Wide Is the Gate

by Upton Sinclair

  X

  Did the Fuhrer happen to observe his auditor’s eyes wandering? Or had he learned by painful experience that even the most reverent audience can stand only so much? He turned suddenly toward the Americans and said: “It is a shame to weary one’s guests with politicial speech-making.”

  Lanny was about to utter some polite nothing, when, to her husband’s surprise, Irma took the cue. “Not at all, Herr Hitler! What you have said has interested me greatly. I have heard so many charges made against you and your ideas, and now I have had a chance to hear your answers. I want you to know that I agree with every word you have said.”

  The Fuhrer of the Germans beamed with pleasure. “I am truly pleased to hear you say that, Frau Budd. A person of your influence might do a great deal to correct misunderstandings in America.”

  “No, Herr Hitler, I have no influence that I know of; but you may be sure that whenever I have a chance I will tell people what you have told me.”

  A most gratifying outcome of a propaganda effort! Only one thing more was needed, and that was for the husband to speak. “And you, Herr Budd?” inquired the orator.

  Lanny got himself together quickly and forced a laugh. “I am a devoted husband,” he declared, “and you must know that I wouldn’t permit myself to disagree in public with anything my wife says.” It was enough to get by with; the great man smiled, and his court circle followed suit.

  Having been good pupils, they were now entitled to a reward. The master of the household clapped his hands, one of the military gentlemen pressed a button in the wall, and there came running into the room the most perfectly round human creature that Lanny had ever beheld; body like a hogshead and face like a full moon, or jack-o’-lantern with its grin. “Herr Kannenberg,” said Hitler, introducing him with a sweep of the arm. Lanny had heard of him; a Restaurateur of Berlin who had become a court favorite and been placed in charge of the Fuhrer’s households—the Berghof, the Munich apartment, and the Chancellery in Berlin. He managed the servants, saw to the preparation of the vegetable plates and the non-alcoholic beer, and whenever Putzi Hanfstaengl wasn’t on hand he played the clown.

  “Musik!” commanded the master, and the rolypoly picked up a highly ornamented accordion and seated himself on the piano stool, presenting a truly comical figure, for his flesh was draped over all sides of the frail support and his legs couldn’t quite reach the floor. He began to play and sing: “Tiroler sind lustig, so lustig und froh!” He hadn’t much of a voice, but was jolly, and had made his place in life that way. While he sang, two servingmen brought refreshments, with a special tray for Hitler, who passed as a saint among his followers because of his habits in eating and drinking.

  “Hab’ oft die ganze Nacht an ihrer Hutten g’wacht,” sang the minstrel; and then it was: “Z’ Lauterbach hab’ i’ mein’ Strumpf verlor’n.” He yodeled mournfully about this tragedy of the lost stocking; and Lanny wondered what Trudi Schultz would be making of the sounds. The day had been warm, and the windows of the drawing-room were open to the cool night breezes laden with the scent of pine and fir. She would hardly be asleep in such a crisis, and the revelry wouldn’t seem to her to have any saintly quality; rather it would be that of ghouls dancing over the suffering bodies of her comrades. True Socialism had been murdered, and this base counterfeit was dancing on its grave!

  XI

  The fun grew faster, and the fat clown’s face lighted up with glee, as he began one of those chants in which all over the world country folk mock at the smart people of the cities: “In Berlin, sagt er, muss du fein, sagt er, und gescheit, sagt er, immer sein, sagt er, denn da haben’s, sagt er, viel Verstand, sagt er, ich bin dort, sagt er, viel bekannt!”

  While pretending to listen, Lanny thought about the words which had come from his wife’s lips. Did she really mean them, or was it simply part of the quarrel with her husband and with the strange woman who disputed the possession of her husband’s mind? To Lanny the words had been like a blow in the face, revealing to him what Irma had been thinking during the past night and day and what he might expect when they were again by themselves. The Pastoral Symphony had been altogether without charm to soothe the savage breast.

