CABARET

1922

"Julius, what are we to do, now that we have a family?" Lotte Rothschild asked her husband in a tremulous voice. They were in his office at the Jockey Club. Outside the room, in an elegant salon, fashionable men lounged in overstuffed leather chairs, waiting for their fitting or measuring session, conversing quietly or reading the Post Zeitung, the London Times or one of the dozen magazines that sat on the tables.

"The world seems like it is falling apart," Lotte continued. "The mark has lost all of its value. I saw some billion-mark bills at the store today. They are paying the people three times a day and giving them breaks so they can buy bread before the price goes up."

"I have told you Lotte, I am not trading in marks." Julius let out a sigh of frustration put down his pen and turned to his wife. "We have gone over this a hundred times, Liebchen. My business is based in London and Paris. I deal in francs and pounds sterling. We have become very wealthy as a result. There is nothing to fear."

"But I am afraid, Julius. This city has become a place of sin. Look at the people who frequent the cabarets, and the music that is coming from them. What kind of a world will our daughter find when she comes of age?"

"She will find a wonderful world that we have fashioned for her. Do you think that we have acquired all of these lovely things without hard work? We are living a very fine life, Lotte. Be happy about that."

"Of course, I'm happy, dear," Lotte said, bowing her head almost in submission. But then she looked at her husband with fear in her eyes. "I think we should move to Paris or London."

"We will not leave Berlin at this time!"

Julius threw his pen down and walked around the desk, taking his wife by the hand to escort her to the door.

"Get yourself under control, Lotte. It is precisely because of the bad times that we are thriving. One pound sterling is worth a fortune today. The wealthy in Berlin are not to be found drunk in the cabarets and clubs. They are at the opera or at home, safe and sound. And they are buying my fine clothes and taking holidays on the Costa del Sol or lounging on the beaches in Crete. No, Lotte, Berlin is the place for us right now. It is an opportunity not to be missed."

Eva's mother wasn't convinced.

"What a world for our Evchen to be born into! What sort of future will she have? I heard just today that some of those dreadful Americans were throwing coins on the floor of the Hundekeller if women would take off their clothes to pick them up. What have we become? Have we no shame?"

"We are paying the penalty for our beloved Kaiser, my dear. Our country has been squashed by the heel of the victors, and France and England mean to have their way with us. Be thankful that we are on their side, Lotte. This day will pass, and Germany will become strong again. It is the way we are. It is the way we have always been."

Lotte found herself outside her husband's office, in the salon. Several of the clients, who had been eavesdropping on the conversation, paused briefly in their own discussions or reading, then averted their eyes. Embarrassed, Lotte quickly left the Jockey Club.

Two years later, a second child was born, and though the Rothschilds had been praying for a son, they welcomed Elisa into their world as a playmate for their darling Evchen, Little Eva. There was never any question which daughter was the favorite. From birth, Eva was a smiling, happy, alert child, totally capturing the heart of her parents with her precocious ways, her boundless energy and inquisitiveness. Elisa, who immediately took on the nickname of Lisel, was of an entirely different temperament—quiet, somewhat sickly, subdued.

The family occupied an upscale townhouse in city center Berlin, with the Spielzimmer and Schlafzimmer for the children removed from the living quarters of the parents. There the girls played together, though they were hardly close friends, sometimes joined by their red-headed cousin, Ellen Bier, who lived in Frankfurt but visited often. Julius and Lotte didn't allow their daughters outside of their own circle. Too young to know the shame of defeat and the German reaction to the Treaty of Versailles, of berserk inflation and unemployment, they were not even aware that the world was frantically heading into even more devastating depression. None of that penetrated the Rothschild playroom.

"Eva, Lisel, are you dressed? Uma is waiting for us."

It was a weekly event, an afternoon at the Zunfz Café on Unter den Linden with Grandmother Furstenthal and their mother, a chance for Eva and Lisel to dress up, "properly" was the word that Mutti used, and behave in a perfectly "adult" fashion. Here they sipped their warm chocolate and daintily tasted a wonderful variety of Kuchen and Tortes, filling the morning with chatter, to the delight of their mother and grandmother.

"Umi, have you ever tasted anything so delicious?" Eva would blurt after her first bite of a strudel.

"Where on earth does she come up with such questions?" her grandmother would exclaim, planting a kiss on Eva's cheek.

It was all the inspiration Eva would need to continue what she considered an "adult conversation," required in such elevated circumstances.

Eva grew to become an outgoing, chattering sprite of a girl, with a head of curly black hair, and a perpetual smile on her face. When the time came, she entered the public Volksschule in the city center, and she thrived. Class pictures show her always in the front of the class, usually near the teacher. Once a week, she left her class with the other Jewish girls for a lesson in Hebrew and scriptures. As she grew, her annual Mother's Day cards and New Year greetings added a bit of Hebrew to the message, each year providing evidence of her progress in the difficult language. Her family could not be called practicing Jews. Once a year her mother observed the High Holy Days with her grandmother, but her father had long ago retreated completely into agnosticism. For Eva, being Jewish only meant a class a week away from her schoolmates. It never occurred to her that she was anything but a young German girl.

Now and then Lotte Rothschild would host the women in their Kaffeekränzchen, where they would sit around and gossip, sipping their coffee and plowing through the fertile fields of Berliner scandal for hours during the afternoon. Eva would sneak down to the stair landing to listen in on the conversation, much of which she didn't understand, but all of which was undoubtedly important or these elegant ladies wouldn't be discussing it.

"Did you read about Dietrich? She is supposed to be working on a new film, "der Blaue Engel."

"What's so special about Dietrich? I think she is sort of a slut."

"Have you seen her legs, Ilse? With those legs she doesn't have to work at night."

"I think we have legs as nice as hers," Hildrun Mathies asserted.

"Oh, be serious Hildrun! Next thing, you'll be trying out for the Tiller girls to go high-kicking on Kurfurstendamm. That would be a sight!"

"I want to go over to the Romanische Cafe bookstore and listen to Erich Remarque speak," Tanya Heidel declared. "Have you read his latest book, Im Westen Nichts Neues? They say it is scandalous."

"I've read it, Tanya" Lotte volunteered, taking a petite sip of her coffee. "It is nothing of the sort. It...