He became aware of the immense silence with which they watched him. He smiled a little. His consciousness of the power within him made him stand a little straighter. He began to speak in his penetrating if monotonous voice:
‘I’m not going to beat about the bush. I’ve been to Washington, as you all know. And I’ve come back to explain matters as simply as I can.’
Antoine spoke, in a gentle musing voice: ‘Do be very simple. Our intellects aren’t subtle enough to grasp inuendoes.’
A stir went through the others, and surly or sly smiles appeared momentarily. Henri looked hard at Antoine. ‘I’m not dealing in subtleties, though I suspect you, yourself, would prefer them.’
Antoine shrugged, but very faintly and indifferently. For one instant Henri felt rage, as the precarious advantage passed fleetingly to Antoine. He had hopefully suspected that Antoine’s composure might be only a pose. But that shrug, exquisitely tired, but exquisitely contained, convinced him to the contrary. There was, apparently, some profound weariness in Antoine, the weariness of the civilized man confronted with brute force that not only annoyed his fastidiousness, but bored him. Henri turned from him. If he was to state his case, calmly and with brutal incisiveness, he must not look too much upon Antoine. But though he did not look at the other, he felt his quiet and cynical regard, his delicate scrutiny, his curious interest.
Henri’s voice, in consequence, was harder and harsher than before, when he resumed:
‘I am not going to tell you the name of the man with whom I have been in conference for two days in Washington. Perhaps you will soon guess.
‘This is what he said to me: That since the beginning of the depression of 1929, capital and industry have shown themselves to be bankrupt as far as national leadership is concerned. You may, or may not, agree with this, however. He further said that we have had a chance to perpetuate our leadership in the United States, but that when we became so indifferent, so sunken in ourselves and our greeds, that we permitted veterans of American wars to sell apples on the streets, and other nasty little events of the early nineteen-thirties, and that when we did nothing to alleviate starvation, and the distress of the people, and insisted that the President then in office use dictatorship methods to subdue the panic that was rising from one end of the country to the other, to a point of complete chaos, we morally bankrupted ourselves in the eyes of the nation. We lost the trust of the people, and aroused nothing in them but hatred and suspicion.’
He paused. Christopher lifted his cigarette to his lips and puffed languidly. ‘It seems,’ he murmured, ‘that I’ve heard all that before, somewhere. I believe the Communist press went into that extensively.’
Again, to his cold rage, Henri felt the light balance of power pass momentarily from him, at this baiting. But he did not reply. He surveyed Christopher grimly. So, he thought, savagely, you feel safe enough now, do you, you white snake?
He waited until the malevolent murmur of amusement at Christopher’s baiting subsided again into a properly attentive silence. Now he knew that he really did not have a faction at all. That every man in that room hated him.
He resumed, without the slightest inflection in his voice:
‘We must admit certain basic facts. It is not sentimentality on my part when I say that in the past we’ve never assumed any responsibility for the welfare of the American people. We, and our associates, and brothers-in-arms, have formed a selfish protective organization for our own advantage. We became a self-contained and greedy hierarchy with a total disregard for the people, upon whom, in the final analysis, we live. We have depended, and must depend, upon the goodwill and well-being of the people, for our very existence, though we seem to have forgotten that fundamental fact in the general scramble for profits. We have forgotten that we cannot exist, in America, as a prosperous and well-ordered capitalistic-industrial democracy without that goodwill, without the well-being and trust of the people.’
He paused again. He looked at Antoine’s faction: the ‘deadly little Jean’ with his amiable dimples and sweet attentiveness, and the green and dirty Nicholas, at the sullen and bewildered Robert Bouchard, at Alexander of the magenta face and great belly. They had begun to smile maliciously, putting up their hands to hide their smiles, and their eyes surveyed him with dangerous interest.
Jean spoke, softly and with an air of surprise: ‘For the greatgrandson of Ernest Barbour, and on the evidence of your own remarkable record, your defence of “democracy” is somewhat startling. But do go on. I didn’t really mean to interrupt.’
