As the large, dark navy blue Mercedes descended into Vevey from the surrounding hills, the light rain ended and was replaced first by gloom and then, increasingly as they descended, by sunlight, at first feeble then increasingly bright and warm. The smell of chocolate announced the arrival at the home of the Swiss chocolate industry, with the cows in the surrounding verdant hills providing the milk.
The car quietly moved to the parking reserve of the Trois Couronnes—the Three Crowns—a typical Swiss five-star hoteclass="underline" discreet, spotlessly clean, self-effacing and, of course, extremely expensive. The fresh coarse gravel made little noise as the car came to a rest after its long journey. The motor, now at rest, sang out occasional metallic pings as it cooled after its long labors.
A tall and sparse figure left the comfort of the Mercedes—the custom-made rear seats were astonishingly restful—seats made by the custom maker Kurtsmann’s who specialized in bespoke coach work for Mercedes’ arch-enemy Auto Union, but in this case had been persuaded by the effortless guile of the balding young man.
Unobtrusively, the modest man made the five-minute walk from the hotel to the first group of apartments up the slight incline by the lake. He looked like any Swiss bourgeois—a small business owner perhaps—dull in dress and self-effacing in appearance and demeanor.
The small gate was painted a shiny piano black with three brass hinges, unevenly spaced, in the north Asian practice, where the two top hinges bore all the weight while the lowest hinge acted simply as a rudder. Closer inspection showed the gleaming paint to actually be baked enamel—“God is in the details,” the visitor smiled.
Stopping for a moment, more out of habit than necessity, the man looked for the name—this was not his first visit. Pressing the button marked Stein, after a delay of a few minutes, the heavy wrought iron front door opened, and the familiar face of Professor Julius Stein peered out, still slightly befuddled from this nap.
Clarity returned and Stein exclaimed, “Albert! What a joy!”
“Professor.”
“Please, please come in, and please no more ‘Professor!’”
Albert entered.
Sophie, Julius’s wife, coldly greeted Albert and then disappeared into the modern but quite small kitchen.
After Albert left she complained, “They are all the same;” Julius gently reminded her of how both of them had avoided the camps or worse.
It was Albert who had persuaded the Swiss—initially against their will—to accept, perhaps “tolerate” was more accurate—the former head of the political economy school at the University of Berlin. Albert had pointed out to a number of Swiss departments, in particular the security people, the benefits of having Stein as a local consulting expert: his cosmopolitan world view; his expertise and knowledge of all things American; his encyclopedic knowledge of economic history.
And Albert had an ulterior motive. While it was true that he could have gotten safe passage for the professor and his wife to England or America, Albert wanted to retain access to Stein and his insights; so quiet, bucolic, boring, and nearby Switzerland was the perfect choice.
An example of Stein’s mind was the searchlights; it was Stein who had initially suggested the searchlights. As a canny and effective business man in his own right, Stein was thoughtful and surprisingly imaginative when it came to projecting the image of a company (or even a country) and this he discussed with Albert one bitterly cold evening in Berlin in ’35.
“Albert, you should consider something truly spectacular for the next one of your so-called party rallies. While I obviously detest your Chancellor’s internal policies, I have to admit I begrudgingly admire his use of radio—it’s as effective as the American dictator Roosevelt’s. (Stein retained a deeply cynical streak when it came to all politicians, especially those who came across as caring; ‘they are the worst thugs of all’, Stein had told Albert numerous times.) And these mass rallies are the modern-day panem et circenses that the ancient Romans did so well—sadly the average person wants to be told what to do and is happy to comply if his belly is full.”
It was with this comment that the two men created the idea of the Cathedral of Light (or rather Stein explained and Albert listened). Against the rabid complaints of all, Albert had collected every searchlight in Germany—there were 130 working searchlights (eight others were still being constructed) —to be combined to create the Cathedral of Light lighting spectacular in the ’37 Rally of Labor in Nuremburg. Albert got the credit, but both Albert and Stein knew it was Stein’s Berlin idea on that bitterly cold winter’s night that generated this breathtaking extravaganza (photographs of which got as far as the 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue and the Imperial Palace in Tokyo).
Stein led Albert to the living room with its glorious view of the lake.
“After such a long and arduous journey, I am sure you need some sustenance. Come, Albert. Eat.”
Point be made, Albert was hungry after the trip, but he was also concerned the food would simply make him sleepy.
So Albert asked for Italian coffee.
“Espresso, it is to be then.”
Turning to his wife, Stein quietly said,
“Sophie, why don’t you let me and Albert catch up on old times? Does that make sense?”
“Does that make sense?” This was the phrase Albert had heard Professor Stein say a thousand times—“Does that make sense?”
This was precisely the reason for Albert’s visit—does that make sense?
Stein lead Albert to a very small study—no desk, books alone three walls, a large dull brown overstuffed club chair with a small table to the left side—Albert recalled Stein was left-handed.
Albert settled on the small sofa, the only other furniture in the room.
Stein looked at Albert and smiled.
“So I suppose you’re interested in knowing what Germany should do when Japan attacks America.”
Stein’s delivery was like a Vevey tram ticket collector’s “that will be one franc, please.”
Try as he might, Albert was unable to contain a gasp.
Stein laughed.
“Albert, dear Albert, you are still so easily shocked, and after all these years as a high functionary.”
Stein remembered one warm Sunday afternoon lakeside stroll they had made together, and how Albert was so shocked by the discovery of the detritus of Saturday night’s activities of courting couples’ lovemaking in the park that he ran all the way down to the lake.
Albert looked at Stein directly.
Stein shrugged.
“Albert—a blind man can see this. And here I am all alone, without my brilliant students, all alone in this beautiful apartment you created for me,” Stein raised his hand at Albert’s objection.
“Albert, you—you, Albert—you alone got us the two Swiss passports and the money and the papers—you, it is to you to whom Sophie and I owe our lives. Of course, I do not have words to thank you.”
Stein looked at Albert as he spoke, and Stein was at an age where he could be honest without being mawkish.
“So, Albert, how can I help you; how can I repay you, if ever so trivial?”
Albert leaned back and looked at this man—tall, still handsome, generous, and erudite. Sometimes Albert sat and wondered about the “master race” gibberish and asked himself, what was the Austrian’s game?
Albert sighed and said,
“Professor, as always—as always—you’re more than a few steps ahead of me. Actually, I wanted to get this point in about two hours’ time, after I had my knights and bishops in place. But as you’ve squared my rook, as you so often do, I will be brief.”