"AIfred," said the Princess, "Mr. Ellis wants to know how we are related, and I've told him it's much too complicated for me."
"Please call me Peter," I said.
"It's not a bit complicated," said AIfred von Waldstein, putting his martini on the little iron table and stretching back in his chair. "Your grandfather and my grandfather - No, one minute, sorry. Your great-grandfather..."
"That was Jacob?"
"That was Jacob, the hussar against Napoleon, the poet who put our name into schoolbooks ... he was the brother, one of the brothers of my great-grandfather-"
"That was David?"
"No, Helena, you really should look at the Stammbaum once in your life-"
"I have, my dear, I just can't understand it."
"My great-grandfather was Joseph, the second brother. David was the father, the one who started the Bank and married a daughter of Moses Mendelssohn. Their sons were Jacob and Joseph and Lessing and Benjamin, and they also had three girls, I think."
"But you don't remember their names," she laughed.
"Well, I will go and look them up!"
"Oh, don't be ridiculous -" but AIfred was already on his feet, stalking into the Little House.
We were all sitting under an arbor of grape leaves that formed a kind of terrace outside the open french doors of the dining room, and this was the second commotion caused by the Princess von Hohenstein-Rofrano within the hour.
The first involved Bobby von Waldstein, or rather his Bugatti racing car.
When Bobby finally emerged from the maze of yew hedges to see Christoph and me laughing at him across the strawberry field, he just smiled and brushed off his tails and came over to join us.
"You have a brilliant sense of direction, Peter. Shall we go up to the Kleine Haus now?"
We walked around the greenhouses, across another lawn, passed through a wall of giant hedges and emerged on the broad pebbled entrance court in front of the Schloss. We walked down the driveway, through the open gates, crossed the shady island road and entered a complex of stables and garages on the other side of the road. We came through an arch in a big yellow stucco building and entered a wide cobbled courtyard. I smelled manure. The doors to the stables were open, and I could see some of the horses sticking their heads out of their stalls. The coachman who had driven us from the station came across the courtyard in his shirtsleeves, wearing rubber boots and carrying two buckets of water.
"Abend, die Herrschaften."
"Guten Abend, Schmitz," said Christoph and Bobby in unison.
Two small boys were chasing each other around a gleaming sky-blue racing car that was parked at one side of the court. It had an open cockpit with two seats. The slotted hood was strapped down with leather belts.
"Are you going to drive that in your tails?" I asked Bobby. "Oh, most certainly, but I am well prepared. He tipped one of leather bucket seats forward, extracted a dispatch case, opened it, and produced a long white overcoat. When he put it on, it covered him almost to the ankles. A matching white flying cap covered all of his head except his face. He put one foot on the front right tire and posed for us with his hands folded across his chest.
"I wish I could take your picture," I said. "At home nobody would believe this."
"It may look funny, but it's very practical, I assure you." He peeled off the coat and the cap and tossed them into the car. Then he led us out of the courtyard through another arch. We passed a tennis court and started to climb through an apple orchard. I sensed that we were approaching the highest point on the island, and when we came out of the trees into the open hayfield, I turned around to see a breathtaking view, miles of open water, hundreds of sails, the sun shining toward the western suburbs ..
Christoph was pointing out sights-. "That's the Grunewald to the north, beyond it you see the smoke of the city. Where the sun is going down is Kladow there on the other side, then the Pfaueninsel and behind that is Potsdam ..."
"Gentlemen, we are waiting for our martinis!"
The Princess was walking across the field, stepping carefully in high heels. She had taken off her hat, and the wind was blowing a few loose strands of her hair, which was pinned into a bun at the back of her head. As if it was the most natural thing in the world, she took Christoph's arm with one hand and my arm with the other and walked between us across the field -all the time talking to Bobby:
"Everybody is sitting on the terrace waiting for the American martinis that only Bobby can mix. Now that we have an American, we will find out if they are the genuine thing. But after you have mixed them, you may only drink one, and then I will take you to Nikolassee or you will be late for your appointment."
