By the promise of these things, brutes have risen to power. But they lie! They do not fulfil that promise. They never will! Dictators free themselves but they enslave the people. Now let us fight to free the world – to do away with national barriers – to do away with greed, with hate and intolerance. Let us fight for a world of reason – a world where science and progress will lead to the happiness of us all. Soldiers, in the name of democracy, let us unite!
Hannah, can you hear me? Wherever you are, look up! Look up, Hannah! The clouds are lifting! The sun is breaking through! We are coming out of the darkness into the light! We are coming into a new world – a kindlier world, where men will rise above their greed, their hate and their brutality. Look up, Hannah! The soul of man has been given wings and at last he is beginning to fly. He is flying into the rainbow – into the light of hope. Look up, Hannah! Look up!
*
A week after the première I was invited to a luncheon given by Arthur Sulzberger, the owner of the New York Times. When I arrived, I was taken to the top floor of the Times building and ushered into a domestic suite, a drawing-room furnished with paintings, photographs and leather upholstery. Gracing the fireplace with his august presence was the ex-President of the United States, Mr Herbert Hoover, a towering man of saintly demeanour and small eyes.
‘This, Mr President, is Charlie Chaplin,’ said Mr Sulzberger, leading me up to the great man.
Mr Hoover’s face smiled through many wrinkles. ‘Oh yes,’ he said, beamingly, ‘we’ve met before many years ago.’
I was surprised that Mr Hoover should remember, because at the time he had seemed intensely preoccupied with grooming himself for the White House. He was attending a Press dinner at the Astor Hotel, and I had been brought in by one of the members as a side-dish, as it were, before Mr Hoover’s speech. I was in the throes of being divorced and believe I mumbled something to the effect of knowing little about state affairs – in fact, knowing very little about my own affairs. After rambling on this way for a couple of minutes I sat down. Later, I was introduced to Mr Hoover. I think I said ‘how do you do,’ and that was about all.
He had spoken from a loose manuscript, about four inches high, lifting off page after page as he read. After an hour and a half, everyone watched those pages wistfully. After two hours the pages were evenly divided. Sometimes he skipped a dozen or more and laid them aside. Those, indeed, were gracious moments. As nothing is permanent in life the speech came to an end. As he gathered up his agenda in a most businesslike way, I smiled and was about to congratulate him on his speech, but he brushed by without noticing me.
And now, after many years, an interim in which he had been President, he was standing in front of the fireplace looking unusually genial. We sat down to lunch at a large round table, twelve of us. I was told that these lunches were exclusively inner sanctum affairs.
There is a type of American business executive that makes me feel inadequate. They are very tall, good-looking, immaculately dressed, unruffled, clear-thinking men with facts clearly before them. They have amplified metallic voices and speak in geometrical terms about human affairs, such as: ‘The organizational processes occurring in the yearly unemployment pattern,’ etc. Such were the types that sat around the table at lunch, looking formidable and most stalwart – like towering skyscrapers. The only human influence was Anne O’Hare McCormick, a brilliant and charming lady, the celebrated political columnist of the New York Times.
At lunch the atmosphere was formal and conversation was difficult. Everyone addressed Mr Hoover as ‘Mr President’, somewhat more than necessary I thought. As lunch went on I began to feel that it was not for nought that I had been invited. A moment later Mr Sulzberger left no doubt about it. During a propitious silence he said: ‘Mr President, I wish you would explain to us your proposed mission to Europe.’
Mr Hoover put down his knife and fork, thoughtfully chewed, then swallowed and began to speak of what had been evidently occupying his mind throughout lunch. He talked into his plate and as he spoke threw furtive glances at Mr Sulzberger and at me. ‘We are all aware of the deplorable state of Europe at the moment, of the misery and famine rapidly growing there since the war. The condition is so urgent that I have prevailed upon Washington that it should immediately relieve the situation.’ (I assumed Washington meant President Roosevelt.) Here he enumerated the facts and figures and results of his last mission in the First World War, when ‘we fed the whole of Europe’. ‘Such a mission,’ he continued, ‘would be non-partisan, purely for humanitarian purposes – you’re somewhat interested in that,’ he said, throwing me a side-glance.
I nodded solemnly.
‘When do you propose to launch this project, Mr President?’ Mr Sulzberger asked.
‘As soon as we can get Washington’s approval,’ said Mr Hoover. ‘Washington needs urging by public demand and support of well-known public figures’ – again another side-glance at me, and again I nodded. ‘In occupied France,’ he went on, ‘there are millions in want. In Norway, Denmark, Holland, Belgium, all through Europe famine is growing!’ He spoke eloquently, marshalling his facts and endowing them with faith, hope and charity.
Then came a silence. I cleared my throat. ‘Of course, the situation is not exactly the same as in the First World War. France is completely occupied as well
