University of Birmingham Was nicht im “Baedeker” steht Smith, Camilla DOI: 10.1215/0094033X-4269910 License: None: All rights reserved Document Version Peer reviewed version Citation for published version (Harvard): Smith, C 2018, 'Was nicht im “Baedeker” steht: exploring art, mass culture and anti-tourism in Weimar Germany', New German Critique, vol. 45, no. 1, 133, pp. 207-245. https://doi.org/10.1215/0094033X-4269910 Link to publication on Research at Birmingham portal Publisher Rights Statement: Checked for eligibility: 05/09/2018 General rights Unless a licence is specified above, all rights (including copyright and moral rights) in this document are retained by the authors and/or the copyright holders. 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Take down policy While the University of Birmingham exercises care and attention in making items available there are rare occasions when an item has been uploaded in error or has been deemed to be commercially or otherwise sensitive. If you believe that this is the case for this document, please contact UBIRA@lists.bham.ac.uk providing details and we will remove access to the work immediately and investigate. Download date: 06. Apr. 2021 https://doi.org/10.1215/0094033X-4269910 https://doi.org/10.1215/0094033X-4269910 https://research.birmingham.ac.uk/portal/en/publications/was-nicht-im-baedeker-steht(5094e8c3-e54e-4cf6-981a-219fd7fde871).html Pre-proof stage, accepted article. Was nicht im “Baedeker” steht: Exploring Art, Mass Culture and Anti-tourism in Weimar Germany Deutschland scheint das klassische Land der Reisebücher und Reiseführer zu sein. Das hängt damit zusammen, dass der Deutsche seit alten Zeiten den Drang in die Welt hat, und ebenso, wie er sich fremde Literaturen aneignet, sammelt er auf jährlichen Reisen ferne Städte und Landschaften. [Germany appears to be the classic country of travel books and tourist guidebooks. This is because Germans have always felt the urge to explore the world. And just as they collect foreign literature, they also gather distant towns and landscapes on their annual travels]. - Albert Goldschmidt, “Grieben Verlag” in Der Querschnitt 1929.1 On a single magazine-page from 1930, the viewer is confronted with two photographic images of a Venetian street peddler and a German tourist, both captured by the photographer Margherita Stevenson-Heinsheimer. The German tourist holds a Baedeker guidebook in his left hand, surveying the site before him. He is seemingly unaware of the photographer (Fig. 1). Contrastingly, the street peddler is caught sucking on his pipe, his goods slung over his shoulder. Slightly bent, he turns to look off-camera. His unshaven face, peek cap and ill-fitting trousers differ markedly from the smart suit and trilby sunhat of the Baedeker tourist. Considered together, as the viewer is invited to do, these two photographs signify the differing attitudes towards travel developing during the closing years of the Weimar Republic. Stevenson- Heinsheimer’s image of the German tourist viewing popular attractions signaled a figure to be mocked. Conversely, the photograph of the anonymous Venetian street peddler represented a form of “authenticity” sought by a traveler hoping to experience the city “off-the beaten track”. Both Stevenson-Heinsheimer’s photographs appeared on a single-page in the journal Der Querschnitt next to an article entitled, “Italiener in Venedig” (“Italians in My thanks go to peer reviewers from New German Critique for their helpful comments. 1 Goldschmidt, “Grieben Verlag,” 758. 1 Venice”), by Pietro Solari.2 In this article Solari argues that Italians who visit Venice hate to use guidebooks, as they feel self-conscious. Non-Venetian Italians want to appear like locals and strive to “blend in”. Despite expecting its readers to draw analogies between articles on diverse topics that the journal offered, these analogies ultimately tended to lean towards familiar conceptual categories, one of which was travel.3 In this case, the layout of the article suggests the reader should firmly consider Stevenson-Heinsheimer’s photographic images as part of Der Querschnitt’s narrative sequence about Italian tourism. Her photograph unambiguously labeled “Deutscher” (a German), suggests the extent of debates regarding the function and status of the guidebook in post-war Germany, which appeared in a journal that sold some 20,000 copies a month by 1925.4 Perhaps Germany could no longer lay claims to being this “classic land” of travel books and tourist guidebooks during the 1920s. Or the type of travel experience Baedeker offered was simply too old-fashioned. As one of Germany’s longest running “dynasties”, Baedeker travel literature continued to uphold its dominance within the tourist industry during the embryonic years of the Republic.5 With their high-quality maps, lengthy indices, detailed historical descriptions and star-ranking system, the middle class reader could “trust” the precise and authoritative descriptions found in Baedeker guidebooks. But by the late 1920s a backlash had developed. In 1927 three years before Stevenson- Heinsheimer’s photograph appeared in Der Querschnitt, the Reichstag Deputy Social Democrat, Anna Siemsen, had scathingly noted how Baedeker guidebooks offered only a certain view of a place that almost entirely ignored its “darker sides”.6 As a result, that same year, a series of alternative travel guidebooks appeared on the market published by the Piper Verlag based in Munich. This series self-consciously attacked the Baedeker monopoly branding itself Was nicht im “Baedeker” steht (What’s not included in “Baedeker”). Despite adopting the same red and gold-embossed covers as Baedeker, rather than focusing on canonical historical sites, the Nicht “Baedeker” 2 Solari, “Italiener in Venedig,” 760-62. 3 For a lucid discussion of the journal’s editorial strategy and how this relates more generally to the cross-section and montage as coding forms of knowledge in both cultural and sociological fields see, Cowan, “Cutting through the Archive”, 1-40. 4 Sicks, “Der Querschnitt oder: Die Kunst des Sporttreibens”, 33. 5 Parsons, Worth the Detour, 13 and 194. 6 Koshar, German Travel Cultures, 65. 2 series deliberately foregrounded contemporary cultural, social and political developments.7 The first Nicht “Baedeker” guidebook from 1927 was written by the Hungarian writer and journalist, Eugen Szatmari (1892-1952), and focused on Berlin (Fig. 2). It was priced at 3.60 RM and enjoyed a print-run of 10,000 copies.8 Its apparent success was marked by advertisements in Der Querschnitt and the subsequent publication of other Nicht “Baedeker” guidebooks; Vienna (1927) by Ludwig Hirschfeld; Munich (1928) by Peter Scher; and three further works on cities Cologne (1928), Paris (1929) and London (1930) that were written by Hans (Hermann) von Wedderkop. These guidebooks were entirely different to Baedeker in that they offered subjective, sometimes humorous anecdotes about important intellectual circles. In the Munich guidebook for example, the reader is introduced to the séances of parapsychologist Albert von Schrenck-Notzing and the Schwabing artist circles. And in Paris, the bohemian circles of Picasso and Montmartre are explored. The series likewise contravened guidebook conventions by containing solely caricature drawings produced by well-known artists such as Rudolf Großmann, Heinrich Zille and Benedikt Fred Dolbin (Figs. 3, 4, 7 and 9). Indeed, the guidebook’s cover, featuring a drawing by well-known artist Walter Trier, depicting a bear leading a suited-tourist trotting cheekily up the arm of a grinning traffic policeman, signals the subversive nature of the guide (Fig. 2). To date, discussions of the Nicht “Baedeker” guidebook series feature only briefly in historical surveys of travel cultures. Rudy Koshar’s seminal study of the history of German tourist guidebooks features valuable discussions on Baedeker, as well as Nazi tourist sites and West Germany.9 Koshar’s history is crucial in revealing the tensions and conflicts within the middle class Bildungsreise, which resulted in a plethora of new forms of travel experience and specialized guidebooks during the early twentieth century in Germany. More recent research by Daniel Kiecol, Christopher Görlich and Jill Smith investigates the importance of tourism and Berlin in the Weimar Republic, revealing how Berlin consciously sought to cash-in on and 7 Referred to as Nicht “Baedeker” throughout this article. 8 The print run is stated at the front of Szatmari’s guidebook. 9 The series is mentioned briefly in Koshar, Travel Cultures, 77-79 and also in Parsons, Detour, 344. 