"What are you talking about, Helena? I am driving into town -"
"If you are driving into town, how do you imagine these gentlemen will get home? How will I get home?"
"Well ... ah, I imagine on the train -"
"What time is the last train? And how are we to get to the Station?"
"Well ... in the Horch."
"Lili says your mother sent the Horch into town with your Aunt Emma and Cousin Lore and it is not coming back until tomorrow morning, with some guests for Professor Liebermann ."
While the argument was going on we arrived at a clump of trees, a stone water tower, a cottage made of dark wooden shingles. We opened the garden gate, followed a corridor of lilac bushes, and found Sigrid and Lili and Alfred von Waldstein sitting in a grape arbor that extended like a porch from the house.
"Die Schöne Helena," said Alfred. "Always with two men."
They all stood up. Lili was completely transformed again, in a red dress and silk stockings and her black hair parted in the middle and combed back over her shoulders. How could she have changed that fast and beaten us up here?
Sigrid grasped my hand, smiled beautifully and said, very carefully: "It is an honor ... to welcome you ..."
"You don't need to speak English with him," said Bobby. "He understands every word."
"Bobby, we are all awaiting your martinis," said his brother.
"Oh yes, I will go into the kitchen," he said, and disappeared. There was a lull.
"This is a lovely house," I said. "Is it very old?"
"I think it was built about 1820," said Alfred. "We have always called it Das Kleine Haus, but when it was built it was the only house on the island."
"Did your family build it?"
"Oh, no. Not at all. This island belonged to the Counts von Brühl, same name as my wife's family, different branch. They owned all of that land you see across the water there, across the Wannsee over there, but there was no bridge and the island was quite wild, only fishermen would land their boats. Then I think the Brü has decided to cut some of the trees, to keep livestock over here in the summer, so they built this little house for a family to watch the island for them. Well, then in I think about 1830 one of the Counts Brühl, a younger son, wanted to live out here, to build himself a country place down near the water, and nothing would do but to employ the most famous architect in Berlin - perhaps in Germany - and that was Karl Friedrich Schinkel. You have seen his work?"
"Alfred," said Helena, "he has only just arrived in Berlin."
"Oh yes, I'm sorry, you see, Schinkel has built some of our most famous buildings. He built in what we call the Prussian Style - very cool, very simple, just the opposite of the rococo complicated things they did in France and Austria in the eighteenth century - and also just the opposite of the terrible pompous things they did here in Berlin in the last fifty years. Well, in any event, Schinkel designed the place and it was called Schloss Havelblick - a view of the Havel, you see - and the reason the young Count Brühl had the money for such a project was that he had married a daughter of David Waldstein, the banker. The Brühls had land, but David Waldstein had money."
"Has not changed in a hundred years," said Sigrid von Waldstein. "The Brühls still have land, the Waldsteins still have money. And land!"
Alfred flushed. "My dear, you know I'm talking about the Wasserbrühls!"
He turned to me. "The family I'm telling you about, we call them WaterBrühls because they live here on the water, and her family - Brühl zu Zeydlitz - are the Kartoffelbrühls, because they grow potatoes. They had the same ancestor in the sixteenth century but today they hardly know each other."
"Same ancestor and same financial problems, " said Sigrid, and fortunately Bobby returned with a tray, some glasses, and a siIver cocktail shaker.
He put the tray on the table, poured the martinis, and handed each of us a glass. Alfred raised his, looking me in the eye. "To your good health, sir. We are happy to have you with us."
"Thank you, sir. I'm happy to be here."
We drank ... and Lili exploded, coughing and choking and turning red. Roaring with laughter, her brothers pulled her out of the chair, took the glass out of her hand, pounded her back.
"0h ... 0h . I thought ... it is vermouth ..."
"Our baby sister," said Alfred, his arm around her, his handkerchief now in her hands.
"The English and Americans put gin into everything," said Helena. "It is two parts gin and one vermouth, isn't it?"
