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autumn in their country; they would approve his business purpose, for he would be contributing

foreign exchange to the Fatherland, and with foreign exchange the Germans got coffee and

chocolate and oranges, to say nothing of Hollywood movies and Budd machine guns. To Frau

Reichsminister Goebbels he wrote reminding her of her kind offer to advise him; he told of the

proposed Detaze exhibit and enclosed some photographs and clippings, in case the work of this

painter wasn't already known to her. Carefully wrapped and stowed in the back of the car

were several of Marcel's most famous works—not the Poilu, not those sketches satirizing German

militarism, but Pain, and Sister of Mercy, so gentle, yet moving, adapted to a nation which had

just signed a pact renouncing war; also samples of the land- and sea-scapes of that romantic

Riviera coast which so many Germans had visited and come to love. Kennst du das Land!

On the drive through Italy, safe from possible eavesdropping, they discussed the various

possibilities of this campaign. Should they try to appeal to what sense of honor the Commander

of the German Air Force might have? Should they try to make friends with him, and to extract

a favor from him, sometime when they had him well loaded up with good liquor? Should they

make him a straight-out cash proposition? Or should they try to get next to the Führer, and

persuade him that they were the victims of a breach of faith? Should they play the Goebbels

faction, or find somebody in power who needed cash and could pull hidden wires? Should they

try for a secret contact with some of the young Socialists, and perhaps plan a jailbreak?

These and many more schemes they threshed out, and would keep them in mind as they

groped their way into the Nazi jungle. One thing alone was certain; whatever plan they decided

upon they could carry out more safely if they were established in Berlin as socially prominent and

artistically distinguished, the heirs and interpreters of a great French painter, the patrons and

friends of a German Komponist, and so on through various kinds of glamour they might

manage to wrap about themselves.

In Vienna it wasn't at all difficult for Lanny to resume the role of art expert. In one of those

half-dead palaces on the Ringstrasse he came upon a man's head by Hobbema which filled him

with enthusiasm; he cabled to a collector in Tuxedo Park, the sale was completed in two days, and

thus he had earned the cost of a long stay in Berlin before he got there. Irma was impressed, and

said: "Perhaps Göring might let you sell for him those paintings in the Robin palace. Johannes

would be getting his son in exchange for his art works!"

VIII

A detour in order to spend a couple of days at Stubendorf; for Kurt Meissner was like a

fortress which had to be reduced before an army could march beyond it. No doubt Heinrich

had already written something about Lanny's becoming sympathetic to National Socialism, and it

wouldn't do to have Kurt writing back: "Watch out for him, he doesn't really mean it." If

Lanny was to succeed as a spy, here was where he had to begin, and the first step would be the

hardest.

A strange thing to be renewing old friendships and at the same time turning them into

something else! To be listening to Kurt's new piano concerto with one half your mind, and

with the other half thinking: "What shall I say that will be just right, and how shall I lead up

to what I want to tell him about the Robins?"

Was it because of this that Kurt's music seemed to have lost its vitality? In the old days

Lanny's enthusiasm had been unrestrained; all his being had flowed along with those sweeping

melodies, his feet had marched with those thundering chords, he had been absolutely certain

that this was the finest music of the present day. But now he thought: "Kurt has committed

himself to these political fanatics, and all his thinking is adjusted to their formulas. He is

trying to pump himself up and sound impressive, but really it's old stuff. He has got to the

stage where he is repeating himself."

But Lanny mustn't give the least hint of that. He was an intriguer, a double-dealer, using art

and art criticism as camouflage for his kind of ideology, his set of formulas. He had to say: "Kurt,

that's extraordinary; that finale represents the highest point you have ever attained; the adagio

weeps with all the woe of the world." How silly these phrases of musical rapture sounded; saying

them made a mockery of friendship, took all the charm out of hospitality, even spoiled the taste

of the food which the gute verständige Mutter, Frau Meissner, prepared for her guests.

