Buddenbrooks, volume 1 of 2 (2024)

TRANSLATOR’S NOTE

Buddenbrooks was written before the turn of the century;it was first published in 1902, and became a Germanclassic. It is one of those novels—we possess many of themin English—which are at once a work of art and aunique record of a period and a district. Buddenbrooksis great in its psychology, great as the monument of a vanishedcultural tradition, and ultimately great by the perfectionof its art: the classic purity and beautiful austerity ofits style.

The translation of a book which is a triumph of style inits own language, is always a piece of effrontery. Buddenbrooksis so leisurely, so chiselled: the great gulf of thewar divided its literary method from that of our time.Besides, the author has recorded much dialect. This difficultyis insuperable. Dialect cannot be transferred.

So the present translation is offered with humility. Itwas necessary to recognize that the difficulties were great.Yet it was necessary to set oneself the bold task of transferringthe spirit first and the letter so far as might be; andabove all, to make certain that the work of art, coming as itdoes to the ear, in German, like music out of the past, should,in English, at least not come like a translation—which is,“God bless us, a thing of naught.”

H. T. Lowe-Porter

[2]

“And—and—what comes next?”

“Oh, yes, yes, what the dickens does come next? C’est laquestion, ma très chère demoiselle!”

Frau Consul Buddenbrook shot a glance at her husbandand came to the rescue of her little daughter. She sat withher mother-in-law on a straight white-enamelled sofa withyellow cushions and a gilded lion’s head at the top. TheConsul was in his easy-chair beside her, and the child perchedon her grandfather’s knee in the window.

“Tony,” prompted the Frau Consul, “‘I believe thatGod’—”

Dainty little eight-year-old Antonie, in her light shot-silkfrock, turned her head away from her grandfather and staredaimlessly about the room with her blue-grey eyes, trying hardto remember. Once more she repeated “What comes next?”and went on slowly: “‘I believe that God’—” and then, herface brightening, briskly finished the sentence: “‘created me,together with all living creatures.’” She was in smooth watersnow, and rattled away, beaming with joy, through the wholeArticle, reproducing it word for word from the Catechism justpromulgated, with the approval of an omniscient Senate, inthat very year of grace 1835. When you were once fairlystarted, she thought, it was very like going down “MountJerusalem” with your brothers on the little sled: you hadno time to think, and you couldn’t stop even if you wantedto.

“‘And clothes and shoes,’” she said, “‘meat and drink,hearth and home, wife and child, acre and cow....’” Butold Johann Buddenbrook could hold in no longer. He burst[4]out laughing, in a high, half-smothered titter, in his glee atbeing able to make fun of the Catechism. He had probablyput the child through this little examination with no otherend in view. He inquired after Tony’s acre and cow, askedhow much she wanted for a sack of wheat, and tried to drivea bargain with her.

His round, rosy, benevolent face, which never would lookcross no matter how hard he tried, was set in a frame of snow-whitepowdered hair, and the suggestion of a pigtail fell overthe broad collar of his mouse-coloured coat. His double chinrested comfortably on a white lace frill. He still, in hisseventies, adhered to the fashions of his youth: only the lacefrogs and the big pockets were missing. And never in allhis life had he worn a pair of trousers.

They had all joined in his laughter, but largely as a markof respect for the head of the family. Madame AntoinetteBuddenbrook, born Duchamps, tittered in precisely the sameway as her husband. She was a stout lady, with thick whitecurls over her ears, dressed in a plain gown of striped blackand grey stuff which betrayed the native quiet simplicity ofher character. Her hands were still white and lovely, andshe held a little velvet work-bag on her lap. It was strangeto see how she had grown, in time, to look like her husband.Only her dark eyes, by their shape and their liveliness, suggestedher half-Latin origin. On her grandfather’s sideMadame Buddenbrook was of French-Swiss stock, thoughborn in Hamburg.

Her daughter-in-law, Frau Consul Elizabeth Buddenbrook,born Kröger, laughed the sputtering Kröger laugh andtucked in her chin as the Krögers did. She could not becalled a beauty, but, like all the Krögers, she looked distinguished;she moved with graceful deliberation and had a clear,well-modulated voice. People liked her and felt confidence inher. Her reddish hair curled over her ears and was piled in acrown on top of her head; and she had the brilliant white complexionthat goes with such hair, set off with a tiny freckle here[5]and there. Her nose was rather too long, her mouth somewhatsmall; her most striking facial peculiarity was the shape ofher lower lip, which ran straight into the chin without a curve.She had on a short bodice with high puffed sleeves, thatleft exposed a flawlessly modelled neck adorned with a sprayof diamonds on a satin ribbon.

The Consul was leaning forward in his easy-chair, ratherfidgety. He wore a cinnamon-coloured coat with wide lapelsand leg-of-mutton sleeves close-fitting at the wrists, and whitelinen trousers with black stripes up the outside seams. Hischin nestled in a stiff choker collar, around which was foldeda silk cravat that flowed down amply over his flowered waistcoat.

He had his father’s deep-set blue observant eyes, thoughtheir expression was perhaps more dreamy; but his featureswere clearer-cut and more serious, his nose was prominentand aquiline, and his cheeks, half-covered with a fair curlingbeard, were not so plump as the old man’s.

Madame Buddenbrook put her hand on her daughter-in-law’sarm and looked down at her lap with a giggle. “Oh,mon vieux—he’s always the same, isn’t he, Betsy?”

The Consul’s wife only made a motion with her delicatehand, so that her gold bangles tinkled slightly. Then, witha gesture habitual to her, she drew her finger across her facefrom the corner of her mouth to her forehead, as if she weresmoothing back a stray hair.

But the Consul said, half-smiling, yet with mild reproach:“There you go again, Father, making fun of sacred things.”

They were sitting in the “landscape-room” on the firstfloor of the rambling old house in Meng Street, which the firmof Johann Buddenbrook had acquired some time since, thoughthe family had not lived in it long. The room was hungwith heavy resilient tapestries put up in such a way that theystood well out from the walls. They were woven in soft tonesto harmonize with the carpet, and they depicted idyllic landscapesin the style of the eighteenth century, with merry[6]vine-dressers, busy husbandmen, and gaily beribboned shepherdesseswho sat beside crystal streams with spotless lambsin their laps or exchanged kisses with amorous shepherds.These scenes were usually lighted by a pale yellow sunset tomatch the yellow coverings on the white-enamelled furnitureand the yellow silk curtains at the two windows.

For the size of the room, the furniture was rather scant.A round table, its slender legs decorated with fine lines ofgilding, stood, not in front of the sofa, but by the wall oppositethe little harmonium, on which lay a flute-case; somestiff arm-chairs were ranged in a row round the walls; therewas a sewing-table by the window, and a flimsy ornamentalwriting-desk laden with knick-knacks.

On the other side of the room from the windows was a glassdoor, through which one looked into the semi-darkness of apillared hall; and on the left were the lofty white foldingdoors that led to the dining-room. A semi-circular nichein the remaining wall was occupied by the stove, whichcrackled away behind a polished wrought-iron screen.

For cold weather had set in early. The leaves of the littlelime-trees around the churchyard of St. Mary’s, across theway, had turned yellow, though it was but mid-October.The wind whistled around the corners of the massive Gothicpile, and a cold, thin rain was falling. On Madame Buddenbrook’saccount, the double windows had already been put in.

It was Thursday, the day on which all the members of thefamily living in town assembled every second week, by establishedcustom. To-day, however, a few intimate friends aswell had been bidden to a family dinner; and now, towardsfour o’clock in the afternoon, the Buddenbrooks sat in thegathering twilight and awaited their guests.

Little Antonie had not let her grandfather interfere withher toboggan-ride. She merely pouted, sticking out her alreadyprominent upper lip still further over the lower one.She was at the bottom of her Mount Jerusalem, but not knowing[7]how to stop herself, she shot over the mark. “Amen,”she said. “I know something, Grandfather.”

“Tiens!” cried the old gentleman. “She knows something!”He made as if he were itching all over with curiosity. “Didyou hear, Mamma? She knows something. Can any one tellme—?”

“If the lightning,” uttered Tony, nodding her head withevery word, “sets something on fire, then it’s the lightningthat strikes. If it doesn’t, why, then it’s the thunder!” Shefolded her arms and looked around her like one sure of applause.But old Buddenbrook was annoyed by this display ofwisdom. He demanded to know who had taught her suchnonsense. It turned out that the culprit was the nurserygoverness, Ida Jungmann, who had lately been engagedfrom Marienwerder. The Consul had to come to her defence.

“You are too strict, Papa. Why shouldn’t the child haveher own little ideas about such things, at her age?”

“Excusez, mon cher!... Mais c’est une folie! Youknow I don’t like the children’s heads muddled with suchthings. ‘The thunder strikes,’ does it? Oh, very well, let itstrike, and get along with your Prussian woman!”

The truth was, the old gentleman hadn’t a good word to sayfor Ida Jungmann. Not that he was narrow-minded. Hehad seen something of the world, having travelled by coachto Southern Germany in 1813 to buy up wheat for the Prussianarmy; he had been to Amsterdam and Paris, and was too enlightenedto condemn everything that lay beyond the gabledroofs of his native town. But in social intercourse he wasmore apt than his son to draw the line rigidly and give thecold shoulder to strangers. So when this young girl—she wasthen only twenty—had come back with his children from avisit to Western Prussia, as a sort of charity-child, the oldman had made his son a scene for the act of piety, in whichhe spoke hardly anything but French and low German. Ida[8]was the daughter of an inn-keeper who had died just beforethe Buddenbrooks’ arrival in Marienwerder. She had provedto be capable in the household and with the children, and herrigid honesty and Prussian notions of caste made her perfectlysuited to her position in the family. She was a person ofaristocratic principles, drawing hair-line distinctions betweenclass and class, and very proud of her position asservant of the higher orders. She objected to Tony’s makingfriends with any schoolmate whom she reckoned as belongingonly to the respectable middle class.

And now the Prussian woman herself came from the pillaredhall through the glass door—a fairly tall, big-boned girl ina black frock, with smooth hair and an honest face. Sheheld by the hand an extraordinarily thin small child, dressed ina flowered print frock, with lustreless ash-coloured hair andthe manner of a little old maid. This was Clothilde, thedaughter of a nephew of old Buddenbrook who belonged toa penniless branch of the family and was in business atRostock as an estates agent. Clothilde was being broughtup with Antonie, being about the same age and a docile littlecreature.

“Everything is ready,” Mamsell Jungmann said. She hadhad a hard time learning to pronounce her r’s, so now sherolled them tremendously in her throat. “Clothilde helpedvery well in the kitchen, so there was not much for cook todo.”

Monsieur Buddenbrook sneered behind his lace frill atIda’s accent. The Consul patted his little niece’s cheek andsaid: “That’s right, Tilda. Work and pray. Tony oughtto take a pattern from you; she’s far too likely to be saucyand idle.”

Tony dropped her head and looked at her grandfather fromunder her eyebrows. She knew he would defend her—healways did.

“No, no,” he said, “hold your head up, Tony. Don’t letthem frighten you. We can’t all be alike. Each according[9]to his lights. Tilda is a good girl—but we’re not so bad,either. Hey, Betsy?”

He turned to his daughter-in-law, who generally deferredto his views. Madame Antoinette, probably more fromshrewdness than conviction, sided with the Consul; and thusthe older and the younger generation crossed hands in thedance of life.

“You are very kind, Papa,” the Consul’s wife said. “Tonywill try her best to grow up a clever and industriouswoman.... Have the boys come home from school?” sheasked Ida.

Tony, who from her perch on her grandfather’s knee waslooking out the window, called out in the same breath: “Tomand Christian are coming up Johannes Street ... andHerr Hoffstede ... and Uncle Doctor....”

The bells of St. Mary’s began to chime, ding-dong, ding-dong—ratherout of time, so that one could hardly tell whatthey were playing; still, it was very impressive. The bigand the little bell announced, the one in lively, the other indignified tones, that it was four o’clock; and at the sametime a shrill peal from the bell over the vestibule door wentringing through the entry, and Tom and Christian entered, togetherwith the first guests, Jean Jacques Hoffstede, the poet,and Doctor Grabow, the family physician.

Herr Jean Jacques Hoffstede was the town poet. He undoubtedlyhad a few verses in his pocket for the present occasion.He was nearly as old as Johann Buddenbrook, anddressed in much the same style except that his coat was greeninstead of mouse-coloured. But he was thinner and moreactive than his old friend, with bright little greenish eyesand a long pointed nose.

“Many thanks,” he said, shaking hands with the gentlemenand bowing before the ladies—especially the Frau Consul, forwhom he entertained a deep regard. Such bows as his itwas not given to the younger generation to perform; and heaccompanied them with his pleasant quiet smile. “Manythanks for your kind invitation, my dear good people. Wemet these two young ones, the Doctor and I”—he pointed toTom and Christian, in their blue tunics and leather belts—“inKing Street, coming home from school. Fine lads, eh, FrauConsul? Tom is a very solid chap. He’ll have to go into thebusiness, no doubt of that. But Christian is a devil of a fellow—ayoung incroyable, hey? I will not conceal my engouement.He must study, I think—he is witty and brilliant.”

Old Buddenbrook used his gold snuff-box. “He’s a youngmonkey, that’s what he is. Why not say at once that he is tobe a poet, Hoffstede?”

Mamsell Jungmann drew the curtains, and soon the roomwas bathed in mellow flickering light from the candles inthe crystal chandelier and the sconces on the writing-desk.It lighted up golden gleams in the Frau Consul’s hair.

“Well, Christian,” she said, “what did you learn to-day?”It appeared that Christian had had writing, arithmetic, and[11]singing lessons. He was a boy of seven, who already resembledhis father to an almost comic extent. He had the samerather small round deep-set eyes and the same prominentaquiline nose; the lines of his face below the cheek-bonesshowed that it would not always retain its present childlikefulness.

“We’ve been laughing dreadfully,” he began to prattle, hiseyes darting from one to another of the circle. “What do youthink Herr Stengel said to Siegmund Kostermann?” He benthis back, shook his head, and declaimed impressively: “‘Outwardly,outwardly, my dear child, you are sleek and smooth;but inwardly, my dear child, you are black and foul.’...”He mimicked with indescribably funny effect not only themaster’s odd pronunciation but the look of disgust on hisface at the “outward sleekness” he described. The wholecompany burst out laughing.

“Young monkey!” repeated old Buddenbrook. But HerrHoffstede was in ecstasies. “Charmant!” he cried. “If youknow Marcellus Stengel—that’s he, to the life. Oh, that’stoo good!”

Thomas, to whom the gift of mimicry had been denied,stood near his younger brother and laughed heartily, withouta trace of envy. His teeth were not very good, being smalland yellowish. His nose was finely chiselled, and he strikinglyresembled his grandfather in the eyes and the shape of theface.

The company had for the most part seated themselves onthe chairs and the sofa. They talked with the children ordiscussed the unseasonable cold and the new house. HerrHoffstede admired a beautiful Sèvres inkstand, in the shapeof a black and white hunting dog, that stood on thesecretary. Doctor Grabow, a man of about the Consul’sage, with a long mild face between thin whiskers, was lookingat the table, set out with cakes and currant bread and saltcellarsin different shapes. This was the “bread and salt”that had been sent by friends for the house-warming; but the[12]“bread” consisted of rich, heavy pastries, and the saltcame in dishes of massive gold, that the senders might notseem to be mean in their gifts.

“There will be work for me here,” said the Doctor, pointingto the sweetmeats and threatening the children with hisglance. Shaking his head, he picked up a heavy salt andpepper stand from the table.

“From Lebrecht Kröger,” said old Buddenbrook, with agrimace. “Our dear kinsman is always open-handed. I didnot spend as much on him when he built his summer houseoutside the Castle Gate. But he has always been like that—verylordly, very free with his money, a real cavalier à-la-mode....”

The bell had rung several times. Pastor Wunderlich wasannounced; a stout old gentleman in a long black coat andpowdered hair. He had twinkling grey eyes set in a face thatwas jovial if rather pale. He had been a widower for manyyears, and considered himself a bachelor of the old school,like Herr Gratjens, the broker, who entered with him. HerrGratjens was a tall man who went around with one of his thinhands up to his eye like a telescope, as if he were examining apainting. He was a well-known art connoisseur.

Among the other guests were Senator Doctor Langhalsand his wife, both friends of many years’ standing; andKöppen the wine-merchant, with his great crimson face betweenenormous padded sleeves. His wife, who came withhim, was nearly as stout as he.

It was after half-past four when the Krögers put in anappearance—the elders together with their children; theConsul Krögers with their sons Jacob and Jürgen, who wereabout the age of Tom and Christian. On their heels came theparents of Frau Consul Kröger, the lumber-dealer Överdieckand his wife, a fond old pair who still addressed each otherin public with nicknames from the days of their early love.

“Fine people come late,” said Consul Buddenbrook, andkissed his mother-in-law’s hand.

[13]“But look at them when they do come!” and Johann Buddenbrookincluded the whole Kröger connection with a sweepinggesture, and shook the elder Kröger by the hand. LebrechtKröger, the cavalier à-la-mode, was a tall, distinguished figure.He wore his hair slightly powdered, but dressed in theheight of fashion, with a double row of jewelled buttons onhis velvet waistcoat. His son Justus, with his turned-upmustache and small beard, was very like the father in figureand manner, even to the graceful easy motions of the hands.

The guests did not sit down, but stood about awaiting theprincipal event of the evening and passing the time in casualtalk. At length, Johann Buddenbrook the older offered hisarm to Madame Köppen and said in an elevated voice, “Well,mesdames et messieurs, if you are hungry....”

Mamsell Jungmann and the servant had opened the folding doorsinto the dining-room; and the company made its waywith studied ease to table. One could be sure of a goodsquare meal at the Buddenbrooks’.