"We've been putting in a little more than this," I said. "These are excellent."
"Four to one," said Bobby proudly.
"Oh, I think it is terrible," said Lili, who had regained her breath.
"Let's get you a glass of wine," said Sigrid. They went into the house.
I turned to Alfred. "You were telling me about how your family came here."
"Oh yes. Well, after the Brühls built the Schloss, one of the Countess's brothers, that is my great-grandfather, Joseph Waldstein, began to rent this house for his family in the summer. They lived in Berlin, but they took this house every summer for years."
"Didn't that Brühl get into difficulties?" asked Christoph.
"Yes, not clever about business. He borrowed money to invest in things- for example in American railroads. This was when the first railroads were being built. It was suggested to him that America was far away, perhaps it would be wiser to invest in railroads a little closer. But no, Count Brühl and his brother had visited America, America was the land of the future, America was the place to invest in railroads. So they mortgaged their land, including
the island, and they invested their money in one American railroad -I don't know which one - and before 1845 all the money was gone. Count Brühl must have been one of the first to lose all his money on railroad investments. They did not build one kilometer of track with his money!"
"And it wasn't even his money," said Bobby.
"Legally it was his money, but of course it had come with Fräulein Waldstein. Her dowry."
"That must have made things unpleasant," I said.
"Very unpleasant. Especially when the lenders - I think it was the Rothschilds in Frankfurt - wanted to take the island away."
"Who wanted to take the island away?" asked Sigrid, as she and Lili came back out into the arbor with a tray and more glasses and a bottle of wine.
"I am telling the story of my family on this island. Well, the lenders would have sold the island to pay Count Brühl's debts, so of course Joseph Waldstein had to come to the rescue. He bought the mortgage from the Rothschilds and he gave it to his sister as a birthday present."
"And the Brühls stayed in the Schloss?"
Alfred nodded. "The Count died first, his wife lived there alone, they had no children, and when she died the property went to another Count Brühl, another brother's son. But in the next generation things were just the same, this next Count Brühl always needed money, he was a major in the Garde-du-Corps, very expensive regiment, he did not it seems marry a lady with money, and in 1866, just before he went off to the war against Austria, he sold the island to Joseph Waldstein the second, that is my grandfather - who had of course spent all his summers here and who loved the place very much."
"So your family in effect bought the island twice?" I asked.
AIfred smiled. "The island twice and the Schloss three times, really, since it was David Waldstein's money that paid for Schinkel's work in the first place. But I tell you something: this second Joseph, our grandfather, he was a smart fellow. By this time the railroad was built out here to Nikolassee, you could get out here from the city in one hour, Wannsee over there became a summer resort, people began to use sailboats for amusement, people wanted houses out here - my grandfather built the bridge, he had the road built in a circle, and then he sold off one piece of the island after another, like slices from a cake, at fantastic prices - mostly to other bankers from the city, his friends, his competitors -"
" - His brother," said Helena, and everybody laughed.
"Correct, his brother bought the place next door, everybody wanted to have a place as nice as Schloss Havelblick."
"Only Schinkel was dead," said Sigrid.
"Schinkel was dead many years. We are now in the time of Bismarck, when everybody made enormous amounts of money and built enormously pretentious houses - especially my grandfather's new neighbors. Of course he kept enough land to protect his view, but if we take you in the motorboat on your next visit, we can show you amazing sights."
"Unbelievable," said Sigrid. "We have a copy of the Villa d'Este, but without the waterworks."
"We have two castles from the Middle Ages," said Lili.
"And two Spanish haciendas," said Sigrid.
"Please forget the haciendas," said Alfred. "My cousins built one of them!" Everybody laughed.
Helena suddenly stood up. "Robert, dear boy, it is time for our trip to the station."
