don't want to have anything more to do with him." The French and the English had been
fighting ever since the year 1066.
XI
Oddly enough, it was the man from Iowa who served as international mediator. Parsifal
Dingle never meddled in anybody's affairs, but talked about the love of God, and perhaps it was
a coincidence that he talked most eloquently when he knew that two persons were at odds. God
was all and God was love; God was alive and God was here; God knew what we were doing and
saying and thinking, and when what we did was not right, we were deliberately cutting
ourselves off from Him and destroying our own happiness. That was the spiritual law; God
didn't have to punish us, we punished ourselves; and if we humbled ourselves before Him, we
exalted ourselves before one another. So on through a series of mystical statements which came
like a message from a much better world.
All this would have been familiar doctrine to the forebears of either of these young people.
Perhaps ideas have to be forgotten in order to become real again; anyhow, to both Marceline
and Alfy this strange gentleman was the originator or discoverer of awe-inspiring doctrines. A
rosy-cheeked, cherubic gentleman with graying hair and the accent of the prairies. Once when
he wanted to bathe his hands on board the sailboat he had used what he called a "wawsh-dish,"
which Alfy thought was the funniest combination of words he had ever heard.
But apparently God didn't object to the Iowa accent, for God came to him and told him what
to do. And when you thought of God, not somewhere up in the sky on a throne, but living in
your heart, a part of yourself in some incomprehensible way, then suddenly it seemed silly to
be quarreling with somebody who was a friend of the family, even if not your future spouse!
Better to forget about it—at least to the extent of a game of tennis.
Beauty thought how very convenient, having a spiritual healer in the family! She thought: "I
am an unworthy woman, and I must try to be like him and love everybody, and value them for
their best qualities. I really ought to go to Lanny's school, and meet some of those poor people,
and try to find in them what he finds." She would think these thoughts while putting on a costly
evening-gown which Irma had given her after two or three wearings; she would be escorted to
a party at the home of the former Baroness de la Tourette, and would listen to gossip about a
circus-rider who had married an elderly millionaire and was cutting a swath on this Coast of
Pleasure. The ladies would tear her reputation to shreds, and Beauty would enjoy their cruel
cleverness and forget all about the fact that God was listening to every word. A complicated
world, so very hard to be good in!
BOOK THREE
Blow, Winds, and Crack Your Cheeks
11
Woman's Whole Existence
I
THE betrayal of the British labor movement had entered like a white-hot iron into the flesh of
Eric Vivian Pomeroy-Nielson. He had brooded over it and analyzed its causes; he had filled his
soul with images of it; and the result was to be a drama called The Dress-Suit Bribe. No literary
title, dignified and impartial, but a fighting title, a propaganda title.
The central figure was a miner's son who had escaped from the pits by becoming a secretary
of his union. He had a wife who had been a schoolteacher, somewhat above him in station. They
had no children, because the labor movement was to be their child. At the opening of the play
he was a newly elected member of Parliament. There were characters and episodes recalling his
early days of fervor and idealism, but now we saw him absorbed in the not very edifying details of
party politics, the maneuvers for power, the payment of past obligations in the hope of
incurring more.
The leisure-class woman in the story had no doubt been modeled on Rosemary, Countess of
Sandhaven, Lanny's old flame; one of those women touched by the feminist movement who
did not permit themselves to love deeply because it would interfere with their independence,
their enjoyment of prominence and applause. She was a political woman who liked to wield
power; she set out to seduce a labor leader, not because she wanted to further the interests of
her Tory group, but because she enjoyed playing with a man and subjecting him to her will.
She tried to teach him what she called common sense, not merely about love, but about
politics and all the affairs of the world they lived in. She didn't mind breaking the heart of a
wife whom she considered an inferior and superfluous person; if in the process she broke up a
labor union, that was an incidental gain.
It was a "fat" part for an actress, and at Lanny's suggestion Rick had endowed the woman
with an American mother; a common enough phenomenon in London society, this would make
the role possible for Phyllis Gracyn. Lanny's old friend and playmate had been starred in two
plays which had "flopped" on Broadway through no fault of her own; so she was in a humble
frame of mind, and when Lanny wrote her about Rick's play she cabled at once, begging to be
allowed to see the script. The part had been written for her— even to allowing for traces of an
American accent.
Lanny had become excited about the play, and had talked out every scene with his friend,
both before and after it was put down on paper. Irma and Beauty read it, and Emily and
Sophie, and of course Rick's wife; these ladies consulted together, and contributed suggestions
as to how members of the grand and beau and haut monde felt and behaved. So the play
became a sort of family affair, and there was small chance of anything's being wrong with its
atmosphere and local color. After Emily had read the entire script, she offered to put in five
thousand dollars on the same terms as the rest of them, and Sophie, the ex-baroness, was not
to be outdone.
The play would be costly to produce, on account of the money atmosphere. If you want actors
to look like workingmen or labor leaders, you can hire them cheaply, but if you want one who
can play the Chancellor of the Exchequer, you have to dip into your own. Rick, who by now had
considerable experience, estimated the total at thirty thousand dollars, and the figure sounded
familiar to Lanny, because that had been the cost of Gracyn's first production, the sum for
which she had thrown him over. Now he would take a turn at being the "angel"; a higher,
celestial kind, for whom she wouldn't have to act anywhere but on the stage.
II
The play was finished early in April, and the family went north, with Alfy returning to school.
Lanny and Irma motored the mother and father as far as Paris, starting several days ahead; for
Zoltan Kertezsi was there, and they wanted to see the spring Salon through his expert eyes; also
there were plays to be seen, of interest to professionals such as they were about to become. As it
happened, France was in the midst of a furious election campaign, and when you had an uncle
running for the Chamber of Deputies, you were interested to see the show. Hansi and Bess had
consented to come and give a concert for the benefit of his campaign, so it would be a sort of
family reunion.
