War Is Over, If You Want It

In last Saturday's post about Teddy Roosevelt, I mentioned that German cartoonists were probably too preoccupied with domestic problems to take note of the passing of an American president; so it behooves me this Saturday to fill you in, dear reader, on those pressing matters over in die Vaterland.

"Übergangswirtschaft" by Wilhelm Schnarrenberger in Simplicissimus, Munich, January 7, 1919

With the abdication of Kaiser Wilhelm and the renunciation of the throne by his son Crown Prince Wilhelm, Germany was thrust into a fundamental identity crisis. A republican government was established with social democrat Friedrich Ebert as chancellor, but labor strikes and partisan strife from the far left and far right threatened to overthrow the Weimar Republic from the outset.

"Berlin in War and in Peace" by Albert J. Taylor in Los Angeles Times, January, 1919

Taking advantage of a general strike declared on January 6, the Spartacist League (Spartakusbund), a faction of the German Communist Party led by Karl Liebknecht and Rosa Luxemburg, sparked a violent uprising hoping to establish a communist state.

"Liebknecht" by Erich Schilling in Simplicissimus, Munich, January 21, 1919

As a member of the Reichstag, Liebknecht had been a prominent opponent of the Great War. His opposition got him sentenced to prison for high treason, but he was released as part of a general amnesty in October, 1918. Luxemburg, a Polish-born German citizen, taught Marxism and economics in Berlin, where Ebert had been among her students. She had also opposed the war, advocating general strikes in German and France to prevent it. She had misgivings about the Spartacist uprising, but supported it once it was underway.

"Pandora Has Nothing on This!" by Fred O. Seibel in Knickerbocker Press, New York, January, 1919

Seibel's crow's worries would be about 20 years premature; Ebert's government and paramilitary units made up of military veterans loyal to him succeeded in quashing the Spartacist uprising in a little over one week. 156 rebels and 17 of Ebert's men were killed in the fighting. Liebknecht and Luxemburg were arrested, beaten, and executed on January 15.

"Die Zerbrochene Waffe" by Werner Hammann in Kladderadatch,  Berlin, January 19, 1919

Meanwhile: after a rousing patriotic speech by the famed Polish pianist Ignacy Paderewski, an uprising against German rule broke out in the Prussian city of Posen (present-day Poznań, Poland) on December 27, 1918. Werner Hammann's Michel (the German equivalent of Uncle Sam, John Bull, or Marianne) vainly brandishes his broken "militarism" rifle against the wolves and crows devouring Posen, his dying horse.

"Come On, Put 'em Up!" by Harry Tuthill in St. Louis Star, Dec. 1918/Jan. 1919

"A Little More Self-Determination..." by Guy R. Spencer in Omaha World, January, 1919

By January 15, the Polish "Citizens' Guard" had seized control of most of the province of Posen, and engaged in heavy fighting with the regular German army and irregular units. Paderewski was appointed Polish Prime Minister on January 18.

"Paderewski's Latest Composition" by Edward W. Gale in Los Angeles Times, January, 1919

The Greater Polish Uprising, as it came to be known, resulted in Poland winning most of the Prussian provinces of Posen and West Prussia, plus eastern portions of Upper Silesia and the area of Działdowo at the peace negotiations at Versailles. Germany retained a section of  East Prussia disconnected from the rest of Germany by a narrow corridor at the port of Gdansk (German Danzig) that provided Poland's only access to the Baltic Sea.

"Klassische Forderung" by Arthur Johnson in Kladderadatsch, Berlin, January 26, 1919

Poland, when it had any territory at all, had been landlocked since Napoleonic times, so granting it the Polish Corridor prompted Arthur Johnson to suggest sarcastically that perhaps the newly independent Czechoslovakia would demand a seaport, too. His cartoon refers to Act III, Scene 3 of The Winter's Tale, in which Antigonus's ship lands in Bohemia, described by Shakespeare as "a desert Country near the Sea."

Any mariners relying upon Shakespeare for navigation deserve, like Antigonus, to exit, pursued by a bear.

"Overlapping Claims" by Neal D. McCall in Portland (OR) Telegram, January, 1919

Down south at the Adriatic, the Entente had promised Italy Trieste and much of what is now the Croatian coastline in exchange for Italy declaring war on Austria-Hungary. The promises made in the secret Treaty of London in 1915 ran counter to the ideals of ethnic self-determination in Woodrow Wilson's Fourteen Points, and broke American cartoonists of the habit of drawing Italy as the Little Guy.

"Tut, Tut!" by Edward W. Gale in Los Angeles Times, January, 1919

Upset at what it perceived as a betrayal of those promises, Italy walked out of the Paris peace negotiations, insisting that it would only negotiate with Serbia. Italy would gain territory in the eventual Treaty of Versailles, but not nearly as much as it felt it was due. (Cue ominous foreshadowing music here.)

"Ho paura che il mio progetto per la Società delle Nazione..." by Gabriele "Rata Langa" Galanta in L'Asino, Rome, January 19, 1919

Rata Langa's assessment of the League of Nations aside, his caricature of the U.S. President is a far cry from the cartoon of the beatific portrait of St. Woodrow from a couple month's earlier.

Baseball, Sunday Drivers, and Murderous Medicis

Gosh, it's been a fortnight and a half since we revisited World War I, so Scattershot Saturday takes a quick look around at how the War That Didn't Quite End All Wars was going in September, 1918.

"We're Ready, Uncle Sam" by Berrns (?) in Milwaukee Journal, September 11, 1918

I wanted to start with this cartoon only because the Milwaukee Journal didn't employ an editorial cartoonist in those days. I don't know whether this front page cartoon was drawn by someone in the ad department at the Journal or by someone in D.C. cranking out one of these for each of the 48 states.

