Albrecht Wahnschaffe came into his wife’s bedroom. She was in bed. It
was a magnificent curtained bed with carved posters. On both sides of
the wall hung costly tapestries representing mythological scenes. A
coverlet of blue damask concealed Frau Wahnschaffe’s majestic form.
Gallantly he kissed the hand which she held out toward him with a weary
gesture, and glided into an armchair. “I want to talk to you about
Christian,” he said. “For some time his doings have worried me. He
drifts and drifts. The latest thing is his purchase of that diamond.
There is a challenge in such an action. It annoys me.”
Frau Wahnschaffe wrinkled her forehead, and answered: “I see no need to
worry. Many sons of wealthy houses pass their time as Christian does.
They are like noble plants that need adornment. They seem to me to
represent a high degree of human development. They regard themselves
quite rightly as excellent within themselves. By birth and wealth they
are freed from the necessity of effort. Their very being is in their
aristocratic aloofness and inviolability.”
Albrecht Wahnschaffe bowed. He played with his slender white fingers
that bore no sign of age. He said: “I’m sorry that I cannot quite
share your opinion. It seems to me that in the social organism each
member should exercise a function that serves the whole. I was brought
up with this view, and I cannot deny it in favour of Christian. I am
not inclined to quarrel with his mere expenditure of money, though he
has exceeded his budget considerably during the last few months. The
house of Wahnschaffe cannot be touched even by such costly pranks. What
annoys me is the aimlessness of such a life, its exceedingly obvious
lack of any inner ambition.”
From under her wearily half-closed lids Frau Wahnschaffe regarded her
husband coolly. It angered her that he desired to draw Christian, who
had been created for repose and play, delight and beauty, into his
own turbid whirl. She answered with a touch of impatience: “You have
always let him choose his own path, and you cannot change him now. All
do not need to toil. Business is terribly unappetizing. I have borne
two sons--one for you, one for myself. Demand of yours what you will
and let him fulfil what he can. I like to think of mine and be happy
in the thought that he is alive. If anything has worried me it is the
fact that, since his trip to England, Christian has withdrawn himself
more and more from us, and also, I am told, from his friends. I hope it
means nothing. Perhaps there is a woman behind it. In that case it will
pass; he does not indulge in tragic passions. But talking exhausts me,
Albrecht. If you have other arguments, I beg you to postpone them.”
She turned her head aside, and closed her eyes in exhaustion. Albrecht
Wahnschaffe arose, kissed her hand with the same gallant gesture, and
went out.
But her saying that she had borne one son for him and one for herself
embittered him a little against his wife, whom he commonly regarded as
an inviolable being of finer stuff. Why did I build all this? he asked
himself, as he slowly passed through the magnificent halls.
It was more difficult for him to approach Christian than a member
of the ministry or a distinguished foreigner. He vacillated between
issuing a request and a command. He was not sure of his authority, and
even less of any friendly understanding. But while he was spending
a few days of rest and recreation in the family’s ancestral house
at Würzburg, he sent a message to Christian, and begged him for an
interview.