Involuntarily, Henri glanced at his own faction. Christopher ‘the silvery snake,’ seemed involved in pleasant and infuriating thoughts of his own. Emile, ‘the bloated black rat,’ regarded Henri with opaque amiability. Hugo, tawny and huge, appeared cautiously uneasy. Only Francis, of the icy blue eyes, studied Henri with careful sympathy and thoughtfulness.
Henri’s heavy grey mouth took on a vicious but indomitable expression. He repeated, with emphasis: ‘Only in a democratic society, with its religion of free enterprise and open competition, can we, the Bouchards, and our class, survive. I don’t need to call to your somewhat obtuse memories what has happened to the great industrialists and capitalists under Hitler and Mussolini, and what bloody payment they received from their masters when they had served their purpose. I must make emphatic to you the stark truth that our welfare and existence are bound up inextricably with the welfare of the American people. When that welfare is jeopardized by our own blindness, then we are ready for destruction. There are some of you here, apparently, who are too, blind, too stupid, and too greedy, to grasp this fact.’
‘There is no doubt,’ said Antoine, with a gracious gesture and an elegant inclination of the head, ‘that we are blind, stupid, and greedy. So, we agree with you all the way.’
Again, a faint amused murmur arose, but Henri, who was aroused now, quelled it instantly by one pale and minatory flash of his eye. Each man felt that flash literally in his own flesh, and now a rigid alertness was apparent among them, a kind of wary fear. Henri sensed that fear. He smiled grimly.
He said: ‘It may be a thought new to all of you that Mr Roosevelt saved us from destruction when he took office in 1933. Is your memory so short? The very NRA which we all fought so strenuously, actually raised prices and saved our capitalistic-industrial system. Have you really forgotten the temper of the country at that time? If I remember rightly, there was not one of you who didn’t shake in his shoes, and begin to think of shipping gold out of the country to Canada or Europe. We were the most panicky class in America.’ He glanced at Nicholas. ‘I have a faint memory that you were treated for an embarrassing ailment by a whole battery of physicians until Mr Roosevelt declared a bank holiday.’ As if relieved from a really unbearable tension, the whole room burst into wild and discordant laughter at Nicholas’ expense. He sat on the edge of his chair, huddled together, and looked from one to the other of the convulsed men with greenish hatred and fury. Henri listened to the laughter, smiling darkly. He let it have its way. He lifted his hand and gently bit his index finger.
Francis exclaimed: ‘We’ve done Henri an injustice. He really does have a sense of humour!’
Now they looked at him, if not with sympathy, at least with more cordiality.
He went on: ‘Yes, I remember our panic. We were doomed. We wrung our hands. We ran around like blind ants, whimpering. Mr Roosevelt saved us. We owed him gratitude, at least. But instead of that, we accused him, in our press, of being a Communist, a visionary. We apparently didn’t realize that if it had not been for the slow and painful amelioration of the lot of the American people, after 1933, we might have had a revolution, or complete anarchy.’
‘We might,’ said Antoine, musingly, staring before him as if this were the most casual of conversations, ‘have called out the police and the military. You never thought of that.’ Henri uttered a short loud laugh. ‘You’ve lived too long in Europe, Antoine. Do you actually believe that the Am
erican people could have been subdued by policemen’s clubs and the guns of our army, which was then a very puny organization? And do you actually believe that those same policemen and soldiers would have fired on their fellow-Americans? Remember, even the most stupid man had absorbed in our public schools the fundamental principles of democracy. Do you think Americans are docile and hoglike Germans, or tired and degraded Frenchmen, or hungry Italians? Forget our foreign Northern cities. Try to remember our Western States, and our South, where lived the descendants of Britons who had inherited memory of freedom and decency. Some of you will deny that the common people are possessed even of the dim brain of an amœba. I was guilty of that stupidity, at one time. I’ve received a little enlightenment since then.’
