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Journey to a Homeland Lost in the War--Spiegel [Copy link] 中文

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Post time 2012-1-23 03:17:29 |Display all floors
01/20/2012  Eastern PromisesJourney to a Homeland Lost in the War

By Christian Neef in Sovetsk, Russia

Yevgeny Kondakov

The Russian city of Sovetsk tried for decades to repress its past as the East Prussian town of Tilsit. But now it is embracing its history and has made its most famous son, popular German actor Armin Mueller-Stahl, an honorary citizen. For Mueller-Stahl, returning to his birthplace after 73 years was an emotional journey into his own past.

The situation probably wouldn't have been very different in the Middle Ages if you had wanted to enter a town in the evening through one of the city gates. A grumpy man, in this case wearing the uniform of a Russian border guard, casts one last glance at the passport, grabs a large bunch of keys, shuffles off the bridge that spans the Neman River between Lithuania and Russia, and walks down to an iron gate, where he inserts a key into the lock and pushes both sides wide open.
Suddenly the newcomer finds himself in the center of what must be the ugliest square in all of Russia, even though it was once the finest square in the East Prussian town of Tilsit, now known as Sovetsk.
The splendid Church of the Teutonic Order once stood at this very spot, its spire resting on eight orbs, so beautiful that Napoleon wanted to take it back to Paris. Right behind there is Deutsche Strasse (literally: German Street) -- now called Gagarin Street -- where Czar Alexander stayed in 1807 when he visited Tilsit, as it was known then, to sign a peace treaty with the French. The small house inhabited by the Prussian queen consort, Louise of Mecklenburg-Strelitz, no longer exists.
Not a single stone of Tilsit's once grand Fletcherplatz remains. Today, the square is occupied by the border post that separates the Russian enclave of Kaliningrad from Lithuania. Gray, unplastered Soviet-era buildings surround the square. The washing-lines on the balconies are used to dry fish while, down below, trucks line up on their way in the other direction, across the Neman River to Lithuania.
'Unfamiliar People Opening Familiar Doors'
German actor Armin Mueller-Stahl has embarked on an experiment, though he's not sure what he'll gain from it. "I don't want to go to Tilsit, where I was born," he wrote in his 1997 book "Unterwegs nach Hause" (the title translates roughly as "On the Way Back Home"). "Nor do I want to know how the houses, streets and towns have shrunk. I don't want to see unfamiliar people opening familiar houses and familiar doors."
Now he has gone there after all, 81 years after he was born and 73 years after he left Tilsit, the town the Russians renamed Sovetsk after they marched in, which has now made him an honorary citizen. The mayor spent weeks searching for Mueller-Stahl to give him the news, desperately hoping to personally present Sovetsk's medal of honor to the famous German actor, musician and author who now spends most of his time in Pacific Palisades, California.
Ironically, Mueller-Stahl is wearing the dark-blue coat he wore in the 2007 thriller "Eastern Promises." Canadian director David Cronenberg gave it to him after shooting finished. In the film, Mueller-Stahl portrayed Russian mafia boss Semyon, a rather eerie performance for which the actor received the Genie Award, the Canadian equivalent of the Oscar. "The coat is a coincidence," he insists. "It's cashmere and nice and warm." Indeed, it is blustery and snowing the day he arrives.
So why did he decide to return? "I raced through life for years, forever heading westward," he explains. "Tilsit, Prenzlau, Berlin, Hamburg, Los Angeles -- that is, East Prussia, East Germany, West Germany, the US … That's really as far as the West goes. If all you ever want is to go west, the world's not all right. Only when people start heading in the other direction, toward Moscow, will the world be all right again."
Mueller-Stahl likes phrases like that. Harmony is important to him. Artists must build bridges, he will tell Mayor Nikolai Voyshchev the next morning. Bridges over trenches dug by politicians.
That same afternoon he realizes how difficult this task will be.
Wiping Out the Memory
Mueller-Stahl had taken the ferry from Kiel to the Lithuanian city of Klaipeda, formerly known as Memel, once the most northerly city in Germany and the birthplace in 1898 of his father Alfred. It was from his father, a gifted actor who later moved to Tilsit as a bank employee, that Armin Mueller-Stahl says he inherited his theatrical skills.