  There came a pause in the revelry, and Hitler said: “A friend of Kurt Meissner should be a musician, Herr Budd.”

  “On a very modest scale, Exzellenz; but Kurt and I have practiced together all the four-hand piano compositions we could find. Would you like me to play for you?”

  “Bitte sehr,” said the Fuhrer; and Lanny seated himself at the very fine piano. He wasn’t going to enter into rivalry with any court favorite; he didn’t feel gay at that moment, but on the contrary grief-stricken at the spectacle of the world’s woe. He had just seen Loki, god of lies, performing his tricks and winning his triumph; and since Lanny couldn’t say in words what he thought and felt about it he would let Beethoven speak. Beethoven was Lanny’s friend and refuge in all conflicts with the Nazi Loki; and now Lanny struck the opening chords of the sonata which has been ineptly called Moonlight, but which is an utterance of the most profound and poignant grief. “Come and listen, O mighty Fuhrer, and learn what the great soul of Germany thinks of you and your glory! Come and weep for the ten million little monsters whom you are rearing up to torment and poison all Europe!”

  But no, it wouldn’t work! Beethoven was dead, and this usurper would take his music and turn it to his own ends. Adi Schicklgruber would be hearing these mournful notes as a lament for his dead Nazi heroes, a tribute to his “blood-flags” and his whole ritual of Moloch! Woe, woe, unending woe, and blood all over the weeping world!

  One movement was enough. “Ausgezeichnet!” exclaimed the Fuhrer. “I see that you not merely know how to play, but what to play.”

  “I will be happy to come and help celebrate your housewarming,” replied the guest. He wasn’t sure whether this household was conducted according to the protocol of royalty and whether he should wait to be dismissed. He guessed it couldn’t do much harm if he offered to take himself away before he had worn out his welcome, so he said: “I am afraid we have had more than our share of your time, Herr Reichskanzler.”

  “We have enjoyed your visit,” responded the host, “and hope that you will both come again.” It was a dismissal, and the visitors rose. “I regret that I cannot ask you to spend the night,” added Hitler. “We have been so crowded here that our guests have to sleep in tents.”

  “We have friends waiting for us near Salzburg,” replied Lanny. “They will be more than ever glad to welcome us when they learn of this honor we have enjoyed.” If you can make such speeches at the proper moment you may be assured of enjoying honors in all the courts of the earth.

  They shook hands with the company, and Irma exchanged a few words with the Frau Reichsminister. As the Fuhrer was escorting them to the door Lanny said: “One thing, Exzellenz: I am wondering if the border is open this late.”

  “The border is open all night,” was the reply. “If you have any difficulty, phone here and we will straighten it out.”

  No words could have been more welcome. They went to their car, stepped in, and drove away quickly. When they were out of hearing, Lanny whispered: “Are you all right?” Trudi answered: “Yes!” “Did anyone look into the car?” She answered: “A man walked up and down the whole time, but he didn’t look in.”

  XII

  It was only about fifteen minutes’ drive to the border. Before they reached it Lanny stopped and said to Trudi: “I want you to sink down in your seat out of sight and pretend to be asleep. I have authority from Hitler to pass through, and I don’t believe they will look into the car at all; so we may get by without mentioning you.”

  “But suppose they do look and find her?” objected Irma.

  “I will say that I didn’t suppose they were interested in a servant. Trudi will have her passport and exit permit if they demand it.” He handed them to her.

  “It sounds risky to me,” declared the wife; “but it’s yo
ur funeral.”

  “I think I know them,” he replied. “Watch my smoke!”

  He drove to the border post, stopped quickly, and stepped out of his car before the officials emerged with their flashlights. “Heil Hitler!” he said, and gave the snappy salute which it was obligatory for every German to return. “Heil Hitler!” Heil Hitler!”

  Straightaway Lanny started his Rolle. “We have just come from a visit to the Berghof, and the Fuhrer assured me that the border would be open.”