As the party began to move toward the dining-room, ConsulBuddenbrook’s hand went to his left breast-pocket and fingereda paper that was inside. The polite smile had left his face,giving place to a strained and care-worn look, and the musclesstood out on his temples as he clenched his teeth. For appearance’ssake he made a few steps toward the dining-room, butstopped and sought his mother’s eye as she was leaving theroom on Pastor Wunderlich’s arm, among the last of herguests.

“Pardon me, dear Herr Pastor ... just a word with you,Mamma.” The Pastor nodded gaily, and the Consul drew hisMother over to the window of the landscape-room.

“Here is a letter from Gotthold,” he said in low, rapid tones.He took out the sealed and folded paper and looked into herdark eyes. “That is his writing. It is the third one,and Papa answered only the first. What shall I do? It cameat two o’clock, and I ought to have given it to him already,but I do not like to upset him to-day. What do you think?I could call him out here....”

“No, you are right, Jean; it is better to wait,” said MadameBuddenbrook. She grasped her son’s arm with a quick,habitual movement. “What do you suppose is in it?” sheadded uneasily. “The boy won’t give in. He’s taken it intohis head he must be compensated for his share in the house....No, no, Jean. Not now. To-night, perhaps, before wego to bed.”

“What am I to do?” repeated the Consul, shaking his benthead. “I have often wanted to ask Papa to give in. I don’tlike it to look as if I had schemed against Gotthold and workedmyself into a snug place. I don’t want Father to look at it[15]like that, either. But, to be honest ... I am a partner, afterall. And Betsy and I pay a fair rent for the second storey.It is all arranged with my sister in Frankfort: her husbandgets compensation already, in Papa’s life-time—a quarterof the purchase price of the house. That is good business:Papa arranged it very cleverly, and it is very satisfactoryfrom the point of view of the firm. And if Papa acts sounfriendly to Gotthold—”

“Nonsense, Jean. Your position in the matter is quiteclear. But it is painful for me to have Gotthold think thathis step-mother looks out after her own children and deliberatelymakes bad blood between him and his father!”

“But it is his own fault,” the Consul almost shouted, andthen, with a glance at the dining-room door, lowered his voice.“It is his fault, the whole wretched thing. You can judgefor yourself. Why couldn’t he be reasonable? Why didhe have to go and marry that Stüwing girl and ... theshop....” The Consul gave an angry, embarrassed laugh atthe last word. “It’s a weakness of Father’s, that prejudiceagainst the shop; but Gotthold ought to have respectedit....”

“Oh, Jean, it would be best if Papa would give in.”

“But ought I to advise him to?” whispered the Consulexcitedly, clapping his hand to his forehead. “I am an interestedparty, so I ought to say, Pay it. But I am also a partner.And if Papa thinks he is under no obligation to a disobedientand rebellious son to draw the money out of the workingcapital of the firm.... It is a matter of eleven thousandthaler, a good bit of money. No, no, I cannot advise himeither for or against. I’d rather wash my hands of the wholeaffair. But the scene with Papa is so désagréable—”

“Late this evening, Jean. Come now; they are waiting.”

The Consul put the paper back into his breast-pocket,offered his arm to his mother, and led her over the thresholdinto the brightly lighted dining-room, where the companyhad already taken their places at the long table.

[16]The tapestries in this room had a sky-blue background,against which, between slender columns, white figures ofgods and goddesses stood out with plastic effect. The heavyred damask window-curtains were drawn; stiff, massive sofasin red damask stood ranged against the walls; and in eachcorner stood a tall gilt candelabrum with eight flaming candles,besides those in silver sconces on the table. Above the heavysideboard, on the wall opposite the landscape-room, hung alarge painting of an Italian bay, the misty blue atmosphereof which was most effective in the candle-light.

Every trace of care or disquiet had vanished from MadameBuddenbrook’s face. She sat down between Pastor Wunderlichand the elder Kröger, who presided on the window side.

“Bon appétit!” she said, with her short, quick, hearty nod,flashing a glance down the whole length of the table tillit reached the children at the bottom.

“Our best respects to you, Buddenbrook—I repeat, ourbest respects!” Herr Köppen’s powerful voice drowned thegeneral conversation as the maid-servant, in her heavy stripedpetticoat, her fat arms bare and a little white cap on the backof her head, passed the cabbage soup and toast, assisted byMamsell Jungmann and the Frau Consul’s maid from upstairs.The guests began to use their soup-spoons.

“Such plenty, such elegance! I must say, you know howto do things!—I must say—” Herr Köppen had never visitedthe house in its former owner’s time. He did not come of apatrician family, and had only lately become a man of means.He could never quite get rid of certain vulgar tricks of speech—likethe repetition of “I must say”; and he said “respecks”for “respects.”

“It didn’t cost anything, either,” remarked Herr Gratjensdrily—he certainly ought to have known—and studied thewall-painting through the hollow of his hand.

As far as possible, ladies and gentlemen had been pairedoff, and members of the family placed between friends of thehouse. But the arrangement could not be carried out in everycase; the two Överdiecks were sitting, as usual, nearly oneach other’s laps, nodding affectionately at one another. Theelder Kröger was bolt upright, enthroned between MadameAntoinette and Frau Senator Langhals, dividing his pet jokesand his flourishes between the two ladies.

“When was the house built?” asked Herr Hoffstedediagonally across the table of old Buddenbrook, who wastalking in a gay chaffing tone with Madame Köppen.

“Anno ... let me see ... about 1680, if I am not mistaken.My son is better at dates than I am.”

[18]“Eighty-two,” said the Consul, leaning forward. He wassitting at the foot of the table, without a partner, next toSenator Langhals. “It was finished in the winter of 1682.Ratenkamp and Company were just getting to the top of theirform.... Sad, how the firm broke down in the last twentyyears!”

A general pause in the conversation ensued, lasting forhalf a minute, while the company looked down at their platesand pondered on the fortunes of the brilliant family whohad built and lived in the house and then, broken and impoverished,had left it.

“Yes,” said Broker Gratjens, “it’s sad, when you think ofthe madness that led to their ruin. If Dietrich Ratenkamphad not taken that fellow Geelmaack for a partner! I flungup my hands, I know, when he came into the management.I have it on the best authority, gentlemen, that he speculateddisgracefully behind Ratenkamp’s back, and gave notes andacceptances right and left in the firm’s name.... Finallythe game was up. The banks got suspicious, the firm couldn’tgive security.... You haven’t the least idea ... wholooked after the warehouse, even? Geelmaack, perhaps? Itwas a perfect rats’ nest there, year in, year out. But Ratenkampnever troubled himself about it.”

“He was like a man paralysed,” the Consul said. Agloomy, taciturn look came on his face. He leaned over andstirred his soup, now and then giving a quick glance,with his little round deep-set eyes, at the upper end of thetable.

“He went about like a man with a load on his mind; I thinkone can understand his burden. What made him take Geelmaackinto the business—a man who brought painfully littlecapital, and had not the best of reputations? He must havefelt the need of sharing his heavy responsibility with someone, not much matter who, because he realized that the endwas inevitable. The firm was ruined, the old family passée.Geelmaack only gave it the last push over the edge.”

[19]Pastor Wunderlich filled his own and his neighbour’s wineglass.“So you think my dear Consul,” he said with a discreetsmile, “that even without Geelmaack, things would haveturned out just as they did?”

“Oh, probably not,” the Consul said thoughtfully, not addressinganybody in particular. “But I do think that DietrichRatenkamp was driven by fate when he took Geelmaackinto partnership. That was the way his destiny was to be fulfilled....He acted under the pressure of inexorable necessity.I think he knew more or less what his partner wasdoing, and what the state of affairs was at the warehouse. Buthe was paralyzed.”

“Assez, Jean,” interposed old Buddenbrook, laying downhis spoon. “That’s one of your idées....”

The Consul rather absently lifted his glass to his father.Lebrecht Kröger broke in: “Let’s stick by the jolly present!”He took up a bottle of white wine that had a little silverstag on the stopper; and with one of his fastidious, elegantmotions he held it on its side and examined the label. “C. F.Köppen,” he read, and nodded to the wine-merchant. “Ah,yes, where should we be without you?”

Madame Antoinette kept a sharp eye on the servants whilethey changed the gilt-edged Meissen plates; Mamsell Jungmanncalled orders through the speaking-tube into the kitchen,and the fish was brought in. Pastor Wunderlich remarked, ashe helped himself:

“This ‘jolly present’ isn’t such a matter of course as itseems, either. The young folk here can hardly realize, Isuppose, that things could ever have been different from whatthey are now. But I think I may fairly claim to have had apersonal share, more than once, in the fortunes of the Buddenbrookfamily. Whenever I see one of these, for instance—”he picked up one of the heavy silver spoons andturned to Madame Antoinette—“I can’t help wonderingwhether they belong to the set that our friend the philosopherLenoir, Sergeant under his Majesty the Emperor Napoleon,[20]had in his hands in the year 1806—and I think of our meetingin Alf Street, Madame.”

Madame Buddenbrook looked down at her plate with a smilehalf of memory, half of embarrassment. Tom and Tony, atthe bottom of the table, cried out almost with one voice, “Oh,yes, tell about it, Grandmama!” They did not want thefish, and they had been listening attentively to the conversationof their elders. But the Pastor knew that she would not careto speak herself of an incident that had been rather painfulto her. He came to her rescue and launched out once moreupon the old story. It was new, perhaps, to one or two ofthe present company. As for the children, they could havelistened to it a hundred times.

“Well, imagine a November afternoon, cold and rainy, awretched day; and me coming back down Alf Street from someparochial duty. I was thinking of the hard times we werehaving. Prince Blücher had gone, and the French were inthe town. There was little outward sign of the excitement thatreigned everywhere: the streets were quiet, and people stoppedclose in their houses. Prahl the master-butcher had been shotthrough the head, just for standing at the door of his shopwith his hands in his pockets and making a menacing remarkabout its being hard to stand. Well, thought I to myself,I’ll just have a look in at the Buddenbrooks’. HerrBuddenbrook is down with erysipelas, and Madame has agreat deal to do, on account of the billeting.

“At that very moment, whom should I see coming towardsme but our honored Madame Buddenbrook herself? What astate she was in! hurrying through the rain hatless, stumblingrather than walking, with a shawl flung over her shoulders,and her hair falling down—yes, Madame, it is quite true,it was falling down!

“‘This is a pleasant surprise,’ I said. She never saw me,and I made bold to lay my hand on her sleeve, for my mindmisgave me about the state of things. ‘Where are you off toin such a hurry, my dear?’ She realized who I was, looked at[21]me, and burst out: ‘Farewell, farewell! All is over—I’mgoing into the river!’

“‘God forbid,’ cried I—I could feel that I went white.‘That is no place for you, my dear.’ And I held her astightly as decorum permitted. ‘What has happened?’ ‘Whathas happened!’ she cried, all trembling. ‘They’ve got at thesilver, Wunderlich! That’s what has happened! And Jeanlies there with erysipelas and can’t do anything—he couldn’teven if he were up. They are stealing my spoons, Wunderlich,and I am going into the river!’

“Well, I kept holding her, and I said what one would insuch cases: ‘Courage, dear lady. It will be all right. Controlyourself, I beg of you. We will go and speak with them.Let us go.’ And I got her to go back up the street to herhouse. The soldiery were up in the dining-room, whereMadame had left them, some twenty of them, at the greatsilver-chest.

“‘Gentlemen,’ I say politely, ‘with which one of you may Ihave the pleasure of a little conversation?’ ‘They beginto laugh, and they say: ‘With all of us, Papa.’ But one ofthem steps out and presents himself, a fellow as tall as a tree,with a black waxed moustache and big red hands sticking outof his braided cuffs. ‘Lenoir,’ he said, and saluted with hisleft hand, for he had five or six spoons in his right. ‘SergeantLenoir. What can I do for you?’

“‘Herr Officer,’ I say, appealing to his sense of honour,‘after your magnificent charge, how can you stoop to this sortof thing? The town has not closed its gates to the Emperor.’

“‘What do you expect?’ he answered. ‘War is war. Thepeople need these things....’

“‘But you ought to be careful,’ I interrupted him, for anidea had come into my head. ‘This lady,’ I said—one willsay anything at a time like that—‘the lady of the house, sheisn’t a German. She is almost a compatriot of yours—she isa Frenchwoman....’ ‘Oh, a Frenchwoman,’ he repeated.And then what do you suppose he said, this big swashbuckler?[22]‘Oh, an emigrée? Then she is an enemy of philosophy!’

“I was quite taken aback, but I managed not to laugh.‘You are a man of intellect, I see,’ said I. ‘I repeat that Iconsider your conduct unworthy.’ He was silent for a moment.Then he got red, tossed his half-dozen spoons back intothe chest, and exclaimed, ‘Who told you I was going to do anythingwith these things but look at them? It’s fine silver. Ifone or two of my men take a piece as a souvenir....’

“Well, in the end, they took plenty of souvenirs, of course.No use appealing to justice, either human or divine. I supposethey knew no other god than that terrible little Corsican....”

“Did you ever see him, Herr Pastor?”

The plates were being changed again. An enormous brick-redboiled ham appeared, strewn with crumbs and served witha sour brown onion sauce, and so many vegetables that thecompany could have satisfied their appetites from that onevegetable-dish. Lebrecht Kröger undertook the carving, andskilfully cut the succulent slices, with his elbows slightlyelevated and his two long forefingers laid out along the backof the knife and fork. With the ham went the Frau Consul’scelebrated “Russian jam,” a pungent fruit conserve flavouredwith spirits.

No, Pastor Wunderlich regretted to say that he had neverset eyes on Bonaparte. Old Buddenbrook and Jean JacquesHoffstede had both seen him face to face, one in Paris justbefore the Russian campaign, reviewing the troops at theTuileries; the other in Dantzig.

“I must say, he wasn’t a very cheerful person to look at,”said the poet, raising his brows, as he disposed of a forkfulof ham, potato, and sprouts. “But they say he was in a livelymood, at Dantzig. There was a story they used to tell, abouthow he would gamble all day with the Germans, and makethem pay up too, and then spend the evening playing with hisgenerals. Once he swept a handful of gold off the table, andsaid: ‘Les Allemands aiment beaucoup ces petit* Napoléons,n’est-ce pas, Rapp?’ ‘Oui, Sire, plus que le Grand!’ Rappanswered.”

There was general laughter—Hoffstede had told the storyvery prettily, even mimicking the Emperor’s manner. OldBuddenbrook said: “Well, joking aside, one can’t help having[24]respect for his personal greatness.... What a nature!”

The Consul shook his head gravely.

“No, no—we of the younger generation do not see why weshould revere the man who murdered the Duc d’Engien, andbutchered eight hundred prisoners in Egypt....”

“All that is probably exaggerated and overdrawn,” saidPastor Wunderlich. “The Duke was very likely a feather-brainedand seditious person, and as for the prisoners, theirexecution was probably the deliberate and necessary policyof a council of war.” And he went on to speak of a book atwhich he had been looking, by one of the Emperor’s secretaries,which had appeared some years before and was wellworth reading.

“All the same,” persisted the Consul, snuffing a flickeringcandle in the sconce in front of him, “I cannot understand it—Icannot understand the admiration people have for thismonster. As a Christian, as a religious man, I can find noroom in my heart for such a feeling.”

He had, as he spoke, the slightly inclined head and the raptlook of a man in a vision. His father and Pastor Wunderlichcould be seen to exchange the smallest of smiles.

“Well, anyhow,” grinned the old man, “the little napoleonsaren’t so bad, eh? My son has more enthusiasm for LouisPhilippe,” he said to the company in general.

“Enthusiasm?” repeated Jean Jacques Hoffstede, rather sarcastically....“That is a curious juxtaposition, Philippe Égalitéand enthusiasm....”

“God knows, I feel we have much to learn from the JulyMonarchy,” the Consul said, with serious zeal. “The friendlyand helpful attitude of French constitutionalism toward thenew, practical ideals and interests of our time ... is somethingwe should be deeply thankful for....”

“Practical ideals—well, ye-es—” The elder Buddenbrookgave his jaws a moment’s rest and played with his gold snuff-box.“Practical ideals—well—h’m—they don’t appeal tome in the least.” He dropped into dialect, out of sheer vexation.[25]“We have trade schools and technical schools andcommercial schools springing up on every corner; the highschools and the classical education suddenly turn out to beall foolishness, and the whole world thinks of nothing butmines and factories and making money.... That’s all veryfine, of course. But in the long run, pretty stupid, isn’tit?... I don’t know why, but it irritates me like thedeuce.... I don’t mean, Jean, that the July Monarchy isnot an admirable régime....”

Senator Langhals, as well as Gratjens and Köppen, stoodby the Consul.... They felt that high praise was due to theFrench government, and to similar efforts that were beingmade in Germany. It was worthy of all respect—Herr Köppencalled it “respeck.” He had grown more and more crimsonfrom eating, and puffed audibly as he spoke. PastorWunderlich had not changed colour; he looked as pale, refined,and alert as ever, while drinking down glass after glassof wine.

The candles burned down slowly in their sockets. Nowand then they flickered in a draught and dispersed a faintsmell of wax over the table.

There they all sat, on heavy, high-backed chairs, consuminggood heavy food from good heavy silver plate, drinking full-bodiedwines and expressing their views freely on all subjects.When they began to talk shop, they slipped unconsciouslymore and more into dialect, and used the clumsy but comfortableidioms that seemed to embody to them the businessefficiency and the easy well-being of their community.Sometimes they even used an overdrawn pronunciation byway of making fun of themselves and each other, and relishedtheir clipped phrases and exaggerated vowels with the sameheartiness as they did their food.

The ladies had not long followed the discussion. MadameKröger gave them the cue by setting forth a tempting methodof boiling carp in red wine. “You cut it into nice pieces,my dear, and put it in the saucepan, add some cloves, and[26]onions, and a few rusks, a little sugar, and a spoonful ofbutter, and set it on the fire.... But don’t wash it, on anyaccount. All the blood must remain in it.”

