Chapter 10 Dance With The Devil By Gunther Schwab Written in 1963.
THE
LITTLE RED LAMP ON THE INTER-COM, BEGAN TO GLOW;
the
Devil pressed a button. "Yes?" he asked.
They
heard the distorted voice of Do, the Devil's personal secretary.
"No.
384 would like to report."
"Tibu?
Excellent ! Let him come in."
A
broad, slow-moving man entered the room.
Under
his narrow forehead his eyes seemed to be half closed as he gazed searchingly
at the guests.
Like
a great bear, he bowed to the Boss.
Then
he turned to the guests: "My task is the destruction of the farmer and the
peasantry."
"Why
do you want to destroy them?" asked Rolande.
"Because
man's existence stands or falls with these people."
Groot
said, "I believe you exaggerate their importance."
"The
peasantry," said Tibu, "have three vital tasks.
They
have to feed the growing population of the earth;
they
have to keep those engaged in non-agricultural occupations employed by buying
their goods,
and
they must make good the failure of the civic population to reproduce
itself."
"That
succinctly defines Tibu's job," added the Devil. "If these functions
of the peasantry
are
interfered with, life comes to an end."
Tibu
bowed. "And there's something else. Civilization began when men settled on
particular pieces
of
ground and set about cultivating the soil. The flight from the land must,
therefore,
necessarily
mean man's decline."
"Come
to the point," said the Devil.
"To
make my meaning clear, I'm afraid I must bother you with a few figures.
Holland
has the highest yield of wheat per acre of its total territory, in the world.
Germany
has only 56 per cent of the Dutch figure, Austria 38 per cent, the U.S.A. 12
per cent
and
Australia is the lowest with 1 per cent."
Rolande
asked: "Is that due to a difference in the quality of the soil?"
"It's
due to the difference in the ways of farming. Where you have peasant farming,
you'll
get a high yield per acre, and what's more, you'll get a continuing high yield.
In
countries that practice extensive farming, the soil produces little,
and
even that little fails to materialize after a short time because the soil is
exhausted.
The
peasant takes care of his land, which means that for centuries he's given back
to
it the vital substances that it needs; thus the humus is preserved and the soil
remains fertile."
Harding
interrupted: "I would have thought that the large-scale farmer would have
had
that
much business sense."
Tibu
replied: "That's where you're wrong, Mr. Harding. T
he
genuine uncorrupted peasant is bound to his soil by tradition;
he
loves it, and has a personal relation to it. He feels an obligation towards it.
This
spiritual bond is the basis for the soil's preservation."
Harding
turned to Groot. "Strange to hear such spiritual views in the Devil's
headquarters," he said.
The
Devil waved him aside. "The human soul," he said, "is our enemy
No. 1.
Wherever
you find sickness or degeneracy, you can be sure that we started it by
attacking the soul."
Tibu
continued: "The success of our work depends upon whether we can recognize
the
secret relationships between things.
The
peasant is a part of animated creation, and an unconscious process of action
and reaction goes
on
between himself on the one side and the plants, animals, water supplies, winds
and stars on the other.
"Where
you have extensive farming, things are very different.
Here
the prime consideration is no longer quality but quantity;
commercial
success depends on standardization, and once you change over from peasant
holdings
to
extensive farming, the chemist is ready and waiting to ensure this.
Differences
between various soils and general differences in other factors in the
environment
are
evened out by artificial manure, chemical hormones and various substances that
force on growth.
This
leads to a sort of de-personalizing of the land; analogous to the creation of
mass man in society.
The
owner of a ranch where extensive farming is practised, and those who work for
him,
are
completely indifferent to the rules of agriculture.
The
whole method of procedure is dictated by business considerations
and
not by the demands of the laws of life.
This
is what has struck a mortal blow against the fertility of the soil."
The
Devil grew impatient. "Let's get down to something practical," he
said.
"I
must, first of all, state my plan for the ruin of the peasantry. It rests on a
financial basis,
which
was what I first had to create."
"What
basis are you talking about?"
"Industry
can pay a much higher rate of interest for borrowed money than agriculture.
Consequently,
capital goes exclusively into industry and so industry swells up to giant
proportions,
while
agriculture tends to wither away because it fails to be nourished by the
fertilizing stream of money."
The
Devil nodded. "That's a clever idea, Tibu."
