Hansi started as it were from a dream. “Surely!” he responded; and to the woman: “We Jews have been an oppressed race for a long time. I will play you something from our modern music.” He took his fiddle, and his brother, who also played the piano, accompanied him. Two shepherd boys took their stand by the Wailing Wall of their Holy City, and played music new to their friends, Ravel’s Kaddisch: music of sorrow, music of tumultuous grief, anger, despair; music of a people once chosen-by their Lord but forgotten through long centuries, and who cried out to Him in torment of body and bewilderment of soul. Barbara Pugliese was deeply moved, and exclaimed: “Oh, you must come and play music like that for our workers’ groups!”
“Indeed we will,” declared the pair.
X
As she was leaving, the revolutionist remarked to Lanny: “We have been having a sort of conference in Cannes. Your Uncle Jesse is there.”
“Indeed?” said Lanny, politely. “How is he?”
“He looks run down, I think.”
“I thought Uncle Jesse was made of leather,” he smiled.
“You were much mistaken,” was the reply. “He has suffered agonies of mind over the war on Russia.”
“I will tell my mother,” said Lanny. He didn’t care to add that he himself was not permitted to see this painter-revolutionist. Of course it was possible that Uncle Jesse had told this to Barbara—he not being the sort to keep family secrets.
Lanny mentioned the matter to Beauty, who said: “Yes, I had a note from him. I suppose I ought to look him up.” She had some shopping to do, and Lanny wanted to pick up some music which his friends had talked about, so he offered to drive her to town next morning.
As fate would have it, Jesse Blackless chose the same time to call upon his sister. He walked, because he liked to walk; he came by a short cut, so he missed them driving. When he rang the bell at the gate, the maid told him that the family had gone to Cannes, so he said: “I’ll wait.” As he walked up the drive he heard loud music from a newly erected building, and asked: “Who is that?” The maid told him: “Monsieur Kurt” and two young gentlemen who were visiting the family.
“Monsieur Kurt?” asked Jesse. “Who is he?”
“A Swiss gentleman, M. Kurt Armand-Dalcroze, who is M. Lanny’s music-teacher.”
“Oh,” said Jesse. “I’ll go over and hear them.” He strolled over and sat on the steps of the studio, while Kurt and Hansi were playing the Mendelssohn violin concerto, an impassioned work receiving what Jesse judged to be a fine performance.
The relationship between Jesse Blackless and Kurt Meissner was of the strangest. Each had heard much about the other from Lanny, but the only times they had met had been in the darkness outside Jesse’s tenement room, on two occasions when Kurt had appeared and put into the painter’s hands a very large sum of money to be used in promoting working-class uprisings in Paris during the Peace Conference. On those two occasions Kurt had known to whom he was giving the money, but Jesse had not known from whom he was receiving it. Subsequently Jesse had been told who it was, but Kurt had never been told that Jesse had been told; a tangle of complications.
The painter had known that his sister was having a long sojourn in Spain and had taken it for granted that it meant a man; but he hadn’t been concerned to know what man. Now he sat on the steps of the new studio, watching a tall and handsome blond Nordic playing an expensive new piano, and it didn’t take him more than a minute to penetrate the camouflage of a false name and nationality. Of course this was Lanny’s boyhood friend from Silesia; he must have met Beauty in Paris and become her lover, and now was being hidden in Bienvenu! The pieces fitted together.
XI
Jesse Blackless had been attending a secret gathering of a dozen or so left-wing labor leaders of Italy and France. He had been hearing stories of mass starvation and repression, of the arrest and jailing of workers, the organizing and arming of forces of reaction intended to stamp out the people’s movements of both countries. It was a life-and-death struggle, most of it underground. The left-wing press was full of it, but the general public didn’t read the left-wing press and the regular papers never mentioned it, so the events might as well have been happening in Mars.
So far as the leaders were concerned, their most desperate need was for money. Unemployed and half-starved working-men couldn’t even pay their union dues, to say nothing of supporting newspapers. And here in front of Jesse Blackless was a man who had played the role of Aladdin with his wonderful lamp, rubbing it and producing thick packages of fresh new banknotes! Jesse Blackless had not yet got over the shock of this experience, and never could get over the hope that it might happen again. So when the movement of the concerto was completed, he strolled in, introduced himself, and was introduced to the two guests.
He had never heard of the Robin family of Rotterdam, and took but the briefest glance at the lads. Not being a romantic or sentimental person, he saw them not as shepherd boys out of ancient Judea, but merely as youngsters who were in the way of an important conversation. At first he tried to figure out how to get rid of them, but then he decided to make use of them; instead of making a direct approach to the German agent, he would tell these children what was happening in Europe and let Kurt hear it by accident.
The pair seemed to have some idea of it already, and wanted to ask questions. All right, let them ask, and Jesse would answer. Thus for two solid hours the embittered revolutionist poured out his soul to the two sensitive lads. Nobody knew more about intrigue and villainy in the ruling-class world, and nobody saw with clearer insight the wellspring from which all these evils flowed, the greed of high finance and big business, their determination to crush the movement of the class-conscious workers, to tie it, cripple it, break its neck. Hansi and Freddi sat gazing in open-eyed wonder at this strange-looking gentleman, bald, lean, and with wrinkled leathery skin, saying dreadful things in a somewhat harsh voice, with a twisted smile that left you uncertain how much he really meant and how much was a cruel kind of jesting.