So the argument began again: Bobby didn't want to ride into town on the train. Helena insisted; he had done it before, plenty of times. In town, he could use taxis.... But who would drive the Bugatti? ... She, Helena, would drive the Bugatti, as she had only last week, remember? ...But she couldn't drive Peter and Christoph into town because there are only two seats.... Three people have been fitted into the Bugatti.... But Christoph can't drive, so will he sit on Peter's lap? Or will Peter sit on Christoph's lap ...
"Nonsense, my dear. I will sit on Christoph's lap and Peter will drive. Americans can drive anything!"
Bobby rose and made a bow. "Ladies and gentlemen, I surrender. Die Schöne Helena has her way - as always. I wish you a pleasant evening."
Helena kissed his cheek, took his arm and walked him away through the lilacs.
I turned to Lili, mumbling: "Couldn't Christoph and I sleep in the garden? It's a warm night -"
She touched her lips, the same gesture she had made in the yew hedges, and rose to her feet. "AIfred, may I show Peter your studio?"
Inside, the Little House was dark and elegantly simple: a stove made of Dutch tiles; dark red Biedermeier furniture - what I later learned was Biedermeier furniture - Turkish carpets; dark yellow
wallpaper; a few dark portraits; and the comfortable smell of a very old house combined with the smell of fresh flowers on every table.
Lili said: "Of course you and Christoph could have slept here - there is a guest room. But Helena does not want Christoph to sleep here. You understand?"
It was getting dark outside. It was darker in the living room, but even so I could see that she was blushing. She turned away and opened a door. "This is where my brother writes his books."
Another Turkish carpet, a big table piled with books and papers, a lamp, a wooden armchair, a worn leather sofa, two walls solid with books, and large french doors through which we could see the hayfield sloping down into the apple orchard, the roofs of the stables, the tops of the oaks and beeches and horse chestnuts around the Schloss, and beyond this solid blanket of treetops, the flat smooth expanse of darkening water and lights coming on in the distance.
I stopped looking at the view and looked at Lili, to find she was looking at me.
"I don't know the customs of your country," I said.
"Pardon? I don't know what -"
"At home I would ask if you would like to go out with me."
"Go out? You mean into the garden?"
She knew I didn't mean that.
"I mean go out with me to dinner, and to the theatre ... or something. Like with Dr. Strassburger."
She smiled. "Oh, I see. Like Dr. Strassburger."
"You said he should have asked you first. So I'm asking you first."
"And then you will ask my mother?" She was grinning.
"I said I don't know the customs. What should I do? Would you like to go out with me?" I was very close to her now.
"Yes. I would like that very much, but they will not allow it."
"Your parents? Why not?"
She shrugged. "With a man alone, no chaperone? I'm still in school, it's not allowed."
"What about Dr. Strassburger? He must know what the rules are."
"Yes, perhaps that would be different, because he is much older, my father's partner.... I don't know what they would say but it does not matter, because I am not going 'out' with Dr. Strassburger. I don't like Dr. Strassburger."
"Well ... ah ... how can we see each other?"
She looked down at her folded hands, then up again at me. She had the longest eyelashes I had ever seen. "You don't worry about that," she said." If you want to see me, we will see each other."
The round mahogany table was just big enough to accommodate the six of us. The french doors to the grape arbor were still open. Hurricane glasses protected the candles from the slight breeze that brought the smell of cut grass into the dining room. A young maid, dressed in a black uniform and a white apron, served plates of pea soup. Helena was insisting that she made it back from the station in five minutes flat; Alfred and Christoph refused to believe her. Sigrid and Lili showed that this debate didn't interest them. Alfred caught their looks.
"Peter," he said, "' we have been talking all evening about ourselves. Why don't you tell us something about your home and your family?"
Well, what could I tell them? Certainly nothing as interesting as what I had been hearing, Germantown is a suburb of Philadelphia. My father is a surgeon. My grandfather was a surgeon. I went to school -
"What sort of a school?" asked Alfred. "A boarding school, like the English?"
"No, this was a Friends' School, Germantown Friends."
"What does that mean? Does that not mean Quakers?"
"Yes."
