by Stuart Clark
Soon, there was a ripple in the crowd and a murmuring amongst nearby audience members. At first Einstein thought it was because of the speaker’s obvious failure to hold their attention, but then he noticed the heads were turned towards him. People were nudging each other and passing comments with their neighbours. Gehrcke noticed it from the stage but doggedly continued with his presentation.
‘We’ve been rumbled,’ hissed Nernst.
Einstein sank into his seat, trying to hide behind his widebrimmed felt hat and casting his eyes round the auditorium. People were definitely staring and pointing in his direction.
Nernst was turning his head frantically in search of an escape route. His disquiet made up Einstein’s mind. Calmly, he stood and removed his hat.
There was the unmistakeable chorus of his name, harmonised by a flurry of movement. On stage Gehrcke was shielding his eyes from the lights and looking blindly into the audience. Weyland reappeared, poised on the steps leading up to the stage. He fixed his gaze on Einstein, flapped his jacket open and stood with his arms akimbo.
Einstein waited for the audience to hush. ‘I have found this evening’s entertainment very amusing,’ he declared. ‘Thank you. You can debate whether you believe in my theories until your final breath, but what you cannot do is make them any less true. It doesn’t matter what you think, Nature will do as the Lord has designed. And not even Germany can change that.’
He looked down at Nernst, who was still wincing at that last comment. ‘Come along, Walther, we’re leaving.’
In silence, he made his way to the end of the row, forcing those in front of him to stand and allow him past. When one set of knees stayed rigidly put, he fixed their owner with a glare. Eventually the young man stood and allowed Einstein to pass.
He climbed the steps to the exit, Nernst close behind. As the theatre doors swung closed behind them, they could hear the beginnings of a commotion.
*
‘I don’t know, Kurt. You ask a lot.’ Einstein could see Blumenfeld out of the corner of his eye, watching him like a cat mesmerising a mouse. ‘I’ve already agreed to give a paper in Brussels.’
‘Give it another time,’ suggested Blumenfeld.
‘It’s not that easy.’ Einstein turned to face him. ‘It was for the Solvay conference.’ Blumenfeld looked blank.
‘The Belgian industrialist Ernest Solvay?’ Still nothing.
‘It’s the first time the meeting has been called since the end of the war. It’s private, the most prestigious physics meeting in the world. Plus, I have other lecture commitments across Europe.’
Blumenfeld fractionally readjusted the angle of his side plate.
‘But you do want to lecture in America, do you not?’
Einstein wondered where that intelligence could have come from. He had in fact tried to put together an American tour, but it had collapsed because he had asked for too much money. Elsa had been furious with him when the refusals arrived and told him in no uncertain terms that he had been greedy. ‘You must ask for just a little more than you are worth, not enough to solve our finances in one fell swoop. What world do you live in?’
His hasty riposte that she should take over the finances had led to her spending an hour on the telephone with his address book; the result of which was a lucrative string of European lectures that he was now being asked to give up to go with the Zionists to America.
Blumenfeld tapped the telegram he had brought to Einstein’s apartment. ‘This is your chance. Dr Weizmann wishes you to accompany him to America. It could be a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity for you.’
Einstein grimaced. ‘I’ve never even met Dr Weizmann. I’m uncomfortable with using my … celebrity … to pull a crowd. Besides, I’m no orator. Not on the subject of a home state in Palestine.’
‘But you must admit that a Jewish university is attractive to you.’
Einstein nodded cautiously.
Blumenfeld leaned forward. ‘If you take your conversion to Zionism seriously, then you must do this.’
‘Who says I’m a Zionist?’ Indecision fretted inside Einstein. A warning look at Elsa prevented her offering any more tea. Blumenfeld had eaten quite enough of her fruitcake as it was.
‘You have committed to help us. That makes you a Zionist.’ The visitor again touched his fingertips to the telegram on the tablecloth. ‘Dr Weizmann is the leader of our cause. He has every right to ask you to do this. And you have a duty to accept. Just being there will help. Lecture about whatever you want. They’ll all ask you about your science anyway.’
