They talked about the grave position of Germany in the war; the bulletins had told of more “straightening” of the German lines in the Ukraine, involving withdrawal from two more cities; the Americans were spreading over the toe of the Italian boot and had made a landing at Salerno, just below Naples. They were reported as being repulsed with immense losses, but thinking Germans could be sure that it wouldn’t be long before they were being repulsed from places farther in the interior. Also, they had bombed Regensburg, deep in southeastern Germany, and Oskar could say that there was a vitally important ball-bearings plant there. It must be that enemy spies were all over the land, picking out the best targets for the airmen. Lanny said nothing.
IX
The invalid officer expounded his thesis that his country had been brought to this plight by a set of gutter rats—“ignorant, low-class fanatics,” he called them—and surely the outside world could not blame the German people for this calamity. The art expert replied that many Americans did blame the German people, but well-informed persons understood the terrible power of propaganda in this modern world. When you got hold of the press and radio, you could tell the people anything and be believed; also, modern weapons were so deadly that insurrection had become impossible.
The end of this world struggle was a terrible thing to contemplate, Oskar went on; Germany was being scientifically crippled and smashed—industry, transportation, communications. If the process continued unchecked, there would be nothing left for the people but starvation, or else to be fed by the charity of their conquerors. Lanny said that was perfectly true, and it was surely the duty of the old leaders of the Fatherland, the people of decency and education, to realize this situation and take action.
Marceline had told her Junker lover about the American newspapermen’s practice of talking about “Mr. Big.” Oskar now translated it to “Herr Gross,” a common enough German name, frequently Jewish, and therefore safe to bandy about. He said that this Herr Gross was the heart of the problem. He had made himself not merely head of the government and Minister of War, but also Commander-in-Chief of the Army. He trusted none of his generals, except a few Nazi incompetents like Jodl, whom he kept by his side. He ran the war from Berlin or Berchtesgaden or wherever he happened to be. He decided not merely great strategy, but the most minute details, and sent elaborate orders which were impossible to carry out. The effort to convince him of this would bring instant dismissal. That was why the war was being lost, and why the most honorable group of men in the whole world was being driven to revolt.
Once this false leader was out of the way the entire evil movement would collapse. And what would be the attitude of the American government then? Obviously, it was a serious matter for any group of men to attempt to overthrow the government of their country in the midst of war. Would the enemy take that as the occasion to march in and complete their conquest?
Lanny was in position to say that he had discussed this question with persons of the highest authority and could state that the formula of unconditional surrender was meant for a criminal Regierung and not for a government of responsible persons with whom agreements could be made. Germany would be occupied in any case, but the purpose of the occupation would be to see a representative government firmly established. After having had opportunity for free and open discussion the people would be called upon to say what sort of government they wanted. “If you want official assurance on that point,” added the P.A., “it can be arranged for you to get it through one of our diplomatic offices—I suppose Switzerland would be the most convenient.”
This pleased Oskar von Herzenberg, and it moved him to confidences. He told an extraordinary story, of which no hint had come out to the Allied world. Only two months previously a group of men had made a carefully planned effort to remove Herr Gross from the scene, and the effort had failed through the merest accident. Oskar did not say who the men were, but it became clear that they were Reichswehr officers, and that Oskar himself had had knowledge of the affair. They had planted a deadly bomb in a package supposed to contain brandy, and got it on board a plane in which the Führer was to ride. Everything went according to plan, except that the detonator failed to work and the bomb didn’t go off. When the plane arrived in Berlin, the package was carried to the Auslandsamt, its supposed destination. One of the conspirators realized what must have happened and rushed to the office in time to get possession of the package and take it away. So Hitler had no idea how close he had come to death.
Oskar said with a wry smile, “That happened in July, but the men involved still get weak in the knees whenever they speak about it.” He didn’t say, “We shall try again,” but hinted, “There are others who would work to that end if they could be satisfied that you speak not only for your own government, but for others which we fear even more.”
The P.A. replied, “Might it not be a good thing if you and Marceline were to take a trip to Switzerland? Cold weather is coming, and it might be an aid to your recovery to spend some time in a mountain resort.”
“I will think it over and consult with one or two friends about it. How could I communicate with you, say, in the next three or four days?”
“I will telephone Marceline. I remember that the younger Hans Holbein worked in Basel for many years, so let us use him for code. She can tell me that she has learned of an example of his work, say an unlisted woodcut, and it can be viewed on a certain date. Let that date be not earlier than two weeks, to give me time to communicate with Washington. You register at the Trois Rois Hotel, and a representative of the government will contact you there.”
Lanny added to his half-sister, “If there should be anything you want to tell me, you can do it by choosing a title for the painting and describing it. Holbein painted and engraved all sorts of subjects—landscapes, figures, portraits—so you can use your imagination.”
Marceline was amused; it appealed to her as a game. She was dreadfully bored by life in the country with nobody but wounded men around her.