"And you are a Quaker?" The room was suddenly absolutely still. Every eye was upon me. What could these people have against Quakers?
"Well, yes, I guess I was born one, my parents go to Meeting but I haven't been for quite a while -"
Alfred von Waldstein slammed his hand upon the table and fairly shouted:" But that is wonderful!" and then they were all talking at once.
"We were so hungry," said Lili, "and they brought chocolate pudding to our school."
"They did remarkable things," said Alfred. In the worker districts the children were actually starving. Just as soon as the War was over, the American Quakers came with powdered milk and chocolate and fruit juice in cans-"
Helena said: "If children like Lili were hungry, you can imagine what it was like for poor people, for the children of the factory workers, for children whose fathers had been killed -"
"When was all this?" I asked.
"Just after the War ended," said Alfred. "Our supply systems broke down, most of the supplies were gone anyway, the British kept up the blockade, we had a famine in the spring of 1919 ... and suddenly these people arrived, very quiet simple Americans, they made no fuss at all, they made contact with the churches and the schools and they distributed food to the children....I don't even know how they got the food through the blockade."
"Miss Boatwright told me the first shipments came from Switzerland" said Helena.
"Miss Boatwright? Miss Susan Boatwright?"
"You know her?"
"Oh yes. She's a friend of my family. But I haven't seen her ... for several years."
I had not seen her since the spring of 1919, when I was locked up in Friends Hospital with her niece. Miss Boatwright would sit and talk to me and tell me how much she liked the picture I was doing of Joanne - and come to think, she said she was off to Germany.
"Miss Boatwright was out here last Saturday," said Lili.
"Do you know if she's still in Berlin?" I asked. I would really like to see her."
"I'm sure she is," said Alfred. "She is writing a report on the relief operations in Germany, and she is living somewhere in the city. We will find her address for you."
"Peter, we cannot tell you how much the people here appreciate what the Quakers did," said Sigrid quietly. I was in boarding school - and I was really hungry! "
This embarrassed me. I wanted to change the subject.
"Why did the British keep up the blockade when the War was over?"
"To make us sign the Versailles Treaty," said Alfred. "They didn't finally wait until the treaty was signed, but they waited long enough! "
"And you feel it was a bad treaty?"
"A bad treaty?" Christoph sounded incredulous.
'I'm sorry," I said, seeing their astonished faces, feeling I had stubbed my toe this time. I" don't know much about it."
They looked at each other. Finally Alfred said: I think it's too complicated to discuss the whole treaty tonight. But if you ask us -yes, it is a very bad treaty, a terrible treaty - not only for the land that was taken away from us, not only for the hundreds of thousands of German people who are forced to become citizens of France and Poland and Czechoslovakia - but it is a bad treaty because it does not permit Germany to survive as a nation. I mean, we have a government, a republican form of government now, but this government cannot perform the obligations of that treaty!"
"You mean the reparation payments?"
"That's right. Do you realize exactly how much the Allies expect us to pay? The last number I read was 132 billion gold marks! Well, it is simply impossible for us to pay, we will never pay, we cannot do it! And the pressure to make these payments is causing this incredible inflation, the prices go up every day, the people don't know what to do, and they are getting desperate. How can any government survive under such pressure?"
I said: "Christoph told me your foreign minister, the man I met this afternoon -"
"- Walther Rathenau."
"Yes, that he wants to comply with the treaty. Isn't that right?"
"He wants to move in that direction," said Christoph. "He knows we can't pay everything they ask, but he wants to work with them."
Alfred nodded. "He does. He thinks it is the only way we can restore our economy, to reason with the Allies, to demonstrate that we will try to pay them as much as we can - perhaps in goods instead of money.... I tell you something: Walter Rathenau is one of the most brilliant men we have and he loves his country, and he believes the only way to save this situation is to work with the Allies, to gain time, to build up German trade and industry, to put the unemployed to work -"
Helena interrupted: "And you know what the German people are going to do for Walther Rathenau? They are going to kill him!",
"Aber Helena!" Sigrid gasped.