The elder Kröger was telling the most delightful stories;and his son Justus, who sat with Dr. Grabow down at thebottom of the table, near the children, was chaffing MamsellJungmann. She screwed up her brown eyes and stood herknife and fork upright on the table and moved them back andforth. Even the Överdiecks were very lively. Old FrauÖverdieck had a new pet name for her husband: “You goodold bell-wether,” she said, and laughed so hard that her capbobbed up and down.

But all the various conversations around the table flowedtogether in one stream when Jean Jacques Hoffstede embarkedupon his favourite theme, and began to describe the Italianjourney which he had taken fifteen years before with a richHamburg relative. He told of Venice, Rome, and Vesuvius, ofthe Villa Borghese, where Goethe had written part of hisFaust; he waxed enthusiastic over the beautiful Renaissancefountains that wafted coolness upon the warm Italian air,and the formal gardens through the avenues of which it wasso enchanting to stroll. Some one mentioned the big wildernessof a garden outside the Castle Gate, that belonged to theBuddenbrooks.

“Upon my word,” the old man said, “I still feel angry withmyself that I have never put it into some kind of order. Iwas out there the other day—and it is really a disgrace, a perfectprimeval forest. It would be a pretty bit of property,if the grass were cut and the trees trimmed into formal shapes.”

The Consul protested strenuously. “Oh, no, Papa! I loveto go out there in the summer and walk in the undergrowth;it would quite spoil the place to trim and prune its freenatural beauty.”

“But, deuce take it, the free natural beauty belongs to me—haven’tI the right to put it in order if I like?”

“Ah, Father, when I go out there and lie in the long grass[27]among the undergrowth, I have a feeling that I belong tonature and not she to me....”

“Krishan, don’t eat too much,” the old man suddenlycalled out, in dialect. “Never mind about Tilda—it doesn’thurt her. She can put it away like a dozen harvest hands,that child!”

And truly it was amazing, the prowess of this scraggy childwith the long, old-maidish face. Asked if she wanted moresoup, she answered in a meek drawling voice: “Ye-es,ple-ase.” She had two large helpings both of fish and ham,with piles of vegetables; and she bent short-sightedly overher plate, completely absorbed in the food, which she chewedruminantly, in large mouthfuls. “Oh, Un-cle,” she replied,with amiable simplicity, to the old man’s gibe, which didnot in the least disconcert her. She ate: whether it tastedgood or not, whether they teased her or not, she smiledand kept on, heaping her plate with good things, with theinstinctive, insensitive voracity of a poor relation—patient,persevering, hungry, and lean.

And now came, in two great cut-glass dishes, the “Plettenpudding.”It was made of layers of macaroons, raspberries,lady-fingers, and custard. At the same time, at the other endof the table, appeared the blazing plum-pudding which wasthe children’s favourite sweet.

“Thomas, my son, come here a minute,” said Johann Buddenbrook,taking his great bunch of keys from his trouserspocket. “In the second cellar to the right, the second bin,behind the red Bordeaux, two bottles—you understand?”Thomas, to whom such orders were familiar, ran off andsoon came back with the two bottles, covered with dust andcobwebs; and the little dessert-glasses were filled with sweet,golden-yellow malmsey from these unsightly receptacles.Now the moment came when Pastor Wunderlich rose, glassin hand, to propose a toast; and the company fell silent tolisten. He spoke in the pleasant, conversational tone whichhe liked to use in the pulpit; his head a little on one side,a subtle, humorous smile on his pale face, gesturing easilywith his free hand. “Come, my honest friends, let us honourourselves by drinking a glass of this excellent liquor to thehealth of our host and hostess in their beautiful new home.Come, then—to the health of the Buddenbrook family, presentand absent! May they live long and prosper!”

“Absent?” thought the Consul to himself, bowing as thecompany lifted their glasses. “Is he referring to the FrankfortBuddenbrooks, or perhaps the Duchamps in Hamburg—ordid old Wunderlich really mean something by that?” Hestood up and clinked glasses with his father, looking himaffectionately in the eye.

[29]Broker Gratjens got up next, and his speech was rather long-winded;he ended by proposing in his high-pitched voicea health to the firm of Johann Buddenbrook, that itmight continue to grow and prosper and do honour to thetown.

Johann Buddenbrook thanked them all for their kindness,first as head of the family and then as senior partner of thefirm—and sent Thomas for another bottle of Malmsey. Ithad been a mistake to suppose that two would be enough.

Lebrecht Kröger spoke too. He took the liberty of remainingseated, because it looked less formal, and gestured withhis head and hands most charmingly as he proposed a toastto the two ladies of the family, Madame Antoinette and theFrau Consul. As he finished, the Plettenpudding was nearlyconsumed, and the Malmsey nearing its end; and then, to auniversal, long-drawn “Ah-h!” Jean Jacques Hoffstede roseup slowly, clearing his throat. The children clapped theirhands with delight.

“Excusez! I really couldn’t help it,” he began. He puthis finger to his long sharp nose and drew a paper from hiscoat pocket.... A profound silence reigned throughout theroom.

His paper was gaily parti-coloured. On the outside of itwas written, in an oval border surrounded by red flowers anda profusion of gilt flourishes:

“On the occasion of my friendly participation in a delightful house-warmingparty given by the Buddenbrook family. October 1835.”

He read this aloud first; then turning the paper over, hebegan, in a voice that was already somewhat tremulous:

He bowed to a unanimous outburst of applause.

“Charming, Hoffstede,” cried old Buddenbrook. “It wastoo charming for words. I drink your health.”

But when the Frau Consul touched glasses with the poet,a delicate blush mantled her cheek; for she had seen thecourtly bow he made in her direction when he came to thepart about the Venus Anadyomene.

The general merriment had now reached its height. HerrKöppen felt a great need to unfasten a few buttons of hiswaistcoat; but it obviously wouldn’t do, for not even the elderlygentlemen were permitting themselves the liberty. LebrechtKröger sat up as straight as he did at the beginning;Pastor Wunderlich’s face was as pale as ever, his manner ascorrect. The elder Buddenbrook had indeed sat back a littlein his chair, but he maintained perfect decorum. There wasonly Justus Kröger—he was plainly a little overtaken.

But where was Dr. Grabow? The butter, cheese and fruithad just been handed round; and the Frau Consul rose fromher chair and unobtrusively followed the waitress from theroom; for the Doctor, Mamsell Jungmann, and Christian wereno longer in their places, and a smothered wail was proceedingfrom the hall. There in the dim light, little Christianwas half-lying, half-crouching on the round settee thatencircled the central pillar. He was uttering heart-breakinggroans. Ida and the Doctor stood beside him.

“Oh dear, oh dear,” said she, “the poor child is very bad!”

“I’m ill, Mamma, damned ill,” whimpered Christian, hislittle deep-set eyes darting back and forth, and his big noselooking bigger than ever. The “damned” came out in a toneof utter despair; but the Frau Consul said: “If we use suchwords, God will punish us by making us suffer still more!”

Doctor Grabow felt the lad’s pulse. His kindly face grewlonger and gentler.

“It’s nothing much, Frau Consul,” he reassured her. “Atouch of indigestion.” He prescribed in his best bed-side manner:“Better put him to bed and give him a Dover powder—perhaps[32]a cup of camomile tea, to bring out the perspiration....And a rigorous diet, you know, Frau Consul. Alittle pigeon, a little French bread....”

“I don’t want any pigeon,” bellowed Christian angrily. “Idon’t want to eat anything, ever any more. I’m ill, I tellyou, damned ill!” The fervour with which he uttered thebad word seemed to bring him relief.

Doctor Grabow smiled to himself—a thoughtful, almost amelancholy smile. He would soon eat again, this young man.He would do as the rest of the world did—his father, and alltheir relatives and friends: he would lead a sedentary lifeand eat four good, rich, satisfying meals a day. Well, Godbless us all! He, Friedrich Grabow, was not the man to upsetthe habits of these prosperous, comfortable tradesmen andtheir families. He would come when he was sent for, prescribea few days’ diet—a little pigeon, a slice of Frenchbread—yes, yes, and assure the family that it was nothingserious this time. Young as he was, he had held the head ofmany an honest burgher who had eaten his last joint of smokedmeat, his last stuffed turkey, and, whether overtaken unawarein his counting-house or after a brief illness in hissolid old four-poster, had commended his soul to God. Thenit was called paralysis, a “stroke,” a sudden death. And he,Friedrich Grabow, could have predicted it, on all of these occasionswhen it was “nothing serious this time”—or perhapsat the times when he had not even been summoned, whenthere had only been a slight giddiness after luncheon. Well,God bless us all! He, Friedrich Grabow, was not the man todespise a roast turkey himself. That ham with onion saucehad been delicious, hang it! And the Plettenpudding, whenthey were already stuffed full—macaroons, raspberries, custard....“A rigorous diet, Frau Consul, as I say. A littlepigeon, a little French bread....”

They were rising from table.

“Well, ladies and gentlemen, gesegnete Mahlzeit! Cigarsand coffee in the next room, and a liqueur if Madame feelsgenerous.... Billiards for whoever chooses. Jean, you willshow them the way back to the billiard-room? MadameKöppen, may I have the honour?”

Full of well-being, laughing and chattering, the companytrooped back through the folding doors into the landscape-room.The Consul remained behind, and collected about himthe gentlemen who wanted to play billiards.

“You won’t try a game, Father?”

No, Lebrecht Kröger would stop with the ladies, but Justusmight go if he liked.... Senator Langhals, Köppen, Gratjens,and Doctor Grabow went with the Consul, and JeanJacques Hoffstede said he would join them later. “JohannBuddenbrook is going to play the flute,” he said. “I muststop for that. Au revoir, messieurs.”

As the gentlemen passed through the hall, they could hearfrom the landscape-room the first notes of the flute, accompaniedby the Frau Consul on the harmonium: an airy, charminglittle melody that floated sweetly through the lofty rooms.The Consul listened as long as he could. He would haveliked to stop behind in an easy-chair in the landscape-roomand indulge the reveries that the music conjured up; but hisduties as host....

“Bring some coffee and cigars into the billiard-room,” hesaid to the maid whom he met in the entry.

“Yes, Line, coffee!” Herr Köppen echoed, in a rich, well-fedvoice, trying to pinch the girl’s red arm. The c came[34]from far back in his throat, as if he were already swallowingthe coffee.

“I’m sure Madame Köppen saw you through the glass,” ConsulKröger remarked.

“So you live up there, Buddenbrook?” asked Senator Langhals.To the right a broad white staircase with a carvedbaluster led up to the sleeping-chambers of the Consul’s familyin the second storey; to the left came another row of rooms.The party descended the stairs, smoking, and the Consul haltedat the landing.

“The entresol has three rooms,” he explained—“thebreakfast-room, my parents’ sleeping-chamber, and a thirdroom which is seldom used. A corridor runs along all three....This way, please. The wagons drive through the entry;they can go all the way out to Bakers’ Alley at the back.”

The broad echoing passageway below was paved with greatsquare flagstones. At either end of it were several offices.The odour of the onion sauce still floated out from the kitchen,which, with the entrance to the cellars, lay on the left ofthe steps. On the right, at the height of a storey above thepassageway, a scaffolding of ungainly but neatly varnishedrafters thrust out from the wall, supporting the servants’ quartersabove. A sort of ladder which led up to them from thepassage was their only means of ingress or egress. Below thescaffolding were some enormous old cupboards and a carvedchest.

Two low, worn steps led through a glass door out to thecourtyard and the small wash-house. From here you couldlook into the pretty little garden, which was well laid out,though just now brown and sodden with the autumn rains, itsbeds protected with straw mats against the cold. At the otherend of the garden rose the “portal,” the rococo façade ofthe summer house. From the courtyard, however, the partytook the path to the left, leading between two walls throughanother courtyard to the annexe.

They entered by slippery steps into a cellar-like vault with[35]an earthen floor, which was used as a granary and providedwith a rope for hauling up the sacks. A pair of stairs led upto the first storey, where the Consul opened a white door andadmitted his guests to the billiard-room.

It was a bare, severe-looking room, with stiff chairs rangedround the sides. Herr Köppen flung himself exhausted intoone of them. “I’ll look on for a while,” said he, brushing thewet from his coat. “It’s the devil of a Sabbath day’s journeythrough your house, Buddenbrook!”

Here too the stove was burning merrily, behind a brasslattice. Through the three high, narrow windows one lookedout over red roofs gleaming with the wet, grey gables andcourtyards.

The Consul took the cues out of the rack. “Shall we playa carambolage, Senator?” he asked. He went around andclosed the pockets on both tables. “Who is playing with us?Gratjens? The Doctor? All right. Then will you take theother table, Gratjens and Justus? Köppen, you’ll have toplay.”

The wine-merchant stood up and listened, with his mouthfull of smoke. A violent gust of wind whistled between thehouses, lashed the window-panes with rain, and howled downthe chimney.

“Good Lord!” he said, blowing out the smoke. “Do youthink the Wullenwewer will get into port, Buddenbrook?What abominable weather!”

Yes, and the news from Travemünde was not of the best,Consul Kröger agreed, chalking his cue. Storms everywhereon the coast. Nearly as bad as in 1824, the year of the greatflood in St. Petersburg. Well, here was the coffee.

They poured it out and drank a little and began their game.The talk turned upon the Customs Union, and Consul Buddenbrookwaxed enthusiastic.

“An inspiration, gentlemen,” he said. He finished a shotand turned to the other table, where the topic had begun.“We ought to join at the earliest opportunity.”

[36]Herr Köppen disagreed. He fairly snorted in opposition.“How about our independence?” he asked incensed, supportinghimself belligerently on his cue. “How about our self-determination?Would Hamburg consent to be a party tothis Prussian scheme? We might as well be annexed at once!Heaven save us, what do we want of a customs union?Aren’t we well enough as we are?”

“Yes, you and your red wine, Köppen. And the Russianproducts are all right. But there is little or nothing else imported.As for exports, well, we send a little corn to Hollandand England, it is true. But I think we are far from beingwell enough as we are. In days gone by a very different businesswent on. Now, with the Customs Union, the Mecklenburgsand Schleswig-Holstein would be opened up—and privatebusiness would increase beyond all reckoning....”

“But look here, Buddenbrook,” Gratjens broke in, leaningfar over the table and shifting his cue in his bony hand as hetook careful aim, “I don’t get the idea. Certainly our ownsystem is perfectly simple and practical. Clearing on thesecurity of a civic oath—”

“A fine old institution,” the Consul admitted.

“Do you call it fine, Herr Consul?” Senator Langhals spokewith some heat. “I am not a merchant; but to speakfrankly—well, I think this civic oath business has become littleshort of a farce: everybody makes light of it, and the Statepockets the loss. One hears things that are simply scandalous.I am convinced that our entry into the Customs Union,so far as the Senate is concerned—”

Herr Köppen flung down his cue. “Then there will be aconflick,” he said heatedly, forgetting to be careful with hispronunciation. “I know what I’m sayin’—God help you, butyou don’t know what you’re talkin’ about, beggin’ your pardon.”

Well, thank goodness! thought the rest of the company,as Jean Jacques entered at this point. He and Pastor[37]Wunderlich came together, arm in arm, two cheerful, unaffectedold men from another and less troubled age.

“Here, my friends,” he began. “I have something for you:a little rhymed epigram from the French.”

He sat down comfortably opposite the billiard-players, wholeaned upon their cues across the tables. Drawing a paperfrom his pocket and laying his long finger with the signetring to the side of his pointed nose, he read aloud, with amock-heroic intonation:

Herr Köppen looked disconcerted for a minute. Then hedropped the “conflick” where it was and joined in the heartylaughter that echoed to the ceiling of the billiard-room. PastorWunderlich withdrew to the window, but the movement ofhis shoulders betrayed that he was chuckling to himself.

Herr Hoffstede had more ammunition of the same sort inhis pocket, and the gentlemen remained for some time in thebilliard-room. Herr Köppen unbuttoned his waistcoat all theway down, and felt much more at ease here than in the dining-room.He gave vent to droll low-German expressions at everyturn, and at frequent intervals began reciting to himself withenormous relish:

“When the Maréchal Saxe....”

It sounded quite different in his harsh bass.

It was rather late, nearly eleven, when the party began tobreak up. They had reassembled in the landscape-room, andthey all made their adieux at the same time. The Frau Consul,as soon as her hand had been kissed in farewell, wentupstairs to see how Christian was doing. To Mamsell Jungmannwas left the supervision of the maids as they set thingsto rights and put away the silver. Madame Antoinette retiredto the entresol. But the Consul accompanied his guestsdownstairs, across the entry, and outside the house.

A high wind was driving the rain slantwise through thestreets as the old Krögers, wrapped in heavy fur mantles,slipped as fast as they could into their carriage. It had beenwaiting for hours before the door. The street was lightedby the flickering yellow rays from oil lamps hanging on postsbefore the houses or suspended on heavy chains across thestreets. The projecting fronts of some of the houses juttedout into the roadway; others had porticos or raised benchesadded on. The street ran steeply down to the River Trave;it was badly paved, and sodden grass sprang up between thecracks. The church of St. Mary’s was entirely shrouded inrain and darkness.

“Merci,” said Lebrecht Kröger, shaking the Consul’s handas he stood by the carriage door. “Merci, Jean; it was toocharming!” The door slammed, and the carriage drove off.Pastor Wunderlich and Broker Gratjens expressed their thanksand went their way. Herr Köppen, in a mantle with a five-foldcape and a broad grey hat, took his plump wife on hisarm and said in his gruff bass: “G’night, Buddenbrook. Goin, go in; don’t catch cold. Best thanks for everything—don’t[39]know when I’ve fed so well! So you like my red wineat four marks? Well, g’night, again.”

The Köppens went in the same direction as the Krögers,down toward the river; Senator Langhals, Doctor Grabow, andJean Jacques Hoffstede turned the other way. Consul Buddenbrookstood with his hands in his trousers pockets andlistened to their footsteps as they died away down the empty,damp, dimly-lighted street. He shivered a little in his lightclothes as he stood there a few paces from his own house, andturned to look up at its grey gabled façade. His eyes lingeredupon the motto carved in the stone over the entrance, inantique lettering: Dominus providebit—“The Lord will provide.”He bowed his head a little and went in, bolting thedoor carefully behind him. Then he locked the vestibule doorand walked slowly across the echoing floor of the great entry.The cook was coming down the stairs with a tray of glassesin her hands, and he asked her, “Where’s the master, Trina?”