X
Lanny spent the night in the cottage, sleeping on the couch as before; he slept soundly, for his various missions were succeeding and he was pleased with himself. In the morning he went back to Berlin and from there called Göring’s Residenz. He never had to parley with underlings; it was evident that a busy man had left a standing order that the American art expert was to be put through whenever he called. Lanny had too much sense to be flattered by this; it was made evident that what Der Dicke wanted was to ask questions about the Führer, everything he had said about everything, and especially about the onetime Nummer Zwei who had slipped out of position and was no longer sure what number he held. He had committed the crime of not wanting to attack Poland, and the crime of not wanting to attack Russia, and worst of all, the crime of not being able to keep the Allied Air Forces away from German cities. He was in the doghouse—a phrase which he had thought funny when Lanny had used it about Rudolf Hess, but would surely not have cared to hear applied to Hermann Göring!
He shouted, “Wie geht’s, Lanny?” And then, without waiting for an answer, “We are ready to leave for Karinhall. How soon can you be here?” Lanny came, and saw in front of the building that six-wheeled baby-blue limousine with the military chauffeur, and the guard car with four armed SS men ready to follow. Two other guests were escorted to the big car and tucked in, for the sun had disappeared and a cold wind was blowing from the North Sea. Der Dicke was one of those restless spirits who have to supervise everything and can never give you any peace. He looked terrible, with flabby skin, corpse-like color—and before the drive was over Lanny observed him surreptitiously swallowing a pill. Göring forced himself to be cheerful, however; he had given final orders that would win the war, so now they had nothing to do but enjoy themselves, ha, ha, ha! This old-style robber baron was not content to laugh, he bellowed.
One of the guests was a sister-in-law whom he had acquired by his marriage to a Swedish noble lady named Karin, whom he had privately canoni
zed since her death. The other was Baron von Behr, head of the Einsatzstab, the organization which had been created for the purpose of plundering Europe of its works of art. Lanny had met him on a previous visit to Karinhall and had bought from him a couple of Göring’s rejects. Lanny had the presumption to think that the Number Two Nazi’s taste in art was far from infallible; it ran to heavy nude female flesh and the costumes and jewels of the world’s predatory classes. Lanny thought there were a lot more important things.
The car sped over the Autobahn to the north, the long mournful horn warning traffic out of the way. The guests had an interesting topic of conversation, for one of the Baron’s spies had recently discovered the hiding place of a priceless collection of paintings belonging to a Jewish banker; the rascal had hidden them in a cave in the Thuringian mountains and then had sneaked away to Switzerland. Each of the treasures had been wrapped in oilcloth and tightly sealed against dampness; the list of them was a catalogue of famous names for the past five hundred years; and now the best had been brought to Karinhall, and a Kunstsachverständiger from overseas would have the delight of inspecting them. But he couldn’t buy any of them because Der Dicke couldn’t give him a clear title—not until he was able to get his hands on that “judische Schweinehund in Genf”!
Lanny’s thought went back to the White House and its occupant, who also had a hobby of collecting works of art. Engravings in this case, very small, but well executed, and reproduced by the billions—postage stamps! F.D.R. had a large collection, and it rested his mind to get out one of the many volumes and insert new specimens. A harmless enough hobby—he didn’t have to rob anybody or torture anybody to force him to reveal the hiding place of his treasures. That was a difference between the Old World and the New, as Lanny saw it; the Old had far more culture, more subtlety, more taste—but it had also more cruelty and hatred. Take your choice between esthetics and ethics!
XI
In the course of ten years Lanny had watched Karinhall expand from a hunting lodge into an immense rambling mansion. Its growth had not been stopped by the war; it was going to be the world’s greatest art storehouse, and its owner had promised to leave it to the German people, and to build a railroad to it so that all the world might come and pay tribute to the name of Hermann Wilhelm Göring, master collector of all time. Even the enemy had apparently acquiesced in this arrangement; they had never bombed the place though it was in plain sight. Lanny knew what was in their minds, that after the victory the treasures would be returned to their owners, and the name of Hermann Wilhelm Göring would be expunged from the honor roll of art lovers.
You went into the place by a large entrance close to the ground, and walked through a hall, the oddest that Lanny had ever seen—like a tunnel, growing narrower as you advanced. He had never ventured to ask about that eccentric architectural idea. There were alcoves on each side where you could sit at a table and sip wine and admire paintings; to Lanny it seemed more suggestive of a restaurant than of a home. Then you came to the biggest hall without pillars that he had ever seen, and he had traveled much. All the old familiar paintings had been taken down from its walls and the collection of the jüdische Schweinehund occupied their places. Really it was a surprising thing, for every old master you could think of had a representative here. Nennt man die besten Namen, so wird auch der meine genannt!
So Lanny Budd could spend a pleasant week-end. The art of painting is one of the greatest of human inventions, a cultural instrument, a gateway to all other arts and branches of knowledge. When you have a collection of great paintings before your eyes, you can think of history, you can watch the pageant of the ages passing before your eyes. You can think of the poems and stories you have read, the legends, the traditions. You can think of religion, broaden your understanding of it, and learn that fundamentally all worship is one. You can travel in imagination and see the world without any of the discomforts and dangers of travel. You can enjoy the distilled essence of the beauties of nature. You can behold the works of man, “and manners, climates, councils, governments.” You can study architecture, costumes, interior decoration, and, above all peoples of all races and climes. You can study psychology in the faces of the proud monarch and the humble toilworn peasant; the great painter has read their secrets and told you more about them than they themselves knew.