3 promote, existing tourist attractions in difficult post-war environments.10 Smith’s scholarship in particular demonstrates how the extensive focus on the text and image from one subversive form of guidebook, yields crucial insights into contemporary German attitudes towards sexual identity. Other scholars, whose research has broadened investigations of Weimar tourism to include the study of queer politics and art history, have likewise adopted this model.11 However, such forms of in-depth investigation have yet to include the Nicht “Baedeker” series and suggest how it differed from mainstream guidebooks including Baedeker; what sorts of experience it offered; and what types of readers it was supposed to address. Moreover, the series’ use of caricatures, as well as editorial connections with contemporary journalists and art-dealer circles, has never formed the focus of scholarly investigation. By exploring Eugen Szatmari’s guidebook to Berlin in detail, this article proposes that the Nicht “Baedeker” series shared its readership with the journal Der Querschnitt, set up by the well-known art dealer Alfred Flechtheim in 1921.12 The journal played a formative role in defining attitudes towards both “high” and “low” cultures during the interwar period and contained work by international figures such as Ezra Pound, Marcel Proust and Pablo Picasso. I suggest how Szatmari’s guidebook placed emphasis on cultural discernment, humor and linksbürgerlich sentiment likewise found in the journal, and later reinforced by Hans von Wedderkop’s involvement with both publishing ventures. By highlighting the similarities between travel literature and cultural journals, this article places Der Querschnitt in a new frame of reference and suggests that far from losing an appetite for travel, an important modern art-loving traveller emerged in Weimar Germany. Considerations of the complex ways in which culture - particularly art and visual culture - and guidebooks intersect in this article, raises important questions as to how and what types of works engender forms of viewing allied with, or critical of mass tourism during this period. By the early twenties art criticism had developed a longstanding connection with guidebooks. Baedeker guidebooks in particular served 10 Kiecol, “Berlin und sein Fremdenverkehr,” 161-174, Görlich, “Berlin, die geteilte Stadt” and Smith, “Just how naughty was Berlin,” 53-77. 11 Prickett, “‘We will show you Berlin,’” 157-77 and Smith, “Challenging Baedeker through the Art of Sexual Science,” 231-256. 12 Der Querschnitt was published between 1921 and 1936 and consisted in total of 152 editions. During this period it was published by four different presses, including Galerie Flechtheim Berlin-Düsseldorf between 1921 and 1925. 4 as important bulwarks of German art collections and often contained “choice” reproductions considered representative of Germany’s “best” artists. The Baedeker guidebook effectively promoted a form of cultural elitism, but on a mass scale. As well as this, art and architectural critics such as Adolf Behne (1928), Rudolf Wittkower (1927) and Max Osborn (1928) had contributed to, or written their own guidebooks.13 By exploring the role that art illustrations played in the conception and function of the Nicht “Baedeker” series, this article posits that caricatures by artists such as Rudolf Großmann and Fred Dolbin were deliberately used to draw attention to the limited types of image found in mainstream tourist guidebooks. Such investigations also foreground research dilemmas regarding the function of artwork printed in the press during the Weimar period, and more recently explored in the 2013 Berlinische Galerie exhibition, Strassen und Gesichter (Streets and Faces). This exhibition included a number of original drawings by Großmann and Dolbin, both of whose artwork now fetches high prices on the art market. Consequently, (art)historians sometimes under-emphasize that during the 1920s, these artists’ works in fact served to convey day-to-day realities as cheaply produced Gebrauchsgrafik (commercial graphic art) found in journals, books or newspapers.14 Through a sustained focus on both the text and illustrations found in Eugen Szatmari’s guidebook to Berlin, this article seeks to firmly place these caricatures (back) into their original printed context. Quer durch Berlin as an “Anti-tourist” In one of the first sections of Was Nicht im “Baedeker Steht”: Das Buch von Berlin (The Berlin that’s not in “Baedeker”), entitled “Zwischen Wilhelmstrasse und Platz der Republik-Regierungsviertel und Parlament” (“Between Wilhelmstrasse and the Republican Square-Government District and Parliament”) Eugen Szatmari witheringly describes the German parliament’s ineffectual position: Die Stimmung wechselt alle fünf Minuten. Bald ist alles zerschlagen, bald wieder alles “in Butter”. [...] Was machen die Sozis? Sie sitzen beisammen. So viel wie im Reichstag wird vielleicht nirgends beisammen gesessen. Was 13 For Behne see, Vetter, Offizieller Führer für Berlin, 50-52; for Wittkower in Baedeker on art in Rome in 1927 see, Parsons, Detour, 207 and see, Osborn, Kennen Sie Berlin? 14 Korzen, “On the trail of Dolbin”, 100. 5 geschieht? Wird man ablehnen, oder gibt man nach? Man kann es nicht wissen. Hier kann man es nie wissen.15 “Die deutsche Downingstreet” (the German Downing Street), Szatmari goes on, has its own hairdressing salon, swimming pool and gym.16 His account immediately highlights the Reichstag’s manifest disengagement with the “outside world” and with it, the realities facing Weimar Berlin. By the time Szatmari’s guidebook appeared in 1927, the parliament was on its fifteenth cabinet lead by the Chancellor Wilhelm Marx after Hans Luther had resigned the previous year following a vote of no confidence. To make matters worse, this minority cabinet had little power at all as Article 48 - governing by decree without parliamentary approval - was now in effect, making parliamentary democracy a sham.17 Artist Erich Godal’s accompanying illustration depicting a group of heckling, self-complacent politicians is further indicative of the candid version of Berlin Szatmari’s guidebook constructs for his readers (Fig. 3). This version is not afraid to mock the current state of the Republic and its capital, and was written by a journalist who, having moved to, and reported on events in the city since 1925, was well aware of its failings.18 In contrast, Weimar’s tourist industry was booming. By 1927 tourist revenue had begun to appear on the annual reports issued by Germany’s Chamber of Commerce and Industry for the first time.19 And in order to consolidate and expand its own market, Berlin’s municipal tourist office had taken on the running of the city’s exhibition center, becoming the Ausstellungs-, Messe- und Fremdenverkehrs-Amt (AMFA) (Exhibition, Trade Fair and Tourist Authority). The AMFA’s first official guidebook, Offizieller Führer für Berlin und Umgebung Potsdam und seine Schlösser (Official Guide to Berlin and the Surrounding Areas of Potsdam and its Castles) was quick to follow in 1928. The city boasted a multitude of tourist attractions - the 15 “The mood changes every five minutes. One moment everything is ruined and the next it is all hunky-dory. [...] What are the Social Democrats up to? They are sitting together. Nowhere else do they possibly sit together as much as they do in the Reichstag. What happens? Will they reject or will they concede? One cannot know. One can never know here.” Szatmari, Was nicht im Baedeker Steht. Das Buch von Berlin, 44-45. Referred to as Nicht “Baedeker”: Berlin. All translations are the author’s own, unless otherwise stated. 16 Ibid. 55. 17 For Article 48 see, McElligott, “Political Culture”, 26-40. 18 In the online Berlin addressbook, Szatmari is listed as living at Kurfürstendamm no. 234 in 1925. See Berliner Adressbuch 1925, under ‘Szatmari’, 3228 http://digital.zlb.de/viewer/image/10089470_1925/3262/#topDocAnchor (accessed February 20, 2015). 19 Kiecol, “Berlin und sein Fremdenverkehr,” 164. 6 http://digital.zlb.de/viewer/image/10089470_1925/3262/%23topDocAnchor Kaiser-Friedrich-Museum; the Royal Palaces; the Treptow and Lietzensee Parks and the evening entertainments of Wintergarten theatre - expressly promoted by AMFA’s new guide. Unsurprisingly, the Republic’s capital managed to attract annual tourist figures in the region of 1,600,000, which undoubtedly made the Piper Verlag’s decision to begin their own guidebook series with a candid vision of Berlin, a lucrative one.20 But far from simply advertising tourist sites, Szatmari’s pithy writing style, coupled with the omission of any maps, photographs or currency convertors, suggests that Nicht “Baedeker”: Berlin was aimed at a different type of Germanophone reader. By marketing a series of guidebooks as self-consciously modern equivalents of Baedeker, the Piper series was likely to have attracted Der Querschnitt readers. The scope of Der Querschnitt had broadened during the 1920s from discussing art, to articles exploring all forms of cultural life; with the section “Marginalien” (“At the Margins”) taking a deliberate interest in what was considered Nichtsalonfähig (inappropriate for polite company).21 Consequently, the journal covered both popular and more elite forms of culture. The journal’s editor explained in relation to literature, “Die alten Literatur begreift nicht daß ihre Todesstunde längst geschlagen hat, daß die neue Generation es in erster Linie liebt zu tanzen, Sport zu treiben, zu Reisen und auf ingeniöse Weise Geschäfte zu machen.”22 Travel literature and tourist guidebooks were important topics therefore, as they addressed a type of modern readership, but one that also recognized long-standing German enthusiasm for travel. On the first few pages of the guidebook Szatmari’s reader is confronted with a tangle of congested streets and baffling pedestrian regulations. Both the visual and aural assault of Berlin traffic chaos is vividly described: Wer auf Bahnhof Friedrichstraße ankommt, den setzt der Zug gleich inmitten des heftigsten Verkehrsorkans ab und selbst, wenn er die allerehrwürdigste Autodrosche aufgefischt haben sollte, wird er sogleich ein Bild von dem mörderischen Spektakel bekommen, mit dem Berlin sein Arbeitsjoch zieht, 20 Szatmari, Nicht “Baedeker”: Berlin, 6. 21 For the scope see, Hermann (Hans) von Wedderkop, “Der Siegeszug des Querschnitt”, 91. 22 “Old literature does not understand that its time is up and that a new generation above all else, loves to dance, do sport, travel and do business in an ingenious manner.” Wedderkop quoted in Haacke and Baeyer, Facsimilie Querschnitt, 11. 