i 16b0d473103b6aa5 (7 page)

BOOK: i 16b0d473103b6aa5
2.93Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

In the early autumn someone asked Klaus whether he was going to hear Hitler speak.

“I thought he was in prison,” said Lehmann casually. “Where can you live not to have

heard the news? He has been released and is speaking at a meeting on Saturday.”

Klaus went, since the hall would be warmed and the entertainment free, besides, he had

by this time heard Hitler described alternatively as a gas-bag, a great leader, a firebrand, a stump-

orator, a Messiah, a poisonous little reptile, the Hope of Germany and the Curse of Munich, and

Lehmann was mildly curious. He hardly knew what he expected—some loud-voiced professional

ranter, full of stock phrases and fly-blown arguments. He saw instead a pale young man with a

nervous manner and very little self-control. Hitler spoke of Germany as she was and as she might

be. He laid the blame for the present appalling condition of affairs on the Treaty of Versailles,

the Weimar Government, the Jews, the profiteers, and the foreigner, and worked himself up into

a state of hysterical excitement, screaming and weeping and losing the thread of his arguments in

a manner which rather repelled Klaus, though there was no doubt that the man was sincere and

he carried the meeting with him. Klaus returned home in a thoughtful mood, and Fräulein

Rademeyer asked what he thought of the little Austrian.

“I don’t know. I can’t admire a man with so little self-control—when he gets excited he

yells like a madman. But there is no doubt he can sway the crowd, and it is possible that if he

were well advised he might yet do something for Germany.”

“My dear, have another potato, you have eaten nothing. He is quite a common little man,

is he not?”

“He might be a clerk or a shop-assistant, yes. He is neurotic and unbalanced, yes. He

shouts and weeps and contradicts himself, but he can make people listen to him.”

“So you said, Klaus, but does he say anything worth listening to? What does he want to

do?”

“He wants to turn out all the old men who have brought us into this mess, he says that in

future Youth shall lead Germany. He blames the Jews and the profiteers for the fall of the mark.”

“Very possibly he is right, but what exactly does he propose doing in the matter? Is he a

financier?”

“I don’t know,” confessed Klaus. “I suppose he will have to have financial advisers. As

to what he proposes to do, he wants to run candidates from his party at the Reichstag elections,

and when they have a majority they will reform the country.”

“Ever since I was old enough to read the papers,” said the old lady, “leaders of political

parties have been saying that. I expect they said it in Ur of the Chaldees.”

“Yes, I know,” said Klaus, thumping the table, “but this time somebody has got to do it,

or we shall all die. I am not overmuch impressed by this fellow Hitler, but at least he is someone

fresh. He has ideas—”

“God forbid that I should throw cold water on the smallest spark of hope, but we have

been disappointed so often. Neurotic, unstable, incoherent, it does not sound promising.”

“I admit it doesn’t, but at least here is someone prepared to try and save us.”

“And you think he has a chance?”

“I don’t know, but I shall make a point of seeing him again. I have come to that state

where I would support a convicted murderer or an illiterate village wench if I thought either

could help Germany. Hitler, after all, is more probable than Jeanne d’Arc, and look what she did!

She raised France from the gutter—”

“Have another potato, dear,” said the sardonic old lady.

A week or two later Klaus strolled into a café one evening to drink a glass of cheap beer

and exchange views with his fellows, a mild extravagance he sometimes permitted himself when

the monotony of his life became more than he could bear. On this occasion there was a group of

men gathered closely about one table listening to two of their number who were arguing hotly.

“But you must base the mark upon some definite asset, and we have no gold. Gold is the

basis of all reputable currencies.”

“That is the way the capitalists talk, and the Jews, who have ruined our country between

them. The real wealth is in the land, in fields and mines and forests, and in the good work of our

people in factories, not in the pockets of the rich.”

“I have heard that voice before,” said Klaus to himself, for he could not see the speaker

over the shoulders of the men surrounding him. Klaus said “Gu’n’abend” to one or two who

were known to him, and they made room for him in the circle; he was right, the speaker was

Hitler.