But it worked. Kurt's heart was warmed to his old friend, and he decided that political

differences must not be allowed to blind one to what was fine in an opponent. Later on, Lanny

went for a walk in the forest, leaving Irma to have a heart-to-heart talk with Kurt, and tackle a

job which would have been difficult for Lanny. For, strangely enough, Irma was play-acting only

in part. She said things to this German musician which she hadn't said to anybody else, and

hadn't thought she would ever say; so she assured him, and of course it touched him. She

explained that Lanny was honest, and had dealt with her fairly, telling her his political

convictions before he had let her become interested in him. But she had been ignorant of the

world, and hadn't realized what it would mean to be a Socialist, or one sympathetic to their

ideas. It meant meeting the most dreadful people, and having them interfere in your affairs, and

your being drawn into theirs. Not merely the sincere ones, but the tricksters and adventurers

who had learned to parrot the phrases! Lanny could never tell the difference—indeed, how could

anybody tell? It was like going out into the world with your skin off, and any insect that came

along could take a bite out of you.

"And not only Socialists," said the young wife, "but Communists, all sorts of trouble-makers.

You know Uncle Jesse, how bitter he is, and what terrible speeches he makes."

"We had millions like him in Germany," replied Kurt. "Thank God that danger is no more."

"I've been pleading and arguing with Lanny for more than four years. At one time I was ready

to give up in despair; but now I really begin to believe I am making some headway. You know how

Lanny is, he believes what people tell him; but of late he seems to be realizing the true nature

of some of the people he's been helping. That's why I wanted to ask you to talk to him. He has

such a deep affection for you, and you may be able to explain what is going on in Germany,

and help him to see things in their true light."

"I've tried many times," said Kurt; "but I never seemed to get anywhere."

"Try once more. Lanny is impressionable, and seeing your movement going to work has given a

jolt to his ideas. What he wants more than anything is to see the problem of unemployment

solved. Do you think the Führer will really be able to do it?"

"I have talked with him, and I know that he has practical plans and is actually getting them

under way."

"Explain that to Lanny, so that while he's here with Marcel's pictures he'll watch and

understand. It may seem strange to you that I'm letting him sell pictures when I have so much

money of my own; but I've made up my mind that he ought to have something to do, and not

have the humiliation of living on his wife's money."

"You're absolutely right," declared the musician, much impressed by the sound judgment of

this young woman, whom he had imagined to be a social butterfly. "Lanny is lucky to have a

wife who understands his weaknesses so well. Make him stick at some one thing, Irma, and

keep him from chasing every will-o'-the-wisp that crosses his path."

IX

So these two boyhood friends got together and renewed their confidences. Life had played

strange tricks upon them, beyond any foreseeing. Back in the peaceful Saxon village of

Hellerau where they had met just twenty years ago, dancing Gluck's Orpheus, suppose that

somebody had told them about the World War, less than a year off, and five years later Kurt

in Paris as a German secret agent, passing ten thousand francs at a time to Uncle Jesse to be

used in stirring up revolt among the French workers! Or suppose they had been told about a

pitiful artist manqué, earning his bread and sausage by painting picture postcards, sleeping at

night among the bums and derelicts of Vienna— and destined twenty years later to become the

master of all Germany! What would they have said to that?

But here was Adolf Hitler, the one and only Führer of the Fatherland, sole possessor of a

solution to the social problem and at the same time of the power to put it into effect. Kurt

explained what Adi was doing and intended to do, and Lanny listened with deep attention. "It

sounds too good to be true," was the younger man's comment.

The Komponist replied: "You will see it, and then you will believe." To himself he said: "Poor

Lanny! He's good, but he's a weakling. Like all the rest of the world, he's impressed by

success."Having been Beauty's lover for eight years, Kurt knew the American language, and

thought: "He is getting ready to climb onto the bandwagon."