7 um seine Ohren werden die Schreie der Autohupen gellen, die toten und grünen Lichter der Verkehrssignale in seine Augen blinken.23 By 1920 Berlin was a city of over four million and had expanded to incorporate eight Stadtgemeinde (city districts) creating an urban sprawl that many Berliners themselves felt was frenetic and unconquerable. Szatmari immediately connects this pace to forms of anonymity. No one walks in Berlin, he complains: a Berliner would probably rush past Foreign Minster, Gustav Stresemann, on the street before stopping to recognize him. Conversely, Szatmari’s readers are invited to embark on a “Vormittagsspaziergang durch Berlin” (morning walk through Berlin), but are not offered a pre-planned tourist route, which might have seen them stringently marching along Unter den Linden towards the Brandenburg Gate at one end, and then back towards Berlin’s cathedral at the other.24 Instead the reader should stroll “off the beaten track” in order to avoid the baffling pedestrian regulations and near-fatal numbers of cars in busy tourist areas, and concentrate on the intoxicating effects of urbanity manifest beneath their feet: …denn nichts ist ansteckender als das Pflaster dieser Stadt, der Asphalt ebenso wie die Kopfsteine, und wer erst Jahre hindurch über dieses Pflaster spaziert, von Straßenbahnen darüber hingeschüttelt worden ist, der weiß nichts mehr anderes als Berlin, Berlin.25 It is only through walking therefore, that Szatmari’s reader will get to know the “real” Berlin. During this period, articles on tourism found in Der Querschnitt shared similarities with the Nicht “Baedeker” series. In particular, the journal likewise promoted modes of walking to experience Berlin. In an English-language article from 1929, David Fish proclaimed Berlin “the bummel town”, (“bummeln” meaning to meander), which should be explored “indefinitely” during the evening when “one’s stamina depended entirely upon one’s capacity for drink”. In order to experience the real Berlin nightlife, Fish tells the reader he: 23 “Whoever arrives in Friedrichstraße station is dropped by the train into a whirlwind of traffic and even if he were to find the most venerable taxicab, he would get an immediate impression of the murderous spectacle, the burden of which is dragged by Berlin’s yolk. His ears would be surrounded by car horns and the dead and green traffic signals would flash in his eyes.” Szatmari, Nicht “Baedeker”: Berlin, 4. 24 For an example see, Osborn, Kennen Sie Berlin? 4. 25 “For nothing is more contagious than the pavements of this city, the tarmac as well as the cobbles; and whoever has travelled these streets over the years, whether on foot or rattling over them by tram, will know nothing other than Berlin, Berlin.” Szatmari, Nicht “Baedeker”: Berlin, 195. 8 must avoid the eternal round of the bars and dancing places in the West, these are too international […]. One must explore, get away to the East, South and North; in fact, one must go on a bummel through the city. Only by meandering is Fish able to discover the local pub of famed Berlin caricaturist Heinrich Zille, a student fraternity house full of drunken habitués and an intimate transvestite bar with Japanese interiors.26 Likewise Johannes von Jensen’s article that appeared in the journal the same year describes similar forms of walking on his trip to the city of Jerusalem. In this satirical article Jensen vividly portrays his nightmare- traveling companion, Reinhold Hüttel, who insists on going to all of the main tourist sites and tramping obsessively behind their Greek tour guide. Jensen is mortified by such “Gaukelei” (folly) and scathingly notes, “Hüttel aber nahm es wie ein Evangelium aus dem Munde des Griechen entgegen und memorisierte, bewegte die Lippen wie ein Schulkind das lernte” (Hüttel took every word of the Greek as Gospel and memorized it, moving his lips like a schoolchild who was learning.) 27 Everything that he and Hüttel were told could be ascertained by reading Baedeker and consequently, Jensen concludes, they had probably learned nothing about the city at all. Both the journal and guidebook advocate a similar engagement with quotidian life as a crucial way of extending vision beyond typical tourist sites to perceived forms of authenticity. Jensen’s traveling companion sees nothing of Jerusalem as the tour guide tells him precisely what to view. Jensen’s disapproving article anticipates Roland Barthes recognition that guidebooks likewise provide a filtering experience for their readers. Writing about Guides Bleu (Blue Guides) (first published in 1918 in English and French respectively) Barthes argued that by focusing solely on “sites”, guidebooks reduced tourist experience to the contrived essence of a place and as a result, they perversely did the exact opposite of what they advertised.28 As Barthes explained, “to select only monuments suppresses at one stroke the reality of the land and that of its people, it accounts for nothing of the present, that is, nothing historical, and as a consequence, the monuments themselves become undecipherable, therefore senseless.”29 Barthes’ compelling comments could certainly be applied to editions of Baedeker describing Germany during the 1920s. The 1927 Baedeker guidebook to 26 Fish, “Berlin’s the Bummel Town”, 244-46. 27 Jensen, “Touristen in Jerusalem,” 709-14. 28 Barthes “The Blue Guide”, 74-77. 29 Ibid. 76. 9 Berlin notably almost entirely ignored the young, post-war capital with its new political and economic challenges and instead foregrounded the Rococo interiors of Sanssouci, the late Rococo organ in St. Mary’s Church and the Tea Pavilion at the Belvedere in Schloss Park Charlottenburg. Historic sites such as these were what a German tourist like Hüttel expected to see. However, by doing so, Baedeker was simply out-of-date for Der Querschnitt readers as Stevenson-Heinsheimer’s photograph unambiguously suggests (Fig. 1). Nicht “Baedeker”: Berlin seeks to construct a vision of the city that deliberately eschews focus upon standard tourist sites. The reader is encouraged not only to experience the attractions of glittering, well-off West Berlin, but also investigate the working class districts of Moabit, Lichtenberg and Wedding. A quintessential Berlin weekend into the surrounding greenery at Teupitz, Zeuthener Lake and Saarow is outlined and the Berlin dialect “Argot” explained.30 Szatmari also offers descriptions of the typical Berliner: he is hardworking, heavy drinking and both “cheeky” and “cold” in manner.31 Moreover, the reader might also be swayed to get up during the early morning darkness at 5 a.m. to witness real Berliners trudging to work. Tourists, Szatmari explains, wrongly continue to overlook this side of Berlin: Ein Fremder, der nach Berlin kommt, sieht freilich so gut wie nichts von diesem wahren Wesen der vier Millionen, wenn er nur Unter den Linden spazieren geht, auf dem Kurfürstendamm flaniert, und ganz im Zeichen der sogenannten Sehenswürdigkeiten lebt, als ob der Berliner, als ob das Volk, das wirkliche Volk von Berlin nicht auch sehenswert wäre.32 Szatmari’s emphasis on the quotidian is emphasized through the guidebook’s use of illustrations, a point to which the last part of this article returns in detail. Suffice to say at this stage, the images of hoards of blue-collar “weekenders” lying in the greenery or disheveled touts taunting the police by the Berlin artist Heinrich Zille (1858-1929) that appear in the guidebook, might be understood as tragic and gently mocking expressions of quotidian life (Fig. 4). In 1927 Zille was sixty-nine years old 30 See, “Berliner Wochenende” and “Berliner Redensarten”, in Szatmari, Nicht “Baedeker”: Berlin, 216-17 and 207-13 respectively. 31 Ibid, 195-206. 32 “A stranger who comes to Berlin sees of course as good as nothing of the real existence of its four million inhabitants. If he only walks down Unter den Linden, or meanders down the Kurfürstendamm and concentrates on the so-called landmarks; as if the Berliner, as if the people, the real people from Berlin were not also worth seeing.” Ibid, 195. 10 and his unflinching engagement with Berlin proletariat as artistic subject matter, was well known. The use of his work in Szatmari’s guide powerfully reinforces the guidebook’s professed claims to exploring precisely what Baedeker does not. The visual sensibility expected of the Querschnitt and the Nicht “Baedeker” traveler share characteristics with the flâneur, a figure of resurgent interest during the 1920s. As scholars have pointed out, in outlining their flâneurial experience, writers Joseph Roth and Franz Hessel are quick to establish the flâneur’s visual discernment (and familiarity) of the city, in opposition to the tourist figure.33 The flâneur is drawn to the “dark, seamy corners [of the city] and its neglected populations” and the seemingly mundane, which he purposefully investigates at a slow pace.34 Indeed, for Joseph Roth it is the inconspicuous Berlin newspaper seller and the aimless rise and fall of a swarm of mosquitoes that deserve to be observed.35 By inviting the reader to see Berlin modern types - the “Wirtin” (landlady), the “Spanner” (peeping toms), “Männer in Frauenkleidung” (transvestites), “Berliner Gesellschaft” (Berlin’s high society) and “Künstlervolk” (arty types), Szatmari’s guidebook likewise demands that this reader should “not simply be looking, but be looking at looking” in order to differentiate themselves from the tourist.36 These Berlin “types” are also captured in Zille’s illustrations throughout the guide, thus reminding the reader that this guidebook’s particular authenticity stems from its focus on Berlin residents (Fig. 4). However, as compelling studies on the flâneur have suggested, the figure occupies a complex relationship to mass forms of urban, cultural life. Although the flâneur considers himself distanced and above such (capitalist) structures, the recording and selling of his peripatetic observations reveals his dialectical relationship with them.37 A similar dialectical engagement exists between Nicht “Baedeker”: Berlin and Der Querschnitt readers in relation to forms of mass tourism, which is caught up in the term “anti-tourism”. Dean MacCannell’s formative work on tourism and authenticity from the 1970s moved beyond the polarity of tourism and non-tourism and has 33 Hessel,“Rundfahrt”, 52-134. 