Balance Wheel

by Taylor Caldwell

  Charles patiently supplied details as they occurred to him. Ralph Grimsley was one of his best friends, a man for a story in high hot letters, but a man of integrity, also. Charles was very cautious when it came to the matter of the Connington Steel Company. The Connington, he said, understood at once when Charles had told Mr. Elson Waite his decision about the Park. “Mr. Waite,” said Charles, “thought it extremely good. That’s for publication, Ralph. Extremely good. Approved of it, highly.”

  Mr. Grimsley grinned. “I bet he did. Looking for orders or good-will or something, Charlie?”

  Charles assumed an expression of great propriety. “Well, you know how to quote me.” He laughed. “You can also add that Mr. Waite agreed to the Burnsley land in order that the river property might be preserved for the people—also the people who’ll be working for the Connington here.”

  “I’ll send him a copy of this interview,” said Mr. Grimsley. “Bet he’ll have it reprinted in Pittsburgh and all over, too, to show that the Connington is really just a lover of the toiler and knows its social responsibilities.”

  After a while Charles showed him The Menace and the pamphlets. Mr. Grimsley’s face wrinkled with disgust. He pushed the papers aside. He looked at Charles. “Well?” he asked.

  “That paper has a big circulation in Andersburg, Ralph?”

  “Yes. Bigger than the Clarion.” Mr. Grimsley spat into his spittoon. “People would rather read dirty stuff even than stuff about their own town and their neighbors.”

  Mr. Grimsley stared at Charles with more intentness. “You’ve got an idea, haven’t you, Charlie?”

  “I have. I’ve been to see our minister. He is going to talk about it, Sunday. Have a reporter at the service, Ralph.”

  “You mean Mr. Haas—our nice, genial, society minister—is actually going to talk about this paper? I don’t believe it! He’s too genteel. Or maybe he’d be afraid he’d get someone mad at him.”

  “He’s going to speak, nevertheless,” said Charles. “I have his promise. You see, I have convinced him that something is behind it, something of terrible importance.” Charles talked quietly for several minutes, while Mr. Grimsley listened, perched on his chair like a black-eyed, quick-witted spider. And then, after Charles had spoken, he sat there, his chin on his collar.

  “Maybe I’m wrong,” said Charles. “But I can’t make myself believe that, in spite of all my efforts.”

  Mr. Grimsley filled his pipe carefully, lit it, took a few deep puffs. His eyes wandered restlessly about the room. Charles waited. He waited a considerable time.

  “No,” said Mr. Grimsley, meditatively, at last. “I don’t think you have been imagining all these things.”

  “No?” said Charles, somberly. “I wish you’d said I was.”

  Mr. Grimsley got to his feet and scuttled to a battered cabinet at the far end of his office. He brought out a large book. He opened it. On its broad pages he had pasted a number of long and short reports of international news.

  “All of these’ve appeared in the Andersburg Clarion, and in the Philadelphia and New York newspapers. Read ’em, Charlie. You get these papers. And after you’ve read ’em, you tell me if you ever stopped to think about them—even if you consciously saw ’em.”

  Charles began to skim over the items:

  One of them was dated June 15th, 1913: “Since June 8th, the Emperor William II of Germany has been joyously celebrating the twenty-fifth anniversary of his accession to the throne—The Emperor repeatedly asserted that throughout his reign he has advocated peace in spite of the fact that at any time he had been powerful enough to precipitate a war—”

  One was dated in July: “King Victor Emmanuel of Italy has been in close conference with the German Emperor at Kiel, on confidential matters—”

  “Chancellor von Bethmann-Hollweg denounced those who have been calling the attention of the German people to the immense profits made on Government contracts by the Kronk works. He declared that it was ‘absolutely essential’ to the safety of the German Empire that certain large armaments orders be given to Kronk, even though no war is contemplated now or in the near future which would involve Germany. ‘However,’ said the Chancellor, ‘if such an unforeseen event did transpire, the Fatherland would necessarily, though with sorrow, be embroiled. It would concern the honor of the German people.’