"Since
all people hurry to the spot where there's money to be had and hurry away from
the place
where
there isn't, this arrangement causes men to be driven from the land to the
town."
"Excellent
!
"I
have seen to it that the income of city dwellers rises while that of the
country folk falls."
"Examples,
please," cried the Boss.
"Average
wages in West Germany are 4,300 D.M. a year,
but
those working on the land only earn on the average 2,100 D.M."
The
engineer was unconvinced.
"That
may be true of the actual cash income, but the workers on farms get a certain
income in kind,
including
not only food, but fuel and light. They have cottages, and so on —"
"Those
are all included."
Rolande
looked incredulous and Tibu turned towards her.
"If
we take the average worker's income as 100, then in Austria the agricultural
worker earns
63
per cent and in the United States only 42 per cent. In Austria, the
agricultural population
is
20 per cent of the whole; it does 38 per cent of the country's total work,
and
receives 15 per cent of the national income. By creating this unbalance,
I
have deprived the peasant of the labour force which he needs and have
transferred it to industry.
That's
not all. I've uprooted innumerable peasants and driven them out of
agriculture."
"I
always knew you were a competent sort of chap, Tibu."
"Thank
you, Boss. I've also contrived to injure the peasant by a price and wages
policy geared
to
the artificially inflated wants of the urban masses.
For
agricultural products the farmer gets on the average 61 times what he got in
1937,
whereas
he must pay ten times what he paid at that time for the products of the town,
for
social insurance and so on."
"One
thing adds to another," said the Devil. "Within the last forty years,
the
peasantry of Central Europe has handed over a great part of its children to the
town.
It's
borne the costs of bringing them up, but in the end has had no return.
This
is a heavy economic burden on the peasantry and one which must Ultimately
weaken it.
Further,
the peasantry is making a continual sacrifice of its human capital. In
Austria,
the
rural population is smaller by 600,000 than it was in 1914.
This
represents an expenditure of 21 billion dollars, from which agriculture gets no
benefit at all.
In
America, the number of farmers fell by 11 per cent between 1940 and 1950 and
much the same thing
is
happening all over Europe.
A
hundred years ago, 75 out of every hundred people in Central Europe were living
by agriculture
and
supporting, over and above themselves, another 25 people in the cities.
Today,
20 people engaged in agriculture must support 65 otherwise engaged,
which
means that the modem peasant has to support roughly ten times as many people
as
he did a century ago. He is compelled to go on continually producing more,
with
a shrinking labour force.
"The
proportion of persons employed in agriculture in relation to the total
population
s
steadily falling; in England it's now only 4 per cent; in Western Germany, 14;
in
Switzerland, 18; in Austria, 20 and in Denmark, 23.
As
a result, the peasant is now subjected to a most exhausting and oppressive form
of
forced labour that knows neither rest nor respite.
On
the average, an industrial worker works 2,500 hours a year, a peasant works
3,500 and his wife 4,700.
As
a result of this excessive burden, both buildings and soil are neglected;
the
amount of land cultivated by peasants grows less from year to year
because
the peasant is simply no longer able to cope."
"Considering
the grave food situation all over the world, that's good news indeed,"
said the Devil, with a laugh.
"As
the peasant's working day grows ever longer, his rest ever shorter,
the
fearful burden of his daily work interferes with his characteristic way of
thinking.
It
kills the spirit and the soul; it is this which has enabled me to do away with
all the excellent
and
happy customs that used to grace the peasant's life – regional costumes, games,
songs
and so on. I've trodden the peasant's joy in creative work underfoot."
Harding
was frowning. "If people leave the land," he said, "we can put
that right by mechanization —"
"You
can, indeed," said Tibu, with a sneer, "and this is the very first
step towards that extensive
farming
which is so dear to our hearts here.
For
thousands of years agriculture has been carried on with tools that remained
much the same;
for
all that, however, there was a slow but steady disappearance of the soil.
Now,
with agricultural machines, the process can go forward at headlong speed.
Of
course, tractors and threshing machines have to be serviced by human beings.
Also
machines, so far as I know, don't usually have children.
They
won't make up for the flight of the rural population to the towns and,
above
all, they won't produce the pensions and allowances for the old which the
younger generation
are
now called upon to provide. But I think the various points I've been trying to
make could be better
understood
if I let someone else illustrate them for me. Do you mind if I switch on the
television set?"
"Go
ahead."
An
old farmhouse appeared; in front of it two men were sitting on a bench.