“In the dining-room, Herr Consul,” said she, and her facewent as red as her arms, for she came from the country andwas very bashful.

As he passed through the dark hall, he felt in his pocketfor the letter. Then he went quickly into the dining-room,where a few small candle-ends in one of the candelabra casta dim light over the empty table. The sour smell of theonion sauce still hung on the air.

Over by the windows Johann Buddenbrook was pacingcomfortably up and down, with his hands behind his back.

“Well, Johann, my son, where are you going?” He stoodstill and put his hand out to his son—his white Buddenbrookhand, a little too short, though finely modelled. His activefigure showed indistinctly against the dark-red curtains, theonly gleams of white being from his powdered hair and thelace frill at his throat.

“Aren’t you sleepy? I’ve been here listening to the wind;the weather is something fearful. Captain Kloot is on hisway from Riga....”

“Oh, Father, with God’s help all will be well.”

“Well, do you think I can depend on that? I know youare on intimate terms with the Almighty—”

The Consul felt his courage rise at this display of goodhumour.

“Well, to get to the point,” he began, “I came in here notto bid you good night, but to—you won’t be angry, will you,Papa?... I didn’t want to disturb you with this letter onsuch a festive occasion ... it came this afternoon....”

“Monsieur Gotthold, voilà!” The old man affected to bequite unmoved as he took the sealed blue paper. “Herr JohannBuddenbrook, Senior. Personal. A careful man, yourstep-brother, Jean! Have I answered his second letter, thatcame the other day? And so now he writes me a third.”The old man’s rosy face grew sterner as he opened the sealwith one finger, unfolded the thin paper, and gave it a smartrap with the back of his hand as he turned about to catchthe light from the candles. The very handwriting of thisletter seemed to express revolt and disloyalty. All the Buddenbrookswrote a fine, flowing hand; but these tall straight[41]letters were full of heavy strokes, and many of the words werehastily underlined.

The Consul had drawn back a little to where the row ofchairs stood against the wall; he did not sit down, as hisfather did not; but he grasped one of the high chair-backsnervously and watched the old man while he read, his lipsmoving rapidly, his brows drawn together, and his head onone side.

“You will excuse me for saying that I don’t get much pleasureout of reading that rigmarole all over again.—Voilà!”And Johann Buddenbrook tossed the letter to his son, with acontemptuous gesture. The Consul picked it up as itfluttered to his feet, and looked at his father with troubledeyes, while the old man took the long candle-snuffers fromtheir place by the window and with angry strides crossed theroom to the candelabrum in the corner.

“Assez, I say. N’en parlons plus! To bed with you—enavant!” He quenched one flame after another under thelittle metal cap. There were only two candles left when theelder turned again to his son, whom he could hardly see atthe far end of the room.

“Eh bien—what are you standing there for? Why don’tyou say something?”

“What shall I say, Father? I am thoroughly taken aback.”

“You are pretty easily taken aback, then,” Johann Buddenbrookrapped out irritably, though he knew that the reproachwas far from being a just one. His son was in fact often hissuperior when it came to a quick decision upon the advantageouscourse.

“‘Damnable influences,’” the Consul quoted. “That isthe first line I can make out. Do you know how it makes[43]me feel, Father? And he reproaches us with ‘unchristianbehaviour!’”

“You’ll let yourself be bluffed by this miserable scribble,will you?” Johann Buddenbrook strode across to his son,dragging the extinguisher on its long stick behind him. “‘Unchristianbehaviour!’ Ha! He shows good taste, doesn’t he,this canting money-grabber? I don’t know what to make ofyou young people! Your heads are full of fantastic religioushumbug—practical idealism, the July Monarchy, and what not:and we old folk are supposed to be wretched cynics. Andthen you abuse your poor old Father in the coarsest wayrather than give up a few thousand thaler.... So he deignsto look down upon me as a business man, does he? Well,as a business man, I know what faux-frais are!—Faux-frais,”he repeated, rolling the r in his throat. “I sha’n’t make thishigh-falutin scamp of a son any fonder of me by giving himwhat he asks for, it seems to me.”

“What can I say, Father? I don’t care to feel that he hasany justification when he talks of ‘influences.’ As an interestedparty I don’t like to tell you to stick out, but— Itseems to me I’m as good a Christian as Gotthold ... butstill....”

“‘Still’—that is exactly it, Jean, you are right to say ‘still.’What is the real state of the case? He got infatuated withhis Mademoiselle Stüwing and wouldn’t listen to reason; hemade scene after scene, and finally he married her, after Ihad absolutely refused to give my consent. Then I wrote tohim: ‘Mon très cher fils: you are marrying our shop—verywell, that’s an end of it. We cease to be on friendly termsfrom now on. I won’t cut you off, or do anything melodramatic.I am sending you a hundred thousand marks as awedding present, and I’ll leave you another hundred thousandin my will. But that is absolutely all you’ll get, notanother shilling!’ That shut his mouth.—What have ourarrangements got to do with him? Suppose you and your[44]sister do get a bit more, and the house has been bought outof your share?”

“Father, surely you can understand how painful my positionis! I ought to advise you in the interest of family harmony—but....”The Consul sighed. Johann Buddenbrookpeered at him, in the dim light, to see what his expressionwas. One of the two candles had gone out of itself; the otherwas flickering. Every now and then a tall, smiling whitefigure seemed to step momentarily out of the tapestry andthen back again.

“Father,” said the Consul softly. “This affair with Gottholddepresses me.”

“What’s all this sentimentality, Jean? How does it depressyou?”

“We were all so happy here to-day, Father; we had aglorious celebration, and we felt proud and glad of what wehave accomplished, and of having raised the family and firmto a position of honour and respect.... But this bitter feudwith my own brother, with your eldest son, is like a hiddencrack in the building we have erected. A family should beunited, Father. It must keep together. ‘A house dividedagainst itself will fall.’”

“There you are with your milk-and-water stuff, Jean! AllI say is, he’s an insolent young puppy.”

A pause ensued. The last candle burned lower and lower.

“What are you doing, Jean?” asked Johann Buddenbrook.“I can’t see you.”

The Consul said shortly, “I’m calculating.” He was standingerect, and the expression in his eyes had changed. Theyhad looked dreamy all the evening; but now they stared intothe candle-flame with a cold sharp gaze. “Either you givethirty-three thousand, three hundred and thirty-three marksto Gotthold, and fifteen thousand to the family in Frankfort—thatmakes forty-eight thousand, three hundred and thirty-fivein all—or, you give nothing to Gotthold, and twenty-five thousandto the family in Frankfort. That means a gain of twenty-three[45]thousand, three hundred and thirty-five for the firm.But there is more to it than that. If you give Gotthold acompensation for the house, you’ve started the ball rolling.He is likely to demand equal shares with my sister and meafter your death, which would mean a loss of hundreds ofthousands to the firm. The firm could not face it, and I, assole head, could not face it either.” He made a vigorous gestureand drew himself more erect than before. “No, Papa,”he said, and his tone bespoke finality, “I must advise you notto give in.”

“Bravo!” cried the old man. “There’s an end of it! N’enparlons plus! En avant! Let’s get to bed.”

And he extinguished the last candle. They groped throughthe pitch-dark hall, and at the foot of the stairs they stoppedand shook hands.

“Good night, Jean. And cheer up. These little worriesaren’t anything. See you at breakfast!”

The Consul went up to his rooms, and the old man felthis way along the baluster and down to the entresol. Soonthe rambling old house lay wrapped in darkness and silence.Hopes, fears, and ambitions all slumbered, while the rain felland the autumn wind whistled around gables and street corners.

[46]

[48]

It was mid-April, two and a half years later. The springwas more advanced than usual, and with the spring had cometo the Buddenbrook family a joy that made old Johann singabout the house and moved his son to the depths of his heart.

The Consul sat at the big roll-top writing-desk in the windowof the breakfast-room, at nine o’clock one Sunday morning.He had before him a stout leather portfolio stuffed withpapers, from among which he had drawn a gilt-edged notebookwith an embossed cover, and was busily writing in itin his small, thin, flowing script. His hand hurried overthe paper, never pausing except to dip his quill in the ink.

Both the windows were open, and the spring breeze wafteddelicate odours into the room, lifting the curtains gently.The garden was full of young buds and bathed in tender sunshine;a pair of birds called and answered each other pertly.The sunshine was strong, too, on the white linen of the breakfast-tableand the gilt-borders of the old china.

The folding doors into the bedroom were open, and thevoice of old Johann could be heard inside, singing softly toa quaint and ancient tune:

He sat beside the little green-curtained cradle, close to theFrau Consul’s lofty bed, and rocked it softly with one hand.Madame Antoinette, in a white lace cap and an apron over[50]her striped frock, was busy with flannel and linen at thetable. The old couple had given up their bedroom to theFrau Consul for the time being, to make things easier for theservants, and were sleeping in the unused room in the entresol.

Consul Buddenbrook gave scarcely a glance at the adjoiningroom, so absorbed was he in his work. His face worean expression of earnest, almost suffering piety, his mouthslightly open, the chin a little dropped; his eyes filled fromtime to time. He wrote:

“To-day, April 14, 1838, at six o’clock in the morning, mydear wife, Elizabeth Buddenbrook, born Kröger, was, by God’sgracious help, happily delivered of a daughter, who will receivethe name of Clara in Holy Baptism. Yea, the Lordhath holpen mightily; for according to Doctor Grabow, thebirth was somewhat premature, and her condition not of thebest. She suffered great pain. Oh, Lord God of Sabaoth,where is there any other God save Thee? who helpest us in allour times of need and danger, and teachest us to know Thy willaright, that we may fear Thee and obey Thy commandments!O Lord, lead us and guide us all, so long as we live upon thisearth....” The pen hurried glibly over the paper, withhere and there a commercial flourish, talking with God inevery line. Two pages further on: “I have taken out,” itsaid, “an insurance policy for my youngest daughter, of onehundred and fifty thaler current. Lead her, O Lord, in Thyways, give her a pure heart, O God, that she may one dayenter into the mansions of eternal peace. For inasmuch asour weak human hearts are prone to forget Thy priceless giftof the sweet, blessed Jesus....” And so on for three pages.Then he wrote “Amen.” But still the faint scratching soundof the pen went on, over several more pages. It wrote ofthe precious spring that refreshes the tired wanderer, of theSaviour’s holy wounds gushing blood, of the broad way andthe narrow way, and the glory of the Eternal God. It is truethat after a while the Consul began to feel that he had written[51]enough; that he might let well enough alone, and go in tosee his wife, or out to the counting-house. Oh, fie, fie! Didone so soon weary of communion with his Lord and Saviour?Was it not robbing his God to scant Him of this service?No, he would go on, as a chastisem*nt for these unholy impulses.He cited whole pages of Scripture, he prayed forhis parents, his wife, his children, and himself, he prayed evenfor his brother Gotthold. And then, with a last quotationand three final “Amens,” he strewed sand on the paper andleaned back with a sigh of relief.

He crossed one leg over the other and slowly turned thepages of the notebook, reading dates and entries here andthere, written in his own hand, and thanking the Lord afreshas he saw how in every time of need and danger He hadstretched out His hand to aid. Once he had lain so ill ofsmall-pox that his life had been despaired of—yet it had beensaved. And once, when he was a boy, a beer-vat had fallenon him. A large quantity of beer was being brewed for awedding, in the old days when the brewing was done athome; and a vat had fallen over, pinning the boy beneathit. It had taken six people to lift it up again, and his headhad been crushed so that the blood ran down in streams. Hewas carried into a shop, and, as he still breathed, the doctorand the surgeon were sent for. They told the father to preparefor the worst and to bow to the will of God. But theAlmighty had blessed the work of healing, and the boy wassaved and restored to health. The Consul dwelt a whileupon this account, re-living the accident in his mind. Thenhe took his pen again and wrote after his last “Amen”:“Yea, O God, I will eternally praise Thee!”

Another time, his life had been saved from danger by water,when he had gone to Bergen, as a young man. The accountread:

“At high water, when the freight boats of the NorthernLine are in, we have great difficulty getting through the pressto our landing. I was standing on the edge of the scow, with[52]my feet on the thole-pins, leaning my back against the sailboat,trying to get the scow nearer in, when, as luck would haveit, the oak thole-pins broke, and I went head over heels intothe water. The first time I came up, nobody was near enoughto get hold of me; the second time, the scow went over myhead. There were plenty of people there anxious to save me,but they had to keep the sailboat and the scow off, so thatI should not come up under them; and all their shovingwould probably have been in vain if a rope had not suddenlybroken on one of the sailboats belonging to the Line,so that she swung further out; and this, by the grace of God,gave me room enough to come up in free water. It was onlythe top of my head, with the hair, that they saw; but it wasenough, for they were all lying on their stomachs with theirheads sticking out over the scow, and the man at the bowgrabbed me by the hair, and I got hold of his arm. He wasin an unsafe position himself and could not hold me, but hegave a yell, and they all took hold of him around the waistand pulled. I hung on, though he bit me to make me let go.So they got me in at last.” There followed a long prayerof thanksgiving, which the Consul re-read with tear-wet eyes.

On another page he had said: “I could write much more,were I minded to reveal the passions of my youth....”The Consul passed over this, and began to read here andthere from the period of his marriage and the birth of hisfirst child. The union, to be frank, could hardly be calleda love-match. His father had tapped him on the shoulderand pointed out to him the daughter of the wealthy Kröger,who could bring the firm a splendid marriage portion. Hehad accepted the situation with alacrity; and from the firstmoment had honoured his wife as the mate entrusted to himby God.

After all, his father’s second marriage had been of muchthe same kind.

“‘A kind Papa, a worthy man.’”

[53]He could still hear old Johann softly humming in the bedroom.What a pity he had so little taste for those old records!He stood with both feet firmly planted in the present, andconcerned himself seldom with the past of his family. Yetin times gone by he too had made a few entries in the gilt-edgedbook. The Consul turned to those pages, written ina florid hand on rather coarse paper that was already yellowingwith age. They were chiefly about his first marriage.Ah, Johann Buddenbrook must have adored his first wife, thedaughter of a Bremen merchant! The one brief year it hadbeen granted him to live with her was the happiest of hislife—“l’année la plus heureuse de ma vie,” he had writtenthere. The words were underlined with a wavy line, for allthe world, even Madame Antoinette, to see.

Then Gotthold had come, and Josephine had died. Andhere some strange things had been written on the rough paper.Johann Buddenbrook must have openly and bitterly hatedhis child, even when, while still in the womb, it had causedits mother to faint and agonize under the lusty burden. Itwas born strong and active, while Josephine buried her bloodlessface deeper in the pillows and passed away. Johannnever forgave the ruthless intruder. He grew up vigorousand pushing, and Johann thought of him as his mother’smurderer. This was, to the Consul’s mind, incomprehensible.She had died, he thought, fulfilling the holy duty of a woman:“the love I bore to her would have passed over in all itstenderness to her child,” he said to himself. It had not beenso. Later the father married again, his bride being AntoinetteDuchamps, the daughter of a rich and much-esteemed Hamburgfamily, and the two had dwelt together with mutualrespect and deference.

The Consul went on turning over the pages. There at theend were written the small histories of his own children:how Tom had had the measles, and Antonie jaundice, andChristian chicken-pox. There were accounts of various journeyshe had taken with his wife, to Paris, Switzerland,[54]Marienbad. Then the Consul turned back to the front ofthe book, to some pages written in bluish ink, in a hand fullof flourishes, on paper that was like parchment, but tatteredand spotted with age. Here his grandfather Johann had setdown the genealogy of the main branch of the Buddenbrooks.At the end of the sixteenth century, the first Buddenbrook ofwhom they had knowledge lived in Parchim, and his son hadbeen a Senator of Grabau. Another Buddenbrook, a tailorby trade, and “very well-to-do” (this was underlined) hadmarried in Rostock and begotten an extraordinary numberof children, who lived or died, as the case might be. Andagain, another, this time a Johann, had lived in Rostock as amerchant, from whom the Consul’s grandfather had descended,who had left Rostock to settle himself in this very town, andwas the founder of the present grain business. There wasmuch about him set down in detail: when he had had thepurples, and when genuine small-pox; when he had fallen outof the malt-kiln and been miraculously saved, when he mighthave fallen against the beams and been crushed; how he hadhad fever and been delirious—all these events were meticulouslydescribed. He had also written down wise admonitionsfor the benefit of his descendants, like the following, which wascarefully painted and framed, in a tall Gothic script set offwith a border: “My son, attend with zeal to thy businessby day; but do none that hinders thee from thy sleep bynight.” He had also stated that his old Wittenberg Bible wasto descend to his eldest son, and thence from first-born tofirst-born in each generation.

Consul Buddenbrook reached for the old leather portfolioand took out the remaining documents. There were letters, ontorn and yellow paper, written by anxious mothers to theirsons abroad—which the sons had docketed: “Received andcontents duly noted.” There were citizens’ papers, with theseal and crest of the free Hansa town; insurance policies;letters inviting this or that Buddenbrook to become god-fatherfor a colleague’s child; congratulatory epistles and occasional[55]poems. Sons travelling for the firm to Stockholm or Amsterdamhad written back, to the parent or partner at home,letters in which business was touchingly mingled with inquiriesafter wife and child. There was a separate diary of theConsul’s journey through England and Brabant; the coverhad an engraving of Edinburgh Castle and the Grass-market.Lastly, there were Gotthold’s late angry letters to his father—painfuldocuments, to offset which was the poem writtenby Jean Jacques Hoffstede to celebrate the house-warming.

