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vain. Here was Hansi twenty-five, and his brother only two years younger, and instead of

calming down they appeared to be acquiring a mature determination, with a set of

theories or dogmas or whatever you chose to call them, serving as a sort of backbone for

their dreams.

To the Jewish couple out of the ghetto the marriage of Hansi to Robbie Budd's

daughter had appeared a great triumph, but in the course of time they had discovered

there was a cloud to this silver lining. Bess had caught the Red contagion from Hansi,

and brought to the ancient Jewish idealism a practicality which Johannes recognized as

Yankee, a sternness derived from her ancestral Puritanism. Bess was the reddest of

them all, and the most uncompromising. Her expression would be full of pity and

tenderness, but it was all for those whom she chose to regard as the victims of social

injustice. For those others who held them down and garnered the fruits of their toil she

had a dedicated antagonism; when she talked about capitalism and its crimes her face

became set, and you knew her for the daughter of one of Cromwell's Ironsides.

Lanny understood that in the depths of his soul Johannes quailed before this daughter-in-law.

He tried to placate her with soft words, he tried to bribe her with exactly the right motor-car,

a piano of the most exquisite tone, yachting-trips to the most romantic places of the seven seas,

and not a single person on board who would oppose her ideas; only the members of her own

two families and their attendants. "Look!" the poor man of nullions seemed to be saying. "Here

is Rahel with a baby who has to be nursed, and here is the lovely baby of your adored brother;

here is this ship of dreams which exists for the happiness of all of you. It will go wherever you

wish, and the service will be perfect; you can even break the rules of discipline at sea, you and

Hansi can go into the forecastle and play music for the crew, or invite them up into the saloon

once a week and play for them—in spite of the horror of an old martinet trained in the

merchant marine of Germany. Anything, anything on earth, provided you will be gracious, and

forgive me for being a millionaire, and not despise me because I have wrung my fortune out of

the toil and sweat of the wage-slaves!"

This program of appeasement had worked for four years, for the reason that Bess had laid hold

of the job of becoming a pianist. She had concentrated her Puritan fanaticism upon acquiring

muscular power and co-ordination, in combining force with delicacy, so that the sounds she

produced would not ruin the fine nuances, the exquisite variations of tone, which her more

highly trained husband was achieving. But Johannes knew in his soul that this task wasn't

going to hold her forever; some day she and Hansi both would consider themselves musicians—

and they meant to be Red musicians, to play for Red audiences and earn money for the Red

cause. They would make for themselves the same sort of reputation that Isadora Duncan had

made by waving red scarves at her audiences and dancing the Marseillaise. They would plunge

into the hell of the class struggle, which everyone could see growing hotter day by day all over

Europe.

X

Besides Mama, the only person to whom Johannes Robin unbosomed himself of these anxieties

was Lanny Budd, who had always been so wise beyond his years, a confidant at the age of

fourteen, a counselor and guide at the age of nineteen. Lanny had brought Johannes together

with his father, and listened to their schemes, and knew many of the ins and outs of their

tradings. He knew that Johannes had been selling Budd machine guns to Nazi agents, to be used

in the open warfare these people carried on with the Communists in the streets of Berlin.

Johannes had asked Lanny never to mention this to the boys, and Lanny had obliged him.

What would they do if they found it out? They might refuse to live any longer in the Berlin

palace, or to travel in the hundred-dollar-an-hour yacht. Bess might even refuse to let it carry

her name. Thus Jascha Rabinowich, standing in front of his private wailing wall. Oi, oi!

He was in the position only too familiar to the members of his race through two thousand

years of the Diaspora: surrounded by enemies, and having to play them one against another, to

placate them by subtle arts. Johannes had risen to power by his shrewdness as a speculator,

knowing whom to pay for inside information and how to separate the true from the false.

