A discharged workman had lain in wait one evening for the automobile of
Herr Albrecht Wahnschaffe. When the car slowed up and approached the
gate of the park, the assassin, hidden by the bushes, had stealthily
shot at his former employer.
The bullet only grazed its victim’s arms. The wound was slight, but
Albrecht Wahnschaffe had to remain in bed for several days. After his
deed the criminal had escaped under cover of darkness. It was not until
next morning that the police succeeded in catching him.
This happening, inconsiderable as were its consequences, had disturbed
for a little the merry life in the house of Wahnschaffe. Several
persons left. Among these was Herr von Wedderkampf, who told his
daughters that the ground here was getting too hot for his feet.
But on the third evening every one was dancing again.
It surprised Christian. He did not understand such swift forgetfulness.
He was surprised at the equanimity of his mother, the care-free mood of
his sister and brother.
He wished to learn the name of that workingman, but no one knew. He was
told that the man’s name was Müller. Also that it was Schmidt. He was
surprised. Nor did any one seem to know exactly what motive impelled
the man to his deed. One said that it had been mere vengefulness, the
result of the flame of class hatred systematically fanned. Another said
that only a lunatic could be capable of such a deed.
Whatever it was, this shot fired from ambush by an unknown man for an
unknown cause was not quite the same to Christian as it was to all the
others who lived about him and sought their pleasure in their various
ways. It forced him to meditation. His meditation was aimless and
fruitless enough. But it was serious, and caused him strange suffering.
He would have liked to see the man. He would have liked to look into
his face.
Crammon said: “Another case that makes it clear as day that the
discarding of torture has simply made the canaille more insolent. What
admirable inventions for furthering discipline and humanity were the
stocks and the pillory!”
Christian visited his father, who sat in an armchair with his arm in a
sling. A highly conservative newspaper was spread out before him. Herr
Wahnschaffe said: “I trust that you and your friends are not practising
any undue restraint. I could not endure the thought of darkening the
mood of my guests by so much as a breath.”
Christian was astonished at this courtesy, this distinction and
temperance, this amiable considerateness.