Lehmann sat sipping his beer and listening to the discussion, which became increasingly

one-sided as Hitler worked himself up and harangued his hearers without staying to hear what

was said in reply, and it seemed to Klaus that Hitler had all the drive, fire and enthusiasm, and

personal magnetism too, while greater intelligence and reasoning power remained with the two

or three who opposed him. Why must they be opposed, Klaus wondered, if knowledge and skill

could be harnessed to the service of this little human dynamo? Something might yet be done,

even now.

He was introduced to Hitler that evening and made a point of seeing a good deal of him

in the weeks that followed. He remained unimpressed by the little man’s mental capacity, but

there was no doubt of his sincerity nor of his uncanny power of gaining adherents, in ever

increasing numbers, to his party. Undoubtedly the man could be useful, and Klaus joined the

National Socialists to be welcomed for his sturdy common sense and resourcefulness. Their

leader came to rely upon him as a man whose advice was worth attention and whose reliability

was beyond question.

One night in winter Klaus invited his new leader to coffee at the house in Quellen

Strasse, and Hitler came. Fräulein Rademeyer welcomed him with the old-fashioned courtesy

natural to her.

“It is my greatest pleasure,” she said, “to welcome my nephew’s friends to our house.

Will you sit here by the fire, Herr Hitler?”

He made her a stiff bow, but hardly glanced at her, and immediately addressed Klaus.

“Are you coming to the meeting to-morrow night, Lehmann? Good. I shall speak on the

disarmament clauses of the Treaty of Versailles. These clauses have already been broken by

every signatory to the Treaty except, possibly, England, and even that may not be true. I expect

they have something up their sleeves.”

“Will you take sugar in your coffee, Herr Hitler?”

“Thank you. I shall show that a treaty already broken can no longer be binding upon

Germany, and I shall announce that an immediate programme of rearmament will be the first

care of the Party when it comes to power. It will solve the unemployment problem—”

“Where is the money to come from for all this?” asked Ludmilla innocently.

“The Party will attend to that, you would not understand if I told you, Fräulein. While we

are rearming—”

“The first step of all,” said Klaus to Ludmilla, “is to stabilize the currency. Herr Hitler is

dealing now with what happens in later stages. You were saying—”

It took some time for Hitler to get into his stride again, but presently, in a pause of his

flood of talk, Fräulein Rademeyer asked whether there were any women in his Party and, if so,

what they did to help him.

“There is no place for women in the Party, Fräulein, their place is in the home. The three

C’s,” he added in a lighter tone. “Cookery, church and children.”

“Usefulness and piety.”

“Precisely, Fräulein. Now, with regard to the Ruhr—”

When he had gone, Klaus and Ludmilla looked at each other and burst out laughing.

“I am sorry—” he began.

“Please don’t, dear, I haven’t been so entertained for a long while. Your saviour of

Germany is the funniest little man I have ever met.”

“I have never seen him in a lady’s company before, though it did not occur to me till

now. There are stories going round of his rudeness to women, but—”

“Not so much rudeness as—I don’t think there’s a word for it. Like the way you treat a

tiresome fly, shoo! Be off!”

“I will not bring him here again.”

“Probably it is the fault of his upbringing. His mother should have slapped him oftener,

and a great deal harder. My dear, what a lot he talks.”

“That won’t matter if he can induce people to act. But—it is a great pity that it’s bad

manners to slap one’s guest. There is a lot to be said for one’s nursery days when one would

have simply hit him on the head with a tin engine!”

5

During the next ten years Klaus Lehmann worked for the National Socialists and was

rewarded by seeing Germany rise from the dust and stand again among nations as an equal

among equals. Prosperity returned, though slowly, step by step, wages meant something again,

food was a thing one had every day, and once more the children laughed in the streets. Lehmann

was not altogether happy, he disliked heartily many of his colleagues and distrusted their

methods and their motives. Hitler he regarded not so much as a leader but as a useful tool for the

regeneration of the country; it did not matter who led so long as the right road was taken and the

people followed. Lehmann was trusted and relied upon, but not always confided in, not when the

action proposed was morally dubious, for there was a sturdy uprightness in him which abashed

villainy. He looked with cold distaste upon Goebbels’ poisonous invective, Goering’s

unscrupulous violence and Rosenberg’s sham mythology; at present these men served their turn,

if they became too much of a good thing steps would have to be taken in the matter and he,

Klaus Lehmann, would attend to it in person. He was still a sufferer from headaches and still

could not remember who he had been, but he had acquired another personality long ago, and was

much too busy to bother.