  “Naturlich, mein Herr. Die ganze Nacht.”

  “He has just instructed me, if there is any delay, to have you call the Berghof and he will personally straighten the matter out.”

  “Sehr wohl, Herrschaften! Was wunschen die Herrschaften?”

  “I am an art expert and have just come from Berlin, where I have arranged to dispose of some pictures for the Minister-Prasident General Goring. I have here the bill of sale with the stamp of his office. Here also are the passports and the exit permits of myself and wife.”

  “Gewiss, gewiss. Wollen die Herrschaften eintreten?”

  “Nein, ich warte hier. Bitte beeilen Sie sich, es wird spat.” Lanny’s German was good enough so they wouldn’t know he was a foreigner, and his car was one of the sort which confers authority. The officials hastened inside, and in a minute or two emerged with the passport properly stamped. Lanny stepped into his car and started the engine; the barrier was lifted, and the car rolled into Austria.

  13

  A BRAND FROM HEAVEN

  I

  Salzburg has an “Old Town” which is just the way it was when it was a Prince-Bishopric of the Holy Roman Empire, some eight hundred years ago. It has a cathedral, a castle on a height, and other medieval features; also, nearly two hundred years ago, an infant called Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart was born in one of its old houses. To some wide-awake hotel-owners of recent times had come the bright idea of a Mozart festival, and this had grown into an elaborate music event lasting the whole month of August; eminent conductors and stage directors were engaged, and crowds came from all over Europe and America. If you wished to have a real holiday you put on Alpine costume, which for the men consisted of dark-gray or brown leather pants, held up by highly ornamental suspenders. The pants stopped above the knees, and made you feel queer, but it was fine for the mosquitoes. You stuck some sort of trophy in your hat, a Gemsbart or a Spielhahnfeder. Perhaps you carried a Bergstock, and climbed the mountains and hunted the wary chamois.

  In the excitement of getting Trudi Schultz out of Germany Lanny had forgotten this festival. But when they came into the new town they found all the smart shops lighted up and crowds coming out from a concert hall; he said: “We may have trouble getting rooms.”

  Trudi had been weeping softly in the back seat. Now she spoke: “I must not go to a hotel with you; there are bound to be Nazi agents here, and if I am recognized the information will go back to Germany and compromise you hopelessly.”

  No doubt Irma had been weeping into her pillow the previous night, and might do more of it this night; but Trudi Schultz wasn’t going to see it, nor was Lanny. In a voice of studied calm, she inquired: “Just where do you plan to go, Miss Schultz?”

  “I will go to Paris. I ought to separate from you at once, and not have you or Lanny associated with me in the public mind.”

  “As to Lanny,” replied Irma, coldly, “I have nothing to say. It is my own intention to take the first train to some port where I can sail for America. You may wish to change your plans when you learn that I shall be traveling alone.”

  “No, Mrs. Budd,” replied Trudi, “that will not alter my plans. I will positively not interfere with Lanny’s life, and I am terribly sorry if I have been the means of making unhappiness between you and him.” She might have gone on, but the more she said, the worse she would have made it.

  II

  Lanny suggested that their first problem was to find out if there was a room for any of them in Salzburg. He drove to the Hotel Austria, and was informed that they had no vacant rooms and no suggestion as to where such might be found. There were ten thousand visitors in town. Resorting to the telephone, Lanny got the same information at other places. When he came back to the car, Trudi said: “Let me get out here and take care of myself.”

  “Where will you go?”

  “I will get a cab to the railroad station. There might be a train at any hour, and I want to take myself out of your way.” She handed him Celeste’s papers and got out of the car.

  Irma might have said: “You are not in my way,” but she didn’t. Lanny said: “You may not find it so easy. You will have to get a certificate of identity from the Austrian authorities. And you will need money.” He took the wad of bills from his pocket and tried to give it to her.

  “I surely won’t need so much,” she declared; “only enough to get me to Paris and keep me there for a week or two. I will get work and take care of myself after that.”