The journey from Klaipeda had been a nightmare of blinding snow, black ice and not a single sign to the Russian enclave of Kaliningrad. After stopping for the fourth time at a gas station to ask for directions, Mueller-Stahl had realized the Lithuanians had deliberately not set up any signs. It was their way of wiping out the memory of decades of occupation by the Russians. He came across the first signpost by the shores of the Neman River. It said it was 118 kilometers to Kaliningrad. But there was no mention of Sovetsk, even though the lights of the town already shone across the water.
How can bridges be built in such an area? After the demise of the Soviet Union, the almost 1 million Russians who inhabited the northern half of the former German province of East Prussia hoped the region would become something of a "Hong Kong on the Baltic." Despite these dreams and aspirations, it remains an inhospitable island at the heart of Europe, whose inhabitants the Kremlin still uses as pawns in its political wrangling with the West.
In such a dismal place, perhaps someone like Mueller-Stahl is indeed a more suitable mediator than an actual diplomat would be. After all, his grandparents, ethnic Germans from the Baltic, lived in St. Petersburg until 1918. Following the Russian revolution, they fled with their daughter Editha, his mother, to Tilsit, where his grandfather preached in the New Church and the Church of the Teutonic Order.
A Lot to Do with Russians
"The whole muddle" of Mueller-Stahl's family, as he puts it, spread like a tapeworm around the Baltic Sea. An aunt married into the noble household of a baron called von der Goltz in Mertensdorf, a village about 100 kilometers (60 miles) from Tilsit, in an area that is now part of Poland. As a child, he spent his vacations there. A great-uncle was a professor in Königsberg (modern-day Kaliningrad). And his grandfather was married to the artist Edith von Haken from Livonia, an area now divided between Latvia and Estonia, and later became a pastor in Jucha (now called Stare Juchy) located in Masuria, in today's Poland.
Armin Mueller-Stahl has also had a lot to do with Russians over the years. He shot a documentary about Shostakovich, who he describes as "perhaps the most tragic of all Soviet composers." He loves Dostoyevsky, and he has played the role of Andrei Bolkonski in "War and Peace" on countless occasions. He nearly married a Russian, too: actress Natalya Fateyeva, a woman who is still feted as a beauty in Russia at the advanced age of 77.
"The Soviet authorities prevented us from marrying," says Mueller-Stahl. His voice still sounds wistful, even though his wife Gabriele is standing next to him. But that was all a very long time ago, over half a century back, when he traveled to the Moscow film festival and spent his evenings at the legendary Aragvi restaurant on Gorki Street with Jean Marais, Yves Montand and Gérard Philipe.
His visit to Sovetsk will show whether he can still get on with Russians.
'We Knew Nothing about Sovetsk's History'
Zinaida Rutman has been waiting patiently for the guest from Germany. She has an invitation to the award ceremony in the hall of the children's music academy, where Mueller-Stahl is to be made an honorary citizen. The academy lies on what was once Hohe Strasse, Tilsit's main shopping street, along which a tram used to drive. It's now called Victory Street.
The diminutive 80-year-old lady is the widow of Isaac Rutman, Sovetsk's first honorary citizen. The two were ordered there in the 1950s when the Soviets needed people to fill the town they had cleared of ethnic Germans. Rutman was a vocational school teacher. One day, he stumbled upon a book about Tilsit in a library in the Lithuanian capital, Vilnius. "We knew nothing about Sovetsk's early history," his widow says.
This discovery prompted Isaac Rutman to begin passionately researching the town's history. But he was ahead of his time; no-one ever spoke about the town's German past. As such, it wasn't until 1993 that he was able to print his book "From Sovetsk to Tilsit," which caused a minor sensation.
Today, people in the town say that Zinaida Rutman didn't approve of her husband's obsession since his inquiries got him labeled as a dissident by the authorities. She was still teaching at the time, and it certainly didn't help her career.
"All our lives, we feared something would happen at this border," Rutmann explains. They were always told the Germans would be back one day, and so they had to remain vigilant.
It was for precisely this reason that the communists on the town council voted against making Mueller-Stahl an honorary citizen. It was only after a series of failed votes that the mayor managed to win them over.
Zinaida Rutman wants to attend the ceremony nonetheless. She says she owes it to her late husband.

