Wide Is the Gate Page 9

At last, a letter with a German stamp and a Berlin postmark! A plain envelope, with no sender’s name; Lanny shivered, knowing that it was the court sentence. He went to his own study to open it, and standing in the middle of the floor he read:

  Dear Mr. Budd:

  I have many new sketches which I believe will interest you, and would like to have your help in marketing them. If you are in Berlin on Nov. 6 I would be happy to meet you and show them. If that date is not convenient, any date thereafter will do.

  Respectfully yours,

  Mueller

  A careful and proper note that could not excite the suspicions of any Gestapo man, or of a wife who might have an impulse to pry into her husband’s mail. The writing, of German type, might have been a man’s or a woman’s. Lanny, having had some correspondence with Trudi at the time he arranged for her drawings to be published in Le Populaire, now got her letters from his files and sat down and studied them with a lens. More important yet, there were two little sketches with the letter; one was a head with which Lanny was most familiar, his urbane self in his most coming-on mood. Trudi, heart-broken and terror-racked, was saying: “Bright and shining one, dwelling in safety in a happy land—that fortress built by Nature for herself against infection and the hand of war!”

  The other picture was of Hansi Robin with his violine, and that, too had its magic. Ludi and Trudi Schultz, a pair of pure-blooded Aryans, had been invited to the palace of Johannes Robin, Jewish Schieber, to listen to Hansi and his New England wife playing the music of the German Beethoven and the Jewish Mendelssohn, the French Cesar Franck and the Hungarian Remenyi. This bright little sketch was a reminder of that evening; its message was that of Schiller’s hymn and the Ninth Symphony, that all men become brothers where the gentle wing of joy is spread.

  Of course it might be possible that a skilled draftsman had imitated Trudi’s style; a signature can be forged, and many an expert has been humilated by a clever imitation of a painting. But Lanny thought this was the young woman’s work. He studied the sketches under a glass and saw that the lines were clear and clean, which would hardly have been the case if she had been working under duress. He had what he had been looking forward to for more than a year, a chance to meet her and perhaps to ask her some questions. For that and that alone he would be willing to go into Naziland again.

  VII

  Lanny had now come to a parting of the ways in his dealings with his wife. Should he go to her and say, straight out: “I have established a contact with the underground movement in Germany and I propose to go there to make sure about it”? That was the course he would have preferred to take; but was it consistent with his pledge of secrecy, with the protection he owed to people who were risking their lives? It had been all right to tell Rick, who was a comrade, and would keep his lips sealed without even being warned. But would Irma keep a secret when she didn’t want to and didn’t think that she ought to? When she considered herself being greatly wronged and ardently disliked the persons who were wronging her?

  Fanny Barnes, Lanny’s large and aggressive mother-in-law, was talking about paying them a visits. Would Irma, nursing a grievance against her husband, fail to pour it out to her mother? Would Fanny feel enjoined against telling it to her brother Horace and to her brother-in-law Joseph Barnes, one of the three trustees of the Barnes estate? Would she even withhold it from those inquisitive dowagers with whom she went about in London? Of course she wouldn’t, and the story would be all over town in a few days.

  The American heiress and her prince consort were conspicuous people; the eyes of gossip were watching them day and night and the tongues of gossip were busy with them, not merely over teacups and telephone, but by the medium of high-speed rotary presses. Let Irma speak a cross word to her husband at the breakfast table and the footman would whisper it to Irma’s maid, and she would pass it on to the maid of the Dowager Lady Wickthorpe at the castle, who in turn would tell it to her best friend in London and it would appear in the Tatler before the end of the week. Perhaps not with the names, but so indicated that all the world would know who was meant. “A popular American lady of many millions whose husband amuses himself as an art expert is being made unhappy because he persists in consorting with the Pinks and making leftish remarks in the most exclusive drawing-rooms. Just now it is said that he is distributing the commissions on his picture sales to those ‘Genossen’ who are secretly opposing the German Fuhrer. Friends of the Nazi regime in London—and there are many of them, highly placed—are reported making sharply pointed remarks on the subject.”