  “The Chancellor further stated: ‘The important point is that into the place of European Turkey, whose state life has become inactive, there have entered certain States which exhibit a disturbing active vitality. There is one thing without doubt: If it should ever come to a European conflagration which sets Slaventum against Germanentum, it would be for us a disadvantage that the position in the balance of forces, which was occupied heretofore by European Turkey, is now filled in part by Slav states.’”

  Charles looked up swiftly. The editor nodded. “Go on, Charlie. Read what you should have read, or remembered, quite some time ago.”

  “The new German army bills increase the military force by 4,000 officers, 15,000 non-commissioned officers, 11,700 men, and 27,000 horses.”

  “Certain incidents are occurring in Zabern, Alsace. The Emperor has expressed his concern—”

  “London, June—: Lord Bedford-Marshall gave it as his considered opinion that a great danger to British trade lies in the last report that German manufacturers have invaded traditional British markets abroad, and are consistently underselling British products in many countries. ‘Though,’ said Lord Bedford-Marshall, ‘these products are quite inferior to British exports. Nevertheless, the invasion continues, and no Briton who is seriously concerned with the future of British export trade can afford to overlook this threat.’”

  “Stockholm, August—: The Swedish people are determined that in the event of any conffict between major nations of Europe they will remain strictly neutral.”

  Mr. Grimsley put his ink-stained index finger on the report from London. “There,” he said, softly, “you have it. That’s what it always comes to.”

  Charles closed the book, slowly. Mr. Grimsley leaned back in his creaking swivel chair, hooked his little thumbs in his suspender-straps. His eyes followed the movements of a fly that buzzed at a window. “Two-thirds of the world half-starving, waiting for goods. But they don’t have the cash. Only the ‘traditional’ markets have it. No one tries to think up a way so two-thirds of the world can have the goods and the food, and pay for ’em in some manner. No, the other third just talks in Parliament, or at Kiel, and ‘expresses concern.’ Or appropriates money for armaments and larger armies and talks of ‘honor’ or whispers plots to kill off competitors. And in all corners, everywhere, there are men busy inventing slogans—”

  Charles said: “But not in America. Surely not in America!”

  Mr. Grimsley pulled at his wrinkled lip. “Don’t be too sure, Charlie. There’s only one thing you can be sure of in this world, and that is that man is a devil. And remember, there’s always a lot of money to be made when there’s trouble, and who can resist money?”

  He swung towards Charles, and stabbed him in the chest with his finger. “There’s something else, Charlie. Has it ever occurred to you that maybe there’s some people in some of all these countries who hate freedom, and are afraid of it, and want to see it destroyed? How long has freedom, as we know it in America, really been flourishing? Not very long, Charlie. Behind this century or two of liberty lie two thousand centuries of active slavery of the whole world, a slavery perpetuated by a few powerful men. Do you think, as a lot of fools think, that ‘democracy marches on,’ and that soon the whole world will be free—free as we know freedom?” Mr. Grimsley shook his head violently. “Know what I think? I think that some few men, in every nation, everywhere, have their private plots to destroy freedom, not only where it exists in Europe, but where it exists in America. And while they’re doing the destroying, they think, they’ll make a heap of money.

  “And how can they start? By making wars. Getting the people
to hate each other, feeding them lies, inciting them. Playing up to the people’s love for war and murder. Giving them wars, and while they’re killing, taking their freedom away from them.”

  Charles thought of Colonel Grayson. It seemed to him that this untidy editorial office had become very hot.

  “If they can’t stir up a war, Charlie,” said Mr. Grimsley morosely, “they’ll be lost. Their dream of destroying the growing threat of liberty everywhere will die. They’ll do all they can to prevent that.”

  He tapped The Menace and the pamphlets which lay on his desk. “Charlie, there’s the decoy, while the dirty work goes on behind the scenes. I don’t know, but I’d bet anything that other religions, or maybe races, are being attacked in other countries, just like this.”

  Charles shook his head, over and over, as if he could not stop. Mr. Grimsley watched him, and he did not smile.