The Hungarian art expert was his usual serene and kindly self. He had just come back from a
trip to the Middle West, where, strange as it might seem, there were still millionaires who
enjoyed incomes and wanted to buy what they called "art paintings." Lanny had provided
Zoltan with photographs of the Detazes which were still in the storeroom, and three had been
sold, at prices which would help toward the production of The Dress-Suit Bribe. Irma insisted
upon putting up a share of the money, not because she knew anything about plays, but because
she loved Lanny and wanted him to have his heart's desires.
She took the same tolerant attitude toward political meetings. If Lanny wanted to go, she would
accompany him, and try to understand the French language shouted in wildly excited tones.
Jesse Blackless was running as candidate in one of those industrial suburbs which surrounded
Paris with a wide Red band. Under the French law you didn't have to be a resident of your
district but had to be a property-owner, so the Red candidate had purchased the cheapest
vacant lot he could find. He had been carefully cultivating the constituency, speaking to
groups of workers every night for months on end, attending committee meetings, even calling
upon the voters in their homes—all for the satisfaction of ousting a Socialist incumbent who had
departed from the "Moscow line." Irma didn't understand these technicalities, but she couldn't
help being thrilled to find this newly acquired uncle the center of attention on a platform,
delivering a fervid oration which drove the crowd to frenzies of delight. Also she couldn't fail to
be moved by the sight of Hansi Robin playing for the workers of a foreign land and being
received as a comrade and brother. If only they hadn't been such terrible-looking people!
III
All this put Lanny in a peculiar position. He attended his uncle's réunion, but didn't want
him to win and told him so. Afterward they repaired with a group of their friends to a cafe
where they had supper and argued and wrangled until the small hours of the morning. A noisy
place, crowded and full of tobacco smoke; Irma had been taken to such haunts in Berlin,
London, and New York, so she knew that this was how the intelligentsia lived. It was supposed
to be "bohemian," and certainly it was different; she could never complain that her marriage
had failed to provide her with adventures.
By the side of the millionairess sat a blond young Russian, speaking to her in English, which
made things easier; he had just come out of the Soviet Union, that place about which she had
heard so many terrible stories. He told her about the Five-Year Plan, which was nearing
completion. Already every part of its program had been overfulfilled; the great collective farms
were sowing this spring more grain than ever before in Russian history; it meant a complete
new era in the annals of mankind. The young stranger was quietly confident, and Irma
shivered, confronting the doom of the world in which she had been brought up. From the
attitude of the others she gathered that he was an important person, an agent of the Comintern,
perhaps sent to see that the campaign followed the correct party line; perhaps he was the
bearer of some of that "Moscow gold" about which one heard so much talk!
Across the table sat Hansi and Bess; and presently they were telling the Comintern man
details about the situation in Germany. Elections to the diets of the various states had just
been held, and the parties of the two extremes had made tremendous gains; the middle classes
were being wiped out, and with them the middle-class point of view. Hansi said that the battle
for the streets of the German cities, which had been waged for the last two or three years, was
going against the Communists; their foes had the money and the arms. Hansi had witnessed a
battle in broad daylight in Berlin. A squad of Stormtroopers had been marching with their
Hakenkreuz banners and a fife and drum, and passing a co-operative store they had hurled
stones through the windows; the men inside had rushed out and there had been a general
clubbing and stabbing. The Jewish violinist hadn't stayed to see the outcome. "I don't suppose
I ought to use my hands to beat people," he said, spreading them out apologetically.
"Poor Hansi!" thought Irma. He and Freddi were unhappy, having discovered how their
father was dealing with all sides in this German civil war. The Nazis were using Budd machine
guns in killing the workers, and how could that have come about without the firm of "R & R"
knowing about it? The boys hadn't quarreled with their father—they couldn't bear to—but their
peace of mind was gone and they were wondering how they could go on living in that home.
Also Irma thought: "Poor Lanny!" She saw her husband buffeted between the warring
factions. The Reds were polite to him in this crowd because he was Jesse's nephew, and also
because he was paying for the supper, a duty he invariably assumed. He seemed to feel that he
had to justify himself for being alive: a person who didn't enjoy fighting, and couldn't make up
his mind even to hate wholeheartedly.
Yet he couldn't keep out of arguments. When the Communist candidate for the Chamber of
Deputies put on his phonograph record and remarked that the Social-Democrats were a
greater barrier to progress than the Fascists, Lanny replied: "If you keep on asking for it,
Uncle Jesse, you may have the Fascists to deal with."
Said the phonograph: "Whether they mean to or not, they will help to smash the capitalist
system."
"Go and tell that to Mussolini!" jeered Lanny. "You've had ten years to deal with him, and
how far have you got?"
"He knows that he's near the end of his rope."
"But we're talking about capitalism! Have you studied the dividend reports of Fiat and
Ansaldo?"
So they sparred, back and forth; and Irma thought: "Oh, dear, how I dislike the
intelligentsia!"
But she couldn't help being impressed when the elections came off, and Zhess Block-less, as
the voters called him, showed up at the top of the poll in his district. On the following Sunday
came a runoff election, in which the two highest candidates, who happened to be the Red and
the Pink, fought it out between them. Uncle Jesse came to Irma secretly to beg for funds, and
she gave him two thousand francs, which cost her seventy-nine dollars. As it happened, the
Socialist candidate was a friend of Jean Longuet, and went to Lanny and got twice as much; but
even so, Zhess Block-less came out several hundred votes ahead, and Lanny had the distinction
of having an uncle who was a member of the Chamber of Deputies of the French Republic.
Many a young man had made his fortune from such a connection, but all Lanny could expect