  No, that wouldn’t do; either Lanny had to keep the secret from Irma or else give up his project altogether. But did he have a right to give it up? Did he owe no debt to those who were sacrificing everything for the cause he professed to believe in? Is a man’s only obligation to his wife? Can it even be said that a man’s first obligation is to his wife rather than to what he believes is the cause of truth and justice? Does a marriage ceremony give a woman the right to take charge of a man’s thinking and tell him what is true and what is false? Has a woman the right to try to do that, no matter how rich she is or how sure of her opinion?

  Whatever her rights may be, it is certain that she has the power to make him uncomfortable if he persists in making her uncomfortable. Lanny wasn’t the first man to have made that discovery—the telephones and rotary presses of ancient Athens had spread the report that the left-wing philosopher Socrates was in hot water all the time, and there were even rumors concerning the head of the state, the august and ultra-fashionable Pericles. As for the grandson of Budd’s, who was neither philosopher nor statesman, but only a playboy trying his best to grow up, he didn’t want to hurt anybody in the world and was truly thinking about the happiness of his wife when he argued that he wasn’t going to get into any trouble and that it was really a kindness to keep her from knowing things which would cause her so much needless anxiety.

  He was so scrupulous that he took the trouble to make sure that every statement he made to her should be the exact literal truth. It was true that Germany was an excellent hunting-ground for old masters at the present time. The aristocracy was impoverished, and so were many kinds of business men; taxes were rising, and the only persons who were prospering were those who controlled the raw materials and the plants needed for the making of war goods. Americans, on the other hand, were having a New Deal. Robbie Budd and other soreheads said it was “inflation,” and maybe they were right, but anyhow it was paying dividends to some groups, and a few of them had learned to think of rare and famous paintings as a safer form of investment than even gold or government bonds.

  Zoltan Kertezsi, Lanny’s friend and associate who had initiated him into this distinguished business, happened to be in Paris. Knowing him well, Lanny had figured how to get exactly what he wanted from him. He sent a wire: “You may recall that I mentioned having learned of a delicate small Hubert van Eyck in Germany I believe same might be purchased but there are social reasons why I hesitate to make the approach if I had a wire from you inquiring for such a picture it would facilitate matters will divide commission.”

  That would sound perfectly natural to Zoltan, who possessed a battery of harmless devices for making contacts with broken-down Erlauchten and Durchlauchten and causing them to think they were performing a cultural service by permitting their art treasures to be added to some famous American collection at a high price. Zoltan had remarked that such people must be handled as if they were made of wet tissue paper; so, before the sun had set, Lanny received a reply from Paris: “I have possible market for small Hubert van Eyck and recall that you once mentioned having seen such a picture in Germany would it be possible for you to enable me to see a good photograph of it and possibly get a price?”

  VIII

  This telegram the schemer took to his wife, who was, as he expected, much upset. “Why, Lanny! You said that nothing would ever induce you to set foot in Germany again!”

  “I know, but I’ve been thinki
ng it over. It appears that Hitler is going to stay in power for a long time, and whether I go in or stay out isn’t going to make any difference. It seems foolish to give up the best market I have—to say nothing of all our friends there.”

  “But will the Nazis let you in?”

  “If they pay any attention to me at all, they’ll know that I’m bringing them foreign exchange which they need badly. If they don’t want me, they’ll refuse me a visa and that’ll be that.”

  “Lanny, it terrifies me to think of your walking into that trap again. I know how you feel about conditions there and what you’ll be doing and saying.”

  He had foreseen this and given careful study to his reply. “If I go there on a business trip, I’m certainly not going to say anything to offend my customers, and I certainly don’t want any unfavorable publicity. Also, if I have you with me, I’ll be under obligation not to do anything to spoil your pleasure.”

  “Why don’t you tell Zoltan where the picture is and let him attend to it himself? You surely don’t need the money.”

