II
Rick had written an article entitled The Folly of Appeasement, based in part on facts which Lanny had gathered. It was about to appear, and he said: “It may attract some attention, old man, and I don’t think I ought to be in your home at that time.” So Lanny had to reconcile himself to the ending of this holiday, the happiest he had had in a long while.
“I suppose I ought to be in Berlin now,” was his response. He couldn’t tell his friend that only a few hours ago he had received a letter, forwarded from the Hotel Adlon—one of those obscure-looking letters having to do with the marketing of pictures: “You recall the Vereshchagin about which I wrote you. It has been brought to Berlin, and I am sure it will soon be sold. I have come upon a Rosa Bonheur portrait, representing a woman with a laurel crown, which I believe you would be interested to see. It is not covered by insurance so I am worried about it. I think that you could pick up some bargains here at present. I am interested in your project of a collection of historical paintings and wonder what your American friends thought of it. I know of such a work not far from the Schloss which you used to visit as a boy. Best wishes. Braun.”
It didn’t take any Joseph or Daniel to interpret that dream. A laurel crown wasn’t bad for Laurel Creston, and the lack of “insurance” meant that Monck was still worrying about her and trying to put his worries off on her fellow-countryman. The Vereshchagin brought to Berlin meant that the deal with the Soviet Union, whatever it was, was being negotiated in Germany and was nearing conclusion. The “Schloss,” of course, was Stubendorf, which was still a part of Poland, and “historical paintings” there could mean nothing but an attack on Poland. Lanny retired to his studio and wrote a report embodying these and other details which he had gathered—he sent one every few days in these busy times. Then he packed up his belongings and drove his friends to Paris.
They took the train for London, and Lanny set about his two kinds of business. Marceline was taking a holiday trip, and, perhaps not by a coincidence, Oskar von Herzenberg was doing the same. Jesse Blackless was in the country, painting pictures. Kurt had gone to Stubendorf—he paid a visit every summer and one every Christmas, thus making certain of the increase in his family. It was proper for Lanny to make a joke about this with Kurt’s intelligent young secretary; as a skilled secret agent, Lanny did not overlook secretaries, and he knew the sort of jokes that went well among the Nazis. Otto Abetz was in Berlin—he had, so Lanny learned, been treated with consideration by a polite French government, anxious to avoid scandals and not curious to pry into anybody’s private papers.
But the de Bruynes were in town, and Lanny spent a night with them, told what news he could safely repeat, and heard all their troubles and fears. France was one of the “have” nations, and this was one of the “deux cent families,” denounced by every bistro orator in the land. They wanted nothing more than to keep what they had, plus a normal profit, but they were surrounded by blackmailers and bandits of many sorts, and were continually having to decide which to placate, and what was the lowest price that would serve? Politicians and political associations, journalists, police agents, private detectives—all these a rich man had to pay, and all wanted more, and might be getting it from the other side.
The “have” nation was in the same position, and what money it paid concerned the “have” man in the form of taxes and imposts, loss of territories, markets, and access to raw materials. France had loaned billions of francs to Czechoslovakia, to be used in arming the country—only to see the armaments and the plants taken over by the Nazis and the bonds become worthless. Billions had been loaned to Poland, and was that to be gobbled into the same greedy maw? And then the Baltic states and the Balkan lands, all parts of the cordon sanitaire, so carefully and expensively built and maintained? All France was tormented by a sense of frustration, and families were rent apart by arguments as to which statesmen were the lesser scoundrels and which nations the lesser dangers. There was not much happiness left in the household of Lanny’s long-dead sweetheart, and he was glad that she couldn’t hear the controversies. “It is impossible to find out what France is going to do,” he wrote in his report, “because France doesn’t know what she is going to do.”
III
On to Berlin, the place where decisions came from. Here was order and a sense of confidence, because everybody had been told his job and was doing it; he didn’t have to bother about policies, because these would be determined for him. If there was hesitation and uncertainty among the few at the top, that did no harm, because these great ones kept their thoughts to themselves, and all had the comfort of knowing that sooner or later the decision would be taken, and then they, too, would enjoy the greatest of all German luxuries, which is an order to be obeyed.
Lanny arrived on a Tuesday, and couldn’t see Monck until Wednesday night. Meantime, he had business with Furtwaengler, Der Dicke’s aide. Photographs had been made of the paintings which the great man wanted sold, and now Lanny had to inspect these, and prepare descriptions, and select the most likely of his clients and write letters about the offerings. All this was quite a job, and ordinarily he would have liked nothing better than to settle down and do it without interruption; but the P.A. job came first, so he said: “Is Seine Exzellenz still cross with me?”
“Cross?” echoed the respectful young Oberst. “Niemals, niemals, Herr Budd! What would make you think that?”
“He must be annoyed over the severance of relations with my father.”
“Seine Exzellenz is too big a man to let that interfere with his personal friendship. Do not let such an idea trouble your mind.”
