Later in the afternoon word spread that the Führer had summoned Sir Nevile for a second conference. The doctor, whose room was near his head patient’s, showed his friendliness by inviting the American guest up to that privileged listening post. “Streng vertraulich!” he whispered, with a grin, and Lanny replied: “Das versteht sich von selbst!” But the little conspiracy came to naught, for the second meeting was entirely decorous—Adi didn’t once raise his voice, and the British ambassador took his departure, presumably having his written reply tucked away safely over his heart.
It was a long letter, as Adi’s were apt to be. There was nothing especially secret about it, and a number of the higher officers soon had read it and talked about it freely. It was just one more listing of the Führer’s grievances: the “wave of unspeakable terror” which had been let loose in Danzig and the Corridor by the British support of Poland; the Führer’s hopelessness of any sort of real friendship between his country and Britain; also his readiness to meet the issue of war if it came. “There can be no doubt as to the determination of the new German Reich to accept privation and misfortune in any form and at any time rather than sacrifice her national interests or even her honor.” Lanny could perceive that very few even among the military men liked that way of talking; but they had hitched their wagons to the Hitler star, and now would go whirling across the heavens like a swarm of meteorites. Lanny decided that Germany might be about to plunge into another World War, but there would be no cheering and singing in the streets as there had been a quarter of a century ago.
20
They That Take the Sword
I
A strange fate which had befallen this châlet, once the summer residence of an obscure Hamburg merchant, and now the center of attention of the whole world. Haus Wachenfels, or Watch Rock, it had been called; some said Wachenfeld, or Watch Field. It had been for rent, and some of Adi’s rich supporters had taken it, to serve as his retreat when he was released from prison. Here he and Hess had written the second volume of Mein Kampf; and later, when the money had begun to pour in, he had bought it, and changed the name to Der Berghof. Thereafter it had been enlarged, year after year, until now it was no longer a retreat, but the summer capital of Germany. The world called it Berchtesgaden, that being the nearest village and post office; it was as if the wild witch had come back to life again, and there was a new Walpurgis night up on the side of the mountain, and the enchantment there wrought filled the whole world with terror.
The center of this excitement was one medium-sized pudgy-faced man who looked as if he might be the butcher, the baker, or the candlestick maker. But he had a daimon inside him, that drove him day and night and made him drive all other people, whether for or against him. He had built a daimon movement, and now it had caught him up and would have driven him forward even if he had wanted to pull back, which he didn’t. He wanted to go to the end, which was the subjection of the world to that daimon, the making over of the world in the image of that daimon.
Right now he was at the supreme crisis of his career, he had the great decision to make, and he knew it; to be near him was like living in the midst of a tornado, like being in a Vulcan forge where new universes were being wrought. Telephone calls were pouring in, messages coming and going, statesmen from many capitals being summoned or seeking appointments. Newspaper correspondents crowded the hotel in the village and telephone calls were put in for Paris and London and New York. And in the midst of it all was the son of Alois Hitler, né Schicklgruber, the same frightened, angry child who had hated and feared his father, adored his fond young mother and lost her, and looked upon the great world outside with a mixture of emotions, all unhappy, because nobody cared for him, nobody appreciated him, and when he stamped his feet and clenched his fists and screamed in fury, nobody obeyed him, but some laughed at him and others cuffed him.
A great, powerful, and cruel world, having something monstrously wrong in it, and Adi’s daimon had driven him to try to find out what it was. After many years of struggling and efforts to think, accompanied by wild surges of emotion, he had found out. It was the plutocrats, it was the Jews, it was the Allies, the enemies of Germany, of the blue-eyed, blond, and tall Herrenvolk with which Adi Schicklgruber identified himself, by some strange process which must have involved shutting his eyes whenever he came near a mirror. To put down the enemies and put up the Herrenvolk was Adi’s destiny, and he had had himself portrayed as a knight in armor, riding a magic white steed which was able to gallop over continents and leap across oceans, and lead the Aryan folk to victory by land, sea, and air.
Never had his moods been more violent, their changes more sudden than right now. In the early hours of the morning, when he couldn’t get to sleep, terror would seize him. Was he, the Führer, leading his people to the greatest triumph in history, or to the greatest collapse? He would summon his generals, his most highly trained military experts to a conference; and when they pointed out the dangers of the situation, the vast resources of their enemies, he would fly into a rage with them, call them cowards and mice in uniform, and send them packing. He would summon Ribbentrop or Goebbels or Himmler, men of hate and terror, men of words and dreams like Adi’s own. The wild witch Berchta had taken up her dwelling in their hearts, and they saw the world not as it was but as she wished it.
II
In the midst of such agonies of mind it was impossible that Adi should overlook the possibility of supernatural or at any rate supernormal assistance. What could mean more to him than an opportunity to make contact with the spirit of Professor Heinzelmann and others of the Nazi old companions? Who could tell what heroes and elder statesmen might see fit to come in such a crisis, and give their words of wisdom to the new master of the German destiny?