34 Susan Sontag, On Photography (New York: Dell, 1977) 55ff as quoted in Gleber, The Art of Taking a Walk, 131. 35 Roth, “Going for a Walk”, in Berliner Börsen-Courier (1921) and “The Ride Past the Houses”, in Berliner Börsen-Courier (1922), both reprinted in Roth, What I saw: 26 and 90 respectively. 36 Fritzsche, “Readers, browsers,” 98. 37 Buck-Morss, “The Flâneur,” 113. 11 subsequently informed discussion relating to the anti-tourist.38 MacCannell argues that in modern society, the notion of authenticity is challenged by unstable social and interpersonal relationships, which break down clear categories of “truth” and “reality”. But, he notes a simultaneous emergence of a fascination for “real life”, which extends towards tourist experience. Achieving authenticity outside of a tourist setting is difficult. More often than not, tourist settings promote a type of conspicuous “backdoor” experience – an experience that is ultimately “staged”. Yet as MacCannell points out, whilst tourists do sometimes see routine aspects of life as it is really lived in the places they visit, “in the give-and-take of urban street life in tourist areas, the question of who is watching whom and who is responding to whom can be as complex as it is in the give-and-take between ethnographers and their respondents.”39 [my emphasis] Szatmari’s guidebook complicates MacCannell’s discussion of authenticity – on the one hand sometimes moving way beyond the structure of any tourist settings completely, but on the other, recording them self-consciously in a guidebook. At no point is Szatmari’s reader asked to relinquish the guidebook format entirely. By using a self-professed “alternative” guidebook, the reader remains wedded to mass tourist infrastructures. Such dialectical engagement is reinforced further by the reader’s encounter with cross-sections of Berlin. Szatmari glides seamlessly from enthusiastic portrayals of popular [tourist] attractions like the six-day cycling races, to discussions of (seemingly authentic) working class drudgery. Likewise Der Querschnitt did not shy away from promoting Grieben or Ullstein guidebooks or package holidays.40 In an article describing German travelers in Italy, it suggested that whilst readers must visit the overlooked towns of Gubbio and Arezzo, they should also partake in tourist kitsch, which took the form of; lying in the sun; drinking wine; eating gnocchi and spaghetti. Doing these things is, “ein viel gedeihlicheres Tun, als in den Galerien die Sternbilder abzuklappern” (something far more beneficial than trudging through 38 MacCannell, “Staged Authenticity”, 91-107. 39 MacCannell, “Staged Authenticity”, 106. 40 For example the advertisement, “Mit Ullstein durch die Welt”, in Der Querschnitt, Band 7, 1927, Heft 4, April; Der Querschnitt, Band 5, 1927, Heft 7, Mai. Advertisements for package deals to Ascona, Bad Ems and the Sanatorium at Grotenburg are abundant in the journal between 1927 and 1928. 12 galleries looking at star-ranked images).41 The journal’s deliberate juxtapositions of mass and elite travel encouraged critical readership. Consequently, Wedderkop and Szatmari ask their readers to become “anti-tourists” a term, which, unlike “flânerie” self-consciously acknowledges this dialectical position.42 And in effect, they ask readers to become aware of the complex ontologies of “truth” that MacCannell associates with modern tourism. This is perhaps not unsurprising, as subsequent studies exploring the term emphasize that “anti-tourism” is not necessarily a position always adopted by an individual traveler, but rather a (temporary) persona that many travelers aspire to achieve.43 In this sense, both movement and consumption remain deliberate for the anti-tourist, whereas for the flâneur, they do not. Within a year of the first Nicht “Baedeker” guidebook, advertisements for the series started appearing in Der Querschnitt and a four-page extract from the second edition – to cities Cologne, Düsseldorf and Bonn – was reprinted.44 The chosen extract, “Köln bei Nacht” (“Cologne at Night”), was reminiscent of Szatmari’s candid descriptions of Berlin and contained details of table dancing, overweight bar- owners and flirtateous New Women prowling around Cologne’s market areas.45 This guidebook was written by Hans von Wedderkop who, since 1923, had also become the editor in chief of Der Querschnitt.46 And his work on both publishing ventures proved fruitful. While remaining the journal’s editor until 1931 Wedderkop also continued to produce guidebooks to Paris, London, Rome and parts of Italy, indicating why, perhaps, Der Querschnitt maintained an interest in anti-tourist and particularly anti-Baedeker forms of travel throughout the late 1920s. The notable commission of journalists as guidebook authors is further indicative of emerging travel trends in Weimar Germany, which reveal an increased appetite for the (re)discovery of attractions closer to home. 41 Wedderkop, “Auch das Alte Italien ist Neu zu Entdecken” [sic] (“Even old Italy is to be Discovered Anew”), 764. 42 For the term, Urry, The Tourist Gaze, 13-14. 43 For interpretations of forms of anti-tourism see, Buzard, The Beaten Track, 6 and Herbert, Monet on the Normandy Coast, 4. 44 Besides the guidebook to Cologne, Düsseldorf and Bonn, there are also advertisements for other editions from the series. For Paris, see, Der Querschnitt, Band 9, 1929, Heft 5, Mai, 365 and Der Querschnitt, Band 9, 1929, Heft 6, Juni, 435. 45 Wedderkop, “Köln bei Nacht,” 707-10. 46 Haacke and Bayer, Facsimilie Querschnitt, 9 and 12 respectively. 13 Das Romanische Café: the Reporter and Travel Writer In a photomontage published in the Berlin Wochen-Spiegel in 1926, a year before Nicht “Baedeker”: Berlin was published, Eugen Szatmari’s head appears alongside fourteen other journalist colleagues, most notably Egon Erwin Kisch, Leo Heller, Karlernst Knatz-Werle, Alfred Kerr and Kurt Pinthus (Fig. 5). Szatmari’s inclusion amongst such well-known figures suggests that by 1926, having regularly contributed to Berlin’s 8-Uhr-Abendblatt, Berliner Tageblatt and Uhu, he was a celebrated member of the city’s writer-critic circles. Indeed, playful descriptions of Victor Hahn, (owner of the 8-Uhr-Abendblatt), Paul Godmann, (correspondent for the Wiener Neuen Freien Presse), and Fred Hildenbrandt, (the feuilleton editor of the Berliner Tageblatt), in a theatre audience described in Szatmari’s guidebook, signal familial connections.47 As a writer and journalist from Bohemia, Szatmari quickly found himself amongst the intellectual circles in the Romanische Café.48 Szatmari notably begins his residency in Berlin in 1925 on Kurfürstendamm, not far from this café. As Shachar Pinsker observes, this part of West Berlin became nothing short of an unofficial “Jewish colony, with the Romanische Café as its parliament”.49 In this same café Hans von Wedderkop, Joseph Roth and Max Herrmann-Neiße, might be found sitting in a room in which complex conversations about “Picasso, chocolate and fascism all ran fast into the other.”50 This intellectual mixture was formative in influencing Szatmari’s alternative vision of Berlin. Appearing half way through the guidebook and designated its own chapter, “Das Romanische Café” or “Der romanische Parnass” (“Romanic Parnassus”) as Szatmari playfully calls it, could be considered to form the (literal) nodal point around which his vision of Berlin converges.51 In a letter written in June 1924, the author and critic Max Herrmann-Neiße proclaimed that the café was now where most of Berlin’s literati spent their time and where he too had whiled away most of a recent bank holiday evening.52 Likewise, journalist Karlernst Knatz-Werle attests to the 47 See, “Wenn der Vorhang sich hebt”, in Szatmari, Nicht “Baedeker”: Berlin, 84-95. 48 Allen Literary Life, 72 and 298 ff. 47. 49 “Berlin between the Scheunenviertel and the Romanisches Café”, in Pinsker, Literary Passports, 124. 50 Weitz, Weimar Germany, 77. 51 Szatmari, Nicht “Baedeker”: Berlin, 114-15. It is noteworthy that more contemporary scholarship draws upon Szatmari’s description of the café as important source material. See, Schebera, Damals im Romanischen Café. 52 The letter dated 16.6.1924 is reprinted in Völker, Max Herrmann-Neisse, 86. 