By 1933 he was a deputy of the Reichstag, high in the more reputable councils of the

Party, and living in a flat in Berlin with Fräulein Rademeyer to look after him. She had been

greatly aged by the hard years, but was now comfortably stout, increasingly forgetful, and

completely wrapped up in Klaus. They sat over the fire one night in late February, and Ludmilla

told him the news of the day.

“I saw Christine this morning,” she said. “She has been staying with her daughter in

Mainz, and who do you think she met?”

“Heaven knows,” said Klaus sleepily. “Von Hindenburg?”

“Mathilde. My excellent sister-in-law.”

“What, the lady who examined me for birth-marks or something at Haspe? Still as

incisive as ever?”

“More so. Christine says she is more like a weasel than ever. She asked after me, it

appears.”

“Nice of her. I hope Frau Christine told her you are getting younger every day and dance

at the Adlon every night?”

“She told her I was living with you in Berlin, and Mathilde was most indignant.”

“Why?”

“She said it wasn’t respectable.”

“The foul-minded old harridan!” exploded Klaus. “How dare she?”

“My dear, if you lose your temper like that you will make your head ache.”

“I won’t have you insulted,” stormed Klaus. “Why—what are you laughing at?”

“It is very depraved of me, Klaus, but—oh, dear—it is such a long time since I was

considered a danger to morality!”

“You awful woman,” began the horrified Klaus, but at that moment the door opened and

the servant Franz came hurriedly in.

“Fräulein—mein Herr—the Reichstag—”

“What about it?”

“It is all in flames. They say the Communists have fired it.”

“Great heavens, I must go. My coat, Franz. Don’t worry, Aunt Ludmilla, there is no

danger. Go to bed, I shall not be out long. Yes, I will come and speak to you when I come in.

Yes, Franz, you may go out provided Agathe does not, I will not have the Fräulein left alone.”

He found the trams were not working, so he ran through the streets till he was stopped by

the police cordon in Behren Strasse, and had to show his card. Even from there the glare of the

burning building lit up the sky, he ran down the Wilhelmstrasse to avoid the crowds he expected

to find in the Konigsgratzer Strasse and turned into the Dorotheen Strasse. Here the press was so

great that it was not until he had passed the President’s house that he was able to force his way to

the front of the excited crowd, and for the first time the great fire became a visible reality. He

could feel the heat upon his face. He turned suddenly faint, staggered, and clutched at the arm of

the man standing next to him.

“Lean on me,” said the man, who recognized him. “You have hurried too much, Herr

Deputy Lehmann.”

“I—this is a frightful sight,” gasped Klaus, but in his mind he was seeing another fearful

blaze, a country house burning among trees, and a dead man on the floor of a laboratory reeking

with paraffin.

“Then I am a murderer,” he thought, but had enough self-control even in that moment not

to say it aloud. “I have killed somebody, who was it?”

He closed his eyes and did not hear the man suggesting that if His Excellency would but

sit down on the pavement a moment—

“Hendrik Brandt,” thought Lehmann. “I remember now, I am Hendrik Brandt from

BOOK: i 16b0d473103b6aa5
2.93Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

Other books

Emily of New Moon by L. M. Montgomery
TH03 - To Steal Her Love by Matti Joensuu
Picture Perfect by Remiel, Deena
Beneath Ceaseless Skies #27 by Lee, Yoon Ha, McHugh, Ian, Harvey, Sara M., Ashley, Michael Anthony
The Footballer's Wife by Kerry Katona
The Luxe by Anna Godbersen
Summer’s Crossing by Julie Kagawa
The Passing Bells by Phillip Rock
Belle Epoque by Elizabeth Ross
United as One by Pittacus Lore