, The Great Disorder: Politics, Economics, and Society in the German Inflation, 1914-1924
(New York: Oxford University Press, 1993) ; Adam Fergusson, When Money Dies: The Nightmare of the
Weimar Hyperinflation (New York: PublicAffairs, 1975, 2010); Frank D. Graham, Exchange, Prices, and
Production in Hyper-inflation: Germany, 1920-1923 (New York: Russell & Russell, 1930, reprinted 1967);
Carl-Ludwig Holtfrerich,. The German Inflation, 1914-1923: Causes and Effects in International
Perspective (New York: Walter de Gruyter, 1986); and Karsten Lauresn and Jørgen Pedersen, The German
Inflation 1918-1923 (Amsterdam: North-Holland Publishing Company, 1964) are classic texts that deal
with the economic aspects of Germany’s hyperinflation.
8
James Carrier, “Reconciling Commodities and Personal Relations in Industrial Society,” Theory
and Society, Vol. 19, No. 5 (Oct 1990): 579-98; James Carrier & Josiah McHeyman, “Consumption and
Political Economy,” The Journal of the Royal Anthropological Institute, Vol. 3, No. 2 (Jun 1997): 355-73.
9
Peter Paret, Art as History: Episodes in the Culture and Politics of Nineteenth-Century Germany
(Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1988). While this work does not deal especially with Weimar
Germany, the methodology is applicable; Peter Paret, German Encounters with Modernism, 1840-1945
(Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2001); Peter Gay, Weimar Culture: The Outsider as Insider
(New York: Harper & Row Publishers, 1968).
9
Peter Paret’s groundbreaking studies of German culture support this approach,
which analyzed art as an expression of social dynamics and as viable historical
documents. He also detailed how art reflected cultural and societal norms and events,
through artistic rendering as well as iconography and the symbolism of modernism. In a
similar vein, Peter Gay analyzed Weimar Germany from a cultural standpoint, using art
and literature as his main sources, to reinforce the notion that “The Weimar Republic was
an idea seeking to become reality.” 10 Gay’s work proved to be a starting point for a new
generation of German historians, especially when one considers the overlapping nature of
culture and history when constructing a shared past.
More recent studies looked at the culture of the Weimar period, especially the
cultural role of festivals in German history, although the material objects produced to
commemorate or finance the event have yet to be fully analyzed as documents in and of
themselves.11 The intersectionality of economics, culture, and international diplomacy is
evident in the example of Nordische Woche (Nordic Week) in Lübeck in 1921, but no
research to date has dealt with this event or these topics in one study.12 In this study,
10
Peter Gay, Weimar Culture: The Outsider as Insider (New York: Harper & Row Publishers,
1968), 1. See also Hans Mommsen, The Rise and Fall of Weimar Democracy (Chapel Hill: University of
North Carolina Press, 1998).
11
Lynn Abrams, Workers’ Culture in Imperial Germany: Leisure and Recreation in the Rhineland
and Westphalia (London: Routledge, 1992); Karin Friedrich, ed., Festive Culture in Germany and Europe
from the Sixteenth to the Twentieth Century (Lewiston, NY: The Edwin Mellon Press, 2000), and Jonathan
Sperber, “Festivals of National Unity in the German Revolution of 1848-1849,” Past & Present, No. 136
(Aug. 1992), 114-138 are notable examples.
12
Several newer studies, notably Anton Kaes, Shell Shock Cinema: Weimar Culture and the
Wounds of War (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2009); Janet Ward, Weimar Surfaces: Urban
Visual Culture in 1920s Germany (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2001); Eric D. Weitz, Weimar
Germany: Promise and Tragedy (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2007); Bernd Widdig, Culture and
Inflation in Weimar Germany (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2001); and Jonathan Zatlin’s The
Currency of Socialism: Money and Political Culture in East Germany, provide a bridge between earlier
studies of German culture and the current project. The work dealing with Nordische Woche in a scholarly
10
festival in general and Nordische Woche in particular takes center stage, where every day
Lübeckers, influential planners in the community, and national and international visitors
converged in a unique public space to negotiate and participate in identity formation. At
the same time, Nordische Woche provides a context in which economic concerns,
political debates and disputes, and material expressions of identity matter; this has yet to
be done in the existing literature.
Lastly, emerging from Nordische Woche and local culture in Lübeck was an
organization called the Nordische Gesellschaft (Nordic Society). This society has been
overlooked in scholarly literature beyond functionalist or organizational studies of the
group after the Nazi assumption of power.13 Other treatments of the Society are
essentially relegated to footnotes or passing references, rather than focusing on the
foundation and evolution of the group and its identity politics.14 At the same time,
examinations of German and Nazi perceptions of race have been extensive, especially in
way is found singly in Abram Enns, Kunst und Bürgertum: Die Kontroversen Zwanziger Jahre in Lübeck
(Hamburg: Hans Christians Verlag, 1978).
13
Two works, both in German, discuss the role of the Nordische Gesellschaft from an
organizational standpoint: Hans-Adolf Jacobsen, Nationalsozialistische Außenpolitik, 1933-1938 (Frankfurt
am Main: Alfred Metzner Verlag, 1968) discusses the Nazi bureaucracy, while Hans-Jürgen Lutzhöft, Der
Nordische Gedanke in Deutschland, 1920-1940 (Stuttgart: Ernst Klett Verlag, 1971) discusses the aspects
of racial theory espoused by the Nordische Gesellschaft. One recent study examined the role Alfred
Rosenberg played regarding the Nordische Gesellschaft and its impact on racial ideology: Birgitta
Almgren, Jan Hecker-Stampehl, and Ernst Piper, “Alfred Rosenberg und die Nordische Gesellschaft: Der
‘nordische Gedanke in Theorie und Praxis,” NORDEUROPAforum, Heft 2/2008, 7-51.
14
Some examples are: Hans Bonde, Gymnastics and Politics: Niels Bukh and Male Aesthetics
(Copenhagen: Museum Tusculanum Press, 2006); Olaf Peters, Ruth Heftrig, and Barbara Schellewald,
eds., Kunstgeschichte im “Dritten Reich”: Theorien, Methoden, Praktiken (Berlin: Akademie Verlag
GmbH, 2008); and Jonathan Petropoulos, Art as Politics in the Third Reich (Chapel Hill: University of
North Carolina Press, 1999) are some examples that mention the Nordische Gesellschaft, but do not
consider it outside its role in Nazi bureaucracy.
11
the realm of competing notions of identity and how Nordicism fit into the Nazi
paradigm(s).15
This dissertation contributes to the existing literature by analyzing not only how
the Nordische Gesellschaft emerged but how it evolved between 1921 and 1933.
Additionally, the cultural performances endorsed by the Society essentially retained the
spirit of regional, local, and national identity fostered by Nordische Woche in Lübeck.
The expansion of the Nordische Gesellschaft beyond the borders of its home city
demonstrates competing and often contradicting voices that were present in Germany on
the topic of dominant identity. Rather than highlighting the organizational framework of
the Society, my study views the group through the lens of culture, affected by and
affecting Lübeckers and Germans at large. The material culture left behind by groups
such as the Nordische Gesellschaft and events such as Nordische Woche add to the
growing literature on European material culture, expanding it to account for overlooked
sources such as collectable money, souvenir programs, and printed ephemera.16
15
Michael Burleigh and Wolfgang Wippermann, The Racial State: Germany, 1933-1945
(Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1991) highlight how racial policy undergirded all elements of
life in Nazi Germany; Geoffrey G. Field, “Nordic Racism,” Journal of the History of Ideas,Vol. 38, No. 3
(Jul.-Sep., 1977), 523-540; Richard T. Gray, About Face: German Physiognomic Thought from Lavater to
Auschwitz (Detroit: Wayne State University Press, 2004) investigated eugenics and racial philosophy and
science, especially as it related to debates within the Nazi Party; Christopher Hutton, Race and the Third
Reich: Linguistics, Racial Anthropology and Genetics in the Dialectic of Volk (Cambridge: Polity Press,
2005) analyzed the difference between “Nordic” and “Aryan;”
16
See Leora Auslander, Taste and Power: Furnishing Modern France (Berkeley: University of
California, 1998); Martin Daunton and Matthew Hilton, eds., The Politics of Consumption: Material
Culture and Citizenship in Europe and America (London: Berg, 2001); Victoria DeGrazia and Ellen
Furlough, eds., The Sex of Things: Gender and Consumption in Historical Perspective (Berkeley:
University of California Press, 1996); Carole Collier Frick, Dressing Renaissance Florence: Families,
Fortunes, and Fine Clothing (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 2005); Rafaella Sarti, Europe at
Home: Family and Material Culture, 1500-1800 (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2004); and Nicholas
Thomas, Entangled Objects: Exchange, Material Culture, and Colonialism in the Pacific (Cambridge, MA:
Harvard University Press, 1991), to name a few.
12
Theory
No one theory can completely explain how historical or social actors perform. Because
my dissertation investigates a variety of factors, especially nationalism, social and
cultural power, and economics, I first construct a multifaceted theoretical scaffold. To
that end, my dissertation employs four broad theoretical perspectives that each
illuminates a particular facet of German life. Primarily, Benedict Anderson’s work
underpins my analysis of German nationalism and the formation of national identity.
Most importantly, Anderson contributes the concept of an “imagined community,” a
nationalism that binds citizens together using shared language, heritage, and narrative in a
context where all members could not possibly know each other.17 In Germany, which
was traditionally regional rather than national, Anderson’s notion of an imagined
community resonates effectively, as continually shifting ideas of what comprised
“Germanness” and “greater Germany” depended on exigent political, social, and
diplomatic factors. Anderson’s ideas about how national feeling and nationalist rhetoric
spread are important when considering public discourse about events and activities such
as local festivals that had national implications.
Also targeting structural forces that threatened stability is Emile Durkheim’s
notion of anomie, or, essentially, social normlessness. Durkheim witnessed the events of
the World War I and its resolution, crafting his ideas about society, social facts, and
social actors during the 1920s when much of Western Europe was transformed. His
analysis of society formed the basis for sociology as a field, and his observations are
17
Benedict Anderson, Imagined Communities: Reflections on the Origins and Spread of
Nationalism (London: Verso, 1991).
13
incredibly important in the study of German society after World War I for a couple of
reasons. Durkheim was a contemporary of the Weimar Republic, and his ideas about
anomie certainly echo events and patterns present in German history. With this in mind,
I analyze how economy, politics, and culture intersected, combined, competed, and
complemented each other to impact human activity in society. Durkheim’s ideas
contribute a sociological perspective about events that were fundamentally social.
Building on the foundations of social forces and public construction of
nationalism, this dissertation analyzes the cultural aspects of politics, economics, and
status in a time when Germans overhauled all three pillars. How German society rebuilt
itself after the war was different from similar moves in Britain, France, and even the new
Soviet Union, though there were certainly commonalities between them. To situate the
place of culture in public discourse and how it affected historical actors, I employ Pierre
Bourdieu’s concept of cultural capital. In his work, Bourdieu explained the different axes
that affected social behavior and patterns in cultural terms, which adds depth to the
analysis. It also demonstrates that elements such as politics or the economy are, at their
core, cultural constructions, and the degree to which historical actors participated in or
benefitted from their production owed a great deal to understanding and mobilizing
culture.
Lastly, this study focuses on how groups within society emerge, solidify, and
exclude others. This is especially important when considered the evolution from liberal
democracy during the 1920s to the authoritarian racial dictatorship erected by the Nazis.
Gordon Allport’s work on prejudice and social categorization is an important facet of
14
1920s Germany. Clearly, an exclusive racial community did not magically appear on the
night of January 30, 1933 when Adolf Hitler assumed the office of German chancellor.
Nor, at the same time, was race as pervasive an element of German nationalism or
identity during the 1920s as it was during the 1930s. Allport’s social psychological work
regarding individuals’ notions of social belonging fits in well with the narrative that
emerged in Germany during the 1920s, when people sought to reconcile the past and the
present in a reformulated German identity.
Method
This study utilizes an interdisciplinary, material-cultural methodology to examine
several issues, on the local and national level. More than a community study, this project
seeks to uncover the layers of identity—local, regional, national, and racial—present in
border regions such as Schleswig-Holstein and the way in which these identities
competed with and completed national identity.18 The focus of this study begins with the
production of Notgeld, advertisements, and the ephemera related to the celebration and
planning of both Nordische Woche during the Weimar Republic and the Third Reich, as
well as the hyperinflation period of the early 1920s. Notgeld, representing a cultural
symbol and forum for competing narratives of regional or national pride rather than a
simple means of exchange, has so far been largely overlooked in the secondary literature.
18
Schleswig-Holstein as a contentious border region, claimed by both Denmark and Germany, has
a complicated identity. The Nordische Gesellschaft, in some ways, sought to reconcile competing identities
(that of German versus Danish) by identifying the common heritage of Nordic identity.
15
This study also examines the role of Notgeld nationwide in the 1920s as the backdrop for
the assessment of Lübeck’s 1921 Nordische Woche and the subsequent activities in
Germany of the Nordische Gesellschaft, as well as the language and rhetoric Nordische
Gesellschaft-sponsored treatises and publications employed.
A material culture method uses artifacts as the starting point to understand the
dynamics, assumptions, and goals of a society or culture. Analyzed through the lens of
Pierre Bourdieu’s concept of cultural capital, the Nordische Woche events of both 1921
and 1938 demonstrate how economics, culture, and language mobilized to assert
governmental authority and stability.19 Most often, material cultural method applies to
the study of American folklore and museum collections.20 Still rare in existing
approaches to European history, material culture studies focus on “the obvious fact that
the existence of a [hu]man-made object is concrete evidence of the presence of a human
intelligence operating at the time of the fabrication . . . [and] reflect, consciously or
unconsciously . . . the beliefs of the individuals who made, commissioned, purchased, or
used them.”21 The analysis of artifacts requires an interdisciplinary approach and my
examination of Notgeld will engage new perspectives heretofore completely ignored by
19
Pierre Bourdieu, Distinction: A Social Critique of the Judgment of Taste (Cambridge, MA:
Harvard University Press, 1984) and Pierre Bourdieu, Language and Symbolic Power (Cambridge, MA:
Harvard University Press, 1991) discuss how language and objects that are displayed or collected point to
the social and/or cultural status of a person. In Distinction, in particular, Bourdieu analyzes objects within
the home.
20
In fact, the analysis of material culture is often associated with anthropological study, especially
of primitive and prehistoric cultures, for ethnographical purposes. European material culture analysis is
less prevalent than it is in American scholarship, and this study seeks to contribute to the growing body of
literature situating material cultural method in European history.
21
Jules David Prown, “Mind in Matter: An Introduction to Material Culture Theory and Method,”
Winterthur Portfolio, Vol. 17, No. 1 (Spring 1982), 1-2. This is especially true of artifacts, such as money
or train schedules, that are taken-for-granted elements of everyday life yet point to a specific set of
circumstances that make them possible.
16
scholars regarding the Weimar Republic’s attempt to negotiate political and cultural
legitimacy and how it crumbled on the eve of the Third Reich.
Because this study involves a detailed examination of local culture, especially
regarding the printing and authorization of Notgeld, the planning and execution of
Nordische Woche, and the establishment of the Nordische Gesellschaft, this dissertation
utilizes archival material—letters, newspaper clippings, and the personal papers of
influential city leaders—from Lübeck’s city archives.22 Additionally, archival material
related to a wide community of Notgeld and numismatic collectors, especially newsletters
and price guides found in Hamburg’s Altonaer Museum für Kunst und Kulturgeschichte,
clarify how collecting was explained and conducted nationally and internationally.
English-speaking scholars have not examined this archival material. As I have already
pointed out, those German-speaking scholars who have examined it have focused on
either the Nordische Gesellschaft or Nordische Woche from a functionalist standpoint,
examining primarily bureaucratic organization or the propagation of race-based theory.23
While Notgeld and the Nordische Gesellschaft appear to be discrete subjects, their central
place in the execution of Nordische Woche elucidates how interrelated locality, identitybased groups, and the economic situation were in Weimar Germany.24 Again, rather than
22
Material for related or similar events, such as Kiel’s Nordische Messe, are gleaned from that
city’s municipal archive for the purpose of comparison.
23
Jacobsen, Nationalsozialistische Außenpolitik, 1933-1938 (Frankfurt am Main: Alfred Metzner
Verlag, 1968) discusses the Nazi bureaucracy, while Lutzhöft, Der Nordische Gedanke in Deutschland,
1920-1940 (Stuttgart: Ernst Klett Verlag, 1971) discusses the aspects of racial theory espoused by the
Nordische Gesellschaft. Lastly, Abram Enns, Kunst und Bürgertum: Die Kontroversen Zwanziger Jahre in
Lübeck (Hamburg: Hans Christians Verlag, 1978) dedicated a part of a chapter to Lübeck’s Nordische
Woche.
24
Indeed, economic circumstances affect currency and social institutions throughout world
history. The hyperinflation currently affecting Zimbabwe is an example, as well as the historic example of
the Great Depression, which affected many nations worldwide.
17
focusing on the bureaucratic function such documents detail, general organizational
documents will further reveal the role of Nordic ideology in government through analysis
of language, rhetoric, and an object-based approach.
A material cultural approach also forms the basis for my analysis of the Nordische
Gesellschaft. While Society documentation and correspondence was important, for it
reveals the motivations and even agendas of its executive board, material produced for
public consumption, such as newsletters, journals, and advertisements demonstrate not
only the cultural needs of Germany and Lübeck but also the social and political environs
of the time. Furthermore, increasingly racialist propaganda, whether it was destined for
Scandinavia as it was immediately before and during World War II or solidifying a lessthan-coherent national community, is important to consider from the standpoint of public
access and production. To that end, the deconstruction of language is incredibly
important to all of the themes explored in this dissertation, as it exposes the way the
Weimar Republic and the historical actors affected by it crafted and evolved their senses
of identity between 1921 and 1945.
This study sheds light on the roles of regionalism and internationalism in German
nationalism during this period, particularly as national identity was rebuilt after World
War I. In addition, my analytical foci will demonstrate the fragmented and multivalent
nature of Weimar culture, one that was susceptible to the blandishments of the Nazi
appeal, yet sought to attain an alternative, more cohesive structure. During the 1920s, the
German nation-state was confronted with the spectre of hyperinflation, thrusting financial
concerns to the fore, perhaps leading to what Heinrich Mann and Alfred Weber feared
18
would amount to “an era of a ‘limitless reign of the economic,’ in which . . . [c]ultural life
would simply become an ‘appendage’ of the economic sphere.”25 Certainly, the marked
devaluation of Germany’s currency signaled a lingering doubt in the hope and vigor of
the Weimar Republic, a holdover from the poor fiscal management of the Imperial war
effort. Defeated and economically unstable, Germans struggled to regain financial
foothold even as the system grew ever more precarious, necessitating foreign loans to
inject temporary relief. These loans were difficult to come by due to the diplomatically
isolating measures enforced by the European victors of World War I, adding to postwar
uncertainty regarding international affairs.
A phenomena coming out of Germany’s inflationary period was a renewed sense
of national identity, in some ways tied to the shared traumatic experience of economic
and cultural devaluation; in fact, Peter Fritzsche argued that “[t]o associate inflation with
a complete breakdown of the polity is . . . a mistake. Indeed, the effects especially of the
hyperinflation in 1922-23 were so sweeping, the pain it inflicted so general, and its
appearance so fused in the public mind with the Treaty of Versailles, that it exposed the
national fate that all Germans shared . . . and thereby spurred programs from national
salvation.”26 This is not to say, either, that the blame for the Weimar Republic’s troubles
and its slide toward Nazism rest solely at the feet of the Paris Peace Conference of 1919;
clearly, the Weimar Republic endured a complicated web of challenges and victories, all
of which contributed to the eventual collapse of the republic.
25
26
Bernd Widdig, Culture and Inflation, 187.
Peter Fritzsche, Germans into Nazis (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1998), 122.
19
The Reichsbank and the republican government initiated some of these programs,
while others, less officially, attempted to recast German identity and rediscover the role
the nation would play on the new postwar international stage. Foremost in the latter
category were local, regional, and international festivals aimed at reasserting identity,
infusing foreign capital into German coffers, and repairing or creating relationships with
global neighbors mostly through economic channels dominated by currency. In fact,
Bernd Widdig argued that “Next to language, money is the most important medium
through which modern societies communicate,” indicating how the economy, and
Notgeld in particular, fit into the multilayered culture of interwar Germany.27 Most
importantly, though, the hyperinflationary period provides an important cultural
backdrop, against which the analysis of festival culture presents a more complete cultural
picture of the period.
Overview
In 1921, the city of Lübeck began planning a ten-day festival, Nordische Woche
(Nordic Week), designed to call attention to the city, its heritage, and its
interconnectedness with its Scandinavian neighbors. More than a local affair, it had the
trappings of an international-regional fair, smaller than the typical world’s fair so
common in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries but in many ways similar in
scope. In some ways, a festival could cement new frames of discourse and redefine old
interpretations and symbols within the framework of the Weimar Republic. As Jonathan
27
Widdig, 79.
20
Sperber has observed, “Always an arena of mass participation in public life, festivals
have been, since 1789, intimately connected with the revolutionary process. The parades,
banners, posters, decorations, temporary statuary, songs and speeches . . . create a rich
and varied field of symbols, ideal for semiotic investigation.”28
Most importantly, however, Nordische Woche sought to draw on cultural
foundations of Nordic identity, particularly mythology, architecture, music, art, and
economic structures, resulting in the foundation of the Nordische Gesellschaft (Nordic
Society). The main goals of Nordische Woche 1921 were reconnection with foreign
neighbors, resurging pride in town-based, regional, and national identities, and an
economic boost during the early days of German inflation following World War I. This
focus on festivals carried on into the Third Reich, which was ever mindful of the
usefulness festivals had in cementing a specific interpretation of German culture,
demonstrated concretely in the mounting of a second Nordische Woche in Hamburg in
1938. Both of these festivals had potentially similar goals, though the cultural context
(the interwar period versus the Nazi regime) differed; in addition, these festivals present a
variation on a world’s fair.
It has been argued that world’s fairs were “controlled portrayals” of a city’s (and,
by extension, a nation’s) values, “conscious universal representations of what was
through to be progress and modernity, and they were thus both the métier and the ideal
rendition of the modern city. Such exhibitions aimed to be object lessons about those
28
Jonathan Sperber, “Festivals of National Unity in the German Revolution of 1848-1849,” Past
and Present, No.136 (Aug. 1992), 116. While Sperber’s study focused on 1848 and 1849, his analysis of
festival culture can be extended to any time period of social and economic change. Indeed, the use of
planned mass spectacle was used consistently by the Nazis and other cultural groups.
21
beliefs, and often, indeed, their vestiges became the symbols of modern cities.”29 While
both Nordische Woche had a decidedly smaller target audience than world’s fairs,
planners presented them in similar ways.
Nordische Woche in Lübeck essentially established the Nordische Gesellschaft
(Nordic Society), a group dedicated to emphasizing common roots between Germans and
“Nordics” and promoting their cultural expression. Most important was the expression of
identity in international context, building on notions of geopolitics that incorporated race,
nationality, culture, and political boundaries.30 This is especially prescient in borderlands
such as Schleswig-Holstein, where identity was fluid (particularly as national borders and
even nationality changed throughout the early modern and modern periods).
Commemorating material produced during Nordische Woche 1921 did not mention the
Nordische Gesellschaft, but professional men who had been active in the planning of
29
Mauricio Tenorio-Trillo, Mexico at the World’s Fairs: Crafting a Modern Nation (Berkeley:
University of California Press, 1996), 2. Tenorio-Trillo analyzed Mexico’s activities at world’s fairs before
and after the 1910 Revolution, making the connection between trauma, the international sphere, and the act
of building (or renegotiating) national identity, arguing that “[w]orld’s fairs emerged out of—and
embodied—nationalistic interests,” both constructive and instructive (8). See also Robert W. Rydell, All
the World’s a Fair: Visions of Empire at American International Expositions, 1876-1916 (Chicago:
University of Chicago Press, 1987); Paul Greenhagh, Ephemeral Vistas: A History of the Expositions
Universelles, Great Exhibitions, and World’s Fairs, 1851-1939 (Manchester: University of Manchester
Press, 1988); Shanny Peer, France on Display: Peasants, Provincials, and Folklore in the 1937 Paris
World’s Fair (Albany: State University of New York Press, 1998); and Marco Duranti, “Utopia, Nostalgia
and World War at the 1939-40 New York World’s Fair,” Journal of Contemporary History, Vol. 41, No. 4
(Oct. 2006), 663-683.
30
The study of geopolitics, especially as framed by Friedrich Ratzel and Rudolf Kjellen,
conceived of a culturally-determined space. Several scholars noted how geopolitics was incorporated as a
major element in nationalist thought, as well as Hitler’s conception of Lebensraum in the 1930s and 1940s.
See especially Charles Kruszewski, “International Affairs: Germany’s Lebensraum,” The American
Political Science Review, Vol. 34, No. 5 (Oct. 1940), 964-975; George Kiss, “Political Geography into
Geopolitics: Recent Trends in Germany,” Geographical Review, Vol. 32, No. 4 (Oct. 1942), 632-645;
Woodruff D. Smith, “Friedrich Ratzel and the Origins of Lebensraum,” German Studies Review, Vol. 3,
No. 1 (Feb. 1980), 51-68; and Ola Tunander, “Swedish-German Geopolitics for a New Century: Rudolf
Kjellen’s ‘The State as a Living Organism’,” Review of International Studies, Vol. 27, No. 3 (July 2001),
451-463. The latter article, in particular, emphasizes that Kjellen’s conception of geopolitics was not
inherently racist or Nazi, but that the ideas were easily adapted to those ideologies.
22
Nordische Woche were present on the first board of directors, and historians generally
link the two.31 Indeed, documents included in the Nordische Gesellschaft’s file at the
Deutsch Kongress-Zentrale (DKZ) list the date of establishment as September 1921.32
The Nordische Gesellschaft increasingly gravitated toward racialist theories and
philosophies (or perhaps was founded with them), and was later absorbed by Alfred
Rosenberg’s Außenpolitisches Amt by September 1933. The elements that attracted
Rosenberg to the Nordische Gesellschaft, especially its activity in formulating raciallybased ideology, is evident even as early as 1921. While Lübeck’s Nordische Woche
contained ambiguous references to Volk and its meanings (particularly in Kjellen’s sense
of Geopolitik), the Nordische Gesellschaft became associated with leading racial theorists
and race-based academic studies.
The Nordische Gesellschaft claimed that its “work . . . would be free from
economic and cultural ideas carried too far.”33 However, the 1930s, the Nordische
Gesellschaft was deeply involved in the production of the journal Rasse, engaging in
propagandistic activities in Scandinavia, and putting on the second Nordische Woche in
Hamburg in 1938, attended by Nazi officials as elite as Heinrich Himmler. The
connection between the Nazi party and the Nordische Gesellschaft after 1933 (principally
in terms of Rosenberg’s patronage) has been highlighted by several scholars, but further
31
Lutzhöft, Der Nordische Gedanke in Deutschland, 55. This contention also exists in Jacobsen,
Außenpolitik, 484 and Hans-Dietrich Loock, Quisling, Rosenberg, und Terboven: Zur Vorgeschichte und
Geschichte der Nationalsozialistischen Revolution in Norwegen (Stuttgart: Deutsche Verlags-Anstalt,
1970), 165.
32
Deutsch Kongress-Zentrale collection, Hoover Institute, Stanford, CA: Box 227, Folder
Nordische Woche 1938.
33
Jacobsen, Außenpolitik, 484.
23
analysis of the organization over the course of its lifespan is warranted, especially at the
local and middle levels of administration.34
This study begins with the material iconic to the Weimar Republic: inflationary
money, or Notgeld. In Chapter 1, I analyze not only the economic system itself but its
cultural meaning. At the same time, I highlight and explain collectors’ communities that
sprung up in response to the flooded currency market, pointing to how the years between
1919 and 1923 were crucial in forming a suspicion of but also a desire for a new
Germany. Chapter 2 then begins with the context of Chapter 1 in mind, moving from
structural (in this case, economic) forces to festivals that had multiple uses. On the one
hand, regional and local festivals in northwestern Germany had the potential to pull in
visitors from out of town, even from outside the country, and those visitors needed places
to stay and food to eat. Festivals, as I demonstrate, were at their core economic. At the
same time, though, festivals had cultural characteristics, and the messaging and
promotion that accompanied these events dealt with issues of nationalism, identity, and
culture.
Chapters 3 and 4 target Nordische Woche in Lübeck specifically. In Chapter 3, I
analyze the public debates about whether or not to attempt a festival in Lübeck, the way
the planners envisioned the event, and the process of mustering the general population of
34
Joachim Joesten, “The Nazis in Scandinavia,” Foreign Affairs, Vol. 15, No. 4 (Jul. 1937), 720728; Geoffrey Field, “Nordic Racism,” Journal of the History of Ideas, Vol. 38, No. 3 (Jul.-Sept. 1977),
523-544; Birgitta Almgren, et al., “Alfred Rosenberg und die Nordische Gesellschaft,”
NORDEUROPAforum: Zeitschrift für Politik, Wirtschaft und Kultur, 18 Jahrgang (Feb. 2008), 7-51.
Joesten also had several books and articles on the subject of Scandinavia and the Nazis, particularly in
terms of social and cultural infiltration via the Nordische Gesellschaft after 1933.
24
the city in the actual planning. Chapter 4 moves from the planning stages of the festival
to the impact it had, considering economic, cultural, and social categories. Because
Nordische Woche was a unique platform where all those elements converged, each angle,
especially the cultural angle, is considered.
Chapter 5 deals with the emergence of the Nordische Geselleschaft in Lübeck
after Nordische Woche. The chapter explores the motivations for forming such an
organization, what the main purpose(s) would be, and how the Society would achieve
them. Most importantly, Chapter 5 discusses how the Society used the term “Nordic” in
its early days and what activities it undertook up until 1926. Lastly, Chapter 6 takes up
the Nordische Gesellschaft’s transition from local identity group to national propaganda
and ideology machine. In this chapter, I discuss the reincarnation of Nordische Woche as
a Nazi ideological fair in 1938 compared with its predecessor, again aiding in uncovering
the evolution of racist national policy.
Chapter I
“Recognize this hobby as an ideal end in itself:”
The Culture of Collecting Notgeld
It can be argued that the economic system of a country reflects, affects, and is
affected by culture. In some ways, economy is conflated with the political culture of a
nation, as can be seen in the postwar context of the Soviet bloc countries. Most
especially, the idea that an economic system—citing, for example, the planned economy
of postwar East Germany—informs political, social, and cultural attitudes establishes the
importance of an economic structure in the formation of national identity. Currency, as
the means and mode of exchange within that economic system, the concrete expression of
economic culture, carries with it a great deal of weight. It is the type of cultural
expression that is often taken for granted, and the “very commonness [of objects such as
currency] is one reason why they are so slippery and tend to drop out of traditional
philosophical discourse.”35 In Germany during the inflationary period following World
War I, the production and use of Notgeld in all of its forms, reflected not only the
challenges to the viability of the Weimar Republic but also its cultural attitudes, goals,
and ideals. Despite intense fragmentation, evident in the nature of Notgeld production
and use, there was also an impulse toward an overarching nationalist narrative, one that
was, on the one hand, distinct from the imperial past but also, on the other hand, built on
traditional foundations that echoed across the country.
35
Susan M. Pearce, Museums, Objects, and Collections: A Cultural Study (Washington, D.C.:
Smithsonian Institution Press, 1992), 21. Pearce’s work deals with objects in general, but the overarching
concept is that physical objects are often given short shrift as concrete expressions of contexts, especially
relating to particular time and space.
25
26
This chapter will analyze concomitant phenomena in the wake of World War I in
Germany. First, a constantly evolving and recast national identity and nationalism in the
context of shifting global politics, especially expressed through printed currency. Second,
the effect that the extreme devaluation of the economy, particularly represented by the
printing and dissemination of Notgeld, had on the collective memory of Germans. Third,
the rise of contemporary collectors’ groups and exhibitions that showcased Serienscheine
in particular, related to the prevalence of festivals with local, regional, and international
facets, to be discussed in the next chapter.
Culture, Nationalism, and the Construction of Meaning
The effect an economic system has on a national context is, on one hand, obvious.
Its very existence represents a way in which to exchange goods, ideas, and messages, all
with a (relatively) fixed value assigned to them. The idea that an object has a fixed price
is subject to cultural difference from cultural context to cultural context. Just as an object
may be “worth” more in one country than another, so to is an object often valued more by
one socioeconomic class or cultural group than another. Put another way, the concept of
“taste,” particularly as articulated by Pierre Bourdieu in his work Distinction, represents
the active construction of “cultural capital”—an accumulation of power or influence
through education, social standing, and cultural adeptness, whether these attributes are
accompanied by material wealth or not.
The immediate postwar years in Germany were lean years. Beginning midway
through the war, the homefront suffered deprivation as goods and services were funneled
27
to the various battlefronts of the war. The so-called “Turnip Winter,” or the winter of
1916-1917, was particularly difficult, threatening many civilians with starvation and
widespread consumption of turnips to stay alive. Once the war was over, conditions did
not improve much. Many Germans found their savings completely wiped out, swept
away in war loans that were never paid back and a nation in defeat. The solution to the
money shortage was not increased used of credit; instead, businesses, regions, and even
the national government began printing more and more money, driving down the value of
currency and inflating prices while income remained stagnant. Rather than face
mounting unemployment, government officials chose inflation, which quickly spiraled
out of control.
In the context of Weimar Germany, particularly during the inflationary years,
capital accumulation, banking, and savings accounts were turned upside down by
extreme currency devaluation. As the bottom dropped out of the German Mark,
traditional methods of determining social class and the cultural elite became decentered,
especially demonstrated in terms of purchasing power. Success in the Weimar Republic,
as in other historically economically troubled times, depended on those who wielded
cultural capital as well as (or despite a lack of) material accumulation. As Bourdieu
noted, “Social subjects, classified by their classifications, distinguish themselves by the
distinctions they make. . . . That is why art and cultural consumption are predisposed,
consciously and deliberately or not, to fulfil [sic] a social function of legitimating social
28
differences.” 36 In this way, he commented that taste itself operated as a social and
cultural act designed to affirm identity. Bourdieu emphasized that social status and
identity is relational, often with a social consciousness compared or contrasted to another
identity and status, based on the cultural norms already inculcated into the person.
While Bourdieu initially discussed the role of taste (in every sense of the word,
from choice of food to the display of art) played in the performance of social class and
position, his analysis of the accumulation of cultural capital is extremely important. In
the absence of a consistently viable economic system, when exchange rates and values
were in flux and currency itself was less than stable, the desire for a discernable system
of cultural exchange grew. In a way, the collection of Notgeld, a largely worthless
economic implement (or one that certainly did not hold its monetary value long), injected
cultural value into the notes themselves, if only to forge a shared history and solidify
national ties between citizens embodied by collections housed in albums, boxes, and,
later, museums.37 At the same time, the accumulation of cultural capital was a way to
control the discourse in a time when few citizens were able to control economic or
political structures in everyday life.
Bourdieu’s analysis has many implications for not only the collection of Notgeld
but the construction of nationalism vis-à-vis the rest of Europe. While it is true Bourdieu
focused on the distinctions between social classes, expressed through the objects that they
collected and displayed, one can infer that there is a common thread between these
36
Pierre Bourdieu, Distinction: A Social Critique of the Judgement of Taste, trans. Richard Nice
(Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1984), 6-7.
37
Historians and scholars of material culture have pointed to the act of collecting as an expression
of the desire to possess, generally from a Freudian standpoint.
29
classes. This study moves the focus toward that commonality. In addition, this study
views the concert of Europe as a set of distinct, though interconnected, identities.
Bourdieu’s notion of displayed cultural identity and capital can be adapted to the
European continent after World War I, demonstrating how Germans expressed their
unique role and identity within the larger context of Europe. In a way, this study
represents a further adaptation of Bourdieu’s core argument regarding the performance of
cultural identity.38
Here is where the link between systems of cultural capital and the formation or
solidification of national identity becomes convincing, particularly for the case of
Germany in the early Weimar Republic. Benedict Anderson, in his groundbreaking work
Imagined Communities: Reflections on the Origin and Spread of Nationalism, analyzed
how a national identity or national narrative was promoted and disseminated; he
ultimately argued that nationalism, itself a relational identity similar to Bourdieu’s
characterization of societal relationships, necessitated the rise of print to ensure wide
access to its principles—the idea that the forms of mass printing “provided the technical
means for ‘re-presenting’ the kind of imagined community that is the nation.”39 Implicit
in the utilization of print is the notion that a national context is somehow bound together
so that the message can get through; language is one example, but a sense of a common
history and shared experience also provide a foundation upon which to build the
38
Though I am correlating cultural and national identity in the context of Europe after World War
I, it must be noted that within the consolidating German identity were dynamic social relations. Clearly,
upper-class Germans demonstrated their national and cultural identity differently than working-class or
naturalized Germans. However, I am beginning from the standpoint that there were practices Germans of
every social class could understand, even if they could not fully participate.
39
Anderson, Imagined Communities, 25.
30
framework of the nation-state. World War I, though it problematized the German past,
provided the shared circumstances of defeat and rebuilding, and the inflationary period of
the Weimar Republic is yet another example of experience that could contribute to the
national narrative.
Anderson’s work dealt with the development of a consciousness through print and
the reinforcement of social and cultural structures; Notgeld, and more specifically
Serienscheine, was printed currency that contained cultural messages to a large
collectors’ market. Currency especially reinforces national ideals through the use of
imagery, iconography, and even national mottos or phrases (e.g. E pluribus unum). In
this way, the collection of Serienscheine demonstrates the accumulation or formation of a
specific national story, despite the fragmentation of the system. For example, a collector
could focus on several towns or regions in one part of the country, amassing a storyline
about how those cities or regions fit into the national context. The similarities that
existed between images, regardless of geographic or historical distance, emphasize
perhaps in a subtle manner the shared heritage of the nation. Often, images or subject
matter focused on the role of religion, literature, music, and even traditional
fragmentation from place to place, making Germany a nation of culturally alike,
independently-minded people. The collection of specific pieces, then, demonstrated
individual choice to emphasize particular aspects of national and social identity. At the
same time, this was evidence of participation in the formation of a self-imposed identity
within the German context as a whole.
31
The importance of Notgeld as a cultural construct goes beyond mere iconography.
The very existence of the system connoted important things: 1) the belief of towns,
business, and regions that a centralized bank in the Weimar Republic could not
adequately control spiraling inflation; 2) that it was therefore up to individual regions and
cities to continue the day-to-day activities of the nation, especially in the realm of
economics; 3) economic confidence was tied up, in some cases, in cultural norms such as
national identity and social mores and 4) evidence of system devaluation was located in
the fact that an entire portion of the Notgeld system—Serienscheine—was related less to
circulation and more to an increasingly thriving collectors’ market.
The act of collecting, however, provided a forum in which artists, firms, and even
cities could express cultural goals or fears. In addition, collection, especially overseas,
represented economic prospects; collectors’ groups circulated magazines dedicated to
issues brought to the forefront by collecting, bringing in subscription fees and entrance
fees for exhibition and purchase of collectable notes, and businesses entered the market to
provide albums and display options for Notgeld and related ephemera. While the capital
injected into the system did not rectify Germany’s economic woes, everyday Germans,
even those living abroad, could create individual archives of how the inflationary period
affected them and their nation.
The Collection of Notgeld
Widespread collecting of German Notgeld did not emerge until after the end of
World War I, though the concept of emergency money internationally was not new. The
32
issue of emergency money and the necessity of funding the war effort meant that the
economy fractured as early as 1917, beginning with private issues meant to alleviate the
strain that war mobilization put on the homefront. By 1919, the appearance of collectors’
magazines such as Das Notgeld and price guides listing the values of individual notes
indicated that there was a market for the currency, both within German borders and
internationally.40 Within this community, importance was placed on the authority and
reputation of Notgeld dealers, appraisers, and collectors.
Guides and pamphlets such as How Does One Collect Notgeld? [Wie sammelt
man Notgeld?] appeared for purchase, often published by leading figures in the
numismatic movement who specialized in collection. The audience for such pamphlets,
though, were certainly not currency experts, and the prose was often informal. For
example, the aforementioned Wie sammelt man Notgeld? presented what amounted to a
fictionalized debate between the author “Karl” and his “Onkel Rechnungsrat” at the
kitchen table. The “uncle,” described as a family friend of young Karl’s parents, attempts
to convince his young nephew of the value and complex nature of collecting Notgeld:
“Yes, completely, uncle," Karl argued, "but you digress
from my point which was that the collecting of so-called
emergency money is still stupid!" “Be nicer to your old
uncle. Consider my opinion," said Uncle, “and now on
to my reply. I would like your remark, which is
not too polite, to be in a little different form. Calmly ask
rather: Why does one collect emergency money?" "Oh dear
uncle, yes, you have cut to the core, this would actively
interest me,” noted Karl. "Such a simple question, such a
complicated answer" uncle continued council in his
40
Manfred Mehl, in his authoritative price guide Deutsche Notgeld von 1918-1922, claimed that
as many as 20 different Notgeld-collecting magazines existed during the 1920s, perhaps more; see Manfred
Mehl, Deutsche Serienscheine von 1918-1922 (Regenstauf: H. Gietl Verlag & Publikationsservice
G.m.b.H, 1998), 11.
33
fatherly tone.41
Collectors attempted to legitimize Notgeld as a collectable artifact, despite the
nature of the currency. The nature of collecting anything as a hobby was analyzed by
these pamphlets, if only to demonstrate that Notgeld was as worthy a collectable as
stamps, knickknacks, or other objects. In the pamphlet Einiges über Notgeld, Victor
Engelmann argued that “It is something peculiar if somebody starts to collect as a hobby.
What has not been already collected! One does not need to speak of the stamps and
coined money of earlier decades, because this sport has proven authority of collectors. No
reasonable person will argue that coins and stamps do not have enormous value. . . ”42
Arnold Keller, already recognized as a leading authority on numismatics and,
most especially, Notgeld, wrote extensively for Das Notgeld, arguing that was the
worldwide crisis of the First World War, ushering in the necessity for paper-based
emergency money that brought together a larger Notgeld-collecting community.43 It was
because of this widening group of collectors, he claimed, that a magazine specifically
41
Karl Skowronnek, Wie sammelt man Notgeld? (München: Verlag “Das Notgeld,” n.d), 3-4 [Qf
128, Archiv der Kulturgeschichte, Altonaer Museum für Kultur und Kulturgeschichte]; translation mine
from the original German: " ‘Ja, vollkommen, Onkel,’ wandte Karl ein, ‘aber Du schweifst ja von meiner
Frage ab, die doch dahin lautete, daß das Sammeln von dem sogenannten Notgelde eine Dummheit sei!’
‘Verbessere nur hübsch Deinen alten Onkel, jedoch bald werde ich meines Erachtens nach das bei Dir tun
können’ sprach der Rat, ‘und nun weiter in meiner Erwiderung. Ich möchte Deine Bemerkung, die nicht
allzu höflich gefaßt ist, in eine etwas andere Form zu bringen versuchen und möchte lieber fragen: Warum
sammelt man Notgeld?’ ‘Lieber Onkel, ja, Du hast den Kern getroffen, das wuerde mich lebhaft
interessieren’ bemerkte Karl. ‘So einfach die Frage gestellt ist, so schwierig ist sie zu beantworten,’ setzte
Onkel Rat in seinem väterlichen Tone fort.”
42
Victor Engelmann, Einiges über Notgeld (Kiel: Verlag von Victor Engelmann, 1921), 1;
translation mine from the original German: “Es ist etwas eigenartiges, wenn jemand aus Liebhaberei
anfängt zu sammeln. Was ist nicht schon alles gesammelt worden! Von den Briefmarken und von
gemünztem Geld früherer Jahrzehnte braucht man ja nicht zu sprechen, denn dieser Sport hat die
Sammelberechtigung voll und ganz erwiesen und kein vernünftiger Mensch wird heute behaupten, dass in
Münzen und Briefmarken nicht ganz enorme Werte festliegen,. . .”
43
Arnold Keller, “Vorwort,” Das Notgeld: Zeitschrift für Notgeldkunde Offertenblatt, Jahre 3, Nr.
1 (1922), 3. Qf 138, 1-3, Archiv der Kulturgeschichte, Altonaer Museum für Kultur und Kulturgeschichte.