A faint, rapid chime came from above the secretary, wherethere hung a dull-looking painting of an old market square,with a church-tower that possessed a real clock of its own.It was now striking the hour, in authentic if tiny tones. TheConsul closed the portfolio and stowed it away carefully ina drawer at the back of the desk. Then he went into thebed-chamber.

Here the walls and the high old bed were hung with dark-floweredchintz, and there was in the air a feeling of repose,of convalescence—of calm after an anxious and painful ordeal.A mingled odour of cologne and drugs hung in themild, dim-lighted atmosphere. The old pair bent over thecradle side by side and watched the slumbering child; andthe Consul’s wife lay pale and happy, in an exquisite lacejacket, her hair carefully dressed. As she put out her handto her husband, her gold bracelets tinkled slightly. Shehad a characteristic way of stretching out her hand withthe palm upward, in a sweeping gesture that gave it addedgraciousness.

“Well, Betsy, how are you?”

“Splendid, splendid, my dear Jean.”

He still held her hand as he bent over and looked at thechild, whose rapid little breaths were distinctly audible. Fora moment he inhaled the tender warmth and the indescribableodour of well-being and cherishing care that came up fromthe cradle. Then he kissed the little creature on the brow[56]and said softly: “God bless you!” He noticed how like toa bird’s claws were the tiny yellow, crumpled fingers.

“She eats splendidly,” Madame Antoinette said. “See howshe has gained.”

“I believe, on my soul, she looks like Netta,” old Johannsaid, beaming with pride and pleasure. “See what coal-blackeyes she has!”

The old lady waved him away. “How can anybody tellwho she looks like yet?” she said. “Are you going to church,Jean?”

“Yes, it is ten o’clock now, and high time. I am onlywaiting for the children.”

The children were already making an unseemly noise on thestairs, and Clothilde could be heard telling them to hush.They came in in their fur tippets—for it would still bewintry in St. Mary’s—trying to be soft and gentle in the sick-room.They wanted to see the little sister, and then go tochurch. Their faces were rosy with excitement. This wasa wonderful red-letter day, for the stork had brought not onlythe baby sister, but all sorts of presents as well. How tremendouslystrong the stork must be, to carry all that! Therewas a new seal-skin school-bag for Tom, a big doll for Antonie,that had real hair—imagine that!—for Christian a completetoy theatre, with the Sultan, Death, and the Devil; and abook with pictures for demure Clothilde, who accepted itwith thanks, but was more interested in the bag of sweetiesthat fell to her lot as well.

They kissed their mother, and were allowed a peep underthe green curtains of the baby’s bed. Then off they wentwith their father, who had put on his fur coat and taken thehymn book. They were followed by the piercing cry of thenew member of the family, who had just waked up.

Early in the summer, sometimes as early as May or June,Tony Buddenbrook always went on a visit to her grandparents,who lived outside the Castle Gate. This was a greatpleasure.

For life was delightful out there in the country, in theluxurious villa with its many outbuildings, servants’ quartersand stables, and its great parterres, orchards, and kitchen-gardens,which ran steeply down to the river Trave. TheKrögers lived in the grand style; there was a difference betweentheir brilliant establishment and the solid, somewhatheavy comfort of the paternal home, which was obvious ata glance, and which impressed very much the young DemoiselleBuddenbrook.

Here there was no thought of duties in house or kitchen.In the Mengstrasse, though her Mother and Grandfather didnot seem to think it important, her Father and her Grandmotherwere always telling her to remember her dusting, andholding up Clothilde as an example. The old feudal feelingof her Mother’s side of the family came out strongly in thelittle maid: one could see how she issued her orders to thefootman or the abigail—and to her Grandmother’s servantsand her Grandfather’s coachman as well.

Say what you will, it is pleasant to awake every morningin a large, gaily tapestried bed-chamber, and with one’s firstmovements to feel the soft satin of the coverlet under one’shand; to take early breakfast in the balcony room, with thesweet fresh air coming up from the garden through the openglass door; to drink, instead of coffee, a cup of chocolatehanded one on a tray—yes, proper birthday chocolate, with[58]a thick slice of fresh cup-cake! True, she had to eat herbreakfast alone, except on Sundays, for her grandparentsnever came down until long after she had gone to school.When she had munched her cake and drunk her chocolate,she would snatch up her satchel and trip down the terraceand through the well-kept front garden.

She was very dainty, this little Tony Buddenbrook. Underher straw hat curled a wealth of blonde hair, slowly darkeningwith the years. Lively grey-blue eyes and a poutingupper lip gave her fresh face a roguish look, borne out by thepoise of her graceful little figure; even the slender legs, intheir immaculate white stockings, trotted along over the groundwith an unmistakable air of ease and assurance. Peopleknew and greeted the young daughter of Consul Buddenbrookas she came out of the garden gate and up the chestnut-borderedavenue. Perhaps an old market-woman, driving herlittle cart in from the village, would nod her head in its bigflat straw hat with its light-green ribbons, and call out“Mornin’, little missy!” Or Matthiesen the porter, in his wideknee-breeches, white hose, and buckled shoes, would respectfullytake off his hat as she passed.

Tony always waited for her neighbour, little Julie Hagenström;the two children went to school together. Julie was ahigh-shouldered child, with large, staring black eyes, wholived close by in a vine-covered house. Her people had notbeen long in the neighbourhood. The father, Herr Hagenström,had married a wife from Hamburg, with thick, heavyblack hair and larger diamonds in her ears than any one hadever seen before. Her name was Semlinger. Hagenströmwas partner in the export firm of Strunck and Hagenström.He showed great zeal and ambition in municipal affairs, andwas always acting on boards and committees and administrativebodies. But he was not very popular. His marriagehad rather affronted the rigid traditions of the older families,like the Möllendorpfs, Langhals, and Buddenbrooks; and,for another thing, he seemed to enjoy thwarting their ideas[59]at every turn—he would go to work in an underhand way tooppose their interests, in order to show his own superior foresightand energy. “Heinrich Hagenström makes trouble thewhole time,” the Consul would say. “He seems to take a personalpleasure in thwarting me. To-day he made a scene atthe sitting of the Central Paupers’ Deputation; and a few daysago in the Finance Department....” “The old skunk!”Johann Buddenbrook interjected. Another time, father andson sat down to table angry and depressed. What was thematter? Oh, nothing. They had lost a big consignmentof rye for Holland: Strunck and Hagenström had snappedit up under their noses. He was a fox, Heinrich Hagenström.

Tony had often heard such remarks, and she was not toowell disposed toward Julie Hagenström; the two childrenwalked together because they were neighbours, but usuallythey quarrelled.

“My Father owns a thousand thalers,” said Julchen. Shethought she was uttering the most terrible falsehood. “Howmuch does yours?”

Tony was speechless with envy and humiliation. Then shesaid, with a quiet, off-hand manner: “My chocolate tasteddelicious this morning. What do you have for breakfast,Julie?”

“Before I forget it,” Julie would rejoin, “would you likeone of my apples? Well, I won’t give you any!” Shepursed up her lips, and her black eyes watered with satisfaction.

Sometimes Julie’s brother Hermann went to school at thesame time with the two girls. There was another brothertoo, named Moritz, but he was sickly and did his lessonsat home. Hermann was fair-haired and snub-nosed. Hebreathed through his mouth and was always smacking hislips.

“Stuff and nonsense!” he would say. “Papa has a lot morethan a thousand thaler.” He interested Tony because of theluncheon he took to school: not bread, but a soft sort of[60]lemon bun with currants in it, and sausage or smoked goosebetween. It seemed to be his favourite luncheon. Tony hadnever seen anything like it before. Lemon bun, with smokedgoose—it must be wonderful! He let her look into his box,and she asked if she might have some. Hermann said: “Notto-day, Tony, because I can’t spare any. But to-morrow I’llbring another piece for you, if you’ll give me something.”

Next morning, Tony came out into the avenue, but therewas no Julie. She waited five minutes, but there was nosign. Another minute—there came Hermann alone, swinginghis lunch-box by the strap and smacking his lips.

“Now,” he said, “here’s a bun, with some goose between—alllean; there’s not a bit of fat to it. What will you giveme for it?”

“A shilling?” suggested Tony. They were standing in themiddle of the avenue.

“A shilling?” repeated Hermann. Then he gave a gulpand said, “No, I want something else.”

“What?” demanded Tony; for she was prepared to pay agood price for the dainty.

“A kiss!” shouted Hermann Hagenström. He flung hisarms around Tony, and began kissing at random, never oncetouching her face, for she flung her head back with surprisingagility, pushed him back with her left hand—it was holdingher satchel—against his breast, while with her right handshe dealt him three or four blows in the face with all herstrength. He stumbled backward; but at that moment sisterJulie appeared from behind a tree, like a little black demon,and, falling upon Tony, tore off her hat and scratched hercheeks unmercifully. After this affair, naturally, the friendshipwas about at an end.

It was hardly out of shyness that Tony had refused thekiss. She was on the whole a forward damsel, and hadgiven the Consul no little disquiet with her tomboy ways.She had a good little head, and did as well in the school asone could desire; but her conduct in other ways was far from[61]satisfactory. Things even went so far that one day the school-mistress,a certain Fräulein Agathe Vermehren, felt obligedto call upon the Frau Consul, and, flushed with embarrassment,to suggest with all due politeness that the child shouldreceive a paternal admonition. It seemed that Tony, despitefrequent correction, had been guilty, not for the first time,of creating a disturbance in the street!

There was, of course, no harm in the fact that the childknew everybody in town. The Consul quite approved ofthis, and argued that it displayed love of one’s neighbour, asense of human fellowship, and a lack of snobbishness. SoTony, on her way through the streets, chattered with all andsundry. She and Tom would clamber about in the granarieson the water-side, among the piles of oats and wheat, prattlingto the labourers and the clerks in the dark little ground-flooroffices; they would even help haul up the sacks of grain.She knew the butchers with their trays and aprons, when shemet them in Broad Street; she accosted the dairy women whenthey came in from the country, and made them take her alittle way in their carts. She knew the grey-bearded craftsmenwho sat in the narrow goldsmiths’ shops built into thearcades in the market square; and she knew the fish-wives, thefruit- and vegetable-women, and the porters that stood on thestreet corners chewing their tobacco.

So far, this was very well. But it was not all.

There was a pale, beardless man, of no particular age, whowas often seen wandering up and down Broad Street with awistful smile on his face. This man was so nervous that hejumped every time he heard a sudden noise behind him; andTony delighted in making him jump every time she set eyeson him. Then there was an odd, tiny little woman with alarge head, who put up a huge tattered umbrella at everysign of a storm. Tony would harass this poor soul with criesof “Mushroom!” whenever she had the chance. Moreover,she and two or three more of her ilk would go to the door ofa tiny house in an alley off John Street, where there lived an[62]old woman who did a tiny trade in worsted dolls; they wouldring the bell and, when the old dame appeared, inquire withdeceptive courtesy, if Herr and Frau Spittoon were at home—andthen run away screaming with laughter. All these ragamuffinlytricks Tony Buddenbrook was guilty of—indeed, sheseemed to perform them with the best conscience in the world.If one of her victims threatened her, she would step back apace or two, toss her pretty head, pout with her pretty lip,and say “Pooh!” in a half mocking, half angry tone whichmeant: “Try it if you like. I am Consul Buddenbrook’sdaughter, if you don’t know!”

Thus she went about in the town like a little queen; andlike a queen, she was kind or cruel to her subjects, as thewhim seized her.

Jean Jacques Hoffstede’s verdict on the two sons of ConsulBuddenbrook undoubtedly hit the mark.

Thomas had been marked from the cradle as a merchantand future member of the firm. He was on the modern sideof the old school which the boys attended; an able, quick-witted,intelligent lad, always ready to laugh when his brotherChristian mimicked the masters, which he did with uncannyfacility. Christian, on the classical side, was not less giftedthan Tom, but he was less serious. His special and particularjoy in life was the imitation, in speech and manner, of a certainworthy Marcellus Stengel, who taught drawing, singing,and some other of the lighter branches.

This Herr Marcellus Stengel always had a round half-dozenbeautifully sharpened pencils sticking out of his pocket. Hewore a red wig and a light-brown coat that reached nearlydown to his ankles; also a choker collar that came up almostto his temples. He was quite a wit, and loved to play withverbal distinctions, as: “You were to make a line, my child,and what have you made? You have made a dash!” Insinging-class, his favourite lesson was “The Forest Green.”When they sang this, some of the pupils would go outside inthe corridor; and then, when the chorus rose inside: “Weramble so gaily through field and wood,” those outside wouldrepeat the last word very softly, as an echo. Once ChristianBuddenbrook, his cousin Jürgen Kröger, and his chum AndreasGieseke, the son of the Fire Commissioner, were deputedas echo; but when the moment came, they threw thecoal-scuttle downstairs instead, and were kept in after schoolby Herr Stengel in consequence. But alas, by that time Herr[64]Stengel had forgotten their crime. He bade his housekeepergive them each a cup of coffee, and then dismissed them.

In truth, they were all admirable scholars, the masters whotaught in the cloisters of the old school—once a monasticfoundation—under the guidance of a kindly, snuff-taking oldhead. They were, to a man, well-meaning and sweet-humoured;and they were one in the belief that knowledgeand good cheer are not mutually exclusive. The Latinclasses in the middle forms were heard by a former preacher,one Pastor Shepherd, a tall man with brown whiskers and atwinkling eye, who joyed extremely in the happy coincidenceof his name and calling, and missed no chance of having theboys translate the word pastor. His favourite expression was“boundlessly limited”; but it was never quite clear whetherthis was actually meant for a joke or not! When he wantedto dumbfound his pupils altogether, he would draw in hislips and blow them quickly out again, with a noise like thepopping of a champagne cork. He would go up and downwith long strides in his class-room, prophesying to one boy oranother, with great vividness, the course which his life wouldtake. He did this avowedly with the purpose of stimulatingtheir imaginations; and then he would set to work seriouslyon the business in hand, which was to repeat certainverses on the rules of gender and difficult constructions. Hehad composed these verses himself, with no little skill, andtook much pride in declaiming them, with great attentionto rhyme and rhythm.

Thus passed Tom’s and Christian’s boyhood, with no greatevents to mark its course. There was sunshine in the Buddenbrookfamily, and in the office everything went famously.Only now and again there would be a sudden storm, a triflingmishap, like the following:

Herr Stuht the tailor had made a new suit for each of theBuddenbrook lads. Herr Stuht lived in Bell-Founders’ Street.He was a master tailor, and his wife bought and sold oldclothes, and thus moved in the best circles of society. Herr[65]Stuht himself had an enormous belly, which hung down overhis legs, wrapped in a flannel shirt. The suits he made for theyoung Masters Buddenbrook were at the combined cost ofseventy marks; but at the boys’ request he had consented toput them down in the bill at eighty marks and to hand themthe difference. It was just a little arrangement among themselves—notvery honourable, indeed, but then, not very uncommoneither. However, fate was unkind, and the bargaincame to light. Herr Stuht was sent for to the Consul’s office,whither he came, with a black coat over his woollen shirt, andstood there while the Consul subjected Tom and Christianto a severe cross-examination. His head was bowed and hislegs far apart, his manner vastly respectful. He tried tosmooth things over as much as he could for the young gentlemen,and said that what was done was done, and he would besatisfied with the seventy marks. But the Consul was greatlyincensed by the trick. He gave it long and serious consideration;yet finally ended by increasing the lads’ pocket-money—forwas it not written: “Lead us not into temptation?”

It seemed probable that more might be expected fromThomas Buddenbrook than from his brother Christian. Hewas even-tempered, and his high spirits never crossed thebounds of discretion. Christian, on the other hand, was inclinedto be moody: guilty at times of the most extravagantsilliness, at others he would be seized by a whim which couldterrify the rest of them in the most astonishing way.

The family are at table eating dessert and conversing pleasantlythe while. Suddenly Christian turns pale and putsback on his plate the peach into which he has just bitten. Hisround, deep-set eyes, above the too-large nose, have openedwider.

“I will never eat another peach,” he says.

“Why not, Christian? What nonsense! What’s the matter?”

“Suppose I accidentally—suppose I swallowed the stone,and it stuck in my throat, so I couldn’t breathe, and I jumped[66]up, strangling horribly—and all of you jump up— Ugh...!”and he suddenly gives a short groan, full ofhorror and affright, starts up in his chair, and acts as if hewere trying to escape.

The Frau Consul and Ida Jungmann actually do jump up.

“Heavens, Christian!—you haven’t swallowed it, have you?”For his whole appearance suggests that he has.

“No,” says Christian slowly. “No”—he is gradually quietingdown—“I only mean, suppose I actually had swallowedit!”

The Consul has been pale with fright, but he recovers andbegins to scold. Old Johann bangs his fist on the table andforbids any more of these idiotic practical jokes. But Christian,for a long, long time, eats no more peaches.

It was not simply the weakness of age that made MadameAntoinette Buddenbrook take to her lofty bed in the bed-chamberof the entresol, one cold January day after they haddwelt some six years in Meng Street. The old lady had remainedhale and active, and carried her head, with its clusteringwhite side-curls, proudly erect to the very last. She hadgone with her husband and children to most of the large dinnersgiven in the town, and presided no whit less elegantlythan her daughter-in-law when the Buddenbrooks themselvesentertained. But one day an indefinable malady had suddenlymade itself felt—at first in the form of a slight intestinalcatarrh, for which Dr. Grabow prescribed a mild diet ofpigeon and French bread. This had been followed by colicand vomiting, which reduced her strength so rapidly as tobring about an alarming decline.

Dr. Grabow held hurried speech with the Consul, outsideon the landing, and another doctor was called in consultation—astout, black-bearded, gloomy-looking man who begangoing in and out with Dr. Grabow. And now the whole atmosphereof the house changed. They went about on theirtip-toes and spoke in whispers. The wagons were no longerallowed to roll through the great entry-way below. Theylooked in each others’ eyes and saw there something strange.It was the idea of death that had entered, and was holdingsilent sway in the spacious rooms.