Jesse wasn’t sure what Kurt’s political views were, but to look at him he was a German aristocrat. So the painter explained that Germany was now listed among the down-and-outs; the British and French empires had her there and meant to keep her there. For a long time to come, the international workers would be the natural allies of the Fatherland; in left-wing labor throughout Europe lay the one hope of freedom for the German people. Jesse explained to the lads what the Versailles peace treaty meant to its victims, and why the Reparations Commission was still refusing to fix the amount of the indemnities. That must mean, and was meant to mean, bankruptcy for Germany, loss of her foreign trade, and slow, inevitable starvation for the masses.
At the outset of the talk Kurt had the belief that Jesse didn’t know who had brought him the money. But everything the painter said was so directly to the point that finally Kurt decided he must have made a clever guess. Kurt had heard a lot about this Red sheep of his lady-love’s family, and was glad to hear what he had to say. It wasn’t even necessary to ask questions to help the conversation along; the two eager lads provided all the cues. They drank in the speaker’s every word, and what he was doing to them was a matter he had no time to consider. Jesse set forth the grim facts which were making revolutions in many parts of Europe, and he explained them according to the system of thought which he called “dialectical materialism.”
XII
The session continued until Lanny got back from town and came over to the studio. He was polite to his uncle, as always; but, keeping his promise to his father, he said no more than a how-dy-do. Kurt informed Jesse that he was now entirely out of politics, and devoting his time to music; whereupon Jesse, somewhat crestfallen, went over to the villa to meet his sister.
At once the two lads fell upon their host. “Oh, Lanny, what a time we had listening to your uncle! What a marvelous man!”
They poured out a chorus of excited praise; and Lanny, of course, had to make some response. “He
is very well informed.”
“I have never met anybody like him!” Hansi declared. “He explains everything that is going on in Europe. He makes it all so clear—it is like seeing a map for the first time.”
“He has his very definite point of view,” replied Lanny. He didn’t want to throw cold water on their fervors, but at the same time he ought to provide some antidote for the double dose of Red medicine they had swallowed. “You must realize that there are other points of view, Hansi. The truth is never all on one side.”
The retired artillery officer came to his friend’s support. Two blase, world-weary dwellers in the ivory tower, trying to keep two neophytes from venturing down onto that darkling plain where the ignorant armies clashed by night! Said Kurt: “Never let anybody make you forget that you are artists. It is your function to provide spiritual illumination for mankind and not to waste your faculties in the clamor and strife of politics. If you are good artists, that is all the world has any right to expect of you.”
“But,” argued Hansi, “how can our music have any real vitality if we harden our hearts to the cries of suffering people?”
“Poor Mr. Robin!” thought Lanny. What anguish in the home of a war profiteer and his wife, if those darlings returned to Rotterdam spouting the formulas of the Reds! And the worst of it was, there was so much truth in what these fanatics had to say; you could never answer them completely, and so your conscience was always being kept in a ferment. You wished the pests in Hades; and then right away you were ashamed of the wish!
8
With No Great Change of Manner
I
In that summer of 1920 a fresh calamity fell upon an afflicted world. It started in the United States of America, that most fortunate of all lands; a severe spell of “hard times,” a mysterious phenomenon which came every few years, and for which nobody seemed to have a clear explanation. Robbie wrote his own view, that the farmers, under pressure of war needs, had plowed up millions of acres of new land and greatly increased the crop yields of the country. Now there was no longer a market for so much food; the fact that people were starving made no difference, so long as they didn’t have the price. The farmers, who had gone heavily into debt to buy high-priced lands, were now stuck, and half of them would lose their farms to the banks.
And of course when the farmers couldn’t buy, the manufacturers couldn’t sell. Budd’s, which was so busy turning its swords into plowshares, now discovered that nobody had the price of a shovel. And over in Arabia, where Robbie’s new company had struck a pool of oil, the wells had to be capped and shut down, because factory wheels were still and farmers were staying at home instead of driving motor-cars. A time of suffering and strain for everybody, and Robbie wouldn’t be taking any trips to Europe, but would “stick around” and help his father and brothers to stand the financial siege. Lanny became anxious, and wrote offering to get along without his allowance for a while; but Robbie said that that was just chicken-feed—anyhow, it came out of the earnings of “R and R.” That smart trader in Rotterdam was the only one who was making real money, because he kept betting on calamity and getting it.
However, Robbie was sure that everything would be “hunkydory” very soon, because he had had his way in the political affairs of his country. The Republican convention had met and nominated just the right sort of fellow: a certain Senator Harding of Ohio, who was known to all the businessmen and could be trusted. They were going to put him over with a bang, and from then on America would mind its own business and prosperity would come back and stay. So Lanny needn’t worry his head about finances or any other problems; just go on with his piano practice and leave the rest of the world to his old man! Lanny didn’t mention how two Red serpents had recently crept into his Eden and persuaded him once more to take a nibble at the forbidden fruit of the tree of knowledge.