  “I doubt if Zoltan could handle this deal. It’s a matter of some delicacy—the picture belongs to an aunt of Stubendorf, and you know how it is with the old nobility, especially the females. She has met me, but probably doesn’t remember my name, and I’ll have to get Seine Hochgeboren to introduce me all over again. We could run out and see Kurt, if you wouldn’t mind.”

  “Lanny, it makes cold chills run all over me! Would you still expect to make Kurt think you’re a Nazi sympathizer?”

  He smiled. “Kurt and I were friends long before the Nazis were invented, and he won’t mind if I tell him I’ve lost my interest in politics. He’ll think that’s natural enough, now that the Robin family is out of Germany. Remember, I presented Kurt with a whole library of four-hand piano compositions—enough to keep us busy for a full week if we try them all.”

  Making playful remarks and evading like a lively young eel, Lanny managed to get through this difficult conversation. Irma was so concerned to have him do what she called “behaving himself” that she grasped at every straw of hope. More than three months had passed since he had come out of Naziland, and during that time he hadn’t done anything indicative of madness. It had been his faiily duty to attend Freddi’s funeral, but he hasn’t revealed any deep emotion over it, and now it was possible for Irma to think that, having got his near-relatives safe, he might consider his duty done and give his wife a chance to enjoy the happiness which was her birthright.

  Also, he was proposing a trip; and it was a part of Irma’s upbringing, it was the psychology of everybody in the world she knew—they were always ready to take a trip. They had the newest and sportiest cars, and kept them supplied with gasoline and oil, water and air, each in its proper place; they had fancy leather bags, and valets and maids to pack them at an hour’s notice. At home they would say: “Let’s run down to Miami and drop in on Winnie,” or: “Let’s drive out to California and see how Bertie’s getting along with his new wife.” Over here it would be Biarritz or Florence, Salzburg or St. Moritz—it didn’t matter so long as it was some place to go. If you didn’t have much to do when you got there, you could always move on to some other place.

  Now it was Berlin. The time of the year was pleasant; a bit chilly, but bracing, and Irma had lovely furs. They would take the night ferry to the Hook of Holland, and from there a one-day drive. They would visit Stubendorf in Upper Silesia and be guests at the Schloss, which seemed romantic to them both. In Berlin there was the Salon, and the concerts, and a social season getting uner way. Yes, it was possible to think of many agreeable things to see and do. Irma said, as usual: “Let’s go”; but then, frowning, she added: “Listen to me, Lanny. I mean it—if you do anything to make me miserable the way you did, I’ll never forgive you as long as I live!”

  IX

  They waited only to see Robbie, who was due in London. He arrived, outwardly calm, inwardly exultant over his successes. Zaharoff had agreed to take a million dollars’ worth of Budd-Erling shares and had given Robbie permission to mention this to several of his former English associates. Denis de Bruyne had taken three million francs’ worth and was getting up a syndicate of his friends. Also Emily Chattersworth was coming in; and now Robbie, at request, sat down with Irma and laid the proposal before her. She said that she owned as much to the Budd family as any old Greek spider or wolf or devil; she wrote to her uncle Joseph, instructing him to descend into that vault where her treasures were stored. It was far beneath a Wall Street bank building, protected by layers of steel and concrete and having spaces between filled alternately with water and poison gas; a place which met all the biblical requirements, where neither moth nor rust could corrupt nor thieves break through and steal. From the many large bundles of securities Mr. Joseph Barnes was ordered to select half a million dollars’ worth of those which had brought in the smallest returns during the present year; he was to sell them at the market and replace them with Budd-Erling preferred plus common as a bonus.

  Irma wasn’t supposed to come into full control of her fortune until she was thirty; but she had taken to expressing her wishes, and so far the trustees had not found it necessary to oppose her. Uncle Joseph couldn’t find any fault with the business reputation of her father-in-law or with her desire to promote the fortunes of her acquired family. Of course, Robbie’s capable ex-mistress saw to it that the news of Irma’s action was spread among her fashionable friends, and Margy, Dowager Lady Eversham-Watson, and Sophie, former Baroness de la Tourette, and all the other ladies with large incomes and still larger appetites were eager to hear about this opportunity of enrichment. “Son,” exclaimed the promoter, “we’ve got the world by the tail!”