But there was no idle watching, for visitors came: oldSenator Duchamps, the dying woman’s brother, from Hamburg,with his daughter; and a few days later, the Consul’ssister from Frankfort and her husband, who was a banker.[68]The illness lasted fourteen or fifteen days, during which theguests lived in the house, and Ida Jungmann had her handsfull attending to the bedrooms and providing heavy breakfasts,with shrimps and port wine. Much roasting and bakingwent on in the kitchen.

Upstairs, Johann Buddenbrook sat by the sick-bed, his oldNetta’s limp hand in his, and stared into space with his browsknitted and his lower lip hanging. A clock hung on thewall and ticked dully, with long pauses between; not so long,however, as the pauses between the dying woman’s flutteringbreaths. A black-robed sister of mercy busied herself aboutthe beef-tea which they still sought to make the patient take.Now and then some member of the family would appear atthe door and disappear again.

Perhaps the old man was thinking how he had sat at thedeath-bed of his first wife, forty-six years before. Perhaps herecalled his frenzy of despair and contrasted it with the gentlemelancholy which he felt now, as an old man, gazing intothe face of his old wife—a face so changed, so listless, sovoid of expression. She had never given him either a greatjoy or a great sorrow; but she had decorously played herpart beside him for many a long year—and now her life wasebbing away.

He was not thinking a great deal. He was only lookingwith fixed gaze back into his own past life and at life in general.It all seemed to him now quite strange and far away,and he shook his head a little. That empty noise and bustle,in the midst of which he had once stood, had flowed awayimperceptibly and left him standing there, listening in wonderto sounds that died upon his ear. “Strange, strange,” hemurmured.

Madame Buddenbrook breathed her last brief, effortlesssigh; and they prayed by her side in the dining-room, wherethe service was held; and the bearers lifted the flower-coveredcoffin to carry it away. But old Johann did not weep. Heonly gave the same gentle, bewildered head-shake, and said,[69]with the same half-smiling look: “Strange, strange!” It becamehis most frequent expression. Plainly, the time for oldJohann too was near at hand.

He would sit silent and absent in the family circle; sometimeswith little Clara on his knee, to whom he would singone of his droll catches, like

“The omnibus drives through the town”

or perhaps

“Look at the blue-fly a-buzzin’ on the wall.”

But he might suddenly stop in the middle, like one arousedout of a train of thought, put the child down on the floor,and move away, with his little head-shake and murmur“Strange, strange!” One day he said: “Jean—it’s abouttime, eh?”

It was soon afterward that neatly printed notices signed byfather and son were sent about through the town, in whichJohann Buddenbrook senior respectfully begged leave to announcethat his increasing years obliged him to give up hisformer business activities, and that in consequence the firmof Johann Buddenbrook, founded by his late father anno 1768,would as from that day be transferred, with its assets and liabilities,to his son and former partner Johann Buddenbrookas sole proprietor; for whom he solicited a continuance ofthe confidence so widely bestowed upon him. Signed, withdeep respect, Johann Buddenbrook—who would from now oncease to append his signature to business papers.

These announcements were no sooner sent out than the oldman refused to set foot in the office; and his apathy so increasedthat it took only the most trifling cold to send him tobed, one March day two months after the death of his wife.One night more—then came the hour when the family gatheredround his bed and he spoke to them: first to the Consul:“Good luck, Jean, and keep your courage up!” And then to[70]Thomas: “Be a help to your Father, Tom!” And to Christian:“Be something worth while!” Then he was silent,gazing at them all; and finally, with a last murmured“Strange!” he turned his face to the wall....

To the very end, he did not speak of Gotthold, and the latterencountered with silence the Consul’s written summons tohis father’s death-bed. But early the next morning, beforethe announcements were sent out, as the Consul was about togo into the office to attend to some necessary business, GottholdBuddenbrook, proprietor of the linen firm of SiegmundStüwing and Company, came with rapid steps through theentry. He was forty-six years old, broad and stocky, and hadthick ash-blond whiskers streaked with grey. His short legswere cased in baggy trousers of rough checked material. Onthe steps he met the Consul, and his eyebrows went up underthe brim of his grey hat.

He did not put out his hand. “Johann,” he said, in a high-pitched,rather agreeable voice, “how is he?”

“He passed away last night,” the Consul said, with deepemotion, grasping his brother’s hand, which held an umbrella.“The best of fathers!”

Gotthold drew down his brows now, so low that the lidsnearly closed. After a silence, he said pointedly: “Nothingwas changed up to the end?”

The Consul let his hand drop and stepped back. Hisround, deep-set blue eyes flashed as he answered, “Nothing.”

Gotthold’s eyebrows went up again under his hat, and hiseyes fixed themselves on his brother with an expression ofsuspense.

“And what have I to expect from your sense of justice?”he asked in a lower voice.

It was the Consul’s turn to look away. Then, without liftinghis eyes, he made that downward gesture with his handthat always betokened decision; and in a quiet voice, butfirmly, he answered:

“In this sad and solemn moment I have offered you my[71]brotherly hand. But if it is your intention to speak of businessmatters, then I can only reply in my capacity as head ofthe honourable firm whose sole proprietor I have to-day become.You can expect from me nothing that runs counter tothe duties I have to-day assumed; all other feelings must besilent.”

Gotthold went away. But he came to the funeral, amongthe host of relatives, friends, business associates, deputies,clerks, porters, and labourers that filled the house, the stairs,and the corridors to overflowing and assembled all the hiredcoaches in town in a long row all the way down the Mengstrasse.Gotthold came, to the sincere joy of the Consul. Heeven brought his wife, born Stüwing, and his three growndaughters: Friederike and Henriette, who were too tall andthin, and Pfiffi, who was eighteen, and too short and fat.

Pastor Kölling of St. Mary’s, a heavy man with a bullethead and a rough manner of speaking, held the service atthe grave, in the Buddenbrook family burying-ground, outsidethe Castle Gate, at the edge of the cemetery grove. He extolledthe godly, temperate life of the deceased and comparedit with that of “gluttons, drunkards, and profligates”—overwhich strong language some of the congregation shook theirheads, thinking of the tact and moderation of their old PastorWunderlich, who had lately died. When the service andthe burial were over, and the seventy or eighty hired coachesbegan to roll back to town, Gotthold Buddenbrook asked theConsul’s permission to go with him, that they might speaktogether in private. He sat with his brother on the backseat of the high, ungainly old coach, one short leg crossedover the other—and, wonderful to relate, he was gentle andconciliatory. He realized more and more, he said, that theConsul was bound to act as he was doing; and he was determinedto cherish no bitter memories of his father. Herenounced the claims he had put forward, the more readilythat he had decided to retire from business and live upon hisinheritance and what capital he had left; for he had no joy[72]of the linen business, and it was going so indifferently thathe could not bring himself to put any more money intoit.... “His spite against our Father brought him no blessing,”the Consul thought piously. Probably Gotthold thoughtso too.

When they got back, he went with his brother up to thebreakfast-room; and as both gentlemen felt rather chilly,after standing so long in their dress-coats in the early springair, they drank a glass of old cognac together. Then Gottholdexchanged a few courteous words with his sister-in-law,stroked the children’s heads, and went away. But he appearedat the next “children’s day,” which took place at theKrögers’, outside the Castle Gate. And he began to wind uphis business at once.

It grieved the Consul sorely that the grandfather had notlived to see the entry of his grandson into the business—anevent which took place at Easter-time of the same year.

Thomas had left school at sixteen. He was grown strongand sturdy, and his manly clothes made him look still older.He had been confirmed, and Pastor Kölling, in stentoriantones, had enjoined upon him to practice the virtues of moderation.A gold chain, bequeathed him by his grandfather,now hung about his neck, with the family arms on a medallionat the end—a rather dismal design, showing on an irregularlyhatched surface a flat stretch of marshy country with onesolitary, leafless willow tree. The old seal ring with thegreen stone, once worn, in all probability, by the well-to-dotailor in Rostock, had descended to the Consul, together withthe great Bible.

Thomas’s likeness to his grandfather was as strong asChristian’s to his father. The firm round chin was the oldman’s, and the straight, well-chiselled nose. Thomas worehis hair parted on one side, and it receded in two bays fromhis narrow veined temples. His eyelashes were colourless bycontrast, and so were the eyebrows, one of which he had ahabit of lifting expressively. His speech, his movements, evenhis laugh, which showed his rather defective teeth, were allquiet and adequate. He already looked forward seriouslyand eagerly to his career.

It was indeed a solemn moment when, after early breakfast,the Consul led him down into the office and introduced himto Herr Marcus the confidential clerk, Herr Havermann thecashier, and the rest of the staff, with all of whom, naturally,[74]he had long been on the best of terms. For the first time hesat at his desk, in his own revolving chair, absorbed in copying,stamping, and arranging papers. In the afternoon hisfather took him through the magazines on the Trave, each oneof which had a special name, like the “Linden,” the “Oak,”the “Lion,” the “Whale.” Tom was thoroughly at home inevery one of them, of course, but now for the first time heentered them to be formally introduced as a fellow worker.

He entered upon his tasks with devotion, imitating the quiet,tenacious industry of his father, who was working with hisjaws set, and writing down many a prayer for help in hisprivate diary. For the Consul had set himself the task ofmaking good the sums paid out by the firm on the occasion ofhis father’s death. It was a conception ... an ideal....He explained the position quite fully to his wife late oneevening in the landscape-room.

It was half-past eleven, and Mamsell Jungmann and thechildren were already asleep in the corridor rooms. No oneslept in the second storey now—it was empty save for an occasionalguest. The Frau Consul sat on the yellow sofabeside her husband, and he, cigar in mouth, was reading thefinancial columns of the local paper. She bent over herembroidery, moving her lips as she counted a row of stitcheswith her needle. Six candles burned in a candelabrum on theslender sewing-table beside her, and the chandelier was unlighted.

Johann Buddenbrook was nearing the middle forties, andhad visibly altered in the last years. His little round eyesseemed to have sunk deeper in his head, his cheek-bones andhis large aquiline nose stood out more prominently than ever,and the ash-blond hair seemed to have been just touched witha powder-puff where it parted on the temples. The FrauConsul was at the end of her thirties, but, while never beautiful,was as brilliant as ever; her dead-white skin, with asingle freckle here and there, had lost none of its splendour,and the candle-light shone on the rich red-blond hair that[75]was as wonderfully dressed as ever. Giving her husband asidelong glance with her clear blue eyes, she said:

“Jean, I wanted to ask you to consider something: if itwould not perhaps be advisable to engage a man-servant. Ihave just been coming to that conclusion. When I think ofmy parents—”

The Consul let his paper drop on his knee and took hiscigar out of his mouth. A shrewd look came into his eyes:here was a question of money to be paid out.

“My dear Betsy,” he said—and he spoke as deliberatelyas possible, to gain time to muster his excuses—“do you thinkwe need a man-servant? Since my parents’ death we havekept on all three maids, not counting Mamsell Jungmann. Itseems to me—”

“Oh, but the house is so big, Jean. We can hardly getalong as it is. I say to Line, ‘Line, it’s a fearfully long timesince the rooms in the annexe were dusted’; but I don’t liketo drive the girls too hard; they have their work cut out tokeep everything clean and tidy here in the front. And aman-servant would be so useful for errands and so on. Wecould find some honest man from the country, who wouldn’texpect much.... Oh, before I forget it—Louise Möllendorpfis letting her Anton go. I’ve seen him serve nicely at table.”

“To tell you the truth,” said the Consul, and shuffled abouta little uneasily, “it is a new idea to me. We aren’t eitherentertaining or going out just now—”

“No, but we have visitors very often—for which I am notresponsible, Jean, as you know, though of course I am alwaysglad to see them. You have a business friend fromsomewhere, and you invite him to dinner. Then he has nottaken a room at a hotel, so we ask him to stop the night. Amissionary comes, and stops the week with us. Week afternext, Pastor Mathias is coming from Kannstadt. And thewages amount to so little—”

“But they mount up, Betsy! We have four people herein the house—and think of the pay-roll the firm has!”

[76]“So we really can’t afford a man-servant?” the Frau Consulasked. She smiled as she spoke, and looked at her husbandwith her head on one side. “When I think of all theservants my Father and Mother had—”

“My dear Betsy! Your parents— I really must ask youif you understand our financial position?”

“No, Jean, I must admit I do not. I’m afraid I have onlya vague idea—”

“Well, I can tell you in a few words,” the Consul said.He sat up straight on the sofa, with one knee crossed over theother, puffed at his cigar, knit his brows a little, and marshalledhis figures with wonderful fluency.

“To put it briefly, my Father had, before my sister’s marriage,a round sum of nine hundred thousand marks net, notcounting, of course, real estate, and the stock and good will ofthe firm. Eighty thousand went to Frankfort as dowry, and ahundred thousand to set Gotthold up in business. That leavesseven hundred and twenty thousand. The price of this house,reckoning off what we got for the little one in Alf Street, andcounting all the improvements and new furnishings, came toa good hundred thousand. That brings it down to six hundredand twenty thousand. Twenty-five thousand to Frankfort,as compensation on the house, leaves five hundred andninety-five thousand—which is what we should have had atFather’s death if we hadn’t partly made up for all these expensesthrough years, by a profit of some two hundred thousandmarks current. The entire capital amounted to sevenhundred and ninety-five thousand marks, of which anotherhundred thousand went to Gotthold, and a few thousand marksfor the minor legacies that Father left to the Holy Ghost Hospital,the Fund for Tradesmen’s Widows, and so on. Thatbrings us down to around four hundred and twenty thousand,or another hundred thousand with your own dowry. Thereis the position, in round figures, aside from small fluctuationsin the capital. You see, my dear Betsy, we are not rich. Andwhile the capital has grown smaller, the running expenses[77]have not; for the whole business is established on a certainscale, which it costs about so much to maintain. Have youfollowed me?”

The Consul’s wife, her needlework in her lap, noddedwith some hesitation. “Quite so, my dear Jean,” she said,though she was far from having understood everything, leastof all what these big figures had to do with her engaging aman-servant.

The Consul puffed at his cigar till it glowed, threw backhis head and blew out the smoke, and then went on:

“You are thinking, of course, that when God calls your dearparents unto Himself, we shall have a considerable sum tolook forward to—and so we shall. But we must not reckontoo blindly on it. Your Father has had some heavy losses,due, we all know, to your brother Justus. Justus is certainlya charming personality, but business is not his strong point,and he has had bad luck too. According to all accounts hehas had to pay up pretty heavily, and transactions withbankers make dear money. Your Father has come to therescue several times, to prevent a smash. That sort of thingmay happen again—to speak frankly, I am afraid it will.You will forgive me, Betsy, for my plain speaking, but youknow that the style of living which is so proper and pleasingin your Father is not at all suitable for a business man. YourFather has nothing to do with business any more; but Justus—youknow what I mean—he isn’t very careful, is he? Hisideas are too large, he is too impulsive. And your parentsaren’t saving anything. They live a lordly life—as theircirc*mstances permit them to.”

The Frau Consul smiled forbearingly. She well knew herhusband’s opinion of the luxurious Kröger tastes.

“That’s all,” he said, and put his cigar into the ash-receiver.“As far as I’m concerned, I live in the hope that God willpreserve my powers unimpaired, and that by His gracioushelp I may succeed in reëstablishing the firm on its oldbasis.... I hope you see the thing more clearly now, Betsy?”

[78]“Quite, quite, my dear Jean,” the Frau Consul hastened toreply; for she had given up the man-servant, for the evening.“Shall we go to bed? It is very late—”

A few days later, when the Consul came in to dinner in anunusually good mood, they decided at the table to engagethe Möllendorpfs’ Anton.

“We shall put Tony into Fräulein Weichbrodt’s boarding-school,”said the Consul. He said it with such decision thatso it was.

Thomas was applying himself with talent to the business;Clara was a thriving, lively child; and the appetite of thegood Clothilde must have pleased any heart alive. But Tonyand Christian were hardly so satisfactory. It was not onlythat Christian had to stop nearly every afternoon for coffeewith Herr Stengel—though even this became at length toomuch for the Frau Consul, and she sent a dainty missive to themaster, summoning him to conference in Meng Street. HerrStengel appeared in his Sunday wig and his tallest choker,bristling with lead-pencils like lance-heads, and they sat onthe sofa in the landscape-room, while Christian hid in thedining-room and listened. The excellent man set out hisviews, with eloquence if some embarrassment: spoke of thedifference between “line” and “dash,” told the tale of “TheForest Green” and the scuttle of coals, and made use in everyother sentence of the phrase “in consequence.” It probablyseemed to him a circumlocution suitable to the elegant surroundingsin which he found himself. After a while theConsul came and drove Christian away. He expressed toHerr Stengel his lively regret that a son of his should givecause for dissatisfaction. “Oh, Herr Consul, God forbid!Buddenbrook minor has a wide-awake mind, he is a livelychap, and in consequence— Just a little too lively, if Imight say so; and in consequence—” The Consul politelywent with him through the hall to the entry, and Herr Stengeltook his leave.... Ah, no, this was far from being theworst!

[80]The worst, when it became known, was as follows: YoungChristian Buddenbrook had leave one evening to go to thetheatre in company with a friend. The performance wasSchiller’s Wilhelm Tell; and the rôle of Tell’s son Walter wasplayed by a young lady, a certain Mademoiselle Meyer-de-la-Grange.Christian’s worst, then, had to do with this youngperson. She wore when on the stage, whether it suited herpart or not, a diamond brooch, which was notoriously genuine;for, as everybody knew, it was the gift of young ConsulDöhlmann—Peter Döhlmann, son of the deceased wholesaledealer in Wall Street outside Holsten Gate. Consul Peter,like Justus Kröger, belonged to the group of young men whomthe town called “fast.” His way of life, that is to say, wasrather loose! He had married, and had one child, a littledaughter; but he had long ago quarrelled with his wife,and he led the life of a bachelor. His father had lefthim a considerable inheritance, and he carried on the business,after a fashion; but people said he was already living on hiscapital. He lived mostly at the Club or the Rathskeller,was often to be met somewhere in the street at four o’clock inthe morning; and made frequent business trips to Hamburg.Above all, he was a zealous patron of the drama, and tooka strong personal interest in the cast. Mademoiselle Meyer-de-la-Grangewas the latest of a line of young ladies whom hehad, in the past, distinguished by a gift of diamonds.