34
geared toward a collecting sensibility was necessary, protecting the market from false
issues and fraudulent notes.44 Keller was also noted for producing a series of price
guides, widely regarded as authoritative in an era when price guides for Notgeld issues
became commonplace. The introductions to his guides, generally released in several
volumes, included a history of Notgeld, the periods associated with issues, and
Serienscheine. Interestingly, Dr. Keller evaluated Serienscheine as inferior and not true
Notgeld at all. This demonstrated the view that notes produced almost exclusively for
collectors was a misappropriation of resources, even further weakening the economy. At
the same time, the appearance of Serienscheine highlighted the widening of the collecting
community beyond traditional collectors of coins and issues of centralized banks.
Notgeld collection was, in some ways, viewed as different from traditional coin or
money collecting. In the first place, it was a currency that did not have a fixed value
relative to other currencies; traditionalists who viewed Notgeld as inferior to “real”
money viewed collecting it as a worthless pastime. In Wie sammelt man Notgeld?, Onkel
Rechnungsrat derisively comments that the general public only collects money that has
appreciative value; the only way for Notgeld to have or retain any value is to keep it
properly, especially since “the war made emergency money necessary; the following time
it was not quite so necessary.”45 Proponents of collecting for cultural reasons attempted
to combat the notion that collections were largely to accumulate wealth; in some ways,
this demonstrated an attempt to interest all sectors of society in collecting as a pastime,
44
Keller, Das Notgeld, 4.
Skowronnek, Wie sammelt man Notgeld?, 3, 5; translation mine from the original German:
“Während uns also die Kriegszeit verhältnismaessig wirklich notwendiges Notgeld bescherte, gab uns die
darauffolgende Zeit nicht gerade notwendiges Notgeld."
45
35
rather than traditional socioeconomic elites. An inherent barrier to this, of course, was
that collecting required money to purchase albums, price guides, and even notes
themselves, and the weak economy meant that people with disposal income enough to
collect was limited. It is not clear, however, to what degree knowledge of Notgeld and its
imagery was constrained.
Authors attempted to reinforce the notion that Notgeld was indeed money,
especially during the later years of World War I and immediately following:
Emergency money was the true money of municipalities and
cities, but it was also about beauty and ugliness. Despite a
number of biased bureaucrats, the people came to it, making
the point for beauty and development of local patriotism.
Reflected in the emergency money was the war and its
consequences as well as the peculiarities and idiosyncrasies
of the homeland [Heimat].46
This passage illustrates several points. In the first place, it acknowledges and even
highlights layered notions of identity from local patriotism to a concept of Heimat.
Secondly, this shows that collectors of Notgeld forged the notion that collecting was a
cultural activity, related in a lot of ways to the already established community of stamp
collectors. The goal was to expand the collecting community, and how-to guides directly
addressed the “why collect Notgeld ” question. It was also to give an air of authenticity
and authority to the collection of something as volatile and uncertain as Notgeld.
46
Victor Engelmann, “Merkbuch für Notgeldsammler,” Einiges über Notgeld, 10; translation
mine from the original German: “Das Notgeld war ‘Geld’ von Gemeinden und Städten, vollwertiges Geld,
aber es hatten über das, was schön und unschön war, nicht eine Anzahl voreingenommener Bürokraten zu
urteilen, sondern auch andere Leute kamen zum Wort, welche mehr Sinn für Schönheit und auch
Lokalpatriotismus entwickelten, so daß sich im Notgeld Krieg und Kriegsfolgen Eigentümlichkeiten und
Eigenheiten der engeren Heimat wiederspiegeln.
36
At the same time, these resources also provided an opportunity, in a way, to
regulate the collecting market, particularly regarding so-called “swindle issues.” These
notes were “ghosts of Notgeld [Notgeldspuk]” in a number of ways, whether purporting
to be from fictitious locations or forged dates; collectors viewed this as a serious
miscarriage of the collecting spirit.47
One author went so far as to compare swindle
issues with harlotry or prostitution [Huberei], almost longing for the time when access to
Notgeld was limited to “mov[ing] funds intended for the city” and virtually unavailable to
collectors to buy directly.48 In an article for the newsletter Der Notgeldmarkt from
Hannover, Ehrfried Siewers addressed the question of why there was a collectors’ market
for Notgeld while referencing stamp collecting:
A strange question. With the same rights and reasons that one
collects stamps, postal stationery, bookplates, exhibition marks,
artist postcards. In stamp collecting, for example, one talks so
much of general enrichment of geographical and historical
knowledge, behind which lies nothing tangible.49
Indeed, collectors’ magazines and exhibitions spoke of Notgeld and stamp collecting as
particularly related, listing resources for both. This reveals the function of both Notgeld
and stamps: retaining a concrete or utilitarian purpose while simultaneously presenting
highly symbolic images that contributed to a cultural narrative.
47
Mehl, Deutsche Notgeld, 12.
“Notgeld-Wahrheit, G. Prange,” Das Notgeld, 84. Translation mine from the original German:
“Die älteren Notgeldsammler warden sich noch der Zeiten entsinnen, in denen sie vergeblich bei den
Stadtkassen anklopften, ‘Unser Notgeld ist nur für den Geldverkehr in der Stadt bestimmt. Die Abgabe an
auswärtige Sammler ist uns durch ministeriellen Erlaß verboten’.” In some ways, this also points to a
divide between collectors who got in early and those who were latecomers to collecting Notgeld.
49
Ehrfried Siewers, “Wie sammelt man Notgeld?” Der Notgeldmarkt Hannover, Jg. 2, Nr. 22 (23
November 1922), 260. Qf 136, Archiv der Kulturgeschichte, Altonaer Museum für Kultur und
Kulturgeschichte; translation mine from the original German: “Eine komische Frage. Mit dem gleichen
Rechte und aus demselben Grunde, aus dem man Briefmarken, Ganzsachen, Exlibris, Ausstellungsmarken,
Kuenstlerkarten sammelt. . . . Beim Briefmarkensammeln z. B. redet man so sehr allgemein von der
Bereicherung der geographischen und historisches Kenntnisse, wohinter aber nichts Greifbares steckt.”
48
37
Collecting representations of that narrative, then, meant that people who could not
invest monetarily in a consumer society could invest in a shared national heritage.
Clearly, Notgeld was a temporary measure that did not appreciate in economic value over
time, and the so-called “serious” collectors exemplified by people like Dr. Keller paid
little attention to it for that reason. It was, however, valuable as a purely cultural artifact.
Siewers addressed this notion as well in his editorial, arguing that Notgeld collection was
essentially a way to ensure the “memory of a stormy period of our country and our hope
for better living circumstances for our child and grandchildren,” by handing collections
down from generation to generation.50
The link between stamp and Serienscheine collection was clear, especially in
terms of artistic trends and the demonstrated cultural narrative to be understood. One
example of such documentation is a stamp-collecting page that noted the spiraling
inflation, entitled “Documents of an insane time [Dokumente einer irrsinnigen Zeit!],”
produced sometime in the early 1920s.51 Several versions of the mounting sheet exist,
printed and distributed by the stamp dealer [Briefmarkenverstand] Friedrich Peter of
Würzburg. In addition, he also provided a mounting sheet for a series of stamps to
commemorate territories or colonies lost to Germany after WWI with the caption, “Never
forget! Commemorative stamps to mourn the 19 areas stolen from Germany!”52 This
particular object was much more like Serienscheine in that the stamps for this collection
50
Siewers, “Warum sammelt man Notgeld?,”260; translation mine from the original German:
“Notgeld sammelt man ferner als Andenken an eine sturmbewegte Zeit des Vaterlandes unsere hoffentlich
in besseren Verhältnissen lebenden Kinder und Kindeskinder.”
51
The Friedrich Brauer Papers (MS 060), Box 4, Folder 4, Manuscript Collection, Special
Collections Department,University of North Carolina at Wilmington.
52
Ibid.; translation mine from the original German: “Niemals vergessen! Gedenkmarken zur
Trauer für die 19 Deutschland geraubten Gebiete!”
38
were clearly never meant for circulation; they featured the names of colonies or territories
overlaid with a black border, some with a German commercial flag at half-mast. Given
prominence was the stamp for Alsace, which was surrounded with exhortations to “never
forget.”53 In this way, one can see how collecting could take political or propagandistic
overtones, appealing to a sense of both nationalism and shared bitterness, especially when
framed in such a way. Notgeld was also a recognized way to promote or disseminate a
specific message. In the magazine Der Notgeld-Schein-Werfer, Franz Grewe discussed
how Notgeld operated as a first line of propaganda, especially for festivals and
organizations. He referenced, in particular, two festivals: Kultur- und Sport Woche
[Culture and Sport Week] in Hamburg in 1921 and Deutsche Amerika-Woche [German
American Week] to be held in Bremen in 1923. Grewe especially noted that, with
“perhaps hundreds of thousands of collectors, proof that Notgeld collectors of all strata
and all age groups operate with seriousness and joy,” the advance release of a festival’s
Notgeld presented specific ideas to be promoted by the festival.54 The use of the phrase
“Seefahrt ist not! [Seafaring is necessary!],” which appeared on the reverse of the notes
for Culture and Sport Week in Hamburg, also included the black, white, and red flag of
commercial and right-wing nationalist groups and phrases such as “Be united! United!
53
Some versions of the mounting sheet utilize a quote from a poem by Goethe often called
“Feiger Gedanken;” “In spite of all power,/ never bend,/show strength,/ calling up the arms of the gods.”
Translation mine from the original German: “Allen Gewalten/ zum Trotz sich erhalten,/ Nimmer sich
beugen,/ Kräftig sich zeigen,/rufet die Arme/der Götter herbei!” Interestingly, this quote has been linked
with the White Rose resistance group.
54
Franz Grewe, “Notgeld und Propaganda,” Der Notgeld-Schein-Werfer: Organ für Alle Notgeld
Angelegenheiten,1 Jg., Nr. 3 (1922), 1.
39
Image 1.1: Stamp mounting sheet offered by Briefmarkenversand Friedrich Peter. Courtesy of
University of North Carolina Wilmington, Friedrich Brauer Papers Collection [MS 060, Box 4, File
4].
40
Image 1.2: Stamp mounting sheet documenting hyperinflation, offered by Briefmarkenversand
Friedrich Peter. Courtesy of University of North Carolina Wilmington, Friedrich Brauer Papers
Collection [MS 060, Box 4, File 4]
41
United! [Seid einig! Einig! Einig!].55 These notes were looked at as simultaneously
advertising the existence of the festival or message and propagandizing a specific point of
view.56 The role of festivals and the Notgeld produced for them will be discussed in the
following chapter.
Advocates of Notgeld collecting continually claimed wide audiences, appealing to
a drive to establish a national narrative, particularly in the wake of the war. Even though
Notgeld itself was not centrally regulated or administrated, authors cited “deutsche
Notgeld,” rather than referring to municipalities as they produced “cultural-history
meditations” on the subject.57 Catalogues and magazines included articles and lists
grouped by nation, with regions and cities as subcategories. While organizing guides in
this way seems a foregone conclusion, it was yet another subtle way to assure that notes
were considered German, differentiated from other nation-states.
Often, pamphlets about collecting were produced by authors of price guides or
Notgeld catalogues, who emphasized correct storage and display. For example,
advertisements differentiated albums for beginning or amateur collectors and serious
collectors whose Notgeld utilized a variety of media (such as coins, porcelain, or silk in
55
Hamburg, 1 Mk, “Kultur- und Sport Woche,” 12-24 August 1921. The Harrington Notgeld
Collection, The Univeristy Museum, Southern Illinois University Edwardsville. “Seefahrt ist not!”
references a novel of the same name from 1913 by Gorch Fock, who wrote with great pride about the lives
of deep-sea fisherman of Hamburg and resort islands. Fock’s diaries were later published by J.F. Lehmann,
which published many National Socialist and pseudoscientific works.
56
“Notgeldscheine der Kultur- und Sportwoche Hamburg,” Lübeckische Anzeiger, Nr. 349 (29
Juli 1921). Hansestadtarchiv Lübeck, Handelskammer zu Lübeck 275: Nordische Woche in Lübeck
(Allgemeines).
57
One major example is Gustav Prange, Das Kriegs-Notgeld: Eine kulturgeschichtliche
Betrachtung, advertised in price and collectors’ guides such as Engelmann’s Einiges über Notgeld.
42
addition to paper).58 This indicated, in addition, that there a preferred method to display
display and care for the objects. According to one author, museums and people with
large collections would be best served to keep two of the same note side by side, in order
to show both sides, in an album, organized by geographic region, and further contained in
a cardboard box.59 This extended to even the mindset the collector needed to have: “One
must collect with a brisk desire to understand the language which these little slips of
paper cannot dress in words; one must collect with a sense of order and economically,
and therefore, recognize this hobby as an ideal end in itself to develop for himself [sic].”60
Magazines and price guides also included advertisements of dealers, who listed
the notes that they had for sale or trade. The focus was on completing a collection,
however the collector framed it, and dealers were often collectors themselves. At times,
articles appeared, such as “How do I create my collection of war Notgeld [Wie lege ich
meine Kriegsnotgeldsammlung an?],” demonstrating a framework within which,
presumably, a reader could begin his or her collection. Pages of classified ads hawked
rare issues, notes depicting specific cities, or issues of large and small denominations
(Großgeld or Kleingeld), often dwarfing the number of pages dedicated to articles or
analysis of the collecting market.61
58
Victor Engelmann, Einiges über Notgeld. Qf 127, Archiv der Kulturgeschichte, Altonaer
Museum für Kultur und Kulturgeschichte.
59
J.C. Martin, “Wie lege ich meine Kriegsnotgeldsammlung an?” Das Notgeld: Zeitschrift für
Notgeldkunde, 3 Jahrg (1922), 28. Qf 138 1-3, Archiv der Kulturgeschichte, Altonaer Museum für Kultur
und Kulturgeschichte.
60
Skowronnek, Wie sammelt man Notgeld?, 16. Qf 128, Archiv der Kulturgeschichte, Altonaer
Museum für Kultur und Kulturgeschichte; translation mine from the original German: “Man muß mit
einem Forschertrieb sammeln, um die Sprache zu verstehen, die diese Zettelchen in Worte nicht kleiden
können, man muß mit Ordnungssinn und ökonomisch sammeln, um sich diese Liebhaberei als idealen
Selbstzweck zu gestalten.”
61
Der Notgeldmarkt Hannover, 262.
43
Notes or Notgeld albums were advertised by firms such as the International
Notgeld and Stamp Mail-Order House in Lübeck as “the nicest Christmas present [Das
Schönste Weihnachts-Geschenk],” while also claiming that they were “The finest work of
German art and culture, the best investment, historically very valuable. The most
beautiful adornment for every reception room. First rate geographic and historical
teaching resource for German youth.”62 Advertisements such as this show how fully
culture and economic issues were intertwined. It is important to point out that Notgeld
was clearly meant to be displayed as well as collected, assuming that the general
audience would understand the cultural import of the objects. Indeed, as Manfred Mehl
pointed out, notes most often ended up “in the albums of the collector” rather than in
circulation, again reinforcing the display function of Notgeld.63
Individuals were not the only targets of the collecting sensibility. Magistrates and
city archives recognized the cultural and historical value of collecting Notgeld, though
those collections were generally local in scope and with an eye on preserving a specific
city’s experience during inflation. A notable example is the city archives of Kiel, which
solicited uncirculated examples of Notgeld produced by the city’s firms and private banks
to be stored for posterity.64 The preservation of such local history was important for
future considerations of the larger German context; indeed even during the Nazi period,
local historical preservation methods were incorporated to present a more complete
62
Der Notgeldmarkt Hannover, 266. Translation mine from the original German: “Das schönste
Werk deutscher Kunst und Kultur, die best Kapitalanlage, da historisch sehr wertvoll. Die schönste Zierde
für jedes Empfangszimmer. ein geographisches und geschichtliches Lehrmittel 1. Ranges für die deutsche
Jugend.”
63
Mehl, Deutsche Serienscheine, 11
64
Letter from Dr. Gundlach, 11 March 1924 (Tgb. Nr. 2080) [Stadtarchiv Kiel, Kieler Notgeld
1917-1954 collection]
44
picture regarding the German experience during hyperinflation.65 It must be noted, as
well, that such an emphasis on this era could be used to mobilize both public opinion and
the political interpretation of history; in this way, the meaning of material objects, as in
an exhibit or show, was manipulated to support a particular view of society as well as
affect the way an event or era—in this case hyperinflation—was remembered.
Notgeld Exhibitions
Another important facet of the Notgeld collecting community was the prevalence
of Notgeld conventions or trade shows [Messe]. At these shows, often organized by a
local collecting group or group of dealers, collectors could bring their collections for
buying, selling, and trading. One such convention, organized by the Hamburg chapter of
the International Notgeld Traders’ Association [Internationalen Notgeldshändler
Verbandes E.V.] was advertised as the “first German Notgeld trade show [1. Deutsche
Notgeld-Messe]” in Hamburg from the 26th through the 28th of February, 1922.66 These
shows made it possible for collectors and traders to discuss issues of collecting, as well as
supplement their collections at the booths of retailers or other private collectors.
Exhibitions occurred throughout Germany, with dealers and collectors traveling
and advertising nation-wide. Advertisements for dealers’ booths, such as Hans Tripp &
Company of Nürnberg, took up entire inserts in collectors’ magazine, hoping to draw
65
Letter from G. Steinmann, 29 March 1943. Stadtarchiv Kiel, Kieler Notgeld 1917-1954
collection; this letter references the 1937 founding of a commission for “preservation of contemporary
records” by Dr. Goebbels, including a record of city emergency money collections from 1914 through
1924.
66
Der Notgeld-Schein-Werfer, 11. This type of convention is much like organizations such as the
Coca-Cola Collectors Club, which hosts national conventions for collectors to buy, sell, and trade with
other collectors.
45
crowds to these conventions. In addition, these conventions aided the local economy,
especially food, drink, and lodging. Lastly, the selection of collections available for trade
widened if large numbers of collectors attended, reinforcing the collecting market. These
conventions allowed municipalities to put themselves on display, essentially selling
themselves as convention centers, places for tourism, and cultural destinations. Kiel, in
its promotion of its annual Nordische Messe, argued that exhibitions of this sort, whether
dominated by trade shows or not, could create relationships that were “economically
beneficial without the risk of inefficient fragmentation.”67
Exhibitions could provide an organizing theme that motivated potentially
competing factions to work together. In the case of the Nordische Messe in Kiel, it
fostered a collaboration between the Chamber of Commerce [Handelskammer in Kiel],
commercial and trade unions [Handels- und Industrieamts der Stadt Kiel], and the newly
formed Nordische Messe in Kiel G.m.b.H. Often, the display or collection at the center of
the exhibition was sponsored by a specific organization, such as a 1921 exhibition at the
Silesian Museum for Decorative Arts and Antiquities in Breslau [Schlesischen Museum
für Kunstgewerbe und Altertümer in Breslau], featuring a pamphlet printed by the
Silesian League for Homeland Security [Schlesische Bund für Heimatschutz].68
In addition to cultivating these relationships, exhibitions were put on to reinforce
the notion that Notgeld was worth collecting. One such exhibition—put on in
67
Dr. H. Meyer, “Nordische Messe in Kiel. Ein Geleitwort,” Nordische Messe in Kiel
Messkatalog 1921 (Kiel: Nordische Messe in Kiel G.m.b.H, 1921), 13. Kiel Stadtarchiv, Nordische Messe
6898/2.
68
Hanns Reinbach, “Die Notgeldausstellung im Schlesieschen Museum für Kunstgewerbe und
Altertümer in Breslau, Das Notgeld (Sondernummer zur Messe in Hannover und Ausstellung in Bad
Nauheim), n.p.
46
Hannover—invited well-known contemporary numismatists in an effort to challenge the
opinion that collecting Notgeld was unjustified. Rather, the community argued,
collecting notes required commitment and a sense of history; indeed, Das Notgeld
reported that the exhibition “persuaded [a great number] . . . to create a collection; new
life will enter the Notgeld movement.”69 Similarly, the exhibition in Nuremberg
contained a collection that traced Austro-Hungarian paper money throughout its history,
demonstrating a crafted set of objects that told the story of an empire that had collapsed.70
Exhibitions, then, served not only the collectors, they also provided a way to widen the
community. More potential collectors could be wooed by evidence of what collectors
did, which in turn potentially increased the readership of collectors’ magazines.
Conclusion
The collection and display of Notgeld provided a unique opportunity for Germans.
On the one hand, collectors, regardless of their socioeconomic status in Germany itself,
could virtually create a narrative about what Germany meant to them. This was a
performance of nationalism but also a demonstration of the cultural role they played in
Germany as citizens. On the other hand, though, Germans who had access to more
material resources and wealth clearly had a greater opportunity to shape the narrative arc.
Notes that were viewed as more popular or in demand could be replicated by future
issues, which influenced how German culture was perceived both inside and outside
69
“Die Notgeldausstellung in Hannover,” Das Notgeld, 55. Translation mine from the original
German: “Groß wird die Menge derer sein, die durch das Gesehene veranlaßt wurden, sich eine Sammlung
anzulegen; neues Leben wird dadurch in die Notgeldbewegung kommen.”
70
Arnold Keller, “Das Notgeldausstellung in Nürnberg,” Das Notgeld, 81.
47
Germany. This topic will be taken up in future chapters, especially regarding how the
dominant narrative was used to exclude specific members of the community based on
ethnicity, class, and culture.
In addition to the participation of Germans in formulating an identity, the
collectors’ community crafted a way in which cultural and social discourse interacted
with the economic system—exhibitions. Exhibitions were multifaceted in that each
collector framed his or her own story; this narrative could be sponsored by a cultural
institution, such as a museum focused on preserving local history, or a more general
collectors’ group concentrating on the promotion and expansion of collecting as an
intellectual activity. As important as the individual notes themselves are the array of
collectors’ magazines, demonstrating the goals and reasons citizens engaged in the
activity. The notion that everyday people had their identity invested in their collections
of Notgeld or Serienscheine points to a facet of identity creation, the public performance
or display of it, that will be taken up in the next chapter.
Chapter II
The Function of Festivals after the Great War
While collecting Notgeld and other objects represented one method of acquiring
cultural capital, the prevalence of local festivals in Weimar Germany, often with an eye
on national or international audiences, also demonstrated the desire to streamline or
create a nationalist narrative in the wake of World War I. With economic concerns
always in the background, local festivals had the potential to provide a relatively
inexpensive diversion while emphasizing aspects of identity and culture. Such festivals
and fairs carried implications for local spending as well as highlighting a region’s
industry and business concerns. The larger message, though, was how a particular
locality and its history contributed to the overall development of Germany and on the
international stage; this was especially important after the carnage of World War I and
Germany’s ensuing isolation, financial woes, and international reintegration during the
1920s.
Many scholars have examined festival culture in general as a means of fostering a
national or cultural narrative, creating, in words of Benedict Anderson, an imagined
community sharing common heritage and history.71 Festivals were vehicles for creating
71
Some examples are Jonathan Sperber, “Festivals of National Unity in the German Revolution of
1848-1849,” Past and Present, No. 136 (Aug. 1992), 114-138; Karin Friedrich, ed., Festive Culture in
Germany and Europe from the 16th Century to the 20th Century (Lampeter: Edwin Mellon Press, 2000);
Mabel Berezin, “The Festival State: Celebration and Community in Fascist Italy,” Journal of Modern
European History, Vol. 4, No. 1 (Mar. 2006), 60-74; Temple Hauptfleisch, et al. eds, Festivalising!:
Theatrical Events, Politics and Culture (Amsterdam: Rodopi, 2007); and Joshua Hagen, “Parades, Public
48
49
such a narrative, especially establishing the parameters of memory and emphasizing the
direction a shared culture must go. While Lynn Abrams argues that local festivals and
public recreation along the lines of parish fairs were on the wane by the 1920s because of
increased commercialization and the rise of urban theatre culture, festivals with a wideranging message existed well into the decade before the Nazis took power, often with
political and social underpinnings.72 In addition, the festivals that were planned and
executed became that much more important, especially as competition for consumers
during the 1920s and 1930s in urban areas increased. This focus on festivals carried on
into the Third Reich, which was ever mindful of the usefulness festivals had in cementing
a specific interpretation of German culture. Guides, such as the Volksspiel und Feier
handbook for 1936, detailed events, plays, and leisure activities that were considered an
essential part of “pedagogic communal work.”73
Taken together, the phenomenon of festivals in Germany can be viewed as a way
to bring cultural order to society, re-grounding the local, national, and international
narrative through public participation. This participation could vary from reading
accounts or reports of the festival in local newspapers to attendance or purchasing
commemorative objects, essentially a form of cultural artifact collection. On a structural
level, festivals (and, by extension, later economic measures) had the effect of
streamlining society; they prevented complete cultural, economic, and social lawlessness,
Space, and Propaganda: The Nazi Culture Parades of Munich”Geografiska Annaler:Series B, Human
Geography , Vol. 90, No. 4 (2008), 349-367 to name a few.
72
Lynn Abrams, “From Control to Commercialization: the Triumph of Mass Entertainment in
Germany 1900-1925?” German History Vol. 8, No. 3 (2005), 278-293.
73
Volksspiel und Feier: Alphabetisches Suchbuch nebst Stoffsammlung für Brauch, Feizeit und
Spiel (München/ Hamburg/Berlin: Christian Kaiser Verlag,/Hanseatische Verlagsanstalt/Theaterverlag
Albert Langen/Georg Müller, 1936), 5.
50
which was a challenge for the Weimar Republic prior to 1924. At the same time, on a
more personal or individual level, festivals that focused on identity at every level had the
effect of creating cultural in-groups, the character of which fluctuated throughout the
1920s. In this chapter, I will analyze the general role cultural festivals played locally and
nationally in the effort to consolidate identity and combat cultural, political, and
economic chaos utilizing theoretical viewpoints from Emile Durkheim and Gordon
Allport.
Emile Durkheim and the Concept of Anomie
Durkheim, well regarded as a founding theorist in sociology, sought to explain
how social forces and social facts combined to create social norms (described by
Durkheim as “morals”), which were necessary for a functioning, ordered society. If any
part of the system breaks down, whether it is at the level of social control—the
government for example—or power relations in a moral sense, there are wide-ranging
ramifications between individuals and institutions. In Durkheimian thought, the complete
lack of social or moral order is known as anomie, essentially a wide-open philosophical
space that represents a lack of “moral forces that restrain [individuals] and limit his [sic]
horizon. But if he [sic] no longer feels them it is because they no longer carry their
normal degree of authority, because they are weakened and no longer as they should
be.”74
74
Anthony Giddens, ed. Emile Durkheim: Selected Writings (Cambridge: Cambridge University
Press, 1972), 174. This excerpt comes from Durkheim’s work L’éducation morale (1925).
51
Anomie could be reached if cultural, economic, and/or political rules are rewritten
or even in flux, such as in the wake of the French Revolution (especially during the
Terror) or in the case of an incoherent nation-state, such as modern-day Somalia. At the
structural level, “a body of rules is the specific form which is assumed by spontaneously
established relations between social functions in the course of time, [and] we can say, a
priori, that the state of anomie is impossible wherever interdependent organs are
sufficiently in contact and sufficiently extensive. . . .[C]onsequently they have an active
and permanent feeling of mutual dependence.”75 Put another way, Durkheim argued that
a state of anomie, or an upending of social norms and/or morals, occurs when a structural
facet of society is removed. After World War I, and especially during the Paris Peace
Conference, “society” widened to include the international community as well as a
specific national context; this was especially apparently by the formation of the League
of Nations. By establishing (what was supposed to be) a global regulatory body, the
signatories were creating an international society.
Durkheim’s argument generally focused on the role of individuals within an
overarching social and political structure, basically creating a continuum upon which one
could situate specific situations or factors to determine the degree of anomie. To that
end, Durkheim’s primary focus was the role morals played within a social context,
especially in the realm of social or religious control, and how they affected division of
labor and patterns of social behavior. At the same time, however, Durkheim alluded to a
multifaceted interpretation of anomie and social forces; it is in this way that constructs of
75
Giddens, Durkheim: Selected Writings, 184. This analysis first appeared in Durkheim’s 1893
work De la division du travail social.
52
political, cultural, and economic anomie—as discrete categories—emerge as an analytical
framework to discuss the early days of the Weimar Republic.
Poltical anomie
In Germany in 1920, political anomie was less about the complete absence of
law—for there was an overarching sense of government—than it was about rewriting old
rules. The old structure of the Kaiserreich was a much different environment than the
liberal democracy of the Weimar Republic, especially as it navigated internationallyimposed rules for its day-to-day operation. The tumult of the end of the war, especially if
one takes into account the abdication of Wilhelm II and popular uprisings that extended
into the 1920s, made the notion of an authority-less political situation very real. Ben
Hecht, correspondent for the Chicago Daily News, wired to his contact in Amsterdam,
Rene Feibelman, that the Weimar National Assembly sounded like a “political Tower of
Babel.”76 Durkheim himself argued that
What is needed if social order is to reign is that the mass of men [sic]
be content with their lot. But what is needed for them to be content, is
not that they have more or less but that they be convinced they have no
right to more. And for this, it is absolutely essential that there be an
authority whose superiority they acknowledge and which tells them what
is right. . . . If he [sic] is not conscious of a force above him which he
respects, which stops him and tells him authoritatively he has received
his just due, then inevitably he will expect everything his needs demand.77
Interestingly, Durkheim described such an authority in the context of religious control
over society. The idea was that religion offered a supreme authority individuals could
76
Ben Hecht Papers (Midwest MS Hecht), Newberry Library, Box 2, Folder 18; dispatch from 2
February 1919, Berlin.
77
Giddens, Durkheim: Selected Writings, 177. This discussion initially appeared in Le socialisme
(1924).
53
recognize as dictating moral (and, by extension, social) boundaries. Here, though, the
very real need for political control and a recognizable authority could certainly be
expanded to include government.
With the establishment of the Weimar Republic, traditional centers of authority
were altered, especially regarding the international community. Durkheim argued that
“secular power, too, precisely because it held economic functions under its domination,
contained and limited [perceptions of inequalities].”78 In this way, Durkheim pointed to
governmental authority as a way to control individuals and social acts, operating as a
moral authority equal to religion. Both entities operate more smoothly with a coordinated
message or set of policies. The widened political field of the Weimar Republic as well
as a much larger voting base led to increased fragmentation of the political system that
often necessitated coalition governments, often strange bedfellows who united on a single
message but differed substantially in other matters. Even the move of the parliament
from Berlin to Weimar, as Durkheim argued, represented a break with the modern notion
of statehood, citizenship, and the territorial expression of the nation, another potential
source of anomic patterns.79 This, in turn, made a cohesive political message that much
more difficult to mobilize, especially in 1919 and 1920 when political putsches and the
issue of the Munich Soviet are taken into account. The central government, under assault
from the right and the left while simultaneously comprised of often-differing agendas,
78
Giddens, Durkheim: Selected Writings, 177.
Ibid., 190. This excerpt originally appeared in Leçons de sociologie (1950). It is important to
note that Durkheim analyzed the increasing association, especially in the twentieth century, of territory
with statehood, one that was not mobile as had been the case in the early modern period. He argued that
the capital city operated, in a sense, as the “territorial centre of gravity of the society,” and moving
administrative bodies out of the capital city fundamentally broke with this pattern.
79
54
appeared poised for collapse at any moment. The Munich Soviet made the fears of
worldwide communism incredibly real, potentially spreading from city to city. Even if
the government was able to operate and achieve basic functions, the perception that
policies were out of control and could not rectify the splintering or factionalizing of the
country was as powerful as reality.
At the same time, the international system, embodied by the League of Nations,
provided another stage upon which Weimar politicians had to prove themselves, and the
damage that the Treaty of Versailles did domestically to public opinion of the German
government made international isolation loom large. Durkheim likened political anomie
to the state of perpetual war, as in the case of unbalanced treaties or relations between a
weak state and a stronger one where military might settles disputes.80 The Treaty of
Versailles, at least in German rhetoric, was the epitome of an unbalanced treaty, created
and enforced by the victorious Entente to keep Germany weak militarily. The notion that
authority must be respected to maintain control cannot be overemphasized here, and the
relative peace Germany experienced politically between 1924 and 1929 serves to
highlight the importance political authority had.
Economic anomie
Related to the concept of political anomie is that of controlling the economic
system. As I argued above, Durkheim acknowledged that political authority was
powerful because it appeared to mobilize and even control economic forces. Clearly, the
80
Giddens, Emile Durkheim: Selected Writings, 187.
55
inflationary period in Germany, especially in 1923 at the height of hyperinflation,
represented a period of economic lawlessness. As Ben Hecht related to his contact for
the Chicago Daily News, further highlighting the linkage of political and economic
considerations, Friedrich Ebert, president of the Weimar Republic in 1919, stated that
Germany would “choose economic and political madness” over the complete death of
German interests as dictated by the Treaty of Versailles.81 In this way, Ebert vocalized
the feeling that German struggles, even anomie, was preferable to complete acquiescence
to Entente demands; at least with “economic and political madness” there was the
potential to overcome and reenter European and international society. In Germany after
World War I, agency meant reconstituting German political and national ideals, a painful
process indeed. Giving up and meekly following the Treaty of Versailles symbolized
giving up not only political or diplomatic control but economic control as well. One level
of economic control can be seen in the existence of a unified currency, reinforcing
political and economic coherence. The lack of a regulated currency, especially one that
disintegrated into extreme fragmentation such as Notgeld, was the physical manifestation
of economic anomie.
As I argued in the previous chapter, the rise of collectors’ groups and the
collecting mentality, especially for Serienscheine and Großgeld, represented an attempt
to navigate and control the message of an inherently anomic currency. The general rules
guiding currency—exchange rates, limits on issue to prevent inflation, financing, savings,
81
Ben Hecht Papers (Midwest MS Hecht), Newberry Library, Box 2, Folder 45; dispatch from
Berlin, 15 March 1919. Ebert operated as leader of the provisional government prior to national elections;
in February 1919 he was elected the first president of the Weimar Republic, with Philipp Scheidemann
appointed the first chancellor.
56
etc.—were not followed, particularly in the early 1920s. Only in 1924, with the
introduction of the Rentenmark, were more traditional rules reinstated, though the basis
for the currency became another currency (the dollar) rather than gold. This lack of
control at the top levels of government served to exacerbate the perception of chaos
politically as well as economically.
By 1929, with the stock market crash on Wall Street in the United States,
economic rules (which had of course been subverted in the postwar haze of buying on
margin, new investments, and the beginning of the so-called “American century”) had to
be rewritten, this time globally. The reality that an international, interdependent
economic system could collapse meant that economic anomie had the potential to be
widespread; in many nations, however, economic anomie did not necessarily create or
exacerbate political anomie, though the situation was certainly complex. At the same
time, this interdependence was not the mutually constitutive web of structure that kept
society functioning; rather, this was more like a codependence where one actor was the
hegemon and the other is the dependent. In Germany, especially, the Weimar Republic
was founded amidst political and economic anomie, making it a unique case by the
1930s, and global depression fueled conditions reminiscent of the immediate postwar
years.82
Cultural anomie
82
This is not to imply some version of the Sonderweg thesis; rather, political and economic
anomic conditions made Germany ripe for political exploitation by extremists, in this case the rise of the
Nazi state.
57
Perhaps the most nebulous aspect of the foundational years of the Weimar
Republic was the notion of identity, especially cultural and national identity. In terms of
Durkheim’s notion of the anomie, the complete lack of containment—the seemingly
endless possibilities of cultural norms, meanings, and definitions—represented a
culturally anomic situation. Germany had to redefine itself, both as a nation and as an
identity. In many ways, this was through artistic movements, particularly expressionism
and the like, as well as the emerging institution of the cinema and theatre. Though
interwar artistic movements had roots in the prewar era and were not confined to the
borders of the German state, the Weimar Republic proved to be a culturally prolific,
diverse, and fluid state.83 The national character or stereotype that had been associated
with “Germanness” before the war was, as Peter Gay noted, at once “the Germany of
military swagger, abject submission to authority, aggressive foreign adventure, and
obsessive preoccupation with form, and the Germany of lyrical poetry, Humanist
philosophy, and pacific cosmopolitanism.”84 Not only had the martial Germany failed in
its war effort, it had betrayed the philosophical Germany by entering into World War I in
the first place.
In addition to the internal identity crisis, Germany had to survive after the war in a
different international situation. The prevailing view was that the Treaty of Versailles
was dictated to Germany, containing it yet leaving it to its own ends to languish in
83
Authors such as Modris Eksteins discuss cultural and artistic shifts immediately before the Great
War as providing a foundation for the later movements of the interwar period, especially ballets such as
Stravinsky’s Rite of Spring and the increasingly atonal music of Kurt Weill and Paul Hindemith (see
Eksteins, Rites of Spring: The Great War and the Birth of the Modern Age (Boston: Houghton Mifflin,
2000), for example).
84
Gay, Weimar Culture, 1.
58
economic turmoil. This complicated international relations, particularly between France
and Germany; France was viewed as an unsympathetic and vengeful provocateur that
wanted nothing more than the complete destruction of the German state, which made
diplomacy difficult. In addition, the creation of the League of Nations, which Germany
would not join until 1926, represented in a very real way the diplomatic isolation of the
entire nation.
This points to a more subtle anomie than the political or economic variant; it was
more understated, perhaps, than political or economic tumult, but it was no less
devastating. Germany lacked a solid footing of diplomatic ties, few international allies,
and a newly democratic political structure. Culturally, the structural difficulties facing
Germany meant that old societal rules were up for discussion. The cultural achievements
that have been attributed to the Weimar Republic demonstrate that German identity
during the 1920s and 1930s was constantly renegotiated, in a state of constant flux. In
addition, cultural anomie includes elements of structural (especially economic and
political) anomie, which provided the framework within which everyday Germans
operated. Put another way, the instability of anomic political and economic structures
affected cultural character as well, as the middle ground between the overlapping effects
of politics and economy. The stamp of the inflationary period, as well as the resurgence
of unemployment and economic insecurity after 1929, affected how cultural attitudes,
movements, and meanings developed during the interwar period. Weimar culture
affected and was affected by these issues, creating a multitude of different ways to
negotiate postwar modernity and Germany’s place within it.
59
Durkheim, a contemporary of the Weimar Republic, did not directly address
cultural notions of anomie; his analysis touched mainly on economic forces, political
societies, and social relations within a specific national context. His ideas, though, can be
adapted to encompass individual (in this case national) notions of culture if the social
community under scrutiny is international. The (re)development of identity in Germany
after World War I requires analysis of all three categories with an international scope, to
root it in time and space. It is through the lens of cultural festivals that all three types of
anomie were confronted and contested in an effort to achieve cultural coherence after a
global caesura.
The Cultural Festival and Battle with Anomie
As I have already alluded to, Weimar Germany represented not only an attempt to
re-establish a cohesive national identity (albeit one that simultaneously differentiated
itself from imperial attitudes while retaining them) but also an attempt to reorder society
after catastrophic war. While this could be said of most European societies coming out of
World War I, the added pressure and tension that accompanied the financial ruin of the
postwar years presented more of a challenge. In a very real sense, German society and
politics after World War I in the early 1920s were examples of a move from the
Durkheimian notion of anomie to a more ordered society. One can argue that Germany
was contending with several problems in the early 1920s, beginning with an inflationary
economy and extending to the establishment of the Weimar Republic. Durkheim
60
especially emphasized the economic realm of the structure, arguing that society fractures
when
the producer can no longer take in the market at a glance, or even
conceptualise it. He [sic] can no longer have an idea of its limits, since
it is, so to speak, limitless. Accordingly, production becomes unchecked
and unregulated. It can only operate haphazardly, and in the course of
these gropings, it is inevitable that it will be out of proportion, either in
one direction or the other. From this come the crises which periodically
dislocate economic life.85
In this way, the inflationary and hyperinflationary system was an example of anomic
structure by its very existence. As I argued in the previous chapter, collecting
inflationary notes and Serienscheine presented an opportunity to organize or manage an
inherently chaotic system. Festivals, especially those that emphasized locality within the
context of the whole (whether it was national, political, or even racial), are another
example of ordering cultural life, focusing on the macrostructural level.
Festival was a cultural way to navigate economic and political realities, especially
relying on the notions of a collective or shared set of meanings. In addition, it was a
process that stretched from initial planning stages to consumption by audiences,
representing a timeframe in which to negotiate cultural or political messages. The body
of festival-goers, who would both monetarily and culturally consume the message of the
festival demonstrated a public construction of identity, much as attending a rally or
theatrical pageant would. The notion of shared experience could feasibly then contribute
to shared heritage or meaning, the necessary building blocks, according to Benedict
85
Giddens, Durkheim: Selected Writings, 185.
61
Anderson, to foster national feeling or identity.86 Indeed, as scholars have noted, “the
festivalising [sic] process is very heavily determined by its dimensions (national, regional
or local), the type of productions to be shown, and the type of audience(s) it sets out to
attract.”87 The performance of festivals required more than an audience; it required a
public who would attend, consume, and discuss the message. At the same time, festivals
often were accompanied by pamphlets, programs, and memorabilia to be collected—
even, during the Weimar Republic, extending to collectible Serienscheine and notes
commemorating the event.
The festival in Germany represented a front where anomie could be battled; it was
here, most importantly, that notions of cultural anomie could be addressed, perhaps with
economic or political benefits. In this way, festivals were unique cultural tools that could
operate on a different level than economic policy aimed at containing inflation or
political campaigns. In his study of working-class and labor celebrations during the
interwar period, Matthias Warstat argued that “the concept of the festival helps us to
understand the framework of and methods employed for political community building in
the late 19th and early 20th century. . . . In this way the mass performance embodied the
movement as a whole, independent of the plot that was presented.”88 Attendance and
86
Anderson, Imagined Communities, 9. Here, in particular, Anderson pointed to the “public
ceremony” of tombs of Unknown Soliders; generally accompanying such tombs are a ceremonial changing
of the guard, where spectators can participate, albeit passively, in a nationalist performance.
87
Vicki Ann Cremona, “Introduction—the festivalising process” in Temple Hauptfleisch, et al.
eds., Festivalising!: Theatrical Events, Politics and Culture (Amsterdam: Rodopi, 2007), 8. While
Cremona, and other authors in the volume, focused mostly on theatrical activities and festivals, the point
applies to cultural festivals in general.
88
Matthias Warstat, “Community Building within a Festival Frame—Working Class Celebrations
in Germany, 1918-1933,” in Temple Hauptfleisch, et al. eds., Festivalising!: Theatrical Events, Politics
and Culture (Amsterdam: Rodopi, 2007), 242, 251; emphasis original. In particular, Warstat analyzed
62
participation in cultural festivals, especially local celebrations, provided a forum where
identity could be pinpointed, negotiated, and re-presented.
Weimar Festivals and the Formation of In-Groups
Ultimately, the major function of cultural festivals was putting the negotiation of
identity in the public sphere. Planners of festivals waged the battle against cultural
anomie by establishing a dominant in-group, against which other groups could identify
themselves and likewise be identified. After World War I, the first identity to re-establish
was at the national level vis-à-vis the international community. Within this recast
national narrative, the various regions, towns, and localities of Germany could determine
their roles within the national context. As I’ve previously demonstrated, however, the
political and economic tumult of the immediate postwar years complicated this process.
At an individual level, the messages and contexts promoted by cultural festivals
had to resonate for them to be successful (monetary and attendance goals
notwithstanding). It is in this way that festivals had the ability to function at several
levels; the prior discussion of economic, political, and cultural anomie indicates a desire
for cohesion at the macrolevel, especially in reference to national identity and character.
Within the national context, however, social relations and activities contributed to
another, more microlevel notion of identity. In the previous chapter, I analyzed how
notions of cultural capital, in reference to national identity through the collection of
artifacts, could highlight commonalities between social groups which simultaneously
Arbeiter-Massenspiel, or “plays for the working masses,” as an example of community or identity
construction with social, cultural, and political elements.
63
differentiated them from other nations (if we assume the international community
constitutes a set of social groups). In Germany, however, festival participation began the
task of assembling a national in-group, one that was contested throughout the 1920s. The
goal here was to formulate a specific notion of identity and what the dominant cultural
group was.
By the 1930s, this major in-group (Germans) was to be fragmented as political,
economic, social, and cultural realities changed. After the relative calm of the period
between 1924 and 1929, global depression reanimated international, national, social, and
cultural tensions in a politically polarizing context. It is here that Gordon Allport, in his
important work The Nature of Prejudice examined the social psychological foundations
of identity and social behavior, especially as it related to the formation of in-groups, outgroups, and reference groups. On the one hand, Benedict Anderson’s conception of the
spread of nationalism echoes Allport’s notion of identity formation, though it is largely
located in the creation of an imagined community though print media, utilizing a
dominant vernacular and shared lexicon. On the other hand, Allport goes further into
microlevel analysis, moving beyond an abstract feeling of “belonging” to a particular
group, and he noted that national groups prove to be problematic in terms of constructing
a homogeneous group.89
Allport does emphasize that “broadly defined an in-group [is] any cluster of
people who can use the term ‘we’ with the same significance;” at the same time,
89
Gordon W. Allport, The Nature of Prejudice (Cambridge, MA: Perseus Books, 1979), 116.
