E-Book, Deutsch, Englisch, 336 Seiten
Reihe: Ullstein eBooks
A Memoir
E-Book, Deutsch, Englisch, 336 Seiten
Reihe: Ullstein eBooks
ISBN: 978-3-8437-1497-6
Verlag: Ullstein HC
Format: EPUB
Kopierschutz: 6 - ePub Watermark
'Their motto was political liberalism and modern culture', Arthur Koestler wrote of the Ullstein family. Enthralling and full of the atmosphere of the period, Hermann Ullstein brings the early years of the Ullstein publishing empire to life. He portrays its impressive rise to become Europe’s largest publisher, as well as the dramatic upheavals in Germany that led to the company’s expropriation by the Nazis.
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Chapter III
THREE QUARTERS OF A CENTURY AGO
Birth of a Publishing House
LET US NOW GO back to an afternoon in the spring of 1858. A young man in his early thirties and his friend, some ten years his junior, are wandering across the Schlossplatz in Berlin—at this time a quiet town, unaccustomed as yet to the din of traffic. The face of the elder man is framed in a full brown beard, according to the fashion of the day, and a long black coat covers the first signs of embonpoint. With a dignified air the two young friends stroll leisurely along, their hands clasping ivory-handled walking sticks behind their backs. Entering the square by way of the Brüderstrasse, they come to a halt before the castle and glance up at its windows. There, behind the drawn curtains, they know the insane King is lying. They have reason to suspect the last hours of his reign are approaching, for there have been rumors that his brother, Prince William, known as the Prince of Prussia, is to succeed him. From their looks, it is clear that the young men are not encouraged by the news. Was it not this Prince of Prussia who, twelve years ago, had quelled with guns a revolt of the people in the state of Baden, and incidentally forced popular heroes to escape to foreign countries? What good, they may well ask themselves, can be expected from such a man! “We lost our best men in those days,” says the elder of the two friends, whose name is Leopold Ullstein. “You, my dear Loewe, were too young to remember. But I was already twenty-two when the revolution forced the King to appear on the balcony of this very castle, where he was made to bow before the people. That was a fine beginning for a democracy, but since then so much has gone into decline.” Ludwig Loewe—one day to become the great industrialist who supplied the state of Prussia with the best rifles— had been only twelve years old at the time, but he remembered hearing of it all at school. “In those days,” says young Loewe now, “the King promised to form the kind of constitution England had known for over six hundred years. The Americans, too, almost a century ago, had achieved similar progress by their War of Independence.” “And we,” interrupts his friend Ullstein, “we as children of the nineteenth century have been fired with the ideas of the great French Revolution. The King’s promise of that time has been only half fulfilled. In the Constitution that we did finally receive, the demands the people had made are today barely recognizable. Nevertheless, there has been some progress. But now this man, this Prince of Prussia, is going to succeed to the throne! I’m afraid he’s bound to set things back further than ever.” Loewe bangs one hand on the other. “That must be prevented at all costs!” he says. “Ullstein, we’ve got to fight! We’ve got to fight reaction!” “We? Who are we but a couple of poor, weak mortals!” “That’s no reason,” says Loewe, “why we should not make ourselves heard. You know, Ullstein, I always say you should found a newspaper. There you could put your opinions on paper, air your ideas among the people. I feel that you are the man of the pen. As for me, I find speech a better medium.” “As far as you’re concerned, Loewe, I wouldn’t be surprised to see you end up in Parliament.” Thus, half jokingly, they build their castles in the air, quite unconscious how close they are to anticipating the future. For some decades later we see Ludwig Loewe a famous leader in Parliament, and Leopold Ullstein the founder of a newspaper power. Loewe is about to continue the conversation when he is interrupted for a moment by a horse and carriage passing in front of them through the square. As the two young men step aside to let it go, Loewe’s eyes follow the lonely vehicle. “All this is going to change even more,” he says, indicating the peaceful scene with a wave of his arm. “Believe me, Ullstein, before very long you won’t know this place. We won’t be able to wander across the Schlossplatz like this any more. When my Uncle Hugo returned from the World Exhibition in London seven years ago, I always remember his telling me what a stir it caused. It must have been fantastic—just as though half Europe had congregated in one spot. I tell you, the railway is going to revolutionize the entire world I” They are silent for a while, as they wander slowly down the Unter den Linden, coming finally to a halt outside Kranzler’s, a café famous for its coffee and cakes. On the terrace