The faithful Deputy came to Lanny, saying: “You understand that the Führer is under heavy pressure, and you won’t expect him to be sociable.”
“Certainly not, Rudi. I came for only one purpose, to bring Miss Jones.”
“The Führer will wish to make a try with her this evening—that is, unless something extremely urgent should turn up.”
“She is ready; and you know, Rudi, how eagerly I’ll be waiting for news about it.”
Lanny had seen that his woman friend was provided with newspapers and magazines. Now he advised her to rest and take things easy. He couldn’t say: “Don’t try to be too good,” but he could say: “Don’t overexert yourself,” and add a little knowing smile. Also: “I suppose you will be wanting to leave tomorrow, and I’ll endeavor to arrange it.”
After which he went downstairs to join a distinguished company and listen to political conversation. He was careful never to ask questions or to reveal improper curiosity; but these important persons could not talk for long without betraying secrets; their very questions revealed what they were interested in and what they were uncertain about. Lanny had been meeting generals and admirals and cabinet ministers and diplomats since he was a small child, and he couldn’t remember a time when he hadn’t been learning the difference between important and unimportant information, and how to get the former and give the latter. He would chat with smiling casualness, and inside him be like a man who walks through a forest known to be swarming with wild Indians armed with poisoned arrows. Never in all history-had there been creatures more poisonous than the Nazis, or more alert in deception and expectant of it from others. What they thought of Lanny Budd he would never know; but he was safe so long as he held the confidence of Numbers One, Two and Three.
This kind of mental warfare is wearing; so in the middle of the evening Lanny excused himself and retired to the small but comfortable guest room which had been assigned him. He stretched himself on the bed and performed a ritual which he had taught himself, of recalling every point which should go into a report, and making certain that he fixed it correctly in his mind. That done, he picked up a book, of which he always carried several on his journeys.
III
Toward midnight ther
e came a soft tap on his door. It was Hess, and he came in, apologizing: “I hope I do not disturb you.”
“By no means. I have been waiting on pins and needles.”
“You understand, this is most confidential. I would rather you did not tell even the medium.”
“I never do that, Rudi, because it spoils the subsequent sittings—I mean, their evidential value.”
“Well, the Führer has just had a strange experience, and has been deeply moved. First there came the spirit of his father. You know he didn’t get along very well with his father.”
“So I have heard.”
“It was astonishingly lifelike and vivid. The father knew very little English, but he had brought along a former colleague to speak for him. A strange thing, for then I had to translate the words back for the Führer. He asked his father for advice, but the father said: ‘You never took my advice—you would do the opposite.’ Then he talked about the Führer’s mother, but wouldn’t ask her to come. A strange thing, how most of the spirits that come to the Führer are persons who have in some way caused him pain. The next was Gregor Strasser, who turned against the Party and was killed in the Blood Purge.”
“What did he have to say?”
“It appears that he is now devoted to the Party and the cause, and admits that the Führer was right. He spoke good English, and talked quite a lot, mostly about painful events—you know, the Führer is a man who has had dreadful sufferings, and has experienced treacheries which would have broken the heart of a less determined man.”
“I know that well, Rudi.”
“And then, the most striking thing of all—there came Bismarck.”
“You don’t tell me!”
“At least, the old Negro described a large magnificent man in a white uniform with an Iron Cross on his breast. He had a white mustache, and he kept raising his finger as if in warning, and kept moving his lips, but the old Negro said it was as if there was a sheet of glass between, and he couldn’t hear any sounds. Now and then he would get a word, and it was German. I kept saying: ‘Repeat what it sounds like to you,’ and the Negro would do it. So I got the word Gefahr!—over and over: ‘Gefahr! Gefahr!’ I said: ‘That means danger. Ask him what danger he means. He will understand English.’ But the Negro said he paid no attention to any words spoken to him. It was most annoying; but we got the word Krieg, and something that sounded like Vernichtung. Naturally, the Führer was greatly upset by this.”
“Did the spirit say that he was Bismarck?”
“He said that name, and it is hardly likely that the Negro had heard it. But the Negro said: ‘This big man speaks with a sort of cracked voice, high, like a woman’s.’ That does not seem to fit our Iron Chancellor.”
Lanny had an impulse to say: “It happens that it does.” But years of intrigue had taught him to stop and weigh his words. The less that he himself knew about Alois Hitler né Schicklgruber, and about Gregor Strasser, druggist turned Nazi and then rebel, and about Otto Eduard Leopold von Bismarck, the less chance that either Number One or Number Three would entertain suspicions of the medium. He said: “That is very interesting, Rudi. It will be something that we can check on.”
“The Führer is disposed to take the séance as a warning, and naturally it has disturbed his mind. It might be worth while to consult a life of Bismarck. No doubt there are several in the library here.”
“That is the sort of thing it might be hard to find in the books, Rudi; it would not be indexed. Would there be anybody in this house who can remember hearing the great man speak?”
Hess thought for a minute, then said: “Flöge will know. I will ask him.”
Lanny recognized the name as that of an elderly professor of meteorology, who was here, presumably, for his knowledge about the climate on the Polish plains. “He’ll be asleep by now, won’t he?”