No one answered. He continued: ‘You’ve lived too long in your own gigantic Vatican, among your own cardinals and bishops of industry. You’ve lived in a kind of mystical belief in your own omnipotence, forgetting that you have no Fuehrer to protect your interests, and no robot army to enforce your decrees with machine-guns. You are vulnerable. You’re covered with dozens of soft spots. And don’t believe that the American people didn’t know it, either.’
And then he said: ‘We have never convinced the American people of the divine right of capitalists. We never shall.’
He allowed the silence to become deep. He allowed them all to think. And he watched them closely. He saw the guarded hating faces of Antoine’s faction. He saw the interested but wary faces of his own.
Then Antoine said, very softly, almost caressingly: ‘God damn the people. God damn them always.’
Henri smiled. His sense of power swelled in him. But he could feel a little surprise at the hint of impotence in Antoine’s words. It was strange that this most dangerous and elegant man should feel impotence. It suggested a most curious and inexplicable exhaustion, even surrender,
‘Do you expect me to defend the people? What I have been telling you have been facts, only. I am a realist. I predicate my affairs on facts. What I personally feel about the “people” has nothing to do with the fact that I must deal with them. I only know that I must adjust myself to what exists, and proceed from there.’
He paused again. Now his voice became stronger, quicker: ‘We are now at war. I don’t think any of you will contradict me when I say that we’ve done everything we could, by bribery, by lies, by subornation, by corruption of public officials, by the buying of certain radio henchmen, by the maligning of labour, by our subsidy of certain clergymen, by our newspapers, by powerful subversive propaganda, by secret agreements with certain Middle European associates, by the forming of subversive and powerful Committees, by intrigues in South America, by the smearing of Russia, by avalanches of pamphlets and little leaflets, and God knows what else, to keep America out of this war. We’ve had our cartels which supplied Hitler with what he needed to conquer the world. We’ve even made him promises.’
He stopped. Now every man sat up straight in his chair. The faces of Antoine’s faction were rigid and expressionless. They looked at him with eyes so lethal and piercing that he could only look back at them as if momentarily hypnotized.
He said: ‘Some of us have even tried anti-Semitism to divert the attention of the American people from our real purpose. We have jeered at Britain, and besmeared her. We have tried to arouse the indignation of the people against Lend-Lease. Some of us have worked in every way, with unsleeping energy, to ensure the victory of Hitler over all the world, and the eventual enslavement of our own American people. I can only say now, and with personal satisfaction that, so far, you who have done all this have failed. It is now my purpose, and the purpose of many other powerful men who are with me, to see to it that you shall continue to fail. You can’t win. Not now.’
His voice rose, became irresistible with power, with triumph and exultation:
‘Perhaps some of you believe you can still destroy America, can still ensure Hitler’s conquest. But, I call to your mind certain facts: you could not, in spite of your efforts, prevent national conscription, prevent Lend-Lease, nor corrupt the sentiment of the people against Hitler. You could not destroy the decent indignation of seventy-five per cent of the American people against Hitler, and their hatred for him. For all your newspapers and your hired liars and your suborned Congressmen, you could not crush the admiration of the American people for Britain’s valour, nor could you arouse their overwhelming suspicion against Russia. You tried. You tried very hard. But, you failed. You had forgotten one thing: the imponderables of the people’s conscience.’
And now Antoine lifted his head, and straightened in his chair. Regan had said that. He had said that to Henri, most probably. We are lost, then, thought Antoine. And felt nothing in himself at all.
In the huge pent silence of the room, Henri continued: ‘You had your isolationists in Congress. You had their sworn promises. But you could not prevent them, in the end, from voting unanimously for war against Japan and Germany. That ought to have meant something to you.’
He waited. But no one spoke. He looked from one face to another, slowly. They hated him. They feared him. But, they believed him. A dark shadow of infuriated uncertainty and frustration appeared in the eyes of Antoine’s faction.