sit a few officers of the Imperial Guard, eying the ladies who pass by. The moral code of the time is so severe, however, that should one of them so much as return a look, her prestige as a lady is immediately lost. On the far side of the entrance sits Adolf Menzel, the painter, busily sketching clients on his starched cuffs. Next to him is the actor Doering, famous for his splendid impersonations of Schiller’s heroic characters. Here everybody knows everybody: Berlin is still so very small, its life so provincial. Actually, there is some talk about a tramway being built, like the one opened in Paris by the Emperor Napoleon, who spread a new splendor over France. When Ullstein and Loewe enter the café, there is much bowing and raising of top hats. Among their many acquaintances a man sitting alone beckons them to come and join him. He is Phillip Langmann, the journalist, one day to become Leopold’s first editor in chief. When the three are settled at the table a lively discussion of social problems begins. “The most urgent reform at the moment,” claims Langmann, “is proper canalization for the capital of Prussia. It’s a downright disgrace that citizens should still have to throw garbage from their houses into the gutters!” “What about the price of gas?” demands Ullstein, a problem which continues to be his hobby even after he is elected to the town Parliament. “It’s a scandal,” he says. “An English company has the monopoly and has fixed the price at this exorbitant level.” The others share Ullstein’s opinion, and the conversation turns to other reforms. All three are ardently enthusiastic about working for the common good rather than following exclusively their own private affairs. At this period in his life Leopold Ullstein is a wholesale paper merchant. By supplying paper to magazines and newspapers, he has already made a small fortune. His father, Heinrich Hermann Ullstein, after whom I was named, had already founded the business in his home town of Fürth, near Nuremberg. I am often amazed when I realize it is actually one hundred and fifty years since my grandfather was born in Fürth; that he was a child when Louis XVI was guillotined, when the Polish kingdom was divided, and when Bonaparte was still an unknown man. Yet Fulton had already invented the steamboat, and Stephenson the locomotive. When my grandfather was thirty-two years old, the first railway was laid from Manchester to Liverpool. Five years later he took his nine-year-old son, my father, to witness the inauguration of the first of such railroads in Germany, to run from Fürth to Nuremberg. My father often told me what a deep impression this experience had made on him. Finally, in 1867, when my grandfather retires into private life, he hands over the business to his three sons. These brothers then transfer the business to Leipzig, but they have very different temperaments and fail to get on with one another. My father writes to my grandfather that he can no longer put up with his brothers. Julius, the eldest, for example, refuses to allow his office windows to be cleaned, claiming that the people opposite would learn how lazy they all are! Well, my father is not lazy! He is active enough, in fact, to acquire his father’s consent to move to Berlin and there start a business on his own. For decades he directs this firm with conspicuous success, until finally his desire to enter public life weans him away from it. Actually, it is his election to the town Parliament which at last gives him the opportunity and satisfaction of working for his fellow citizens. Leopold Ullstein himself was always very proud of his German ancestry. His Bavarian home was dear to his heart; he gave his energy for German greatness, the improvement of its institutions, and his heart’s blood for the rights of its people. His first wife, Matilda, whom he married in 1859, was the daughter of an English dentist, Louis Berend. She had been born in Göttingen, and in the course of her fourteen years of marriage brought seven children into the world, finally succumbing in childbirth. Matilda Ullstein must have been a sweet, kindhearted, maternal woman, and her letters are today still treasured by her children. Leopold’s second wife was my mother, the daughter of a merchant from Magdeburg. She had another son, older than myself, now living in London, and a daughter who, expelled by Hitler, today bakes pastry among her children and grandchildren in a teashop in Groton, Massachusetts. My mother was a wonderful woman. To marry into a household of seven children is in itself no easy task. At first, my father’s first wife’s relatives welcomed her hesitatingly, but she soon captured all their hearts, and always treated these seven stepchildren as though they were her own. News of her first child, my brother, was received with great joy. I, on the other hand, was a disappointment, as my mother had hoped for a daughter. Nevertheless, I enjoyed her boundless love to the day of her death, forty-seven years later. Her nature was like that of a kind fairy passing through our lives. Seeming capable of understanding all our weaknesses, I rarely...