So, when the young couple drove away to Berlin, they left everything at Stubendorf the way

they wanted it. Kurt was again their friend, and ready to accept whatever good news might

come concerning them. They could ask him for advice, and for introductions, if needed; they

could invite him to Berlin to see the Detaze show, and exploit his musical reputation for their

own purposes. Lanny didn't let this trouble his conscience; it was for Freddi Robin, not for

himself. Freddi, too, was a musician, a child of Bach and Beethoven and Brahms just as much

as Kurt. Many compositions those two Germans had played together, and the clarinetist had

given the Komponist many practical hints about writing for that instrument.

When Lanny had mentioned to Kurt that Freddi had been missing since the month of May,

Kurt had said: "Oh, poor fellow!"

—but that was all. He hadn't said: "We must look into it, Lanny, because mistakes are often

made, and a harmless, gentle idealist must not be made to pay the penalties for other people's

offenses." Yes, Kurt should have said that, but he wouldn't, because he had become a full-

fledged Nazi, despising both Marxists and Jews, and unwilling to move a finger to help even

the best of them. But Lanny was going to help Freddi—and take the liberty of making Kurt

take part in the enterprise.

X

On the day that Irma and Lanny arrived at the Hotel Adlon, another guest, an elderly

American, was severely beaten by a group of Brownshirts because he failed to notice that a

parade was passing and to give the Nazi salute. When he went to the Polizeiwache to complain

about it, the police offered to show him how to give the Nazi salute. Episodes such as this,

frequently repeated, had had the effect of causing the trickle of tourists to stop; and this was

fortunate for an art expert and his wife, because it made them important, and caused space to be

given to Detaze and his work. Everybody desired to make it clear that the great art-loving

public of Berlin was not provincial in its tastes, but open to all the winds that blew across the

world.

Lanny talked about his former stepfather who had had his face burned off in the war and had

done his greatest painting in a white silk mask. His work was in the Luxembourg, in the

National Gallery of London, and the Metropolitan Museum of New York; now Lanny was

contemplating a one-man show in Berlin, and had invited the famous authority Zoltan Kertezsi

to take charge of it. Before giving out photographs or further publicity concerning the matter, he

wished to consult Reichsminister Doktor Joseph Goebbels, and be sure that his plans were

agreeable to the government. That was the proper way to handle matters with a controlled press;

the visitor's tact was appreciated, and the interviews received more space than would have been

given if he had appeared anxious to obtain it.

Lanny had already sent a telegram to Magda Goebbels, and her secretary had telephoned an

appointment for the next day. While Irma stayed in her rooms and practiced her German on

maids and manicurists and hair-dressers, Lanny drove to the apartment in the Reichstagplatz,

and bowed and kissed the hand of the first lady of the Fatherland—such was, presumably, her

position, Hitler being a bachelor and Göring a widower. Lanny had brought along two footmen

from the hotel, bearing paintings, just as had been done in the days of Marie Antoinette, and

those of her mother, the Empress Maria Theresa of Austria. The Sister of Mercy was set up in

a proper light and duly admired; when the Frau Reichsminister asked who it was, Lanny did

not conceal the fact that it was his mother, or that she was well known in Berlin society.

He explained his own position. He had enjoyed the advantage of having these great works

explained to him by his stepfather, and so had been a lover of art since his boyhood. He had

helped to select several great collections in the United States, which would some day become

public property. It was pleasant to earn money, but it was even more so to be able to gratify

one's taste for beautiful things; Lanny was sure the Frau Reichsminister would understand

this, and she said that she did. He added that while a few of the Detazes would be sold, that was

not the purpose of the exhibition, and he would not ask to take money out of the country,

for he had commissions to purchase German art works for Americans, in amounts greatly

exceeding what he was willing to sell. He told how he had just purchased a Hobbema in

Vienna; contrary to his usual custom he named both parties to the transaction, and it was

impressive.

The upshot was that Magda Goebbels declared the proposed show a worthy cultural

enterprise. She said that the Führer had very decided tastes in art, he despised the eccentric