Allport argued here that linguistic and ethnic parameters do not always (or even ever) correspond with
those of the nation-state. While Anderson’s work dealt with the dissemination of overarching political
nationalism (perhaps a more inclusive view), Allport focused on cultural and ethnic divisions within the
nation-state (focusing on the exclusivity of such identities).
64
however, views of membership in such an in-group, or even the parameters of that group,
vary by individual.90 As with other theories of social relationships, Allport highlights the
relational nature of in-groups, because there are then out-groups and reference-groups
against which one compares his or her own group. There are also layers of identity one
“has”—local, gender, national, and racial to name a few—which necessitates shifting
parameters of in-group membership depending on context. In Germany after World War
I, the in-group first had to consist of everyone in the nation, banded together against other
members of the international community.
It could be argued, then, that participation in local festivals that inherently speak
to other levels of identity is participation in the formation of a particular in-group. In the
context of Weimar Germany, which represented a dramatic break with the imperial past,
a festival could cement new frames of discourse and redefine old interpretations and
symbols within the framework of Weimar, essentially recasting or recreating the
nationalist in-group. This basically amounted to a sociocultural revolution.
The focus on festivals carried on into the Third Reich, which was ever mindful of
the usefulness festivals had in cementing a specific interpretation of German culture. In
the 1920s, and even into the 1930s, festivals and other cultural activities served to
highlight a shared heritage; when considered in conjunction with the social impulse to
prevent or leave behind anomic society, identity formation is an important step in forging
Weimar culture. In later chapters, I will investigate how that in-group (German national
90
Allport, Nature of Prejudice, 37.
65
identity) was manipulated and narrowed to promote the National Socialist vision of a
racial nation, expressed through the Volksgemeinschaft.
Celebration and Commemoration
In general, festival culture was common throughout Germany, especially as a way
to commemorate the history of the region or locality. The names of the festivals, such as
the case of Kiel’s Nordisch-deutsch Woche of 1929, clearly expressed a connection to be
fostered between Nordic and German cultures.91 Also extremely common throughout the
1920s were festivals designed to celebrate anniversaries of the founding of a city or
institution; Notgeld (usually Serienscheine) and other memorabilia were produced to
allow the public to commemorate the occasion, as well as provide a simple, relatively
inexpensive souvenir for the host city. One example that stood out, including related art
exhibitions and commercial shows was the festival in Lübeck commemorating the 700year anniversary of the town charter. Ephemera related to the event in June of 1926
included a history of the city, a picture book of a historical pageant/parade, and a
program book and itinerary. Last, but not least, a series of Notgeld was produced to
commemorate the proceedings.
The forward of the book detailing the historical parade [Festzug] stated that “in
one way or another, almost all of Lübeck was involved . . . This booklet will serve to hold
images for posterity, to clarify the sense of homeland and pride in the rich and dignified
91
Memo to J.A., Nordische Woche (1928-1929), Stadtarchiv Kiel 28711
66
history of the city.”92 Echoing this sentiment, especially with the current political and
economic situation at hand, Dr. Bengt Paul argued in his forward to the celebration
program that “Once again Lübeck faces the task of rebuilding. And the 700th anniversary
of imperial freedom is not a resigned look back to the good old days. . . .The 700-year
celebration of rich freedom itself is a first step to something new! Lübeck’s population
can be proud of the past of their city, but they also need to look to the future without
fear.”93
In this way, one can see what was at stake with commemorative celebrations. The
pageantry had to reflect the image and character of the region as well as contribute to
creating a national identity, one that encapsulated hope as well as recognition of the
economic and political challenges that were obvious. In addition, the link between
locality and local identity had to be made clear within the context of a German identity as
it existed vis-à-vis other international actors. This was achieved, for example, by
emphasizing Lübeck’s tie to the German industrial heartland through its strategic location
on the Baltic Sea and the existence of the Elbe-Trave-Canal. By emphasizing the
geographic (and industrial) tie to the rest of Germany, Lübeck underscored its
92
Alexander Krüger, “Geleitwort,” in Der historische Festzug anschließend der Festzug der
Gewerbe und Innungen zur 700-Jahrfeier der Freien und Hansestadt Lübeck (6. Juni 1926) (Lübeck:
Verlag Theodor Schubert, 1926), n.p.; translation mine: „In einer oder der anderen Weise waren fast alle
Lübecker daran beteiligt . . . Das vorliegende Büchlein will dem Zwecke dienen, in Bildern den
historischen Teil und den Festzug der Innungen auch für spätere Zeiten festzuhalten, das Heimatsgefühl
und den Stolz auf die reiche und ehrwürdige Geschichte der Stadt anschaulich zu erhalten.“
93
Dr. Bengt Paul, “Die 700-Jahrfeier der freien und Hansestadt Lübeck 1926,“ in 700-Jahrfeier
der Reichsfreiheit Lübeck 3-6 Juni 1926, Programm-Buch und Katalog aller Ausstellungen (Lübeck:
Gebrüder Borchers G.m.b.H., 1926), 12; translation mine: „Von neuem steht Lübeck jetzt vor der Aufgabe
wieder aufzubauen. Und die 700-Jahrfeier seiner Reichsfreiheit ist keineswegs ein resigniertes
Zurückblicken auf die vergangene gute alte Zeit Die 700-Jahrfeier der Reichsfreiheit ist selbst ein erster
Schritt zu Neuem! Lübecks Bevölkerung kann stolz auf die Vergangenheit ihrer Stadt sein, aber sie
braucht auch den Blick in die Zukunft nicht zu scheuen.“
67
relationship to the rest of the nation, even rendering it indispensable in rebuilding after
the war.
In much the same way, festivals locating Bremen, another traditionally Hanseatic
city in Germany’s northwest, emphasized its tie not only to German economic ventures
but how these related to the international landscape. This was immediately obvious in an
article produced for the Wesergilde’s booklet Die Freie Hansestadt Bremen that declared
Bremen the “world’s harbor and world’s commerce center [Welthafen und
Welthandelsplatz],” citing the presence of Norddeutscher Lloyd, Hapag, and other
commercial and passenger shipping companies as evidence.94 It went so far as to credit
the strong shipping sector, dominated by Norddeutscher Lloyd, with attracting other
industrial pursuits, some of which became the preeminent examples on the continent.95
In the case of Bremen, the Weser-Gilde took the lead, organizing DeutscheAmerika Woche in spring 1923 and actively participating in the production of a history of
Bremen. In the booklet Die Freie Hansestadt Bremen, published to commemorate
Niederdeutschen Woche in September 1922, author Ph. Heineken commented that,
despite the Treaty of Versailles’ evisceration of the Bremer fleet and Germany’s inner
political and economic turmoil, Bremen (and by extension the rest of Germany) would
again achieve stability and power.96 This rhetoric explicitly denoted German feelings
94
Albert Ulrich, “Bremen als Welthafen und Welthandelsplatz,“ in Wesergilde, ed.,Die Freie
Hansestadt Bremen (Bremen: Angelsachsenverlag, 1922), 8.
95
Ibid., 10. In particular, Ulrich listed metalworking and wool as examples of Bremen’s
economic strength and diversity.
96
Ph. Heieneken, “Bremens Flagge auf See,” in Wesergilde, ed., Die Freie Hansestadt Bremen
(Bremen: Angelsachsenverlag, 1922), 31. Original German appeared as such: „Trotz aller feindlichen
Ränke und Vernichtungspläne, trotz der inneren Zerrissenheit des deutschen Volkes, die das
Haupthindernis innenpolitischer und wirtschaftlicher Gesundung ist, trotz anderer Stürme wird die
68
toward not only the Treaty of Versailles but also a subtle hope that the current state of
political and economic anomie could be overcome. It meant that German citizens needed
to be active participants in rescuing German identity and the German economy in a
demonstration of German cultural resilience.
Some of this could be achieved utilizing the aforementioned shipping companies,
especially those that specialized in moving passengers around the globe. At the same
time, though, by putting on festivals and inspiring tourism culture within Germany,
economic and diplomatic ties could be reinstituted or, at the very least, strengthened.
This heritage, one that stretched back before the war, was a way to reorder the postwar
world; in this case, Bremen demonstrated an improvement in economic activity. This
was a recasting of the role Bremen had played in Imperial Germany, one that was
separate from the pursuits of the Kaiserreich. While Bremerhaven was the headquarters
for Germany’s navy, the harbor and the traditional port of Bremen could focus anew on
economic activity in a much more interdependent international scene. This showed not
only a preoccupation with Germany’s tenuous economic situation; it also showed a
willingness or desire to improve international relations as well. Strengthening German
economic activity, in a globally interconnected system, meant being both good national
citizens with the added benefit of a more durable international economy. In the early
1920s, Bremen’s international overtures focused more on imports and exports rather than
traditional diplomatic efforts. In this way, economic development preceded and paved
the way for political ones.
bremische Schiffahrt den eingeschlagenen Kurs weiter steuern, und so Gott will, ihr hohes Ziel auch
erreichen.
69
Perhaps due to the unique position that northern ports had in the German
economy—they were inherently more exposed to international contact, especially due to
activities related to shipping and export—cultural festivals in the northwestern quadrant
of Germany took place often in cities like Kiel, Hamburg, Bremen, and Lübeck. In
particular, the prospect of linking cultural expression with a trade show made festivals
like Nordische Messe in Kiel in September of 1921 and Nordisch-deutsch Woche in 1929
provided several opportunities to address the economic, political, and cultural sectors of
society. Bremen, for example, went to great lengths to demonstrate that the city’s
economic and cultural endeavors (as they were linked to the port) flourished in Germany,
in the midst of extreme economic recession nationwide.
This was done by showing visually the increased tonnage of ships and cargo that
moved through Bremen, implying an explosion of growth.97 At the same time, the
cultural pursuits of the city (Bremerhaven as well as Bremen) were highlighted,
especially the Philharmonic Orchestra and art shows that spotlighted German painters
and sculptors, demonstrating the unique vitality and diversity of northern German ports. 98
Port cities already had the transportation infrastructure that could support an influx of
people and goods, making them ideal for tradeshows and festivals; the goal was to
97
“Die Bremischen Hafen,“ in Wesergilde, ed., Die Freie Hansestadt Bremen (Bremen:
Angelsachsenverlag, 1922), 22-23. One example that was included, regarding cotton imports, placed
Bremen second only to Liverpool in import traffic. While this implies active economic participation, it also
demonstrated a dependence on imports to acquire staples; this only served to heighten Bremen’s
importance to Germany as well as the continent.
98
Stadtdirektor Becké, “Bremerhaven,” in Wesergilde, ed., Die Freie Hansestadt Bremen
(Bremen: Angelsachsenverlag, 1922), 33. Other institutions listed were a diverse variety of schools,
museums, and other cultural endeavors.
70
capitalize on this intersection and, at least in the case of Bremen, establish and maintain
manufacturing capacity that could be showcased internationally.
The performances put on by local festivals, including cultural activities,
tradeshows and economic fairs, and the underlying emphasis on local and national
identity speaks to the different ways cities tried to achieve social order. Mounting an
exhibition was expensive, and those with international aspirations, such as Nordische
Messe and Deutsch-Amerika Woche, could only take place in locations that were
politically stable and could serve as models for the rest of the nation. The potential
economic return, especially including international (and possibly more stable) currency,
targeted economic anomie, encouraging foreign businesses and individuals to take
interest in developing relationships with more stable regions in Germany. This increased
flow of resources could have a stabilizing influence nationally. These political and
economic strides toward rehabilitation would calm social forces enough to encourage
cultural stability and create a more coherent German national identity, especially
regarding the new international system. Lastly, festivals highlighted dynamic regional
differences as part of a whole, maintaining the complex web of local, national, and
international identity by either reinforcing or reconstituting in-group membership.
Urban centers almost seemed to compete over who could mount an exhibition or
festival faster, nearly overlapping in schedules, and central committees feared a
“splintering” effect of such overlap.99 Cities seemed to highlight the success Leipzig in
particular had as a tradeshow center, pointing to the success the city had had in
99
“Messefragen,” Hansestadt Archiv Lübeck, Handelskammer 275: Nordische Woche in Lübeck
1921—Allgemeines.
71
distributing “cargoes.”100 In Kiel, the notion of the trade fair as an economic activity for
the good of the country as well as the region was part of the published rhetoric. In the
booklet commemorating the September 1921 Nordische Messe, the editors argued that
“Through the economic upheavals of the World War, the importance of the trade fairs for
the good of goods distribution is extraordinarily strong.”101 This statement implies that
trade fairs across the country, not just localized in established exhibition cities
concentrated near Berlin, ensured more equitable access to goods and services, as well as
economic resources. It nearly praised “splintering” as a diversifying activity, though this
idea certainly was more attractive outside already-established commercial centers.
The geographic location of Kiel as a port near to international trading partners
meant that diplomatic measures could be undertaken, capitalizing on a new conception of
Germanness (though one that was continually in flux) while attempting to contain
economic concerns. Bremen, on the other hand, emphasized how efficiently and
inexpensively it could move freight (as well as fairs) through, highlighting a railway it
claimed was “cheaper than Hamburg or Lübeck.”102 Not only did German cities compete
for industry and the capital that accompanied thriving trade, they competed for
recognition, audiences, and regional or international prominence. Fairs could accomplish
all of those things; in a sense, it was an advertisement for the city as well as the nation.
100
Dr H. Meyer, “Nordische Messe in Kiel. Ein Geleitwort,“ Nordische Messe in Kiel
Messkatalog 1921 (Kiel: Nordischen Messe in Kiel G.m.b.H, 1921), 11. Stadtarchiv Kiel 6898/2.
101
Ibid. Translation mine from the original German: „Durch die wirtschaftlichen Umwälzungen
des Weltkrieges ist die Bedeutung der Messen fuer die Güterverteilung noch außerordentlich verstärkt
worden.
102
G. John, “Bremens Hinterland” in Wesergilde, ed., Die Freie Hansestadt Bremen (Bremen:
Angelsachsenverlag, 1922), 66.
72
In the forward for the 1921 Nordische Messe in Kiel, Dr. H. Meyer argued for the
indispensability of the fair, claiming that industry and manufacturing could use
tradeshows to transition from a war economy to a postwar reality though the “prohibitive
personal costs” presented by “processing customers in strong foreign currency” was
challenging.103 Still, Meyer went on to say, the presence of stronger foreign currency
made the shows or fairs significant for German industry in Kiel, allowing direct
participation in Germany’s economic recovery utilizing international resources. In
addition, it meant potential growth for Kiel locally—the very reason that festivals and
fairs had appeal across the country. It also provided a counterargument against the
contention that a proliferation of festivals or tradeshows would “splinter” or fragment
industry with adverse consequences.
Especially when one considers the role the chamber of commerce and trade
interests played in beginning the fairs in Kiel as well as other cities, the economic
foundations were easier to deal with the cultural ones, though there was an attempt to
meld them together. For example, in the Wesergilde’s guide to Bremen, articles
promoting different aspects of port commerce (centering on tobacco, wine, wool, coffee,
and others) demonstrated a wide support base for planning and executing shows.
Planning committees, often made up of leaders of the community, were prominently
associated with the festival and listed in official fair literature. In addition, forwards or
prefaces often contained the guiding principle planning committees sought to advocate.
103
John, “Bremens Hinterland,“ 66. Translation mine from the original German: „Die Kosten der
persönlichen Bearbeitung der Kundschaft, vor allem im valutastarken Ausland, sind in vielen Fällen
unerschwinglich.“
73
One example was the forward written by Privy Councillor [Geheimer Regierungsrat]
Jacob of Christian-Albrechts-Universität Kiel: “Economics and culture [kultur] are
connected; economic and cultural expansion are mutually dependent. As Kiel
economically builds the bridge between the German inland and the Scandinavian north, it
did not pay less to link the threads to the cultural field, which facilitate a close
cooperation between Germany and Northern Europe.104 It is in this way one can see how
economic and cultural motivations intersected; there was a desire to get public attention
and participation while maintaining Kiel’s place as an international port of call upon
which the German economy could right itself. While businesses and organizations from
surrounding communities participated, the core planners were from the city.
Another facet of these regional and local festivals is that the planning committees
sought to involve university populations, often with a special presentation to the
colleges.105 The presence of an active university added complexity to a city, such as Kiel,
that largely identified industrially or with manufacturing. This is evident, for example, in
an essay included in a city yearbook describing “Kiel as college town.”106 On the one
hand, this spoke to the importance of the university as an employer and facet of city life.
On the other hand, this demonstrated the intellectual role Kiel provided in the formulation
of a postwar Germany, simultaneously fostering cultural and economic ties in the region.
104
Geheimer Regierungsrat Jacob, “Zum Geleit,” Jahrgang 1921, Heft 3 (June 1922), 3.
Stadtarchiv Kiel 6075/1 (Kiel 1921-1928). Translation mine from the original German: “Wirtschaft und
kultur hängen zusammen, wirtschaftliche und kulturelle Ausweitung bedingen sich gegenseitig. Wie Kiel
wirtschaftlich die Brücke schlägt zwischen dem deutschen Binnengebiet und dem skandinavischen Norden,
so bemüht es sich nicht minder die Fäden zu knüpfen auf kulturellem Gebiet, die ein enges
Zusammenarbeitet zwischen Deutschland und den nordeuropaischen Reichen ermöglichen.“
105
Akten des Magistrats zu Kiel 32577, Stadtarchiv Kiel, 20 January 1921.
106
Dr. Heinrich Merle, “Kiel als Universitätsstadt,“ Jahrgang 1921, Heft 3 (June 1922), 27.
Stadtarchiv Kiel 6075/1 (Kiel 1921-1928).
74
The focus on the role the university played in hosting or executing these festivals
complicated the perceptions of Kiel as a port city or industrial center far from urban
Germany; it was necessary to facilitate interaction on several societal levels as well as in
the immediate international region. Students formed nearly a captive audience, and the
messages promoted by festivals could influence future generations of diplomats, business
professionals, and educators. The same was true of other cities in Germany, such as
Lübeck, where university-educated citizens mingled with blue-collar workers and
speakers of Plattdeutsch. The inclusion of the university population ensured a diverse
audience for the tradeshow or festival, bringing with them the perception of purchasing
power. Students could attend festivities with their families, necessitating travel and
accommodations. At the same time, academic or scholarly activity included in the
program meant that festivals could receive exposure beyond the business community,
facilitating intellectual discussions of the origins and message of an event.
In addition, festivals such as the Nordische Messe became recurring events,
warranting investment by both city workers and area businesses; as one invitation put it,
the 1924 fair was “necessary for every businessman,” as it opened doors to domestic and
international customers.107 At the same time, it was not meant to be just a trade fair. By
1923, the Nordische Messe in Kiel had become a biennial affair, producing even a
newspaper devoted to articles about “the German will to live [Der deutsche Wille zum
Leben]” leading up to the spring and autumn fairs.108 Even as festivals and fairs were
107
108
Akten des Magistrats zu Kiel 32577, Stadtarchiv Kiel, February 1924.
Die Nordische Messe, Kiel (23 March 1924), Stadtarchiv Kiel 6898c.
75
being conducted in specific cities, the notion of a German will to live or survive implied
a feeling of unity on a cultural level, despite economic or political obstacles.
Cultural festivals were a way to negotiate fluid notions of Germanness, especially
after the war. The meaning that was assigned to cultural, political, or economic activity
was contentious. For example, following Kultur- und Sportwoche in Hamburg in August
of 1924, the Kölnische Zeitung critiqued the possible political, economic, and cultural
necessities of the festival, pointing to similar festivals in Kiel, Lübeck, and Bremen. The
editorial concluded that the main goal of the festival was to gain support for a sport park
in Hamburg.109 Other reports of the same festival, this time in the Lübeckische Anzeigen,
identified the commemorative Notgeldscheine produced in Hamburg as demonstrating an
interrelated and integrated representation of cultural and economic life, demonstrating
what the goals of the conference were.110
Overall, cultural festivals in Germany were ways to bring order to an upended
social and international order; the anomic state demonstrated by continued inflation,
economic hardship, and political fragmentation led to uncertainty for Germans, especially
considering their local, national, and international identity. In addition to promoting a
shared cultural heritage through festivals, fairs could provide a jump-start to lethargic
industry and commerce with their attendees. In addition, the potential for international
exposure (though ephemera and souvenirs such as Notgeld or Festschriften) had
109
“Die Hamburger Kulturwoche,” Kölnische Zeitung, 24 August 1921 (No. 558).
Handelskammer zu Lübeck 275: Nordische Woche in Lübeck (Allgemeines), Hansestadt Archiv Lübeck.
110
“Notgeldscheine der Kultur- und Sportwoche Hamburg,“ Lübeckische Anzeigen, 29 July 1921
(No. 349). Handelskammer zu Lübeck 275: Nordische Woche in Lübeck (Allgemeines), Hansestadt
Archiv Lübeck. The article highlighted the presence of sport culture, the black-white-red commercial flag,
and messages about the importance of shipping as evidence of planners’ goals.
76
economic and cultural implications as well. In the following chapter, I will analyze a
representative festival held in Lübeck in September 1921, Nordische Woche. Part of a
cluster of festivals held in northwestern Germany in late summer and early fall of 1921,
the planning and execution of Nordische Woche demonstrates in-depth the goals of the
planners as well as the economic and political realities they faced in the early 1920s.
Chapter III
The Case of Nordische Woche 1921:
The Intersection of Celebration, Culture, and Commerce
Nordische Woche proved to be more than a festival planned by business and
political leaders in Lübeck. The public also had to negotiate cultural messages and
extrapolate the meaning associated with the celebration. On the one hand, the stated
goals of the festival—indeed, even the justification—was explicitly expressed in media
outlets and public for a. On the other hand, the way that message was dissected and
digested was far from uniform based upon personal circumstances, experiences, and
identity. Festival planning took place out in the open, though many of the logistical and
practical decisions ultimately fell to local leaders. A slate of committees was established
in order to organize all of the competing aspects of the festival, the meetings of which
were advertised in local papers and held in the Rathaus. The implication of such a move
was that members of the public could contact specific committee members in order to
facilitate the planning process. Overall, though, festivals and tradeshows, as discussed in
the previous chapter, were a recognized way to affect economic as well as cultural ends,
and the development of what became called Nordische Woche—Nordic Week—in
Lübeck was no exception.
By 1920, Lübeck’s commercial and municipal leaders began planning, in earnest,
an event that they felt would aid in achieving national closure from World War I as well
as challenge the restrictions and constrictions Germany faced in the 1920s—Nordische
77
78
Woche.111 Lübeck’s Nordische Woche was designed to involve townspeople, businesses,
academics, and international visitors in an effort to demonstrate Germany’s new role (and
Lübeck’s role within the context of Weimar Germany) in the post-World War I world.
Seeking to highlight Lübeck, Schleswig-Holstein, and Germany in relation to the “Nordic
nations” of Finland, Norway, Sweden, and Denmark, organizers planned a grand, ten-day
festival chock full of cultural events, industrial and commercial vendors, and diplomatic
measures. The planning and stages of development in bringing the festival to fruition
demonstrate the multifaceted goals of the festival as much as its execution did. In many
ways, Nordische Woche is a good case study for examining the confluence of economic,
cultural, and diplomatic goals, especially in light of the social environs of Weimar
Germany and the need to contain anomic tendencies.
This chapter will highlight, in particular, the planning of the festival, especially
considering the subjects, goals, and debates that were considered the most important
behind the scenes. The 1921 festival Nordische Woche (Nordic Week) in Lübeck was a
long-range plan that encompassed two years, several devoted committees, and a lot of
public discussion. In order to fully understand the intricacies of festival planning and
what it meant to the host municipality, this chapter will investigate, from start to finish,
the process that was undertaken to execute a local festival with international elements. In
addition, this chapter will address the question of what constituted a “successful”
celebration, especially considering the stated goals and cultural messages laid out by the
planners. Lübeck’s Nordische Woche was designed to involve townspeople, businesses,
111
Enns, Kunst und Bürgertum, 46.
79
academics, and international visitors in an effort to demonstrate Germany’s new role (and
Lübeck’s role within the context of Weimar Germany) in the post-World War I world,
bringing a sense of order to cultural, political, and economic tumult.
To Hold or Not to Hold—The Early Stages of Planning
As early as December 1919, discussion was underway in Lübeck about the
possibility of hosting a local festival, perhaps with industrial, cultural, and international
implications; at that time, however, the Lübeck Handelskammer [Chamber of Commerce]
apparently rejected the plan, despite public opinion to the contrary.112 The timing of such
a discussion is interesting, especially considering the practical challenges facing
Germany at the time. World War I had been over for little more than a year, and
widespread trepidation over political chaos persisted in the wake of the Paris Peace
Conference and the declaration of the Munich Soviet. At the heart of the issue was the
concern that a proliferation of festivals would, essentially, create audience fatigue,
especially when one considers the potential for festivals in other countries.113
At the foundation of the public debates in late 1919 and early 1920 regarding a
festival or tradeshow to be held in Lübeck were, as always, economic concerns. As
mentioned in the previous chapter, one fear expressed national industrial associations was
the so-called “splintering” effect [Zersplitterung] of regional festivals. Domestic as well
112
Letter from Burley of Ständige Austellungskommission für die Deutsche Industrie (6 December
1919). Hansestadt Archiv Lübeck, Handelskammer 275
113
Indeed, a circular from December 1919 published by the Ständige Austellungskommission für
die Deutsche Industrie reprinted an article from the Deutsche Allgemeines Zeitung by
Reichswirtschaftsminister Schmidt, basically arguing for compartmentalized tradeshows (for example,
Hamburg as a location for European economic exhibitions versus London as a general location for shows
focused on European trade). Handelskammer 275, Hansestadt Archiv Lübeck.
80
as international locations competed for audiences, attendees, and exhibitors, and the fear
was, particularly in Germany, that the limitations presented by the economy meant that
resources and materials needed to be conserved. To that end, general trade fairs, such as
those most often held in Leipzig at the time, “should be avoided” following the protocol
of the agreements between competing exhibition towns [Messestädten] to prevent
fragmentation.114 Arguments to this effect were put forth by the Permanent Exhibition
Commission for German Industry [Ständige Ausstellungskommission für die Deutsche
Industrie] in December 1919, well before any official steps had been taken by the city
council in Lübeck to begin planning in earnest.
An underlying tension in the debates was that hosting a festival was a matter of
pride, that Nordische Woche could help Lübeck rise above the label of “little Lübeck.”
Arguments for hosting festivals highlighted the benefits that building exhibition halls and
gathering spaces had, whether the location was Hamburg, Lübeck, or Frankfurt.115 The
opinion of the Hamburgische Export-Zeitung pointed out, rather condescendingly, that
even such a small city as Lübeck was attempting to mobilize resources and funds to host
a festival or tradeshow, so Hamburg should do the same. In many ways, this highlights
how municipalities and regions jockeyed for attention and civic pride. In addition, it
implies the desire to be considered a destination, a serious city, rather than a borderland
114
“Reichswirtschaftsminister Schmidt über Messefragen,” Hansestadt Archiv Lübeck,
Handelskammer 275: Nordische Woche in Lübeck—Allgemeines. Herr Schmidt pointed out that
tradeshow fragmentation or overlap could negatively affect nations “not as negatively affected by the war
as we are,” citing Switzerland and Sweden as specific examples. This points to a larger debate about the
most effective way to undertake tradeshows generally, not just in Germany, and it informed the specific
debate about whether or not to hold an exhibition of any kind in Lübeck.
115
“Was andere Städte können. Neue Messegebäude,” Hamburgische Export-Zeitung, 21 April
1920. Hansestadt Archiv Lübeck, Handelskammer 275: Nordische Woche in Lübeck—Allgemeines.
81
or backwater culturally and geographically distant from national centers (such as
Frankfurt, Berlin, and Munich). Lübeck confronted this issue, challenged by the
perception of “little Lübeck” that had seen its golden age—the peak of Hanseatic League
power and affluence—pass by. The argument against “splintering” was viewed by
Lübeckers as an attempt of Berliners and other big-city locations to maintain dominance
to the detriment of Lübeck.116 This intranational competition demonstrates how much
cultural capital was up for grabs, and the opportunities to renegotiate German and local
identity and politics were plentiful in the postwar years.
The general assumption, especially expressed by organizations headquartered or
centered in Berlin, was that Lübeck wished to model its potential festival on the so-called
Leipzig fairs.117 In fact, a letter sent in June 1920 to the city senate by the French
Economic Mission [Französische Wissenschaftsmission] requested foreknowledge of any
trade show to be held in Lübeck; in reply, the senate stated that there were no immediate
plans to hold a festival in 1920.118 The public discourse about the role of festivals in
Germany in general (such as in exhibition cities like Leipzig) and Lübeck in particular
essentially resulted in the explosion of rumor. Suggestions of a festival or trade show
that were advocated in newspapers exploded into a full-on debate about economic
ramifications and the possibility that the city of Lübeck would step on Leipzig’s toes.
116
“Die Berliner Handelskammer gegen die Zersplitterung der Messen,“ Industrie- und HandelsZeitung, 26 March 1920. Hansestadt Archiv Lübeck, Handelskammer 275: Nordische Woche in Lübeck—
Allgemeines.
117
Letter to Magistrat der Hansestadt Lübeck from Französische Wissenschaftsmission Berlin, 28
June 1920. Hansestadt Archiv Lübeck, Handelskammer 275: Nordische Woche in Lübeck—Allgemeines.
118
Memo from Lübeck Handelskammer to Senate, 9 July 1920. Hansestadt Archiv Lübeck,
Handelskammer 275: Nordische Woche in Lübeck—Allgemeines.
82
Nothing had yet been planned, but even the mention of holding a festival brought out
strong feelings on either side nationwide.
Proponents of a festival redoubled their efforts by August of 1920, remarking that
the city found itself a “mediator between Eastern and Western Europe, the Nordic
countries and Central Europe” due in part to the construction of the Elbe-Trave-Kanal as
well as its history as a center of trade with international partners.119 Festivals with a
multifaceted approach were explicitly viewed as a cultural bridge, allowing an
international community to identify and view Germany in a new global context.
Interestingly, Wilhelm Möller’s commentary in support of a festival argued that Lübeck
had previously faced extreme economic and cultural challenges (in the decline of the
Hanseatic League), so tackling the postwar German context was certainly surmountable.
In addition, Möller argued, nation-building (or, in this case, rebuilding) was not limited to
the realm of governments but encompassed “all heads and hands [that] must be active” in
the process.120 The links between culture, economics, and nation were stressed,
especially in editorials, in an attempt to persuade both politicians and population of the
concomitant importance a festival presented.
Further examples of this were common in the press. In an editorial from 13
October 1920, the Eisenbahnzeitung argued that a festival in Lübeck (as well as other
119
Wilhelm Möller, “Ein Hansetag in Lübeck,” Eisenbahn-zeitung, 10 August 1920. Hansestadt
Archiv Lübeck, Handelskammer 275: Nordische Woche in Lübeck—Allgemeines. Translation mine from
the original German: “den seit der Erbauung des Nord-Ostsee- und des Elbe-Trave-Kanal ist Lübeck mehr
als jemals die Vermittlerin zwischen Ost- und Westeuropa, zwischen den nordischen Ländern und
Mitteleuropa.” Möller’s article was also printed in other local papers, most notably the Lübecker GeneralAnzeiger.
120
Ibid. Translation mine from the original German: “Es ist noch heute so, wie es vor
sechshundert Jahren war, und es wird auch noch einstweisen so bleiben, nicht von Regierungen allein kann
der Aufstieg eines Volkes bewirkt werden; alle Köpfe und alle Hände müssen sich dabei betätigen.“
83
locations) was beneficial politically; it would also make “clear to other nations the
potential global calamity if Germany were condemned to misery” as well as provide,
internationally, “an image of the German spirit, in trade and commerce, technology and
art in spite of the lost war, despite the revolution and despite the oppressive Conditions of
Versailles under which the German people live.”121 A festival in Lübeck, according to
the Eisenbahnzeitung, could have an ameliorative effect for the city in particular and for
Germany as a whole. It is important to note the layers of concern here, that the
considerations were more than for the locality, though that was central. Here, again, is
where the construction of a shared heritage is imperative, especially distinguishing
Germanness and German context from other nations in the international community.
This perspective was viewed with some suspicion as well as a large dose of
skepticism and caution. In the Hamburgischer Correspondent from October 20, 1920,
for example, “R.M.” remarked rather sardonically that “in the Lübeck press, propaganda
was made for a Hanseatic Day [Hanseatentag] from which one expected golden
mountains to appear,” pointing out that theory and practice were two different things.122
The view that a festival could essentially serve as an economic, political, and social band-
121
“Zur Anregung eines Hansetages,” Eisenbahn-zeitung, 13 October 1920. Hansestadt Archiv
Lübeck, Handelskammer 275: Nordische Woche in Lübeck—Allgemeines. Translation mine from the
original German: “Hier zeigt sich dem Auslande, was deutsche Arbeit bedeutet. Hier wird es den andern
Nationen klar, wie groß das Unglück für die Welt sein würde, wenn Deutschland zur Verelendung
verdammt würde. Es ist darum auf das lebhafteste zu begrüßen, daß man auch in Hamburg durch eine
Ueberseewoche dem Ausland ein Bild des deutschen Geistes geben will, wie er im Handel und Gewerbe, in
Technik und Kunst trotz des verlorenen Krieges, trotz der Revolution und trotz der niederdrückenden
Bedingungen von Versailles im deutschen Volke lebt.”
122
R.M., “Ein Lübecker Hanseatentag? Hamburg macht Schule,“ Hamburgischer Correspondent,
20 October 1920. Hansestadt Archiv Lübeck, Handelskammer 275: Nordische Woche in Lübeck—
Allgemeines. Translation mine from the original German: “Jedenfalls wird in der letzten Zeit in der
Lübecker Presse Propaganda gemacht für einen Hanseatentag, von dem man sich offenbar goldene Berge
verspricht.”
84
aid lent itself to criticism, particularly from a political standpoint. Even supporters of
hosting a festival alluded to a “reluctant social democracy [widerstrebende
Sozialdemokratie]” that complicated both the planning process and the debates that
surrounded it.123
Formulating the Festival
The central question in the press shifted after October 1920 from “Should there be
a festival in Lübeck?” to “How should the festival in Lübeck look?” This is not to imply
that all debate about the wisdom of holding a festival disappeared, but by and large the
press, in particular, turned to what type of festival would be held. At the same time,
shifting the principle question in the media made it seem like decisions to host a festival
had been made. Clearly, there were complementary and competing interests from all
sectors of society. Labor and industry wanted to be certain of a tradeshow atmosphere,
while political and social necessities were the main focus of community leaders. In the
midst of it all was public opinion, for such a far-reaching festival would require time,
planning, and most of all money from everyday citizens; in addition, it was these citizens
who would form the large population of attendees, though planners, even in the initial
stages, desired an international audience.
Utilizing other festivals both as a model and a starting point for competition,
planners and the public alike debated how best to promote and organize a festival. The
Eisenbahn-Zeitung, in particular, clearly took interest in the event, releasing a series of
123
“Wo bleibt Lübeck?“ Eisenbahn-Zeitung, 14 October 1920. Hansestadt Archiv Lübeck,
Handelskammer 275: Nordische Woche in Lübeck—Allgemeines.
85
editorials advocating for swift action in Lübeck, even going so far as to complain that
Kiel, a city that could present a good deal of competition, was already planning festivals
for 1921 despite having just completed its “Autumn Week for Art and Science
[Herbstwoche für Kunst und Wissenschaft].”124 Here, one can see the competition for
resources, but also a sense that it was a matter of local pride to host these types of events.
Considering the economic and political circumstances, there was a lot at stake to
represent Germany well.
Perhaps representing the first challenge was what to name the festival, even when
planning was in hypothetical terms. In October of 1920, writers referred to Lübeck’s
festival as a Hanseatic Day [Hanseatentag], a Tradeshow [Mustermesse], and
Scandinavian Week [Skandinavische Woche]. Though the exact parameters of the
festival, including the name, remained to be seen, what was clear was any festival in
Lübeck had a global aspect to it; also clear from such names was that there was a
concurrent sense of local identity that had to be addressed. Lastly, a middle level of
identity—national—was an implicit undercurrent tying together the local and the
international. Many discussions about the nascent planning for the festival began with
allusions to exhibitions in other cities, particularly Kiel (the aforementioned
Herbstwoche) and Hamburg, which was preparing for the so-called Uebersee-Woche
(later called Kultur- und Sport Woche) held in August 1921. In both cases, the festivals
in Kiel and Hamburg celebrated the respective city’s uniqueness in the German context
124
“Wo bleibt Lübeck?“ The tone of the editorial is evident in the title, implying that Lübeck
risked being left behind if other cities, in this case Kiel, continued to put on festivals and tradeshows
unchallenged.
86
as well as in international life. Commentary on the festival planning focused on
Lübeck’s traditional international role on the Baltic Sea, implying that Lübeck could
improve on Kiel’s idea as no other city could.125
Official steps to recognize a festival in Lübeck and its scope were begun in
November 1920 with a request put in to the Chamber of Commerce and the city Senate
Commission for Commerce and Shipping; even here the decision to host the festival was
debated, alluding to open discussion in the media.126 This represents an important step.
By taking the debate out of the media and appealing to the city senate, the final decision
to host or not to host would be settled and the nuances could be addressed. In addition,
by involving the city senate, a more official stamp could be placed on the festival,
making it truly a festival put on by the city rather than cultural or trade organizations
within the city, distinguishing the festival in Lübeck from its neighbors. By the 29th of
November, an announcement was made in the Chamber of Commerce’s report that city
senator Dr. Kalkbrenner and Chamber president Eschenburg would meet to begin
planning a “culture and business” week, set for summer 1921.127 In memos and official
documentation, the festival was variably referred to as Baltic Culture and Economic
Week [Baltische Kultur- und Wirtschaftswoche] and Lübeck Hanseatic Day [Lübecker
Hanseatentag]. The geographic parameters had yet to be agreed upon.
125
“Eine skandinavische Woche in Lübeck,” Lübeckische-Blatter, 31 October 1920. Hansestadt
Archiv Lübeck, Handelskammer 275: Nordische Woche in Lübeck—Allgemeines.
126
Auszug aus dem Protokoll der Senatskommission für Handel und Schiffahrt, 16 November
1920. Hansestadt Archiv Lübeck, Handelskammer 275: Nordische Woche in Lübeck—Allgemeines
127
Handelskammer, 29 November 1920. Hansestadt Archiv Lübeck, Handelskammer 275:
Nordische Woche in Lübeck—Allgemeines.
87
Despite continuing criticism from organizations such as the Permanent
Commission for the Exhibition of German Industry that a fair or festival in Lübeck would
be detrimental to Germany overall, plans continued for a festival that would encompass
the image Lübeck wanted to promote nationally and internationally. The implication was
that the Permanent Commission had a stake in controlling where and when tradeshows
could occur, and that more established exhibition cities did not want competition.128 The
possibility that Lübeck would make this festival a yearly event seemed to be foremost on
the mind of the Permanent Commission, resulting in a missive from the Chamber of
Commerce trying to clarify the plan, pointing out that a date had not even been picked
yet.129 Moreover, the stated desire of the festival was to highlight the connection with
international neighbors around the Baltic Sea and maintain it for the future, all while
emphasizing pride in town, regional and national identities.
Most certainly, the festival would take on an expressly cultural mission while also
attempting practical (that is, economic) ends. For this reason, planners followed the
development of the Überseewoche in Hamburg with interest. Indeed, the Chamber of
Commerce’s archive chronicling the debates and execution of what became known as
Nordische Woche included clippings and information about the Hamburg exposition. In
particular, the financial aspects of putting on such an exhibition—an expensive
proposition and one that carried a degree of risk—worried planners in Lübeck. The need
128
A series of memos to the Lübeck Chamber of Commerce called attention to columns in a
newspaper in Leipzig as well as correspondence from a representative of the Permanent Committee
highlight this attitude, and that the perspective of exhibition “splintering” was belabored well into 1921.
129
Letter to das Ausstellungs- und Mesee-Amt der Deutschen Industrie from president of Lübeck
Handelskammer, Hansestadt Archiv Lübeck, Handelskammer 275: Nordische Woche in Lübeck—
Allgemeines.
88
to invite visitors who could financially support the venture seemed of utmost importance;
in the case of Hamburg’s exhibition, Americans were highly sought as sympathetic
visitors and able to bring financial resources to the event.130
By December 1920, the Chamber of Commerce and the Lübeck city senate had
voted unanimously to hold the festival, choosing to commission a “free committee” to
plan the event under the guidance of the senate. It was on December 6 that a name was
finally settled on—Nordische Woche—in order to promote an inclusive environment; in
fact, the feeling was that other names under consideration, especially “Baltic Week,”
represented a preference for visitors from those countries, and, as such, limited the
success of the festival.131 “Nordic Week” was a much more ambiguous term, as it could
mean northern nations, a cultural identity, a Scandinavian locus, or adaptable to be
inclusive or exclusive according to need. In order to recruit volunteers to make planning
go as smoothly as possible, Senator Kalkbrenner circulated a call to serve on committee
to plan an event to “rally the German drive for reconstruction . . . and maintenance of the
economic and cultural relations with the Nordic countries.”132 From this call, a slate of
committees were established to deal with the various aspects of a multifaceted event,
ranging from a “Theater and Concert” board to an accommodations committee dealing
with matters related to lodging for the duration of the week. In this way, it is evident that
130
“Das Ausland und die Uebersee-Woche,” Hamburgischer Correspondent, 9 November 1920.
Hansestadt Archiv Lübeck, Handelskammer 275: Nordische Woche in Lübeck—Allgemeines.
131
Zum Protokollauszug vom 16. November 1920 (Nr. 15831), Hansestadt Archiv Lübeck,
Handelskammer 275: Nordische Woche in Lübeck—Allgemeines.
132
“Nordische Woche in Lübeck,“ 10 January 1921. Hansestadt Archiv Lübeck, Handelskammer
275: Nordische Woche in Lübeck—Allgemeines. See Figure 1.
89
the festival had to do several things simultaneously, and this required bureaucratic
organization devoted to the festival.
Local leaders quickly began conducting meetings and issuing invitations to serve
on committees. While public opinion and a multitude of newspaper editorials over the
previous year had been instrumental in bringing the matter of Nordische Woche before
the Chamber of Commerce and the Lübeck city senate, the majority of committee spots
were filled by business leaders and pillars of the community, such as Ida Boy-Ed,
described by the New York Times as one of the foremost German literary figures.133
Senator Kalkbrenner sent, for example, a personal letter to Frau Boy-Ed asking for her
cooperation and participation on the committee organizing lectures.134 At the same time,
business leaders leapt at the chance to have a hand in the proceedings, such as Hermann
Buck of Buck and Willmann Conveyance [Spedition]; in a letter to Dr. Kalkbrenner,
Buck referred to the benefits to be felt by the hometown [Vaterstadt] in reference to other
cities.135 The reference to the Vaterstadt illustrates how much locality influenced
identity; at the same time, though, relationships with international and regional cities
were important as well, especially considering here that Buck and Willmann was a
conveyance firm. These real linkages to the immediate region were the foundation upon
which cultural and political understanding could be formulated. The response, especially
133
“Ida Boy-Ed Speaks for German Women: The Fatherland Now Stands for Home, She Says in
‘The Soldier Mother’,” The New York Times, 11 April 1915. Boy-Ed was viewed as an early feminist in
Germany, residing for much of her life in Lübeck; she was also known as an early patron of Thomas Mann.
134
Letter from Senator Kalkbrenner to Ida Boy-Ed, 21 January 1921. Hansestadt Archiv Lübeck,
1.2 Neues Senats-Akten 2462: Nordische Woche 1921, 1921-1923.
135
Letter from Buck and Willmann to Dr. Kalkbrenner, 13 January 1921. Hansestadt Archiv
Lübeck: 1.2 Neues Senats-Akten 2462: Nordische Woche 1921, 1921-1923. In particular, Buck referenced
Hamburg, Riga, and Helsinki, all cities that had relationships with Lübeck through transportation systems.
90
from economic and cultural leaders, solidified the comprehensive and complex strategy
behind the scenes to mount a festival with wide appeal.
Figure 3.1: Senator Kalkbrenner’s call for volunteers to plan Nordische Woche. Courtesy of
Hansestadt Archiv Lübeck.