America. The name was like a siren song. Einstein thought of the places he had heard about – Princeton, Harvard – all of them full of bright minds eager for relativity. He rested his chin in his upturned palms. ‘What you say is totally logical. I am, somehow, a part of this.’ He slowly lifted his head from his hands. ‘And, therefore, I see too that it is my duty to accept this invitation.’
The façade of confidence fell from Blumenfeld’s face.
‘Really?’
‘Yes.’ Einstein was equally surprised by his guest’s reaction. Blumenfeld gathered his things with some haste. ‘I must cable Dr Weizmann at once with the good news. Frau Einstein, perfect refreshments as usual.’
Einstein was contemplating the appliqué on the tablecloth when Elsa returned from showing the excited young man out.
‘Well, that’s that settled then,’ she said gleefully. ‘Leave everything to me.’
‘Aren’t you worried about rescheduling the European lectures?’
‘Why should I be? By the time you come back from America we’ll be able to charge them even more.’ She began clearing away the crockery, humming to herself.
Einstein dropped his chin into his hands again, lifting his elbows only when Elsa whipped away the tablecloth. How was he going to break the news to Haber?
The chemist thrust his fists in his lab-coat pockets, straining the material, and glared at Einstein. He said nothing. He did not need to. Anger was written all over his face. The longer he stood there the more uncomfortable Einstein became. He looked from Haber to the flickering Bunsen burner on the desk, to the flask of bubbling liquid above it, to the embarrassed assistant, who was now slinking from the room.
‘I can’t believe that you would betray us like this.’
‘Betray you?’
‘Solvay. You’re the only German scientist who’s been invited. You could’ve helped us return German science to the world community.’
‘Is that not what I’m doing by going to America?’ Einstein knew as soon as the words were out of his mouth that flippancy was not a good option.
Haber’s mouth dropped open. ‘Do you pretend to be this stupid? You’re visiting a country that fought against us in the war to lobby for a Jewish state.’
‘I’m most concerned about the establishment of a Jewish university in that state. Why shouldn’t our brightest young tribesmen be protected from the hideous prejudices of today?’
‘You will destroy everything Rathenau and I have fought for. People in this country will see you as the evidence that Jews cannot trusted – running off to beg for help from German enemies.’
‘The war is over. Germany lost.’
‘Germany is not over. You can feel the anger in the streets. The more the allies squeeze us with their reparations, the more it simmers. Germany will become stronger because of this.’
Einstein bit his lip. He had to admit that the greed with which the allies had pursued Germany verged on persecution. He wanted Germany punished, without doubt, but there was no excuse for the constant humiliation and gloating. The reparations alone were said to run to almost 270 billion marks, a sum that was far beyond Germany’s ability to pay. The central bank was printing more money, inflation was out of control, and the country was essentially bankrupt. Einstein had even heard it said that the debt almost equalled the value of all the gold ever mined, throughout all history.
The snubbing of all other German sc
ientists at Solvay was repugnant. Could he really have so much resting on his shoulders? Was he now seen as Germany’s ambassador to science? Profound fatigue gripped him. ‘Europe is in more trouble than any one man can fix. From now on, my first allegiance will always be to my own people.’
A look of pure hatred came into Haber’s eyes. ‘You don’t even practise the Jewish faith any more.’
‘I feel the culture in my blood.’
Haber turned his back and raised his head. Einstein waited, expecting something more. Perhaps a parting shot?
Nothing came. Haber just waited. Clearly, the next time he turned around he would want Einstein to have disappeared.
The physicist did not disappoint him.
20
Cambridge
For a city Cambridge seemed unnaturally quiet, thought Lemaître as he dodged one of the bicycles that glided through the streets. It was not that he minded the quiet. Being fresh from the seminary, it should have made him feel at home, but he was unsettled by the guardedness of the people, the way they walked around with downcast eyes and hunched shoulders.