14 importance of the café, composing a song in which the café is deemed a place of “überhitzten Denkens” (heated thinking) and frequented by writers, their pockets bulging with unpublished manuscripts.53 Alongside Knatz-Werle, the heads of two other notable café regulars, Egon Erwin Kisch and Leo Heller, appear in the photomontage (Fig. 5).54 As a Hungarian immigrant who had formally written for the German-Czech Prager Tagblatt during the early 1920s, it is possible that Szatmari found the reporting style of both Czech writer-immigrants Kisch and Heller formative for his guidebook writing.55 Kisch, like Szatmari, had started his career writing for the Prager Tagblatt and after his move to Berlin, appeared regularly in the café between 1921 and 1930.56 Nicht “Baedeker”: Berlin was published the same year as Kisch’s Wagnisse in aller Welt (Ventures around the World). Although not a tourist guidebook - rather a travelogue written under various pseudonyms - Kisch’s work chronicled his travels across the globe with a pronounced anti-tourist emphasis. In Rotterdam, for example, Kisch describes the cheap hotels, sleazy bars and the black quarter of the city and how he mixes with sailors and old prostitutes.57 1927 also saw the publication of Leo Heller’s So siehste aus - Berlin! Skizzen und Bilder aus Berlin von heute [sic], (So it seems-Berlin! Sketches and Images from the Berlin of Today) comprising a series of short reports, recording the extent of the social depravity in the city. Heller traces the fates of the homeless criminal, the suicidal prostitute, the abused tenement housewife and the cocaine dealer. Like Kisch, Heller’s writing was sober and determined, but also full of wit. Heller wrote with an underlying sympathy for the Berlin types he described. Although not traditional guidebooks, Kisch’s and Heller’s commentaries encouraged their readers to explore quotidian urban life in all its complexities. Szatmari likewise deliberately explores Berlin’s social conditions, taking his reader to “Die Unterwelt Berlins” (Berlin’s Underworld) where he visits Kaschemmen 53 Karlernst Knatz-Werle, “Romanisches Café”, in Berlin Wochenspiegel. Berliner Messeamt 11, 1925, 8 and quoted in full in Schebera, Damals im Romanischen Café, 62. 54 See, Quinz, “Das Romanische Café”, 608-10, which offers a compelling description of Kisch’s presence in the café. 55 The Prager Tagblatt reported on political events for the estimated 25,000 Germans who lived in Prague at the beginning of the twentieth century. Segal, Egon Erwin Kisch, 95. 56 Segal, Egon Erwin Kisch, 93-94. 57 Kisch, Wagnisse in aller Welt, 68-69. 15 (low-class pubs) in poorer city areas around Alexanderplatz, Janowitzbrücke, Schlesischer Bahnhof and the working class district of Wedding. He describes the pimps and the prostitutes who sit together in the Uhu bar, as well as the Hundegustav bar owner who wears pyjamas all day under her waitress overall. Here, the young criminals sporting their faded soldiers uniforms, sit alongside the elderly women taking a break from soliciting. The figures Szatmari meets move around the streets after midnight. The prostitutes slink around street corners, whilst the criminals plunge their hands deep into their pockets, pulling their peak caps tightly down over their faces (Fig. 4). And like Heller - who Szatmari notably praises in his guidebook as being: “der größte Kenner und treueste Chronist der Berliner Verbrecherwelt” (the greatest knower and most sincere chronicler of the Berlin underground), the author’s sympathy is made apparent. The reader of Szatmari’s guidebook should not visit such places in order to gawp and judge (like a tourist), instead they should understand the hardships of these Berliners in order to experience what the author claims is “vollkommen echt” (completely real).58 The engagement of journalists in guidebook writing and forms of literary reporting helps draw attention to notable changes in post-war travel trends. Germany saw an increased (re)discovery of one’s hometown or country born out of economic necessity and post-war standardized working models. The latter encouraged the notion that it was one’s “Recht auf Freiheit” (right to freedom), and therefore “Urlaub” (holiday).59 Accordingly, a manifest increase in advertisements appearing for Berlin travel maps in Der Querschnitt coincided with the growing popularity of the journal amongst urban audiences after its production had moved from Frankfurt to Berlin in 1925.60 An excerpt from an advert for Griebens Reiseführer in the journal demonstrates that the important new function of a guidebook was to attract a local audience: Es gibt keinen besseren Maßstab für den Wert von Reiseführern, als das Nachlesen der Daten über eine Stadt, die man selbst genau kennt. Der Führer durch Berlin und Umgebung bietet dem alteingessenen Berliner soviel 58 Szatmari on Heller and on authenticity, Nicht “Baedeker”: Berlin, 135 and 152 respectively. 59 Koshar, Travel Cultures, 74-75 and Keitz, Reisen als Leitbild, 31. 60 For the advertisement for both the Autokarte for Berlin and “Ein Heimatbuch” to explore the city, (528); the new BZ Karte of Berlin, (530) all in Der Querschnitt, 1927, Heft 7, Juni. Noticeable readerships: Kurfürstendamm, Dahlem and Grünewald in Dascher, Alfred Flechtheim, 144. 16 Überraschendes und Wissenwertes in praktischer Anordnung und sachlicher Form, daß man schon daraus den Wert für den Stadtfremden ermessen kann.61 Moreover, commissioning a journalist like Szatmari, whose work was well known to Berliners through his contributions to the 8-Uhr-Abendblatt, potentially guaranteed the guidebook’s further success. By the beginning of the twentieth century it was the newspapers that Berliners turned to first for advice on how to navigate the city.62 As Peter Fritzsche contends, the flâneurial movements of Walter Benjamin and Franz Hessel were already long established journalistic practices. These reporters and feuilletonists avidly collected the debris of the city-occasionals, incidentals and chance encounters, and wrote these up in an unsystematic way as “snapshots” and “sketches”.63 These practices increased during the 1920s with the development of the extended form of literary reportage through writers such as Kisch and Heller. Literary reportage, travel and guidebook writing moved closer together therefore, and potentially sought to address similar readerships, a role likewise acknowledged in visual culture. Otto Umbehr’s photomontage Der rasender Reporter (Racing Reporter) (1926) shows Kisch striding over city and mountain-landscape – master of time and space – his majestic body constructed out of both writing and travel aids (Fig. 6). Umbehr’s image can be considered a celebration of modern technology in the Weimar era, in which the amalgamation of reporter and travel writer played a pivotal role. Similar amalgamations inform Szatmari’s guidebook. Newspaper bylines, “Ziehen Sie keinen grauen Anzug an, der ist Monopol!” (Don’t wear a grey suit, this is boring!), or “Ihre Reisegepäck gefällt auch andere Leute!” (Your luggage will attract other people!) are used as effective warning messages. These are combined with Szatmari’s acute, satirical observations. His comments on contemporary journalists, desperately trying to record up-to-date developments in the Reichstag, are not without a degree of self-irony: Ein Journalist flitzt durch die Wandelhalle und verkündet eine Neuigkeit: in dem Fraktionszimmer der Demokraten hat soeben ein Kompromißvorschlag 61 “There is no better way of judging the value of a guidebook than by reading the information about one’s own city. The guidebook to Berlin and its surrounding areas offers the old-established Berliner so much surprising and useful, practical instruction and factual detail, that this alone could be the measure of its worth for the city’s strangers.” Der Querschnitt, 1927, Heft 7, Juli, 530. 62 Fritzsche, “Readers, browsers”, 92. 63 Ibid. 95. 17 das Licht des parlamentarischen Tages erblickt. Bis er aber zum Telephon stürzt, um die Sensation zu melden, ist die Sache nicht mehr wahr. Der Vorschlag ist nämlich schon abgelehnt.64 Whether Szatmari’s writing-style might be considered politically motivated, is less clear. Notwithstanding his own interest and sympathy for working class Berliners demonstrated in his guidebook, there is little evidence to suggest that Szatmari’s work followed a similar vein to that of Kisch, whose writing became increasingly informed by his Marxist beliefs.65 Neither does Szatmari appear to have been a member of the German or Hungarian Communist parties. Yet his previous publication, Das Rote Ungarn; Der Bolschewismus in Budapest (Red Hungary; Bolshevism in Budapest) (1920), is unambiguously political. Das Rote Ungarn describes the catastrophic trajectory of the Hungarian Soviet Republic, written in Germany in November 1919, after revolutionary insurrection in both countries had failed. Szatmari charts how Hungary’s new centralized forms of power caused food shortages and high inflation, and recounts how counter-revolutionaries were brutally executed. After the Republic collapsed, a wave of further violence virtually eradicated former Communist leaders and their supporters. Szatmari’s book unequivocally concludes, “Ungarn war das Versuchslaboratorium Europas für die bolschewistische Seuche” (Hungary became Europe’s experiment laboratory for the Bolshevist disease). However, he admits that the processes of implementation were mostly to blame for this devastating outcome; the political ideals are not necessarily at fault.66 Eight years on, Szatmari’s criticisms of Germany’s own new form of social democracy appear more guarded. As part of the Romanische Café’s journalist circles, he was fully ensconced in Republican intellectual life. Yet, if Nicht “Baedeker”: Berlin functioned as an anti-tourist guidebook, Szatmari’s lengthy description of these circles suggests a recognition of the ideological “dilemma” he and fellow café occupants suffered; beholden to, and writing for, the post-war capitalist (tourist) 64 “A journalist shoots through the hallways and announces a new development: in the debating chamber of the Democrats a suggestion for compromise has to come to light. But by the time he lunges for the telephone in order to report the sensation, this is no longer the case. The compromise has already been refused.” Szatmari, Nicht “Baedeker”: Berlin, 45. 