For more than a decade, diplomatic historians have been turning out carefully researched but highly traditional studies of German foreign relations in the postwar era. The best of them, such as Sven Berggötz's excellent monograph Nahostpolitik in der Ära Adenauer, take the time to identify a wide range of actors—bankers and businessmen, publicists and politicians—who worked alongside the diplomatic corps in the shaping of German policy. Yet the actual story, the narrative of German relations with particular countries or regions, usually transpires in some abstract space remote from the lived world of either Germans or “others.”

By contrast, the fifteen essays in Johannes Paulmann's new collection make manifest how East and (mainly) West Germans used cultural objects and cultural exchanges to display deeper values or truths about their societies. Paulmann is the editor, with Martin Geyer, of an important collection on “the mechanics of internationalism” in the nineteenth century, and his interest in the form and style of international relations is evident here as well. In the introduction, Paulmann identifies a “Haltung der Zurückhaltung,” an attitude of reserve, as a central element in West German efforts to convey seriousness and sobriety. For a long time Bonn's foreign ministry consciously refrained from trying to coordinate German cultural diplomacy. As Eckard Michels observes, it took until 1959 for the Adenauer government to back a single non-official agency, the Goethe Institute, as the authorized leader of language programs abroad. Yet the Bonn authorities did not leave matters completely to chance: Norbert Grube presents an analysis of the “Deutsche Korrespondenz,” a semi-official press service designed to feed the West European media positive stories about the Federal Republic and its postwar leadership. Whenever Konrad Adenauer and Theodor Heuss struck a tone of “reserve,” as they did in the wake of Germany's 1954 world cup victory in Bern (depicted here by Rudolf Oswald), they did so in the assurance that German civil society would speak for itself. Sabine Horn finds little Zurückhaltung in the aggressive promotion of the first “documenta” exhibit in Kassel in 1955; the exhibit's curators seized upon abstract modernism as a vehicle for reclaiming Germany's position within the mainstream of Western art.

When federal subsidies were involved, disputes over “modernity” and “internationality” reached a higher level of intensity. President Heuss managed to strike an acceptable balance when selecting “gifts of thanks from the German people” to key Western allies: according to Guido Müller, he favored tasteful, uncontroversial, and “moderately modernist” artworks. But many cultural sponsors veered toward traditional folk offerings, as seen in a revealing case study by Ulrike Stoll. Intellectuals cringed at the “Bavarian Trachtenballett” that toured Asia in the early 1960s with the support of the foreign ministry. This pantomime kitsch about love and marriage may have entertained target audiences in India and Japan, but what did it say about contemporary Germany? Official circles were every bit as essentializing in their choices of foreign imports. Finnish guests were to play works that revealed the Finnish “national character”—not Stravinsky. Holger Stunz traces out a significant transformation in the 1960s, as leading directors and the German public came to welcome east European ensembles for aesthetic inspiration, rather than a confirmation of folkloric stereotypes.

Several authors identify the Brandt era as a watershed in German cultural diplomacy. Uta Balbier's analysis of the Olympic preparations in Munich offers a convincing snapshot of the changing currents. Whereas early plans envisioned a radical form of Zurückhaltung, with a stark de-emphasis on national flags, hymns, and military-style parades, Brandt's government discovered that it had an interest in using the occasion for its own national representation. Yet classic symbols of sovereignty turned out to be less striking than the sensational roof of the Olympic Stadium—a tangible indication of German technological and aesthetic prowess. Further evidence of newfound self-confidence is seen in Daniela Münkel's brief account of the founding of the “German Marshall Fund,” a scholarship program, in 1972. Brandt's speech at Harvard—coming twenty-five years after the original Marshall speech—demonstrated Bonn's willingness to invest its own resources in the maintenance of trans-Atlantic ties. In this context, a comparative look at Brandt's famous kneel at the Warsaw Ghetto monument is of obvious relevance. Unfortunately, Friedrich Kießling's essay offers nothing more than a superficial summary of reactions in the West German press. We learn nothing here about the meaning attributed by Brandt and his government to this act of contrition or, more crucially, the Polish or international responses to this episode.