  “There’s nothing, I suppose,” said Charles, in an empty voice, “that men like myself can do.”

  “I don’t know, Charlie. Honest to God, I don’t know. Maybe it’s too late for anybody to do anything, especially only a few men. But you can remember something if you want to. Tom Paine said: ‘An army of principles will penetrate where any army of soldiers cannot; neither the ocean, the Channel, nor the Rhine can arrest its progress; it will march on the horizon of the world, and it will conquer.’”

  “But that won’t stop murder—now,” muttered Charles.

  “Maybe not.” Mr. Grimsley looked at Charles soberly. “You’re thinking of your boy, Jimmy, aren’t you?”

  CHAPTER XV

  Charles’ big red and brass automobile created considerable excitement in the poor and shabby quarter of the city where the Reverend Francis X. Hagerty lived and had his Church of Our Lady of Sorrows. It had no sooner stopped before the little gray house than a troop of urchins crowded about it, wondering, and excited and respectful.

  The church was next door, small, white, wooden, very neat and modest, with a large gilt cross on its steeple. The doors stood wide open to its dim coolness. Charles hesitated, then entered the church. He was immediately impressed by the intense cleanliness of the interior, the brilliant white of the altar cloth, the small but exquisite statues. Curiously, he walked about the church. An old woman or two, and an old man and a young housewife, were kneeling in the pews; Charles heard the faint click of beads. He saw a few candles burning in red glasses; he saw the light on the altar. There was the slightest scent of incense in the air, like a breath. There were eight tall thin windows in the church; six of them were of finely stained glass; two were of plain window glass. He looked at the latter, and frowned.

  He thought: Our own churches should be open like this, every day. It is a very nice thing. Why should religious observances be restricted to one day in the week? Why should God be remembered only on the seventh day? Perhaps that is what is wrong with us.

  He had never until now questioned the cozy materialism of the twentieth century. Goods, and the production of them, business and trade, honor and respectability: these had been enough. Now he saw they were not enough. The indestructible element which ought to sustain them had been left out; one violent thrust and the whole agreeable structure could be hurled down.

  A little tired woman of about sixty answered the bell of the priest’s house, wiping her worn hands on her apron. She saw the blazing red of the automobile at the curb; she did not know Charles, but she saw that he was a gentleman, and that his clothing was expensive. This all frightened her. She was even more frightened when he told her his name and said that he’d like very much to see Father Hagerty, if the latter was not busy.

  She stammered, “Why, yes, Mr. Wittmann. I’m Mrs. Hagerty. I’m the Father’s mother. He’ll be glad to see you. No. He isn’t busy just now. He’s in the garden, out back.”

  Why should the rich and important Mr. Wittmann come to see her son? She remembered the threats, the broken windows, the offal on her spotless verandah. Charles said, kindly: “I just want to talk with him for a few moments.” He paused. He said quickly, then: “It’s about those windows in the church. I’ve very sorry about that. Hoodlums, of course. I thought perhaps Father Hagerty might be interested in having them restored.”

  She could only stare at him speechlessly. With humorous gloom Charles wondered how much windows like that would cost. But the poor woman had been so frightened and he had had to say something to reassure her. He lifted his hat; she still could not speak, though there were tears now in her eyes. “Don’t bother to call him. I’ll join him in the garden.”

  He let her lead him through the house, which was small and poorly furnished, but clean and bright and redolent of wax. She stumbled once or twice in her confusion. She opened the back door for him, and still unable to speak she pointed to the young priest in his shirt-sleeves, working in his garden.

  The garden, in contrast with the house, was rich and opulent with color. Garden tools lay about on the green grass. Fruit trees against a distant brick wall were heavy with ripening fruit. The priest looked up as Charles approached. In a shrill and trembling voice, from the doorsteps, Mrs. Hagerty called out: “It’s Mr. Wittmann!”

  Father Hagerty put down his spade. Yes, he was as Charles remembered, shy and unobtrusive, with a very sensitive face and brown eyes, intelligent and quiet. He rubbed his hands on his handkerchief. “Mr. Wittmann,” he said, simply. He offered his hand.