Festival Planning in Cultural Context
The decision to host a festival with a broad interest base was no small
undertaking, particularly in the social and economic context of 1921 Germany. The
initial plan, as advertised regionally, was to host Nordische Woche in June of that year,
the height of festival season. In some ways, this was to possibly to compete with other
nearby festivals, especially those that were more established. At the same time, planning
91
such an intricate event in six months presented unique challenges. In particular,
economic needs and issues had to be considered, and a short planning time could have
been a way to hold down costs and get a jump on other festivals that were already
scheduled for late summer. A panel of committees, led by the central steering committee,
took on various aspects of planning bureaucratically, such as Art, Contact [Verkehr],
History, Economic Tradeshow, Theatre and Concert, Sport, and Press, to name a few.136
Local business leaders formed the largest portion of the committee members, especially
those devoted to economic matters. In addition, early on in 1921, memos about the cost
and potential profit of hosting Nordische Woche were circulated As a whole, the
business community [Kaufmannschaft] pledged a contribution of 50,000 Mark to
guarantee an operating budget in the initial planning stages.137
First and foremost, though, the planning committee had to sell Lübeck to potential
attendees as a prime place to hold an international festival, albeit one that emphasized a
specific region. Nordische Woche promised “a resurgence of German-Scandinavian
economic and cultural relations.”138 Yet, Lübeck was most certainly not the urban center
Berlin, Frankfurt, or Hamburg was. In addition, its proximity to a contentious border—
for the southern border of Denmark had moved further south in 1920 after a plebiscite
mandated by the Paris Peace Conference—led to the perception of Lübeck as a
borderland or provincial population. At the same time, though, hometown leaders sought
136
“Mitglieder des Präsidiums des Hauptausschusses und der Unterausschüsse zur Verbereitung
der nordischen Woche,” Hansestadt Archiv Lübeck, Handelskammer 275: Nordische Woche in Lübeck—
Allgemeines.
137
“Aktenvermerk” from Dr. Keibel, 26 January 1921. Hansestadt Archiv Lübeck,
Handelskammer 275: Nordische Woche in Lübeck—Allgemeines.
138
Enns, Kunst und Bürgertum , 46.
92
to turn this into a positive attribute, focusing on the well-established historic linkages
with Scandinavia and the European northwest through trade. In so doing, Germany’s
borderlands played an essential role to bridge the economic, diplomatic, and cultural gulf
with surrounding nations. In Lübeck, especially, roots that drew on Danish, German, and
Hanseatic heritage competed, combined, and formed a unique identity and provided the
backdrop for cultural festivals. It also provided a convenient characteristic that could be
exploited to underscore the uniqueness of the festival and its host city. In all of this,
though, was the insistence that Nordische Woche was to be “non-partisan [parteiloser],”
fostering a sense of cooperation despite persistent economic and political upheaval.139
This was already underway well before the decision to mount an exhibition was
finalized or even seriously considered. For example, Notgeld printed commemorating the
Schleswig Plebiscite of 1920 featured text in both German and Danish (or a GermanDanish regional dialect as depicted in Figure 3.2). Considering Schleswig-Holstein’s
contentious past, especially during Otto von Bismarck’s wars of unification in the 1860s
and the subsequent plebiscite in 1920, Lübeck’s proximity to the changing GermanDanish border, and the presence of a blended dialect in border regions, made it a prime
location to stage an international festival directed at Scandinavian countries. The
plebiscite was part of a series of bitterly contested territory losses continually
139
“Nordische Woche in Lübeck: Ein Ruf zu einmütiger Arbeit!“ Lübeckische Anzeiger, 20
January 1921. Hansestadt Archiv Lübeck, Handelskammer 275: Nordische Woche in Lübeck—
Allgemeines.
93
Figure 3.2: 25 Pfennig, 10 February 1920, Schleswig Plebiscite
resurrected and bemoaned by ultranationalist and right-wing groups. The focus on a
shared heritage with Scandinavia in general and Denmark in particular could be viewed
as one way to reconcile German and local populations to the new reality while
simultaneously retaining a subtle sense of shared ownership over the “lost” portions of
Schleswig-Holstein.
The certain goal, though, was to host a financially successful international
festival, one that would pay back the contributions of area organizations and individuals
with, ideally, a profit in the end. Area hotels and restaurants were counting on large
crowds, particularly foreign crowds, and the Accomodation Committee
[Wohnungsausschuss] sought additional lodging houses in the immediate region as
overflow alternatives.140 At the same time, Nordische Woche served as a vehicle for the
establishment of related cultural and social organizations. Some of the first events to be
140
“Niederschrift über die Versammlung des Wohnungsausschusses,“ 4 February 1921.
Hansestadt Archiv Lübeck, Handelskammer 275: Nordische Woche in Lübeck—Allgemeines. In
particular, the committee wanted to house visitors in the nearby resort towns of Travemünde and
Schwartau; Travemünde is today considered part of the greater Lübeck port area, set immediately on the
Baltic Sea.
94
considered were lectures by notable literary and academic personalities, such as Rudolf
Kjellen of Uppsala and hometown figure Thomas Mann.141 One example was the
creation of the Lübecker Regatta-Verein, which moved quickly to join the national body
and host a race in conjunction with Nordische Woche. Representatives even went to
Berlin to be sanctioned for the proposed youth regatta, heralded as the first of its kind in
Germany, which was accepted.142 This made it possible to draw together competitors
from across Germany, further diversifying potential attendees.
Plans were complicated, however, by the decision to move the festival from June
to September of 1921, in part blamed on the realities of the early 1920s, namely the socalled “harsh demands of the Entente on Germany,” the economic crisis confronting the
region in general, and the difficulty in fundraising on short notice.143 In addition, Senator
Dimpker of the central planning committee pointed out several issues that necessitated
moving the festival to the fall, namely continued hostility from Sweden, economic
depression in Germany and Finland, and the fact that most people would have finalized
their summer holiday plans already.144 Moreover, he added, “ultimately this event is
141
“Versammlung des Hauptausschusses der ‘Nordischen Woche’ am Dienstag, dem 1 Februar
1921,“ Hansestadt Archiv Lübeck, Handelskammer 275: Nordische Woche in Lübeck—Allgemeines.
Emphasis original.
142
Letter from Lübecker Regatta-Verein to Dr. Kalkbrenner, 4 March 1921. Hansestadt Archiv
Lübeck, 1.2 NSA 2462: Nordische Woche 1921, 1921-1923.
143
“Niederschrift über die Besprechung betreffend Verlegung des Zeitpunktes der Nordischen
Woche,“ 10 February 1921. Hansestadt Archiv Lübeck, Handelskammer 275: Nordische Woche in
Lübeck—Allgemeines. Translation mine from the original German: “im Hinblick auf die inzwischen
bekannt gewordenen harten Forderungen der Entente an Deutschland, ferner auf die derzeitige
wirtschaftliche Krisis in den nordischen Staaten, drittens die bis zum Juni nur noch zur Verfügung stehende
verhältnismäßig kurze Zeit und endlich die Notwendigkeit der Beschaffung ausreichender Mittel, nicht
zweckmäßig bis zum nächsten Frühjahr oder zum mindesten bis zum Herbste verschoben werde.“
Interestingly, further examination of these minutes reveal a debate about what the primary focus of the
festival would be, cultural or economic.
144
“Sitzung des Hauptausschusses der ‘Nordischen Woche‘ 11 Februar 1921,“ 2. Hansestadt
Archiv Lübeck, Handelskammer 275: Nordische Woche in Lübeck—Allgemeines.
95
supplying a business card for Lübeck as a major trading center.”145 It would do no good
to go forward with planning when the target audiences of the festival were uncertain to
attend. Dimpker’s point reinforces the reality of international environs, especially
hostility toward Germany in the wake of the war. Coupled with economic distress,
domestically as well as regionally, planners needed more time to sell the event.
The enormity of the scope of Nordische Woche became clear quickly, especially
once talks were underway to move the festival to September; in some ways, the added
time increased the potential for advertising (and therefore more potential visitors) but also
increased the budgetary needs to promote and execute such a wide-ranging cultural and
economic event.146 This move, while practical in some respects, put some events such as
the Regatta in jeopardy. In a letter to Dr. Kalkbrenner, the Lübecker Regatta-Verein
maintained that it had to go forward with the June date but assured him that it would
utilize the event as advance advertisement for Nordische Woche.147 This development
meant that Nordische Woche planners could not count on money from the Verein in the
planning. On the other hand, continuing the association between the Regatta and
Nordische Woche essentially meant the event unofficially spanned the summer festival
season. Nordische Woche ultimately landed in between two other regional festivals:
Kultur- und Sportwoche in Hamburg (12-24 August 1921) and the Kieler Herbstwoche
für Kunst und Wissenschaft (16-18 Septebmer 1921).
145
“Sitzung des Hauptausschusses,“ 2.
Here again we see a bit of competitive spirit, as the second annual Autumn Week in Kiel was
scheduled for mid-September, announced in mid-February. Considering the fact that the steering
committee was observing how Kiel and Hamburg planned their respective festivals, it is incredibly
interesting that Nordische Woche ended up being held between the Hamburg and Kiel festivals.
147
Letter from Lübecker Regatta-Verein to Dr. Kalkbrenner, 4 March 1921. Hansestadt Archiv
Lübeck, 1.2 NSA 2462: Nordische Woche 1921, 1921-1923.
146
96
Not only were cultural and social organizations fundamental components of
festival planning; steps were also taken to incorporate industrial leaders in Lübeck,
particularly the fishing and manufacturing sectors. Again, this served to reinforce local
identity, as Lübeck was known regionally and even nationally as a center for the fishing
industry. By incorporating the specific local industrial scene, planners were able to
provide a framework for the tradeshow or economic aspect of Nordische Woche,
eschewing a general exhibition of industry for a more focused event highlighting
Lübeck’s export industry in particular and how it related, then, to international and other
German examples.148 In this way, planners explicitly conceived of the festival in layered
terms, with the local identity (in this case, Lübeck’s economic, industrial, and business
life) considered on its own merits, in reference to the national context, and then to a
broader, international scope. Nordische Woche, and by extension Lübeck’s industry and
culture, would become an export in its own right.
Again, however, the parameters of the festival as demarcated by its title meant
that the international scope was not unlimited, with special emphasis placed on
relationships between Lübeck and traditional trading partners near or on the Baltic Sea, in
an effort to “rally the German drive for reconstruction and maintenance of economic and
cultural relations with the Nordic countries.”149 The central planning committee reached
148
“Niederschrift über die Industriellen-Besprechung,” 28 February 1921, p. 2. Hansestadt Archiv
Lübeck, Handelskammer 275: Nordische Woche in Lübeck—Allgemeines. The meeting took place, as
many of the economic or industrial committee meetings did, in the Schiffersgesellschaft building, the
traditional center of the shipping and fishing guild. Today, it is recognized as the best restaurant in Lübeck,
with local fare its emphasis, as well as a meeting place for local and international members of the
Schiffersgesellschaft.
149
“Nordische Woche in Lübeck,“ Hamburgischer-Correspondent, 10 February 1921. Hansestadt
Archiv Lübeck, Handelskammer 275: Nordische Woche in Lübeck—Allgemeines. Translation mine from
97
out to organizations designed to foster international relations, such as the German-Finnish
Association [Deutsch-Finnländische Vereinigung], as well as embassies and other
cultural institutions with a presence in Lübeck. In addition, overtures were extended to
Scandinavian organizations and universities with the hope that they would contribute to
the event, essentially fostering a mutually beneficial scenario. The festival was
considered a unique moment where various German institutions, not just those based in
Lübeck, could make contact with brethren industries based internationally.150 Special
focus, as noted in planning notes, centered on chambers of commerce in Scandinavian
towns as a way to bring together a multitude of industries and organizations.151
Interestingly, the definition of what constituted “Scandinavia” was ambiguous at best;
Finland was, at times, identified separately from Norway, Sweden, and Denmark, while
at others was grouped together with them.152
Another major way event planners sought to capitalize on international linkages
was to produce Notgeld for the festival, and reflections of the cultural and social environs
of the period were part of the discussion regarding its issue. Demonstrating the
perception of how Serienscheine was received, a letter from a representative of the
the original German: “Eine nordische Woche zur Kundgebung deutschen Strebens nach Wiederaufbau und
Pflege der wirtschaftlichen und kulturellen Beziehungen zu den nordischen Ländern statt.“
150
“Mitteilung,” 1 April 1921 (Nachrichtenamt correspondence). Hansestadt Archiv Lübeck,
Handelskammer 275: Nordische Woche in Lübeck—Allgemeines. Even the Board of German Industry and
Commerce [Hauptausschuss des deutschen Industrie- und Handelstages] acknowledged this by scheduling
a meeting to be run at the festival to take advantage of the gathering of international business leaders and
industries.
151
“Niederschrift der Versammlung des Ausschusses der ‘Nordische Woche‘ für wirtschaftliche
Tagungen” 18 February 1921, 2. Hansestadt Archiv Lübeck, Handelskammer 275: Nordische Woche in
Lübeck—Allgemeines.
152
“Verehrter Schumacher!“ n.d. Hansestadt Archiv Lübeck, Handelskammer 275: Nordische
Woche in Lübeck—Allgemeines. Interestingly, there were no references to Iceland in the planning or
execution of Nordische Woche in 1921.
98
Bankhaus Fritz Kiemstedt to Ernst Boie, the head of the central planning committee,
indicated that 500,000 Mark worth of Notgeld should be printed for the festival; most
importantly, though, the letter argued that 400,000 of those Scheine were to be distributed
throughout Germany and internationally where “I have it in mind that this money will
disappear off the street as quickly as possible and end in collectors’ albums.”153
Considering the Kiemstedt bankhouse estimated the printing of the Notgeld to cost
approximately 25,000 Mark, this represented a sound investment in promoting the
festival, especially to collectors.
In addition to this, the letter included calculations that pointed to the Notgeld as a
profitable venture, arguing that printing and shipping costs would be far less than the face
value of the notes. It is here that one can see the intersection of cultural circumstances,
namely the collecting culture focusing on Notgeld as well as the economic considerations
of hosting the event. Clearly, this Notgeld was not meant for circulation, though it was to
be only good for the duration of Nordische Woche, but it still represented a method for
exchange and a way to potentially inject some capital into Lübeck’s economy and would
solidify the general fund for the festival. This Notgeld was discussed confidentially,
though it was later advertised in the collectors’ circular Das Notgeld for sale or trade.154
153
Letter to Ernst Boie from Bankhaus Fritz Kiemstedt, 10 March 1921. . Hansestadt Archiv
Lübeck, Handelskammer 275: Nordische Woche in Lübeck—Allgemeines. Translation mine from the
original German: “Ich haben dabei im Auge, daß dieses Geld so schnell wie möglich aus dem Verkehr
verschwindet und in den Mappen der Sammler endet.“
154
Das Notgeld, 1 September 1921 (Nr. 13), p. 415. In the list of Notgeld, issues from Nordische
Woche’s competitors from Hamburg and Kiel were also listed; Notgeld printed exclusively for festivals
were common and were aimed directly at collectors.
99
The other clear function of the Notgeld was as an advertisement, “bringing the term
‘Nordische Woche’ into circulation as well as Notgeld-like bills.”155
By 1921, Notgeld was somewhat controversial. The view that small bills and
currency in general was subject to shortage resulted in regular correspondence to
localities, municipalities, firms, and private lenders regarding the issue of Notgeld. For
example, form letters periodically requesting copies of the Scheine that was issued
represented an attempt to keep track of a system that defied orderly regulation.156 While
the government in Berlin attempted to stem the spiraling inflation by at least cataloguing
Notgeld issues, it required a degree of self-policing at the local level and in the private
sector; as discussed in the previous two chapters, this proved to be an inadequate measure
against increasing economic anomie, reflecting the perception of governmental—and
therefore political—impotence.
An interesting development in the utilization of Notgeld was the opinion that its
issue was becoming counterproductive. In fact, in June 1921, a letter from German
Finance Ministry indicated the concern that Notgeld had become a way to mobilize
revenue, rather than to rectify shortages of small bills.157 The way that planners
discussed using the notes—variably as advertisement, items of interest to collectors, and
the like—bears out that concern. The capital set aside to print and distribute Nordische
155
Letter to the Polizeiamt from Dr. Kalkbrenner, 22 August 1921. Hansestadt Archiv Lübeck,
Polizeiamt 3769: Ausgabe v. Notgeld, 1915-1925. Translation mine from the original German: “Es ist aber
möglich, dass von andere Seite der Versuch gemacht wird, unter Verwendung der Bezeichnung „Nordische
Woche“ notgeldähnliche Wechselscheine in den Verkehr zu bringen.“
156
Memo from Reichsbankstelle to Senatskanzlei Lübeck, 2 October 1920. Hansestadt Archiv
Lübeck, Polizeiamt 3769: Ausgabe v. Notgeld, 1915-1925. This example is representative of missives sent
between the end of World War I and well into the 1920s prior to the introduction of the Rentenmark in
1924 by Hjalmar Schacht.
157
Memo from Reichsminister der Finanzen, 3 June 1921. Hansestadt Archiv Lübeck, Polizeiamt
3769: Ausgabe v. Notgeld, 1915-1925.
100
Woche Notgeld was couched as an investment, one that could especially be recouped
overseas in the hands of collectors. Even the press entered the discussion. The
Lübeckische General Anzeiger printed a notice insisting that unauthorized issues of
Notgeld could be subject to an increasing fine.158 In the same vein, the Lübecker
Neuesten Nachrichten published a brief on “the end of Notgeld,” reporting that the
government was relying on municipalities to restrict it in order to stabilize the
currency.159 This, again, points to the volatility of the structure as well as the
impermanence of a system like Notgeld. For a monetary system built on “emergency”
(i.e. temporary) necessity, the fact that Notgeld persisted, encouraged especially by
international and domestic collectors, highlights the difficulty the Weimar Republic faced
in securing its economic future.
Despite its transient nature, the reality was that Notgeld was a valuable resource,
particularly for bringing attention to Nordische Woche. Visual images on the Notgeld
were often coordinated with other sources associated the festival, such as official
letterhead and circulars. In particular, Alfred Mahlau created a poster to advertise
Nordische Woche that had widespread exposure and, by April 1921, was adopted as the
official logo of the celebration (Figure 3).160 Similarly to the art found on Notgeld,
Mahlau’s poster featured stark colors that illustrated Lübeck’s role in Germany—ships
moored on a pile dolphin, complete with streamers and a caption in modernist font. The
158
“Unbezechtigte Notgeldausgabe,” Lübeckische General Anzeiger, 26 July 1921. Hansestadt
Archiv Lübeck, Polizeiamt 3769: Ausgabe v. Notgeld, 1915-1925.
159
“Das Ende des Notgeldes,“ Lübecker Neueste Nachrichten, 22 August 1921. Hansestadt
Archiv Lübeck, Polizeiamt 3769: Ausgabe v. Notgeld,1915-1925.
160
Enns, Kunst und Bürgertum , 47. This poster was also feature on one of the issues of Notgeld
for the event, which served as currency. See Figure 3.
101
poster became identified with the event, demonstrating how material culture both affects
and reflects society at a given time. At the same time, it was produced by a local artist
who was integrated into the fabric of the culture; Mahlau would later gain fame for
designing the corporate logo for Niederegger, the world-famous marzipan confectionary
based in Lübeck. Participants in events such as Nordische Woche understood the societal
values the festival attempted to foster through the imagery artists used. The presence of
collectible artifacts represent the desire to connect with a specific interpretation of
culture—in this case, diplomatic, cultural, and economic ties to neighboring
Scandinavian countries. As always, though, there were objects that were designed to
highlight the levels of identity,
Figure 3.3: Alfred Mahlau’s imagery for Nordische Woche. An early example of official Nordische Woche
letterhead, dating from April 1921. Letterhead image courtesy of Hansestadt Archiv Lübeck.
beginning with locality. To that end, other Notgeld issues promoted iconic locations in
Lübeck such as the Schiffersgesellschaft, though the number of issues were far fewer than
those commemorating Nordische Woche.161 This demonstrated that festival planners
viewed commemorative Notgeld as more popular, and they therefore sought to saturate
161
Memo from Neumann, Haupt-Polizeiwachtmeister, 26 October 1921. Hansestadt Archiv
Lübeck, Polizeiamt 3769: Ausgabe v. Notgeld, 1915-1925. The disparity in issues was striking; as
compared with 100,000 Nordische Woche notes, only 5,000 notes depicting the Schiffersgesellschaft were
produced at this time.
102
the market with Nordische Woche notes as opposed to those that only focused on the
locality.
Solidifying the Message and Finalizing the Festival
By March of 1921, planning moved beyond discussing hypotheticals and the way
that a festival “should” be run. Once committees were finalized and local leaders secured
to spearhead the efforts, planning turned to logistical concerns. The arguments,
particularly in the press, moved beyond what a festival could do for Lübeck; editorials in
late spring and early summer of 1921 focused on what Nordische Woche meant culturally
and economically to both the city and the nation overall. Philosophical or discursive
questions were still considered in popular media, but planners largely considered the
festival sold to Lübeckers. Lists of industrial firms in Lübeck basically inventoried the
businesses that would be approached to contribute, support, advertise, and provide
showcases for the tradeshow portion of the festival, bolstered by potential local and
regional revenues and reinforced by the (still confidential) planned commemorative
Notgeld. This demonstrates the prominent position economic concerns played in
mounting Nordische Woche; obviously, due to postwar recession and depression, the city
of Lübeck would have to rely on the private sector for funds. The discourse surrounding
the support of private businesses was one of investment, not only in future revenues for
the companies in question but the city and region as a whole.
While ensuring the participation of local populations was a concern, the festival
would be considered a failure if Scandinavian citizens did not attend. The stated goal of
103
repairing (or maintaining) economic and cultural ties with Scandinavian countries
required public participation of the target audience then; in many ways, the cultural
aspects and goals of the festival were played out in community space. The more
technical goals—especially economic ones—were more behind the scenes. In terms of
the social environs of Weimar Germany, this makes sense. Economic catastrophe, while
public, was conducted out of the sight and expertise of everyday people. The
manifestation of the results of monetary and political destabilization affected the
populace the most, ranging from ever-expanding offerings of Notgeld and Serienscheine,
deprivation, and political tension. These anomic characteristics, then, could be rectified
by the outward success—that is, a mass of foreign attendees—of Nordische Woche.
One way that planners were able to ensure participation from Scandinavian
countries was by relying on already-established communication networks, such as
embassies, ferry companies, and student groups. For example, attempting to interest
university students and professors mirrored, in a way, how Kiel framed some of their
festivals. Lübeck, because of its proximity to the Baltic Sea and its historic relationships
with surrounding countries and cities, was home to several exchange societies focused on
maintaining friendly relations. For example, the Deutsch-Finnländischen Vereinigung
provided a solid starting point from which to open wider cultural relationships with
Finnish businesses and organizations.162 Another example was the Deutsch-Dänisch
Fehmarnbahn-Komitee, which concentrated on continuing or expanding access to the
island of Fahmarn in the Baltic Sea; the island had variably been under the control of
162
“Niederschrift über die Sitzung des Arbeitsausschusses,” 11 March 1921. Hansestadt Archiv
Lübeck, Handelskammer 275: Nordische Woche in Lübeck—Allgemeines.
104
Denmark and Germany, representing another borderland that could be incorporated in the
wider “Nordic” community highlighted by Nordische Woche.163 Still another avenue of
recruiting foreign visitors, also lending governmental credibility to the event, involved
embassy staff and foreign dignitaries; such an invitation was issued, for example, to the
Norwegian emissary in Dresden as early as March 1921.164
The planners of Nordische Woche and columnists who reported on the progress in
the media explicitly viewed the event as an intersection of interests. On the one hand,
visitors from Scandinavia, as tourists, inherently brought economic assets with them;
simultaneously, Lübeck’s business community wanted to court trading partners and
cultivate them as return visitors. At the same time, though, the lure of reaching out to
Scandinavians had cultural import as well, focusing on how lectures, concerts, and most
importantly sporting events would foster and strengthen the relationship between
Germany and the immediate region.165 In a letter to Dr. Jan Grosse, a major figure in the
staging of Nordische Woche and a leader of the community, the festival was referred to
as “joint” or “cooperative preparation [gemeinsamer Vorbereitung],” highlighting the
desire for mutually beneficial outcomes.166 While this may have been an attempt to sell
Nordische Woche outside of Germany (specifically to target audiences), communal
rhetoric may have also been a way to make the festival matter to foreign visitors,
ensuring their participation. So much hinged on the inclusion of Scandinavian visitors
163
“Niederschrift über die Sitzung.“
“An das Königlich Norwegische Konsulat,” 16 March 1921. Hansestadt Archiv Lübeck,
Handelskammer 275: Nordische Woche in Lübeck—Allgemeines.
165
O.M., “Lübeck nach dem Krieg,“ Vossiche-Zeitung, 22 March 1921. Hansestadt Archiv
Lübeck, Handelskammer 275: Nordische Woche in Lübeck—Allgemeines.
166
Unsigned letter to Jan Grosse, 6 April 1921, 3. Hansestadt Archiv Lübeck, Handelskammer
275: Nordische Woche in Lübeck—Allgemeines.
164
105
that emphasizing community was necessary, and planners in Lübeck took this seriously,
spending nearly 300,000 Mark on advertisement and propaganda by May 1921.167
Requests for additional advertisement or “propaganda” funding was viewed as essential,
supported in particular by Jan Grosse.168
Advertising was not the only focus for funding, however; by the end of May
1921, exhibition plans were solidified, most importantly the exhibition space. Churches
in Lübeck, which also served as community space, provided large, open, versatile areas
to host artistic displays or lectures. For example, Katharinenkirche (which was and still
is attached to a lyceum) could not only host cultural exhibitions but be an exhibit in its
own right as an example of German architecture, German history, and local identity; the
church had space in both the Oberchor area (essentially the balcony where a small chapel
was located) and along the traditional worship space on the first floor.169 Using these
types of cultural and social spaces could provide a point of comparison and contrast for
Scandinavian visitors. The displays related to the location, providing the framework for
the cultural narrative the planners desired. One of the exhibits to be mounted in
Katharinenkirche, for example, was to highlight the work of religious artist Emil Noldes,
while an architecture exhibit was presented in the Unterchor space of the church.170
167
Letter to Dr. Kalkbrenner, 11 May 1921. Hansestadt Archiv Lübeck, 1.2 Neues Senats Akten
2462: Nordische Woche 1921-1923. In this letter, the financial breakdown of “propaganda“ in
Scandinavian countries showed special interest in advertising to Sweden and Finland.
168
Memo from Jan Grosse, 25 May 1921. Hansestadt Archiv Lübeck, 1.2 Neues Senats Akten
2462: Nordische Woche 1921-1923.
169
“Protokoll der 4. Sitzung des Kunstausschusses vom 31. Mai 1921.“ Hansestadt Archiv
Lübeck, 1.2 Neues Senats Akten 2462: Nordische Woche 1921-1923. The price for exhibitions in
Katharinenkirche was 5,00 Mark, compared to exhibitions in other Lübeck landmarks such as the
Schabbelhaus, which charged 2,00 Mark.
170
“Bericht des Ausschusses für Kunstausstellungen auf Grund der Sitzung vom 31. Mai 1921,“ 12. Hansestadt Archiv Lübeck, 1.2 Neues Senats Akten 2462: Nordische Woche 1921-1923.
106
Figure 3.4: Unterchor, Katharinenkirche, site of Architektur-Ausstellung. Photo from author’s collection.
Other exhibitions, such as the historical display sponsored by the city archives and the
city library focused on the institutions themselves, their roles within the community and
the region, and the history of Lübeck in general.171 This subtly acknowledged the
intersection of culture, economics, and festival planning, making all parts of the festival,
171
“An den Hauptausschuss der ‘Nordischen Woche‘,“ 31 Mai 1921. Hansestadt Archiv Lübeck,
1.2 Neues Senats Akten 2462: Nordische Woche 1921-1923.
107
including the message, interconnected with the logistics of its execution. In addition, by
presenting the history of Lübeck from its Hanseatic era forward to the modern period,
one can again see how important it was to postwar Germans to get beyond the immediate
past in international relations.
It is perhaps understandable, then, that festival planners by June 1921 estimated
the costs of promoting and putting on the event hovered near 650,000 Mark, and that
such expenditure was justified in an time of economic uncertainty.172 The process to that
point—the planning, the debate in the press and in public opinion, and the actual
mobilization of resources—had taken nearly two years, and the cooperation between the
public and private sectors was extremely important. The festival represented a risk,
especially financially, but enough emphasis was put on cultural and diplomatic benefits
to help offset the financial investment. That being said, though, a wary collective eye
watched the expenditures go up in the months and weeks leading up to the actual festival,
and the hope was that the issues of Notgeld and advance ticket sales to specific
performances would support the predictions of a successful week.173 Ultimately, though,
the stated goal of the planning committees, the Lübeck city senate, and the chamber of
commerce was to promote a resurgent Germany, connected to Scandinavia through trade
and friendly relations, despite “political and military collapse [politischen und
militärischen Zusammenbruchs].”174
172
“Niederschrift der Sitzung über Finanzfragen der Nordischen Woche,“ 6 June 1921.
Hansestadt Archiv Lübeck, 1.2 Neues Senats Akten 2462: Nordische Woche 1921-1923.
173
Ibid. This is especially obvious in this memo as notations were made stating that a final budget
could exceed 1,000,000 Mark in upfront costs.
174
Letter to Hamburg-Amerikanische Paketfahrt A.G., 8 June 1921. Hansestadt Archiv Lübeck,
1.2 Neues Senats Akten 2462: Nordische Woche 1921-1923.
108
Framing the exhibitions in this manner made the festival of interest to students
and student groups in addition to the general public. Groups such as the Student Union
of Finland [Die Studentenschaft Finnlands] sent thirty-four representatives to Nordische
Woche, essentially sponsored by the steering committee. This group in particular had its
own itinerary, conveyed to Lübeck via the ferry boat “Poseidon” that operated between
Lübeck and Finland.175 This is another example of utilizing already-existing linkages and
businesses in the planning and execution of Nordische Woche; at the same time, it
demonstrates the willingness of the planners to incur greater expense and complication to
promote Lübeck and Nordische Woche most effectively to upcoming generations.
Interestingly, the desire to promote not only Lübeck but Germany in the best possible
light led to controversy regarding invited guests and speakers. One speaker was viewed
as “too Communist” or inappropriate to give introductions for northern guests,
demonstrating that the public viewed the international stage promoted by Nordische
Woche planners as tenuous and important to the overall perception of Germany by
foreigners.176
Conclusion
The festival was promoted and planned as a multifaceted set of events that would
appeal to the widest audience(s) possible. Not only were students, dignitaries, and
intellectuals courted, but plans for the tradeshow and a handiwork or needlework
175
Programm für den Besuch der Studenten Finnlands. Hansestadt Archiv Lübeck, 1.2 Neues
Senats Akten 2462: Nordische Woche 1921-1923.
176
Ein deutschfühlender Freund der Kunst, “Sprechsaal,” Lübeckische Anzeiger, 20 July 1921.
109
competition [Handarbeiten Wettbewerb] also took shape, appealing to industrial, working
class, and traditional women’s groups. Nordische Woche, metaphorically and in reality,
wove together layers of society, demonstrating dynamic culture. While logistical and
financial demands continued to be of concern, especially considering the realities of the
Figure 3.5: Advertisement for Handicraft Competition. Courtesy of Hansestadt Archiv Lübeck. 1.2
Neues Senats Akten 2462: Nordische Woche 1921-1923.
economy and political upheaval, the festival itself embodied optimism. It also
highlighted the wide-ranging goals Germany in general and Lübeck in particular had.
Attempting to rectify cultural, economic, and political discord with one all-encompassing
110
festival was a tall order; put another way, it was incredibly difficult to be everything to
everyone, while formulating and emphasizing a cohesive national and cultural identity.
Ultimately, the planners effectively were able to sell the festival as a wide-ranging
event with lasting impact. Visitors and dignitaries from abroad as well as from
throughout Germany again lend itself to the layered construction of identity as well as the
complexity of the festival’s goals. This was achieved not only through the active
participation of festival-goers but also by the production of cultural artifacts meant to
reinforce the cultural narrative. In the next chapter, I will analyze these objects in
particular, beginning with the process of creation and ending with the finished product.
These objects, in their own right, tell another part of the story of Nordische Woche,
establishing a framework upon which Lübeck, Germany, and an emerging “Nordic”
identity coalesced.
Chapter IV
The Production of Nordische Woche:
Materiality, Effects, and Outcomes
Once the discourse surrounding the desire or facility of hosting an international
festival was hashed out in the press and adopted by city officials and planning
committees, the practical logistics of how to broadcast the goals of the event had to be
addressed. As I addressed in the previous chapter, planners built rhetoric upon existing
networks, particularly in the collecting community, using the notion of rebuilding
international relations in a new Germany. The objects that were produced beyond
collectible Notgeld consisted of informational books, collections of essays, and exhibition
booklets designed to give context to the component events of the festival. In addition,
printed material was solicited from foreign participants in an effort to shore up trading or
traveling networks, especially with locations relatively close to Lübeck.
In this chapter, I will analyze the printed ephemera that contextualized the
exhibitions and intellectual exchanges of the event, some of which appeared well after
Nordische Woche was over. Additionally, I will highlight and discuss the outcomes of
Nordische Woche—the financial gains (or losses), the discussion surrounding Nordische
Woche after it was over, and the environment of Lübeck going forward. Lastly, I will
introduce the organization that came out of Nordische Woche—the Nordische
Gesellschaft (or Nordic Society). This society was established during the events of
111
112
Nordische Woche, becoming an identity- and heritage-based group with intellectual
interests.
Notgeld
As discussed in the previous chapter, Notgeld was considered to be a sound
investment to promote and commemorate Nordische Woche. Building on the existing
networks of collectors, as well as international interest in acquiring new issues, notes
were printed to reflect the participants and encapsulate what made Nordische Woche
unique in a field of local festivals. The most ubiquitous series of notes were produced for
the Musterschau, the tradeshow element of the event. This linkage—trade and commerce
with the physical symbol of currency—highlighted the subtle economic aims of the
festival. It also placed it within the existing framework of commercial exhibitions that
were discussed in Chapter 2. The Notgeld depicted each Scandinavian flag (Figure 4.1)
and mirrored typical currency for the duration of the festival (especially where the
commercial booths were set up) as a collectible set of souvenirs.
An alternate series of notes presented iconic images of Lübeck with captions,
such as the Holstentor and Rathaus, buildings that were recognizable as Lübeck
landmarks and that were important sites for Nordische Woche activities. Interestingly,
this series today is advertised to collectors as with an “overprint” [Aufdruck], denoting it
as a part of the Nordische Woche celebration. On the one hand, this series, the so-
113
Figure 4.1: 50 Pfennig, Lübeck Nordische Woche Musterschau, 1-11 Sept. 1921. This was the fourth in a fivepiece set, demonstrated by the “D” in the bottom right corner. Courtesy of The Harrington Notgeld
Collection, The University Museum at Southern Illinois University Edwardsville.
called Stadtkasse series from 1921, had imagery consistent with the overall goals and
discourse surrounding Nordsiche Woche. On the other hand, it was evidence of an
increasingly-frequent practice of stamping-over or adding marks to already-existing
notes, cutting down on printing costs. Most often, such overlays or imprints altered the
value of notes (very common for Reichsbank notes after 1922, as hyperinflation spiraled
out of control). It is interesting that, in this case, a small circular Nordische Woche
overprint was included; not all issues available to collectors today include the overprint.
The Festschrift
The best way to understand how Nordische Woche was ultimately presented,
especially in light of the public debate surrounding the event beginning in 1920, is by
analyzing the Nordische Woche Festschrift, edited by Heinz Mahn. The physical layout
of the Festschrift divided the booklet into three sections to address a wide array of topics.
114
In some ways, it represented a history of diplomatic contact and cultural transmission—a
subtle remonstrance to international isolation—as well as an image of a thriving and
vibrant community. It was meant to be widely available and inexpensive, bound in stiff
cardstock rather than cloth or traditional hardcover binding.
Advertisements
First and foremost, the Festschrift contained two groups of advertising, front and
back. These sections included lists of sponsors, participants in the Mustershau, and
advertisements. The advertisements offer a unique glimpse into 1921 Lübeck, as well as
what would be of interest to festival-goers and the national generally. While the
advertisements were aimed at a general audience, three distinct types existed. These
types reflected the different layers of identity evident in Nordische Woche—local,
regional/national, and international. Advertisements for intrinsic elements of Lübecker
identity, for example, highlighted the industries most connected with the city: marzipan,
seafaring and fishing, and manufacturing. Marzipan, which even today is connected with
Lübeck, featured prominently with spaces in the second advertising section for
Niederegger and Carstens in particular.177 To highlight Lübeck’s role as “king” of
marzipan, an advertisement for Lübecker Marzipan took up an entire page at the
beginning of the second marketing section.178
177
Heinz Mahn, ed. Festschrift zur Nordische Woche in Lübeck, 1-11 September 1921 (Lübeck:
H.G. Rahtgens, 1921), 133 and 88 (of second advertisement section) respectively.
178
Ibid., 6 (of second advertisement section).
115
Other images used for the local layer of identity featured manufacturing and
industry, such as B. Glogner and Company presenting a factory worker with the words
“Steel and Iron [Stahl und Eisen]” in bold.179 This image emphasized not only Lübeck’s
manufacturing strength (especially in relation to the rest of Germany) but also explicitly
linked Lübeck with the Ruhr Valley, a contentious region in 1921. Further reinforcing
the industrial strength of Lübeck were the ads for Ernst Boie’s manufacturing firm,
located on the central island of the Altstadt; Boie was a leading proponent and committee
member organizing Nordische Woche.180
Advertisements highlighting regional and national industries and objects of
interest were also prominently featured, often with reference to Lübeck’s local
representatives. The role of the sea—and fisheries in particular—occupied a great deal of
space in both advertising sections. One example was the Nordische Mischenenbau
Lübeck, which marketed its industrial, efficient, “fully automatic [völlig automatisch]”
business activities to fish markets; it also referenced the Research Institute for the Fishing
Industry [Forschungsinstitut für die Fischindustrie] on the page.181 Considering the
import of the Schiffersgesellschaft (the historic sailor’s guild, now heralded as one of the
best restaurants in Lübeck) and the central location of St. Jakobi, the “sailors’ cathedral,”
this makes sense. Additionally, this highlighted the closeness of Lübeck to the Baltic Sea
and the canals that connected it.
179
Mahn, Festschrift, n.p. (unnumbered page next to page 32 of second advertisement section).
Ibid., 85-86 (of second advertising section).
181
Ibid., 47 (of second advertising section).
180
116
It must be noted, though, that the emphasis on the sea was not just for practical or
industrial use; leisure featured prominently as well. Most important in this area were
advertisements and promotions for Travemünde, the Baltic Sea resort village in Lübeck.
Hotels and businesses located in Travemünde, a popular holiday spot, emphasized
nautical travel and vacationing. Related to this, an advertisement featuring a scuba-mask
maker highlighted the role the sea played in regional life, extending even to leisure; it
also resembled the gasmasks so necessary in the trenches of World War I.182 The
presence of objects referencing World War I also pointed to national insecurities of the
time. Walter Redelstorff advertised safes manufactured by Panzer AG, headquartered in
Berlin and associated with heavy wartime machinery and tanks. 183 Considering the terms
of the Treaty of Versailles, Panzer AG adapted its technology to legal and timely
concerns. Not surprisingly, bank advertisements, all with Lübeck offices, took up much
room in the Festschrift commercial pages.
The final layer of identity that can be discerned through the pages of advertising
was international in scope. While Lübeck’s role was again central, the linkages to the
outside world, especially through trade and transport, were promoted as indelible to
regional viability. Some of the businesses highlighted were importers, focusing on
consumer goods. H. Drefelt, a purveyor of cigars and pipes, advertised not only Havana
cigars but a series of “Lübeck Honor” [Lübsche Ehr] cigars at varying price points,
including the “Schiffersgesellschaft,” the finest quality.184 Obviously, this appealed to a
182
Mahn, Festschrift, 31 (of first advertising section).
Ibid., 46 (of second advertising section).
184
Ibid., 23 (of first advertising section).
183
117
specific sector of society—one that had disposable income to afford such luxury—but
this definitely highlighted the role consumption played in putting on Nordische Woche.
The most economic benefit would be in luring the more affluent into participation in the
events, including shopping. Ads for expensive consumer goods, such as Benz
automobiles (and the Continental brand tires that went with them)185 and specialty
clothing (Figure 4),186 appeared alongside more mundane objects like milk-cans.187
Consumables were further reinforced by firms and companies who both advertised in the
Festschrift and had a stand in one of the exhibit halls. Many of these industries focused
on consumer goods as an example of craftsmanship, such as furniture, photography, and
pianos, to name a few.
The last set of advertisements that demonstrated Lübeck’s international linkages
were shipping or drayage companies. One major company, central because of its
destinations in Scandinavia and elsewhere in Germany, was Carl Lassen Shipping
[Spedition]. Headquartered in Wasa-haus (and located on a street where several
organizations related to German-Finnish relations were) Lassen’s business advertised
drayage to most Scandinavian countries and several Hanseatic cities. The advertisement
itself was the outline of a traditional Lübeck building with a stepped profile; each level
contained the names of common destinations.188 Transit, especially ferry lines across the
Baltic Sea, was a major function of Lübeck’s port, and built upon the heritage of a city
with many connections. Travel was becoming more accessible, especially considering
185
Mahn, Festschrift, 16 and opposite unnumbered page (of second advertising section).
Ibid., 41 (of first advertising section).
187
Ibid., 51 (of first advertising section).
188
Ibid., n.p. (unnumbered page opposite page 72 of first advertising section).
186
118
the expansion of railroads and automobiles, and ferry crossings were no exception. In the
second section of advertising in the Festschrift, several companies highlighted the
frequency with which they transported people and goods to Scandinavian countries,
especially Finland, Norway, and Sweden.189
In all of these types of advertisements, the importance of Lübeck in local,
national, and international circumstances is highlighted. At the same time, these types of
advertisements provide a window into the day-to-day cultural and material environs of
Lübeck in particular and Germany generally. Additionally, the amount of advertising in
the Festschrift demonstrates how fully the business and industrial community supported
the events and activities of Nordische Woche; just as in today’s events, such sponsorship
makes an undertaking of this magnitude feasible. It is for this reason that the economic
issues—the Musterschau, the financial goals and necessities, and the element of
consumption—surrounding Nordische Woche cannot be understated. It was precisely the
support of the commercial sector that made the other parts of Nordische Woche possible,
especially the solicitation and publication of essays and lectures in commemorative
programs and newspapers.
Equally important was driving home the point that this was a festival Lübeck put
on, from the top levels of city government and influential men in the community to the
everyday people who had to promote their hometown as an international festival
destination. Indeed, it was Lübeckers who would create the impression that visitors
would carry with them, extending not only to the city but perhaps the nation as well. For
189
Mahn, Festschrift, 109-111 (of second advertising section).
119
this reason, one of the first sections of the Festschrift detailed the government buildings
(such as the Rathaus), churches (especially Marienkirche), and the Stadttheater that
played host to specific exhibitions.190 It is evident Lübeck city government, apart from
the central planning committee, sanctioned the activities of Nordische Woche, due to the
locations used for festival events and because of who served. The honorary chairman
listed for the Ausschuß der Nordischen Woche (Nordic Week Committee) was “Our
Magnificent Mayor Dr. Neumann.”191 In addition, royal envoys from Sweden, Denmark,
and Norway (in addition to the official envoy of Finland) were listed as honorary
committee members.192 This may have been an issue of courtesy, their inclusion denoted
their level of participation in the festival’s activities and the economic, tourism, and
diplomatic potential that Scandinavian governments hoped to realize.
The Festschrift included a list of “Nordic” consulates in Lübeck (Denmark,
Finland, Norway, and Sweden), the head Consul, phone numbers, and addresses.193 This
encouraged a more outward-looking relationship with Scandinavian countries, especially
in light of the informational booklet produced by Turku, Finland’s chamber of commerce.
Festival-goers could follow up their Nordische Woche experience with a trip to one or
more of the nations profiled, in order to explore common roots on their own. At the same
time, this inclusion encouraged active participation from Norway, Denmark, Sweden, and
Finland, as visitors from the respective countries could either foster a relationship based
upon tourism, potentially leading to economic and cultural inroads into Germany.
190
Mahn, Festschrift, 5-10.
Ibid., 3.
192
Ibid.
193
Ibid., 4.