He had been told that the station fell short of the city itself, and that when a move had been made to extend the line the university itself had blocked the initiative, determined to insulate the colleges. Whether confounding visitors was also part of the plan Lemaître could not decide.
The day had started with bright autumn sunshine and the promise that summer was not quite over, yet the chill in the air now was warning just as clearly that winter was coming. The evening star was beckoning him on, already bright against the fading sky, and by the time he reached the market square the cold stone of the buildings was transforming into towering shadows. A few stallholders were packing away and Lemaître approached one who was hefting crates of unsold apples.
‘What can I get for you?’ asked the grubby-looking vendor, tilting the fruit for inspection.
‘I’m not buying today, thank you. I’m looking for St Edmund’s House.’ Lemaître was suddenly aware of how foreign his accent must sound.
The man looked him up and down, then nodded over Lemaître’s shoulder. ‘You’ve got to go right through the town and carry on walking out the other side.’
Lemaître thanked him and turned to leave.
‘They like to keep your lot at arm’s length.’ The vendor cleared his throat noisily.
Lemaître paused; it took a moment to absorb what he had just heard: your lot. He walked on without comment.
St Edmund’s had come into use in the late nineteenth century, when Catholics had finally been allowed back into Cambridge. The hostel also lodged Jews and various nonconformists. Until then they had all been banned by the Test Act of 1673, back in the time of Newton.
He would have hated me for what I am, mused Lemaître. Newton’s bigotry towards Catholics was well known. Shortly after completing Principia, his great work about gravity, he had openly defied James II, the Catholic king, and been publicly rewarded with a seat in parliament for it.
Times change, thought Lemaître, and even if he’d not liked me, I suspect I would have liked him.
He was thinking about Newton again the next morning as he stood in front of the tall gatehouse at Trinity College, gazing up at its heraldic shields carved into the stone. He looked to the right, to where the rooms ran along the college wing, and fixed on the first window: Newton’s old room, the one in which he had been studying when Halley came to see him to ask why Kepler’s Laws were true.
With a smile, Lemaître entered the college.
Arthur Eddington was already standing when Lemaître appeared at his office door. He was dressed in flannels, with a tightly knotted tie, and moved so carefully that Lemaître thought his jacket must be too tight.
‘How do you do?’ Eddington’s handshake was surprisingly strong.
Lemaître assumed this was a greeting and repeated the phrase. His new professor smirked, making Lemaître think he had made a mistake. ‘My English is not so good.’
‘On the contrary, it’s excellent.’
This confused Lemaître even more. Eddington kept looking at him in that peculiar way. He wondered if there was a mark on his jacket, but he could see nothing after a surreptitious appraisal of the black material. Perhaps it was the oil he had used on his hair? There was not a trace on Eddington’s; his hair was kept in place by a rather severe cut.
‘You wear a Roman collar.’
The priest automatically touched the strip of white at his throat. ‘Does that make you uncomfortable?’
‘Not at all.’ Eddington waved his hand, affecting a casual air a little too much.
‘I thought you knew.’
An unfathomable look crossed the older man’s face. ‘You can sit down if you would like.’
Lemaître looked around him for a chair. There was a plush armchair on the far side of the office. He did not want to put any more distance between himself and Eddington, so he clasped his hands behind his back and tried to relax his shoulders. ‘I prefer to stand.’
That look again. ‘As you wish.’ Eddington sat carefully on the edge of his leather desk chair; the wall behind him was lined with books.
‘May I ask something?’ said Lemaître to break the deadlock.
‘By all means.’
‘What was the eclipse like?’
‘You’ve read the report, I take it.’
‘Yes. I mean what was it like to be there, to see it, to experience it.’
‘No idea, old boy. I was too busy with the equipment to notice.’
‘What was the island like?’
‘Oh, most of it is covered in cocoa plantations. The rest is forest.’
‘The lushness of the place must have been amazing. I’ve seen photographs of the tropics; the leaves can be big as a man.’ Lemaître still found himself marvelling at any greenery after the relentless grey mud of the battlefields. He had glimpsed the watery green of the willows on the Cam that morning and stopped to gaze.
