Unknown - Isherwood, Christopher (The Berlin Stories - The Last of Mr Norris - Goodbye to Berlin) (TXT)

CHAPTER TEN

Arthur looked up at me with eyes which were a little too innocent.

“By the way, William,” his tone was carefully casual, “do you happen to be doing anything next Thursday evening?”

“Nothing that I know of.”

“Excellent. Then may I invite you to a little dinner-party?”

“That sounds very nice. Who else is coming?”

“Oh, it’s to be a very small affair. Just ourselves and Baron von Pregnitz.”

Arthur had brought out the name in the most offhand manner possible. Ť

“Kuno!” I exclaimed.

“You seem very surprised, William, not to say displeased.” He was the picture of innocence. “I always thought you and he were such good friends?”

“So did I, until the last time we met. He practically cut me dead.”

“Oh, my dear boy, if you don’t mind my saying so, I think that must have been partly your imagination. I’m sure he’d never do a thing like that; it doesn’t sound like him at all.”

“You don’t suggest I dreamed it, do you?”

“I’m not doubting your word for an instant, of course. If

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he was, as you say, a little brusque, I expect he was worried by his many duties. As you probably know, he has a post under the new administration.”

“I think I did read about it in the newspapers, yes.”

“And anyhow, even if he did behave a little strangely on the occasion you mention, I can assure you that he was acting under a misapprehension which has since been removed.”

I smiled.

“You needn’t make such a mystery out of it, Arthur. I know half the story already, so you may as well tell me the other half. Your secretary had something to do with it, I think?”

Arthur wrinkled up his nose with a ridiculously fastidious expression.

“Don’t call him that, William, please. Just say Schmidt. I don’t care to be reminded of the association. Those who are foolish enough to keep snakes as pets usually have cause to regret it, sooner or later.”

“All right, then. Schmidt. … Go on.”

“I see that, as usual, you’re better informed than I’d supposed,” Arthur sighed. “Well, well, if you want to hear the whole melancholy truth, you must, painful as it is for me to dwell on. As you know, my last weeks at the Courbierestrasse were spent in a state of excruciating financial anxiety.”

“I do indeed.”

“Well, without going into a lot of sordid details which are neither here nor there, I was compelled to try and raise money. I cast about in all sorts of likely and unlikely directions. And, as a last desperate resort, when the wolf was literally scratching at the door, I put my pride in my pocket… .”

“And asked Kuno to lend you some?”

“Thank you, dear boy. With your customary consideration for my feelings, you help me over the most painful part of the story… . Yes, I sank so low. I violated one of my most sacred principles—never to borrow from a friend. ( For I may say I did regard him as a friend, a dear friend. ) Yes …”

“And he refused? The stingy brute!”

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“No, William. There you go too fast. You misjudge him. I have no reason to suppose that he would have refused. Quite the contrary. This was the first time I had ever approached him. But Schmidt got to know of my intentions. I can only suppose he had been systematically opening all my letters. At any rate, he went straight to Pregnitz and advised him not to advance me the money; giving all sorts of reasons, most of which were the most monstrous slanders. Despite all my long experience of human nature, I should hardly have believed such treachery and ingratitude possible …”

“Whatever made him do it?”

“Chiefly, I think, pure spite. As far as one can follow the workings of his foul mind. But, undoubtedly, the creature was also afraid that, in this case, he would be deprived of his pound of flesh. He usually arranged these loans himself, you know, and subtracted a percentage before handing over the money at all. … It humbles me to the earth to have to tell you this.”

“And I suppose he was right? I mean, you weren’t going to give him any, this time, were you?”

“Well, no. After his villainous behaviour over the sitting-room carpet, it was hardly to be expected that I should. You remember the carpet?”

“I should think I did.”

“The carpet incident was, so to speak, the declaration of war between us. Although I still endeavoured to meet his demands with the utmost fairness.”

“And what did Kuno have to say to all this?”

“He was, naturally, most upset, and indignant. And, I must add, rather unnecessarily unkind. He wrote me a most unpleasant letter. Quite gentlemanly, of course; he is always that. But frigid. Very frigid.”

“I’m surprised that he took Schmidt’s word against yours.”

“No doubt Schmidt had ways and means of convincing him. There are some incidents in my career, as you doubt—

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less know, which are very easily capable of misinterpretation.”

“And he brought me into it, as well?”

“I regret to say that he did. That pains me more than anything else in the whole affair; to think that you should have been dragged down into the mud in which I was already wallowing.”

“What exactly did he tell Kuno about me?”

“He seems to have suggested, not to put too fine a point upon it, that you were an accomplice in my nefarious crimes.”

“Well I’m damned.”

“I need hardly add that he painted us both as Bolsheviks of the deepest crimson.”

“He flattered me there, I’m afraid.”

“Well—er—yes. That’s one way of looking at it, of course. Unfortunately, revolutionary ardour is no recommendation to the Baron’s favour. His view of the members of the Left Wing is somewhat primitive. He imagines us with pockets full of bombs.”

“And yet, in spite of all this, he’s ready to have dinner with us next Thursday?”

“Oh, our relations are very different now, I’m glad to say. I’ve seen him several times since my return to Berlin. Considerable diplomacy was required, of course; but I think I’ve more or less convinced him of the absurdity of Schmidt’s accusation. By a piece of good luck, I was able to be of service in a little matter. Pregnitz is essentially a reasonable man; he’s always open to conviction.”

I smiled: “You seem to have put yourself to a good deal of trouble on his account. I hope it’ll prove to have been worth while.”

“One of my characteristics, William, you may call it a weakness if you like, is that I can never bear to lose a friend, if it can possibly be avoided.”

“And you’re anxious that I shan’t lose a friend either?”

“Well, yes, I must say, if I thought I had been the cause, even indirectly, of a permanent estrangement between Preg—

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nitz and yourself, it would make me very unhappy. If any

little doubts or resentments do still exist on either side, I

sincerely hope that this meeting will put an end to them.” “There’s no ill feeling as far as I’m concerned.” “I’m glad to hear you say that, dear boy. Very glad. It’s so

stupid to bear grudges. In this life one’s apt to lose a great

deal through a mistaken sense of pride.” “A great deal of money, certainly.” “Yes … that too.” Arthur pinched his chin and looked

thoughtful. “Although I was speaking, just then, more from

the spiritual point of view than the material.” His tone implied a gentle rebuke. “By the way,” I asked, “what’s Schmidt doing now?” “My dear William,” Arthur looked pained, “how in the

world should I know?”

“I thought he might have been bothering you.” “During my first month in Paris, he wrote me a number of