191
120
Practical issues, such as living quarters and transportation were also addressed in the
Festschrift, as routes to and from Lübeck from other parts of Germany, the “East,”
Sweden, and Denmark were included in a special Nordische Woche insert.194 All of this
logistical and practical information, important in orienting visitors to the city, appeared
immediately the first advertising section but before the body of essays, in order to prevent
this basic information from getting lost in analysis.
This focus on potential travel also helps clarify who the intended audience was.
Obviously, a very specific sector of society could afford to even entertain the notion of
international (or even domestic) travel. Of course, Lübeckers themselves were expected
to participate. It was clear, though, that the planners hoped to attract audiences across
socioeconomic strata, demonstrated by the tiered pricing schedule for performances,
sporting events, and exhibitions. Popular or iconic performances, such as Strauss’s
Fledermaus, Mozart’s Zauberflöte, and Wagner’s Siegfried saw detailed pricing; attempts
were made to provide group rates as well, if only to inspire families or audiences
traveling together to take in the performances.195 Additionally, the possibility of
“bundling” a set of performances or events brought with it the benefit of exposing
audiences to more than one cultural activity. The same practice was applied to entrance
fees or tickets for exhibitions, especially a series of exhibitions in one location (e.g. the
three distinct exhibitions at Katherinenkirche and the like).196
194
Mahn, Festschrift, travel insert. There are no page numbers included on this insert, as it was
meant to be a mobile aid for travelers.
195
Ibid., 14-15.
196
Ibid., 16.
121
Essays
The inclusion of essays and newspaper articles served to contextualize Nordische
Woche, providing a frame of reference for festival-goers who may not have been familiar
with the preplanning public discourse leading up to the event. The newspaper versions of
essays and op-ed pieces provided by planners and participants were “teasers” for the
event itself, potentially sparking interest in a particular subject to get them in the door.
At the same time, it prepared the audience for the message central to Nordische Woche:
that Lübeck’s identity was indelibly and historically wrapped up in the “Nordic” world
through trade, cultural transmission, and diplomacy. This, then, could be expanded out to
situate Lübeck within the German context, allowing German identity to reposition itself
vis-à-vis Scandinavian countries. Lastly, essays and lectures reprinted in the
Festschriften and programs afforded participants with an intellectual or academic element
to the festival, preventing the events from being viewed condescendingly as an exercise
in banal popular culture or business exchange.
From the outset, the essays connected with Nordische Woche were meant for
publication in a variety of outlets, including newspapers, journals, and, most importantly,
commemorative booklets. In addition, solicitations for scholarly lectures were sent to
professors and academics, offering honoraria for their work.197 In fact, one author
highlighted the stress of producing the wished-for essay at a time when “every morsel of
197
Letter to Dr. Johann Paul, 22 June 1921. Hansestadt Archiv Lübeck, Nachrichtenamt 117:
Aufsätze für die Nordische Woche.
122
bread has become more expensive again.”198 The involvement in Nordische Woche, then,
had economic potential for the academic and scholarly participants as well as the host
city. Lecturers and essay writers could funnel their efforts into multiple sources, while
simultaneously promoting themselves as speakers at a time when economic resources
were slight.
Leading up to the dates of the event, it was clear that planners wanted to reach a
variety of audiences through more than overt advertising. Some letters and memos asked
for essays to be pared down for publication in newspapers or the popular press, as “the
least expensive length to accommodate newspapers is approximately 3 typewritten
pages.”199 Again, overall costs had to be considered as with any undertaking, and the
ability to publish in the popular press was considered extremely important. In this way,
planners could introduce academic or intellectual treatments of Nordic-German relations,
Lübeck’s history, and the import of Nordische Woche while keeping the general reading
public in mind. As previously mentioned, these newspaper-bound essays could provide a
preview of the topics that would be discussed over the course of the week, adding a
teaching element to the artistic, musical, and theatrical exhibitions.
Planners attempted to recruit already-known international experts to contribute
work, either in newspapers or the booklets, to lend an air of authority and solemnity to
the proceedings. This, of course, meant that honoraria for already-established scholars
198
Letter to Dr. Stucken from Fink, 20 August 1921. Hansestadt Archiv Lübeck, Nachrichtenamt
117: Aufsätze für die Nordische Woche. By August 1921, the economic crises in Germany were
deepening, clearly being felt across social and disciplinary lines.
199
Letter to Baurat Virck, 27 July 1921. Hansestadt Archiv Lübeck, Nachrichtenamt 117:
Aufsätze für die Nordische Woche. Translation mine from the original German: “Die günstigste Länge zur
Unterbringung in Zeitungen ist m. E. zirka 3 getippte Seiten.”
123
could be relatively high, something that had the potential to drive up the overall cost of
publication. One example of such a solicitation was aimed at Adolph Goldschmidt,
determined to be the foremost scholar on Lübecker painting and sculpture, due to his
doctoral work as well as teaching abilities in Sweden; though he had not seemed inclined
to participate, planners felt that he could be “persuaded” in a letter-writing campaign.200
Ultimately, Goldschmidt submitted an essay for inclusion in the Festschrift, though he
was not physically present to lecture at the event.
The first section of essays dealt with the “Nordic” world (excluding Iceland),
discussing topics such as medieval shipbuilding, the Danish school system, and Finland’s
struggle against Russia in reference to “old” Lübeck. What these essays did was
establish the “Nordic” heritage in regards to art, trades, and craftsmanship, in much the
same way advertisements focused on these things. Calling on authors from Scandinavian
countries lent an air of scholarly cooperation, providing their expertise in analyses of the
global impact of the northern nations. The first essay in particular associates the great
Scandinavian maritime trade and Lübeck, tracing a narrative back to the Middle Ages and
the establishment of Lübeck by Heinrich the Lion.201 This first essay pointed to the rise
and decline of Lübeck and other Hanseatic cities as nation-states such as England,
Holland, and Sweden began to coalesce, but argued that Lübeck was again rebounding as
200
Letter to director of Museum für Kunst und Kulturgeschichte from Carl Georg Heise, 26 March
1921. Hansestadt Archiv Lübeck, Nachrichtenamt 117: Aufsätze für die Nordische Woche. Translation
mine from the original German: “Geheimrat Goldschmidt dagegen war nicht sehr geneigt, da er mit
anderen Arbeiten sehr überhäuft ist. Ich halte e saber nicht für ausgeschlossen, dass er sich doch noch
überreden läßt. Er ist von sämtlichen deutschen Kunstgelehrten der bekanntest Mann in Schweden, ist auch
während des Krieges auf Einladungen hin widerholt dort gewesen und alle schwedischen Kunsthistoriker
sind seine Schüler. Goldschmidts Doktorarbeit über ‘Lübecker Malerei und Plastik’ ist das grundlegende
und beste Buch, das überhaupt über Lübeck geschrieben worden ist. Ich würde Ihnen also raten, unter
Bezugnahme auf meine mündliche Besprechung, noch einmal Ihr Glück zu versuchen.”
201
Walther Vogel, “Lübeck und die Ostsee im Mittelalter,” 17-18 in Mahn, Festschrift.
124
a trading partner internationally on behalf of Germany.202 This rebuilding could recall
the golden age or “prime [Blütezeit]” Lübeck experienced as the seat of the Hanseatic
League in an age when relationships and rules could be reassessed.
The next three essays built on the opening themes by highlighting exactly how
successful Lübeck had been artistically and commercially in the days of the Hanseatic
League. This extended to the solicited analysis by Adolph Goldschmidt of fifteenthcentury Lübecker religious art and its export to Sweden and Finland.203 Adding to this
was Gustav Pauli’s discussion of Marienkirche, one of the two iconic cathedrals of
Lübeck’s Innenstadt.204 This focus on religious art and architecture alluded to Lübeck’s
reputation of the “city of seven spires,” so noted because of the number of cathedrals
present in the central sector of the city.205 This theme is echoed by the cover art of the
Festschrift, featuring masts of ships, seven of which were printed in reflective gold.
The other essays other themes more topically, such as Lübeck’s role and culture
in Germany or the role of St. George of Sweden as a central figure in art. These articles
were reflected in the types of exhibitions that were common during Nordische Woche,
especially those focusing on an artistic leitmotif. The essay about the artistry of a
memorial to St. George, for example, would open the door to comparisons with other
cities; Lübeck’s central memorial to Heinrich the Lion was (and still is) located near the
central cathedral (the Dom), just as the famous statue of Roland was located in the central
202
Vogel, “Lübeck und die Ostsee im Mittelalter,” 19.
Adolph Goldschmidt, “Die Kunst Lübecks im 15. Jahrhundert,” 22, in Mahn, Festschrift.
204
Gustav Pauli, “Die Marienkirche zu Lübekc,” 25-29 in Mahn, Festschrift.
205
It is for this reason a major memorial has taken shape in Lübeck; following the Palm Sunday
1942 bombing of Lübeck by Britain’s RAF, the Marienkirche spire collapsed, as did many other iconic
buildings. The molten bells, which crashed through the ceiling as the spire disintegrated, remains as a
tribute to the bombing and the devastation of the German character during World War II.
203
125
Marktplatz in Bremen.
For example, an article discussed “Lübeck’s Industry” and its
history as a Hanseatic city on the Baltic,206 mirroring the Musterschau of Lübeck’s
industry and trade set up seven different exhibit halls.207
The actual process of creating and putting together commemorative booklets was
both delegated and centralized. One the one hand, separate booklets and itineraries were
collected and released for specific exhibitions, such as the one mounted in the
Katharinenkirche focusing on the religious iconography and art of Lübeck.208 For those
issues, initial authority was delegated to the director of the museum in question,
demonstrated by the correspondence between the central planning committee and the
director of the St. Annen Museum and Behnhaus, Carl Georg Heise. On the other hand,
however, drafts of essays to be included in the general Festschrift were circulated
amongst the central planning committee beforehand.209 This allowed for cultural leaders
other than the people at the heart of the central planning committee to affect how the
festival would be commemorated and what information would be included in official
publications; it also made it possible for the central committee to take on a more
administrative function as opposed to day-to-day activity.
At the same time, the commemorative booklet included analyses of large-scale
issues, such as an article about “Lübeck’s Diplomatic Situation.”210 Actively locating
206
Rudolf Kelbel, “Lübecks Industrie,” 93 in Mahn, Festschrift.
Mahn, Festschrift, 1.
208
Hansestadt Archiv Lübeck. Nachrichtenamt 117: Aufsätze für die Nordische Woche.
209
Hansestadt Archiv Lübeck, Nachrichtenamt 117: Aufsätze für die Nordische Woche. The
drafts were variably handwritten, typewritten and/or mimeorgraphed on very thin, nearly transparent paper,
and finally submitted on heavier, typewritten paper. Comments were included as well as edits to the text
itself.
210
Rudolf Stucken, “Lübecks Verkehrslage,” 103.
207
126
Lübeck within international relations is telling. In the first place, it decisively built on
festival discourse in the 1920s as discussed in previous chapters, where German cities
sought to promote themselves as international destinations. The fact that an international
festival was held there (in a Hanseatic free city that had historically enjoyed a degree of
autonomy) acknowledged the unique culture and diversity characteristic of a port.
Simultaneously, Lübeck was part of a contentious region, in light of the plebiscite of
1920, that had been passed back and forth between Denmark and Germany, truly shaping
the region with multiple cultures. Germany’s regionalism was evident here, both in
mindset and cultural expression, especially in reference to larger metropolitan centers and
regions such as Berlin, Prussia, and Hamburg.
Speeches included in the schedule of events ranged from Thomas Mann’s debut
of his essay “Goethe and Tolstoy” (which will be discussed later in the chapter) to a
presentation by Professor Dr. Lenz of Hamburg discussing “Sweden and Germany in the
17th Century.”211 In addition to this lecture, Mann’s essay “Freedom and Refinement”
(Freiheit und Vornehmheit) was published in the Festschrift, which asked the question,
“what is the ‘common people’ (Gemeine)?”212 In his further discussion of freedom,
Mann’s printed essay discussed similar source literature that his lecture did, assuming the
audience was widely read and understood the debates about rationalism, freedom, and
emotionalism.
Other speeches and essays were included by a wide array of authors, both German
and foreign. While some essays tended to be historical in nature and emphasize either the
211
212
Mahn, Festschrift, 5-6.
Thomas Mann, “Freiheit und Vornehmheit,” in Mahn, Festschrift, 39.
127
accomplishments of Nordic ancestors or symbolic representations of Nordic countries
(such as the essay discussing Saint George of Stockholm and his appearance in art), other
essays attempted to identify the common bedrock of Nordic nations and how each nation
developed uniquely. It is in these essays that one is able to see seeds of racialist rhetoric
and a move toward ethnic nationalism (especially the nation bound together by race).
One article, by “Lektor Ernst Lampén,” discussed how Finland came to be and how the
Finnish people described themselves.213 His main example dealt with the fact that
“Finland” was a Swedish word, contrasting with the name “Suomi,” which natives used
for their homeland.214 Interestingly, in his discussion of linguistic appropriation, he
stated that the German word “Hansa,” used to describe the economic cooperative
Hanseatic League (very appropriate considering the fact Lübeck’s intrinsic identity as a
Hanseatic city) was appropriated in the Finnish language as “kansa,” or Volk. It is
unclear whether the use of Volk denoted ethnic or racial assumptions here, but Lampén
consistently used the term to denote ownership of land and nationality.215
The use of the word Volk appeared in other essays as well. Rudolf Kjellén of
Uppsala discussed the concept of the Volk at length (and with a much more racialist
bent), claiming that the Swedish Volk were “under different influences and have moved
in a different direction” than the German Volk had.216 He went on to elaborate that “A
213
Ernst Lampén, “Finnland, Suomi,” in Festschrift zur Nordischen Woche in Lübeck, 1-11
Septmeber 1921 (Lübeck: H. G. Rahtgens, 1921), 47. It is unclear what his profession was.
214
Ibid.
215
Ibid., also appearing on Ibid., 50. The Finnish Volk are clearly separate from neighboring
populations (including domestic minority populations, such as the Russians or Swedes).
216
Rudolf Kjellén, “Der Umgang Schwedens in alter und neuer Zeit,” in ibid., 34. It is unclear
from the source what occupation this author held as well, but he later went on to publish Der Staat als
Lebensform. (Leipzig: S. Hirzel, 1917) which discussed geopolitics and state formation.
128
strong, mutual influence in the direction of Pan-Germanism exists. Never before has race
and contact been so intimately intertwined with each other as in this time, the time of the
greatest political disunity.”217 Toward the end of the essay, Kjellén invoked the phrase
“blood is thicker than water,” linking directly the concept of blood, race, and the Volk.
Kjellén acknowledged that German and Swedish Völker were not the same (which would
pave the way for Germany to lead those of Nordic blood in the “master race”) but shared
enough common characteristics and values to achieve a common goal.218 Most of these
articles tended to be academic or historical-literary analysis (with the notable exception
of Rudolf Kjellén’s essay), containing ambiguous ideological references that set the stage
for the position endorsed by the Nordische Gesellschaft and other groups by the late
1920s.
Plays and operas presented in the Stadttheater were a major part of Nordische
Woche festivities. Most of the performances were German and Scandinavian classics,
such as several performances of Ibsen plays, operas by Mozart and Wagner, and
symphony performances. Seat groups were priced on a sliding scale, with some
performances free to the public while others (especially Meistersinger by Wagner and
Fledermaus by Strauss) priced higher.219 The pricing structure of these performances
demonstrated how some works were valued more than others. It is unclear, though,
whether this value was placed on a völkisch message or if those composers were simply
enjoying popularity at the time. In this way, many of the events during Nordische Woche
217
Kjellén, “Der Umgang ,” 35.
Ibid., 37. Kjellén also used a medieval allusion, that of searching for Excelsior, which could be
achieved by emphasizing the Germanic nation in race (presumably Nordic race).
219
Mahn, Festschrift, 14.
218
129
were couched in an elite or academic discourse, tracing the history shared by Germany
(and Lübeck in particular) and “Nordic” countries.
What is difficult to glean through these sources is what the audience looked like,
who participated, and how widespread the interest was in Nordische Woche. While
mainly focusing on cultural and social expression, material pertaining to Nordische
Woche contained references to German and especially Nordic superiority. One example
was the aforementioned essay by Rudolf Kjellén. The prevalence of academic lectures
and speeches by dignitaries is not to imply that a “popular,” more general audience, was
left out. On Sunday, September 4, for instance, football clubs staged a tournament, with
Idrotts-Föreningen, Helsingborg, and Hamburg sports clubs sending teams.220 A week
later, association and school teams competed against each other in track and field and
fistball (Faustball).221 This emphasis on physical health and activity brought German
culture out of the classroom and into the outdoors.
Lübeck’s Nordische Woche focused on contemporary constructions of identity
and the past in the formation of Nordic-German relations and culture. Articles and essays
such as Rudolf Eucken’s “The Spiritual Function of the Present” discussed who built
culture and what it consisted of in 1921.222 Still, this construction was to take place using
artifacts and stories from the past, such as an explanation of how old Nordics built ships,
traveled, and spread their culture throughout the world. In a shipbuilding city such as
Lübeck, this makes sense. In an article by Oskar Montelius, drawings of old or medieval
220
Kjellén, “Der Umgang,” 6.
Ibid., 9.
222
Rudolf Eucken, “Die geistige Haupaufgabe der Gegenwart,” in Mahn, Festschrift, 44.
221
130
boats demonstrate how seafaring and shipbuilding improved over time through
innovation. His “Figure 2” depicted a bare-bones skiff, able to hold people but not very
sophisticated in design.223 “Figure 4,” however, contained a steering mechanism and had
aesthetic qualities.224 By setting up comparisons between old and new methods, the
reader could form a foundation of knowledge for their present-day shipbuilding, the
craftsmanship, and modernity of it. In order to get at these roots, the article claimed,
archaeological study could demonstrate how far “the Scandinavian-German North” had
come in their art.225
Foreign Publications
The planning committees in Lübeck were not the only publishers of festival
material. One major example was the town of Åbo, Finland (also called Turku), which
was the terminus of a ferry line originating in Lübeck. On the one hand, Åbo could be a
known entity to many Lübeckers, because of the convenience of the ferry. On the other
hand, visitors to Lübeck for Nordische Woche could be exposed to further travel. In any
case, this descriptive yearbook-type booklet was produced by the Åbo chamber of
commerce aimed at German festival-goers, even those already familiar with the city.226
Similar to the commemorative Festschrift, Åbo’s booklet included industrial and
commercial statistics for the city, including an itemized breakdown of the city’s income
223
Oskar Montelius, “Altgermanischer Schiffbau,” in Mahn, Festschrift, 60.
Ibid.
225
Ibid., 63.
226
Åbo Handelskammer, Åbo-Turku Suomi-Finnland: Das Heft wurde von der Åbo
Handelskammer für die Nordische Woche in Lübeck herausgegeben (Åbo, Finland: Åbo Drucherei und
Zeitungs Aktiengesellschaft, 1921), 1. The town of Turku was also interchangeably referred to as Åbo
throughout the document, which was entirely in German.
224
131
and outgoing expenses.227 In addition, it emphasized the similarities between Åbo and
Lübeck, drawing on international travel via ship and train and the profit this traffic
brought to the city.228
The booklet included pictures of Åbo harbor, ships, and more traditional industry,
such as John Barker’s cotton mill (Baumwollspinnerei).229 The second half of Åbo’s
industrial report focused on metal and metalworking, which, interestingly, alluded to
skyrocketing prices for raw iron between 1913 and 1920.230 This allusion to high prices
due to the war and its aftermath implies that the Åbo chamber of commerce wished to
find common ground with Lübeck’s situation. It could, at the same time, denote that the
postwar period was challenging for much of Europe, and that it would require
cooperation through trade and tourism to generate recovery.
Culturally, Åbo’s booklet focused on education and the similarities between
schooling systems in Lübeck and Turku. For example, Lübeck tried to present itself as
multicultural (in the sense that “Nordic” populations, especially Danish, mixed with
ethnic Germans and had schools). In much the same way, the booklet presented statistics
about Finnish and Swedish students in elementary and trade-school classes.231 Just as
Lübeck had museums and churches that also served the function of exhibition space
(especially Marienkirche and Katharinenkirche), so too did Åbo highlight its cultural
establishments. For example, the booklet included a picture and description of its
227
Åbo Handelskammer, Heft, 4.
Ibid., 5-6.
229
Ibid., 8.
230
Ibid., 12.
231
Ibid., 15.
228
132
“especially noteworthy antiquity museum,” Åbo Schloss.232 Museums dedicated to other
subject matter, namely art and biology, were also included in what could be construed as
a travel guide to Åbo. Rounding out the description of Åbo’s “cultural life” were
paragraphs about theater, music, publishing, and architecture. In fact, a list of
publications sponsored by the chamber of commerce between 1919 and 1921 led readers
to other officially-sanctioned information about the city and Finland in general.233
The rest of the booklet described the physical landmarks of Åbo, especially the
harbor. In many ways, this was the best way to establish a link to Lübeck, because, as
previously discussied, harbor life, fishing, and shipping constituted much of Lübeck’s
identity and industrial activity. A map detailing the geographical setup of Åbo was
included, perhaps to, again, emphasize the similarities to Lübeck as well as draw visitors
to Åbo. This demonstrated how festival-goers could become an international link,
fostering friendly diplomatic relations between citizens and well as a tourism economy.
Advertisements featuring commercial and industrial firms provided readers with a
reference point regarding Finnish economy, at least how it was executed in Åbo. While
the booklet was a thin volume, the fact that a Scandinavian country—through the case
study of a port city—contributed to the literature surrounding Nordische Woche implies
that Lübeck’s planners were at least successful in drawing a wide array of supporters for
their festival and their overarching goals. It also highlighted the historic relationship
between Lübeck and Finland, which had spawned societies and organizations dedicated
to maintaining that connection.
232
233
Åbo Handelskammer, Heft, 18.
Ibid., 24.
133
Supplementary Publications
In addition to the official sponsored and sanctioned commemorative material,
other publications appeared in tandem with festival events. The volume Lübische
Forschungen [Lübeck Research] appeared for the centennial of the Society for Lübeck
History and Archaeology [Verein für Lübeckische Geschichte und Altertumskunde] in
1921. The book contained stand-alone essays expressly dealing with local history,
focusing on topics such as Lübeck’s central square [Marktplatz] and its importance to the
city.234 Additionally, there were no introductory or concluding essays to tie the
component parts together, producing a diverse compendium, unlike the Nordische Woche
Festschrift. Like the Festschrift, though, the lenthy volume was bound in soft-cover
woven paper, as opposed to a hardcover binding. This made the work more affordable,
and it resembled the commemorative booklet for the festival.
Other material was directly produced for Nordische Woche, as opposed to
coinciding with it. Specific exhibitions, such as the artistic display of Nordic and
Lübecker religious art in the Katherinenkirche, provided catalogues explaining the details
and provenance of each object.235 Similar to exhibit catalogues produced today, this
small pamphlet, again covered in cardstock paper, served to provide the context for the
objects visitors encountered. In particular, this exhibit focused on the dominant place
Lübeck played in early religious imagery, especially during the Middle Ages and the
234
Fritz Rörig, “Der Markt von Lübeck: Topographisch-statistische Untersuchungen zur
deutschen Sozial- und Wirtschaftsgeschichte. Mit einer Karte,” 157-254 in Lübische Forschungen:
Jahrhundertgabe des Vereins für Lübeckische Geschichte und Altertumskunde (Lübeck: H. G. Rahtgens,
1921).
235
Willy Pieth, Lübish-nordische Ausstellung im oberen Chor der Katharinenkirche 1.-11.
September. Lübeck: Schmidt, 1921.
134
Hanseatic era. The catalogue listed artists, titles, and dimensions of the works, as well as
a description of the medium the artist used. The production of this booklet represented a
concrete expression of one facet of Nordische Woche; to get the full picture, however,
one needed to attend and view the exhibition for his or herself.
In contrast to supplementary material produced for the festival or merely
coinciding with it, a far-reaching literary result of Nordische Woche involved its
hometown literary son, Thomas Mann. In fact, Mann used Nordische Woche as a testing
ground for an essay he was working on, “Goethe und Tolstoi,” which was reprinted in
full in Deutsche Rundschau and later published as an expanded, stand-alone essay.236 A
piece of literary critique and commentary, “Goethe and Tolstoy” has been described as
“one of the most important essays written in the German language in this century.”237
This is demonstrative of how Nordische Woche, and a specific lecture event during it,
impacted the wider world well after festivities ended. Mann, in his notes and
manuscripts, seemed to be drawn to reevaluate the role of writers in society and how they
differed in national context—in this case, Russia (in the process of becoming the Soviet
Union in 1921) and Germany. As Clayton Koelb argued in his analysis of Mann’s notes
for “Goethe and Tolstoy,”
The issues that are most important to Mann are already in embryo. . . .
First of all, Mann has already linked Tolstoy with Goethe and the two
of them with himself. . . . They are long-lived not only in attainment of
years [as opposed, Koelb points out, to Mann’s analysis of Schiller and
Dostoyevsky] but also with respect to their lives as “fortlebende Geister,”
minds which continue to live on and to have an invigorating effect on
236
Thomas Mann, “Goethe und Tolstoi,” Deutsche Rundschau Band 190 (March 1922), 225-246
and Thomas Mann, Goethe und Tolstoi (Aachen: K Spiertz, 1923).
237
Clayton Koelb, ed., Thomas Mann’s “Goethe and Tolstoy:” Notes and Sources, translations by
Alcyone Scott and Clayton Koelb (University, AL: University of Alabama Press, 1984), 1.
135
succeeding generations. The issue of ‘living on,’ of physical and
intellectual immortality, has an important place in the finished text.238
This passage draws on that impulse to pass down a heritage, a perception of society, not
unlike the way that collections of Notgeld were intended to be passed down to remind
future generations of Germans the hardships after World War I. In this instance, Mann
succumbs to the impulse to pass down the literary genealogy of Goethe, with himself as
the early twentieth century representative.
The invitation to Nordische Woche, which, given the scope and stated goals of the
planners made complete sense on many levels (Mann represented an intersection of
internationalism, culture, and local pride), precipitated Mann’s actual work of writing. In
fact, he could also be viewed as the prototype of the desired audience, one that would
attend Nordische Woche events and then conveniently tour the surrounding area.239
Mann’s work, presented not as an essay but as a lecture, allowed him to utilize questions
and comments in the formulation of the final product. The speech, as given at Nordische
Woche, was printed in various outlets, especially the Deutsche Rundschau; a revised,
more complete edition of the essay, far longer than his speech had been, was published
independently in 1925.
Mann’s lecture described the iconic stature of Goethe, a writer who Leo Tolstoy
also looked up to, demonstrating Goethe’s background in the “ideas from the realm of
German idealism and humanism—a realm that never could be Tolstoy’s, although he
238
Koelb, Mann’s “Goethe and Tolstoy,”, 3.
Ibid., 7. Koelb details Mann’s notes where he writes that his plan was to tour not only Lübeck
but other Baltic and regional cities once the lecture was over.
239
136
naturally came into contact with it.”240 Mann demonstrates that, even though Tolstoy
enjoyed a stature in Russian literature comparable to Goethe’s, there were sharp
distinctions that could not be ignored. Again, it placed German culture and cultural
production in international context. Tolstoy, according to Mann, came from a
problematic and very specific set of circumstances—the tension between East and West
that forever tugged at Russian culture (at least, according to Western European
perceptions).
Mann argued that “Goethe, like Tolstoy, is therefore the most genuinely national
poet of his country, a true expression of the national spirit like Luther, like Bismarck—he
is the most German poet because he is Germany’s greatest.”241 It is interesting that Mann
identified these examples of Germanness as embodying the German spirit; the images of
these men, Goethe included, were widely depicted on collectible Notgeld, examples and
expressions of what Germany was at its core. However, Mann encouraged a
reinterpretation of what these figures in particular meant for Germany, expanding beyond
the superficiality of political consolidation, Christian reformism, and poetics. He argued
that Goethe, like Tolstoy, was “an ethnic divinity, an expression of that Germanaristocratic paganism whose sons included Luther and Bismarck as well and whose
champion against the Christianity of entente-democracy Germany seemed to be to many
of us in the last war.”242 It seems, here, like Mann was acknowledging the tension in
Germany between identifying as “Western European” and as “something else,”
240
Koelb, Mann’s “Goethe and Tolstoy,” 235. Koelb included Thomas Mann’s original 1921
lecture in his analysis, entitiling it “Goethe and Tolstoy: Address given for the first time in September
1921, on the occasion of the Nordic Week in Lübeck,” p. 223-250.
241
Ibid., 247.
242
Ibid., 248.
137
distinguished and differentiated because of World War I, nearly relegating it to a position
that had been occupied, in Western estimation, by the Russians.
Most importantly, Mann’s essay, utilizing the lens of literary comparison of two
traditions and two iconic authors, was detailing the fact that the world was a different
place, explicitly arguing,
don’t we have the feeling that for the European West, too, an era
is ending, the middle-class, humanistic, liberal era, born in the
Renaissance and achieving power with the French Revolution? . . .
In Russia, clearly enough, it is all over with. As far as Germany is
concerned, she remains undecided here as well. . . . Germany, like
an intricate and rich fugue whose voices in artful freedom serve the
sublime whole; a many-sided national organism, articulated into
parts and yet unified, full of respect and community, genuineness
and presence, loyalty and boldness, preserving and creative, diligent,
dignified, happy, the model of peoples—a dream worthy of being
dreamed, worth of being believed.243
Mann demonstrated how historic pride and the modern era after World War I had
collided, leaving deep wounds. The lecture at Nordische Woche in 1921, and the later
essay from 1925, provide a window into the cultural tumult of postwar Germany and the
attempts to reconcile the new era with Imperial Germany and its heritage as the land of
poets and thinkers. Some of the themes, particularly the notion of ethnic heroism and
difference, highlighted how deeply Germans internalized the new international context.
These threads, and the racial implications they had, presented an easily-exploited nuance
for nationalism that had ominous consequences later on.
The End of Nordische Woche and the Establishment of the Nordische Gesellschaft
243
Koelb, Mann’s “Goethe and Tolstoy, 250.
138
Overall, the success of Nordische Woche could not simply be expressed in a
financial surplus. It had to be noted, however, that finances were a major consideration
in the planning and execution of the event; to end up in the red would constitute a
concrete failure for the business community as well as the town in general. There was a
monetary surplus, but that reportedly was dispersed (after payment for services and
settling up of accounts) to the newly-formed Nordische Gesellschaft, established with the
express purpose of continuing the work begun by Nordische Woche.244 Many of the
board members of the Nordische Gesellschaft had been instrumental in Nordische Woche,
especially cultural ambassadors such as local artist Alfred Mahlau; for this reason, the
surplus funds that had been realized by Nordische Woche flowed directly to the new
organization, with the “consent of the signatories.”245 This focus on the funds makes
sense, especially considering that the monetary crisis in Germany deepened by 1922.
The real value in Nordische Woche, however, was instigating layered discourse
about Lübeck, its national and international role in the post-World War I context, and
culture. As Dr. Grosse stated in December 1921, the “ideal purpose of Nordische Woche
was to contribute art exhibitions, demonstrations, and talks in the promotion of cultural
relations between Germany and the Nordic countries.”246 In that context, Nordische
Woche was successful, spawning continued cultural and economic study regarding the
244
Letter from 25 October 1922, Hansestadt Archiv Lübeck, 1.2 Neues Senatsarchiv 2452:
Nordische Woche 1921, 1921-1923.
245
Letter from 8 August 1922, Hansestadt Archiv Lübeck, 1.2. Neues Senatsarchiv 2462:
Nordische Woche 1921, 1921-1923. There was, however, some debate about the taxable status of these
funds, derived from the general or guaranteed fund. It appears that there was a question about taxing the
funds as a donation, though the status of the Nordische Gesellschaft as an organization deriving from and
originating during Nordische Woche precluded the funds from being considered distinct.
246
Letter from Dr. Grosse, 19 December 1921. Hansestadt Archiv Lübeck, 1.2 Neues
Senatsarchiv 2462: Nordische Woche 1921, 1921-1923.
139
interrelatedness of Germany and Scandinavia. At the same time, it allowed Lübeckers to
perform and negotiate their unique space in German nationalism after World War I. In
the following chapter, I will take up the establishment and manifestation of cultural
identity in the Nordische Gesellschaft as it existed for the duration of the 1920s; indeed,
this organization found a niche not only in the milieu of Weimar Germany, but in the
proceeding era of the Third Reich.
Chapter V
Continuing and Adapting the Work:
The Emergence of the Nordische Gesellschaft
The Nordische Gesellschaft [Nordic Society], established as the festivities of
Nordische Woche came to a close, embodied the message that was promoted in Lübeck in
1921. While the Nordische Gesellschaft was not mentioned in the commemorating
material, the professional men who had been active in planning Nordische Woche were
present on the first board of directors, and historians generally link the two.247 Indeed,
documents included in the Nordische Gesellschaft’s file at the Deutsch KongressZentrale (DKZ) list the date of establishment as September 1921.248 The Nordische
Gesellschaft represented the continuation of the “work” begun by the planners of
Nordische Woche; it also became the embodiment of an increasingly polarized and
radicalized political system in the waning years of the 1920s. Most importantly, the
Nordische Gesellschaft is a case study for how hypernationalist and racialist groups took
control of the social and cultural landscape utilizing established networks that could be
manipulated and adapted to suit their needs.
247
Hans-Jürgen Lutzhöft, Der Nordische Gedanke in Deutschland, 1920-1940, Kieler
Historischen Studien (Stuttgart: Ernst Klett Verlag, 1971), 55. This contention also exists in Jacobsen,
Außenpolitik, 484 and Hans-Dietrich Loock, Quisling, Rosenberg, und Terboven: Zur Vorgeschichte und
Geschichte der Nationalsozialistischen Revolution in Norwegen (Stuttgart: Deutsche Verlags-Anstalt,
1970), 165.
248
Deutsch Kongress-Zentrale collection, Hoover Institute, Stanford, CA: Box 227, Folder
Nordische Woche 1938.
140
141
This chapter traces the rise of the Nordische Gesellschaft and how it was
conceptualized after Nordische Woche ended. Most importantly, this chapter analyzes
how the Nordische Gesellschaft represented a real manifestation of an in-group, as
theorized by Gordon Allport. As the 1920s wore on and the activities of the society
veered in the direction of racist, propagandistic pseudo-scientific treatments of culture,
race, and economy, the in-group that had been created in the course of Nordische
Woche—and indeed the immediate postwar era—became much more exclusionary. In
some ways, this reflected the polarization occurring throughout society, especially once
the global depression took hold after the October 1929 stock market crash in the United
States. By the time the Nazis came to power in January 1933, though they had certainly
been building influence and a base of popularity before that, especially in SchleswigHolstein, how the society would go forward was in question. The Nordische Gesellschaft
of the Third Reich will be taken up in the next chapter.
The Nordische Gesellschaft is Born
With the end of Nordische Woche came the end of Lübeck as the center of the
German-Nordic world, especially relating to cultural and economic affairs.249 Even
before the events began, invitations were sent for a meeting on August 29, 1921 in the
Rathaus to establish some kind of German-Nordic organization.250 Realization of this
249
Bürgermeister Dr. Neumann, “Abschrift, Nordische Woche Lübeck,” undated, 1. Hansestadt
Archiv Lübeck, Handelskammer zu Lübeck 144: Nordische Gesellschaft in Lübeck, 1921-1932.
Paraphrased translation mine. Original German: “Durch diese einmalige Veranstaltung ist Lübeck für
kurze Zeit zum Hauptort für die Pflege deutsch-nordischer Kultur- und Wirtschaftsbeziehungen geworden.”
250
“Besprechung um Montag, den 29. August 1921, nachmittags 5 ½ Uhr.” Hansestadt Archiv
Lübeck, Handelskammer zu Lübeck 144: Nordische Gesellschaft in Lübeck, 1921-1932.
142
goal, building on what was called the “complete success [vollem Erfolge]” of Nordische
Woche, came with a meeting dedicated to the nascent Nordische Gesellschaft on
September 22, 1921.251 Very quickly, however, the magnitude of maintaining a society to
focus on solidifying cultural and economic networks meant that finances had to be
secured. Some financial pressure was alleviated by the matter of unresolved monetary
claims on the surplus funds remaining from Nordische Woche. A public notice, issued at
the end of February 1922 by the Nordische Woche Finance Committee, announced the
successful claims on 92% of the funds emanating from the event; the remaining 8%, if
left unclaimed, was earmarked, barring objection, for the fledgling Nordische
Gesellschaft.252
A major factor that had to be considered, especially in reference to the reach the
Nordische Gesellschaft would have, was the worsening economy. As discussed in
Chapter 1, the economic crisis necessitated the rationing of monetary resources. A great
deal of time and money had been marshaled to make Nordische Woche a success, both
symbolically and financially. In the minutes of the September 22 meeting, Dr. Schärffe
included the comment that “For this purpose [that is, establishing the society], we need,
above all, money and, if possible, from circles of private donors. The state should only
be used in the extreme case of emergency financing.”253
251
Notice from Senator Dr. Kalkbrenner, undated. Hansestadt Archiv Lübeck, Handelskammer zu
Lübeck 144: Nordische Gesellschaft in Lübeck, 1921-1932.
252
Public Notice from Finanzauschuss, End of February, 1922. Hansestadt Archiv Lübeck, 1.2
Neues Senatsarchiv 2462: Nordische Woche 1921—1921-1923.
253
Dr. Schärffe, “Bericht über die Besprechung zur Gründung einer Nordischen Gesellschaft in
Lübeck,” 22 September 1921, p. 1. Hansestadt Archiv Lübeck, Handelskammer zu Lübeck 144: Nordische
Gesellschaft in Lübeck, 1921-1932. Translation mine; original German: “Dazu brauche man vor allen
143
This highlighted several things. On the one hand, the goals and mission of the
Nordische Gesellschaft did have the support of local government; there was a lot of
overlap in terms of the people who were active local leaders, planners of Nordische
Woche, and now establishing the society. According to a report issued to the
Landesfinanzamt, “The composition of the board of the Nordische Gesellschaft is similar
to that of Nordische Woche. To strengthen their duties, the Nordische Gesellschaft has set
up its own office and formulates comprehensive activities, whose importance to the
interests of the German empire is already recognized. . . ” 254 Linking the foundation of
the Nordische Gesellschaft to the planning and execution of Nordische Woche provided
an already-established base of support for the organization. On the other hand, the
economic realities of the early 1920s made completely integrating the organization into
state government impossible. The national economy continued to spiral downward and
the unregulated system of Notgeld drove prices and inflation upward.
The situation worsened throughout 1922, with no real end in sight.255 With the
emphasis on what amounted to a public-private partnership, a pragmatic focus on private
revenue sources or supporters necessitated a continuation of the dominance of individual
firms and organizations. The society itself was formed almost as a corporation, one that
would have autonomy but be interconnected with local businesses and city government.
Dingen Geld und zwar möglichst aus Kreisen privater Geldgeber. Der Staat könnte nur im äußersten
Notfalle zur Finanzierung herangezogen werden.”
254
Translation mine from the original German: “Die Zusammensetzung des Kuratoriums der
Nordischen Gesellschaft ist ähnlich wie bei der Nordischen Woche. Zur starken Betreibung ihrer Aufgaben
hat die Nordische Gesellschaft eine eigene Geschäftsstelle eingerichtet und eine umfassende Tätigkeit
entfaltet, deren hohe Bedeutung im Interesse des Deutschen Reichs schon wiederholt anerkannt ist,
besonders von den Herren Gesandten des Deutschen Reichs in den nordischen Ländern. . .”
255
In fact, the low point of the inflation—the so-called hyperinflation—did not hit until November
1923, when Hjalmar Schacht issued orders to eliminate Notgeld altogether and reintroduced a regulated
transitionary currency, known as the Rentenmark.
144
With this in mind, the institution of a salaried executive secretary, with two-thirds paid by
the society and one-third paid by Lübeck’s Chamber of Commerce, demonstrated how
important the work of Nordische Woche was considered to be.256 In fact, the Chamber of
Commerce was among the first institutional members of the Nordische Gesellschaft
(Figure 1), along with emissaries or representatives of the Scandinavian nations that had
participated in Nordische Woche.
There were some major differences between the organization of the Nordische
Gesellschaft and Nordische Woche. In the first place, a headquarters was established on
Breitestraße 6, whereas most planning offices for Nordsiche Woche were located in the
Rathaus. Dr. Ernst Timm was installed as secretary of the society, in the service of both
the Nordische Gesellschaft and the Chamber of Commerce, effective March 1, 1922, with
an annual salary of 36,000 M.257 Establishing a specific office of secretary distinguished
the society and its interests from that of city government. Interestingly, a note was
included that, in light of the inflation, this salary should be deemed satisfactory; the
acknowledgement of the difficulties associated with the inflation, not yet at its worst,
demonstrated how pervasive finances and monetary considerations were. Therefore,
while planning Nordische Woche was done in the course of civic duty, in many cases, the
Nordische Gesellschaft became an autonomous, if related entity; the interests of the
organization would overlap with those of Lübeck from time to time, but they were not
completely parallel or viewed as necessarily mutual.
256
Letter from the Nordic Society to membership, 11 March 1922. Hansestadt Archiv Lübeck,
Neues Senatsarchiv 639: Staatsrat Dr. Grosse.
257
Ibid. Interestingly, a note was included that, in light of the inflation, this salary should be
deemed satisfactory.
145
The Nordische Gesellschaft, as a distinct entity, issued by-laws that explicitly laid
out its purpose and the way it would collect and approve membership and fees; most
importantly, according to §1 of the by-laws booklet, Lübeck was to be the permanent
home for the society and the center of its official activities.258 This specific detail
enshrined the role Lübeck was to play in the new society and echoed one of the facets
Nordische Woche had emphasized. Lübeck, uniquely, was incredibly important and
situated to foster and maintain German-Scandinavian cultural and economic relations.
This organization, though, represented what amounted to an advocacy group outside of
the city or civic political structure. In terms of post-World War I identity, local history
was continually referenced even as the national context was defined and redefined. A
trustee board was outlined, as well as membership levels intended to include individual
members, honorary members, and corporate members.259 The board of directors, many of
whom had been instrumental in Nordische Woche, divided specific responsibilities
amongst themselves, forming what could be construed as departments.
The initial members of the Board of Directors included many people who actively
planned Nordische Woche; these men comprised a representation of cultural and business
activity, consistent with the stated goals in the by-laws and an article from the Chamber
of Commerce newsletter.260 The first chairman of the Society was Dr. Georg
258
“Nordische Gesellschaft Lübeck Satzung,” no date. Hansestadt Archiv Lübeck,
Handelskammer 144: Nordische Gesellschaft in Lübeck 1921-1932.
259
Ibid. Individual memberships were priced at 20 M, corporate or institutional memberships at
200 M, and honorary memberships obligation-free.
260
“Aufgaben der Nordischen Gesellschaft auf wirtschaftlichem Gebiete,” Mitteilungen der
Handelskammer zu Lübeck, 15 March 1922. Hansestadt Archiv Lübeck, Handelskammer 144: Nordische
Gesellschaft in Lübeck 1921-1932.
146
Kalkbrenner, who was also active in city politics; Präses Ernst Boie, who had led the
central planning committee for Nordische Woche; Dr. Jan Grosse and Dr. Rudolf Keibel,
Figure 5.1: Membership card for Lübeck Chamber of Commerce, 1921
both active in city governance; and other representatives of the business community.261
They also represented access to resources in the community that had been cultivated
during the planning of Nordische Woche, such as official society printing done by H.G.
Rahtgens, printer of the Nordische Woche Festschrift. The aspirations of the society
were wide-ranging, as Nordische Woche had been, and the Nordische Gesellschaft sought
visibility as a way to realize its goals (such as a recognizable logo, as in Figure 2). From
the outset, however, reality made the achievement of ambitious goals difficult.
261
“Nordischen Gesellschaft in Lübeck,” 9 Februrary 1922. Hansestadt Archiv Lübeck,
Handelskammer 144: Nordische Gesellschaft in Lübeck 1921-1932. The appointment of Dr. Ernst Timm
as secretary, a salaried position discussed below, seemed to give much of the day-to-day responsibilities of
running the Society to him rather than Dr. Kalkbrenner, who, as chairperson, assumed a role much like a
commercial patron or sponsor. However, he clearly represented a powerful force in the early organization
of the Nordische Gesellschaft.