65 Despite emphasizing the impartiality of his reporting, Kisch made no secret of his political affiliations. Alfred Flechtheim recalls how he had in fact encountered him reading Marx in the Romanische Café. Schebera, Damals im Romanischen Café, 53-54. 66 Szatmari, Das Rote Ungarn, 4. 18 structures of which they disapproved. Indeed, the café shrewdly even marketed itself as the: “Olymp der brotlosen Künste, der Sitz der Berliner Boheme” (Olympia of starving artists, the throne of Berlin bohemians), and thereby enjoyed the attention and revenue of bus-loads of tourists who came to gawp at the regulars.67 Nicht “Baedeker: Berlin enabled Szatmari to reveal his criticisms of Weimar Berlin from within (the security of) such structures. And in particular Szatmari’s disapproval is notably directed towards both American tourists and models of production and consumption. The consolidation of the Dawes Plan in 1924 had helped Germany secure both substantial loans and corporate investment, as well as stabilize the Rentenmark. However, from the outset, American influence on economic, social and cultural structures was met with varying degrees of censure. In the same year that Nicht “Baedeker”: Berlin was published and less than 20 years after Henry Ford had introduced the moving production line, Fritz Lang visualized the machine as man- eating Moloch in his film Metropolis. Two years later, Kisch went to witness the Detroit Moloch for himself and was duly appalled.68 The impact of America was certainly felt within the tourist industry. Thomas Cook travel (founded 1845) organized some 32 package tours during 1925, 19 of which were directed specifically towards Americans wanting to visit Germany. This figure was set to increase a year later.69 Unsurprisingly, many of these American tourists flocked to Berlin, as is scathingly noted by Szatmari. The author tells his readers that tourists from “Yankeeland” ambush five o’clock tea dances at the Adlon hotel and that the city is now home to a rapidly growing number of (American-style) entertainment venues. Consequently, Berlin is now the most “Americanized city” in Europe.70 Yet upon arriving in the city, Szatmari’s reader is neither greeted with the Fordist efficiency, nor the advertising glamour that he might be led to expect. Rather he encounters the dilapidated “Autos Noahs” (Noah’s cars) and “Klappermühle” (rust buckets) lined up outside Berlin’s main train stations.71 If traveling in such a rust bucket is indeed essential, it is at the reader’s own peril. They should expect to spend hours stuck in 67 Paul Marcus, “Romanisches Café. Der Berliner Olymp der brotlosen Künste”, in the Münchner Illustrierte Presse 14. 4 1929, as quoted in Schebera, Damals im Romanischen Café, 40. 68 Kisch, “Bei Ford in Detroit”, in Paradies Amerika, 259-66. 69 Koshar, Travel Cultures, 76-77. 70 Szatmari, Nicht “Baedeker”: Berlin, 74 and 190 respectively. 71 Ibid. 2-3. 19 traffic on Leipziger Straße one of Berlin’s busiest places, and where the traffic police are utterly helpless.72 Conrad Neubauer’s pen and ink drawing of the traffic interchange at Potsdamerplatz, in which a traffic policeman salutes a defeated colleague standing helplessly under Berlin’s (clearly inadequate) first set of American traffic lights, compellingly reinforces Szatmari’s damning revelations (Fig. 7). Szatmari’s criticism of capitalism extends towards the ubiquitous forms of advertising promoted by the tourist industry. Rather than offering the reader full-page, glossy photographic advertisements for reputable credit institutions or exclusive restaurants like those found in Max Osborn’s Kennen Sie Berlin? (1928), or full-page advertisements for luxury German products such as the AEG (Allgemeine Elektrizitäts-Gesellschaft) Vampyr (AEG vacuum cleaner), Protos Bügeleisen (Protos iron), or Folio-Heizkissen (electric heated cushion) all promoted in AMFA’s 1928 guidebook, Szatmari instead acknowledges the callous determinacy of money (Fig. 8). What sites are visited and where the reader eats and sleeps is governed entirely by financial means; diplomats dine at Hotel Bristol and stockbroker-magnets at the exclusive Restaurant Peltzer. Here, Szatmari tells his reader with scorn, menus are in French and there is simply too much choice. Correspondingly the less well-off eat at the dining chain Aschingers, where there is little choice at all.73 Although Baedeker considered itself above such forms of marketing, the overriding use of full-page advertisements by other mainstream guidebooks during the Weimar period sought to promote Germany as an “incubator of modern lifestyles” and a place worthy of financial speculation thanks to American investment.74 As Szatmari’s guidebook readily implies however, in reality, things were quite different. World trade grew far less quickly than before the First World War and the “hate discount” imposed by the Allies meant that German export markets rapidly shrank.75 Moreover, Germany’s high tax regime meant in fact that the car could only be developed for the mass market during the 1930s and as a result, Berliners had no choice but to continue to drive their antiquated “rust buckets”.76 For all of the opportunities capitalism 72 Ibid. 31-32. 73 Ibid. 66-69. 74 Baranowski, Strength through Joy. 14. 75 Even in 1929 the German share of British and US imports was still only three-fifths of its pre-war level. James, “The Weimar Economy”, 106-7. 76 Ibid.104-5. 20 afforded, Szatmari’s guidebook reveals that the average Berliner did not often experience these. Similar to the writing of Kisch and Heller, Szatmari’s guidebook acknowledged degrees of social reality, made apparent through capitalist disparity. Although Szatmari’s political sympathies remain unclear, his notable inclusion of illustrations by Pressezeichner (press illustrators), as opposed to the usual guidebook glossy advertisements and photographs, could be construed as anti-tourist. Just as literary reportage moved noticeably closer to the guidebook genre during the 1920s, so too did press illustration, which acted as a compelling way to deconstruct the sensual framing of the city through the types of maps and the photographs often found in mainstream guides. The Art of Travel Besides brief discussions about traffic and politics, the focus of Szatmari’s guidebook for the most part, promotes entertainment in all its forms: the cinema; five o’clock tea dances; nightclubs; low-class pubs; theatres; gambling and sporting events. Szatmari excitedly recounts the gold curtains and light effects in the Ufa cinema.77 Readers should witness the stampedes in Berlin’s theatre cloakrooms; the costumes and “pretty legs” of the revue-hall girls and the squabbling amongst actors and critics over beef steaks in the wine bar Schwannecke.78 This season’s theatrical highlights - Austrian operetta diva Fritzi Massay – are also not to be missed.79 Original illustrations by artists Zille, Godal and Conny, as well as Alois Derso, Benedikt Fred Dolbin and Rudolf Großmann reinforce the author’s enthusiasms.80 The subject matter of these illustrations varies considerably. The reader encounters Großmann’s pen and ink drawing of six-day cycling “gladiators” sitting around their changing room (Fig. 9); Zille’s shirking criminal (Fig. 4); Godal’s caricature of the po-faced theatre critic Alfred Kerr and Conny’s ink drawing of a dynamic Jazz band, among many others. These artists were collectively known as Pressezeichner (press illustrators), due to their prolificacy in the contemporary press.81 Indeed, by the time 77 Szatmari, Nicht “Baedeker”: Berlin, 109. 78 Ibid. 85, 106 and 127-31, respectively. 79 Ibid. 112. 80 The front page of the book proudly announces “Mit Originalzeichnnungen” (with original drawings). 81 For the term see, Wirth, Berliner Pressezeichner der Zwanziger Jahre. 5-6. 21 Szatmari’s guidebook was published, the acclaim for Dolbin’s caricature portraits of Weimar celebrities was nothing short of “epidemic” amongst his fellow artists, who were desperately trying to imitate his style.82 Yet the lack of photographs in Szatmari’s guidebook – neither advertising nor otherwise - is unusual during the 1920s. John Urry contends that the ubiquitous use of photographs in guidebooks, points towards persistent belief in the medium’s veracity. Photographs become a powerful determinant of tourist experience by putting a (positive) “spin” on the destination.83 Urry’s comments are certainly relevant to guidebooks in Weimar Germany; both the AMFA’s and Max Osborn’s contemporaneous guidebook Kennen Sie Berlin? (Do you know Berlin?) contained full-page b/w photographs of tourist sites, as well as images of luxury products. A b/w aerial photograph of a sprawling Berlin, alongside a full-page reproduction of Walther Firle’s state portrait of President Paul von Hindenburg, both at the beginning of Berlin’s AMFA guidebook, are examples of illustrations the reader might expect to encounter in a publication trying to promote a modern Germany in tandem with its powerful past (Fig. 10). Both AMFA’s and Osborn’s guidebooks to Berlin also boasted full-page photographs of tourist sites (Fig 11). For example, the photograph of Berlin’s Cathedral in Osborn’s guide connotes an atmosphere of serenity and mystique, rather than the crowded, frenetic character perhaps expected at the heart of a Republic’s capital city. These types of images are decidedly lacking in Nicht “Baedeker”: Berlin and this lack stems from the questions of visual sensibility raised at the beginning of this article. The pitfalls of what was perceived as photographic realism during the 1920s - as photography moved away from Pictorialist imitation of paintings – were certainly recognized at the time by Walter Benjamin and Siegfried Kracauer amongst others.84 82 Quinz, “Das Romanische Café,” 609. 