Lanny could have enjoyed a full week at this country place, save for the fact that he was Hermann’s guest. Hermann’s idea of enjoyment was to gather his art experts and show them his trophies; to spread his ego all over each canvas, and tell his guests what to tell him about it. That went on until his legs were no longer able to bear his weight; then he took his American friend off to his private study and told him what to think about the war, which was in a very unsatisfactory state indeed. Lanny knew better than to agree with this; he said that the Americans were surprised and alarmed by the fury of German resistance in Italy. All this week the German official communiqués had been describing the fighting on the Salerno beachhead, and now the Americans were in “headlong flight.”
Said Der Dicke, “Don’t let the little doctor fool you, Lanny”—meaning his fellow Reichsminister, Goebbels. “We knew that your armies were coming to Salerno, so naturally we had the beaches mined and our guns precisely laid. But that can’t last long; you will make new landings, and Montgomery will force his way up the west coast and join you.”
Lanny went on opposing. “I know that the Germans are laughing at the Wuwa, but all the same, I am satisfied that the Führer really has new weapons, and I’m waiting to see them in action.”
“It’s a race between us and your bombers, Lanny.” In German, as in English, the word “your” can be singular or plural; and Lanny interposed quickly, “Don’t say ‘mine,’ Hermann. You know if they were mine they wouldn’t be fighting you. My father reports that our top people are terribly worried about rockets. The Führer told me they were coming, and he told me to say so in America.”
“We ought to know that we can’t frighten America out of this war. We ought to get peace, and get it at once, on the best terms obtainable. All that we are accomplishing is to turn the Far East over to the Japs.”
So they had plenty to talk about for the rest of that session. Very soon Der Dicke began hinting to find out what his all-powerful Führer had said about his humble self. The fact was that Göring hadn’t been mentioned; but Lanny thought it safe to say that the Führer had praised his loyalty and his indispensable executive ability. That made a new fat man of him, and he was able to get along for the rest of the talk without taking one of his stimulating pills. He beamed like a child.
Lanny decided that he really was going back into childhood, under the pressure of disappointment and defeat; he was retiring into his own private world, where his vanity was the only law. When evening came the master of the household made his appearance in a costume of flowing white silk, like a Doge of Venice, studded with jewels, with the emblematic stag of St. Hubertus on his head, and—most fantastic of incongruities—a swastika of pearls set between the stag’s antlers. Thus clad, he led his guests in a train about the mansion, showing them a domed library like that in the Vatican, with a desk twenty-six feet long, made of mahogany with bronze swastikas inlaid, and having on it two huge baroque candelabra of solid gold—so he told them—an inkstand of onyx, and a long ruler of green ivory studded with jewels. Next morning he showed the outside of the place, wearing a sky-blue uniform and carrying his jeweled baton of gold and ivory; in the evening he was an oriental rajah, all in gold!
XII
Eric Erickson arrived from Stockholm by plane. Göring had a business conference with him, and that set Lanny free to enjoy the paintings in his own way. He was joined by young Bruno Lohse, Baron von Behr’s assistant on the Einsatzstab, a Nazi who really loved great art and had discovered that Lanny loved it too. Later in the day this pair went for a walk in the magnificently kept forest, which had once belonged to the Prussian government, but which Göring had calmly t
aken for his own. Never had there been such graft since Robert Clive had been astonished by his own moderation in India.
They watched the stately stags at the feeding racks. As soon as the snow fell a certain number of them would be shot—a larger number than usual because of the shortage of choice meat for the Nazi chieftains. Lanny praised the stags, he praised the forests and the system of maintenance, he praised the wonderful thousand-year Third Reich, and the miracles it was going to bring about in the world’s economic affairs, in the sciences, and above all in the arts. Young Lohse thought this was a wonderful American and asked naïvely if there were many more like him at home. Lanny replied that there were a great many who felt about Germany as he did, but unfortunately they had no way to express themselves at present.
In the evening they had a magnificent banquet, with venison and Rebhuhn, not to mention turtle soup and a turbot, and all the products of the country. Something to remember after the skimpy and tasteless foods which Lanny had been getting in Berlin! Der Dicke announced that he had kicked all his doctors out and was eating what he pleased; he made noises to prove his pleasure, and later his satiety. There was a huge log fire in the great hall, and after they were settled before it, they heard the war news over the radio—several more towns in the Ukraine had been surrendered to their former owners. Fru Lili Martin, the sister-in-law, asked Lanny to play for them, and he played one of Beethoven’s Contretänze, which he had learned as a boy; it was echt Deutsch, and also short—Lanny knew well that his host wouldn’t have stayed quiet for anything long.