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Post time 2012-1-23 12:13:08 |Display all floors
Part 2: A Brezhnev Portrait in the Restaurant

Mueller-Stahl's first discovery in Sovetsk is that Vladimir Putin's Russia is a mysterious country full of contradictions. It all begins at the Hotel Rossiya, where he is being housed; the finest accommodation on the square, right behind the Lenin memorial.

The hotel is run by the local oligarch, a man of Lithuanian origins who naturally also represents Sovetsk in the regional parliament. In the basement, he's set up his restaurant in Soviet-era style. Guests are welcomed by a portrait of the sclerotic former Soviet leader Leonid Brezhnev to which hundreds of red plastic spades have been pinned as a symbol of failed communist construction projects. American music blares out from behind the bar. On the menu, pork escalope is described as "The KGB Never Sleeps". Other fare includes "Mao's Legacy" (slices of beef) and "Beat the Fascists" (rolled pork).

Mueller-Stahl is a man of refined tastes who has been a passionate painter for the past 60 years and whose paintings now fetch high prices. He is somewhat perturbed by the surroundings.

Reluctant to Enter

The unease continues the next morning when he is driven to places he remembers from his youth. The Jakobsruhe park he cycled through as a boy is now neglected, while the house of his birth in the former Lindenstrasse is pretty run-down.

The tower of New Church, where his grandfather once preached, has been sawn off, and the windows are bricked up. The church now serves as a factory. Even Queen Louise Bridge, where Armin was picked up by the police as a four-year-old while attempting to run away to Lithuania for reasons he no longer remembers, has lost its charm. Incidentally, the lovely Church of the Teutonic Order, like so many old German buildings, survived the wartime bombardment. But, in 1965, the Russians needed a burning German church for their Soviet war movie "Father of the Soldier" -- whereupon the architectural gem was destroyed.

Newspapers will later write that Mueller-Stahl stood teary-eyed and deeply moved in front of the house in which he was born. In reality he is simply reluctant to go in. He doesn't want to see his old apartment on the third floor because he still has every detail engrained in his mind and because strangers would open the door to him. So he prefers to remember it as it was.

The Russians ask him if the town has improved. Mueller-Stahl -- the would-be bridge-builder -- squirms while searching for the right words. Eventually, he replies that the town clearly lacks the money "to give it back its former luster."

A poster on the wall of his alma mater -- Meerwische School, which now calls itself School Number 4 -- proclaims "We are part of Russia." But then he walks into a fifth-grade classroom which is studying history and, suddenly, as if grasping for the lyrics, Mueller-Stahl quietly intones the Russian folk song "Vo pole beryoza stoyala" ("On the field, there stands a birch tree"). He learnt it from his mother, who spoke fluent Russian and could therefore sustain her extensive family in 1945 in Russian-occupied Prenzlau, his father having died in the last days of the war.

Building Bridges

The authorities in Sovetsk have pulled out all the stops for the celebration: The town's best accordion player and the best pianist are there. The Tilsit Ensemble sings the traditional German song "Ännchen von Tharau." A television crew is on hand, and there are many speeches.

The local oligarch conveys the congratulations of the governor of Kaliningrad Oblast. The director of the museum recounts how she came across the name Mueller-Stahl and calls on the townspeople to be proud that they brought forth a Hollywood star. The German consul praises Sovetsk for finally wanting to link the past and the future, and the mayor hands over the medal of honor.