  Charles shook his hand, which was calloused. No, he thought, he is definitely not a fighter. Why hadn’t his bishop sent a brawny man to Andersburg, a staunch man, instead of this young and retiring feller? And then Charles saw the priest’s eyes.

  Charles said: ‘I do hope you’ll pardon this unannounced visit, Father Hagerty. I won’t stay long. But the matter is important. No, please don’t bother. We can talk right here.”

  Father Hagerty said: “Let us sit down, then, Mr. Wittmann, under that tree.” There was a large elm tree directly in the center of the yard, and under it were two wicker chairs. They sat down together. Charles looked about him, just faintly embarrassed.

  “You have a fine garden here,” he said.

  The priest smiled, with gratification. He could not imagine why Charles had come to see him, and was uncertain and alarmed. But he saw that Charles had no intention of being anything but friendly.

  “It’s a great pleasure to me,” said the priest. “The flowers all go to the charity wards in the hospital, and the church, and those who are ill at home, and the chronic invalids. It keeps me very busy,” he added.

  Had Charles come to suggest that he leave Andersburg, or something equally impossible? Father Hagerty looked at him with grave candor. Charles knew almost exactly what he was thinking. He said: “I’ve just been in your church. It’s very beautiful.” He hesitated. “I can’t tell you how much I regret those windows being broken. A drunken fool, probably. I am wondering if you’d mind if I contributed something towards their restoration?”

  Amazed, Father Hagerty said: “That is very good of you, Mr. Wittmann. I was very proud of those windows. Moreover, they cost my people a good deal of money—”

  “I’ll send you my check for three hundred dollars,” said Charles.

  Father Hagerty was much moved. Charles went on, smiling: “You see, Andersburg is my home, my city. I’m proud of it. I want to stay proud of it. I’ll see if a collection can’t be taken up at my own church, too, for those windows. There are a lot of decent people here, Father Hagerty. I’d like you to believe that.”

  The priest smiled. “But I do, sir. I never doubted it.”

  Then Charles showed him The Menace and the pamphlets. The priest’s expression changed to one of sorrow. “I see you are familiar with this foul stuff,” said Charles.

  “Yes.” The young priest’s distress increased.

  Charles said: “I’ve just talked to my minister, Mr. Haas. He is going to deliver a sermon about all this, on Sunday. And I’ve talked to the editor of the Clarion. He will send a rep
orter to my church on Sunday, to report the sermon.”

  Father Hagerty considered this in silence. Then he said: “Mr. Wittmann, I can’t tell you how much I appreciate all this. But I don’t think it will do any good, though I understand the kindness of your motives. I also am more than delighted that the Reverend Mr. Haas wishes to deliver that sermon. But I still think that it won’t do any good. It will bring the whole issue before the people, arouse everybody—”

  Charles laughed patiently. “That’s exactly what Mr. Haas said. Bring it out into the open. Expose these things for the lies they are. Make the people ashamed that they ever read them.”

  The priest shook his head. “Mr. Wittmann, I think it is better to ignore the whole thing. Men are innately good. Eventually, they discover that lies are lies. If one just ignores—”

  “Father Hagerty,” interrupted Charles, “I want you to answer just one question for me. I understand that this paper and pamphlets like these began to appear in small quantities about two years ago. They were ‘ignored,’ weren’t they? No one spoke of them editorially or in the pulpit?”

  “No.”

  “Well, then, they were ‘ignored.’ And did they die out, Father Hagerty, or did their distribution increase?”

  The priest put his hands upon his thin knees. “I see what you mean, sir. You are right. They were ignored, and they came faster and faster.”

  “Somewhere,” said Charles, “I read that lies cannot stand, because they have no legs, but that they can fly, because they have wings. And so they can go a great distance.

  “Someone manufactured those lies, Father Hagerty. And there is always a purpose in lies. In most cases, it is only malice. It is my belief that in this case it is organized hatred—for a purpose.”