I was an art-dealer in Berlin. Since the war broke out, there hadn't been much business to do. I decided to visit my former customer—a man who was probably the oldest yet alive. In the course of decades, what he had bought from us for low prices should be worth a large amount of money today.
I finally saw him, in an old and cheap house. He was blind, living with his wife and daughter. He was overjoyed to meet me and would like to show me his collection.
Then a strange thing happened. His wife, who had been listening with a pleasant smile, was scared. She begged me to come later. An hour later, the daughter arrived at my hotel with embarrassment, "We have to ask a favour of you. When you get back, Father will want to show you his collection, and the collection...the collection, well there's very little of it left." She went on difficultly, "soon after the war broke out, Father became blind. Each afternoon, he has the paintings on the table and fingers them one by one. The situation is terrible now, but Father knows nothing about the inflation. We don't read him that sort of things from the newspaper."
"The first painting we sold was a very valuable one. We put the money in a bank. In a few weeks, it was gone! We had to sell another one. Every piece we sold was replaced by a sheet of blank paper...He would not survive the knowledge of the loss. Today may be the most excited experiences since he got blind. If you will lend yourself to the lie..."
I promised to play up. I spent the whole afternoon in their house. The old man showed me blank pieces and pointed at every detail so surely that I couldn't help leaning forward to read the non-existent paintings. I didn't know what to say in front of all the blank sheets of paper until I saw the mother and the daughter. I pulled myself together and played my role, "Certainly you are right. It is valuable!"
"Here's a man who knows what's what!" he said cheerfully to the two women. "When I am dead, you could sell them. You'll be the richest in the town!"
Not for years, not since 1914, had I seen such happiness in the face of a German.