And then Henri said: ‘Some of you are making mental reservations, even now. You think you can still see a way to ensure Hitler’s conquest. Or, at the worst, you think you can force a negotiated peace which will be to Hitler’s advantage. Don’t You can’t win. I am not speaking for myself alone. I have others like me with me. I have the American people.’ He walked back and forth a few paces. They felt his exultation, his enormous and contemptuous disgust and hatred for them. Then he turned swiftly, and said:
‘There are a few more facts I want to bring to your attention. The American Legion and other powerful organizations have been advocating, for the past two decades, that in the event of a national emergency, such as war, when it becomes necessary to conscript human beings for the service of the nation, capital and industry be conscripted by the Government, and that industry be operated by the Government, not for profits, but for the welfare of the nation as a whole.
‘This idea has penetrated into the consciousness of the American people. And so, in this present dire need of the nation, either you co-operate, with all loyalty, and produce material of war to the maximum, without mental reservations, without personal and international ambitions, forgetting your plots and your lies and your commitments to Hitler, or the President will go before Congress, which is now in a proper mood, and this Congress will pass a law to conscript industry for the duration.’
A wave of shocked terror, of incredulity, swept over them. Factional differences were forgotten now. All of them looked at each other in profound alarm, seeking reassurance from other faces. But the reassurance was not there.
Henri watched them. He waited a little. Then he said, slowly, softly: ‘I am not speculating. I tell you this can happen, will happen. Unless you co-operate. But that is not the end. If we permit the Government to conscript industry, now, and eliminate profits entirely, the Government, and the people, might then get the idea that this is not a bad thing at all, and this control would most probably continue permanently, even after the peace is signed. Thus, we shall have Socialism. And we, ourselves, will be responsible for this catastrope.’
Nicholas said, hoarsely, after a burst of obscene profanity: ‘God damn it, the Government wouldn’t dare!’
Henri replied calmly, with a nod of his head: ‘I assure you it would. A plan has already been drawn. The eminent gentleman who told me of the plan informed me that it will go into effect at the very moment you show signs of continuing as you have been doing. I had a most interesting discussion with that gentleman. In the shadow of the White House. He convinced me, most thoroughly, that what we’ve considered to be the amorphous jelly-fish condition of the American people is really a very solid and jagged avalanche, which can roll over us and destroy us, and leave not even a smell behind.?
??
Now a complete and sudden disorder blew into the room. Nicholas, Jean, Alexander and Robert Bouchard jumped to their feet, began to walk quickly abeut Even Hugo and Emile were infected. They, too, got up, began to pace up and down in utter distraction. Of Antoine’s faction, only he remained seated. And he watched his friends with that elegant and composed detachment which was so curious to Henri, turning quietly in his chair to follow their frantic movements. He was like a civilized gentleman languidly observing the distraught antics of lower animals.
And then, he turned his sleek and narrow head toward Henri, and upon his dark dry face there appeared the oddest and most radiant smile of malignant enjoyment. He rested his elbow on the arm of his chair, and cupped his sharp chin in the palm of his small hand. He sat like this, not moving, his smile deepening.
Christopher and Francis in their turn, exchanged long significant looks, inscrutable but contented.
Then little Jean, all his gracious amiability gone, all his dimples vanished in vicious furrows on his round smooth face, swung virulently upon Henri:
‘You are lying. We know what you’ve been up to. Do you think you can bamboozle us with words?’
Henri leaned back against the wall. He fastened his pale immovable eyes upon his relative, and said quietly: ‘I’d be sorry to see you try anything. For I’d be messed up, along with all of you. I hope, for my own sake, that you’ll see the light.’
Jean was about to say something contemptuous. His little hand had even risen in a disgusted and dismissing gesture. But as he looked at Henri, his face changed. His hand dropped. And then he was silent.
Then it was that Antoine turned gracefully in his chair, and said, right in the midst of the noisy disorder in the room, looking directly at Christopher: ‘You were in this from the beginning, weren’t you?’