They Call Me Carpenter | Page 2

with the flicker of a
smile--"One does not find American screen actors in that condition. Do
your people care enough about the life of art to take a risk of starving
for it?"
Now, as a matter of fact, we had at that time several millions of people
out of work in America, and many of them starving. There must be

some intellectuals among them, I suggested; and the critic replied:
"They must have starved for so long that they have got used to it, and
can enjoy it--or at any rate can enjoy turning it into art. Is not that the
final test of great art, that it has been smelted in the fires of suffering?
All the great spiritual movements of humanity began in that way; take
primitive Christianity, for example. But you Americans have taken
Christ, the carpenter--"
I laughed. It happened that at this moment we were passing St.
Bartholomew's Church, a great brown-stone structure standing at the
corner of the park. I waved my hand towards it. "In there," I said, "over
the altar, you may see Christ, the carpenter, dressed up in exquisite
robes of white and amethyst, set up as a stained glass window ornament.
But if you'll stop and think, you'll realize it wasn't we Americans who
began that!"
"No," said the other, returning my laugh, "but I think it was you who
finished him up as a symbol of elegance, a divinity of the respectable
inane."
Thus chatting, we turned the corner, and came in sight of our goal, the
Excelsior Theatre. And there was the mob!

II
At first, when I saw the mass of people, I thought it was the usual
picture crowd. I said, with a smile, "Can it be that the American people
are not so dead to art after all?" But then I observed that the crowd
seemed to be swaying this way and that; also there seemed to be a great
many men in army uniforms. "Hello!" I exclaimed. "A row?"
There was a clamor of shouting; the army men seemed to be pulling
and pushing the civilians. When we got nearer, I asked of a bystander,
"What's up?" The answer was: "They don't want 'em to go in to see the
picture."
"Why not?"
"It's German. Hun propaganda!"
Now you must understand, I had helped to win a war, and no man gets
over such an experience at once. I had a flash of suspicion, and glanced
at my companion, the cultured literary critic from Berlin. Could it
possibly be that this smooth-spoken gentleman was playing a trick
upon me--trying, possibly, to get something into my crude American

mind without my realizing what was happening? But I remembered his
detailed account of the production, the very essence of "art for art's
sake." I decided that the war was three years over, and I was competent
to do my own thinking.
Dr. Henner spoke first. "I think," he said, "it might be wiser if I did not
try to go in there."
"Absurd!" I cried. "I'm not going to be dictated to by a bunch of
imbeciles!"
"No," said the other, "you are an American, and don't have to be. But I
am a German, and I must learn."
I noted the flash of bitterness, but did not resent it. "That's all nonsense,
Dr. Henner!" I argued. "You are my guest, and I won't--"
"Listen, my friend," said the other. "You can doubtless get by without
trouble; but I would surely rouse their anger, and I have no mind to be
beaten for nothing. I have seen the picture several times, and can talk
about it with you just as well."
"You make me ashamed of myself," I cried--"and of my country!"
"No, no! It is what you should expect. It is what I had in mind when I
spoke of the surgeon contracting the disease. We German intellectuals
know what war means; we are used to things like this." Suddenly he put
out his hand. "Good-bye."
"I will go with you!" I exclaimed. But he protested--that would
embarrass him greatly. I would please to stay, and see the picture; he
would be interested later on to hear my opinion of it. And abruptly he
turned, and walked off, leaving me hesitating and angry.
At last I started towards the entrance of the theatre. One of the men in
uniform barred my way. "No admittance here!"
"But why not?"
"It's a German show, and we aint a-goin' to allow it."
"Now see here, buddy," I countered, none too good-naturedly, "I
haven't got my uniform on, but I've as good a right to it as you; I was
all through the Argonne."
"Well, what do you want to see Hun propaganda for?"
"Maybe I want to see