The couple went to a reception at the home of the Frau Reichsminister Goebbels, where they met many of the Nazi great ones. Lanny, who had read history, remembered the Visigoths, who had conquered ancient Rome with astonishing ease, and wandered about the splendid city, dazed by the discovery of what they had at their disposal; he remembered Clive, who had been similarly stunned by the treasures of Bengal, and had said afterward that when he considered what his opportunities had been, he was astonished at his own moderation.
So it was now with the members of the N.S.D.A.P.; not the moderation, but the opportunities. Men who a few years ago had been without the price of a meal or a place to lay their heads had suddenly come into possession of all Germany. They wore the finest uniforms that Berlin’s tailors could design, and their women displayed their charms in the latest Paris models. Orders and medals, orchids and sparkling jewels—did they get all that out of party salaries, or the stipends of office in the Deutsches Reich or Preussischer Staat? Or had each one got busy on his own? They wouldn’t have to rob, or even to threaten; they would only have to keep their hands out and the possessors of wealth and privilege would come running to fill them.
Here were the friends and camp followers of Juppchen Goebbels, frustrated journalist from the Rheinland, now master of his country’s intellectual life. His word could make or break anyone in any profession; an invitation to his home was at once a command and the highest of opportunities. Men bowed and fawned, women smiled and flattered—and at the same time they watched warily, for it was a perilous world, in which your place was held only by sleepless vigilance. Jungle cats, all in one cage, circling one another warily, keeping a careful distance; the leopard and the jaguar would have tangled, had not both been afraid of the tiger.
But they were civilized cats, which had learned manners, and applied psychology, pretending to be gentle and harmless, even amiable. The deadliest killers wore the most cordial smiles; the most cunning were the most dignified, the most exalted. They had a great cause, an historic destiny, a patriotic duty, an inspired leader. They said: "We are building a new Germany," and at the same time they thought: "How can I cut out this fellow’s guts?" They said: "Good evening, Parteigenosse" and thought: "Schwarzer Lump, I know what lies you have been whispering!" They said: "Guten Abend, Herr Budd," and thought: "Who is this Emporkommling, and what is he doing here?" One would whisper: "The Chief thinks he can make use of him," and the other would be thinking: "The Chief must be plucking him good and plenty!"
XIII
"Seien Sie willkommen, Herr Budd" said the hostess, with the loveliest of her smiles. "You have been moving up in the world since we last met."
"Don’t say that, Frau Reichsminister!" pleaded Lanny. "I beg you to believe that what happened was totally unforeseen by me, and unsought." Would she believe it? Of course she wouldn’t— unless she happened to have inside information.
"Aren’t you going to tell me about it?" A mischievous request, and therefore the way to disguise it was with the most mischievous of smiles. On the same principle that you spoke the truth only when you didn’t wish to be believed.
Lanny, who had learned about intrigue when he was a tiny boy hearing his mother and father discussing the landing of a munitions contract—Lanny Budd, grandson of Budd Gunmakers, knew nothing better to do in a crisis than to be honest. "Liebe Frau Reichsminister," he said, "I beg you to be kind to a stranger in a strange land. I am in a painful position. I receive orders from those in authority, and I dare do nothing but obey."
"If I give you orders, will you obey, Herr Budd?" The wife of a Cabinet Minister apparently knew other ways to deal with one in a painful position. "What you call authority has a way of shifting suddenly in times like these. You had better give me an opportunity to advise you."
"Indeed, Frau Reichsminister, I will avail myself of your kindness." He had meant to say: "As soon as I am free to do so," but he decided to leave himself free to think it over.
Irma was being entertained by "Putzi" Hanfstaengl, wealthy art-publisher’s son who played clown to Hitler and staff; half American and a Harvard graduate, he was tall and big and waved his arms like a windmill; for a while he was solemn, and then suddenly he danced, capered, made jokes, and laughed at them so loudly that everybody else laughed at him. The younger men were curious about the famous heiress, and she enjoyed herself as she generally did in company. Elegant, uniformed men bowed attendance and flattered her, bringing food and over-strong drink—many of them had too much of it, but that was nothing new in smart society, and Irma knew how to deal with such men.
Driving home in the small hours of the morning she was a bit fuddled and sleepy. Next morning, or rather much later that same morning, they sat in bed sipping their coffee, and Irma said what she thought of the affair. She had met agreeable people and couldn’t believe they were as bad as they were painted. Lanny had to wait until they were in the car before getting in his side, which was: "I felt as if I were in a rendezvous of pirates."
Said Irma: "Listen, darling; did you ever meet a company of politicians in the United States?"
He had to admit that he lacked any basis of comparison, and his wife went on:
"They used to come to Father’s house quite often, and he used to talk about them. He said they were natural-born hijackers. He said that no one of them had ever produced anything—all they did was to take it away from business men. He said they wouldn’t stop till they got everything in their clutches."
"The prophecy has come true in Germany!" said Lanny.
20. Sufferance Is the Badge
I
A LONG letter from Robbie Budd, telling of the situation resulting from his father’s death. The old gentleman had held on to his power up to the last moment, but had failed to decide the question of who was to be his successor. Long ago he had tried to settle the quarrel between his oldest and his youngest sons; then he had given up, and left them to fight it out—and they were doing so. Each wanted to become head of Budd’s, and each was sure that the other was unfitted for the task. "I suppose," said Robbie, bitterly, "Father didn’t consider either of us fitted."
Anyhow, the question was going to be settled by the stockholders. It so happened that an election of directors was due, and for the next sixty days Robbie and Lawford would be lobbying, pulling wires, trying to corral votes. They had been doing this in underground ways for years, and now the fight was in the open. Meanwhile the first vice-president was in charge—"holding the sponge," as Robbie phrased it. He was Esther Budd’s brother, son of the president of the First National Bank of Newcastle. "The thing the old gentleman always dreaded," wrote Robbie; "the banks are taking us over!" Lanny knew this was said playfully, for Robbie and "Chassie" Remsen got along reasonably well, and the two couples played bridge one evening every week.