Kießling's piece highlights a problem that recurs in less egregious form at several points in this collection. Surely the study of “external representations” demands some consideration of how Bonn's efforts were received? When Werner Bührer tells us that the League of German Industrialists embodied—to French entrepreneurs—the will to reconciliation and cooperation, how can he know this without citing French sources? The problem crops up in reverse in Peter Ulrich Weiß's account of the GDR's ham-handed cultural diplomacy in Romania, which all but ignores West German records located in the very same archive. Yet the scenario recounted by Weiß is compelling all the same. In the course of the 1960s, the Romanian government—courting Bonn for economic purposes—opened the floodgates to all manner of West German publications, at least at the Black Sea resorts. The bland East German press could scarcely compete in this environment. SED officials found it difficult to explain to their compatriots why West German vacationers had access to the better beaches, and why they had so much more cash at their disposal. Ultimately, the social dynamic portrayed by Weiß reaches far beyond the realm of cultural representation; the vacationing Germans steal the show. And indeed, the very best essays here portray personal encounters between Germans and “others.”

One such set of encounters took place in Essen—thus illustrating another of Paulmann's principal themes, namely, that “external” representation also occurs at home. Simone Derix presents an illuminating discussion of how the Krupp firm functioned within the broader scheme of state visits to the Federal Republic. The Krupp works offered three distinct narratives to visiting dignitaries: the rapid recovery of German productivity, the humane treatment of industrial workers, and the elegance of a rich and powerful industrial dynasty. Each state visit was calibrated by the foreign ministry in keeping with the country of origin; the Greek royal family got the full treatment at Villa Hügel, whereas Ethiopia's Haile Selassie was kept busy with Krupp's line of agricultural implements. Frieder Günther's essay also concerns state visits—in this case President Heuss's trip to England in 1958. The occasion is best known to historians for the cool reception accorded Heuss at Oxford; but Günther is able to show, using British documentation, that this impression was more a function of West German sensitivities than any deliberate snubs. Günther's broader point here is extremely valuable: as the very embodiment of “bourgeois” Germany, Heuss and his foreign travels provided the occasion for critical reflections about postwar Germany's standing in the world.

Readers eager for still more finely rendered accounts of state visits can turn to Günther's brief and lively monograph Heuss auf Reisen. We encounter Heuss at the Grand Canyon; Heuss at the Forum Romanum sketching scenes of antiquity; a distinctly uncomfortable Heuss in Turkey, forced to endure one militaristic ceremony after another; and Heuss earning all manner of honorary doctorates along the way (except, of course, at Oxford). Günther reminds us of the tight constitutional strictures placed on the West German head of state, and the constraints posed by the dictates of protocol—details that Heuss liked to shrug off whenever possible with poise and good humor. Encounters between Heuss and his peers in other countries were explicitly defined as non-political exchanges, and the president gladly left it to Adenauer to represent specific German interests in foreign capitals. Yet Günther identifies several occasions when Heuss, through his choice of locations and his masterfully spun speeches, used his position to “set accents.” Overall, it is hard to dispute Günther's positive assessment of Heuss's role as a figure of identification for postwar Germans—though it must be noted that the book appears in a series sponsored by the Stiftung Bundespräsident-Theodor-Heuss-Haus.

The most novel facet of Günther's study concerns the visits received by Heuss during his presidency. The illustrated press went into overdrive with the arrival of the Ethiopian emperor in 1954 and the shah of Iran in 1955. Günther may be going too far to attribute this to some pent-up German hunger for royalty—though it is amusing to realize that both titles could be rendered “Kaiser” in German. By excluding parliamentary leaders from his purview (since they were not heads of state), Günther fails to note that India's prime minister, Jawarlahal Nehru, also drew large, cheering crowds upon his arrival in 1956. Even so, it is striking just how many royal houses still boasted some connection to Germany—including the shah, whose second wife, Soraya, was half-German. Such kinship ties might be seen as lingering remnants of Germany's great power status—relationships that were still vividly appreciated in the 1950s but have become essentially irrelevant to contemporary Germans. Günther himself notes the waning of public interest in foreign dignitaries as the decade progressed, as curiosity about exotic visitors from Indonesia, Liberia, and beyond gave way to a sense of tedium and routine.

Together, these two volumes indicate how cultural historians in Germany have discovered—and embraced—the world of foreign relations. The results are already helping to reconceptualize the transnational history of postwar Germany, allowing us to write about the period in a more interesting way.