147
Revisiting Allport, The Nature of Prejudice, and In-Group Identity
The emergence of the Nordische Gesellschaft demonstrates a new phase of
Figure 5.2: Nordische Gesellschaft Logo, Februray 1922. Courtesy of Hansestadt Archiv Lübeck,
Handelskammer 144.
identity formation in Lübeck in the early 1920s. Individual Germans and localities
negotiated the new international system after World War I, essentially learning and
rewriting social rules against the backdrop of economic, social, and political weakness.
In this context, by the 1920s, cultural festivals moved beyond learning the new rules to
crafting local, national, and cultural identities that fit the system. The existence of the
Nordische Gesellschaft went still further and became a manifestation of those intersected
identities and continued to fine-tune the trajectory those ideas would take. By having an
associated group that focused, as part of its mission, on the identity-construction aspect
begun by Nordische Woche, the Nordische Gesellschaft became the embodiment of an ingroup whose parameters and structures needed solidification. Additionally, the borders
of identity proved to be malleable, and the Nordische Gesellschaft adjusted accordingly,
148
often depending on political or economic factors in Germany, especially as membership
and cultural activity increased.
More than anything, the establishment of the Nordische Gesellschaft recognized
the salience of Nordic identity in German culture, which had to occur in stages.262 For
Nordicism to become a highly-salient identity, especially in light of the complex cultural
landscape of Weimar Germany and the global situation at the time, three characteristics
had to be associated with it. First and foremost, the identity had to be well-defined.
Nordische Woche, from the time of its inception until the time it was staged, represented
a step on the path of identity-definition, especially in terms of cultural parameters. The
questions that persisted regarding the formulation of identity was whether or not
“Nordic” would be an ethnic, racial, or social construct and how these aspects would be
expressed.263 This process was continued by the establishment of the Nordische
262
Identity salience is broadly defined in the work of Richard Serpe and Sheldon Stryker as the
probability that an identity is invoked in any given situation or set of circumstances. Additionally, identity
salience implies a hierarchy of identities, where a highly-salient identity is more likely to be invoked across
situations. See, for example, Richard Serpe and Sheldon Stryker, “Commitment, Identity Salience, and
Role Behavior,” in Ickes & Knowles, eds., Personalities, Roles, and Social Behavior (New York: SpringerVerlag, 1982). My working application of salience derives from Allport’s implication that identities that are
strongest, most important, and significant are salient in a sociological sense. What defines a salient identity
is, on one hand, an individual issue. Allport, as a social psychologist, sought to reconcile what drove
individuals to identify each other with patterns that occur in society. For example, to illustrate this point,
Allport argued that “tolerant” people tend to “have no interest in group distinctions. To them a person is a
person. But this benign lack of awareness is difficult to achieve in our society, where human relations are
so largely framed in terms of caste and class. As much as one might wish to treat a Negro [sic] simply as a
human being, circumstances force an awareness of race. The prevalence of social discrimination tends to
make ethnic attitudes salient” in The Nature of Prejudice, 428.
263
For example, the manifestation of a racial identity would be a biological expression of identity,
based on scientific notions of race. At the same time, an ethnic construction of “Nordic” could be
construed as a set of common cultural norms that could transcend biological attributes. Lastly, social
attributes of an identity, one that appeared very early, was expressed in terms of economic activity of a
specific country, especially those considered Scandinavian. This also demonstrated how specific historical
context factored into identity formation.
149
Gesellschaft. For its first five years, many Society activities represented attempts to
define the group’s role in larger German culture, which will be discussed in-depth below.
The second attribute to be associated with a highly-salient Nordic identity is that
it had to be generally accepted. In Germany, the level of acceptance could vary by region
and demonstrated the challenge identity faced in creating national unity. As Allport
argued, for an in-group to gain effectiveness or influence, “members of an in-group all
use the term we with same essential significance.”264 For a group to have a lot of
influence, membership has to be fairly widespread, preferably outside the borders of
traditional regions; in this case, affiliation with Nordic identity needed to gain acceptance
beyond Lübeck’s Hanseatic walls and the shores of the Baltic Sea to achieve any salience
in Germany in general.
Lastly, the third characteristic to ensure a highly-salient identity was that it would
be easily enacted. Clearly, this step requires some sort of cultural hegemony for a
specific identity. In Weimar Germany, the ease with which people could associate
themselves with an overarching identity, one that linked geographically-distant corners of
the country, was decidedly less certain than later on in German history when nationalism
and racial identity was a bit more uniform. This topic will be taken up more specifically
in Chapter 6.
The way that an in-group manifests or codifies its identity often reacts to the
society that contains it. Put another way, as Allport argued, “in a static society it would
be fairly easy to predict just what loyalties the individual will form—to what region, to
264
Allport, Nature of Prejudice, 31.
150
what phratry, or to what social class. In such a static society kinship, status, even place
of residence, may be rigidly prescribed.”265 Because society in 1920s Germany was
anything but static—as I’ve demonstrated in previous chapters—it was less certain who
belonged to an individual’s primary in-group. The definition of who a German was,
according to all the new criteria of nationhood and cultural identity after World War I,
was in a state of flux, so in-groups within the national context were as well. For this
reason, social activities that spoke to the inherent foundations of who a people thought
they were, especially the multiple layers of norms and mores, became incredibly
important in the German context. Linkages between local, regional, national, and
international identities had to be formed, maintained, and understood in a variety of ways
by German individuals to establish where they fit in culturally; the Nordische
Gesellschaft was one way to do this, and it could do so based upon the primary work
undertaken by planners of Nordische Woche.
Allport highlighted a number of examples from a variety of national contexts to
demonstrate this form of negotiation. In particular, he pinpointed the degree to which
groups identified with each other and the way they located difference in culture. The
crux of his argument had to do with social and cultural distance between individuals,
especially in terms of traditional social markers (i.e. citizenship, kinship, class, religion,
sex, etc.).266 For example, a Lübecker felt more affinity to members of his or her family
or citizens of his or her hometown than he or she would to a native of Munich or Vienna.
The predominant identity depended on the social environs at any given time. In pre265
266
Allport, Nature of Prejudice, 31.
Ibid., 38-39.
151
hyperinflation Germany, for example, citizenship mattered a great deal, as Germans
struggled to evaluate how their new republic fit into international politics; construction of
this level of identity needed attention. After the stabilization of the Mark in 1924,
however, economic and cultural indicators were privileged in how identity was
formulated; this was especially the case once Germany’s international position was more
certain and diplomatic relationships normalized.
One very practical way this was achieved was with the elimination of Notgeld.
On October 25, 1923, a notice appeared in the Lübecker Anzeiger detailing the new
criteria for issuing Notgeld; notes had to be based on a gold loan and stamped “Approved
by the Minister of Finance.”267 This applied not only to states and cities in Germany but
firms as well. Notes were firmly regulated, and firms in Lübeck as in other cities had to
apply for notes from the centralized Ministry of Finance. The transition from a poorly
regulated monetary system to one that had strict constraints settled a major debate that
captured the imaginations of Notgeld collectors (especially Arnold Keller), printers, and
government officials alike: the perceived difference between Notgeld and Gutscheine
[vouchers]. A memo by Germany’s finance minister, circulated by the Lübeck Police
Department, dictated that new regulations covered valid Notgeld issues as well as
“Gutscheine:”
I allow myself to take this opportunity to point out that, in many
places, exhibitors of unfettered emergency money may feel that
they had not issued emergency money, but "vouchers;" a distinction
between emergency money and vouchers does not exist. Each
voucher, which is a monetary amount, is destined to replace money
267
"Bedingungen für wertbeständiges Geld der Länder," General Anzeiger, No. 249 (25 October
1923). Hansestadt Archiv Lübeck, Polizeiamt 3769: Ausgabe v. Notgeld, 1915-1925.
152
of the realm or the Reichsbank notes for the purposes of § 1 of the
said law. Viewed similarly are the banks that draw cheques on
each other as emergency money, and banks that continue to issue
such cheques will require my [the Minister of Finance] approval.268
This memo demonstrated an important step toward economic stabilization in that
a specific hierarchy was established to regulate local and private currency vis-à-vis the
Reichsbank. In Berlin, the minister of finance—Hjalmar Schacht—firmly grasped the
reins of the national currency, delegating local authority to city leaders and the police
department. This chain of command was clear due to the fact that Dr. Grosse, a ranking
member of the city council, was signatory to the official memo that was disseminated to
the police department, which would ostensibly be responsible for day-to-day
compliance.269 Firms and other financial institutions who usually dealt in Notgeld began
advertising in newspapers, especially the Lübecker General Anzeiger, their approved
issues of emergency money.270
By the end of 1923 and into 1924, the economic catastrophe of hyperinflation was
being addressed. The social and cultural effects of the postwar years, particular in terms
of economic hardship, contributed to the desire for cultural innovation and identity
268
Memo from Der Reichsminister der Finanzen, 26 September 1923, 2. Hansestadt Archiv
Lübeck, Polizeiamt 3769: Ausgabe v. Notgeld, 1915-1925. Translation mine from the original German:
“Ich gestatte mir bei dieser Gelegenheit darauf hinzuweisen, daß sich vielerorts die Aussteller wilden
Notgeldes darauf berufen zu können glauben, daß sie nicht Notgeld, sondern "Gutscheine" ausgegeben
hätten; ein Unterschied zwischen Notgeld und Gutscheinen besteht jedoch nicht. Jeder Gutschein, der auf
einen Geldbetrag lautet und bestimmungsgemäß das Reichsgeld oder die Reichsbanknoten ersetzen soll, ist
Notgeld im Sinne des § 1 des erwähnten Gesetzes. Desgleichen sind auch die von den Banken gegenseitig
aufeinander gezogenen Schecks als Notgeld anzusehen, und auch die Banken werden künftig zur Ausgabe
solcher Schecks meiner Genehmigung bedürfen.”
269
Throughout the Polizeiamt file dealing with Notgeld (3769), there are multiple examples of
attempts to monitor or regulate Notgeld between 1918 and 1923. Vouchers, checks, emergency notes, and
other scrip were identified as unfortunately necessary for day-to-day municipal (and later private)
operation. The Polizeiamt was the place where an accounting was made of the municipal notes issued to
rectify any shortfall, though that required a degree of self-reporting and regulation, hence the penchant to
overprint and overspend.
270
Hansestadt Archiv Lübeck, Polizeiamt 3769: Ausgabe v. Notgeld, 1915-1925.
153
formation. This required defining in-groups in a country historically fragmented
politically, culturally, and geographically. At the same time, the desire for identity
formation necessitated the negotiation of identities in relation to each other and the
complex social landscape of 1920s Germany.
Cultural In-Group Formation and the Nordische Gesellschaft
The period of 1919 to 1926 was one of in-group definition, especially for Lübeck
and what became the Nordische Gesellschaft. Some of the broad parameters of identity
were established during Nordische Woche, where planners and participants linked
Lübeck to national, international, and historical contexts, especially the Baltic Sea and
Scandinavia. The Nordische Gesellschaft followed suit, adding to a vague cultural
foundation by emphasizing how the Lübeck, Scandinavia, and festivals highlighting
nationalism, culture, and society were interconnected. Interestingly, the initial efforts to
establish Nordic identity salience occurred before hyperinflation deepened; Nordische
Woche and other regional festivals like it were common in 1921. These intermittent
years—between the end of World War I and the peak of hyperinflationary weakness in
Germany—still represented an important step in assembling the elements of shared
national struggle and, within that overarching idea, strands of cultural belonging.
Dr. Timm, in the capacity of secretary of the Nordische Gesellschaft, relied on the
previous groundwork fostering commonality between Scandinavia and Germany
culturally as a foundation upon which to build economic analysis. For example, one way
he built membership utilized already-cultivated commercial relationships of early
154
members, especially those who were located outside Lübeck, sending thirty envelopes
and corresponding letterhead to encourage members to solicit their business contacts.271
In an open letter to the membership of the Society, Timm reiterated the need for
“continual observation of economic life, economic law, economic policy, transport policy
between participating countries (including Germany)” and the unique diplomatic strides
undertaken by Lübeck, particularly.272 To do this, Timm argued, an economic news
service and archive would solidify not only the efforts and reputation of the Nordische
Gesellschaft but also educate and interest the public.273
There were practical reasons for emphasizing economic connections between
“Nordic” countries and Germany and, more specifically, the Nordische Gesellschaft’s
centrality in their maintenance. First and foremost, the economic climate was one of
pessimism and even bitterness as inflation persisted. Secondly, festivals and the
establishment of the Nordische Gesellschaft cost money, and membership, especially
business leaders, wanted evidence that their investment was worth it. Lastly, there was
no guarantee that the funds available to the Society, especially to establish a news service
when others already existed, would maintain their value.274 The discussion about
sponsoring an archive and economic press service arose from the stated desire to
maintain Lübeck’s role in northern German overtures toward Scandinavian countries.
271
Dr. Ernst Timm, “An die Herren Mitglieder des Kuratoriums!” 11 March 1922.
Dr. Ernst Timm, “An die Herren Vorstandsmitglieder der Nordische Gesellschaft!,” 24 April
1922, 1. Hansestadt Archiv Lübeck, Neues Senatsakten 639: Staatsrat Dr. Grosse, Nordische Gesellschaft
1922-1926. Emphasis original, translation mine from the original German: “die ständige Beobachtung des
Wirschaftslebens, des Wirschaftsrechtes, der Wirtschaftspolitik, im besonderen auch der Verkehrspolitik
aller beteiligten Länder (auch Deutschlands). . .”
273
Ibid., 2-3.
274
Ibid., 6. Timm laid out a rough estimate of how much it would cost to post correspondants,
trying to allow for the “possibility of further devaluation [etwaige weitere Geldentwertung].”
272
155
Timm explicitly pointed out that the impulse could be to argue for “all countries
to be observed or attended to from one location, such as Berlin or Hamburg;” the
limitation of this, however, was distance, manpower, funding, and organization, all of
which Lübeck had already harnessed.275 This contention spoke not only to economic
realities that continued to plague German society but also the continued importance of
regional and local identity within the national context which had informed the debates
surrounding festival culture and “Zersplitterung.” Timm, and the efforts of the
Nordische Gesellschaft, wanted to prevent Lübeck’s relegation to second- or third-tier
status behind traditional power centers like Hamburg or Berlin. With financial resources
clearly dwindling, competition for foreign capital and recognition between cities meant
that commercial survival depended as much on reputation and selling the importance of a
location as actual profit and trade.
Tethering the purpose of the Nordische Gesellschaft beyond rather ambiguous
expressions of cultural correspondence proved effective and constructive. By September
of 1922, the Nordische Gesellschaft’s most concrete contribution to the culturalcommercial sphere was opening the “Nordic Reading Room,” where visitors could peruse
“a dozen foreign newspapers and more than 30 Nordic periodicals.”276 The Reading
Room, in particular, attracted visitors; from its inception in July 1922, interest only
275
Timm, “An die Herren Vorstandsmitglieder ,” 1. Translation mine from the original German:
“Diese Erscheinung des Erstickens im Material—die ja ganz allgemein ist—wird begünstigt und teilweise
hervorgerufen durch die immer starker hervortretende Sucht zu Zentralisieren. Von einer Stelle aus, etwa
von Hamburg oder Berlin sollen alle Länder beobachtet oder behandelt werden. Das ist aber unmöglich.
Denn es genügt nicht, (meist unzureichende) Geldmittel und Arbeitskräfte zu haben; jede derartige
Tätigkeit erfordert einen breiten Resonanzboden außerhalb des engsten Kreises der Mitarbeiter.”
276
“Die Tätigkeit der Nordischen Gesellschaft vom März bis September 1922,” 26 September
1922, 1. Hansestadt Archiv Lübeck, Neues Senatsakten 639: Staatsrat Dr. Grosse, Nordische Gesellschaft
1922-1926. Translation mine from the original German: “Ferner wurde das ‘Nordische Lesezimmer’
eingerichtet mit seinem Dutzend auslaendischer Zeitungen und mehr als 30 nordischer Zeitschriften.”
156
appeared to increase, beginning with forty-four visitors that month and increasing to 160
by September.277 In this way, the Society provided a service to the public while
simultaneously ensuring “the German public will, in time, get the impression that Lübeck
is the one place where you can get the most reliable communications from the north.” 278
The hope was that the Nordische Gesellschaft could build on this practical foundation to
collect cultural artifacts as well, including “Nordic” literature and books, for the purposes
of a comprehensive cultural library.
1923 and the Interference of Hyperinflation
The success of the Nordic Reading Room and other attempts to increase the
visibility of the Nordische Gesellschaft had clear challenges. One of the most difficult,
especially considering the economic scope the Nordische Gesellschaft quickly adopted,
was, in fact, the economy. In an age where a real accounting was important—and was
pervasive, to the chagrin of German business interests—groups like the Nordische
Gesellschaft occupied liminal space. On the one hand, activity such as economic or
scientific studies and the promotion of commercial interests had the potential to realize
economic gains; on the other hand, cities such as Lübeck which were not at the center of
international politics and commerce needed a push or spin to improve its prospects.
In an unsigned and undirected internal memo, the leadership of the Nordische
Gesellschaft recognized their deepening difficulty regarding inflation. In it, the author
277
278
“Die Tätigkeit der Nordischen Gesellschaft,” 1.
Ibid., 3.
157
(purported to be Dr. Timm), pointed out that cultural propaganda was necessary to shape
reality in Lübeck:
culture must also propagate something there [Lübeck]; if not, it
may seem to be a bluff that cannot tolerate the light of concrete
studies (a danger which there is no denying, on the one hand.
This is because Lübeck’s importance as a trading city, at least
within Germany, is considerably overestimated on average.
It is often difficult to utilize quantitative data without destroying
such illusions.) A similar overestimation of Lübeck’s current
cultural significance must therefore be avoided in any case. It
must be proven that the new Lübeck is culturally and
economically worthy of the old (without giving the impression
of the decay of a "once" major city).279
For this reason, the Nordische Gesellschaft saw culture as something to promote if only
to fundamentally shape the direction of Lübeck’s economy within Germany as well as
outside of it. Put another way, the emphasis that had been placed on Lübeck’s
indispensable position in Germany may have been exaggerated by leaders in the city; by
supporting efforts to make Lübeck a cultural center, the economic importance would
surely follow.
The spiraling economy plagued attempts to move forward, however. A letter
from Franz Fromme, another paid staff member of the Nordische Gesellschaft board,
echoed Timm’s sentiments of the importance of cultural connections, especially as 1923
279
“Lübecker Kulturpropaganda 1923,” no date, 2. Hansestadt Archiv Lübeck, Neues Senatsakten
639: Staatsrat Dr. Grosse, Nordische Gesellschaft 1922-1926. Translation mine from the original German:
Wo Kultur propagiert werden soll, muss auch etwas zu propagieren da sein, wenn nicht alles auf Bluff
hinauslaufen soll, der das Licht konkreter Untersuchungen nicht verträgt (eine Gefahr, die in Lübeck nicht
von der Hand zu weisen ist, da es zum mindesten im Innern Deutschlands in seiner Bedeutung als
Handelsstadt im Durchschnitt stark überschätzt wird. Es ist oft schwer, zahlenmässige Angaben zu
machen, ohne derartige Illusionen zu zerstören) Es muss also auf jeden Fall verhindert werden, dass nicht
eine ähnliche Überschätzung der augenblicklichen kulturellen Bedeutung Lübecks eine Kulturpropaganda
nur insoweit möglich ist, als sogleich, in einem Atem, bewiesen wird, dass das neue Lübeck, kulturell und
wirtschaftlich, das alten würdig ist (um nicht den Eindruck das Verfalls einer “einstmals” bedeutenden
Stadt zu erwecken).”
158
and hyperinflation loomed.280 Fromme argued, “It is now more important to maintain our
cultural relations with the North than ever before, because our economy suffers at the
moment an undeniable, hopefully temporary, turbidity.”281 He went on to comment how
Finnish trading partners complained about German business practices, making the need
for cultural connection that much more necessary; additionally, he argued, established
cultural relationships would prevent England and France from gaining a foothold in
Scandinavia.282 The reference to England and France is telling. Considering the role
both countries, especially France, had in constructing the Treaty of Versailles and the
ensuing sense of isolation and impotence that accompanied it in Germany, Scandinavia
and trade on the Baltic was something to be jealously guarded. Most especially, Lübeck
specifically had much to lose.
Just as the Nordische Gesellschaft and its individual members could be
constructive in its attempts to shore up ties to “the North,” reactions to the international
situation had the potential to backfire. A case in point was a warning letter sent to Dr.
Kalkbrenner (in his capacity of chairperson of the Society and member of the Chamber of
Commerce) by G. Severin, of the firm Taht & Severin and member of the Board of
Directors for the Nordische Gesellschaft. In it, Severin referenced an article or op-ed
written by Dr. Timm in the Lübeckischen Blättern entitled “Lübeck’s Economic
280
Fromme was appointed as head of cultural affairs, according to a letter from Dr. Grosse to
Professor H. Schumacher, 30 January 1922. Hansestadt Archiv Lübeck, 1.2 Neues Senatsakten 2462:
Nordische Woche 1921—1921-1923.
281
Memo from Franz Fromme, no date, 1. Hansestadt Archiv Lübeck, Neues Senatsakten 639:
Staatsrat Dr. Grosse, Nordische Gesellschaft 1922-1926. Translation mine from the original German: “Es
ist gerade jetzt wichtig, unsere kulturellen Beziehungen zum Norden mehr zu pflegen als bisher, da unsere
wirtschaftlichen augenblicklich unter einer unleugbaren, hoffentlich vorübergehenden Trübung leiden.”
282
Memo from Franz Fromme, no date, 1.
159
Destiny,” where the author railed against perceived economic and trade-based injustices
against Lübeck.283 While Severin did not dispute the content of the piece, he did take
issue with what he considered a “lack of judgment [geringer Urteilsfähigkeit]” on behalf
of Dr. Timm. On the one hand, this demonstrated the Nordische Gesellschaft had
cultivated a serious mission and following; on the other hand, the personal opinions of its
board members, especially those perceived as in the employ of the public, had the
potential to damage its reputation and even that of the city, and the board of directors
were split in regards to the best way to fulfill its mission.284
That reputation was what drove the Society’s existence, because it relied heavily
on donations and foreign membership fees for funds. By January 1923, Dr. Kalkbrenner
sent a report to the Chamber of Commerce indicating that the membership fee fixed in
1921 hardly met the Society’s needs, as “the Mark has dropped to 1/100 of its former
value.”285 Foreign membership fees could possibly inject capital into the flagging
economy, so expanding membership, especially in Scandinavia, remained a central focus.
This, however, could not compensate entirely for the Society’s financial needs, and
Kalkbrenner appealed to the Chamber for an increased contribution to the guaranteed
fund. To put the situation in perspective, Kalkbrenner asked for 15,000 to 100,000 Mark
(with emphasis on the latter rather than the former), up from the previous fixed yearly
contribution of 10,000 Mark.286
283
Letter from G. Severin to Dr. Kalkbrenner, 7 December 1922. Hansestadt Archiv Lübeck,
Neues Senatsakten 639: Staatsrat Dr. Grosse, Nordische Gesellschaft 1922-1926.
284
Letter from G. Severin to Dr. Kalkbrenner, 7 December 1922.
285
Dr. Kalkbrenner, “An die Handelskammer,” 4 January 1923. Hansestadt Archive Lübeck,
Handelskammer 145: Bewilligung von Beiträge für die Nordische Gesellschaft, 1922-1925.
286
Kalkbrenner, “An die Handelskammer,” 4 January 1923.
160
Throughout 1923, economic pressures forced businesses, organizations, and firms
to reconceptualize their finances. The real end of Notgeld as a monetary policy loomed;
businesses such as the Deutsche Reichsbahn advertised specific registered notes (with
descriptions and values) and the final dates they would be accepted as legal tender.287
This regulation included the Chamber of Commerce, which had also issued Notgeld;
most entities able to register Notgeld in advance of the dissolution of the system and the
introduction of the transitional Rentenmark accepted the notes through the end of
November 1923 and even into December of that year.288 Almost as quickly, city archives
and municipal boards called on companies and businesses to retain copies of their
Notgeld, preferably uncirculated; considering the numbers of notes that were printed at
the height of hyperinflation, this request was easily fulfilled.289
Hyperinflation certainly had a destabilizing effect; Bernd Widdig pointed out that
at the “peak of the inflation, 91.6 percent of a family’s budget was used to purchase food.
. . . On the other hand, rent became an almost negligible outlay for many households due
to strict rent-control regulations after the war. Yet for those who depended on rental
income this development often meant a financial catastrophe.”290 In some ways, the
focus on subsistence in 1923 was reminiscent of the particularly lean winter from 1916 to
1917 during the war. Concurrently with spiraling economic calamity came fresh waves
of political upheaval. November 1923 was a chaotic month, between Adolf Hitler’s
287
Memo to Dr. Grosse from Gröner, 17 August 1923. Hansestadt Archiv Lübeck, Polizeiamt
3769: Ausgabe v. Notgeld, 1915-1925.
288
Hansestadt Archiv Lübeck, Polizeiamt 3769: Ausgabe v. Notgeld, 1915-1925.
289
Dr. Gundlach, Tgb. Nr. 2080, 11 March 1924. Stadtarchiv Kiel 36065: Kieler Notgeld, 19171954.
290
Widdig, Culture and Inflation, 46-47.
161
failed “Beer Hall Putsch” in Munich and rumored Communist uprisings in Hamburg and
elsewhere; additionally, shockwaves still resonated from the French incursion and
occupation of the Ruhr in late 1922 through 1923 and the accompanying nationalismtinged work stoppages.291 All of these factors effectively shoved the Weimar Republic
ever closer to anomic collapse; not least of these pressures was the possibility that
currency stabilization would not work.
This pessimism was evident in a November 23, 1923 letter from Dr. Timm to Dr.
Grosse. In it, Timm mentioned a brief detention or arrest at the hands of French picket
lines [französischen Posten] after a meeting in Essen.292 He continued his report to
Grosse with an allusion to political upheaval, stating “I do not know what the last
political party events have been in Lübeck, but I do not err in the assumption that the
advance of social democracy has increased aversion to profitable capital investments on
the part of the State.”293 Timm’s statement was incredibly loaded. On the one hand, it
smacked of derision against the Social Democrats, who were active in building coalition
governments throughout the 1920s. On the other hand, it spoke to Timm’s belief that
investment capital was necessary to prevent further political, as well as economic,
291
Detlev K. Peukert, The Weimar Republic: The Crisis of Classical Modernity (New York: Hill
and Wang, 1987), 59-75. Peukert outlines concisely the challenges confronting the Republic in November
1923.
292
Timm’s identification of his location came in a previous letter, dated 2 November 1923, to Dr.
Keibel. Hansestadt Archiv Lübeck, Neues Senatsakten 639: Staatsrat Dr. Grosse—Nordische Gesellschaft
1922-1926. Essen, as part of the Ruhr Valley, was close to the Belgian border was subject to the combined
French/Belgian incursion into the Ruhr industrial region that precipitated the German strikes and work
stoppages.
293
Letter to Dr. Grosse from Dr. Timm, 23 November 1923. Hansestadt Archiv Lübeck, Neues
Senatsakten 639: Staatsrat Dr. Grosse—Nordische Gesellschaft 1922-1926. Translation mine from the
original German: “Ich weiss nicht, welches die letzten parteipolitischen Ereignisse in Lübeck gewesen sind,
aber ich glaube nicht fehlzugehen in der Vermutung, dass mit dem Vordringen der Sozialdemokratie auch
die Abneigung gegen rentable Kapitalinvestierungen seitens des Staats zugenommen hat.”
162
catastrophe, regardless of the source. That the state represented a major investor in
municipalities and cities highlights the difficulty of a welfare state caught in
hyperinflation. Business investment was limited because of skyrocketing prices, stagnant
income levels, and plummeting monetary value. The state was limited because of a
stymied political/economic system that could not turn to individual or foreign interests
for relief. However it was expressed, the discontent and distrust of attempts to steady the
system permeated society, even cultural groups such as the Nordische Gesellschaft.
The Rentenmark, Stabilization, and a Renewed Nordische Gesellschaft
The introduction of new regulatory measures against monetary fragmentation
represented a possible rebirth of German economic stability, achieved through austere
and even draconian adherence to the appearance of strict currency regulation.294 While
many Lübeck institutions, such as the Chamber of Commerce, announced they would
accept their Notgeld and Scheine issues through November or perhaps December, the
Rentenmark officially entered the market on November 15, 1923; its value was fixed
(based on the dollar at 1914 rates as well as gold reserves) and finite.295 Just as the
postwar years and inflation had affected individuals in different ways, so to the
introduction of the Rentenmark unevenly shocked social sectors. Those who had greater
294
Contemporary scholars and commentators, including the Dawes Report issued by the United
States, viewed the Rentenmark as “a precarious and artificial solution to the German monetary problem,” as
described by Constantino Bresciani-Turroni in Economics of Inflation: A Study of Currency Depreciation
in Post-War Germany (Northampton: John Dickens & Co., 1957), 338. Bresciani-Turroni argued that the
perception of stabilization—the view that the German government was getting a practical handle on
inflationary notes—led to increased consumption and the appearance of increased purchasing power, even
as, temporarily, the number of notes in the system in Germany actually increased.
295
Widdig, Culture and Inflation, 48. Widdig argued that hyperinflation virtually disappeared
overnight, “as quickly as it had arrived.” While this does not imply a smooth transition without economic
pain, it does speak to the extreme volatility of German currency.
163
access to foreign capital (which could be exchanged at a higher rate than inflationary
Marks) were clearly able to get a larger piece of the rigidly-controlled Rentenmark pie,
while those who relied on thrice-daily payments of Notgeld and social welfare programs
were at a disadvantage.296
With the end of the Rentenmark and the introduction of the Reichsmark, the
Nordische Gesellschaft produced a report on the “Economy of the Nordic Nations in
Figures 5.3 & 5.4: Rentenmark issues for Hochofenwerk, Lübeck, issued November 1923. Courtesy of
Hansestadt Archiv Lübeck, Polizeiamt 3769.
1924.”297 In it, the society detailed, much like the Åbo commemoration booklet of 1921,
the economy (including expenditures and income) of each “Nordic” nation. The report
listed top export items for each nation and compared them to the previous year’s tally.298
Importantly, this represented identity formation in reference to imports, exports, the
potential for international commerce, and even the specific industrial strengths of each
country. In terms of formulating an in-group, this report defined the borders of Nordic
296
See Gerald D. Feldman, The Great Disorder: Politics, Economics, and Society in the German
Inflation, 1914-1924 (New York: Oxford University Press, 1997), 754-835. In Chapter 16 and 17,
Feldman convincingly lays out the social and political factors that contributed to economic choices and
consequences.
297
Bengt Paul, “Die Wirtschaft der nordischen Länder im Jahre 1924,” Das Jahr 1924 (OstseeSchriften Heft 2) (Lübeck: Nordischer Verlag/Nordische Gesellschaft, 1925).
298
Ibid., 24.
164
lands as Scandinavian countries and, of course, Germany. The report also conflated the
economies of each nation, implying that they operated on the same plane and with the
same efficiency—in some ways completely ignoring the economic obstacle course
Germany had weathered. The analysis of economic structures provided a superficial yet
foundational definition of subjects that fell within the purview of the Nordische
Gesellschaft.
For the Nordic identity to become salient, however, efforts to define it had to
venture beyond structural elements, especially something as volatile as the economy.
Instead, identity had to add cultural meaning to superficial structural comparisons and
contrasts (e.g. charting imports and exports, etc.). Economic analyses of nations
considered Nordic established a framework of sorts. Once established, those national
attributes sank into the background, becoming more of the frame within which a cultural
tapestry was woven. As I have argued elsewhere, economics certainly inspired cultural
expression and debate, but it was the perception of shared heritage that resonated with
members of the Nordische Gesellschaft and participants in events they were involved
with. The nuance of national adaptation implied that there were multiple paths emanating
from a single source; that is, different national contexts, despite similar beginnings, could
manifest analogous characteristics in different ways.
First and foremost, publishing provided a unique way to reach new members and
interested parties, especially potential business contacts. To that end, the Nordische
Pressebüro circulated issues of the newsletter Nordische Pressekorrespondenz,
165
contracting with Lübeck writer Otto Weber in March 1924.299 In the contract, Ernst
Timm laid out how the editor of the Korresonpdenz was to be paid (2/3 from the
Pressebüro and the other 1/3 determined by the editors of the Ostsee-Rundschau); Weber
acknowledged the contract, signing as “Culture Editor [Kulturschriftleiter]” of the
Nordische Gesellschaft.300 The publications sponsored by the Society began circulation
January 1924, despite the tenor of Dr. Timm’s earlier correspondence regarding
economic and political conditions in Germany and Lübeck in particular. To create a paid
editorial position demonstrated, perhaps, some hope in currency stabilization. It also
heralded a change in the identity definition of the Nordische Gesellschaft. Rather than
simply continue to draw borders around “the North” through economic and cultural
studies, the Society began to promote cultural ties that assumed a connection between
Germany and Baltic nations.
Interestingly, this assumed connection extended even to the nascent Soviet Union,
albeit behind closed doors. In a confidential meeting for business leaders in the
Nordische Gesellschaft, the Society sponsored a talk by Dr. Asmis, who had been
traveling in the Soviet Union over the course of two years. The questions to be
considered were two-fold: Was it likely that the new Bolshevik government would
maintain control of Russia, and, if so, was it advantageous for Germany? 301 Considering
the sociopolitical upheaval in Germany and its continual international disadvantage, these
299
“Anstellungsvertrag zwischen der Nordischen Gesellschaft und dem Schriftsteller Otto Weber
beide in Lübeck,” 28 March 1924. Hansestadt Archiv Lübeck, Neues Senatsakten 639: Staatsrat Dr.
Grosse—Nordische Gesellschaft 1922-1926.
300
“Austellungsvertrag,” 28 March 1924.
301
“Vertraulich!,” 16 February 1924. Hansestadt Archiv Lübeck, Neues Senatsakten 639:
Staatsrat Dr. Grosse—Nordische Gesellschaft 1922-1926.
166
questions had the potential to alter circumstances. According to the Society’s report of
Asmis’ talk, German business leaders were encouraged to cultivate relationships in the
USSR, not least because “Germany [was] the first foreign power that the new Russia
[had] recognized in law.”302 The diplomatic climate regarding the Bolshevik Revolution
in Russia provided the opportunity for German businesses to take advantage of new
Soviet markets and relationships that Western Europe—especially former Entente
members—refused to pursue due to ideological reasons and their own economic
limitations.303
The content of Asmis’ findings demonstrates the complexity of international
relations in 1924. On the one hand, Germany was on the precipice of economic stability,
and that had the potential to realize political and diplomatic stability as well. This was
not the case for the new Soviet Union; Asmis pointed out the economic difficulties that
accompanied Lenin’s New Economic Policy (NEP), which, he argued, represented a
“collapse of pure communist economic theory.”304 Additionally, Asmis argued a
political overthrow of the new Soviet structure could only occur as a result of violent
uprising, and there was no guarantee that conditions in a non-communist Russia would
remain favorable to German ventures. This built on an environment that led to the
302
“Vertraulich!,” 1. Translation mine from the original German: “Der Grund hie für ist erstens
die Tatsache, daß Deutschland die erste ausfwärtige Macht gewesen ist, die das neue Rußland die jure
anerkannt hat. . . .”
303
Ibid., 2.
304
Ibid., 5. Translation mine from the original German: “Wirtschaftlich war die Entwicklung seit
dem Zusammenbruch der rein kommunistischen Wirtschaftstheorie Mitte des Jahres 1921 durch den Nep,
die neue wirtschaftliche Politik, bestimmt: . . .”
167
German-Soviet Treaty of Rapallo in 1922, which provided military and economic
cooperation between Germany and the Soviet Union.305
On the other hand, despite indications that German economic interests were
steadying, diplomatic interests were far from certain. Pursuing relations with the Soviet
Union could be viewed as thumbing the proverbial German nose at the Entente and the
Treaty of Versailles; neither Germany nor Russia were included in the Paris Peace
Conference, and both were marginalized in the international community. Asmis
advocated putting ideological or political fears aside, even in the wake of postwar
attempts to establish Soviet communes in Germany and continued political agitation,
because “the opponents of the Bolsheviks must be anti-German because they could be
aligned only with the support of the Entente.”306 Persistent anger and bitterness against
“the Entente” haunted German attempts to re-enter the international arena and even
helped guide choices about future endeavors.
Outreach and Cultural Activities
In addition to framing the way business leaders—and by extension the Nordische
Gesellschaft—would pursue accelerated relationships outside of Germany, the Society
took on projects with symbolic and cultural import as well. One case in point was the
305
For a discussion of the controversy surrounding the Rapallo Treaty, see Peter Krüger, “A Rainy
Day, April 16, 1922: The Rapallo Treaty and the Cloudy Perspective for German Foreign Policy,” in
Carole Fink and Axel Frohn, eds., Genoa, Rapallo, and European Reconstruction in 1922 (Cambridge:
Cambridge University Press, 2002), 49-62.
306
Ibid., p. 1. Translation mine from the original German: “Ein weiterer, fast noch bedeutenderer
Grund dafür, daß man deutscherseits das Bestehenbleiben der bolschewistischen Regierung wünschen muß,
liegt darin, daß die Gegner der Bolschewisten deutschfeindlich sein müssen, da sie nur mit Unterstützung
der Entente gegen die Bolschewisten etwas ausrichten könnten.” Asmis continued to discuss monetary
policy and how the Entente powers conducted immigration policy with an eye on reparation and war-debt
payments, both regarding Germany and the Soviet Union.
168
debated reconstruction or upgrade [Ausbau] of the small Maria Kapelle am Stegel, near
the much larger landmark of Marienkirche.307 The small chapel, which had been built in
the Middle Ages, was located on Mengstraße, near the commercial district and the setting
for Thomas Mann’s Buddenbrooks. Its central location, as well as the multiple uses over
the centuries, led the Society to sponsor plans for its rehabilitation.308
In some ways, the focus on Maria am Stegel built on the focus of Lübeck’s
religious and community spaces that had been honed during Nordische Woche. It also
demonstrated the Society’s community-oriented focus, in that it wanted to literally
solidify Lübeck’s history and make it more global.309 As Dr. Timm indicated in an open
letter to the Society’s membership, the Nordische Gesellschaft sought a permanent home
within which to continue the German-Scandinavian relationship; additionally, in keeping
with the Society’s goals, the Kapelle Maria am Stegel was the perfect location, as it was
built in the “old Hanseatic style” and remained a symbol of Lübeck’s heritage in that
capacity.310
Integral to the globalizing mission was the continued support of the OstseeRundschau, which by October 1924 was “just about to evolve into promotional material
307
“Zeichnung für den Ausbau der Kapelle am Stegel bei St. Marien Mengstraße Lübeck für
Zwecke der Nordischen Gesellschaft.” Hansestadt Archiv Lübeck, Handelskammer 146: Ausbau der
Kapelle Maria am Stegel für Zwecke der Nordische Gesellschaft 1924.
308
Johann Baltzer, F. Bruns and H. Rahtgens, eds. Die Bau- und Kunstdenkmäler der freien und
Hansestadt Lübeck, Bd 4 (Lübeck: H. G. Rahtgens, 1928), 361-369. This volume of architectural history,
published by the same publisher as the Nordische Woche Festschrift, discussed the historical details of the
building at length and its uses.
309
Though there is no evidence that the planned-for rehabilitation occurred and the chapel was
destroyed in the Palm Sunday 1942 RAF air raid in Lübeck, the site and its foundation outline have been
included in the UNESCO World Heritage Site information presented throughout the city.
310
Dr. Timm, “An unsere Mitglieder!” 2 February 1925. Hansestadt Archiv Lübeck,
Handelskammer 144: Nordische Gesellschaft in Lübeck 1921-1933. Translation mine from the original
German: “Hierfür eignet sich die Kapelle Maria am Stegel in Wie Ihnen durch die Presse bekannt sein
dürfte, plant die Nordische Gesellschaft den Ausbau der Kapelle Maria am Stegel für ihre Zwecke.”
169
for Lübeck, of paramount importance. It is necessary to promote it by all possible means
so that the uncertainty associated with the introduction such a magazine in the general
public and the participating economic circles will be overcome as quickly as possible.”311
To members of the Nordische Gesellschaft and their sponsors in the Chamber of
Commerce, shifting the Ostsee-Rundschau (later Der Norden) from a society newsletter
to a public magazine fulfilled the goals of keeping Lübeck front-and-center in Society
matters. Still, developing the Ostsee-Rundschau and its accompanying advertising
revenue meant that the Society could expand beyond the confines of Lübeck. For
example, in a letter to the Chamber of Industry and Commerce in Halle, Ernst Boie
explicitly targeted other German communities for Society membership, if only to take
“steps . . . to arouse general interest in Germany for the work of the Society.”312 Indeed,
correspondence between business and Society leaders in Lübeck and other municipalities
in Germany increased throughout the rest of 1924.
Some of this correspondence was to increase participation in lectures and essays
sponsored by the Nordische Gesellschaft within Germany. Continuous publishing,
especially the text of speeches sponsored by the Society, proved to be an effective way to
311
Dr. Keibel, “Betrifft: Zahlung an die Nordische Gesellschaft aus dem Werbefonde,” 4 October
1924. Hansestadt Archiv Lübeck, Handelskammer 144: Nordische Gesellschaft in Lübeck 1921-1933.
Translation mine from the original German: “Nach Ansicht von Senator Dr. Kalkbrenner ist das
Durchhalten der Ostseerundschau, die gerade im Begriff ist, sich zu einer erstlassigen Werbeschrift für
Lübeck zu entwickeln, von allergrößter Bedeutung und deshalb mit allen nur möglichen Mitteln zu fördern,
damit die Unsicherheit, die mit der Einführung einer derartigen Zeitschrift in die allgemeine öffentlichkeit
und die beteiligten wirtschaftlichen Kreise zunächst verbunden ist, so schnell wie möglich überwunden
wird.”
312
Ernst Boie, “An die Industrie und Handelskammer, Halle,” 6 October 1924. Hansestadt Archiv
Lübeck, Handelskammer 144: Nordische Gesellschaft in Lübeck 1921-1933. Translation mine from the
original German: “Erst seitdem sind Schritte unternommen worden, um in Deutschland allgemein das
Interesse für die Arbeiten der Gesellschaft zur Belebung insbesondere der wirtschaftlichen Beziehungen
zwischen den nordischen Staaten und Deutschland zu wecken.”
170
maintain visibility in Germany, especially when the topic was one of interest to Germans
particularly. In an example of the intersection of cultural and economic attitudes, the
Nordische Gesellschaft published “The Problem of War Reparations” by Dr. Gustav
Cassel as part of a series called Ostsee-Schriften.313 Here, one can see not only the
persistence of economic issues and reparations in particular; also present was a sense of
“the Entente” and that international politics had a real effect on German-Scandinavian
relationships.314 Cassel analyzed the purpose of reparation payments, especially from the
Entente’s strategic desire to prevent Germany’s ability to wage war, though he claimed to
utilize an economic, rather than political, framework.315
It must be noted, however, that politics and economics, especially at an
international level, were intertwined; the topic of reparations was inherently contentious
and highlighted the interconnectedness of culture, politics, and economics. The
Nordische Gesellschaft viewed economic and cultural activity as twin missions, and
Cassel’s essay demonstrated both. It also revealed the Society’s willingness to take on
politically-loaded topics and promote them as academic subject matter. Cassel’s essay
could be construed as positioning the Nordische Gesellschaft, itself, within the frame of
international culture. For instance, Cassel argued that reparations were staked on “the
claim . . . that Germany alone bears the blame for the world war. But this claim is false,
as anyone who knows anything about the history of the world must have realized long
313
Gustav Cassel, “Das Problem der Kriegsentschädigung,” Ostsee-Schriften Heft 1, 1924.
Hansestadt Archiv Lübeck, Handelskammer 144: Nordische Gesellschaft in Lübeck 1921-1933.
314
Ibid., 3.
315
Ibid.
171
ago; compensation claims based on this rest on a lie.”316 Cassel’s position certainly
resonated with German citizens, but it was far from the impersonal, unbiased economic
analysis he claimed. He went on to point out that the efforts to keep Germany dependent
had, in fact, kept Germany dependent, weakening the international economy; Germany
essentially became an “economic burden” on the Entente, who had pursued a “primitive”
policy that, like socialism, did not take into account the international picture.317
Conflating socialism and the interests of Western Europe was a provocative way to make
a cultural point using economic analysis.