Whichever it was, the directive had clearly gone out that cartoonists needed to publicize that all men age 18 to 45 were now required to register for the draft. "18 to 45" appeared on scores of editorial cartoons all across the nation at once, with no need to spell out the significance of those numbers.

"Batter Up!" by J.W. McGurk in Philadelphia Journal, September, 1918

The draft, and a Selective Service “Work or Fight” order, requiring all able-bodied men to either serve in the military or work in a “necessary” civilian occupation, pushed the 1918 World Series of baseball up to September 5 through 11. The Boston Red Sox defeated the Chicago Cubs four games to two in the series, which suffered from a lack of popular interest. Players even threatened to go on strike over the poor attendance, which could possibly have been because so many of their fans were busy in the trenches overseas.

In a move to tap into popular support for the war effort, a military band was featured during the seventh inning stretch of game one in what is reputed to be the first playing of "Star Spangled Banner" — not yet our national anthem — at a sporting event.

(The dialogue in these cartoons is difficult to read even with click-to-embiggen technology; McGurk's baseball player is saying, “Here's where the doggone game goes on ice!”)

"The Gasoline Slacker..." by Billy Ireland in Columbus Dispatch, ca. September, 1918

Low attendance at Comiskey and Fenway may also have had something to do with the government urging Americans to "save gas for General Pershing" by curtailing unnecessary automobile travel. A particular target was Sunday driving, when one was presumed to have no particular reason to leave the house. And yes, Game Five of the World Series was played on a Sunday.

In Billy Ireland's cartoon, a carload of "gasoline slackers" whizzes past "those of us who would like the use of our cars the rest of the week." Uncle Sam, carrying his "supply of gasoline," grouses that "If they haven't any more sympathy for the welfare of our men in France than that, I will have to take over all of the gas."

"The Complete Alibi" by Harold T. Webster in New York Tribune, ca. September 10, 1918

For all the gasless Sundays, Meatless Mondays, Wheatless Wednesdays and so forth being promoted on the Home Front, the Entente forces at last had some good news to report from the Western Front. One month into the 100-Day Offensive, the allies were pushing the German army east from the Somme and the Marne.

Webster's Kaiser assures the German people that "Ve are trying to entice der enemy into Berlin und dey iss svallowing der bait mit sinker, line und hook! Alretty ve has fooldt dem into taking t'ousands und t'ousands of our men prisoner! It iss a glorious victory yet!!"

"Den Verdieste Seine Krone!" by Arthur Johnson in Kladderadatsch, Berlin, September 8, 1918

The erosion of Germany's Western Front could no longer be ignored even by German cartoonists, so Arthur Johnson was left to carp about the high price the Entente armies paid in human lives for their victories. The note atop this cartoon explains that "General Foch was handed the marshal's baton by Poincaré."

"A New Policeman on the Beat" by Bushnell for Central Press Association, ca. September, 1918

On the Eastern Front, American cartoonists displayed considerable overconfidence in reports of victories by Japanese, Czechoslovakian and Cossack fighters against the Bolsheviks in Siberia. The Czechoslovak People's Army of Komuch seized Kazan, Tartarstan from the Bolsheviks in August and captured the Imperial Russian gold reserve. Backed by the Czechoslovakians, anti-Bolshevik Russians established a rival government in Omsk, Siberia in September. It would last only two years.

"Reinfall" by Max Richter in Kladderadatsch, Berlin, September 8, 1918

Max Richter's cartoon errs in the opposite direction, predicting that Czechoslovakian hopes of independence from Austria-Hungary would be doomed by their partisans' adventures in the east. The text below explains that Czechoslovakians, lured by British promises of self-determination, happily entered the Siberian mousetrap, but predicted they would have difficulty getting out.

"Le Prime Vittorie dei Nippo-Americani in Siberia" by Glycetti (?) in Il 420, Florence, September 15, 1918

And then there's this Italian take on the Siberian situation.

To the modern reader, there's a whole lot of non sequitur in this cartoon, ostensibly about some military victory by American and Japanese troops in Russia. I have no explanation for the crying moon, Kaiser Wilhelm's ladder, the nail through the Russian bear, why Woodrow Wilson and the Japanese guy are barely onlookers, or why the Italian, Frenchman and British characters are standing on a cloud (unless they're dead, which would be kind of weird, but, well okay, let's go with that).

I can tell you that Lorenzino de' Medici was a Renaissance era Italian politician who befriended, debauched with, then assassinated his cousin Alessandro, the Duke of Florence. He then wrote a grandiloquent Apology claiming to have killed Alessandro in the interests of reestablishing a republic, fled to exile in Venice, and was eventually killed by agents of Emperor Charles V, Alessandro's father-in-law. Supposedly, the devil refused to admit Lorenzino into Hell for fear that he would usurp the devil's rule.

"La Corona di Polonia e Carletto" by Luccio in Il 420, Florence, September 8, 1918

So here's a cartoon about Austrian Emperor Charles I that is needs absolutely no explanation. Does it?

And finally, the Allies moved ahead with plans for the post-war world. President Wilson commissioned his diplomatic adviser, Edward "Colonel" House in September to draw up a constitution for the League of Nations. House proposed that "unethical" state behavior such as espionage would result in "blockading and closing the frontiers of that power to commerce or intercourse with any part of the world and to use any force that may be necessary."

"Vorberatungen für den zu Gründenden 'Völkerbund' der Entente" by Max Richter in Kladderadatsch, Berlin, September 15, 1918

100 Years Ago Today

To give you a sense of the pace of things as the world stumbled resolutely into World War I, you may recall that June 28 was the 100th anniversary of the assassination of Archduke Franz Ferdinand of Austria-Hungary. Here's the front page of the Chicago Tribune on Monday, July 27, 1914. (Click image to reembiggenificate.)