“I am glad to have that assurance, Herr Oberst, for he is one of the most delightful companions I know, and I would hate very much to have our cordial relations interfered with.”
Lanny was quite sure that these remarks would be transmitted to Der Dicke; and sure enough, before the day was over, the staff member called back and announced that his chief would esteem it a pleasure if Herr Budd could make it convenient to drive out with him to Karinhall at the next week-end and see the new improvements. Of course Lanny could and would; and he didn’t fail to say: “I am sure that is due to your kindness, Herr Oberst, and I hope that some day I may be able to show my appreciation.” He knew what he would have to do—invite the SS officer and his wife to dinner at the hotel, and it would be a very dull occasion!
Meantime, he would employ a secretary and buckle down to work on old masters. Ars longa, vita brevis! Furtwaengler had revealed it as his superior’s wish that Herr Budd should ship all the works to New York or Newcastle in his own name, and this was a revealing circumstance. It was equivalent to saying that the Field Marshal expected war within a very short time, and didn’t mind if his art expert guessed that fact. There was also the possibility suggested that maybe the Field Marshal didn’t feel completely certain that he was going to win that war!
IV
On the following evening, at the hour appointed, the confidential agent picked up Bernhardt Monck on the street. “I got your letter, forwarded to Juan,” he said. “I take it to mean that there is some sort of deal on between Germany and Russia.”
“My information is that it is practically concluded. It is highly secret, and some of its terms may never be known. The point is, it gives Hitler the green light so far as concerns Poland.”
“What madness on the part of the Soviets! Don’t they know what the Nazis will do to them, once they have a common border?”
“I am not in their confidence,” countered the man of the underground. “I can only guess—they figure on getting a couple of years’ respite at the least. If there has to be a war, Stalin would presumably rather have it between Germany and France-Britain than between Germany and Russia. The Nazis gave him that choice.”
“Also,” ventured Lanny, “he figures that Hitler will wear himself out while Russia grows stronger. Certainly it is a black day for the western world.”
The ramifications of this new
s were extensive, and the pair talked them out in a long drive. The long-discussed Anglo-French mission had arrived in Moscow a few days previously, after long delays. Staff consultations had begun—and now, behind their backs, this deal with the enemy was being made! “Imagine their chagrin!” exclaimed Lanny; and Monck replied: “They could have flown and got there quicker. Also, they could have sent men of more importance, with authority to make decisions. The Russians were suspicious, and apparently nobody tried very hard to relieve their minds.”
Lanny said: “I notice that the Nazis have announced a celebration of the twenty-fifth anniversary of the victory of Tannenberg. The people I talked to in Paris thought that was meant as a deliberate provocation of Russia. Was it meant as a blind?”
“I should say it is a pretext for moving troops into East Prussia. I’ll wager the celebration will never be held; there will be war before that date.”
“The twenty-seventh of this month?”
“My information is that the Reichswehr is to move into Poland on the twenty-fifth.”
“Good God!” said Lanny. His hands would have trembled, if he had not clutched the steering wheel of the car more tightly. He had been foreseeing this and predicting it for twenty years, but when it came it was like the hot breath of some demon at the back of his neck. After a long pause he whispered: “The underground will not be able to do anything?”
“Absolutely not. We have been ground to powder. We shall never be able to move again until the SS has been wiped out—to the last battalion.”
They drove through a good part of the night, discussing various aspects of this situation, so important to them both. Monck wanted to know if Britain would honor her recent pledge to Poland, and Lanny assured him there could be no doubt of this—any government which did not keep that word would be swept out of power overnight. So, there would be war between Britain-France-Poland on the one side, and Germany on the other. Would Italy come in? Count Ciano, Mussolini’s son-in-law and foreign minister, was now meeting with Ribbentrop in the latter’s castle in Austria. Lanny said: “I assume that he is pleading with Hitler to wait, as he did just before Munich.”
“He succeeded then, but I doubt if he can do it again. My information is that the die is cast; Hitler is going to follow his intuition this time, and has forbidden any of his advisers to try to change his mind. That is the way it goes in Germany now, and don’t let anybody tell you otherwise. One man decides, and the rest obey.”
“I should be able to find out something in the next few days,” remarked Lanny. “I am to visit Karinhall over the week-end, and I’ll meet you on Monday night unless something intervenes. Be at the corner then and every night thereafter until I show up. I’ll make it as soon as possible.”
“It’s a date,” said the ex-Capitán.
V
There was another subject on the minds of both this pair. “What’s this about the lady with the laurel crown?” demanded the visitor.
“Herrgott, Budd!—that woman is worrying me to death. She is determined to help us. You know how it is with new recruits—nothing can check their enthusiasm. She thinks this war ought to be stopped, that the people ought to be told before it is too late. The German people, mind you!”
“One has to be very young to hold such ideas.”
