New Reichstag
The German Communists have only one good man and that is a woman: Clara Zetkin.
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—Lenin.
One summer day in 1925 dexterous Dr. Serge Voronoff had on his operating table a frail, weazened wisp of a woman. She was only 68 but German Reds hailed her as "The Grandmother of our Revolution!'' Years of bitter struggle had aged Frau Clara Zetkin before her time. She needed "rejuvenation." Dr. Voronoff did his best, grafted in bits of ovarian tissue, pronounced his operation "successful."
Early last week Grandmother Zetkin, now 75, lay sick abed in Moscow, her "second home," for she is a duly elected Communist Deputy in the German Reichstag. Came an ambulance. Frau Zetkin was carried to a Soviet wagon lit bound for Berlin. Day & night tough-muscled young Reds stood guard in the train lest German Fascists break in. Grandmother Zetkin was going to the German capital to open the newly elected Reichstag (TIME, Aug. 8).
"Anyone Older?" Smudge-mustached Adolf Hitler, nervous lest some Fascist hoodlum disgrace the Party by buffeting a grandmother, barked stern orders. There would be a properly blatant Fascist demonstration outside the Reichstag, but inside let no Fascist Deputy touch one grey hair of Clara Zetkin's head.
Next afternoon at 3 p.m. while Fascists yelled their war cries in front of the Reichstag, Grandmother Zetkin was carried in the back door on a stretcher, lifted to her feet. Leaning on a heavy cane, she advanced, flanked on either side by a big-hipped Amazonian Red. Pain and fatigue made perspiration pour down the sunken cheeks of Clara Zetkin but her old eyes flashed. "I shall do my duty in strict accordance with the rules of antiquated parliamentarianism," she gasped, "because it is my duty to the German proletariat."
The two Red Amazons half carried Grandmother Zetkin up the stairs of the Reichstag's Tribune. Communist Deputies cheered her. Others sat in stony silence, some Fascists pretending to read newspapers. Only Dr. Hugenberg's Royalist Deputies, who call themselves Nationalists, stayed away from the curious, historic show.
Grandmother Zetkin mopped her brow, wiped her slightly drooling lips (a gesture she frequently repeated) and took big gulps of water. She seemed barely able to lift and ring the Speaker's bell.
"It is a rule of this house," quavered Clara Zetkin, "that its oldest member shall preside at the opening of a new session. I was born July 5, 1857. Is there anyone older?"
Dead silence.
"Then I call this session to order!" cried Grandmother Zetkin, and summoning all her strength, she began a speech that was to last 45 minutes. At times her voice almost died away. Several times the Amazons begged Grandmother to spare herself, but she quelled them with a muttered "Nein! Nein! I will speak on!" It was, as Clara Zetkin well knew, her last grand chance to tongue-lash her ancient enemy Paul von Hindenburg, 84 and unrejuvenated.
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