  “It may not be so easy as you think,” he countered. He divided the wad in halves, and put one half into her hand, giving a sharp push, as much as to say: “Shut up and don’t be silly.” Trudi obeyed.

  “Mrs. Budd,” said she, “I cannot go without saying that I am deeply grateful for your help, and with all my heart I regret the trouble I have caused you.”

  “You can comfort yourself,” replied Irma, grimly. “If it had not been you it would have been someone else. The trouble has been gathering for a long time.”

  “Good-by, Lanny,” said the artist. She turned to go, but he followed her down the street. “Just a word, please. When you have a permanent address you must send it to me.”

  “I ought not to see you again—” she began.

  “I’m not going to let you out of my sight until you give me that promise.”

  “It is a mistake, Lanny; it will break up your marriage.”

  “That is for me to decide.”

  “I cannot bear to be the cause—”

  “It is something that you cannot help, and it is foolish to try. I refuse to lose track of you.”

  “Lanny, go back to the car. You will be making your wife furious.”

  “She has the car and she knows how to drive it. I will follow you now, and to Paris, if necessary, unless you promise to write me.”

  “I will write,” she said; and then burst out: “Oh, Lanny, how dreadful that I should have done this!”

  III

  Irma had moved into the driver’s seat. He wondered if she had been about to leave without him; but all she said was: “Let me drive. We must go to a near-by town, which will not be so crowded.”

  “All right,” he answered. Perhaps it was an overture; and when they were started on the road to Hallein, he began: “There is a lot that I want to say to you, Irma.”

  “You may say anything you wish; I don’t want to be rude and I don’t want to quarrel—but you must know in advance that your words will be wasted, because my mind is made up.”

  “You are going to break with me?”

  “I am going to my home, where I belong. I have tried to persuade myself that I could live in Europe, but I know that I hate it.”

  “You don’t want me to come with you?”

  “Not while you think and feel as you do.”

  “Just what do you mean, dear?”

  “You know, and it’s a waste of breath talking about it.”

  “Tell me, in plain words, just what are your terms.”

  “All right, if you insist. You can be my husband and you can have my love if you are willing to say one sentence: that never again while you live will you have anything to do with Communism or Communists, or with Socialism or Socialists, or anything resembling them, regardless of what name they give themselves.”

  He closed his eyes as if from a blow. “You know I can’t say that, Irma. There are Hansi and Bess, and Uncle Jesse, and Rick and Raoul—”

  “I know them all; and so I know that our happiness is at an end. Believe me, I have t
aken a lot of time to think it over—about two years and a half, ever since the Nazis came into power and we went into Germany to meet Hansi and Bess. My common sense told me then, as it’s told me every day since: Lanny may be willing to serve as a tail to the Red kite or the Pink one, but such a career is not for me.”

  A strange thing: he, too, had been hearing a voice of what claimed to be common sense. The suppressed half of his personality leaped suddenly into life, and he was startled by the realization that it would be pleasant not to have to lie; it would be a relief to be able to say what he really thought and do what he really pleased. Be a man and not a mouse!

  There was a long silence; at last Irma said: “Let us talk about practical questions. In the morning I shall return to Salzburg and consult a travel bureau and find the quickest way to get to a steamer. If you will give me Celeste’s papers I will take them to her, or airmail them and instruct her where to meet me. Shall I ship your bags to Bienvenu, or in care of Beauty in London?”

  “I will think it over and let you know,” he replied, in a low voice.

  “I hope we do not have to quarrel, Lanny. I have had times of bitterness, when I hated what you believed and was tempted to hate you for believing it. But I am prepared to respect your right to your own opinions, and I hope you will do the same.”

  “Certainly,” he replied. “I still love you, you know.”

  “I have thought about it a great deal. I do not believe there can be love where there is a fundamental disagreement in ideas; certainly, at any rate, there cannot be any happiness in such love. I do not believe in being unhappy, and I know you don’t, either.”