Набоков Владимир - Conversation Piece, 1945

retreating smile and promising me by means of discreet gestures
that we would have a good talk later on.
"The tragedy of Germany," said Dr. Shoe as he carefully
folded the paper napkin with which he had wiped his thin lips,
"is also the tragedy of cultured America. I have spoken at
numerous women`s clubs and other educational centers, and
everywhere I have noted how deeply this European war, now
mercifully ended, was loathed by refined, sensitive souls. I
have also noted how eagerly cultured Americans revert in memory
to happier days, to their traveling experiences abroad, to some
unforgettable month or still more unforgettable year they once
spent in the country of art, music, philosophy, and good humor.
They remember the dear friends they had there, and their season
of education and well-being in the bosom of a German nobleman`s
family, the exquisite cleanness of everything, the `..songs at
the close of a perfect day, the wonderful little towns, and all
that world of kindliness and romance they found in Munich or
Dresden." "My Dresden is no more," said Mrs. Mulberry.
"Our bombs have destroyed it and everything it stands for."
"British ones, in this particular case," said Dr. Shoe
gently. "But, of course, war is war, although I admit one finds
it difficult to imagine German bombers deliberately selecting
for their target some sacred historical spot in Pennsylvania or
Virginia. Yes, war is terrible. In fact, it becomes almost
intolerably so when it is forced upon two nations that have so
many things in common. It may strike you as a paradox, but
really, when one thinks of the soldiers slaughtered in Europe,
one says to oneself that they are at least spared the terrible
misgivings which we civilians must suffer in silence."
"I think that is very true," remarked Mrs. Hall, slowly
nodding her head.
"What about those stories?" asked an old lady who was
knitting. "Those stories the papers keep printing about the
German atrocities. I suppose all that is mostly propaganda?"
Dr. Shoe smiled a tired smile. "I was expecting that
question," he said with a touch of sadness in his voice.
"Unfortunately, propaganda, exaggeration, faked photographs,
and so on are the tools of modern war. I should not be
surprised if the Germans themselves had made up stories about
the cruelty of the American troops to innocent civilians. Just
think of all the nonsense which was invented about the
so-called German atrocities in the First World War-- those
horrible legends about Belgian women being seduced, and so on.
Well, immediately after the war, in the summer of 1920, if I am
not mistaken, a special committee of German democrats
thoroughly investigated the whole matter, and we all know how
pedantically thorough and precise German experts can be. Well,
they did not find one scintilla of evidence to prove that
Germans had not acted like soldiers and gentlemen."
One of the Misses W. ironically remarked that foreign
correspondents must make a living. Her remark was witty.
Everybody appreciated her ironical and witty remark.
"On the other hand," continued Dr. Shoe when the ripples
had subsided, "let us forget propaganda for a moment and turn
to dull facts. Allow me to draw you a little picture from the
past, a rather sad little picture, but perhaps a necessary one.
I will ask you to imagine German boys proudly entering some
Polish or Russian town they had conquered. They sang as they
marched. They did not know that their Fuhrer was mad; they
innocently believed that they were bringing hope and happiness
and wonderful order to" the fallen town. They could not know
that owing to subsequent mistakes and delusions on the part of
Adolf Hitler, their conquest would eventually lead to the
enemy`s making a flaming battlefield of the very cities to
which they, those German boys, thought they were bringing
everlasting peace. As they bravely marched through the streets
in all their finery, with their wonderful war machines and
their banners, they smiled at everybody and everything because
they were pathetically good-natured and well-meaning. They
innocently expected the same friendly attitude on the part of
the population. Then, gradually, they realized that the streets
through which they so boyishly, so confidently, marched were
lined with silent and motionless crowds of Jews, who glared at
them with hatred and who insulted each passing soldier, not by
words-- they were too clever for that-- but by black looks and
ill-concealed sneers."`
"I know that kind of look," said Mrs. Hall grimly.
"But they did not,"` said Dr. Shoe in plaintive
tones. "That is the point. They were puzzled. They did not
understand, and they were hurt. So what did they do? At first
they tried to fight that hatred with patient explanations and
little tokens of kindness. But the wall of hatred surrounding
them only got thicker. Finally they were forced to imprison the
leaders of the vicious and arrogant coalition. What else could
they do?"
"I happen to know an old Russian Jew," said Mrs. Mulberry.
"Oh, just a business acquaintance of Mr. Mulberry`s. Well, he
confessed to me once that he would gladly strangle with his own
hands the very first German soldier he met. I was so shocked
that I just stood there and did not know what to answer."
"I would have," said a stout woman who sat with her knees
wide apart. "As a matter of fact, one hears much too much about
punishing the Germans. They, too, are human beings. And any
sensitive person will agree with what you say about their not
being responsible for those so-called atrocities, most of which
have probably been invented by the Jews. I get mad when I hear
people still jabbering about furnaces and torture houses which,
if they existed at all, were operated by only a few men as
insane as Hitler."
"Well, I am afraid one must be understanding," said Dr.