It was something Lanny didn’t mention even to Kurt Meissner, that all three times in his life when he had listened to Barbara Pugliese his mind had become confused and his conscience troubled. Could it really be true that poverty was caused by the profit system? By the fact that owners of land and capital held their products for a profit, and that no more goods could be produced until the owners had got their price? Of course Lanny knew what his father would reply to such an argument. “Look at the producers now—bankrupt, and having to sell below cost! If they take their present losses, aren’t they entitled to their future gains?” It was very complicated, and whenever Lanny tried to think about it he found himself stuck in a maze and not knowing which way to turn. Earlier in his life he had been content to say: “My father wishes me to believe such and so.” But now he realized that this didn’t satisfy anybody, and he was ashamed to say it. Did he have the moral right to believe what his father wished him to believe, rather than what seemed to be true?
II
Gather ye rosebuds while ye may, Old time is still a-flying! Marie de Bruyne had set a date, and the thought of her drove all others out of his mind. He visioned her by day and dreamed of her by night; he counted the days and then the hours. His music danced with her—or it came walking down a country road, clad in a sunhat and a blue summer dress. He wrote to her: “Wear that dress!”
On the fateful morning he went and got the old lady and drove her to meet the train; sure enough, when Marie stepped from it she was wearing the honeymoon dress! In the interest of propriety he gave her a friendly handshake, and when her bags were safely stowed he drove Mme. Scelles to the establishment where she took care of her orphans; she said they would need a lot of care, so she wouldn’t be coming home for lunch. She had tactfully seen to it that there was no servant in the house; and Lanny had told his mother to expect him when she saw him.
So there were at least two happy people in war-wrecked France that day. It wasn’t so much that they asked of the world, just to be left alone in a room together. There was between them that perfect understanding which is the warrant and seal of love. His was gentle and kind, and hers was a blissful acquiescence. They shared, and would continue to share, everything they had. They could lie in each other’s arms for hours in bliss, and it was hardly any less happiness just to hold each other’s hands. That extended to all their activities; if an idea occurred to him, his greatest pleasure was to share it with her; if an adventure befell him, his first thought was to tell her about it. They could be silent for long periods; just to be together was enough. They did not have to make any apologies for wasted time, or feel any qualms or doubts concerning excess of passion. She was for him the reality of the poet’s dream of
Some one whom I could court
With no great change of manner,
Still holding reason’s fort
Though waving fancy’s banner.
When their first transports had passed, Marie told him the strange story of what had been happening to her during the past few weeks. After sixteen years of married life, she had imagined that she knew her husband, but had discovered that she knew only the surface, and that deep below were caverns inhabited by strange creatures. The man had been shocked by her revelations; as a result of it they had talked frankly for the first time in their lives, and she had got a new understanding of the complexity of the human personality. Denis de Bruyne, vigorous and active businessman, was a victim of cravings which he did not understand and which since youth he had been unable to control. He was one of those sex-tormented beings which the Catholic religion produces in great number. He had been taught that sex was something forbidden and repulsive, and so he made it that; he wanted from it what he dared not permit himself to get, and thus what might have been the basis of ecstasy became a cause of shame and fear.
Now had come this sudden and to him distressing revelation that his wife, whom he had imagined aloof and “pure,” had fallen into the same cesspool as himself. “He has several reactions all tangled together,” she explained. “He has a certain amount of relief, because a weight of condemnation is lifted from his soul. My one transgression ex
cuses his many, and he feels that we are partners in sin. On that basis we can talk plainly—while before it was almost as if I were a virgin.”
“I suppose it’s all right,” commented Lanny, “provided he doesn’t try to get you to repent!”
“But that’s just what he did! I think he would have been glad to come back into the paths of virtue with me.”
“Oh, my God!” exclaimed the youth.
“I tried to get him to understand that I am really in love, but that is difficult for him. One does not easily get over these attitudes that are stamped into one’s soul in childhood. Denis can forgive me for sinning; he knows that I can go to confession and have the slate wiped clean; but that I should believe in my sin, and call it virtue, that is an act of defiance, a rebellion against the very throne of God.”
“Did you tell him about me?”
“He asked me to, but I told him I had no right to do so without your consent. I promised to try to get it.”
“What good will that do him?”
“He is genuinely concerned about my happiness. His basic idea is that it is the woman who is seduced and betrayed. He cannot believe that any man means well by a woman—I mean when he wants her sexually.”
“Does he expect to reform me, too?”
“Don’t laugh, dear! This is a Catholic land, and I am telling you what goes on in the souls of men and women here.”
“Bless your heart,” he said; “one has to laugh so that one need not weep. Nature has made life simple, and happiness easy. What devil is it that creeps into our hearts and creates taboos and superstitions? My mother told me that when she was a girl her mother put off a long-planned excursion because it was suddenly discovered that the date was Friday, the thirteenth of the month.”
Between Two Worlds (The Lanny Budd Novels) Page 16