V. THE GREAT AMERICAN DRAMA AT LAST
Mickey’s Yiddisher Tulip: Several million dollars have already flowed into the ermine-lined pocketbook of her who is, to put it mildly, the authoress of Mickey’s Yiddisher Tulip, and small wonder! For sheer blitheness of sentiment, gaiety of situation, sublimity of pathos, and general inventiveness, no story, since Uncle Tom’s Cabin thrilled our immediate ancestors, has enshrined so many genuinely laughable and authentically weep-able moments, making of the human heart a sensitive and responsive instrument at the beck and call of alternate terror and joy. It were indeed difficult to imagine what could be more wholly touching, and at the same time funnier, than a juxtaposition of the Icelandic and Assyrian temperaments; yet precisely this feat has won for the inspired progenitor of Mickey’s Yiddisher Tulip an everlasting seat among the geniuses of all time. (Standing room only.)
VI. CORN BEEF AND CAVIAR
Once again, after its triumphant tour of Athens, Constantinople, and Pekin, The Bohemian Ballet is with us. The only fault which your reviewer can find with this invariably extraordinary ballet organization, whose ranks are this year enriched by two dancers of international renown—Gretchen Fahrenheit and Mike Frost—is that it somehow just misses being neither the Swedish nor yet the Russian Ballet. Nevertheless, there are some far from wholly unpleasant moments; as when, for example, the superb curtain by Wable Wicasse falls (after the third scene of La Princesse Enceinte is somewhat less than half over) on the by no means negligible occiput of Igor Ivanovich Vladimir Skipski; or when Lucy Goeblum (that most astute of Lithuanian terpsichoristes) executes the banana dance of the Fiji Islands to a witty, if slightly posthumous, nocturne by Chopin—or during those few utterly inspired, absolutely unforgettable instants, when, against the molecular meanderings of Strapfka Fooking, are agreeably silhouetted the cerebral somersaults of Serge Kapoot.
VII. POLLYANNA AESTHETICS
The Black Suspenders is, as its name frankly implies, an evanescent folk tale of corrupt peasant life done into verse by Edna St. Vincent Millay and translated from the Algerian by Mrs. John F. Hylan. George Smith, the hero, ably interpreted by Mr. John Howard Lawson, is put to sleep by a fairy named Sylvio, and remains in a state of coma during the entire performance, parts of which (especially the twelfth and twenty-sixth tableaux) might be omitted to advantage without violating the delicate spirit of Arthur Hopkins’ conception. Aside from this minor error, the plot deals with Smith’s subconscious reaction to three characters—Geraldine Glumb, a future mother; Dorothy Dumb, a telephone girl, and Creichton Crumb, a painter of marine animals—all of whom are obviously in search of the author, Yudenich Pilsudski Numb, who remains off-stage, however, occasionally singing Nearer My God To Thee to the accompaniment of an ancient African instrument shaped somewhat like a cross between beggar on horseback and the mandolute. An audience (composed, last Saturday night, of a sprinkling of Danish plumbers and a scattering of Norwegian bank messengers) loudly booed the far from discreditable work of Philip Widget Moeller in the role of Philip Moeller Widget, and expressed almost unjustified approval whenever—as not infrequently happens—Geraldine hits Creichton with a stuffed cat in the middle of Dorothy’s wedding. On the whole, we are reluctantly forced to admit, we can congratualte Miss Millay, Mr. Pilsudski Numb and Mayoress Hylan.
From Vanity Fair, May 1925.
UNEXPECTED LIGHT ON THE DAWES PLAN
An exclusive interview with General Von Memmling, Pan-German Unionist
By N. G. Archibald, PH.D., L.L.D.
Editor’s Note: So many contradictory reports on the working of the Dawes Plan have lately appeared in our journals of opinion that we are glad to publish the following revelation by Professor Archibald—the eminent authority on World Peace, International Law, and other dubious subjects. He has just returned from the other side with this well-earned “scoop.” The thrilling account of his exclusive interview with the German General is told with characteristic frankness and a simplicity of diction which renders its veracity unimpeachable.
To begin with, on arriving in Germany, I spent five weeks and three days in solitary confinement at a little town called Liederkranz, this course having been decided upon with a view to protecting such perfect foreigners as myself from the cannibalistic tendencies of a starving populace. While deeply engaged in fighting rats and perfecting my German, I was taken out by thirteen soldiers and an officer; and given, in rapid succession: a letter of introduction to General von Memmling (Chairman Pro Tem. of the pan-German Committee on the Practical Application of the Dawes Plan), a hot bath, and a birth certificate.
Somewhat dazed, I found myself dressed in the uniform of a Hessian soldier and placed on a box car with twenty-three other members of the Associated Press, including the Editor of Forest and Stream, in which condition we all started under double lock and key for Berlin, being fed from time to time (through a triangular hole in the semicircular roof) two mouse omelets and a glass of water apiece. Just sixty-one hours later the door was thrown open, in Berlin, and Mr. George B. Harris of the Herald Tribune—who, being a chronic sufferer from insomnia and other things, happened to be leaning against it—fell into the middle of the Leipziger Bahnhof and was taken away to a hospital, while the rest of us were locked up for the night on the fifth floor of the former Kaiser’s palace, after someone had said (in English) that we would undoubtedly be received by General von Memmling at three o’clock next morning.
