The World's Illusion, Volume 1 (of 2): EvaWassermann, Jakob
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The World's Illusion, Volume 1 (of 2): Eva
Wassermann, Jakob
German fiction -- Translations into English
“I suspected as much,” Albert Wahnschaffe said, in his liveliest
manner. “Let us not speak of it any more. My second proposal is far
more congenial to myself. I would encourage you to co-operate in the
activities of our firm. My plan is to create a representative position
for you in either our home or our foreign service. If you choose the
latter you may select your own field of activity--Japan, let us say,
or the United States. We would furnish you with credentials that would
make your position very independent. You would assume responsibilities
that are in no wise burdensome, and enjoy all the privileges of an
ambassador. All that is needed is your consent. I shall arrange all
details.”
Christian arose from his chair. “I beg you very earnestly, father, to
drop that subject,” he said. His expression was cold and his eyes cast
down.
Albrecht Wahnschaffe arose too. “Do not be rash, Christian,” he
admonished his son. “I shall not conceal the fact that a definitive
refusal on your part would wound me deeply. I have counted on you.” He
looked at Christian with a firm glance. But Christian was silent.
After a while he asked: “How long ago is it since you were at the
works?”
“It must be three or four years ago,” Christian answered.
“It was three years ago on Whitsuntide, if I remember rightly,”
Albrecht Wahnschaffe said, with his habitual touch of pride in his
memory, which was rarely at fault. “You had agreed on a pleasure trip
in the Harz mountains with your cousin, Theo Friesen, and Theo was
anxious to pay a flying visit to the factories. He had heard of our
new welfare movement for workingmen, and was interested in it. But you
scarcely stopped after all.”
“No, I persuaded Theo to go on. We had a long way ahead of us, and I
was anxious to get to our quarters.”
Christian remembered the whole incident now. Evening had come before
the car drove through the streets of the factory village. He had
yielded to his cousin’s wish, but suddenly his aversion for this world
of smoke and dust and sweat and iron had awakened. He had not wanted to
leave the car, and had ordered the driver to speed up.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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