Life, 1916-03-30 · page 7 of 45
Life — March 30, 1916 — page 7: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
This page satirizes German-American cultural influence in pre-WWI America through an elaborate mock-ballad. The illustration shows a fashionably-dressed woman riding atop a juggernaut (a powerful, unstoppable force) labeled "FASHIONS," crushing crowds beneath. The poem, attributed to K.L. Roberts, humorously recounts owning a destructive dachshund puppy—a transparent metaphor for German culture. The puppy devours everything (papers, furniture, writings, even Nietzsche), representing how German ideas and fashions were consuming American society. The subtitle explicitly frames this as commentary on the "German-American National Alliance" and its influence before America entered WWI. The satire mocks both blind adoption of German culture and anxieties about foreign domination of American taste and values.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
THE JUGGERNAUT Ye Pitiful Ballad of Ye Voracious Puppe (Being an ancient folk-song supposed to belong to the period before the German-American National Alliance secured control of the United States) GN car, my friends, & holde you still & list unto my songe. I had a puppe. longe. Wythal a lovyng puppe he was, wyth darke & mournful een— Ye moste amusing lyttel cusse yt ever I have seen. Hys pedigree was broader than ‘twas Hys feet were large & gowksome, & he staggered inne hys walke: Hys tail was moste expressive, & it fairly seemed to talke. He loved me moste devotedlie, & ‘neath my feet woulde playe, & I woulde tumble over hym some twentie tymes eache daye. But though ye puppe was passyng small, hys appetite was greate, & everything he chaunced to see, he fell uponne & ate. He'd eat ye papers inne ye morne, ere I could read ye news; & thanne he'd cat a rug or two, & half a paire of shoes. He ate ye pictures from ye walls, ye pillowes from ye bedde ; But whanne I tore my haire in holie horreur from my head, He shewed himself so penitent by creeping to my feete Yt I coulde notte y-smack hym, though intense my rage & heate. & so he ate, all undisturbed, my choicest thyngs & beste. For breakfast he woulde eat my hose: for lunch a full- dress vest. He'd wander to a closet & abstract a brand-new coate, & roll hys cen wyth pleasure as it vanished downe hys throate. He ate ye writings from my desk: he ate ye furniture; & for hys mightie appetite there seemed to be no cure; & so I lifted up my voice & hirpled in my woe For that ye puppe I loved so well shoulde treat hys mas- ter so. But thanne (Oh, bitter was ye daye!) my bonnie lyttel puppe Came on a booke by Nietzsche &, unthinking, ate it uppe. Tt laye like lead uponne hys cheste: of that there is no questioun ; For ere ye morn, ye gentyl puppe had died of indigestioun. Take warning from my puppe, hys fate! Beware ye appe- tite For unnutritious theories of which ye Teutons write, & shunne ye toxic teachings of ye kultured German clan; For as they wrecked my lyttel puppe, they'll wreck ye inner man. K. L. Roberts, comicbooks.com