Such were a mere tithe of the precautions with which the Committee had generously seen fit to surround our entrance into the capital; and I may add that only by appreciating to the full their real significance can the average reader hope to understand how tense was the situation, in Germany, at the moment when—as if by a miracle—the Dawes Plan solved at one blow that Gordian knot whose innumerable strands combined such difficulties as World War, Famine Prevention, and the Occupation of the Ruhr.
But to continue: bright and early we were all aroused from our sleeplessness by the firing of revolvers close to our ears. We were then heavily blindfolded and arrived in taxicabs exactly three hours later at General Headquarters. I was the first to be received, possibly because my name begins with A, in contrast with Mr. George Van Antwerp’s of “True Stories,” which (as might not be expected) leads off with a V. At the point of a bayonet, then, I entered a narrow passage; presently the towels were whisked from my eyes—and I found myself standing before a tall, angular, forbidding man, somewhere between thirty-nine and forty years of age, who was seated in pyjamas, embroidered with a Royal order, before a combination cook stove and escritoire working a crossword puzzle and gorging himself (with almost animal ferocity) on a frozen banana.
Von Memmling, for it was indeed no other, rose; and, having greeted me cordially in a thunderous voice, ignored further ceremony by offering me a bite of the full-blown fruit, which I politely but firmly refused—pleading (in somewhat inadequate German) that I had suffered from continual stomach-aches since arriving in his country. But I soon regretted my frankness; for I was immediately clapped on the back, tied hand and foot, and placed practically upside down, in a straight jacket; in which condition I began my interview with the daring but necessary question, “Herr von General, just what is the Dawes Plan?”
My interlocutor frowned pityingly a moment; and then replied with Spartan brevity, “Simplicity itself.”
I countered, with dignity, that I was absolutely sure he was right; but that we in the United States craved to know the exact details—whereupon General von Memmling started violently, and regarded me with something very like admiration. “Do you know,” he muttered through the depths of his gigantic moustache, “that you are the first and only magazine man who has ever made, in my hearing, an even semi-intelligent remark?”
I blushed, as was not unnatural under the circumstances, and explained that I could not be considered an ordinary magazine man; since Vanity Fair was the organ which I had the honour to represent—but here the Chairman Pro Tem. of the pan
-German Committee on the Practical Application of the Dawes Plan uttered a tremendous cry which quite upset the sentinel at the door, who tumbled over backwards in sheer amazement and narrowly missed colliding with both von Memmling and myself; the former of whom, placing one huge foot on his prostrate sentinel’s abdomen, supplemented the ululation as follows: “You need say no more. I will tell you all. Your magazine is” (here I translate freely) “the political mainstay of the illustrious bowsprit of glorious America’s progressive forefront.”
I tried to bow.
“Turn that right side up,” von Memmling added, to a second sentinel (who had automatically taken the place of the first)—and he pointed to the present writer. Instantly the command was obeyed: my head and feet changed places as if by magic. “Decorate him!” the general bellowed—whereupon six orderlies in undress uniform entered, each carrying upon a plum-coloured cushion a different emblem of heroism: and, marching straight up to me, respectfully placed the variegated tokens one by one on my breast.
“Now,” the military genius stated, as the last decorator withdrew, salaaming profoundly in my direction, “we can begin”; adding, with a touch of delicacy which I had scarcely anticipated, “make yourself perfectly comfortable.”
“Good,” I answered, overcome.
“You have doubtless read many newspaper accounts, purporting to explain the origin and significance of the Dawes Plan,” the General prefaced, “but there is not a word of truth in any one of them, for two simple reasons: first, no one except myself and nine other people really knows anything about it; second, Mr. Dawes himself had nothing whatever to do with it.” My surprise upon hearing these bits of news caused me to redden visibly.
The General continued: “Now as to the precise contents of the Dawes Plan: would it interest you to hear the unvarnished truth on that subject?”
“Yuh-yuh,” I gasped.
“The Dawes Plan,” my informant continued, “the hope of the whole world, the salvation of the German People, is divided into five parts, each of which deals with something else.—You’re sure you’re not catching cold?”
I shook my head, overcome by mingled emotions.
“Very good,” he pursued. “In that case, I will read to you verbatim the original manuscript, which I always carry for reference.” (I bowed in appreciation of this condescension, and the General produced from his coat a volume, most of the pages of which were blank, but which otherwise bore a striking resemblance to the Social Register.)
“Part one,” his clarion voice trumpeted, as he adjusted a pair of horn-rimmed spectacles on his eccentric nose, and took a dark Havana from his fatigue cap after the manner of policemen the world over. An orderly having lit the prodigious weed for him with an immaculate salute, von Memmling proceeded—“Habeas Corpus: whatever is imported must first have been exported, since it is a well-established principle of economics (vide Taussig) that nothing can go into any country unless it has first come out of the country. Exceptions to this rule are—all narcotics, fireworks, dogs, stomach pumps, cabarets, guinea pigs (for medical purposes), gunmen, and umbrellas.”