‘You fought, didn’t you?’ asked Eddington.
A coldness gripped Lemaître’s heart. So that was it. ‘Yes, I did, sir. Does that upset you?’
‘Because I’m a declared pacifist, you mean?’
‘Yes.’
For the briefest moment, Eddington made eye contact. ‘No, that doesn’t bother me.’
‘But something does. Is it my faith?’
‘No, my own faith is as seriously held as yours.’
‘Then you have reservations about my scholarship.’
‘Far from it.’ Eddington’s brow wrinkled. ‘If anything, I find you a touch intimidating.’
‘Intimidating?’
Eddington gave a wan smile. ‘The essay you sent me. Most extraordinary scholarship application I’ve ever seen. I find it difficult to believe that someone can understand relativity as well as you do with no one to teach you.’
‘I had your book on the subject.’
Eddington leaned over and patted Lemaître on the shoulder.
‘I know, old boy, that’s the most confounding part.’
A whole day passed before Lemaître realised that the comment had been another thing he’d been warned about: the British sense of humour.
It was months before Lemaître got the full story of the eclipse trip out of Eddington. It came one afternoon as they were sitting over tea and shortbread in the plush common-room. Their chairs were beside one of the panelled bay windows, and the quiet professor started talking as if Lemaître had just asked his question.
‘We began scouting for a site as soon as we landed. From the ship we had seen that the mountains in the middle were constantly misty, but the consulate told us the best places would be to the north or west of the island. The sun’s so high in the tropics we didn’t need to face south, so we followed the advice. That’s when we found Roça Sundy, Senhor Carneiro’s plantation – fabulous host, very generous with his wine cellar …’ Eddington glanced over his spectacles to check if his humour had reg
istered. ‘Couldn’t have made it easier. There was a walled enclosure on the side of the house, perfect for us. Protection against the wind, you see? The house was up on the hill and the land dropped steeply away to the sea, giving us a perfect view of the eclipse position. So we set up the equipment there.’
‘Go on,’ urged Lemaître.
‘Now, of course, we weren’t at all confident, because May was the end of the rainy season, but at the beginning of the second week the season turned and the dry wind set in. It was a blessing and a curse. Soon became a problem because as the ground dried it became dusty. Got everywhere, in all the clocks and over the lenses. We were forever cleaning. We tried putting up covers but it got into absolutely everything. Then, the morning of the eclipse: disaster. There was a tremendous downpour: thunder and lightning all over the island. We couldn’t work at all. The rain didn’t stop until noon and the clouds didn’t begin to thin until about half past one.’
Lemaître knew that the crucial part of the eclipse had been expected just after two o’clock, when the moon should have completely covered the sun and made the stars come out.
‘Well, as you can imagine, the rain had turned the dust into mud. We went slithering about, uncovering the ’scope, racing to get everything ready in double-quick time. That’s when Cottingham nearly fell down the clock pit.’
‘Clock pit?’
‘We’d dug a hole in the ground so that the clock weight could drop further than the frame allowed. That gave us thirty-six minutes between needing to wind, which allowed us to set the telescope tracking automatically during the eclipse.’
‘And was it clear? It must have been. You announced results.’ Eddington squirmed. ‘Not exactly clear. We worked through the clouds. We could see the sun, but we didn’t know whether we were going to get any stars at all on the plates. A few minutes after totality ended the sun was in a perfectly clear sky, but that’s just how luck would have it. We had to work at night to develop the plates, when the temperature had dropped to less than hellish and we could cool the washing water sufficiently. There was no ice, of course; we had to use earthenware pots and hide them away in the cellars. To my very great relief I could see stars in the final plates. We took sixteen in all, but only the final six showed stars. I’d planned to measure the star positions on the island and cable the results, but we heard that the shipping company was threatened with a strike, so we upped sticks and went to the port pronto. Then, of course, we had to wait until we were back home,’ he indicated the room, ‘before I could do any more.’