Well, to arrive at the point, this young lady looked socharming as Walter Tell, wore her brooch and spoke her lineswith such effect, that Christian felt his heart swell with enthusiasm,and tears rose to his eyes. He was moved by histransports to a course that only the very violence of emotioncould pursue. He ran during the entr’acte to a flower-shopopposite, where, for the sum of one mark eight and a halfshillings, he got at a bargain a bunch of flowers; and thenthis fourteen-year-old sprat, with his big nose and his deep-lyingeyes, took his way to the green-room, since nobodystopped him, and came upon Fräulein Meyer-de-la-Grange,[81]talking with Consul Peter Döhlmann at her dressing-roomdoor. Peter Döhlmann nearly fell over with laughing whenhe saw Christian with the bouquet. But the new wooer, witha solemn face, bowed in his best manner before Walter Tell,handed her the bouquet, and, nodding his head, said in a voiceof well-nigh tearful conviction: “Ah, Fräulein, how beautifullyyou act!”

“Well, hang me if it ain’t Krishan Buddenbrook!” ConsulDöhlmann cried out, in his broadest accent. FräuleinMeyer-de-la-Grange lifted her pretty brows and asked: “Theson of Consul Buddenbrook?” And she stroked the cheekof her young admirer with all the favour in the world.

Such was the story that Consul Peter Döhlmann told at theClub that night; it flew about the town like lightning, andreached the ears of the head master, who asked for an audiencewith Consul Buddenbrook. And how did the Fathertake this affair? He was, in truth, less angry than overwhelmed.He sat almost like a broken man, after telling theFrau Consul the story in the landscape-room.

“And this is our son,” he said. “So is he growing up—”

“But Jean! Good heavens, your Father would havelaughed at it. Tell it to my Father and Mother on Thursday—youwill see how Papa will enjoy it—”

But here the Consul rose up in anger. “Ah, yes, yes! Iam sure he will enjoy it, Betsy. He will be glad to know thathis light blood and impious desires live on, not only in arake like Justus, his own son, but also in a grandson of hisas well! Good God, you drive me to say these things!— Hegoes to this—person; he spends his pocket-money onflowers for this—lorette! I don’t say he knows what he is doing—yet.But the inclination shows itself—it shows itself,Betsy!”

Ah, yes, this was all very painful indeed. The Consulwas perhaps the more beside himself for the added reasonthat Tony’s behaviour, too, had not been of the best. She hadgiven up, it is true, shouting at the nervous stranger to make[82]him dance; and she no longer rang the doorbell of the tinyold woman who sold worsted dolls. But she threw backher head more pertly than ever, and showed, especially afterthe summer visits with her grandparents, a very strong tendencyto vanity and arrogance of spirit.

One day the Consul surprised her and Mamsell Jungmannreading together. The book was Clauren’s “Mimili”; theConsul turned over some of the leaves, and then silentlyclosed it—and it was opened no more. Soon afterward itcame to light that Tony—Antonie Buddenbrook, no less aperson—had been seen walking outside the City wall witha young student, a friend of her brother. Frau Stuht, shewho moved in the best circles, had seen the pair, and hadremarked at the Möllendorpfs’, whither she had gone to buysome cast-off clothing, that really Mademoiselle Buddenbrookwas getting to the age where— And Frau Senator Möllendorpfhad lightly repeated the story to the Consul. Thepleasant strolls came to an end. Later it came out thatFräulein Antonie had made a post-office of the old hollowtree that stood near the Castle Gate, and not only postedtherein letters addressed to the same student, but receivedletters from him as well by that means. When these factscame to light, they seemed to indicate the need of a morewatchful oversight over the young lady, now fifteen years old;and she was accordingly, as we have already said, sent toboarding-school at Fräulein Weichbrodt’s, Number seven,Millbank.

Therese Weichbrodt was humpbacked. So humpbackedthat she was not much higher than a table. She was forty-oneyears old. But as she had never put her faith in outwardseeming, she dressed like an old lady of sixty or seventy.Upon her padded grey locks rested a cap the green ribbons ofwhich fell down over shoulders narrow as a child’s. Nothinglike an ornament ever graced her shabby black frock—onlythe large oval brooch with her mother’s miniature in it.

Little Miss Weichbrodt had shrewd, sharp brown eyes, aslightly hooked nose, and thin lips which she could compresswith extraordinary firmness. In her whole insignificant figure,in her every movement, there indwelt a force which was,to be sure, somewhat comic, yet exacted respect. And hermode of speech helped to heighten the effect. She spokewith brisk, jerky motions of the lower jaw and quick, emphaticnods. She used no dialect, but enunciated clearly and withprecision, stressing the consonants. Vowel-sounds, however,she exaggerated so much that she said, for instance, “botter”instead of “butter”—or even “batter!” Her little dog thatwas forever yelping she called Babby instead of Bobby. Shewould say to a pupil: “Don-n’t be so stu-upid, child,” andgive two quick knocks on the table with her knuckle. It wasvery impressive—no doubt whatever about that! And whenMlle. Popinet, the Frenchwoman, took too much sugar to hercoffee, Miss Weichbrodt had a way of gazing at the ceiling anddrumming on the cloth with one hand while she said: “Whynot take the who-ole sugar-basin? I would!” It alwaysmade Mlle. Popinet redden furiously.

As a child—heavens, what a tiny child she must have been!—Therese[84]Weichbrodt had given herself the nickname ofSesemi, and she still kept it, even letting the best and mostfavoured of the day as well as of the boarding-pupils useit. “Call me Sesemi, child,” she said on the first day to TonyBuddenbrook, kissing her briefly, with a sound as of a smallexplosion, on the forehead. “I like it.” Her elder sister,however, Madame Kethelsen, was called Nelly.

Madame Kethelsen was about forty-eight years old. Shehad been left penniless when her husband died, and now livedin a little upstairs bedroom in her sister’s house. She dressedlike Sesemi, but by contrast was very tall. She wore woollenwristlets on her thin wrists. She was not a mistress, andknew nothing of discipline. A sort of inoffensive and placidcheerfulness was all her being. When one of the pupilsplayed a prank, she would laugh so heartily that she nearlycried, and then Sesemi would rap on the table and call out“Nelly!” very sharply—it sounded like “Nally”—and MadameKethelsen would shrink into herself and be mute.

Madame Kethelsen obeyed her younger sister, who scoldedher as if she were a child. Sesemi, in fact, despised herwarmly. Therese Weichbrodt was a well-read, almost a literarywoman. She struggled endlessly to keep her childhoodfaith, her religious assurance that somewhere in the beyondshe was to be recompensed for the hard, dull present. ButMadame Kethelsen, innocent, uninstructed, was all simplicityof nature. “Dear, good Nelly, what a child she is! Shenever doubts or struggles, she is always happy.” In suchremarks there was always as much contempt as envy. Contemptwas a weakness of Sesemi’s—perhaps a pardonable one.

The small red-brick suburban house was surrounded by aneatly kept garden. Its lofty ground floor was entirely takenup by schoolrooms and dining-room; the bedrooms were inthe upper storey and the attic. Miss Weichbrodt did not havea large number of pupils. As boarders she received onlyolder girls, while the day-school consisted of but three classes,the lowest ones. Sesemi took care to have only the daughters[85]of irreproachably refined families in her house. TonyBuddenbrook, as we have seen, she welcomed most tenderly.She even made “bishop” for supper—a sort of sweet redpunch to be taken cold, in the making of which she was apast mistress. “A little more beeshop,” she urged with ahearty nod. It sounded so tempting; nobody could resist!

Fräulein Weichbrodt sat on two sofa-cushions at the top ofthe table and presided over the meal with tact and discretion.She held her stunted figure stiffly erect, tapped vigilantly onthe table, cried “Nally” or “Babby,” and subdued Mlle.Popinet with a glance whenever the latter seemed about totake unto herself all the cold veal jelly. Tony had been allotteda place between two other boarders, Armgard von Schilling,the strapping blond daughter of a Mecklenburg landowner,and Gerda Arnoldsen, whose home was in Amsterdam—anunusual, elegant figure, with dark-red hair, brown eyesclose together, and a lovely, pale, haughty face. Oppositeher sat a chattering French girl who looked like a negress,with huge gold earrings. The lean English Miss Brown, withher sourish smile, sat at the bottom of the table. She wasa boarder too.

It was not hard, with the help of Sesemi’s bishop, to getacquainted. Mlle. Popinet had had nightmares again lastnight—ah, quel horreur! She usually screamed “Help,thieves; help, thieves!” until everybody jumped out of bed.Next, it appeared that Gerda Arnoldsen did not take pianolike the rest of them, but the violin, and that Papa—herMother was dead—had promised her a real Stradivarius.Tony was not musical—hardly any of the Buddenbrooks andnone of the Krögers were. She could not even recognize thechorals they played at St. Mary’s.—Oh, the organ in thenew Church at Amsterdam had a vox humana—a human voice—thatwas just wonderful. Armgard von Schilling talkedabout the cows at home.

It was Armgard who from the earliest moment had made agreat impression on Tony. She was the first person from a[86]noble family whom Tony had ever known. What luck, to becalled von Schilling! Her own parents had the most beautifulold house in the town, and her grandparents belonged tothe best families; still, they were called plain Buddenbrookand Kröger—which was a pity, to be sure. The granddaughterof the proud Lebrecht Kröger glowed with reverencefor Armgard’s noble birth. Privately, she sometimes thoughtthat the splendid “von” went with her better than it didwith Armgard; for Armgard did not appreciate her good luck,dear, no! She had a thick pigtail, good-natured blue eyes,and a broad Mecklenburg accent, and went about thinkingjust nothing at all on the subject. She made absolutely nopretentions to being aristocratic; in fact, she did not knowwhat it was. But the word “aristocratic” stuck in Tony’s smallhead; and she emphatically applied it to Gerda Arnoldsen.

Gerda was rather exclusive, and had something foreign andqueer about her. She liked to do up her splendid red hairin striking ways, despite Sesemi’s protests. Some of thegirls thought it was “silly” of her to play the violin insteadof the piano—and, be it known, “silly” was a term of verysevere condemnation. Still, the girls mostly agreed withTony that Gerda was aristocratic—in her figure, well-developedfor her years; in her ways, her small possessions, everything.There was the ivory toilet set from Paris, for instance;that Tony could appreciate, for her own parents and grandparentsalso had treasures which had been brought fromParis.

The three girls soon made friends. They were in the sameclass and slept together in the same large room at the top ofthe house. What delightful, cosy times they had going tobed! They gossiped while they undressed—in undertones,however, for it was ten o’clock and next door Mlle. Popinethad gone to bed to dream of burglars. Eva Ewers slept withher. Eva was a little Hamburger, whose father, an amateurpainter and collector, had settled in Munich.

The striped brown blinds were down, the low, red-shaded[87]lamp burned on the table, there was a faint smell of violetsand fresh wash, and a delicious atmosphere of laziness anddreams.

“Heavens,” said Armgard, half undressed, sitting on herbed, “how Dr. Newmann can talk! He comes into the classand stands by the table and tells about Racine—”

“He has a lovely high forehead,” remarked Gerda, standingbefore the mirror between the windows and combing her hairby the light of two candles.

“Oh, yes, hasn’t he?” Armgard said eagerly.

“And you are taking the course just on his account, Armgard;you gaze at him all the time with your blue eyes, asif—”

“Are you in love with him?” asked Tony. “I can’t undomy shoe-lace; please, Gerda. Thanks. Why don’t you marryhim? He is a good match—he will get to be a High SchoolProfessor.”

“I think you are both horrid. I’m not in love with him,and I would not marry a teacher, anyhow. I shall marrya country gentleman.”

“A nobleman?” Tony dropped her stocking and lookedthoughtfully into Armgard’s face.

“I don’t know, yet. But he must have a large estate. Oh,girls, I just love that sort of thing! I shall get up at fiveo’clock every morning, and attend to everything....” Shepulled up the bed-covers and stared dreamily at the ceiling.

“Five hundred cows are before your mind’s eye,” saidGerda, looking at her in the mirror.

Tony was not ready yet; but she let her head fall on thepillow, tucked her hands behind her neck, and gazed dreamilyat the ceiling in her turn.

“Of course,” she said, “I shall marry a business man. Hemust have a lot of money, so we can furnish elegantly. Iowe that to my family and the firm,” she added earnestly.“Yes, you’ll see, that’s what I shall do.”

Gerda had finished her hair for the night and was brushing[88]her big white teeth, using the ivory-backed hand-mirror tosee them better.

“I shall probably not marry at all,” she said, speaking withsome difficulty on account of the tooth-powder. “I don’t seewhy I should. I am not anxious. I’ll go back to Amsterdamand play duets with Daddy and afterwards live with mymarried sister.”

“What a pity,” Tony said briskly. “What a pity! Youought to marry here and stay here for always. Listen: youcould marry one of my brothers—”

“The one with the big nose?” asked Gerda, and gave adainty little yawn, holding the hand-mirror before her face.

“Or the other; it doesn’t matter. You could furnish beautifully.Jacobs could do it—the upholsterer in Fish Street.He has lovely taste. I’d come to see you every day—”

But then there came the voice of Mlle. Popinet. It said:“Oh, mademoiselles! Please go to bed. It is too late to getmarried any more this evening!”

Sundays and holidays Tony spent in Meng Street or outsidethe town with her grandparents. How lovely, when it wasfine on Easter Sunday, hunting for eggs and marzipan haresin the enormous Kröger garden! Then there were the summerholidays at the seashore; they lived in the Kurhouse, ateat the table-d’hôte, bathed, and went donkey-riding. Someseasons when the Consul had business, there were long journeys.But Christmases were best of all. There were threepresent-givings: at home, at the grandparents’, and at Sesemi’s,where bishop flowed in streams. The one at home was thegrandest, for the Consul believed in keeping the holy feastwith pomp and ceremony. They gathered in the landscape-roomwith due solemnity. The servants and the crowd of poorpeople thronged into the pillared hall, where the Consul wentabout shaking their purple hands. Then outside rose thevoices of the choir-boys from St. Mary’s in a quartette, andone’s heart beat loudly with awe and expectation. The smellof the Christmas tree was already coming through the crack[89]in the great white folding doors; and the Frau Consul tookthe old family Bible with the funny big letters, and slowlyread aloud the Christmas chapter; and after the choir-boyshad sung another carol, everybody joined in “O Tannenbaum”and went in solemn procession through the hall into the greatsalon, hung with tapestries that had statuary woven intothem. There the tree rose to the ceiling, decorated withwhite lilies, twinkling and sparkling and pouring out lightand fragrance; and the table with the presents on it stretchedfrom the windows to the door. Outside, the Italians with thebarrel-organ were making music in the frozen, snowy streets,and a great hubbub came over from the Christmas marketin Market Square. All the children except little Clara stoppedup to late supper in the salon, and there were mountains ofcarp and stuffed turkey.

In these years Tony Buddenbrook visited two Mecklenburgestates. She stopped for two weeks one summer with herfriend Armgard, on Herr von Schilling’s property, which layon the coast across the bay from Travemünde. And anothertime she went with Cousin Tilda to a place where BernardBuddenbrook was inspector. This estate was called “Thankless,”because it did not bring in a penny’s income; but fora summer holiday it was not to be despised.

Thus the years went on. It was, take it all in all, a happyyouth for Tony.

[90]

[92]

On a June afternoon, not long after five o’clock, the familywere sitting before the “portal” in the garden, where they haddrunk coffee. They had pulled the rustic furniture outside,for it was too close in the whitewashed garden house, with itstall mirror decorated with painted birds and its varnishedfolding doors, which were really not folding doors at all andhad only painted latches.

The Consul, his wife, Tony, Tom, and Clothilde sat in ahalf-circle around the table, which was laid with its usualshining service. Christian, sitting a little to one side, connedthe second oration of Cicero against Catiline. He looked unhappy.The Consul smoked his cigar and read the Advertiser.His wife had let her embroidery fall into her lap and satsmiling at little Clara; the child, with Ida Jungmann, waslooking for violets in the grass-plot. Tony, her head proppedon both hands, was deep in Hoffman’s “Serapion Brethren,”while Tom tickled her in the back of the neck with a grass-blade,an attention which she very wisely ignored. And Clothilde,looking thin and old-maidish in her flowered cottonfrock, was reading a story called “Blind, Deaf, Dumb, andStill Happy.” As she read, she scraped up the biscuit-crumbscarefully with all five fingers from the cloth and ate them.

A few white clouds stood motionless in the slowly palingsky. The small town garden, with its carefully laid-out pathsand beds, looked gay and tidy in the afternoon sun. Thescent of the mignonette borders floated up now and then.

“Well, Tom,” said the Consul expansively, and took thecigar out of his mouth, “we are arranging that rye sale I toldyou about, with van Henkdom and Company.”

[94]“What is he giving?” Tom asked with interest, ceasing totickle Tony.

“Sixty thaler for a thousand kilo—not bad, eh?”

“That’s very good.” Tom knew this was excellent business.

“Tony, your position is not comme il faut,” remarked theFrau Consul. Whereat Tony, without raising her eyes fromher book, took one elbow off the table.

“Never mind,” Tony said. “She can sit how she likes, shewill always be Tony Buddenbrook. Tilda and she are certainlythe beauties of the family.”

Clothilde was astonished almost to death. “Good gracious,Tom,” she said. It was inconceivable how she could drawl outthe syllables. Tony bore the jeer in silence. It was neverany use, Tom was more than a match for her. He could alwaysget the last word and have the laugh on his side. Hernostrils dilated a little, and she shrugged her shoulders. Butwhen the Consul’s wife began to talk of the coming dance atthe house of Consul Huneus, and let fall something about newpatent leather shoes, Tony took the other elbow off the tableand displayed a lively interest.