Tibu
explained: "The old man is Mittermoser, a peasant; the other is his
nephew,
Hans,
who's now a mechanic in the town. Listen to them."
The
younger of the two began to speak. "It serves you farmers right if
labourers won't stay with you.
Why
do you make them work for so long? I work for eight hours in a factory and then
I'm free,
but
with you, people have got to sweat their guts out from four in the morning till
right into the night."
Mittermoser
took a pipe out of his mouth; slowly, he turned towards his nephew.
"Who
is it that makes them work for such long hours?
Who?"
he asked with emphasis.
"The
farmer – you and the others, all of you."
The
old man puffed for a while; then slowly he asked:
"Tell
me, Hans, who is really your boss?"
"My
boss? Why, Mr. Brandtner, the engineer; you know that."
The
peasant thoughtfully nodded his head. "Well, well, Mr. Brandtner, the
engineer.
You see, Mr. Brandtner can arrange things
much as he pleases.
He
can have people work eight hours, or ten hours, or six hours.
But
with my boss you can't do that kind of thing; it wouldn't help much if we
farmers
were
to grumble or even go on strike, for our boss, you see, is the weather, the
seasons,
the
heat, the cold, the rain, the drought, the soil, the fertility, the hail, the
wind, the whole of Nature.
And
when it comes to the beasts, there's no eight-hour day as far as they're
concerned.
And
corn grows so long as it's light, and so does the tree in the woods.
You
see, everything is quite different than it is with you in the towns.
And
that's why the peasant and his people must work for as long as the weather
holds
and
as long as it's light.-
"Yes,
I see that, Uncle, but that's why people won't work for you any more."
"Yes,
yes, and it's why tiny children have to do heavy labour here.
Then
they can't keep up at school, and then the city folks contemptuously say that
peasants'
children
are backward and stupid.
You
see, the peasant is exposed to all the risks involved in working close to Nature,
and
that's been his condition for thousands, nay for tens of thousands of years.
Other
people are spared all that; they can quietly work out their production costs,
their
prices and their profits at so much per cent.
We've
none of that here, my friend, for you can't do business with nature.
And
yet, you know, I still say 'This is the life, the real life'."
"What
do you mean?"
"You
live a real life when you're dealing with something that's alive, with the
soil,
the
forest, the cattle, but paper and machines – those are dead things,
and
if a man continually busies himself with dead things,
it
may well be that he soon begins to die himself and never notices it."
"Switch
it off, switch it off!" cried the Devil. He turned towards his pupils.
"Did
you hear that? The man's grasped the truth.
What
we must do is to lead people away from living things and get them to
concentrate
on
things that are dead; then they'll die themselves, first spiritually, then
physically.
If
all peasants were to think like this Mittermoser, we'd have our work cut out, I
can tell you."
The
engineer had for a time been lost in thought.
"Very
well," he said, "we'll have to import our food, that's all."
Tibu
said, "You're rather naive, Mr. Groot.
Do
you really think that our efforts to make agriculture worthless are confined
to Europe?
If
the peasantry dies in Europe, very well; you can then get your grain from other
countries,
if
you can pay for it. But supposing that one day those other peoples and other
nations think
that work in the fields is too low a form of
occupation, too dirty and too unprofitable?
"Do
you know that great parts of the agricultural population of China is migrating
to
the towns where there's no work for them and no kind of job? Because of this,
it's
been impossible to realize the Chinese programme for agriculture.
Do
you know that the number of rural workers in the U.S.A. has fallen by 637,000
since 1956?
When,
thanks to my indefatigable work, there's nobody left in the world who will
plough a field – well,
what
happens then? Famine will have come, and with it the end of all man's inflated
glory."
The
Hunger Devil blew out his cheeks and there was a twinkle in his little round
black eyes.
Obviously
he was very pleased with himself.
"This
is the way I'm gradually bleeding the life out of the peasantry; unfortunately,
Boss,
I
have less gratifying matters to report."
"Indeed,"
said the Devil, apprehensively.
"A
little while ago, there appeared a man who might well be more dangerous to me
and to all
of
us than all the Mittermosers put together."
"Who
is that?"
"Paul
Groger, the son of a peasant who lost his father's f arm; he goes from city to
city,
from
village to village, to stir up trouble against us. May I switch on the
television again?"
"Please
do."
