It seemed so absurd to me to see him standing there that I could hardly keep a straight face. Indeed, it was difficult for me to understand why everybody in the hall didn’t burst out laughing. But no, the audience evidently didn’t find Arthur in the least funny. Even Anni, who had more reason than anyone present to regard him from a comic angle, was perfectly grave.
Arthur coughed, shuffled his papers. Then he began to speak in his fluent, elaborate German, a little too fast:
“Since that day on which the leaders of the allied governments saw fit, in their infinite wisdom, to draw up that, no doubt, divinely inspired document known as the Treaty of Versailles; since that day, I repeat …”
A slight stir, as if of uneasiness, passed over the rows of listeners. But the pale, serious, upturned faces were not ironic. They accepted without question this urbane bourgeois gentleman, accepted his stylish clothes, his graceful rentier wit. He had come to help them. Bayer had spoken for him. He was their friend.
“British Imperialism has been engaged, during the last two hundred years, in conferring upon its victims the dubious benefits of the Bible, the Bottle and the Bomb. And of these three, I might perhaps venture to add, the Bomb has been infinitely the least noxious.”
There was applause at this; delayed, hesitant clapping, as if Arthur’s hearers approved his matter, but were still doubtful of his manner. Evidently encouraged, he continued:
“I am reminded of the story of the Englishman, the German and the Frenchman who had a wager as to which of them could cut down the most trees in one day. The Frenchman was the first to try …”
At the end of this story there was laughter and loud ap—
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plause. Otto thumped me violently on the back in his delight. “Mensch! Der spricht prima, wahr?” Then he bent forward again to listen, his eyes intent upon the platform, his arm round Anni’s shoulder. Arthur exchanging his graceful bantering tone for an oratorical seriousness, was approaching his climax:
“The cries of the starving Chinese peasantry are ringing in our ears as we sit in this hall tonight. They have come to us across the breadth of the world. Soon, we hope, they will sound yet more loudly, drowning the futile chatter of diplomatists and the strains of dance bands in luxurious hotels, where the wives of armament manufacturers finger the pearls which have been bought with the price of the blood of innocent children. Yes, we must see to it that those cries are clearly heard by every thinking man and woman in Europe and in America. For then, and only then, will a term be set to this inhuman exploitation, this traffic in living souls… .”
Arthur concluded his speech with an energetic flourish. His face was quite flushed. Salvo upon salvo of clapping rattled over the hall. Many of the audience cheered. While the applause was still at its height, Arthur came down from the platform and joined me at the door?. Heads were turned to watch us go out. Otto and Anni had left the meeting with us. Otto wrung Arthur’s hand and dealt him terrific blows on the shoulder with his heavy palm: “Arthur, you old horse! That was fine!”
“Thank you, my dear boy. Thank you.” Arthur winced. He was feeling very pleased with himself. “How did they take it, William? Well, I think? I hope I made my points quite clearly? Please say I did.”
“Honestly, Arthur, I was astounded.”
“How charming of you: praise from such a severe critic as yourself is indeed music to my ears.”
“I’d no idea you were such an old hand at it.”
“In my time,” admitted Arthur modestly, “I’ve had occasion to do a good deal of public speaking, though hardly quite of this kind.”
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We had cold supper at the flat. Schmidt and Hermann were both out: Otto and Anni made tea and laid the table. They seemed quite at home in the kitchen and knew where everything was kept.
“Otto is Anni’s chosen protector,” Arthur explained, while they were out of the room. “In another walk of life, one would call him her impresario. I believe he takes a certain percentage of her earnings. I prefer not to inquire too closely. He’s a nice boy, but excessively jealous. Luckily, not of Anni’s customers. I should be very sorry indeed to get into his bad books. I understand that he’s the middle-weight champion of his boxing club.”
At length the meal was ready. He fussed round, giving directions.
“Will the Comradess Anni bring us some glasses? How nice of her. I should like to celebrate this evening. Perhaps, if Comrade Otto would be so kind, we might even have a little brandy. I don’t know whether Comrade Bradshaw drinks brandy. You’d better ask him.”
“At such an historic moment, Comrade Norris, I drink anything.”
Otto came back to report that there was no more brandy.
“Never mind,” said Arthur, “brandy is not a proletarian drink. We’ll drink beer.” He filled our glasses. “To the world revolution.”
“To the world revolution.”
Our glasses touched. Anni sipped daintily, holding the glass-stem between finger and thumb, her little finger mincingly crooked. Otto drained his at a gulp, banging down the tumbler heartily on to the table. Arthur’s beer went the wrong way and choked him. He coughed, spluttered, dived for his napkin.
“I’m afraid that’s an evil omen,” I said jokingly. He seemed quite upset.
“Please don’t say that, William. I don’t like people to say things of that kind, even in jest.”
This was the first time I had ever known Arthur to be
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superstitious. I was amused and rather impressed. He appeared to have got it badly. Could he really have undergone a sort of religious conversion? It was difficult to believe.
“Have you been a communist long, Arthur?” I asked, in English, as we began to eat.
He cleared his throat slightly, shot an uneasy glance in the direction of the door.
“At heart, William, yes. I think I may say that I have always felt that, in the deepest sense, we are all brothers. Class distinctions have never meant anything to me; and hatred of tyranny is in my blood. Even as a small child, I could never bear injustice of any kind. It offends my sense of the beautiful. It is so stupid and unaesthetic. I remember my feelings when I was first unjustly punished by my nurse. It wasn’t the punishment itself which I resented; it was the clumsiness, the lack of imagination behind it. That, I remember, pained me very deeply.”
“Then why didn’t you join the Party long ago?”
Arthur looked suddenly vague; stroked his temples with his finger-tips:
“The time was not ripe. No.”
“And what does Schmidt say to all this?” I asked mischievously.
Arthur gave the door a second hurried glance. As I had suspected, he was in a state of suspense lest his secretary should suddenly walk in upon us.
“I’m afraid Schmidt and I don’t quite see eye to eye on the subject just at present.”
I grinned. “No doubt you’ll convert him in time.”
“Shut up talking English, you two,” cried Otto, giving me a vigorous jog in the ribs. “Anni and I want to hear the joke.”
During supper we drank a good deal of beer. I must have been rather unsteady on my feet, because, when I stood up at the end of the meal, I knocked over my chair. On the underside of the seat was pasted a ticket with the printed number 69.
“What’s this for?” I asked.
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“Oh, that?” said Arthur hastily; he seemed very much disconcerted. “That’s merely the catalogue number from the sale where I originally bought it. It must have been there all this time… . Anni, my love, do you think you and Otto would be so very kind as to carry some of the things into the kitchen and put them in the sink? I don’t like to leave Hermann too much to do in the morning. It makes him cross with me for the rest of the day.”
“What is that ticket for?” I repeated gently, as soon as they were outside. “I want to know.”