"No, it's true! A priest went to the police, he heard something in confession, the police went straight to Chancellor Wirth, and Wirth has asked Rathenau to have a police escort. But he refuses to have any protection, will not permit it."
"He told you this?" asked Christoph.
"Of course not. His mother told me."
"His mother?"
"You know she begged him not to take this position -"
"But why do they want to kill him?" I asked.
"Because he is a Jew! "
I didn't know where to look. I looked at Christoph.
"It's a little more complicated than that," said Alfred.
"It's not at all more complicated," said Helena. "It's very simple."
"They shot Matthias Erzberger last summer," said Alfred. "A Catholic politician, leader of the Center Party. He signed the Armistice in 1918, he led the campaign to have the German government sign the Versailles Treaty. His theory was it doesn't matter what you sign if somebody puts a gun to your head, so the treaty doesn't bind us. But that's too sophisticated for them. They killed him anyway."
"And now it's Rapallo," said Christoph. "They just can't understand how Rathenau could sign a treaty with the Bolsheviks. They remember Liebknecht and the Spartacus, they remember when we had a Soviet of Bavaria down in Munich, and now we sign a treaty with the Russians."
"Who are 'they'?" I asked.
"Nationalists," said AIfred. "The extreme Right - General Ludendorff, Karl HeIfferich - everybody who hates the Republic."
"- Because the Republic signed at Versailles," Christoph said. "The people who were army officers, the people who think we were not beaten in the field, we were betrayed by Communists and Socialists in the rear," Alfred said.
"The Freikorps types," said Helena.
I looked at Sigrid and at Christoph. Their expressions did not change, but Sigrid was looking down at her plate.
"There were some good people in the Freikorps," she said.
"I haven't met one," said Helena.
"I have," said Sigrid.
Dead silence for a moment. Then AIfred said: "I'll tell you something: in 1919 there would have been no Republic without the Freikorps. They saved he government, and it would surprise you who gave money - a lot of money- to pay those troops. Walther Rathenau, for example." -
"Alfred, you are talking nonsense!"
"Ask him."
"I will ask him!"
"I'll tell you another source of money."
"Oh no!"
"Oh yes!"
Christoph, Lili, Sigrid and I were all silently watching them-.
"Remember this was Christmas 1918. Revolution. Chaos. Mobs in the streets. Thousands of people marching - marching with red flags. Singing. You are sitting in your bank. You listen to them singing. What do you think you need? You need soldiers. But the army is falling apart, the army is full of commissars with red armbands, the army can't do a thing. What do the generals do? The generals set up little private armies - volunteer corps, people who still want to fight, people who only follow their own leaders. But they have to pay them. Where do they get the money?" Alfred paused. "They got it."
Heavy silence.
Helena began again: "Your father and Uncle Fritz never -"
"I'm not sure they knew about it."
"Strassburger?"
Alfred nodded.
The soup bowls were removed and the girl was passing the main course in silver serving dishes: thin slices of cold smoked ham, boiled potatoes, white asparagus covered with melting butter - the best asparagus I had ever eaten. AIfred himself moved around the table pouring the white wine, and when he sat down again he lifted his glass.
"Meine Damen und Herren, I offer a toast. No more politics - at least tonight!"
"Thank God!" said his wife. We all drank. The wine was a little sweeter than anything I'd had in Paris. I asked about it.
"Just a light Mosel - I mean Moselle, of course - a favorite German wine when it was bottled, but now a French wine."
"AIfred!"
"I'm sorry, my dear. Helena, what were you doing in Vienna?"
I was trying to get a part - or rather five parts."
"Five parts in one play?" asked Christoph.
"Five parts."
" I think I can guess the play," said Alfred. "But I did not believe even Die Schöne Helena was that ambitious."
Helena shrugged. "It never hurts to try. The director is a friend of mine."
"But what is the play?" asked Lili.
"Ask AIfred."
"Reigen?" asked AIfred.
Helena nodded.