83 Urry, Tourist Gaze, 86. 84 For example see, Benjamin’s essay, “A Short History of Photography” (1931) and Kracauer’s essay, “Photography” (1927). For more recent compelling discussions on photography and assumed veracity in the press, see chapters 2 and 5 in Daniel H. Magilow, The Photography of Crisis: The Photo Essays of Weimar Germany. In his discussion on the photojournalist Erich Salomon’s series Berühmte Zeitgenossen in unbewachten Augenblicken (Famous Contemporaries in Unguarded Moments), Magilow explores how these visual Augenzeugenberichte (eyewitness reports) carefully constructed images of politicians as a means of countering the widespread perceived ineffectualness of Weimar-era institutions. 119-46. 22 If photographic representations in guidebooks conditioned tourist expectations prior to travel, a type of “non-looking” could occur upon arrival. For Kracauer writing in 1927, the saturation of the press – the Bilderflut – with travel images provided a way of masking social relations entirely. Not only is the traveler himself in a perpetual state of “absentmindedness”, but the photographs of the world’s “geographic hideouts” might serve to “occlude one’s perspective with impressions; […] so the world’s ugliness goes unnoticed.”85 Placed next to each other, Margherita Stevenson- Heinsheimer’s contrasting photographs of peddler and pinstriped Baedeker-reader appear to illustrate similar concerns deliberately (Fig. 1). Other photographs by her in the same Querschnitt edition showcase an interest in quotidian Venetian life. No less constructed, her photographs of domestic houses and backstreets full of stray cats demand that readers at least question the types of idealised photographic ‘impressions’ encountered in mainstream guides. Further strategies utilized by the journal involved cleverly juxtaposing so-called documentary “high-brow” photographs alongside artificial forms of entertainment. In one edition from 1927, a view of the row of walled arches and uniform mosaic saints from the Byzantine basilica Sant’ Apollinare Nuovo in Ravenna, is placed on one page beneath the line formation of identical girl dancers ‘Melle Jolly’, on the stage in modern Paris. On a previous page, a photograph of carefree beach gymnastics with protagonists in bathing suits, contrasts starkly with a line of uniformed boys trudging their way through the rain and slush to rescue the spectators of a rainy summer’s sporting event in England.86 Whilst initially absurd, rather than a mindless Bilderflut, these juxtapositions demanded that the reader question the origin and nature of such photographs. The unusual ways in which the journal also included photographic representations of “exotic” places like the Middle East or Asia underscore this further. How articles, graphics and photographs were randomly interspersed in the journal meant that the hierarchical distinction between the “European” and the “exotic,” the “primitive” and the “modern,”’ were often (positively) eradicated.87 Perhaps unsurprisingly, the comic photographic juxtapositions outlined above appeared in the same edition alongside modernist works by artists Juan Gris and Pablo Picasso and 85 See the subsection in Kracauer’s main essay “The Little Shopgirls go to the Movies,” entitled “The World Travelers,” 298-99. 86 For these photographs see, Der Querschnitt Band 7, 1927, Heft 7 Juli. The photos discussed are unpaginated and appear between pages 550 and 551. 87 Michael Cowan explores this idea of the ‘exotic’ in the journal and also compares this briefly to other media. See, ‘Querschnitt Montage’, 35. 23 photographs of anonymous orange sellers from Damascus and shoe sellers from China.88 This use of images contrasted markedly with Baedeker and other contemporaneous mainstream guides, in which comic juxtapositions of this nature did not occur, nor did this seemingly egalitarian attitude towards world culture. In doing so, the journal asked its readers not only to explore questions of photographic veracity, but also think about the context in which photographs appeared and how this might ultimately shape their meaning. Szatmari’s guidebook appeared during the same year as Kracauer’s essay on photography. If the author was likewise encouraging his readers to develop different degrees of visual sensibility, then the caricature drawings found at regular intervals throughout his guidebook might be considered a deliberate strategy. Despite high numbers of photographs in the media during the 1920s, the press often preferred to use drawings, as they were easier to print, keeping costs to a minimum.89 Such ubiquity, coupled with the sustained political failings of the republic, significantly impacted upon widespread belief that caricatures were in fact a more honest representation of contemporary society.90 Indeed, the artist Erich Godal’s notoriety was affirmed by the state’s attack on his work as being dangerously “viel zu echt” (far too realistic).91 Therefore Szamari’s use of Godal’s caricature depicting beady-eyed Reichstag politicians meant that his guidebook immediately conveyed different forms of exposure for its readers (Fig. 3). Such exposure is reinforced by Szatmari’s insistence that Godal could often be found locked in political discussions with fellow artist, Conny, in the Romanische Café.92 In contrast to photographs of disembodied tourist sites, ambiguities surrounding the “real” and ideal do not arise and tourist expectation is likewise not positively framed. Rather the waspish, dynamic lines of the caricature pen-drawings – be they images of traffic wardens, criminals, politicians or cyclists – consistently demand the reader’s critical viewing perspective, thereby continually reinforcing the guidebook’s anti-tourist text.93 88 All of the images discussed above appear in Der Querschnitt Band 7, 1927, Heft 7 Juli. 89 On printing, Korzen, “On the trail of Dolbin”, 98-101, (101 ff. 2). 90 Gay, Weimar Culture, 70. 91 Szatmari, Nicht “Baedeker”: Berlin, 118. 92 Ibid, 118. 93 It should also be noted that some of the other projects with which many of the artists used in Szatmari’s guidebook were involved, offered far more overt social and political criticisms of the Republic. For example, Erich Godal’s series, Revolution (1920) and Rudolf Großmann’s series Cocain- Eine Orgie des modernen Lebens (1925). 24 The championing of press illustrators like Großmann can also be understood as deliberately promoting non-elitist attitudes towards culture that both journal and guidebook shared. The Nicht “Baedeker”: Berlin artists Conny and Godal, along with the artists Großmann and Dolbin, were all associated with the “Flechtheimtisch” (Flechtheim table) in the Romanische Café.94 The table was named after the art dealer and original editor of Der Querschnitt, Alfred Flechtheim, who established a similar artist-table in the Café du Dôme in Montmartre, before the war.95 By the mid-1920s, artists from that circle including Rudolf Levy, Großmann and later Flechtheim himself, had moved to Berlin, where they reconvened in the Romanische Café. The café effectively became an “office” where Flechtheim and Wedderkop regularly met.96 Indeed, the utilisation of café-spaces for the promotion of art and artists was not unusual: dealer Herwarth Walden’s circle had regularly met in Café des Westens before the war and Berlin Dadaists converged around the Schlichter-owned restaurant on the Lutherstraße-corner of Ansbacher Straße. In such spaces, cultural projects were both conceived and managed: in Restaurant Schlichter for example, artist Rudolf Schlichter covered the walls of the dining area with his saleable paintings.97 Crucially, the articles and photographs documenting the Romanische Café - and the Café du Dôme before it – in Der Querschnitt, confirm the importance of the café to the cultural debates throughout the 1920s.98 The numerous articles, photos and drawings by Großmann, Godal and Dolbin that were likewise included, attest to the trenchant role these artists played in the journal’s artistic vision.99 As a regular in the same café who observed Flechtheim’s “big nose”, it might be surmised that Szatmari purposely chose artists connected with this Flechtheim circle and in so doing, cleverly distanced the guidebook from the more elitist forms of culture promoted by Baedeker. 100 Der Querschnitt had in fact begun as an idiosyncratic guide to Alfred Flechtheim’s art dealership in Düsseldorf, and despite its subsequent much-expanded 94 Korzen, “On the trail of Dolbin,” 98. 95 Dascher, Alfred Flechtheim, 170. 96 For office see, Allen, Literary Life, 72. 97 Schebera, Damals im Romanischen Café, 93. 98 For example, Quinz, ‘Das Romanische Café,’ 609 as before and M. Kogan, “Café du Dôme,” 611- 12. See further photographs and drawings of the café in Der Querschnitt, Band, 8, 1928, Heft 3, März. 99 The journal even printed a caricatural portrait of Wedderkop by Großmann with elf-like ears, bulbous shoulders and pursed lips. Wedderkop,“Der Siegeszug des Querschnitt,” 92. 100 Szatmari, Nicht “Baedeker”: Berlin, 123. 