The visibility of the Nordische Gesellschaft allowed for expansion, so that the
Society could claim more than the mantle of Lübeck pride, becoming yet another group
tied only to the Heimatstadt. The organization had set its sights much higher than that,
reflecting the loftiness of the goals espoused by Nordische Woche three years earlier. In
an op-ed for the Lübecker General-Anzeiger, the Nordische Gesellschaft proudly reported
that it had begun planting branch offices, such as one in Hannover and the establishment
of the Deutsch-Nordische Klub in Berlin.318
316
Cassel, “Das Problem,” 3. Translation mine from the original German: “Betracht gelassen
werden kann. Der Urgrund der Ansprüche liegt, wie bekannt, in dem Satz, daß Deutschland allein die
Schuld zum Weltkriege trägt. Aber dieser Satz ist falsch, wie es jedermann, der etwas von der
Weltgeschichte versteht, schon längst eingesehen haben muß, und insofern als die
Entschädigungsansprüche sich auf diesen Satz stützen, ruhen sie auf einer Lüge.”
317
Ibid., 4. Translation mine from the original German: “Die politische Ökonomie der Entente ist,
wie jede primitive Wirtschaftsauffassung, zu sehr von der Betrachtung der vorhandenen materiellen Güter
befangen und hat niemals verstanden, daß der ungestörte Fortgang und Entwicklung des
Produktionsprozesses und der ganzen Wirtschaftsorganisation weit wichtiger ist, als das einmal
gesammelte Vermögen. Dieser Mangel, in dem die Entente-ökonomie übrigens entsprechenden Mängeln
der gewöhnlichen sozialistischen Vorstellungsweise nahesteht, hat die schwersten Wirkungen auf ihre
ganze Entschädigungspolitik gehabt, indem man die fortgehende Zerrüttung des deutschen
Wirtschaftslebens für nichts rechnet im Vergleich mit den einmaligen Kriegsverlusten der Ententeländer.”
318
“Mitgliederversammlung der Nordischen Gesellschaft,” Lübecker General-Anzeiger, 14
December 1924. Hansestadt Archiv Lübeck, Handelskammer 144: Nordische Gesellschaft in Lübeck
1921-1933.
172
Figure 5.5: "The Problem of War Reparations," 1924. Courtesy of Hansestadt Archiv Lübeck.
Simultaneously, in a move truly designed to foster cultural movement between
Scandinavia and Germany, the Nordische Gesellschaft began promoting tours,
spearheaded by the Deutsch-Nordische Touristenverband. The travel board was formed
to coordinate the individual trips that the Society wanted to promote, especially those that
served a student population.
One example, under the direction of Professor Sebastian Schwarz, targeted
foreign students, teachers, and others interested in German and Lübeck history.319
Planned for several weeks in August 1923, the course included language instruction,
cultural activities such as symphony performances, the historical background of German
319
Nordische Gesellschaft, “Ferienkurse für Ausländer.” August 1923. Hansestadt Archiv
Lübeck, Nachrichtenamt 283: Nordische Gesellschaft 1921-1925 (mit 1 Plakat).
173
cultural figures such as Fritz Reuter, and Lübecker art sessions led by directors of local
museums (such as Carl Georg Heise).320 This trip in particular had several benefits. In
the first place, August 1923 coincided with desperate financial issues in Germany, and
charging foreigners Goldmarks had the potential to inject real reserves in the collapsing
economy.321 Secondly, and perhaps more importantly, this trip became a model for
cultural tourism, highlighting art, architecture, and history, and sponsored by the
Nordische Gesellschaft.
A More Mature Nordische Gesellschaft
The winter of 1923-1924 proved to be important in the development of the
Nordische Gesellschaft. Though the Society continually solidified and renegotiated its
in-group definition through a more mature and established slate of boards, related offices
(such as the Pressbüro), and ever-increasing membership, by 1925 the organization
began to move away from merely defining or describing the parameters of its perceptions
of Nordic identity. Part of the reason for this shift was that leaders who had been
instrumental in planning Nordische Woche and establishing the Nordische Gesellschaft,
such as Jan Grosse, began to retire or withdraw from public life. As Grosse stated in a
letter to Dr. Kalkbrenner in December 1923, it was time for the Society to enter a “new
prime [neuen Blüte],” and he had every confidence the Society would continue to
thrive.322
320
Nordische Gesellschaft, “Ferienkurse für Ausländer,” 3.
Ibid., 4.
322
Jan Grosse, “An das Kuratorium der Nordischen Gesellschaft,” 19 December 1923. Hansestadt
Archiv Lübeck, Nachrichtenamt 283: Nordische Gesellschaft 1921-1925 (mit 1 Plakat).
321
174
In a sweeping report to the Lübeck city Senate, the Nordische Gesellschaft
emphasized the efforts it had undertaken to promote and maintain German-Nordic
cultural and economic relationships. The report acknowledged the absence of an
economically dominant role, as Lübeck had enjoyed in the days of the Hanseatic League,
an attempt to resurrect old glory was futile, especially considering the current
circumstances.323 Additionally, the Society had been unable to truly realize its potential
until the Mark stabilization of 1924; explicitly tying cultural identity and expansion to
currency stabilization emphasized how important economic factors were in social
attitudes and activity.324
By mid-1925, planning was underway in Lübeck for the 700-year celebration,
marking the establishment of the town. In this, the Nordische Gesellschaft was invited to
join a cadre of cultural and identity groups to plan and execute the celebration.325 The
Society had become integrated into local society enough to warrant an official voice in
conceiving an important local festival, mirroring the process that had begun in 1919 when
Nordische Woche was first debated. As part of the local fabric, the Nordische
Gesellschaft occupied the unique position of extending threads across the Baltic and
along internal waterways, stitching together a regional tapestry that emphasized
transnational ties. This model was adapted, as well, to maintaining German ties to
323
“An Einen Hohen Senat!” February 1925, 4. Hansestadt Archiv Lübeck, Neues Senatsakten
639: Staatsrat Dr. Grosse, Nordische Gesellschaft 1922-1926.
324
Ibid., 2. In the original German: “Nach der Stabilisierung der Mark erst war es möglich, den
Aufgabenkreis der Nordischen Gesellschaft in seiner Gesamtheit so in den Bereich der praktischen
Tätigkeit zu ziehen, dass die Hoffnung berechtigt ist, sowohl etwas für die Dauer Erhebliches zu leisten als
auch besonders die Bedeutung Lübecks als massgebender Mittelpunkt für deutsch-nordische Beziehungen
wesentlich zu fördern.”
325
Letter from Dr. Timm, 31 July 1925. Hansestadt Archiv Lübeck, Neues Senatsakten 639:
Staatsrat Dr. Grosse, Nordische Gesellschaft 1922-1926.
175
Lübeck, such as exhibitions designed to highlight the economic and cultural implications
of the Baltic-Rhine trading network, thereby drawing central and southwestern Germany
into the Nordische Gesellschaft’s sphere of influence.326
The period between the end of Nordische Woche and the planning in the 700-year
celebration represented one of identity construction and definition. This, on one hand,
had geographic qualities, with the Nordische Gesellschaft essentially mapping out who
and where was included in a region whose epicenter was Lübeck. Each activity, whether
it was shoring up business prospects in Denmark, Finland, or Russia, organizing student
exchanges with Scandinavian universities, or inviting the general public to exhibitions of
“Nordic” art (with free admission for Society members), demonstrated one more brick
forming a salient identity. After 1930, the Nordische Gesellschaft entered a new phase:
categorizing cultures and identities for the purposes of belonging or exclusion, using
anthropological and pseudo-scientific studies of race. As Allport argued, “the very act of
affirming our way of life often leads us to the brink of prejudice.”327 In the next chapter,
I will take up how the Nordische Gesellschaft, in the context of wider German society,
moved from being a constructive entity to a prejudicial, purely propagandistic one.
326
H. Mahn, “Plan einer Ausstellung auf dem Holstentorgeländ in Lübeck,” March 1925, 1.
Hansestadt Archiv Lübeck, Nachrichtenamt 283: Nordische Gesellschaft 1921-1925 (mit 1 Plakat).
327
Allport, Nature of Prejudice, 25.
Chapter VI
From In-Group to the Only Group:
Nordic Identity, the Nordische Gesellschaft, and Nazi Germany
The five-year period between 1924 and 1929 became the “Golden 1920s” in
Weimar Germany. It was an era of resurgence, cultural innovation, and international
reintegration for the nation. It also represented a period, albeit a short one, of economic
and political stability, which allowed Germans to turn their attention to other issues. As I
discussed in the previous chapter, between 1921 and 1929, but especially after 1924 with
in the introduction of the Rentenmark and the more-stable Reichsmark, fewer worries
about currency and the market led Germans to reformulate their local, national, and
international identities. For the Nordische Gesellschaft, the ‘20s proved crucial to
establishing a foundation of operations and the initial parameters of identity salience—
the formation of an in-group. It was very early identity construction, and, as such,
emphasized the commonalities of the group and essentially built the symbols that Allport
argued group members needed to “make the human in-group seem real.”328
In particular, 1926 demonstrated a turning point for Weimar Germany. Under the
continued leadership and influence of Gustav Stresemann, chancellor for a time and then
foreign minister, Germany conducted a series of treaties with its former World War I
antagonists and entered the League of Nations. This signaled a normalization of
328
Allport, Nature of Prejudice, 44.
176
177
international relations, at least for the time being and was a definite shift in diplomatic
fortunes for Germany. The latter 1920s saw more diplomatic advances, such as the
Kellogg-Briand pact aimed at solidifying national borders and preventing the recourse of
war in Europe. At the same time, Stresemann attempted to reverse the traumatic effect of
the immediate postwar treatment of Germany by the victorious Entente, especially
France. To do this, he negotiated the withdrawal of French and Belgian occupation
forces from the Ruhr Valley; at the same time, however, Germany’s entrance into the
international system stymied its territorial aspirations.329
The later 1920s also represented a major shift for the Nordische Gesellschaft, as
the organization itself matured. The relative economic and political stability ushered in
during the second half of the decade allowed the Society time to solidify the foundations
established during Nordische Woche and in the subsequent years. In 1926, amidst the
international and national developments, Lübeck again prepared for a major festival, this
time to celebrate the 700-year anniversary of the city’s charter. The focus on local
culture reinforces the centrality of Lübeck-specific identity; for the Nordische
Gesellschaft to take an active role in planning and performing the public ceremony of the
celebration indicates that the Society had integrated itself into the cultural fabric. During
the period of stability between 1924 and 1929, Germany, Lübeck, and the Nordische
Gesellschaft witnessed a period of cultural prosperity and normalized diplomatic
relations.
329
Peukert, The Weimar Republic, 193-204. Peukert deftly explains the factors at work during the
later 1920s, and, more specifically, Stresemann’s role in them.
178
The situation changed in the fall of 1929. Because of the United States stock
market crash on October 29, global financial security plummeted, in part because of the
diplomatic and economic advances made in the earlier part of the decade. As I described
in the previous chapter, the United States was able to spearhead economic
reconceptualization in Europe and Germany in particular, providing the basis for the
Reichsmark. Once confidence in the markets and currency was shaken in the United
States, the interconnectedness of global finance spelled disaster all over the world.
Germany, in particular, was hard hit, because the stability and renormalization of
diplomatic relationships were fragile. Complicating the situation, national politics inside
Germany remained polarized, marked by the increasing influence of extremist parties
such as the Nazi Party.
In this chapter, I will trace how the rise of the Nazi Party after 1929 began to alter
the mission of the Nordische Gesellschaft, transforming it from a constructive identity
society (perhaps with easily manipulated concepts of shared heritage and the implicit
exclusion of non-Nordic heritages) into a purely propagandistic organ to broadcast
National Socialist ideas utilizing established cultural, business, and diplomatic networks.
Especially after 1933 and Adolf Hitler’s appointment as chancellor, the Nordische
Gesellschaft was integrated into the Nazi bureaucracy under the auspices of Alfred
Rosenberg’s Außenpolitischen Amt. Like other organizations and German society in
general, the explicit tone of the published work sponsored by the Nordische Gesellschaft
began to veer to the extreme. This was reflected in the shift of mainstream German
society to pervasive racism, even adapting the festival formula initially used in Lübeck in
179
1921 to recast Nordische Woche in 1938 to reach ideological ends. By 1942 and the
Palm Sunday bombing of Lübeck, the overall strength of the Nordische Gesellschaft in
Scandinavia and Germany had passed its zenith, its publications and message dying out
in an anticlimactic whisper.
The foundations of this extremism, though, were laid in the later 1920s, after the
initial construction of the ideological and cultural parameters of the Society, in a period
of message codification and the beginnings of out-group exclusion. It is important to
consider the time frame of the late 1920s up through the rise of the Nazi regime and the
beginning of World War II, because it prevents the use of 1933 as a distinct chronological
boundary. Though the last 5 years of the decade were more financially and
diplomatically stable, political divisions grew deeper and coalition governments were not
uniformly effective. German society did change after 1933 and, most especially, with the
death of Paul von Hindenburg in August 1934 and the introduction of the racist
Nuremberg Laws of 1935, but it was the subtle and pernicious use of language,
particularly based in identity politics, that aided in the cultural success of Nazi ideology.
The case study of the Nordische Gesellschaft, especially after 1933, provides a window
into how the Nazis were able to shape German society and culture within their admittedly
malleable ideological parameters.
A Note on Anomie, In-Groups, and National Identity
The late 1920s represented a change for Germany in several ways. As previously
discussed in other chapters, the reality of anomic circumstances, particularly in the
180
economic, political, and cultural sectors, dominated post-World War I Germany. In a
real way, a new international system emerged after World War I, and national and
cultural identity had to adjust accordingly. After the catastrophe of hyperinflation, the
steps that were taken to restabilize the German currency—especially the introduction of
the Rentenmark and subsequent Reichsmark—did much to rectify the economic anomie
that existed in Germany; this is clear through the elimination of the unregulated Notgeld
system. By 1924, economic anomie had subsided, at least for the time being.
Political anomie, especially on the international scale, was a bit tougher to
overcome. As Durkheim noted “[s]ocial life . . . is an uninterrupted series of
transformations, parallel to other transformations in the conditions of collective
existence.”330 Put another way, advances and regressions that were and are present in
global life are interconnected enough to affect each other, whether it is domestic
(national) or international. In this case, diplomatic circumstances present in the political
sphere stabilized between 1924 and 1926, allowing Germany to come out of international
“radio silence,” especially once it was allowed to join the League of Nations and broker
treaties. That being said, this was not an unfettered stabilization, as the dictates from the
Treaty of Versailles were still in place, and German economic health depended, in large
part, on American economic power. However, in comparison with the postwar situation
through hyperinflation, German anomie began to disappear.
There was a caveat to stabilization however, and that was domestic politics. In
the Weimar Republic, democratic institutions that took hold allowed for continued
330
Emile Durkheim, The Rules of Sociological Method and Selected Texts on Sociology and its
Method. Ed. by Steven Lukes. Trans. By W. D. Halls (New York: The Free Press, 1982), 154.
181
fragmentation politically. It allowed for a variety of voices to enter the political
conversation. Unfortunately, the framers of the Weimar Constitution could not
sufficiently change the social structure enough to overcome or solve the problems that
had accompanied World War I and the demise of Imperial Germany.331 In a way, the
political framework almost encouraged quasi-anomic circumstances, in that the effort to
include previously disenfranchised groups resulted in an underregulated, cacophonous
political system. Active political parties were organized variously according to region
(such as Bavaria), identity or special interest (such as the Catholic Center party), or
broad-based national parties such as the Social Democrats, essentially splintering the
voting base a number of different ways. This allowed extremist voices both on the far
right and the far left a more mainstream audience, though admittedly one that was a
difficult to attain and maintain. When attention to economic and diplomatic
circumstances normalized, other facets of national identity, especially cultural and
political affiliations, gained momentum.
This is where the intersection with in-group and out-group formation becomes
apparent. Gordon Allport identified concentric and overlapping circles of identity—
starting locally, even in terms of family and kinship—widening out to eventually
encompass humanity. The larger the circle of identity, the less salient and powerful that
identity would be.332 Allport’s analysis of prejudice is apt and on point, but he does not
take into account anomic or extraordinary circumstances. One example of this would be
331
For a concise discussion of the domestic political situation in the Weimar Republic, especially
from an organizational point of view, see Peter Gay, Weimar Culture: The Outsider as Insider (New York:
W. W. Norton & Co., 2001), 16-22.
332
See Allport, Nature of Prejudice, 42-46.
182
the years immediately after global cataclysm, such as World War I, which raised new
questions and altered global and national societies. Another example, on a much more
micro level, is economic anomie, such as hyperinflation. In a stable society, without the
pressures of international isolation or economic devastation, Allport’s framework makes
sense. The interwar period, however, was not a typical stable situation; the rules were
completely rewritten by World War I, and this requires a consideration of Allport’s
theory before a generally stable society existed.
In the postwar world, and Germany in particular as a losing power, the identity
that first had to be defined was a wider circle usually associated with less-salient identity.
In this way, the period between 1919 and 1926 represented an inverse theoretical
framework for Germany vis-à-vis the rest of the world. The introduction of the League
of Nations and postwar recovery necessitated a more interconnected milieu, so the
starting point for German identity salience was in reference to, in this case, Western
Europe and other nation-states. The construction of German national identity—and how
it fit into the international matrix—was essential for stable society to emerge, thus
beginning the process of “normal” in-group identity formation.
The development of German identity as it applied to the international milieu
happened as quickly as it did, in part, because of the advance of communication and
information dissemination. The amount of discursive space devoted to identity
construction in newspapers, letters-to-the-editor, and essays or lectures allowed
nationalist ideas to foment and reach wider audiences; the case study of Lübeck’s 1921
Nordische Woche readily demonstrates this conversation. The use of print enshrined the
183
ways in which Germany sought global reintegration, whether it was through a Festschrift
or by-laws of an identity-based organization like the Nordische Gesellschaft. As
Benedict Anderson pointed out, the printed discourse about Germany and its economic
and cultural ties to Scandinavia and, by extension, the rest of the world, allowed an
“imagined community [to be] confirmed. . . . [the reader] thinks of the representative
body” that expresses itself and consumes a “cultural product.”333 The international
conversation, available in print and through interpersonal communication, itself became
culture and the performance of national identity in reference to a larger, global
community.
Between 1926 and 1929, Germans were in a better position to fashion a national
identity apart from how the nation-state fit into international politics (or, more aptly, how
it was prevented from participating). Up until the stock market crash of 1929, Germany’s
main cultural negotiation was domestic, shoring up cultural in-groups amongst the
population. This could even be extended to differentiating German culture from
Scandinavia or other European identities, which had been consciously and repetitively
linked during the first half of the decade. This did not represent a desire to culturally or
economically break with the other countries surrounding the Baltic. Rather, this
demonstrated the fact that, by 1929, the association between Scandinavia and Germany
was accepted or even taken for granted by the Nordische Gesellschaft executive board.
This view helps explain the focus on more local notions of identity—referring back to
Allport’s explanation of the coalescence of prejudice—became so prevalent after 1926.
333
Anderson, Imagined Communities, 32-33.
184
Additionally, it helps explain the continued obstruction of political fragmentation and the
increasing role extremist parties, particularly the NSDAP, claimed by 1928 and after.
The later part of this chapter will deal with the changes after 1933 and the Nazification of
German society at large leading up to World War II.
The Nordische Gesellschaft and the End of the 1920s
The Nordische Gesellschaft continued to solidify its niche in Lübeck and
northwestern Germany as a leading cultural voice, constructing relationships with
Scandinavia and providing programming to demonstrate how those ties were both natural
and necessary. The Society continued to sponsor lectures and film viewings that spoke to
its mission. For example, beginning in late January 1926, the organization sponsored a
series about the “Russian Volk in the past and present;” topics included analyses of
classic Russian literature, the current socialist movement, and “The Realization of the
Ideas of the Intelligentsia in Today’s Russia.”334 The persistent interest in Russia, which
at times was considered outside the parameters of “Nordic” nations demonstrated that, at
the core, the Baltic Sea remained central to economic and diplomatic overtures, for the
potential benefit of Germany in general and Lübeck in particular. Although, as
aforementioned, Germany had largely re-entered international politics by 1926, this
development was still fragile, and the sense that a variety of relationships must be
cultivated “just in case” remained. Considering the business possibilities associated with
334
Notice to Membership from Dr. Timm, 16 January 1926. Hansestadt Archiv Lübeck,
Handelskammer zu Lübeck 144: Nordische Gesellschaft in Lübeck 1921-1932. Translation mine from the
original German: “Die Verwirklichung der Ideen der Intelligenz im heutigen Russland.”
185
the new Soviet state, the inclusion of lectures on contemporary Russia was, in a way, a
calculated move.
Film showings were another way for the Nordische Gesellschaft to remain frontand-center in cultural activity. In conjunction with the Lübecker Lichtspielgemeinde
[Cinema Community of Lübeck], “Nordic” films such as Zum Gipfel der Welt: Die
Mount-Everest-Expedition im Jahre 1924 were shown for a nominal entrance fee, which
was lower for members of the Society.335 Other films or documentaries were shown as
well, such as Gluten am Nordpol [Gluten at the North Pole] and Bei den FidschiInsulanern [The Fiji Islanders].336 This began the process of constructing alike
identities—such as rugged mountain climbers, the “Alpine” way of life, topics associated
with Scandinavia, Germany, and Europe—and “other” identities, excluding them from
the Nordic umbrella and identifying them as something else. Often, as in the presentation
on the Mount Everest Expedition, a contextualizing lecture would follow, or, as in the
case of a presentation on “New Swedish Art [Neuere Schwedischer Kunst],” coordinated
programming with other cultural institutions was advertised.337 This continued into 1928
and 1929, presenting lectures, exhibitions, and performances that were advertised as
“traditional.” One example was an “Iceland exhibition” that featured a slide presentation
about Icelandic painting, followed by a performance of “Icelandic literature in the
335
Notice to membership from Dr. Timm, 25 January 1926. Hansestadt Archiv Lübeck,
Handelskammer zu Lübeck 144: Nordische Gesellschaft in Lübeck 1921-1932.
336
Notices to membership from Dr. Timm, 6 February 1926 and 7 April 1926 respectively.
Hansestadt Archiv Lübeck, Handelskammer zu Lübeck: Nordische Gesellschaft in Lübeck 1921-1932.
337
Notice to membership from Dr. Timm, 5 March 1926. Hansestadt Archiv Lübeck,
Handelskammer zu Lübeck 144: Nordische Gesellschaft in Lübeck 1921-1932. In particular, this specific
program was presented in conjunction with the Behnhaus , while also drawing attention to the home
institution of the lecturer Dr. Pauli in Hamburg, the Hamburger Kunsthalle.
186
original language” by an Icelandic actress.338 Interestingly, Iceland was not really
considered “Scandinavian” and had not been included in the Nordische Woche
proceedings; rather, it was presented as something different or exotic.
One other way the Nordische Gesellschaft functioned as a cultural ambassador
was the sponsorship of travel. On the one hand, the use of guided tours demonstrated
that, financially, there was an expectation members and the public-at-large could afford
travel outside of Germany.339 On the other hand, this demonstrated how the Nordische
Gesellschaft worked with other groups (such as the Deutsch-Nordischen
Arbeitsgemeinschaft Hamburg and the Überseeclub Hamburg) to put a large group
together and formulate a presence (Figure 1). The use of guided travel tours such as this
also helped expand the sphere of the Nordische Gesellschaft’s influence, which, since
1924, had actively been trying to impact areas outside of Lübeck.340
Lastly, a major way that the Nordische Gesellschaft increased its visibility both
within Germany and outside of it was the continued presence of the Ostsee-Rundschau,
the journal based on subscriptions, which tackled the same types of topics other Society
programming did. The publication of the journal itself aided in the economic mission of
the Nordische Gesellschaft in that it sold advertising space, with a preference for German
or Scandinavian countries. By 1926, the Nordische Gesellschaft’s press bureau, guided
338
Notice to institutional members from Dr. Timm, 2 January 1928. Hansestadt Archiv Lübeck,
Handelskammer zu Lübeck 144: Nordische Gesellschaft in Lübeck 1921-1932.
339
Depending on the length and distance of the trip, tours could cost up to 450 Mark, depending
on mode of transportation, who was leading the trip, and when it occurred. See Figure 1. “17tätige
Sonderreise,” July 1927. Hansestadt Archiv Lübeck, Handelskammer zu Lübeck 144: Nordische
Gesellschaft in Lübeck 1921-1932.
340
Letter to “Den Deutschen Industrie- und Handelstag, Berlin” 19 November 1927. Hansestadt
Archiv Lübeck, Handelskammer zu Lübeck 144: Nordische Gesellschaft 1921-1932.
187
by Walter Zimmermann, began to change its goals. As discussed in Chapter 5, the
Nordische Gesellschaft promoted the connection between Scandinavia and
Figure 6.4:Travel advertisement for NG-sponsored tour, 1930. Image courtesy of Hansestadt Archiv
Lübeck [Handelskammer zu Lübeck 144: Nordische Gesellschaft 1921-1932]
Germany in the wake of Nordische Woche; the creation of the “Nordic Reading Room”
and the compilation of international newspapers, particularly those from Scandinavia did
a great deal to popularize shared political, economic, and cultural principles. By 1926,
however, Zimmermann’s press bureau began to promote Germany to Scandinavian
countries, using the press bureau’s network to “distribute pro-German newspaper articles
by excellent personalities from the north (Dr. Sven Hedin, Professor Gustav Cassel,
etc.).”341 These personalities had been active in connection with the Nordische
341
Letter to Reichszentrale für deutsche Verkehrswerbung from Eschenburg, 6 April 1926.
Hansestadt Archiv Lübeck, Handelskammer zu Lübeck 144: Nordische Gesellschaft in Lübeck 1921-1932.
188
Gesellschaft and its programming. Most importantly, however, Zimmermann’s press
bureau sought to place these articles and essays in foreign newspapers for the benefit of
German interests.342 The nuance here is telling, in that by 1926, at least one branch of the
Nordische Gesellschaft moved from highlighting and emphasizing the concomitant
heritage of Germany and Scandinavia to actively promoting Germany to “the north.”
Due in part to steadier economic circumstances, the emergence of several
business conglomerates guided German business and political interests into the 1930s.
One of these conglomerates was the chemical giant I.G. Farben; in the advertising sector,
a related corporation called the Allgemeine Anzeigen G.m.b.H. (or Ala) established itself
as the major source of advertising interests, led by business personality Alfred
Hugenburg. The emergence of these vast corporations—the “cartelization of culture,” as
described by Peter Gay—pointed to the unresolved tensions between big-moneyed
interests, liberal republicans, and revolutionaries undergirding Weimar society.343 For his
part, Hugenburg painted a luminous figure in economic and political spheres, capturing a
wide swath of the communications industry and attempting to guide public opinion using
those networks.344 Politically, Hugenburg operated on the far right, becoming a leading
This phrasing also appeared in an unsigned, unaddressed draft that included notes from Dr. Timm dated 29
March 1926. Translation mine from the original German: “Ausserdem besitzt das Büro das Alleinrecht zur
Verbreitung von Zeitungs-aufsätzen hervorragender deutschfreundlicher Persönlichkeiten aus dem Norden
(Dr. Sven Hedin, Professor Gustav Cassel, usw.).”
342
Letter to Reichszentrale für deutsche Verkehrswerbung from Eschenburg. In the letter,
Eschenburg emphasized that “German interests [deutsche Interessen] was of utmost importance, especially
in the foreign [Auslande] press. Eschenburg’s use of Auslande rather than fremde is interesting as well,
avoiding the connotation of a completely alien culture or land as compared with Germany.
343
Gay, Weimar Culture, 133.
344
Ibid., 133-134; see also Peukert, The Weimar Republic, 170-171 and 220; Widdig, Culture and
Inflation, 51.
189
member of the German National People’s Party (Deutschnationale Volkspartei, or
DNVP) and hoping to reestablish authoritarianism in Germany.
The Nordische Gesellschaft, and especially its press operations, was an
independent communications operation, though one that operated within the context of
corporatizing interests in Germany. At the same time, communications—especially the
Ostsee-Rundschau and the Nordische Verkehrs G.m.b.H—comprised much of the
Nordische Gesellschaft’s expenditures projected for the 1927 fiscal year.345 By December
1926, the Nordische Gesellschaft corresponded with the general director of the Ala,
discussing not only business terms of a relationship between the groups but also the
“chosen path” taken by the editors of, most especially, the Ostsee-Rundschau.346 On the
one hand, the conversation with the Ala could imply that Hugenburg and his associates
either intended to influence Society-produced and –affiliated literature, including press
releases, or that high-ranking Society officials sympathized with Hugenburg’s politics
and/or goals.
On the other hand, however, the correspondence between the Nordische
Gesellschaft and the Ala could be the negotiations of rivals; support for this conclusion
can be drawn from the fact that, in 1928, the “Ostsee-Presse-Korrespondenz” was sent,
generally free of charge, to 300 German newspapers and magazines.347 In this way, the
subsidiary press branch of the Nordische Gesellschaft could act more as a news or press
345
Voranschlag 1927, n.d. Hansestadt Archiv Lübeck, Neuen Senatsakten 639: Staatsrat Dr.
Grosse—Nordische Gesellschaft 1922-1926.
346
Letter to Thorndyke (Ala) from Board of Nordische Gesellschaft 2 December 1926. Hansestadt
Archiv Lübeck, Neuen Senatsakten 639: Staatsrat Dr. Grosse—Nordische Gesellschaft 1922-1926.
347
Letter to Dr. Cords from Otto Weber, 3 October 1928. Hansestadt Archiv Lübeck,
Handelskammer zu Lübeck 144: Nordische Gesellschaft in Lübeck 1921-1932.
190
release service, much like the Associate Press or Reuters; it also, then had a stake in what
was reported and how. The Nordische Gesellschaft was able to operate outside the
amalgamation of information and business interests like Hugenburg’s Ala to an extent
although they had to deal with each other.
Polarizing German Society and the Turn of the Decade
The interactions between the Ala, the Nordische Gesellschaft, and political
maneuvers highlight German social complexities at the time. The second half of the
1920s was certainly less economically and diplomatically chaotic, yet fundamental
tensions existed in those social sectors. Germany, while relatively independent in terms
of diplomacy and politics, still relied in part on continued good global fortune. An
international emergency, like a war or global depression, could completely reverse any
gains or stability. At the same time, the leftovers of economic catastrophe had created
winners and losers, as Bernd Widdig adroitly explains.348 That industry leaders like
Alfred Hugenburg could aspire to consolidate a huge media empire, for example,
demonstrated that the post-inflationary economy was far from an even playing field, and
that the inflation had not affected every citizen equally.349 By the end of the 1920s, the
focus on shared heritage (especially in the wake of hyperinflation) faded, giving way to
societal divisions, stratification, and the solidification of in-groups.
348
Widdig, Culture and Inflation, 49-52.
Hans Mommsen discussed how elite members of right-wing and ultranationalist parties worked
in tandem with other fringe groups, like the Nazis, hoping to establish a base of support while manipulating
the political system (such as Hugenburg’s idea that Hitler could be used, essentially, as a tool in
government after 1932). See Hans Mommsen and Elborg Forster The Rise and Fall of Weimar Democracy
(Chapel Hill, NC: University of North Carolina Press, 1998) , 334.
349
191
Domestic politics remained polarized, deepening cleavages between the
population. This did not necessarily hinge on traditional notions of class, gender, or even
region, though those categories were certainly factors. Considering World War I and the
subsequent turbulence and decentralization of German society, the ability to connect on
the level of identity was incredibly important, and it often determined the life or death of
political parties and cultural organizations alike. Brian Ault discusses this concept in
detail in his article “Joining the Nazi Party before 1930: Material Interests or Identity
Politics?” which concluded that identity politics was more crucial than materiality in
determining membership in the NSDAP.350 The same was true for identity groups like the
Nordische Gesellschaft, which pinned its very survival on the notion that “[c]ollective
identity is key to fostering commitment to the movement and thus is integral to
explaining mobilization.”351
What makes this important is the fact that Schleswig-Holstein was a region of
wider support for the Nazi Party than generally across Germany. In part, scholars have
pointed out that border regions—and Schleswig-Holstein constituted a contentious border
region dating back to the Imperial period and earlier—often breed more virulent strains
of nationalism. Considering the range of experiences and the way that groups such as the
Nordische Gesellschaft promoted themselves by focusing on economic and cultural ties
between related, complementary, yet competing regions, the late 1920s presented
350
Brian Ault, “Joining the Nazi Party before 1930: Material Interests or Identity Politics?” Social
Science History, Vol. 26, No. 2 (Summer 2002), 277.
351
Ibid. Ault critiques various sociological approaches to explaining political behavior,
particularly from the standpoint of social movements, arriving at the conclusion that identity politics, in
conjunction with other modes of analysis such the Rational Choice (RC) approach and others, more
compellingly explains how the Nazis built a viable support base in Germany at the end of the 1920s.
192
politically divisive conditions based on identity. Even within political parties themselves,
message cohesion was difficult to maintain. For example, the reformulated NSDAP after
1925 briefly attempted to build support in cities (the so-called “urban plan”), leaving
behind the original target audience—rural farmers and the middle class.352 After the
national elections of May 1928 resulted in a lower return for the Nazis, the party
refocused on the message of “Blood and Soil” and the pastoral ideal of the Volk.353
Schleswig-Holstein, and Lübeck in particular, was simultaneously a
manufacturing heartland and rural breadbasket. The emphasis on an identity associated
with “Nordic” nations, such as Scandinavia and others often encompassed this pastoral
history, and some theorists tended to infuse anthropological or pseudoscientific
characteristics with nationalism and local pride. The foundations for these ideas can be
seen in the rhetoric and literature produced for Nordische Woche. Rudolf Kjellén’s
concept of geopolitics, which were included in the Festschrift and in a lecture, explained
how national borders and the character of the people coincided. Therefore, the Swedish
Volk (itself a concept that fused national identity with specific characteristics) behaved
differently than the German Volk and would act in its best interests collectively, whether
it was territorial expansion or business practices.354 Implicit in the concept of the Volk
were racial overtones, though the degree to which they were emphasized varied. For this
reason, although Nordische Woche literature contained some of the language of racialist
352
Mommsen, Weimar Democracy, 334-335.
Ibid.
354
Rudolf Kjellén, “Der Umgang Schwedens in alter und neuer Zeit,” 34-37 in Mahn, Nordische
Woche Festschrift, and Rudolf Kjellén, Der Staat als Lebensform (Leipzig: S. Hirzel, 1917).
353
193
nationalism, there were no indications that the festival was conceived to promote
extremist ideology.
Another important development in polarizing society was the increasing presence
of racial theorists and the application of Darwinist principles to society—Social
Darwinism. Richard T. Gray argued that Weimar Germany, even most of Europe and
other parts of the “western world,” were swept up in scientific notions of race, character,
eugenics, and physiognomics.355 Part and parcel of the movement to describe and
categorize race scientifically—building on the advances of the late nineteenth and early
twentieth centuries—was the community who linked race, physical and mental abilities,
and nationalism, epitomized by such authors as Hans F. K. Günther. For his part,
Günther proposed a way to divide European populations into a type of tribal identity
based on geographic, linguistic, and physical factors; politically, Günther identified with
the far-right-wing sector of society, or what Gray considered proto-fascist.356 For
Günther and other thinkers like him, race was imbued with spirituality rather than simply
tangible attributes, recalling the notion of Heimat.357
355
Richard T. Gray, About Face: German Physiognomic Thought from Lavater to Auschwitz
(Detroit: Wayne State University Press, 2004), 177.
356
Gray, About Face, 178.
357357
For a clear discussion on the elements of Heimat, see Celia Applegate, A Nation of
Provincials: The German Idea of Heimat (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1990); Peter Blickle,
Heimat: A Critical Theory of the German Idea of Homeland (Rochester, NY: Camden House, 2004);
Elizabeth Boa and Rachel Palfreyman, Heimat: A German Dream. Regional Loyalties and National
Identity in German Culture, 1890-1990 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2000); Alon Confino, The
Nation as a Local Metaphor: Württemberg, Imperial Germany, and National Memory, 1871-1918 (Chapel
Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 1997); Willi Oberkrome, “Deutsche Heimat:” Nationale
Konzeption und regionale Praxis von Naturschutz, Landschaftsgestaltung und Kulturpolitik in WestfalenLippe und Thüringen(1900-1960) (Paderborn: Verlag Ferdinand Schöningh GmbH, 2004); James
Retallack, Saxony in German History: Culture, Society, and Politics, 1830-1933 (Ann Arbor: University of
Michigan Press, 2000); and others.
194
By the 1920s, the term “race” became as multifaceted and complicated as Heimat
was, at once “localized and mythicized,” where the national context took on the character
of the local in order to foster connection with the individual.358 Heimat could
simultaneously describe local, national, and international identity, reinforcing the levels
of identity that concerned Nordische Woche in 1921 and the Nordische Gesellschaft.
Heimat, even regional varieties, was a way to reconcile regional difference with national
consensus, and, as James Retallack argued, “provided the means to bridge the gap
between urban and rural areas, insofar as it gave the rural population access to the
national discourse.”359 The nation had to bring together a variety of backgrounds,
especially along regional lines, and it could be used to bring a specific population
together—create a large in-group, in Allport’s language—in reference to the outside
world. Race, operating as a category, could be used in the same way; it simultaneously
included members of a nation and excluded others.
Hypernationalist parties on the right, especially the Nazi Party, and socialpolitical theorists focused on race as a characteristic of belonging, though it was difficult
to positively define. Going back to Günther and his associated ideologues, the desire to
conclusively categorize “races” and discern their physical and intangible characteristics
led to an explosion of anthropological ethnographies of Europe.360 One of Günther’s
358
Blickle, Heimat, 47.
Retallack, Saxony, 168. Though Retallack analyzed the region of Saxony in particular (just as
Applegate focused on the Palatinate), the ideas about how Heimat functioned on national and local levels
are applicable.
360
Though he began writing between 1919 and 1920, Günther’s breakthrough work was
Rassenkunde des deutschen Volkes (München: J. F. Lehmann-Verlag, 1922), which made him a leader in
German ethnography and racial science. He solidified this reputation with the publication and translation
of The Racial Elements of European History (London: Methuen & Co., 1927). For discussion of his ideas
359
195
“races” that were present in Germany was the “Nordic race,” concentrating on
northwestern Germany and Scandinavia and analyzing the physical traits of the regional
population.361 The presence of identity groups in Lübeck and surrounding areas selfdescribed as “Nordic” lent some credence to the idea that Schleswig-Holstein had
different inherent characteristics than, say, Bavaria; coupled with the fact that SchleswigHolstein was a border region, historically caught between Denmark and Germany,
contemporary racial studies opened the door to shift the focus of cultural groups away
from regional notions of identity toward racialized ideology.
Racist or völkisch parties were generally still relegated to the fringe of political
and social life throughout the 1920s, though reactionary protests and frustration with the
Weimar Republic roiled beneath the surface. Until 1929, though, international and
economic forces were enough to prevent extremist views from replacing mainstream,
largely liberal, ideas. This did not mean that völkisch ideology was closeted; increasingly
at the end of the 1920s, racialist and pseudoscientific theorists published and lectured
throughout Europe, and proponents of eugenics policies were common in the United
States, Western Europe, and even Australia. Anthropological studies were combined
with phenomenology or spiritualism to formulate a more transcendent notion of racial
characteristics. L. F. Clauß, a student of Hans F.K. Günther, wrote along these lines,
arguing that race was more about internal attributes and less about physical
in the context of developing Nazi culture, see George L. Mosse, Nazi Culture: Intellectual, Cultural, and
Social Life in the Third Reich (Madison: University of Wisconsin Press, 2003) and Geoffrey Field’s
“Nordic Racism.”
361
Gray, About Face, 178.
196
appearance.362 This fueled debates over how to best discern race—appearance or
disposition—that created tension within the völkisch community (including within the
Nazi Party).
October 1929 witnessed events that proved to catalyze destabilization going into
the 1930s. First and foremost, Gustav Stresemann died on October 3, eliminating a major
figure from the Weimar government and freezing Germany’s complete re-entry into
European and global affairs. Adding to this, beginning on Friday, October 24, the stock
market in New York experienced a catastrophic downturn, losing a percentage of overall
market value. The situation worsened as investors panicked, withdrawing funds, selling
investments, and losing faith in the system. By October 29, global markets continued to
hemorrhage, due in part to the fundamental suspicion people held against the
international economy. The ramifications for Germany were dire. The United States,
through its expansive monetary plans in Europe designed to keep reparation and war-loan
payments flowing, had effectively made itself the creditor of Europe. With the American
economy crippled, the ripple effect meant that tenuous diplomatic and economic
relationships in Germany had nowhere to turn to offset the loss of American capital. The
supportive buttress to the German economy and even its currency collapsed, pitching
Germany headlong into a new abyss of economic crisis with the hyperinflation of 1923
barely in the rearview mirror.
Despite the economic difficulties brought on by global depression, the Nordische
Gesellschaft continued to promote travel, especially to Scandinavia, as an activity that
362
Gray, About Face, 178. Evidence of this is Clauß’s work Rasse und Seele from 1937.
197
could promote cultural literacy. Even in April 1930, well after the initial shockwaves of
the stock market crash six months earlier, the Ostsee-Rundschau produced a pamphlet on
economic output and other work undertaken by the Nordische Gesellschaft with an eye
on the future. Tracing the emergence of the Society through its activity in Lübeck, the
editors (unnamed, though most likely stemming from the board of directors) highlighted
Nordische Woche and the 700-year celebration as milestones both for the city and the
organization. At the same time, though, they discussed how the Nordische Gesellschaft
wanted to go beyond national borders, impacting an international region rather than being
confined to one national context.363 Additionally, they argued, the celebrations had
turned into “German-Nordic rallies [deutsch-nordische Kundgebung].”364 The pamphlet
ended with a view toward 1931 and the hope that the Society and its subsidiary or related
offices would continue the business that had begun during Nordische Woche, adding to
the Nordic events over the course of the year.
This emphasis on “Nordic” events and the statement that local festivals had
essentially become “German-Nordic rallies” demonstrated a subtle yet important shift.
Cultural identity became politicized, and attending rallies (rather than festivals) became a
political activity. To celebrate one’s “Nordic” heritage, in a sense, was a political
statement above all else, and proclaimed one’s membership publicly in that identity. In
all of the discourse and rhetoric surrounding the planning of Nordische Woche and even
the 700-year celebration, focus was explicitly placed on local identity and how that
363
“Wirtschaftliche Ausgabe,” Ostsee-Rundschau, April 1930, p. 1. Hansestadt Archiv Lübeck,
Handelskammer zu Lübeck 144: Nordische Gesellschaft in Lübeck 1921-1932. The pamphlet had no
explicit authors, but the board of directors (comprising of Ernst Timm, Ostsee-Rundschau editor Walter
Zimmerman, Fred J. Domes, Alfred Mahlau, and Prof. Mahn) was listed, including a copy of by-laws.
364
Ibid., p 2.
198
locality fit into the national, “Nordic” or Baltic, and international context. Considering
local celebrations “German-Nordic rallies” implied that more was at stake than simply
commemorating history or even local identity. After 1930, “Nordic” identity began to
take precedence in Society literature and correspondence, indicating that Lübeck’s
centrality to the Society was fading. At the same time, the differing functions of the
organization were delegated to departments, the largest of which controlled publishing
(advertising, essays, and the like) and “cultural” activities, such as festivals and
membership activities (See Figure 6.2).365
Figure 6.2: Organizational Flowchart of Nordische Gesellschaft, 1931. Courtesy of Hansestadt Archiv Lübeck.
Reinforcing this reading is a note from Dr. Grosse, a founding member of the
Nordische Gesellschaft and planner of Nordische Woche (as well as a member of the
Chamber of Commerce, since retired), to Ernst Timm, who had by April 1930 fully taken
on control of the Nordische Gesellschaft as executive director. In his short note, Grosse
365
Flowchart of 1931 Nordische Gesellschaft. Hansestadt Archiv Lübeck, Handelskammer zu
Lübeck 144: Nordische Gesellschaft in Lübeck 1921-1932.
199
critiqued the 1930 edition of the Deutsch-Nordischen Jahrbuch, which highlighted
Society activities as well as cultural endeavors throughout Scandinavia and northwestern
Germany. First and foremost, Finland was completely missing, despite the great care (and
traditional connection to Lübeck as previously discussed) to include Finnish culture; at
the same time, though much ado was made of the Society’s Nordische Woche origins, an
entire portion of the festival—the Deutsch-Nordische Verkehrskonferenz—was
completely overlooked in favor of a new conference, held in Copenhagen in 1930.366
While this may seem a minor oversight and even querulous, what this shows is that the
leadership of the Nordische Gesellschaft was deviating from the initial scope of the
organization as put forth by the founders: reconstructing economic and cultural ties to
countries traditionally bound to Lübeck through commerce on the Baltic and mutually
constitutive cultural productions.
