I

Among our relatives, symptoms of disintegration are beginning to show up that for a while we tried silently to ignore but the threat of which we are now determined to face squarely. I do not yet dare use the word “collapse,” but the alarming facts are accumulating to the point where they represent a threat and compel me to speak of things that may sound strange to the ears of my contemporaries but whose reality no one can dispute. The mildew of decay has obtained a foothold under the thick, hard veneer of respectability, colonies of deadly parasites heralding the end of the integrity of an entire clan. Today we must regret having ignored the voice of our cousin Franz, who long ago began to draw attention to the terrible consequences of what was on the face of it a harmless event. This event was in itself so trivial that we are now shocked by the extent of its consequences. Franz warned us long ago. Unfortunately he lacked prestige in the family. He had chosen an occupation that had never before been pursued, would never have been permitted to be pursued, by any member of our entire clan: he became a boxer. Of a brooding melancholy even in his youth, and of a piety always described as “a pose of religious zeal,” he set out early on paths that caused my Uncle Franz—that kindest of men—deep concern. It was Franz’s wont to stay away from school with a frequency that could no longer be described as normal. He met regularly with shady characters in remote parks and dense undergrowth on the outskirts of town, where they practiced the tough rules of fistfighting, showing no concern for the fact that their humanistic heritage was being neglected. Already these young toughs were demonstrating the bad habits of their generation—one that has, needless to say, turned out to be good for nothing. The thrilling intellectual battles of previous centuries did not interest them, so totally were they preoccupied with the dubious thrills of their own century. At first, Franz’s piety struck me as being incompatible with these regular exercises in passive and active brutality. But today, certain things are beginning to dawn on me. I shall have to return to this later.

So it was Franz who issued a timely warning, who dissociated himself from certain celebrations, describing it all as affectation and a pain in the neck, above all later refusing to participate in measures deemed necessary to preserve what he called a pain in the neck. However—as I have said—his prestige was not high enough for him to find a hearing among his relatives.

But now things have got so out of hand that we are at a total loss, not knowing how to put a curb on them.

Franz has long since become a famous boxer, yet today he rejects the praise heaped upon him by the family with the same indifference with which he at one time refused to accept any criticism.

His brother, however, my cousin Johannes—a man for whom I would at any time have vouched, a successful attorney, my uncle’s favorite son—is said to have become involved with the Communist Party, a rumor I obstinately refuse to believe. My cousin Lucie, until now a normal woman, is said to spend her nights in disreputable places, accompanied by her helpless spouse, at dances for which I can find no other adjective than “existentialist.” Even Uncle Franz, that kindest of men, is supposed to have said that he is tired of life—a man who was regarded by the entire clan as a model of vitality and as a paragon of what we have been taught to call a Christian businessman.

Medical bills pile up; psychiatrists, psychologists, are called in. Only my Aunt Milla, who must be cited as the originator of all these phenomena, enjoys the best of health, smiles, is as well and cheerful as she has almost always been. Her bright, cheery manner is now, after our years of heartfelt concern for her well-being, slowly beginning to get on our nerves. For there was a crisis in her life that threatened to become alarming. This is where I will have to go into more detail.