Having made huge sums out of the collapse of the mark, he had bought up concerns which

were on the verge of bankruptcy. To hold them and keep them going meant, in these days of

governmental interference with business, some sort of alliance with politicians; it meant paying

them money which was close to blackmail and became ever closer as time passed. It meant not

merely knowing the men who were in power, but guessing who might be in power next week,

and making some sort of deal with them.

So it came about that Johannes was helping to maintain the coalition government of the

Republic and at the same time supporting several of the ambitious Nazis; for, under the strain

of impending national bankruptcy, who could tell what might happen? Knowing that his

children were in touch with the Reds, and continually being importuned for money—who

wasn't, that had money?—Johannes would give them generous sums, knowing that they would

pass these on to be used for their "cause." Yet another form of insurance! But do not let any of

these groups know that you are giving to the others, for they are in a deadly three-cornered

war, each against the other two.

All this meant anxious days and sleepless nights. And Mama, from whom nothing could be

hidden, would argue: "What is it for? Why do we need so much money?" It was hard for her

to understand that you must get more in order to protect what you had. She and the

children would join in efforts to get Papa away from it all. For the past three summers they had

lured him into a yachting-trip. This year they had started earlier, on account of the two young

mothers, and they were hoping to keep him away all summer.

But it appeared that troubles were piling up in Berlin: business troubles, political troubles.

Johannes was receiving batches of mail at the different ports, and he would shut himself up with

his secretary and dictate long telegrams. That was one of his complaints concerning the Soviet

Union: letters might be opened, and telegrams were uncertain; you paid for them but couldn't

be sure they would arrive. Everything was in the hands of bureaucrats, and you were wound up

in miles of red tape—God pity the poor people who had to get a living in such a world. Johannes,

man of swift decisions, plowman of his own field, builder of his own road, couldn't stand Odessa,

and asked them to give up seeing the beautiful Sochi. "There are just as grand palaces near

Istanbul, and the long-distance telephone works!"

XI

The Bessie Budd returned in her own wake, and in Istanbul its owner received more

telegrams which worried him. The yacht had to wait until he sent answers and received more

answers, and in the end he announced that he couldn't possibly go on. There was serious

trouble involving one of the banks he controlled. Decisions had to be made which couldn't be left

to subordinates. He had made a mistake to come away in such unsettled times!—the Wall

Street crash had shaken all Europe, and little by little the cracks were revealing themselves.

Johannes had to beg his guests to excuse him. He took a plane for Vienna, and from there to

Berlin.

It had come to be that way now; there were planes every day between all the great capitals of

Europe. You stepped in, hardly knew that you were flying, and in a few hours stepped out and

went about your affairs. Not the slightest danger; but it tormented Mama to think of Jascha up

there amid thunder and lightning, and so many things to bump into when you came down.

They waited in Istanbul until a telegram arrived, saying that the traveler was safe in his own

palace and that Freddi was well and happy, and sent love to all.

It was too late to visit the coast of Africa—the rains had come, and it was hot, and there

would be mosquitoes. They made themselves contented on the yacht, and did not bother to go

ashore. The dairy farm prospered; the ample refrigerators provided the two young mothers

with fresh foods, and they in turn provided for the infants. The grandmothers hovered over the

scene in such a flutter of excitement as made you think of humming-birds' wings. Really, it

appeared as if there had never been two babies in the world before and never would be again.

Grandmothers, mothers, babies, and attendants formed a closed corporation, a secret society, an

organization of, by, and for women.

It was a machine that ran as by clockwork, and the balance wheel was the grave Miss Severne.

She had been employed to manage only Baby Frances; but she was so highly educated, so

perfectly equipped, that she overawed the Robins; she was the voice of modern science,

speaking the last word as to the phenomena of infancy. Equally important, she had the English

manner, she was Britannia which rules the waves and most of the shores; she was authority, and

the lesser breeds without the law decided to come in. What one grandmother was forbidden to

do was obviously bad form for the other to do; what little Frances's nursemaid was ordered to

do was obviously desirable for little Johannes's nursemaid to do. So in the end Jerusalem

placed itself under the British flag; Rahel made Miss Severne a present now and then, and she

ran the whole enterprise.