25 remit by the mid 1920s; the journal’s underlying emphasis always remained fine art. Monthly editions boasted a dozen or more full-page art reproductions and photographs, as well as articles on artists and adverts for art books and dealers.101 Flechtheim quickly established Der Querschnitt’s orientation towards contemporary French and German modernist artists, with Wedderkop likewise maintaining alliances with what he boasted were the “geistige Elite des Auslandes” (foreign intellectual elites).102 Through its professed cosmopolitanism, both Wedderkop and Flechtheim were keen to differentiate Der Querschnitt from elite art journal predecessors such as Kunst und Künstler. Originally founded by Bruno Cassirer in 1902, Kunst und Künstler was later published by the art critic Karl Scheffler and predominantly promoted German artists influenced by French naturalism.103 Its remit was small, its focus fine art, and it was written by, and mostly for, art critics and dealers. Scheffler and Cassirer also had a regular table in the Romanische Café, which they notably did not share with the Flechtheim circle.104 Conversely, Der Querschnitt promoted developments in art, both old and new, and did so in what was self-consciously classed as a non-elite fashion. Wedderkop explained: Kunsthistorische Beiträge sind unter allen Umständen verpönt, insbesondere solche analytischer Natur, es sei denn, das darin etwas gesagt ist, was bisher noch nicht gesagt wurde, und was sehr lebendig ist.105 In other words, Der Querschnitt’s attitude towards the inclusion of both mass and elite forms of culture extended towards the ways in which the journal should write about art. Accordingly, it promoted cosmopolitan modernist developments in art, alongside photographs, Gebrauchsgrafik (commercial graphic art) and 101 Wedderkop claimed art and its reproductions remained central to the journal’s focus. See, “Der Siegeszug des Querschnitt,” as before, 91. 102 Ibid. 91. Contemporary French writers André Gide, Roger Martin du Gard and René Crevel contributed to the journal. 103 Malcolm Gee, “The ‘cultured city,’” 154. Interestingly, Cassirer and Scheffler collaborated to produce their own guidebook of sorts for the Berlin National Galerie in 1912. Like their art journal, this guidebook foregrounded the work of German naturalists such as Adolph Menzel, Anseln Feuerbach and Max Liebermann. 104 Quinz, “Das Romanische Café,” 609. Karl Scheffler’s autobiography indicates that these café meetings were part of their daily routine (not unlike Wedderkop and Flechtheim in fact). Scheffler, Die fetten und die mageren Jahre, 186-87. 105 “Art historical contributions are ridiculed in all circumstances, particularly those of an analytical nature, except for when the text contains something that has not been said before and something that is very lively.” Wedderkop’s attitude is recounted in an article by Albert Dreyfus, “Picasso (1922),” 56. Malcolm Gee also interprets this article as indicative of the journal’s contrasting attitude towards art and art history, Gee, “The ‘cultured City’”, 167, ff. 39. 26 advertisements.106 As press illustrators regularly contributing to mass cultural journals, as well as artists selling original works, the artists Großmann, Godal and Dolbin were an important part of such cultural inclusivity. Szatmari’s guidebook does not offer lists of famous German collections, star-rank museums, nor does it reproduce choice art from historic collections found in Baedeker. The font size of the text does not change to signal the importance of historic sites. The recommended literature listed in the introduction to Baedeker’s 1927 guide to Berlin places art historian Max Osborn’s 1909 book, Berlin Seine Kunststätten (Berlin’s Art Sites) on the top of its list, followed by books on Prussian palaces and their architects during the late eighteenth century.107 Osborn’s art historical expertise was styles of Empire: Rococo and Baroque, indicating why his foray into guidebooks promoted the city in similarly limited terms. Moreover, in Baedeker’s list of “most important German artists, sculptors and architects since the 1800s”, academic artists such as Walther Firle, Max Klinger, Fritz von Uhde, Adolf Menzel and Anton von Werner constitute the predominant focus, whilst the artistic avant-garde, or artists producing work for the illustrated press are barely represented.108 When modern art is discussed in Baedeker, it is the naturalist artists from the Berlin Secession, and notably those artists associated with the previously discussed Kunst und Künstler, that are foregrounded.109. The use of Der Querschnitt artists and press illustrators remained a characteristic part of the Nicht “Baedeker” guidebook’s overall uniqueness. Szatmari’s guidebook established both the format and emphasis that Wedderkop’s editions to Cologne, Paris and London would go on to maintain. These guidebooks contain no maps, or photographs and also few advertisements. Wedderkop notably includes references to a city “Bummel”, signalling the sustained conflation of the reader and flâneur. Upon 106 Pinsker correspondingly interprets the Romanische Café as a place where both high- and low-brow forms of culture met, in marked contrast to the elite, pre-war Expressionist gatherings of dealer Herwarth Walden in Café des Westens. Pinsker, Literary Passports, 121. 107 See the section “Kunstgeschichte”, in Baedeker, Baedekers Berlin, XI. 108 See, “Verzeichnis”. Ibid. 211-18. 109 Ibid. 39-40. The closeness of Scheffler’s and Osborn’s attitudes towards naturalist artists are emphasised by a page of photographs that appeared in Die Dame journal in 1924 entitled “Kunstschriftsteller” (Art Critics), depicting Scheffler’s image alongside Max Osborn, Paul Westheim and Wilhelm von Bode in their respective homes. Illustrated and briefly discussed by Malcolm Gee, “‘Cultured City’”, 162-63. 27 visiting Paris, Wedderkop declares that he is not interested in listing the ‘best’ works in the Louvre, nor does he wish to spend time admiring some of the gallery’s most renowned historical works by Nicholas Poussin or Frau Angelico.110 Instead, he prefers to explore the bohemian artist circles of Montmartre. In London, Wedderkop likewise does not wish to see the well-known “Schinkenmaler” (chocolate-box artists) in the National Gallery, such as Pollaiuolo, Ghirlandaio and Perugino; instead he focuses on the work of J. M. W. Turner and the cruelty of Hogarth in the Tate. In his guidebook to Cologne, Wedderkop shows off his intimacy with the Flechtheim’s artist circle and takes his reader on a tour of small art dealerships found amongst the city’s backstreets.111 Wedderkop’s simultaneous involvement with Der Querschnitt and guidebook series from 1928 onwards, ensured that their modern art-loving readerships continued to overlap. Nicholas Parsons posits that our choice of guidebook, and the ways in which we choose to use one – dutifully, with skepticism, with blind obedience or even with mockery - reveals a good deal about the cultural attitudes to which we instinctively subscribe.112 With regards to the readership of the Nicht “Baedeker” series in Weimar Germany and its crossover with the journal Der Querschnitt, its readers often looked towards the press in the first instance, to help (re)discover German cities. Such a crossover reveals how the figure of the journalist – a figure so intimately connected with the city - became synonymous with the respected travel writer who could offer his reader different forms of authenticity, thus providing important new ways of thinking about feuilleton literature and the familiar theme of the flâneur. Moreover, through its focus on cultural diversity and contemporary press illustrators, the Nicht “Baedeker” series acknowledged a more modern readership and intellectual milieu developing during the 1920s, one which wanted to distance itself from the limited cultural view of Baedeker by self-consciously assuming the position of an anti-tourist. An in-depth study of Nicht “Baedeker”: Berlin significantly reveals that there was a lesser-known side of the travel industry that was not so commercially orientated rapidly developing in Germany. For art and cultural historians in particular, this side 110 Wedderkop, Das Buch von Paris, 133-41. 111 Wedderkop, Das Buch von Köln, Düsseldorf, Bonn, 161-62. 112 Parsons, Detour, 14. 28 also uncovers a marked interest in diverse forms of culture, including an emphasis on graphic art and caricature to encourage increased visual sensibilities and challenge the veracity of photographic representations (still) used by the industry. Today, there are a great number of alternative guidebook series such as; Lonely Planet (founded 1972); Dorling Kindersley. Eyewitness Travel (founded, 1974); Rough Guides (founded 1982); and more recently Not for Tourists - or simply NFT - (founded 2000), each professing to offer different forms of authentic experience, some more overtly anti- tourist than others. However, during the 1920s, producing a series that successfully boasted a challenge to the Baedeker international monopoly on travel guides was no easy task. Nonetheless, with its guidebook to Berlin, the Nicht “Baedeker” series succeeded in doing just that and should be understood as an important presage to “alternative” guidebooks we use today. In 1929, the series even managed to gain a foothold in the international market through the English translation of Vienna that’s not in the “Baedeker”, by Thomas W. MacCalum. However, whilst the series’ professed claims to anti-tourism were formed through degrees of exposure and self-irony, its very existence relied upon the mass tourist infrastructures it tried to critique. Rather tellingly, as the Baedeker’s dynasty gradually faded throughout the 1920s, in 1931 both the Nicht “Baedeker” and the original Baedeker series ceased publishing altogether.113 Yet through close links to Der Querschnitt, the series as a whole also symbolized an important move towards more specialized forms of travel in Germany. 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