The others looked blank.
"It's by Arthur Schnitzler," said Alfred. "A fascinating play, hardly ever performed. It was privately printed around 1900, but during the Empire they did not dare perform it. After the War they put on one production, but it caused such an uproar that the police closed it."
"It caused an uproar in Vienna? " asked Christoph. "What is it about?"
"It's about love," said Helena.
"Well . . ." Alfred was carefully cutting his ham into small pieces. "You think it is about love? I would say there is very little love. It is about sexual intercourse."
"AIfred! "
"My dear, have you read it?"
"Certainly not! I've never heard of it."
"Well, perhaps you would like to see it. Helena, will they bring it to Berlin?"
'Yes, that's their whole idea, and I thought they might like a nice north German voice -"
"You wanted to play all the women?" Alfred began to laugh, and rose to refill our glasses. "My dear, I don't think Schnitzler would approve. After all, the setting is Vienna. And with so many actors unemployed, I think they should engage five men and five women."
"That's what they did - and I got no part at all! They wanted Vienna dialects."
Lili said, "I think it is not polite that you two discuss this play without telling the rest of us the story!"
"No, that would spoil it," said Helena. "We'll take you to see it."
"Her mother will not let her go, " said Alfred. "And the ushers will not let her in!"
"Her mother has never heard of the play," said Helena. "And we will dress her to look at least thirty. With a veil!"
"We will all go together," said Sigrid.
"Now just one moment," said Alfred. "This is my baby sister. You want me to take part in a complot to bring my baby sister to a naughty play?"
"It's not a naughty play," said Helena. "You just said it is not about love, it is about sexual intercourse. I think it is about the way people behave, the way men behave, the way women behave, before sexual intercourse - and afterwards. 'naughty' is the word?"
AIfred sipped his wine thoughtfully. Then he said: "No, I agree. 'Naughty 'is the wrong word for Reigen."
"What is the right word?" I asked.
Alfred looked into the candlelight. "The right word is triste."
PROLOGUE - THURSDAY, JUNE 15, 1922
I. HOW I GOT THERE
1. PARIS 1922
2. VERDUN 1916
3. IT'S STEALING MONEY, ISN'T IT
4. WHERE WERE YOU IN 1919?
5. RELIABLE TROOPS
6. AN ISLAND
7. BISMARCK FOUND THEM USEFUL
8. INTRODUCTIONS
>9. THE LITTLE HOUSE
10. INDIAN CROSSES
11. ANOTHER PART OF TOWN
12. A VIEW OF THE GENDARMENMARKT
13. TWO FOR TEA
14. ON THE TOWN
15. A VIEW OF THE HAVEL
16. REIGEN
II. WHAT HAPPENED
17. THURSDAY, JUNE 15, 1922
18. MONDAY, JUNE 19, 1922
19. WEDNESDAY, JUNE 21, 1922
20. FRIDAY, JUNE 23, 1922
21. SATURDAY, JUNE 24, 1922
22. WHAT HAPPENED?
III. THE WITCHES' SABBATH
23. SILENCE WITH VOICES
24. THE JUDGMENT OF PARIS
25. SAME SONGS, DIFFERENT SINGERS
26. THEY'RE ONLY GOING TO HIRE HIS VOICE
27. INFLATION WORKS IN DIFFERENT WAYS
28. SMALL CHANGE
29. WHY NOT PAINT LILI?
30. COLD WIND IN MAY
31. ROLLING THUNDER
32. WALDSTEIN'S VOICE
33. THE MATTER OF A DOWRY
34. A RUSSIAN WORD AND A GERMAN WORD
35. THE MARCH ON BERLIN
36. A PIG LOSES MONEY ALL THE TIME
37. THE ARTISTS' BALL
IV. STRIKE TWELVE ZEROs
38. AMYTAL DREAMS
39. LETTERS
40. PROFESSOR JAFFA'S PROGNOSIS
41. THE OTHER SUBJECT
42. ROLLING HOME