Every morning Marceline was in Miss Addington's cabin, reciting her lessons. Mr. Dingle was

in his cabin thinking his new thoughts and saying his old prayers. Madame Zyszynski was in hers,

playing solitaire, or perhaps giving a "sitting." That left Hansi, Bess, and Lanny in the saloon,

the first two working out their interpretation of some great violin classic, and Lanny listening

critically while they played a single passage many times, trying the effect of this and that. Just

what did Beethoven mean by the repetition of this rhythmic pattern? Here he had written

sforzando, but he often wrote that when he meant tenuto, an expressive accent, the sound to

be broadened—but be careful, it is a trick which becomes a bad habit, a meretricious device.

They would discuss back and forth, but always in the end they deferred to Hansi; he was the

one who had the gift, he was the genius who lived music in his soul. Sometimes the spirit caught

them, they became not three souls but one, and it was an hour of glory.

These young people could never be bored on the longest yachting-cruise. They took their art

with them, a storehouse of loveliness, a complex of ingenuities, a treasure-chest of delights

which you could never empty. Lanny had stabbed away at the piano all his life, but now he

discovered that he had been skimming over the surface of a deep ocean. Now he analyzed

scientifically what before he had enjoyed emotionally. Hansi Robin had had a thorough German

training, and had read learned books on harmony, acoustics, the history of music. He studied

the personalities of composers, and he tried to present these to his audiences; he did not try to

turn Mozart into Beethoven, or Gluck into Liszt. He would practice the most difficult Paganini or

Wieniawski stuff, but wouldn't play it in public unless he could find a soul in it. Finger gymnastics

were for your own use.

XII

Every afternoon, if the weather was right, the vessel would come to a halt, and the guests, all

but Mama Robin, would emerge on the deck in bathing-suits; the gangway would be let down

over the side, and they would troop down and plunge into the water. A sailor stood by with

a life-belt attached to a rope, in case of accident; they were all good swimmers, but the efficient

Captain Moeller took no chances and was always on watch himself. When they had played

themselves tired, they would climb up, and the yacht would resume her course. The piano on

little rubber wheels would be rolled out from the saloon, and Hansi and Bess would give an al-

fresco concert; Rahel would sing, and perhaps lead them all in a chorus. Twilight would fall,

"the dusk of centuries and of song."

There was only one trouble on this cruise so far as concerned Lanny, and that was the game

of bridge. Beauty and Irma had to play; not for money, but for points, for something to do.

These ladies knew how to read, in the sense that they knew the meaning of the signs on paper,

but neither knew how to lose herself in a book or apply herself to the mastering of its

contents. They grew sleepy when they tried it; they wanted other people to tell them what was

in books; and Irma at least had always been able to pay for the service. Now she had married a

poor man, and understood it to mean that he was to keep her company. In the world of Irma

Barnes the nursery rhyme had been turned about, and every Jill must have her Jack.

Lanny didn't really mind playing bridge—only there were so many more interesting things

to do. He wanted to continue child study with the two specimens he had on board. He wanted to

read history about the places he visited, so that a town would be where a great mind had

functioned or a martyr had died. But Beauty and Irma were willing to bid five no trumps while

the yacht was pass~ ing the scene of the battle of Salamis. They would both think it inconsiderate

of Lanny if he refused to make a fourth hand because he wanted to write up his notes of the last

seance with Madame Zyszynski. Lanny thought it was important to keep proper records, and

index them, so that the statements of Tecumseh on one occasion could be compared with

those on another. He had the books of Osty and Geley, scientists who had patiently delved into

these phenomena and tried to evolve theories to explain them. This seemed much more

important than whether Culbertson was right in his rules about the total honor-trick-content