“I know it; and in times like these one needs wisdom and experience, even to keep alive. Genosse Laurel—so she tells me to call her—cannot understand why we do not act in this crisis. I tell her of the thousands who have been tortured to death and the tens of thousands who are being slowly starved and destroyed in concentration camps. Her answer is that this is the supreme crisis, and that whatever forces we have left should be thrown into the breach.”
“You have told her that you expect war?”
“I didn’t tell her; she has figured it out for herself, from reading the Nazi press. She says: ‘They are doing exactly what they did in the case of Prague—working up popular rage with stories of atrocities. I do not believe that any of those things happened. I believe that the customs disputes in Danzig are being deliberately engineered in order to provoke the Poles and work up a case. I watched the campaign over Prague last March and I know all the signs.’ You see, Budd, we are dealing with a shrewd mind, and I cannot lie to her.”
“You have met her often?”
“I have met her only once since I last saw you. About two weeks ago I wrote her a note and met her in the Tiergarten at night. I have promised to do it once more, but I feel that it is a great risk. I tried to make her realize—there is surely not a pension in Germany that has not got a spy in it, reporting everything to the Gestapo. She says: ‘Give me the name of some woman I can deal with—that will be less suspicious.’ I had to tell her the embarrassing fact that that will be much more suspicious. If she goes out at night and has a rendezvous with a man, that will be taken as a fact of nature, of no special interest to the Polizei.”
“What did she say to that?”
“She is not exactly naïve about sexual matters; she has lived in the smart world, where people do what they damn please; but in her inmost soul, I imagine, she stays aloof, and does not think of such things as applying to her virginal self. I made the proper apologies, of course. I said: ‘Genosse Laurel, if one wishes to take part in underground activities, it is necessary to know what the world is like, what people in pensions think if a young lady steals out into the Tiergarten on summer nights and stays for a long time without explanation. For God’s sake, be forewarned, and have your story ready. It is a man, and the reason you refuse to name him is because he is a married man; that is the only excuse that might save you from a dreadful experience.’”
“And then?”
“Oh, of course she promised to comply. I told her that if we met again, I would have to see her make a number of turns in the park and make sure that she was not being followed. There might come a police whistle from somewhere in the bushes, and men would dash up on motorcycles from different directions.”
“And did all that make no impression on her?”
“It frightened her, naturally, and she promised to use more care. But she still is determined to help; she is convinced that we Germans do not love liberty enough, and that an American has to teach us.”
“You, the hero of Madrid and Belchite!” remarked Lanny; and added: “Not to mention the Château de Belcour!”
VI
Lanny drove in silence for a while, thinking over this problem. It seemed to him unlikely that the new comrade would try to do anything without Monck’s advice; but when he said this, his friend broke into a laugh. “That shows how little you know her! She has already started, entirely on her own. Try to imagine what she has been accumulating in her bedroom in a pension!”
“Firearms?”
“Almost as bad—writing paper! She had deduced the fact that in order to appeal to the German people against an unprovoked attack in Poland, the underground would require a quantity of leaflets. What is more natural than that an American writer should purchase typewriter paper? So she goes into one store and buys a package, and then into another and buys a package and carries them up to her room and stows them in the bottom of her trunk, along with Kautsky, Lenin, and Kropotkin. It was her bright idea that if I would give her the name of a woman comrade, she would turn these packages over to tier, two or three at a time, at night, and after making absolutely certain that she is not being followed. Can you beat it?”
“Trudi did much the same thing, Monck.”
“Yes, but Trudi was no foreigner; also, that was in the early days, before Himmler had got all Germany organized. Today it would be suicide, as you must surely know.”
“You explained that to her?”
“Indeed, yes. I gave her a lot of facts, and if she gets out of Germany alive, she should be able to do some useful writing. In my judgment, she should go now, before she subjects herself to a horrible experience. She thinks that she is safe because she is an American, and can appe
al to the Embassy. I said: ‘My dear lady, Germany is a country where people disappear and are never heard of again. If the Embassy makes any inquiry, they are told that the police will make every effort, and then they are told that the police have done all in their power, but that the American lady was very eccentric, and probably tied a stone about her neck and jumped into one of the canals—unfortunately there are so many that it is not practicable to drag them. Meanwhile, the lady is in a dungeon in the Columbushaus, having splinters driven under her fingernails, and the soles of her feet beaten with pieces of rubber hose, and then she is thrown into a cell which has been specially constructed of concrete so that she cannot sit down or lie down without an agony of discomfort, and there is a two-hundred-candlepower light shining directly into her eyes, and the temperature and moisture are regulated by a thermostat at the point which learned physiologists have determined to be exactly correct for reducing the human psyche to physical, mental, and moral impotence. And every once in a while a voice will be saying: ‘Name the woman to whom you gave the paper and the man whom you met in the park.’”
“And what did she say to all that?”
“Well, she answered, quite correctly, that if people yielded to fear of torture, how could there be any freedom in the world, and what would become of our civilization? As I said before, she must think badly of us Germans, and especially of me as an underground worker.”
“You have a good conscience, old man, and you can get along with it.”
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