“He’ll wake up when he hears that the Führer wants information. Wait, if you don’t mind.” Hess left the room.
IV
Lanny took time to think over what had happened, and was likely to happen. He had read somewhere about Bismarck’s voice, and had supplied that detail to Laurel Creston. The same thing was true of the other details which Hess had mentioned; so Lanny concluded that the woman’s plan of pinching herself had been successful. She had managed the whole thing very cleverly; the only trouble was, the story might be too good—Adi would almost certainly want more messages from the elder statesmen!
The Deputy was gone quite a while, and Lanny guessed correctly that he was reporting to the Führer. That was all right—Lanny was occupied in imagining possible contingencies and how to meet them. When at last Hess re-entered the room he made no apology, but exclaimed, with what was enthusiasm for his dour nature: “This is remarkable, Lanny! No one will ever again be able to tell me that spirits are not living and real. Flöge declares that Bismarck had a falsetto voice, entirely different from what one would have expected. It was a source of humiliation to him, and accounted for his non-success as an orator, and the fact that what he had to say was nearly always communicated in writing.”
“That is really extraordinary,” assented Lanny. “I don’t know when I have come upon a more convincing piece of evidence. The fact that the Negro couldn’t hear Bismarck’s voice might mean that he has lost it in the spirit world, as a result of some complex, some psychic inhibition. He hated his voice, and now he has none, except when he makes a special effort.”
“Um Gottes Willen!” exclaimed the Deputy, who had been taken to church when he was a small boy.
“It seems to me to suggest that the Führer should consult a slate-writing medium. It might be that Bismarck would take control and you would get astonishing results.”
“A fine suggestion; but meanwhile, the Führer wants to have another sitting with Miss Jones as soon as possible. Do you suppose she could do it again tonight?”
“It would be a great mistake to ask that. She has explained to me that the effort exhausts her completely, and she never makes it except to oblige some friend.”
“The Führer may be obliged to return to Berlin at any hour. Do you suppose it would be possible to persuade this lady to come there for a while? We would provide her with everything in the way of comfort.”
“I’m afraid it’s out of the question, Rudi. I had difficulty in persuading her to come here at all. She has engagements in New York, and I promised to drive her out as soon as she had a sitting with you and one with the Führer, if he wanted it.”
“That is most unfortunate. The Führer told me to arrange to pay her whatever would make it worth while to her.”
“That isn’t the question, Rudi. This lady has never been paid, and would not accept money. Her people are well-to-do.”
“But a present, Lanny! Surely she would let the Führer present her with a diamond ring, or even a brooch, as a token of his esteem!”
“American ladies accept flowers from gentlemen, also a box of candy now and then; but nothing more valuable than that.”
“But see, Lanny—this is, a matter in which I ought to have your co-operation. There are things which you and I have wished to say to the Führer, but which he would not take from us. He would take them from Bismarck, or even from Heinzelmann.”
Hess was being cautious—did he think that Lanny’s room might be wired? Were there factions in the Führer’s household, and might Himmler, dread chief of the Gestapo, be taking measures on his own initiative? Lanny said: “You must understand, I cannot suggest such considerations to this woman, for that would be invalidating the séances. If I say: ‘We are getting such-and-such results,’ or: ‘It is important that you stay for this or that reason’—then I am giving her suggestions, and we should never know but that her subconscious mind had taken them and was weaving elaborate fantasies on the basis of them. It is bad enough that she knows she is talking to the Führer, and has read in the newspapers that all the world is waiting for him to decide the question of peace or war.”
“Wel
l, do what you can, Lanny. At least persuade her to stay one more night and let him have another chance to speak to Bismarck. Do you know if she ever tried automatic writing?”
“I don’t know, but I’ll ask her in the morning. I’ll take her for a walk. It wouldn’t be fair to ask her to spend the whole day shut up in her room.”
“Certainly not—there is no reason for that.”
V
So, next morning, out in the beautiful forest, with only the squirrels and the birds for company, Lanny said: “You were a little bit too good. You have got your distinguished sitter excited, and he is demanding more.”
“What did I say that was too good?” was her question.
“Well, the old-time statesman produced a powerful impression. You know, he is almost a god in certain eyes.”
“I understood that. I played safe and made it hard for him to talk.”
“But the words he said were so significant, in this special moment.”
“Tell me, what words were reported to you.”
“First, Krieg, several times; and he said his own name.”
“That is right.”
“And then, Vernichtung.”
“What does that mean?”
“That means annihilation. Do you mean you didn’t know what you were saying?”
“I had a very curious experience. I was resolved with all my will power to stay awake; and it was just as if something took hold of me and was dragging me under water. I sat pinching myself until it hurt, but I couldn’t be sure that it sufficed.”
“Then you don’t really know whether you lost consciousness?”
“You know how it is sometimes when you are reading, and you become sleepy: you nod, and you’re not quite sure whether you drop off or not; you can even read a line or two, and then miss a line, and be sort of swaying between the two states.”
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