I sneezed my appreciation.
“So much for imports,” the General remarked caressingly. “Let us turn to exports—Part Two: Quid pro quo. Nothing whatever, including postage stamps, elephants, and diplomats, shall be permitted to leave Germany until further notice, either with or without the special permission of the Allies. Duly elected members of the Reichstag to the number of twelve thousand, armed with willow whistles and wearing silk hats, shall from time to time enforce this rule.”
I smiled understandingly.
“That settles the pernicious question of exports—just like that,” the General cried enthusiastically, snapping his enormous fingers. “Now as to the problem of food supply—Part Three: Status Quo. Article One: since people are starving by hundreds of thousands, everyone shall be compelled to eat less for the good of the majority. Article Two: at the same time, the majority shall be intensively instructed as to the highly nutritive properties of certain well-known and easily obtainable substances, among which may properly be counted—sawdust, carpet tacks, all kinds of nails, rubber boots, and stove polish. Article Three: the masses shall be incessantly encouraged, by music, propaganda, and machine guns, to eat much and often of the unquestionably digestible and meticulously health-giving items hereinbefore enumerated; and offenders shall be punished with the utmost vigour. Note: Policemen shall set the crowd a good example whenever necessary by sucking their billies.”
The General smiled, then, clearing his cavernous trachea and pulling one ubiquitous ear, he read on—“Part Four: Quo Vadis. Each and every male child or part thereof between the ages of 0.0007 and 2.318 (months) shall be restricted (during the calendar and fiscal year) to the production or possession of five battleships, eight armoured cruisers, twenty submarines, fifty-six aeroplanes, and one Zeppelin. If more than the prescribed amount of each or any element or armament of disarmament herein described, prescribed, inscribed, or proscribed, be found in his possession, whereabouts, or vicinity, said male child of said age or ages shall be forthwith compelled to submit in writing to the police commissioner of his district an apology, signed by the mayor and sub-mayor, as well as by his parents (if any); and moreover this questionnaire or affidavit shall be received by said commissioner not later than the first Thursday of the month immediately preceding the discovery of said extraneous element or elements, otherwise said child shall be declared extraneous, and taken on a Lithuanian warship to The Hague for trial on the charge of corrupting the youth of Germany. In the case of a female child, the armaments or disarmaments in her vicinity, whereabouts, or possession shall be limited to 0.31415 per cent of the sum total produceable, or possessable, or both, by any male child; and the punishment for infringement of this decree shall be the same. Adults must positively not own, purchase, steal, manufacture, have, or play with, anything whatever of a warlike nature, exception being made in the case of the cap pistol on Allied holidays, such as the seventeenth of March.”
“Don’t be restless,” von Memmling admonished gently, “we are almost through. Listen to Part Five, And Last.” He rolled his mastodonian eyes, and an orderly entered to relight his general’s ebbing cheroot. “Part Five: Mirabile Dictu,” the master resumed, as the servitor vanished. “The railroads of Germany shall be completely reformed, and their present inefficiency shall be remedied, as follows—in the first place, the already inhibitory prices of all seats shall be quadrupled, with a view to eliminating unnecessary traffic, and no animals whatever (except captive canary birds on leash) shall be allowed: secondly, all trains of whatever nature must be equipped with automatic conductors, must on no account ever whistle except when invited to do so, must have square wheels made of window glass, must be lighted with paraffin candles, and must run forwards and backwards at the same time; thirdly, the Allies shall have the inalienable right, at any hour of the night, day, either, or both, to search all locomotives for steam—if the slightest trace of which be discovered (whether with microscopes, thermometers, or crowbars) the guilty locomotive shall be pronounced null and void, sealed with particoloured sealing wax, drawn by two snow-white oxen into the town hall of the nearest village, city, or hamlet, and demolished by dynamite in the presence of the entire population.”
General von Memmling pocketed the volume; and his eyes adopted a musing, dreamy, far-away expression, as he half-bellowed and half-whispered, “the Dawes Plan—in whose five paragraphs lies the salvation of my country and the peace of the uncivilized world.”
Then, removing his feet from the by-this-time breathless abdomen of the continuously supine sentinel, he added as an after-thought, “Get up!”—and when the obedient soldier had done so, “Let all those other dumbbells be given a glass of beer and returned to New York in good condition,” von Memmling directed, pithily referring to the twenty-three waiting American interviewers—“but treat this gentleman—the representative of a moral and refined fa
mily paper—as if he were the Kaiser’s own brother!” At these momentous words, I was rolled out, untied, put into a twelve cylinder Fokker and sent over the border with Mrs. Ebert’s seventeen bottles of French champagne, and a distinguished danseuse from the Moscow Art Theatre, to whom I was properly introduced, but whose name I unfortunately did not quite catch.
That, in a nutshell, is the result of my interview, on behalf of this magazine, with General von Memmling.
From Vanity Fair, May 1925. The Dawes Plan, prepared by a committee of American and European experts headed by Charles G. Dawes, fixed the total of German reparations payments to the Allied and Associated Powers of World War I and indicated the methods by which such payments were to be made.
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