The
screen showed a dimly lighted hall in which a tightly-packed audience was
listening
with
breathless attention; Paul Groger, the peasant's son, was a well set up man of
uncertain age,
obviously
an excellent speaker.
"They
still speak of us peasants in the towns as members of the agricultural
industry;
that's
nonsense. We aren't members of an industry – we're peasants,
and
if we take on the job of feeding the people we don't do it for economic or
business reasons,
but
because we've been called by the Lord God to be peasants."
"Ouch!"
said the Devil. "That hurt! Switch it off!"
Tibu
pleaded, "Do please listen. This is important."
Groger
continued: "That's why we claim the right to live as peasants,
to
live in the way the eternal laws of nature prescribe and not in the way the
clever people
in
the cities want us to live.
"Machines,
motors – yes, we need them.
But
they can't force us to keep up the breathless pace of the assembly line.
The
peasant's raw materials are living things – plants and beasts,
and
his real machine is the living earth."
There
was loud and continuous applause.
The
Devil and his henchmen remained lost in thought and were obviously very
ill-pleased.
Harding
and Groot listened with indifference, but Sten and Rolande showed signs of
great excitement.
Groger
continued: "Whoever migrates to the town dies within three generations.
The
flight from the land is a flight towards death.
The
higher powers, the lasting and creative powers, are rooted in the
peasantry."
Again
there was tremendous applause. People rose in their seats and started to cheer.
Tibu
switched off.
The
Devil muttered: "A crazy idealist; he'll never get anywhere."
"I'm
afraid that isn't true, Boss. In the coming months, he's doing a lecture tour
through half Europe."
Satan's
voice was icy cold as he said: "He'll not do any lecture tour.
You
will immediately do all that is necessary.
Communicate
with our agents in the Ministries and the Press.
The
man must be silenced, rejected, slandered, suppressed and, if necessary,
killed. Understand?"
"I've
made a note of it.
As
long as man practised the peasant's craft and lived on the land,
he
remained a healthy and creative figure over thousands of years.
The
people who migrated from the land to the towns, however,
usually
have no children in the third generation – as we have just heard.
If
I can prevent the land from supplying the cities with children,
we
shall very soon achieve our ends.
Over
the last twenty years I've done everything in my power to transfer the
infertility of the towns
to
the countryside. Today, the peasants are like everybody else; they have few
children,
very
often no children at all."
"Just
substantiate that statement, will you?"
"In
Sweden, there are peasants on 50,000 farms who are over fifty years in age and
who
have no son in the house. In Schleswig-Holstein every seventh farm is run by a
farmer
of
more than 65. In Austria, there are 319,000 peasant families with 382,000
children below fourteen,
so
there are only twelve children of that age for every ten farms;
only
22,000 peasant families have more than three children; 133,000 peasant families
have nobody
to
succeed them. On the average, 50 per cent of all peasant families have no child
under 14."
The
Devil laughed. "You strike at the very heart, Tibu. You're a subtle
fellow."
"Civilized
man today only lives in so far as he can postpone death a little."
"Very
well put !
"How
terrible," said Rolande. "Can nothing be done?"
The
Devil smiled. "On the whole, Tibu, I'm very satisfied with you.
I
want you to report back again in, say, fifty years' time.
But
in your next report I want to hear that there's not a single peasant-holding
or
anything of that kind left. Use all the means you have at your disposal.
Drive
them from this paradise of Nature into the hell of suburbs and tenement houses,
from
security to homelessness, from life to death.
Take
from the peasant everything to which his soul still dings; his tradition, his
pride,
his
wealth of children, his religious faith. See to it that every peasant's son has
got his scooter
and
every village inn has got its juke box with the latest pop songs.
The
100,000year-old peasant soul is one of the most formidable obstacles that
confront us.
Destroy
it by any means you can; once you've done that the decline of the West is
assured.
And
the decline of the West makes certain the decline of all mankind."
of
Nature into the hell of suburbs and tenement houses, from security to
homelessness,
from
life to death. Take from the peasant everything to which his soul still clings;
his tradition,
his
pride, his wealth of children, his religious faith.
See
to it that every peasant's son has got his scooter and every village inn has
got its juke box
with
the latest pop songs. The 100,000-year-old peasant soul is one of the most
formidable
obstacles
that confront us. Destroy it by any means you can; once you've done
that
the decline of the West is assured.
And
the decline of the West makes certain the decline of all mankind."
* *
* * * *