Then Mueller-Stahl gets up, lean and with a straight posture. He has brought a present: his "Urfaust" lithographs. He appears just like people know him from his movies: friendly, but also very controlled. There's no sign of the joker inside him. Mueller-Stahl finds openness difficult. He speaks once more about bridge-building and about mutual understanding, about how he heard Yehudi Menuhin playing Bach's Chaconne at Berlin's Titania Palast theater in 1946. In the middle, Mueller-Stahl relates, Menuhin suddenly stopped, pulled out a scrap of paper from his pocket and read the letter of a Jewish woman offering Germans the hand of reconciliation. "After that, the music had a different meaning. Suddenly there was a bridge of understanding," Mueller-Stahl says.

Then he recalls shooting "The Power of One" with Morgan Freeman, who introduced him to Nelson Mandela. Mueller-Stahl repeatedly bumped into the South African leader at the same reception, and the third time Mandela had spontaneously taken him into his arms. "That's how it should be between people," Mueller-Stahl says. "But that only happens rarely."

Stony Faces

Among the many other guests in the hall sit six Russian honorary citizens of Sovetsk as well as Zinaida Rutman, the widow of the seventh. They are a senior medical consultant, a soccer coach, a war veteran, a historian, a female parliamentarian and two female teachers. Their stony faces are hard to read. Rutman's face is expressionless. Mueller-Stahl is bemused.

The translation into Russian leaves a lot to be desired, as the interpreter knows neither Menuhin nor Bach's Chaconne. And of course the people of Sovetsk know little about Mueller-Stahl himself. A few know him from the Anglo-Russian co-production "Attack on Leningrad," in which he played Field Marshall Wilhelm Ritter von Leeb, the German officer who imposed the blockade on the city in 1941. Some have seen the 2008 drama "Buddenbrooks," adapted from the Thomas Mann novel, the wonderful "Shine," which earned him an Oscar nomination, or the 2009 thriller "Angels & Demons," in which he played a shrewd cardinal alongside Tom Hanks.

But are the seven people in the front row annoyed by the glamour of this not entirely modest cosmopolitan standing before them? Does he diminish or oppress the honorary citizens of Sovetsk who never left this near-forgotten town? Or do they see this German, whose countrymen they fought so bitterly to drive away, as an intruder into their microcosm? Are they thinking about their own lives?

'You Don't Really Want Us'

A few steps across the square, a feast has been set out in the Hotel Rossiya. It is a typical Russian spread, and the long table bends under the combined weight of all the dishes. The conversation immediately turns to German visa policy. "You won't let us come to the West. You don't really want us," one person says. "So much for building bridges."

But perhaps the vodka loosens the tongues because, suddenly, the eldest honorary citizen of Sovetsk, a 92-year-old man from Siberia, stands up. He says something like "Young whippersnapper" to the 81-year-old Mueller-Stahl, kisses him and welcomes him to the circle of honorary citizens.

Then the next man stands and admits that, for decades after World War II, none of them believed Sovetsk would remain Russian. "That's why we destroyed everything that was German, everything that didn't have a roof anymore. In 1988, representatives of the cities that wanted their old name back held a meeting. That was already in Gorbachev's time. They also decided Sovetsk should be given its old name back," he explains. "When I told the town council here about the decision, they thought I was crazy."

Then he turns to the mayor and says, "Apparently the town was once really beautiful. All native Tilsiters say it could never be rebuilt as it was. But you, mayor, have to do that."

Up until this moment, Mueller-Stahl was pretty certain that bridge-building is easier said than done, and that he probably wouldn't ever return to Sovetsk again. But now he does start talking again. He reminds people that former German Chancellor Helmut Schmidt is now 93. If he followed his example, he'd have another 10 years ahead of him. He could therefore return 10 more times. The entire day, he has been evasive in answering questions about whether he'd ever come back.

Suddenly 80-year-old Zinaida Rutman taps on her glass, pushes her chair back and stands up. Immediately, a broad grin spreads right across her previously expressionless face. She announces to the mayor and all the other guests: "I definitely want to live long enough to see this town called Tilsit again." And she sits down again.

Everyone falls silent. And stares.

Translated from the German by Jan Liebelt

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