From the outside, though, the first ten years of the Nordische Gesellschaft must be
considered against the backdrop of the postwar years. An opinion essay that appeared in
the Hamburger Fremdenblatt reflected not only on the challenge presented by the
postwar years and subsequent economic turmoil—the “isolation into which Germany fell
due to war”—had been rectified to a small degree, building to larger and more
interconnected networks.367 By utilizing and adapting traditional notions of local,
national, and international identity, Lübeck and the Nordische Gesellschaft had crafted a
366
Letter to Ernst Timm from Dr. Grosse, 2 September 1930. Hansestadt Archiv Lübeck,
Handelskammer zu Lübeck 144: Nordische Gesellschaft in Lübeck 1921-1932.
367
“Zehn Jahre ‘Nordische Gesellschaft in Lübeck’ ,“ Hamburger Fremdenblatt, 12 December
1931. Hansestadt Archiv Lübeck, Handelskammer zu Lübeck 144: Nordische Gesellschaft in Lübeck
1921-1932. Translation mine from the original German: “Ihr Ziel, die Isolierung, in die Deutschland durch
den Krieg hineingeriet, schnell zu beseitigen und alte Beziehungen wieder anzuknüpfen habe sie mit
echtem Hanseatengeist in Angriff genommen.”
200
discourse about Germany and its role in the world. To a lesser degree, Nordische
Gesellschaft programming allowed members (and even would-be members) to reconsider
their more individualized place in the recast contexts. By 1932 and 1933, Germany was
again poised on a precipice of change, sweeping through the nation, affecting localities
and individuals in different ways, and requiring a new set of norms within which German
citizens and organizations had to navigate. The primary focus among these was how to
best serve the German “Aryan” race, with choices and morals based upon a matrix of
racial attitudes. Therefore, to exclude non-“Aryans” became the “right” thing to do for
the overall health of Germany and Germans.
The networks put in place over the course of the 1920s did much to prevent
Germany’s complete isolation, though the Nordische Gesellschaft was certainly not the
only organization with international aspirations. On December 31, 1931, nearly the last
hour of the year, the Nordische Gesellschaft conducted a meeting in which the board of
directors hoped to pilot efforts to avoid a replay of the immediate post-World War I
years.368 1932 promised little but a deepening economic crisis; this time, however, there
was no global plan along the lines of the Dawes Plan or even a currency transition
supported by a strong economy as there had been in 1924. Complicating the issues was
the fact that 1932 was an election year in Germany, with presidential voting occurring in
March and April and federal elections in July and November. With economic forces in
flux, political forces followed suit. It was during the July elections that the Nazi Party—
368
“Rundfrage Neujahr 1932: Die Forderung der Stunde,” 31 December 1931. Hansestadt Archiv
Lübeck, Handelskammer zu Lübeck 144: Nordische Gesellschaft in Lübeck 1921-1932.
201
as well as other extremist parties—saw an uptick in support as the patience for the
Weimar coalition governments ran out.
Nazi Control and Society
The Nazis were finally able to gain electoral power in the late 1920s; their most
effective victory, however, was the July 1932 federal elections, where they became the
largest party in the Reichstag. After Adolf Hitler lost the presidential election of 1932, he
was able to make a play for the office of chancellor, in part because of the position of the
Nazi Party. The ascension of Hitler to the office of chancellor on January 30, 1933,
ushered in an era that witnessed a major shift in normativity. While many of the cultural
and political developments in Germany gradually moved in more extreme directions, the
perfect storm of an aging president and sickened war hero, resurgent global economic
crisis, and the solidification of nationalist rhetoric along cultural lines (especially with the
rise of pseudoscientific or anthropological studies of race) made Nazi power possible.
German society, then, had to be reconfigured in order to fall in line with Nazi ideology,
and organizations and institutions were only maintained if they demonstrated value to the
Reich.
Alfred Rosenberg brought the Nordische Gesellschaft into the Nazi bureaucracy,
in part because of its focus on identity and ideology; there was also the potential to
exploit the groundwork already finished for propagandistic purposes in Scandinavia,
202
especially in spreading Nazi ideas.369
Because of its traditional emphasis on foreign
relations and contact between Lübeck and Scandinavian countries, the Nordische
Gesellschaft was poised to take on a propagandistic role, especially in nations that
seemed relatively impervious to Nazi overtures.370 Fred J. Domes, in 1935, edited Die
Schicksalsgemeinschaft der Ostsee (The Community of Destiny of the Baltic Sea), and
argued in the preface that a “community of destiny” could only be found through the
analysis of individual questions apart from social constructions of commonality (such as
the nationalist rhetoric that was so important in the 1920s).371 The contributing authors,
among them Alfred Rosenberg, went on to discuss the ideal role of Germany in Europe.
Interestingly, though, Domes and Ernst Timm, both influential members of the
Nordische Gesellschaft, focused primarily on their regional affiliations, especially
Lübeck and the Baltic Sea.372 This demonstrated the fact that local leaders were still
preoccupied with how cities and municipalities fit into German racial identity;
bureaucratic leaders like Rosenberg were more concerned with Germany in general and
how it related to other nations. This tension remained a constant challenge throughout
369
For a thorough explanation of Rosenberg’s interest in the Nordische Gesellschaft, see Birgitta
Almgren, Jan Hecker-Stampehl, and Ernst Piper, “Alfred Rosenberg und die Nordische Gesellschaft: Der
‘nordische Gedanke’ in Theorie und Praxis,” NORDEUROPAforum: Zeitschrift für Politik, Wirtschaft und
Kultur, Vol 18 (February 2008), 7-51.
370
Several studies have analyzed Scandinavian nations’ responses to Nazism and specifically the
Nordische Gesellschaft’s role in each country, taking into account the range of political parties including
extremist positions. By and large, scholars argued the Society had little impact in each country, though
international members participated in German festivals. While most combatant countries in Western
Europe had Nazi parties, authors such as Henrik Lundbak argued that other far-right and nationalist parties
in Scandinavia pursued visibility and a voice in international politics in Danish Unity: A Political Party
between Fascism and Resistance, 1936-1947 (Copenhagen: Museum Tusculanum Press/University of
Copenhagen, 2003).
371
Fred J. Domes, ed., Die Schicksalsgemeinschaft der Ostsee (Berlin: Gerhard Stalling,
Verlagsbuchhandlung/Nordischen Gesellschaft, 1935), 3.
372
Domes, Schicksalsgemeinschaft, 35. In fact, Ernst Timm wrote an essay about the role and
tasks of the Nordische Gesellschaft in particular, rather than the bigger picture of the Außenpolitisches Amt.
203
the Third Reich, despite the Nazis’ attempt to portray a single-minded, racially-ordered
state. The existence of the Nordic movement, centered in northwestern Germany, was a
subtle indication that even the Aryan identity was more complex than ideologues and
officials let on.
In fact, Hans Friedrich Blunck (who had two plays included in the 1936 version
of the Volksspiel und Feier guide) focused the foundational work of the Nordische
Gesellschaft in Lübeck, which had only recently been allowed to spread outward to the
rest of Germany and become entrenched in law and government.373 This contention—
that the Nordische Gesellschaft’s work had been previously underground, so to speak—
implies that some of the directing members of the group felt the political and cultural
environs of Weimar Germany would not accept a more ideological interpretation of
“Nordic”-German relations. It also indicates that the Nordische Gesellschaft perhaps
entertained more of the racialized conceptions of identity than was initially apparent.
Part of the Nordische Gesellschaft’s transition from regional association to
bureaucratized ideology lay in Rosenberg’s control of the organization. The original
directing committee was essentially forced to resign by the end of 1933, with Hinrich
Lohse, the Gauleiter of Schleswig-Holstein, taking control directly under Rosenberg in
September 1934.374 Lohse took the title of “President and Leader of the Nordische
Gesellschaft (Oberpräsident und Leiter der Nordischen Gesellschaft),” while Ernst Timm
373
Hans Friedrich Blunck, “Das Deutsch-Nordische Schriftstellerhaus: Worte des Grußes,” in
Domes, Schicksalsgemeinschaft, 43.
374
Jacobsen, Außenpolitik, 488-489.
204
was then titled executive director (Reichsgeschäftsführer).375 Timm was still able to
publish with and speak for the Nordische Gesellschaft but had no actual power in the
organization. Rather, he was asked to stay out of Lohse’s way.376 In this way, the
Nordische Gesellschaft was wrested from the control of regional leaders and placed under
Rosenberg, who aimed to make the group reputable within the Nazi bureaucracy. The
shift that had begun at the turn of the decade—where Dr. Grosse had felt it necessary to
contact Dr. Timm—was no longer subtle.
The other way the Nordische Gesellschaft was increasingly ideological was
through its explicit association with the ideas of Hans F. K. Günther and his student
Ludwig Ferdinand Clauß, early proponents of the “Nordic Idea” (Nordische Gedanke).
They produced superficially dispassionate, yet competing ethnological and
anthropological interpretations of race and how to determine racial qualities. Clauß
argued that race, especially the Nordic race, was expressed through personality and
characteristics rather than appearance, which made it possible for even siblings to “often
feel each other as absolutely foreign, as a foreign race.”377 He felt that race was more
ephemeral, a soul rather than slate of set characteristics. On the other hand, Hans F. K.
Günther advocated the concept that race was a physically-expressed characteristic, that
one could outwardly identify another person’s “race.”378
375
“Fragebogen für Genehmigungsantrag,” 30 May 1938, courtesy of DKZ collection, Hoover
Institute, Stanford, CA, Box 227.
376
Jacobsen, Außenpolitik, 489.
377
Ludwig Ferdinand Clauß, Die Nordische Seele (Berlin: J. F. Lehmann, 1932), 8.
378
Hans F. K. Günther, Der Nordische Gedanke unter den Deutschen (Berlin: J. F. Lehmann,
1927).
205
“Nazified” Festival
As with other organizations and cultural institutions in Germany, “Nazified”
policies were put in place. This extended to what could be considered the Nordische
Gesellschaft’s area of expertise—festivals and spectacle. It was through public
performance that political and cultural entities expressed their perspectives. Clearly, the
Nazis were no different, and the Nordische Gesellschaft operated in much the same way.
Public spectacle was necessary to make Nordic identity important in Nazi Germany,
because as Brigitte Almgren and others argued, “As recently as the 1920s, it was by no
means a foregone conclusion that the Nordic idea would be integrated into the Nazi
ideology.”379
In lieu of local festivals or commemorations such as Nordische Woche and the
700-year celebration, the Nordische Gesellschaft began to sponsor a yearly Reichstag,
where lecturers, speakers, and increasingly party members espoused the ideological
importance of the Society in the service of the nation. Even affiliated groups, such as the
Plattdeutsch Volksgill [Low German Society] and its theatre-performance arm
Niederdeutschen Bühne [Low German Stage], were used to show that “it [was] appointed
to perform work for the purposes of National Socialism’s cultural renewal of the empire.
National Socialism leads us back to the source of our strength, to our foundations and
folklore, and to the values of the Heimat and the healthy bases of all cultural life.”380 This
379
Almgren et. al,, “Rosenberg und Nordische Gesellschaft,”6. Translation mine from the
original German: “Noch in den 1920er Jahren war es allerdings keineswegs ausgemachte Sache, dass der
nordische Gedanke in die nationalsozialistische Ideologie integriert würde.”
380
“Werbevorstellung der Niederdeutschen Bühne auf der Freilichtbühne,” E. Hinrichs, n.d.
[August 1933]. Hansestadt Archiv Lübeck, Neues Senatsakten 1660: Plattdeutsch Volksgill zu Lübeck.
Translation mine from the original German: “Die Niederdeutsche Bühne will durch diese Aufführung nicht
206
sentiment was echoed in the 1934 “Six-month plan,” where the unnamed author
emphasized that “It is assumed that the Nordische Gesellschaft is not an organization for
its own sake, but only a means to promote the ideas represented by it. Basically therefore,
any non-essential activity, which has the sole purpose of propagating the society, should
be avoided.”381 The final nail in the coffin of the original founders’ vision was complete;
the Nordische Gesellschaft, at all times, was only in existence for the promotion of the
Nazi Party.
The ideological debates, which pitted anthropological, biological, cultural, and
political conceptions of race against each other, defined Nazi ideology and ideologues. It
was in this way the personalities of Alfred Rosenberg, Josef Goebbels, Heinrich
Himmler, and others emerged to demarcate the parameters of acceptable identity. As
early as 1936, Günther claimed that the Nordische Gesellschaft was the “racial idea
[Rassegedanke] in Gobineau’s sense.”382 In many of the speeches at Nordische
Gesellschaft congresses or functions, the Nazis were explicitly hailed as the saviors of the
Nordic Idea (and, indeed, the Nordic race). At the Third Imperial Congress of the
Nordische Gesellschaft in June 1936, speaker Erich Hilgenfeldt stated that, although “the
German Volk had been alienated to the Nordic Idea before 1933,” the National Socialists
nur erneut ihr Können beweisen. Das hat sie kaum mehr nötig. Sie will vielmehr zeigen, in wie hohem
Masse gerade sie berufen ist, im Sinne der Erneuerung des Reiches durch den Nationalsozialismus
kulturelle Aufbauarbeit zu leisten. Der Nationalsozialismus führt uns zu den Quellen unserer Kraft, zum
Boden und Volkstum, das heisst zu den Werten der Heimat und den gesunden Grundlagen alles kulturellen
Lebens zurück.”
381
“Arbeitsplan der Nordischen Gesellschaft für die nächsten sechs Monate,” 1934. Hansestadt
Archiv Lübeck, Neues Senatsakten 1.2 2468: 1 st Reichstagung Nordische Gesellschaft (1934). Translation
mine from the original German: “Es wird davon ausgegangen, daß die Nordsiche Gesellschaft nicht eine
Organisation um ihrer selbst willen ist, sondern nur ein Mittel, um die von ihr vertretenen Ideen zu fördern.
Grundsätzlich muß deswegen jede nicht unbedingt notwendige Tätigkeit, die nur den Zweck hat, die
Gesellschaft als solche zu propagieren, vermieden werden.”
382
Hans F. K. Günther, “Zur dritten Reichstagung der Nordischen Gesellschaft,” Rasse III, Heft 6.
207
viewed it as “self-help” and integral to “public welfare.”383 By 1937, the Nordische
Gesellschaft was added as a sponsoring group with editing powers of the journal
Rasse.384 The Nordische Gesellschaft thereafter associated itself with the Nordische
Bewegung and the Nordische Ring, which utilized and expanded the work of Clauß and
Günther, and its members were afforded a special subscription price.
Rasse reported on the Nordische Gesellschaft’s congresses every year, although
Nordische Woche was not explicitly mentioned. In addition, lists of Zeitschriften for
affliliated (or, possibly, racially approved) organization consistently list Der Norden (the
renamed monthly missive of the Nordische Gesellschaft) and Nordische Rundschau as
places to further research and read about advances in racial and eugenic theory, especially
the Nordic movement. The Nordische Gesellschaft increasingly published and sponsored
books dealing with a variety of facets of “Nordic culture,” including Der Norden Lacht:
Humor des Nordens (The Northern Laugh: Northern Humor). The forward of the book,
published in October 1938, linked even unique humor to the formation of a Völkisch
identity, saying: “The Volk cannot manage without humor.”385 Race, it appeared,
pervaded all characteristics and activities.
The yearly congresses held by the Nordische Gesellschaft, dealt with a specific
aspect of German-Nordic culture. The Second Congress, for example, focused on
383
Erich Hilgenfeldt, “Der Nordische Gedanke in der deutschen Wohlfahrtspflege: Auszug ans der
Rede auf der dritten Reichstagung der Nordischen Gesellschaft in Lübeck, Juni 1936,” Rasse Heft 7/8
(1936), 286-287.
384
Lutzhöft argued that Clauß, in fact, was much less ideologically sympathetic to the Nazi party
and that he did not want his work to “serve any political party:” Lutzhöft, Nordische Gedanke, 47.
Whether or not this is true is debatable, but Günther’s work was much more in line with Nazi policy than
Clauß’s was in general.
385
A. Eskil Avenstrup, Der Norden Lacht: Humor des Nordens (Berlin: Wilhelm Limpert-Verlag,
1938), 7.
208
Lübeck and its history. A wooden three-dimensional model of the Altstadt was carved
specifically for the event, as well as a renovation of the iconic Holstentor. The Fourth
Congress of the Nordische Gesellschaft, in contrast, was a traveling tour of
archaeological digs in Northern Germany and Denmark.386 It was meant to be a short
introduction for Nordische Gesellschaft members to applications of Nordic thought and
an analysis of the influence Nordic architecture of prehistory on Germany. The 5th
Congress in late June 1938, in contrast, was more like a Nazi conference or rally,
Figure 6.5: 1935 model of Lübeck's Altstadt, now housed in the Holstentor Museum. Picture from author's
collection.
386
Alexander Funkenberg, Haus und Hof im Nordischen Raum (Lübeck: C. Kabitzsch,1937).
This congress was carried out in conjunction with the Sixth Nordic Archaeological Meeting in 1937,
discussed in Steffen Stummann Hansen, “The Wandering Congress: The Sixth Nordic Archaeological
Meeting in Denmark 1937,” Acta Archaeologica, Vol. 74, No. 1 (Oct. 2003), 293-305.
209
which was comprised of two days of upper echelon officials speaking.387 For example,
Nordische Gesellschaft regional directors spoke (including, interestingly, Ernst Timm)
with keynote speakers Alfred Rosenberg on Monday, June 20 and Heinrich Himmler on
June 21.388 At the same time, though, there was the sense that foreign participants in the
event would go back and tell their friends and neighbors what they had seen of Germany
for themselves.389
By 1938, the Nordische Gesellschaft was firmly entrenched in Nazi bureaucracy
under Alfred Rosenberg, designed to serve propagandistic and ideological purposes. This
can be seen in a memo from December 1936 where “suggestions” for a speech opening
an art exhibit in Lübeck focused on the “importance of Nordic beauty ideals and Nordic
thought” in contrast to the “degenerate” Expressionist art of the postwar period.390 The
memo went on to detail that a strong nation holds onto its ideals, implying that the chaos
of the early 1920s could be traced to “the people’s” detachment from their traditional
archetypes of art and beauty. The Nordische Gesellschaft was celebrated as an
established part of the Nazi government that affected relations with Scandinavian
countries and mobilized the regional populations of Germany with offices in all corners
387
Nordische Gesellschaft, Tag des Nordens (Lübeck: H.G. Rahtgens, 1938), back cover. DKZ
collection, Hoover Institute, Stanford, CA, Box 227.
388
Ibid.
389
Letter from Hermann Funk, 23 June 1938. Hansestadt Archiv Lübeck, 1.2 Neues Senatsakten
2473: 5th Reichstagung der Nordsiche Gesellschaft.
390
Letter to Dr. Boehmcker from Wolff, 6 December 1936. Hansestadt Archiv Lübeck, Schulund Kulturverwaltung 699: Die Reichstagungen der Nordischen Gesellschaft in Lübeck 1936-1940.
Translation mine from original German: “Ich erlaube mir deshalb, als Grundgedanken Ihrer Ansprache zu
empfehlen: Die Bedeutung des nordischen Schönheitsideals und des nordischen Gedankens auch für die
bildende Kunst, auszugehen wäre von der Entartung des nordischen Schönheitsideals in der
expressionistischen Kunst der Nachkriegszeit (z.B. Barlach, Kolbe, usw) die zugleich auch zu einer
Volksentfremdung der Kunst geführt hat. Kunst muß aber irgendwie volksverbunden und volksnah
bleiben, da der Künstler ohne Gemeinde nicht denkbar ist, (siehe Mittelalter, Dürer usw). Ein Volk kann
aber nur gedeihen, wenn es seiner Art und seinen Idealen treu bleibt.
210
of the nation. In 1941, press releases celebrated the twenty years of the Nordische
Gesellschaft hailed it as “developed by the initiative and energy of imperial leader Alfred
Rosenberg to a full-scale organization” which “instructed the care of interstate
(zwischenstaatlichen) relations with the north and the support and deepening of Nordic
thought.”391 The early work of the Nordische Gesellschaft, and the early founders’
visions, were all but forgotten.
Hamburg’s Nordische Woche, 1938
Nordische Woche 1938, held in Hamburg, was different from Nordische
Gesellschaft Tagungen (congresses) because it was aimed at the general population rather
than members. The event was planned by the Nordische Gesellschaft bureaucracy,
requiring paperwork to ask for and receive permission to host the event from the
Deutsche Kongress-Zentrale in Berlin. In a letter from 1 October 1938, for instance, the
“Commissioned Manager (Beauftragter Geschäftsführer)” of the Hamburg Nordische
Gesellschaft explained that “numerous events are laid to better effect from different
places the same week” than a day-long conference.392 Press releases announced some of
the planned activities for Hamburg’s Nordische Woche (in conjunction with “folkloric”
societies) as well as a rally for the Nordische Gesellschaft.393
391
“20 Jahre Nordische Gesellschaft,” Diplomatisches Bulletin, 15 September 1941, courtesy of
DKZ collection, Hoover Institute, Stanford, CA, Box 227.
392
Nordische Gesellschaft Hamburg-Kontor, 1 October 1938. Courtesy of DKZ collection,
Hoover Institute, Stanford, CA, Box 227.
393
“Nordische Woche in Hamburg,” 15-23 October 1938, press release, courtesy of DKZ
collection, Hoover Institute, Stanford, CA, Box 227.
211
From the outset, the Nordische Gesellschaft took visible control in the
organization of Nordische Woche. Official correspondence regarding Nordische Woche
originated with or was received by the Hamburg Nordische Gesellschaft office, including
maps and registration forms for both Nordische Woche and the Nordische Gesellschaft.394
In addition to Hamburg’s Nordische Woche, the Nordische Gesellschaft hosted its annual
congress in Lübeck in June, 1938. In its application for approval, the Nordische
Gesellschaft estimated its attendance would include approximately 300 German citizens
and 200 “foreigners.”395 In some ways, this number seems small, especially when one
takes into consideration the ambitions for both the organization itself and the Nordische
Woche it planned for later in the year. Invitations and press releases were sent to other
states in Germany, demonstrating a desire to host a formal, yet popularly-attended event,
although some state leaders expressed a wish for more warning.396
The program for Nordische Woche 1938 was not a Festschrift in the style of
Heinz Mahn’s booklet commemorating Lübeck’s Woche. The booklet included on its
back cover the wish of the organizers that participants and recipients act as advertisers,
providing word-of-mouth to assure “participation of the friends living in our town and
those from the lands of the North.”397 Advertisements from Hamburg’s businesses were
largely absent, making the booklet purely functional to guide participants through the
week rather than serving an economic or collectible purpose. The advertisements that
394
DKZ collection, Hoover Institute, Stanford, CA, Box 227, Nordische Woche 1938 folder.
“Fragebogen für Genehmigungsantrag,” 30 May 1938, courtesty of DKZ collection.
396
“An den Reichsgeschäftsführer der Nordischen Gesellschaft Herrn Dr. Ernst Timm,” 31 May
1938, courtesy of DKZ collection.
397
Nordische Gesellschaft, Führer durch die Nordische Woche in der Hansestadt Hamburg vom
15 bis 23 Oktober 1938 (Hamburg: Nordischen Gesellschaft, 1938), back inside cover.
395
212
were included a list of Hamburg’s museums, travel to Denmark sponsored by the
Nordische Gesellschaft, and books by Hans Freidrich Blunck.398 In addition, the booklet
directed potential participants to visit the Hamburg Nordische Gesellschaft office to
purchase entrance tickets for lectures, concerts, theater performances, or films; the prices
for each event were included in the itinerary.399
The booklet itself opened with a note from Karl Kaufmann, the superintendent
(Vorsteher) of the Hamburg Nordische Gesellschaft. In it, he expressed the desire to
make Nordische Woche, “dedicated to Nordic thought and the significant achievements
of the people of the north” a yearly event.400 He discussed how the festival would
provide a connection between Hamburg and Scandinavia, including the aid such a
connection would provide in the “future destiny of the [German] people and the people of
Europe.”401 Following this note, an article about the “Nordic Idea and the Nordische
Gesellschaft” exalted the role of the European person in the past and the future, claiming
that “They [those of Nordic blood] plow up the ground of the past and new life arises in
new form. . . . A thousand years later, the European person discovers and conquers the
world.”402 The article ended by tying together the resurgence of the [Northern] European
with the work of the Nordische Gesellschaft, which sought to “educate the German
person of the consciousness of Nordic thought on the one hand . . . [and] on the other
398
Nordische Gesellschaft, Nordische Woche 1938, 19-20. The booklet was more of an
advertisement for the Nordische Gesellschaft, selling its ideas and ideology.
399
Ibid., back cover and 6-14.
400
Ibid., 1.
401
Ibid.
402
C. A. Claussen, “Nordischer Gedanke und Nordische Gesellschaft,” in Nordische Woche 1938,
2.
213
hand care for the relations with the north,” embodied in the form of Nordische Woche.403
In this way, the goals of Hamburg’s Nordische Woche were clear and fit within the
scheme of Nazi diplomatic ambitions.
What was considered “Nordic” was expanded in Hamburg. For example, the
“Nordischer Abend” on October 16 was comprised of “songs and music from Norway,
Sweden, England, and Finland.”404 By October 1938, Hitler had annexed portions of
Czechoslovakia, Austria, and moved back into the Rhine in order to consolidate all
people of Nordic (and especially German) blood. Including England in a heritage of
cultural achievement can be easily construed as a political move, especially in a festival
that could presumably attract international attention. If England was linked to Germany
culturally, politically, and diplomatically, an alliance (or England’s neutrality) in the
event of war would be more likely. Whether or not English representatives were invited
to Hamburg’s Nordische Woche, though, is unclear.
Hamburg’s Nordische Woche events often included plays or performances that
harkened back to classical Greece or medieval Europe, creating the illusion of a generic
European heritage. Rather than emphasizing the achievements or environs of specific
nations, the plays and selected topics highlighted common foundations of European
culture. For example, Sophocles’ “Antigone” was performed on October 18.405 The
previous day, a play by Wilhelm Schöttler called “Nibelungen-Not” was performed,
403
Claussen, “Nordischer Gedanke und Nordische Gesellschaft,” 3. It should be noted that
Claussen cited Hitler’s Mein Kampf when describing the cycle of humanity, and that, in many ways, the
Nordic man would be capable of changing history.
404
Nordische Gesellschaft, Nordische Woche 1938, 7.
405
Ibid., 9.
214
bringing to mind the Niebelungenlied and Wagner’s Ring cycle.406 Lectures on aspects
of Nordic culture, such as Finland’s industry, were present as they were in 1921, but with
greater emphasis on its relation to Germany, rather than Hamburg or Lübeck..
Hamburg’s Nordische Woche seemed to look more into the future than Lübeck’s
Nordische Woche. It presented an interesting amalgam of past and future, rather than
focusing on the present and its constructions of the past. One way that Nordische Woche
in Hamburg fused past and future was through lectures and events that paired “Nordic”
culture with a German writer or painter. One of the free lectures discussed Danish
pictures of Goethe and portrayals of Goethe in the Danish context.407 While the text of
the lecture was not included, it was presented on a day that featured an Ibsen play and an
analysis of Ibsen, Björnson, and German drama.408 In the same vein, a lecture dealt with
“Nordic Language and its Germanic Characteristics.”409 On the last day, the City
Orchestra and Philharmonic performed a Sunday concert featuring the “Nordic Masters”
of music, especially Brahms and Grieg.410
Continuities, Contrasts, and Conclusions
By 1938, the Nordische Gesellschaft featured regional offices spread throughout
Germany. The central office, though, was still located in Lübeck. The reason for this is
not clear. One could presume, for instance, that it would be easiest to locate the offices
of the Nordische Gesellschaft in Berlin amidst the other central offices staffed by the top
406
Nordische Gesellschaft, Nordische Woche 1938, 8.
Ibid., 11.
408
Ibid.
409
Ibid., 12.
410
Ibid., 14.
407
215
levels of Nazi bureaucracy. It could, however, denote that regionalism still persisted to
an extent, and the proximity of Lübeck to Scandinavia fit in more with the goals of the
Nordische Gesellschaft than a move to Berlin would. It also could indicate that the
Nordische Gesellschaft, and its patron Alfred Rosenberg, were not only poorly
understood, they were marginalized in the context of Nazi bureaucracy and influence.
The way that Nordische Woche was executed in 1921 differed from 1938. In
1921, for instance, Scandinavian exhibits were often presented by representatives of each
country or industry.411 The focus was on forging ties between the countries, both
diplomatically and economically. In 1938, however, they were presented in reference to
how they were similar to or part of German/Germanic culture. The links were more
cultural, based on similitude and how Germany could incorporate these elements into a
prosperous, flourishing, Nordic culture. This subtle difference speaks volumes,
especially when one considers the role the Nordische Gesellschaft played in presenting
and maintaining a specific interpretation of German culture and its relationships to the
“Nordic” race. Taken in comparison to Nordische Woche 1938 in Hamburg, Lübeck’s
festival was less ideological. This is not to say that the racialist elements did not exist in
Lübeck. Rather, the speakers and lecturers who danced with potentially racialist
language and rhetoric represented a minority that was not yet mainstream in Weimar
Germany.
Registration for Nordische Woche 1938 and other events followed Nazi protocol,
including who sponsored the event rather than an ad hoc committee. In this case, Alfred
411
Recall, for example, the booklet produced by the Åbo, Finland chamber of commerce.
216
Rosenberg was listed as the main sponsor of the festival.412 While he sponsored the
event, Rosenberg was not listed as a speaker. Lübeck’s Nordische Woche, on the other
hand, had the look and feel of a truly community-based festival. The amount of regional
advertisements and list of supporters from Lübeck and the surrounding areas contrasted
directly with Hamburg’s festival. The messages were much more filtered in 1938,
especially because of the leaders of the Nordische Gesellschaft. Race was an important
element of Nordische Woche 1938, one that was possible due to the political and
international environment at the time. Much of the language that described the events
was introduced into the vernacular by Hans F. K. Günther (especially the constant use of
the phrase “Nordic Idea”).
This Nordische Woche was, in some ways, much different than its predecessor
from 1921. However, while Lübeck’s Nordische Woche had the appearance of everyone
pitching in to organize (such as advertising, exhibiting, and contributing to the planning),
Hamburg’s Nordische Woche had the appearance of being planned by the Nordische
Gesellschaft, the Nazi bureaucracy, and affiliated organizations.413 In fact, the very
visible presence of the Nordische Gesellschaft represented a difference. While it could
be argued that Nordische Woche 1921 spawned the Nordische Gesellschaft, the society
was the clear predecessor to Nordische Woche 1938. It is hard to say whether or not
Hamburg’s organizers wished to recreated Nordische Woche 1921, or if the festival name
was a coincidence. Further research needs to be done on both Woche in Germany to
412
DKZ collection, Hoover Institute, Stanford, CA, box 227, Nordische Woche 1938 folder.
Nordische Gesellschaft, Führer durch die Nordische Woche in der Hansestadt Hamburg vom
15. bis 23. Oktober 1938 (Hamburg: Kontor der Nordischen Gesellschaft, 1938).
413
217
illuminate how successful either festival was and how each event was carried out. In
addition, the papers of Hinrich Lohse, Oberpräsident of the Nordische Gesellschaft after
September 1934, warrant further study in how the Nordische Gesellschaft truly fit into
Nazi society. The festivals demonstrate how the public was mobilized to receive and,
presumably, retransmit a specific cultural message. More than simple event-based
histories, both Nordische Woche represent an intersection of German culture, foreign
diplomacy, and the desire to at last adopt a cohesive cultural and national identity.
Once World War II became a reality, the Nordische Gesellschaft represented a
potential avenue into Scandinavia to ensure peace—or at least quiet—to the north. There
is little evidence that the Nordische Gesellschaft of the Nazi era was at all effective in
swinging “brethren Nordics” to support the Nazi party. Those who did were in the
minority, such as Vidkun Quisling, and had their own challenges in their home countries
over the course of the war.414 By 1942 and the March 28 (Palm Sunday) bombing by the
British Royal Air Force, the Nordische Gesellschaft found its headquarters destroyed and
many of its files, as well as the “Nordic Reading Room” burned. The Society relocated
to the holiday town Travemünde (technically part of Lübeck) located on the Baltic Sea;
while it continued to publish Der Norden through 1944, by and large the Society’s
influence, however slight, was destroyed. The cultural forays into Scandinavia that had
been forged in the wake of World War I were now annihilated in the course of global
conflagration, leaving Lübeckers and Germans in general to rebuild during occupation
414
Joachim Joesten wrote extensively, and contemporaneously, of the Nazi threat toward
Scandinavia (including Sweden, Denmark, and Norway), and argued that Scandinavians were largely
committed to keeping the Nazis out of their territory, even discounting the “Nordic” commonality between
them racially. See Joachim Joesten, “The Nazis in Scandinavia,” Foreign Affairs, Vol. 15, No 4 (July
1937), 720-728.
218
and a bisected nation-state. Circles of identity would again be tested economically,
politically, and culturally, lasting well into the 21st century.
Chapter VII
Conclusion:
German Society Tested by War
On September 1, 1939, German soldiers marched into Poland much as they had
marched into other European countries beginning in 1936. Aided by the RibbentropMolotov pact (the German-Soviet Non-aggression agreement), Nazi Germany incurred
no risk of retaliatory action originating in the Soviet Union. Polish resistance held on for
a month, but the Nazis ultimately added a new district to the Reich. Germany’s invasion
of Poland did gain declarations of war from Britain and France, reintroducing the
challenge of war twenty-one years after the last shots of World War I. German
nationalism and culture, formulated over the decades following World War I, faced a
challenge that would either reinforce its character or force another drastic identity crisis.
That Germany entered another war at all, with pockets of virulent support, could
imply a successfully coherent national identity founded on racial and cultural belonging
built through ideological paths provided by regional and local groups like the Nordische
Gesellschaft. What this ignores, however, is the complexity of German society even in
the midst of an authoritarian regime. Even at the highest levels of government, members
of Hitler’s inner circle competed with each other to promote their vision for the new
Germany. One can see this, for example, in the early rivalry between the SA and the SS,
219
220
which ended with an SS ascendant and the SA’s relegation to a subsidiary component of
the Nazi bureaucracy.
At the local and regional levels, the competition between states and cities for
prominence in national affairs continued throughout the 1930s and even throughout the
war. Berlin, of course, enjoyed dominance as the capital city of the Reich, but Munich
promoted itself as the center of the Nazi party. Hamburg continued to grow as a
commercial and cultural center in northwestern Germany, gaining territory and status
even as Lübeck lost it.415 For this reason, local organizations like the Nordische
Gesellschaft became incredibly important as regional representatives in an overarching
bureaucracy.
This study has analyzed the layers of social, cultural, and national identity and the
ways individuals in Lübeck constructed and navigated them. The post-World War I era
presented an extraordinary period when social norms could be rewritten, in part because
World War I itself was a watershed moment and in part because reckoning with it was
unprecedented. Further complicating matters for Germany was the widespread economic
crisis of hyperinflation compounding the trauma of defeat. Focusing on an area outside
traditionally-studied cities, such as Berlin and Hamburg, and regions such as Bavaria or
the Palatinate is important, because it provides a more complete picture of the variety of
experiences in Weimar Germany. Uncovering the differences between German regions
415
Artikel II, §6 of The Greater Hamburg Act of 1937 [Gesetz über Groß-Hamburg und andere
Gebietsbereinigungen] formally ended Lübeck’s status as a free city-state, incorporating instead into
Schleswig-Holstein to compensate Hamburg in an exchange of territory with Prussia. This demonstrates
that regional identities continued to play a major role in German domestic politics. It was with this same
act that Altona and Harburg basically became suburbs of Hamburg and part of its political entity. See
Anthony McElligott, Contested City: Municipal Politics and the Rise of Nazism in Altona, 1917-1937 (Ann
Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 1998).
221
also sheds light on the commonalities that made up German nationalism, something that
still is not fully understood.
The cultural import of the economic structure, of regional festival, and of identitybased clubs and organizations is often undervalued, which is precisely why studying
them in relation to each other is so important. So often, studies narrowly focus on a
“social fact” such as the economy, to borrow a phrase from Durkheim, to understand how
that particular element affects society and historical agents. One of the main themes this
dissertation addressed was how intertwined economy, society, and culture were in
identity formation. Individuals, even common people who had little status or material
power, actively participated in negotiating, constructing, and mobilizing this identity,
especially within smaller local communities. At the same time, as I demonstrated in the
earlier chapters, attempts to recast identity began not with local but with national identity,
challenging the conventional wisdom that people perceive of their group membership in
increasingly wider concentric circles.416 This is not to say that more inclusive group
memberships, such a national identity, has primacy or means more to individuals than
family or community memberships. Rather, negotiating or reformulating a meso level
identity is an easier undertaking than identities that are traditionally more exclusive. The
way Lübeck fit into German national identity was easier to determine once that national
identity was established after World War I.
416
Allport, in particular, provided a graphic representation of these concentric circles of identity,
arguing that as the circle gets “bigger” (i.e. more inclusive of more members), the “potency of in-group
membership” is less compelling, See Allport, Nature of Prejudice, 43.
222
Another overarching theme this dissertation tackled was Germany’s transition
from liberal democracy to Nazi dictatorship through the lens of a cultural organization.
Often, the impulse in German history (indeed, in much of twentieth-century history) is to
divide the chronology into distinct epochs, such as World War I, the Interwar Period, and
after 1933. While I have followed this model to an extent, I also attempted to complicate
the neat distinctions between 1919 and 1933. A number of scholars have pointed out the
complexity of German history between the world wars, even arguing that political
changes at the governmental level only unevenly affected everyday Germans up until the
onset of World War II.417 However, what constituted “everyday Germans” depended on
the degree to which Nazi conceptions of identity accepted them. There were very
obviously groups who found themselves outside the Volksgemeinschaft Hitler and other
leading Nazis promoted—Jews, Roma, Africans, and others. Yet at the same time, what
comprised the Volksgemeinschaft was ambiguous. Who counted as an “Aryan?” How
did “Nordics” fit into the “Aryan” identity, and were they superior as Rosenberg and
others claimed? Was there a distinct hierarchy within the “Aryan” identity?
My focus on Nordische Woche and the Nordische Gesellschaft demonstrated that
labels, while important, are inherently cultural and can be manipulated. The debates that
surrounded naming Nordische Woche clearly showed that planners and participants
wanted to find a label that resonated with a wide audience yet signaled specific meaning
to that audience. The meaning of “Nordic” in 1921 was designed to recall traditional
417
See Eric A. Johnson and Karl-Heinz Reuband, What We Knew: Terror, Mass Murder, and
Everyday Life in Nazi Germany. An Oral History (New York: Basic Books, 2006); Marion Kaplan,
Between Dignity and Despair: Jewish Life in Nazi Germany (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1999); and
Detlev J. K. Peukert, Inside Nazi Germany: Conformity, Oppression, and Racism in Everyday Life (New
Haven: Yale University Press, 1989) for some insightful examples.
223
linkages around the Baltic Sea associated with the Hanseatic League. The postwar era
presented Lübeck with chance to recapture that history and status while simultaneously
forging its future in a new Germany. Due to specific economic and social constraints,
Lübeck could not hold a perpetual Nordische Woche. The emergence of the Nordische
Gesellschaft solved this problem, to the extent that it continued what the festival
started—negotiating identity in national and international contexts.
The Nordische Gesellschaft also confronted challenges the planners of Nordische
Woche did not have to. Nordische Woche was set for a finite time period, while the
Nordische Gesellschaft had to contend with changing political, economic, and social
circumstances over the course of decades. Additionally, the messaging of the festival
was easier to control, in part because of its short time frame. The society by its very
nature was a collection of individuals who had their own agendas and visions for the
future, complicated by a growing membership and evolving cultural conditions such as
racial pseudoscience and political polarization. Periodic macro-level problems, such as
global depression or the rise of extremist parties like the Nazis, affected the ways local
identities were constructed and incorporated into the national whole. It also affected the
tenor of larger regional attitudes, in particular Schleswig-Holstein, which had a higher
rate of support for the Nazi party than elsewhere in Germany prior to Hitler’s
appointment as chancellor. By the late 1920s, publications and other activities promoted
by the Nordische Gesellschaft revealed similar shifts in its message.
The prewar years of the Third Reich was analogous to the early 1920s, when
national identity was again reconstituted according to changing norms. Nazi conceptions
224
of race, rather than political enfranchisement or the desire for a steady international
situation, prevailed as the dominant narrative framing the way the nation was organized.
This is not to say that racial theories were unified or even in agreement. Nazi ideology
was hardly coherent, even contradictory at times in regards to gender, labor, and society.
During the early to mid-1930s, public spectacle and political theatre did as much to
define or challenge established notions of identity forged during the Weimar Republic.
One example was the 1937 “Degenerate Art” exhibit designed to call attention to
unacceptable modes of cultural expression and infuse them with ideological conventions,
especially about race. Just as Nordische Woche sought to highlight the historical
connections between a weakened Germany and Scandinavia in 1921, Nazi-era festivals
sought to firmly establish Nazi ideas as tradition. Unlike Nordische Woche, however,
Nazi prescriptions of identity tried to be top-down, rather than a web of public consensus.
The Nordische Gesellschaft became a tool for identity formation, whether it was
after Nordische Woche or during the Nazi period. As a cultural group, it too had levels
upon which it operated, mirroring society almost as a microcosm. The executive board,
which controlled the day-to-day functions of the organization such as maintaining
financial solvency, collecting dues, recruiting or extending membership, and scheduling
events, represented the public face of the group. Yet, individual members could
influence the types of events by voting with their participation or maintaining active
membership. Shrinking membership rolls would indicate a fundamental disagreement
with the direction of the Society. The gradual shift from historical notions of “Nordic”
identity, at least as it was expressed by Nordische Woche, was as much a symptom of
225
who joined the organization as well as who rose to prominence within it. The Nordische
Woche of 1938, put on in Hamburg instead of Lübeck, was vastly different in tone,
sponsorship, and itinerary. At the same time, though, the second Nordische Woche
reflected social, cultural, and political needs as much as the first one had; those needs
were simply different in 1938.
Further research needs to expand beyond this study and examine how successful the
Nazis were in their appropriation of cultural groups such as the Nordsiche Gesellschaft
once World War II began. How did the war affect cultural groups? Were they impacted
differently depending on their locations? How did the Nazis use them during wartime,
and did it differ from the period of identity formation prior to the war? All of these
questions expose subtle shifts in everyday life in Germany, especially regarding
economic, social, and cultural policies. At the same time, they question how German
identity was negotiated regionally and nationally during wartime, and how wartime was
fundamentally different from the interwar period in Germany.
The wartime activities of the Nordische Gesellschaft warrant further investigation,
not only in Scandinavia but within Germany. Lübeck remained an important concern for
many members of the Society, but nationalism received more public attention once the
Nazis took over. By 1940, Nazi Germany occupied much of Western Europe, including
Denmark and Norway. How did everyday Germans in Lübeck and elsewhere view the
occupation? How did this affect the Nordische Gesellschaft’s programming, and was this
echoed elsewhere in Germany?
226
The Nordische Gesellschaft’s activities largely came to an end by March 28,
1942, when the RAF bombed Lübeck in a predawn raid, leaving much of the city in
ruins. The Palm Sunday bombing etched an indelible mark on Lübeck, bringing the war
to the doorstep of people less accustomed to being in the thick of things. A memorial
remains in a chapel of Marienkirche, leaving the melted bells where they fell after
crashing through the belfry the day of the raid (Figure 1). A replaced stained glass
window shows Lübeck aflame after the bombing (Figure 2). The main shopping
thoroughfare in the Altstadt, Breitestraße, also suffered damage, as did most of the city
center and the outlying district of St. Lorenz; the headquarters of the Nordische
Gesellschaft was completely destroyed, including the Reading Room and the archives.
After the raid, the Nordishe Gesellschaft moved its headquarters to Travemünde, the
Figures Figures 7.1 & 7.2: Marienkirche bells (left) and replaced stained glass window (right). Pictures from
author’s collection.
227
resort district of Lübeck on Baltic Sea. While Der Norden remained in publication until
1944, the Nordische Gesellschaft never recovered. Lübeck remains an important yet
understudied location in Germany, a cultural city outside the boundaries of larger, more
famous cities. Throughout its lifetime, though, Lübeck was a city-state, a western
borderland with Denmark, and later an eastern border with the GDR. Its story can serve
as a model that nationalism, cultural identity, and social realities are a complicated web,
one that constantly is reevaluated and reinterpreted.
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