  He was surprised to learn that Lanny was going into Germany again, but he didn’t say much about it, because he was wrapped up in his own affairs and never too curious about other people’s. He took it as natural that his son should have decided not to cut off his own nose to spite his face; it wouldn’t do Hitler any harm or Lanny any good. Robbie took the projected trip as a sign of returning sanity and so expressed himself to the young wife, thus confirming what she was trying so hard to believe. “Encourage him to make all the money he can,” said the father. “Hell manage to find uses for it, and it ought to be at least as much fun as playing the piano.”

  So Irma’s own father would have told her if he had been alive: Missing him greatly, she was moved to take Lanny’s father as a substitute. She told some of her troubles, not in a complaining way, but as one asking for guidance, and Robbie, who had had the same troubles with a too trusting idealist, helped her to understand his foibles. “We all think we’re going to change the world when we’re young,” he explained. “When we get older we realize what a tough proposition it is, and in the end we have our hands full taking care of ourselves and those for whom we are responsible. Lanny’s pink measles are lasting longer than most cases; but be patient with him—he has to cure himself.”

  “I know,” responded Irma. “People won’t let you tell them things. Maybe I’m that way, too.”

  “Remember this,” added the shrewd man of affairs. “Lanny doesn’t make so much money selling pictures, but it’s an intellectual and artistic occupation and brings you into contact with interesting people.”

  “I know that, Robbie. Don’t think I’m regretting my marriage.”

  “You understand how I feel about it. I’ve always left Lanny free to follow his own path, but I haven’t given up hope that he may come to take an interest in my affairs. I thought I was training him for that. Now, here’s a new opportunity—if he could be brought to see it and come in with me, I could push him right to the top in a year or two. You know what a quick mind he has.”

  “Oh, indeed!” assented the wife. “And I’d be glad if it could be managed. But it would never do for me to suggest it.”

  “Bear it in mind and perhaps find a chance to drop a hint. Just think what he could do for us in Germany, if only he coul
d get over his political notions and learn to take business as business. You know what connections he has; and you could help him, as Beauty has helped me so many times.”

  Irma shook her head. “I’m afraid it’s no go, Robbie. Lanny hates the Nazis with a sort of personal hatred.”

  “He’s been too close to them. If he’d seen the other governments of Europe getting started he’d understand there isn’t much choice among them. They all put their opponents down with brutality, because they’re afraid; but when they’re safe in the saddle, they settle down and you can hardly tell them apart. In a few years the Nazis will all be wearing frock-coats.”

  “I can’t argue with Lanny,” said the young wife, sadly. “He’s read so much more than I have, and he thinks I’m just a dumb cluck.”

  “You have a lot more influence than you know, and between us we may get him interested in airplanes.” Robbie said that, and then after a moment added: “Give him time. There are no perfect husbands, you know.”

  Irma nodded. There were unspoken thoughts between them. She had been taught the value of her money and understood why Robbie valued her so highly as a wife. But they were both of them well-bred persons, who would act on what they called “common sense” but wouldn’t put it into words.

  BOOK TWO

  Some Hidden Thunder

  5

  DES TODES EIGEN

  I

  In Germany the highways are smooth and straight and lined with well-kept trees, many of them fruit-bearing. New roads were being started, and some of these were wonderful—four-track model Autobahnen with all the crossroads over-or underpassed. Lanny said these were military roads, intended for the invasion of the bordering countries; he added that they were built with American money, borrowed by the German Republic and by its member states and cities. Lanny rarely lost an opportunity to make some disapproving remark about what was going on in Hitlerland, and Irma had learned not to comment, because if she did an argument might start and Lanny would overwhelm her with facts and figures.