“You keep talking and talking,” complained Christian fretfully,“and I’m having such a hard time. I wish I were abusiness man.”

“Yes, you’re always wanting something different,” said Tom.Anton came across the garden with a card on his tray. Theyall looked at him expectantly.

“Grünlich, Agent,” read the Consul. “He is from Hamburg—anagreeable man, and well recommended, the son ofa clergyman. I have business dealings with him. There is apiece of business now.—Is it all right, Betsy, if I ask himto come out here?”

A middle-sized man, his head thrust a little forward of hisbody, carrying his hat and stick in one hand, came acrossthe garden. He was some two-and-thirty years old; he worea fuzzy greenish-yellow suit with a long-skirted coat, and grey[95]worsted gloves. His face, beneath the sparse light hair, wasrosy and smiling; but there was an undeniable wart on oneside of his nose. His chin and upper lip were smooth-shaven;he wore long, drooping side-whiskers, in the English fashion,and these adornments were conspicuously golden-yellow incolour. Even at a distance, he began making obsequiousgestures with his broad-brimmed grey hat, and as he drewnear he took one last very long step, and arrived describinga half-circle with the upper part of his body, by this meansbowing to them all at once.

“I am afraid I am disturbing the family circle,” he saidin a soft voice, with the utmost delicacy of manner. “Youare conversing, you are indulging in literary pursuits—I mustreally beg your pardon for my intrusion.”

“By no means, my dear Herr Grünlich,” said the Consul.He and his sons got up and shook hands with the stranger.“You are very welcome. I am delighted to see you outsidethe office and in my family circle. Herr Grünlich, Betsy—afriend of mine and a keen man of business. This is mydaughter Antonie, and my niece Clothilde. Thomas you knowalready, and this is my second son, Christian, in High School.”Herr Grünlich responded to each name with an inclinationof the body.

“I must repeat,” he said, “that I have no desire to intrude.I came on business. If the Herr Consul would be so goodas to take a walk with me round the gardens—” The Consul’swife answered: “It will give us pleasure to haveyou sit down with us for a little before you begin to talkbusiness with my husband. Do sit down.”

“A thousand thanks,” said Herr Grünlich, apparently quiteflattered. He sat down on the edge of the chair which Tombrought, laid his hat and stick on his knees, and settled himself,running his hand over his long beard with a little hemmingand hawing, as if to say, “Well, now we’ve got past theintroduction—what next?”

The Frau Consul began the conversation. “You live in[96]Hamburg?” she asked, inclining her head and letting her workfall into her lap.

“Yes, Frau Consul,” responded Herr Grünlich with a freshbow. “At least, my house is in Hamburg, but I am on theroad a good deal. My business is very flourishing—ahem—ifI may be permitted to say so.”

The Frau Consul lifted her eyebrows and made respectfulmotions with her mouth, as if she were saying “Ah—indeed?”

“Ceaseless activity is a condition of my being,” added he,half turning to the Consul. He coughed again as he noticedthat Fräulein Antonie’s glance rested upon him. She gavehim, in fact, the cold, calculating stare with which a maidenmeasures a strange young man—a stare which seems alwayson the point of passing over into actual contempt.

“We have relatives in Hamburg,” said she, in order to besaying something.

“The Duchamps,” explained the Consul. “The family ofmy late Mother.”

“Oh, yes,” Herr Grünlich hastened to say. “I have thehonour of a slight acquaintance with the family. They arevery fine people, in mind and heart. Ahem! This would bea better world if there were more families like them in it.They have religion, benevolence, and genuine piety; in short,they are my ideal of the true Christlike spirit. And in themit is united to a rare degree with a brilliant cosmopolitanism,an elegance, an aristocratic bearing, which I find most attractive,Frau Consul.”

Tony thought: “How can he know my Father and Motherso well? He is saying exactly what they like best to hear.”The Consul responded approvingly, “The combination is onethat is becoming in everybody.” And the Frau Consul couldnot resist stretching out her hand to their guest with her sweepinggesture, palm upward, while the bracelets gave a littlejingle. “You speak as though you read my inmost thoughts,dear Herr Grünlich,” she said.

Upon which, Herr Grünlich made another deep bow, settled[97]himself again, stroked his beard, and coughed as if to say:“Well, let us get on.”

The Frau Consul mentioned the disastrous fire which hadswept Hamburg in May of the year 1842. “Yes, indeed,”said Herr Grünlich, “truly a fearful misfortune. A distressingvisitation. The loss amounted to one hundred andthirty-five millions, at a rough estimate. I am grateful toProvidence that I came off without any loss whatever. Thefire raged chiefly in the parishes of St. Peter and St. Nicholas.—Whata charming garden!” he interrupted himself, takingthe cigar which the Consul offered. “It is so large for a towngarden, and the beds of colour are magnificent. I confessmy weakness for flowers, and for nature in general. Thoseclimbing roses over there trim up the garden uncommonlywell.” He went on, praising the refinement of the location,praising the town itself, praising the Consul’s cigar. He hada pleasant word for each member of the circle.

“May I venture to inquire what you are reading, FräuleinAntonie?” he said smiling.

Tony drew her brows together sharply at this, for somereason, and answered without looking at him, “Hoffmann’s‘Serapion Brethren.’”

“Really! He is a wonderful writer, is he not? Ah, pardonme—I forget the name of your younger son, Frau Consul?”

“Christian.”

“A beautiful name. If I may so express myself”—here heturned again to the Consul—“I like best the names whichshow that the bearer is a Christian. The name of Johann,I know, is hereditary in your family—a name which alwaysrecalls the beloved disciple. My own name—if I may bepermitted to mention it,” he continued, waxing eloquent, “isthat of most of my forefathers—Bendix. It can only beregarded as a shortened form of Benedict. And you, HerrBuddenbrook, are reading—? ah, Cicero. The works of thisgreat Roman orator make pretty difficult reading, eh? ‘Quousque[98]tandem—Catalina’ ... ahem. Oh, I have not forgottenquite all my Latin.”

“I disagree with my late Father on this point,” the Consulsaid. “I have always objected to the perpetual occupationof young heads with Greek and Latin. When there are somany other important subjects, necessary as a preparationfor the practical affairs of life—”

“You take the words out of my mouth,” Herr Grünlichhastened to say. “It is hard reading, and not by any meansalways unexceptionable—I forgot to mention that point.Everything else aside, I can recall passages that were positivelyoffensive—”

There came a pause, and Tony thought “Now it’s my turn.”Herr Grünlich had turned his gaze upon her. And, sureenough: he suddenly started in his chair, made a spasmodicbut always highly elegant gesture toward the Frau Consul,and whispered ardently, “Pray look, Frau Consul, I beg ofyou.—Fräulein, I implore you,” he interrupted himselfaloud, just as if Tony could not hear the rest of what hesaid, “to keep in that same position for just a moment. Doyou see,” he began whispering again, “how the sunshine isplaying in your daughter’s hair? Never,” he said solemnly,as if transported, speaking to nobody in particular, “have Iseen more beautiful hair.” It was as if he were addressinghis remarks to God or to his own soul.

The Consul’s wife smiled, well pleased. The Consul said,“Don’t be putting notions into the girl’s head.” And againTony drew her brows together without speaking. After ashort pause, Herr Grünlich got up.

“But I won’t disturb you any longer now—no, Frau Consul,I refuse to disturb you any longer,” he repeated. “I onlycame on business, but I could not resist—indeed, who couldresist you? Now duty calls. May I ask the Consul—”

“I hope I do not need to assure you that it would giveus pleasure if you would let us put you up while you arehere,” said the Frau Consul. Herr Grünlich appeared for the[99]moment struck dumb with gratitude. “From my soul I amgrateful, Frau Consul,” he said, and his look was indeed eloquentwith emotion. “But I must not abuse your kindness.I have a couple of rooms at the City of Hamburg—”

“A couple of rooms,” thought the Frau Consul—which wasjust what Herr Grünlich meant her to think.

“And, in any case,” he said, as she offered her hand cordially,“I hope we have not seen each other for the lasttime.” He kissed her hand, waited a moment for Antonieto extend hers—which she did not do—described anotherhalf-circle with his upper torso, made a long step backwardand another bow, threw back his head and put his hat on witha flourish, then walked away in company with the Consul.

“A pleasant man,” the Father said later, when he cameback and took his place again.

“I think he’s silly,” Tony permitted herself to remark withsome emphasis.

“Tony! Heavens and earth, what an idea!” said the Consul’swife, displeased. “Such a Christian young man!”

“So well brought up, and so cosmopolitan,” went on theConsul. “You don’t know what you are talking about.” Heand his wife had a way of taking each other’s side like this,out of sheer politeness. It made them the more likely toagree.

Christian wrinkled up his long nose and said, “He was soimportant. ‘You are conversing’—when we weren’t at all.And the roses over there ‘trim things up uncommonly.’ Heacted some of the time as if he were talking to himself. ‘Iam disturbing you’—‘I beg pardon’—‘I have never seen morebeautiful hair.’” Christian mocked Herr Grünlich so cleverlythat they all had to laugh, even the Consul.

“Yes, he gave himself too many airs,” Tony went on. “Hetalked the whole time about himself—his business is good,and he is fond of nature, and he likes such-and-such names,and his name is Bendix—what is all that to us, I’d like toknow? Everything he said was just to spread himself.” Her[100]voice was growing louder all the time with vexation. “Hesaid all the very things you like to hear, Mamma and Papa,and he said them just to make a fine impression on you both.”

“That is no reproach, Tony,” the Consul said sternly.“Everybody puts his best foot foremost before strangers. Weall take care to say what will be pleasant to hear. That is acommonplace.”

“I think he is a good man,” Clothilde pronounced withdrawling serenity—she was the only person in the circle aboutwhom Herr Grünlich had not troubled himself at all. Thomasrefrained from giving an opinion.

“Enough,” concluded the Consul. “He is a capable, cultured,and energetic Christian man, and you, Tony, shouldtry to bridle your tongue—a great girl of eighteen or nineteenyears old, like you! And after he was so polite and gallantto you, too. We are all weak creatures; and you, let mesay, are one of the last to have a right to throw stones. Tom,we’ll get to work.”

Pert little Tony muttered to herself “A golden goat’sbeard!” and scowled as before.

Tony, coming back from a walk some days later, met HerrGrünlich at the corner of Meng Street. “I was most grievedto have missed you, Fräulein,” he said. “I took the libertyof paying my respects to your Mother the other day, and Iregretted your absence more than I can say. How delightfulthat I should meet you like this!”

Fräulein Buddenbrook had paused as he began to speak;but her half-shut eyes looked no further up than the heightof Herr Grünlich’s chest. On her lips rested the mocking,merciless smile with which a young girl measures and rejectsa man. Her lips moved—what should she say? It must besomething that would demolish this Herr Bendix Grünlichonce and for all—simply annihilate him. It must be clever,witty, and effective, must at one and the same time wound himto the quick and impress him tremendously.

“The pleasure is not mutual, Herr Grünlich,” said she,keeping her gaze meanwhile levelled at his chest. And aftershe had shot this poisoned arrow, she left him standing thereand went home, her head in the air, her face red with pridein her own powers of repartee—to learn that Herr Grünlichhad been invited to dinner next Sunday.

And he came. He came in a not quite new-fashioned, ratherwrinkled, but still handsome bell-shaped frock-coat whichgave him a solid, respectable look. He was rosy and smiling,his scant hair carefully parted, his whiskers curled andscented. He ate a ragout of shell-fish, julienne soup, friedsoles, roast veal with creamed potatoes and cauliflower, maraschinopudding, and pumpernickel with roquefort; and hefound a fresh and delicate compliment for each fresh course.[102]Over the sweet he lifted his dessert-spoon, gazed at one ofthe tapestry statues, and spoke aloud to himself, thus: “Godforgive me, I have eaten far too well already. But this pudding—!It is too wonderful! I must beg my good hostessfor another slice.” And he looked roguishly at the Consul’swife. With the Consul he talked business and politics, andspoke soundly and weightily. He discussed the theatre andthe fashions with the Frau Consul, and he had a good wordfor Tom and Christian and Clothilde, and even for little Claraand Ida Jungmann. Tony sat in silence, and he did not undertaketo engage her; only gazing at her now and then, withhis head a little tilted, his face looking dejected and encouragedby turns.

When Herr Grünlich took his leave that evening, he hadonly strengthened the impressions left by his first visit. “Athoroughly well-bred man,” said the Frau Consul. “Anestimable Christian gentleman” was the Consul’s opinion.Christian imitated his speech and actions even better than before;and Tony said her good nights to them all with a frowningbrow, for something told her that she had not yet seen thelast of this gentleman who had won the hearts of her parentswith such astonishing ease and rapidity.

And, sure enough, coming back one afternoon from a visitwith some girl friends, she found Herr Grünlich cosily establishedin the landscape-room, reading aloud to the Frau Consulout of Sir Walter Scott’s “Waverly.” His pronunciationwas perfect, for, as he explained, his business trips had takenhim to England. Tony sat down apart with another book, andHerr Grünlich softly questioned: “Our book is not to yourtaste, Fräulein?” To which she replied, with her head inthe air, something in a sarcastic vein, like “Not in the veryleast.”

But he was not taken aback. He began to talk about hislong-dead parents and communicated the fact that his fatherhad been a clergyman, a Christian, and at the same time ahighly cosmopolitan gentleman.—After this visit, he departed[103]for Hamburg. Tony was not there when he calledto take leave. “Ida,” she said to Mamsell Jungmann, “Ida,the man has gone.” But Mamsell Jungmann only replied,“You’ll see, child.”

And eight days later, in fact, came that scene in the breakfastroom. Tony came down at nine o’clock and found herfather and mother still at table. She let her forehead bekissed and sat down, fresh and hungry, her eyes still red withsleep, and helped herself to sugar, butter, and herb cheese.

“How nice to find you still here, for once, Papa,” she saidas she held her egg in her napkin and opened it with herspoon.

“But to-day I have been waiting for our slug-a-bed,” saidthe Consul. He was smoking and tapping on the table withhis folded newspaper. His wife finished her breakfast withher slow, graceful motions, and leaned back in the sofa.

“Tilda is already busy in the kitchen,” went on the Consul,“and I should have been long since at work myself, if yourMother and I had not been speaking seriously about a matterthat concerns our little daughter.”

Tony, her mouth full of bread and butter, looked first ather father and then her mother, with a mixture of fear andcuriosity.

“Eat your breakfast, my child,” said the Frau Consul. ButTony laid down her knife and cried, “Out with it quickly,Papa—please.” Her father only answered: “Eat your breakfastfirst.”

So Tony drank her coffee and ate her egg and bread andcheese silently, her appetite quite gone. She began to guess.The fresh morning bloom disappeared from her cheek, and sheeven grew a little pale. She said “Thank you” for thehoney, and soon after announced in a subdued voice that shehad finished.

“My dear child,” said the Consul, “the matter we desireto talk over with you is contained in this letter.” He wastapping the table now with a big blue envelope instead of the[104]newspaper. “To be brief: Bendix Grünlich, whom we havelearned, during his short stay here, to regard as a good anda charming man, writes to me that he has conceived a stronginclination for our daughter, and he here makes a request inform for her hand. What does my child say?”

Tony was leaning back in her seat, her head bent, herright hand slowly twirling the silver napkin-ring round andround. But suddenly she looked up, and her eyes had grownquite dark with tears. She said, her voice full of distress:“What does this man want of me? What have I done tohim?” And she burst into weeping.

The Consul shot a glance at his wife and then regardedhis empty cup, embarrassed.

“Tony dear,” said the Frau Consul gently, “why this—échauffement?You know quite well your parents can onlydesire your good. And they cannot counsel you to rejectforthwith the position offered you. I know you feel so far noparticular inclination for Herr Grünlich, but that will come;I assure you it comes, with time. Such a young thing as youis never sure what she wants. The mind is as confused asthe heart. One must just give the heart time—and keep themind open to the advice of experienced people who thinkand plan only for our good.”

“I don’t know him the least little bit,” Tony said in a dejectedtone, wiping her eyes on the little white batiste serviette,stained with egg. “All I know is, he has a yellow beard,like a goat’s, and a flourishing business—” Her upper lip,trembling on the verge of tears, had an expression that wasindescribably touching.

With a movement of sudden tenderness the Consul jerkedhis chair nearer hers and stroked her hair, smiling.

“My little Tony, what should you like to know of him?You are still a very young girl, you know. You wouldknow him no better if he had been here for fifty-two weeksinstead of four. You are a child, with no eyes yet for the[105]world, and you must trust other people who mean well byyou.”

“I don’t understand—I don’t understand,” Tony sobbedhelplessly, and put down her head as a kitten does beneaththe hand that strokes it. “He comes here and says somethingpleasant to everybody, and then goes away again; and then hewrites to you that he—that I—I don’t understand. Whatmade him? What have I done to him?”

The Consul smiled again. “You said that once before,Tony; and it illustrates so well your childish way of reasoning.My little daughter must not feel that people mean tourge or torment her. We can consider it all very quietly; infact, we must consider it all very quietly and calmly, for itis a very serious matter. Meanwhile I will write an answerto Herr Grünlich’s letter, without either consenting or refusing.There is much to be thought of.—Well, is thatagreed? What do you say?—And now Papa can go backto his work, can’t he?—Adieu, Betsy.”

“Au revoir, dear Jean.”

“Do take a little more honey, Tony,” said the Frau Consulto her daughter, who sat in her place motionless, with herhead bent. “One must eat.”

Tony’s tears gradually dried. Her head felt hot and heavywith her thoughts. Good gracious, what a business! Shehad always known, of course, that she should one day marry,and be the wife of a business man, and embark upon a solidand advantageous married life, commensurate with the positionof the family and the firm. But suddenly, for the first timein her life, somebody, some actual person, in serious earnest,wanted to marry her. How did people act? To her, her,Tony Buddenbrook, were now applicable all those tremendouswords and phrases which she had hitherto met with only inbooks: her “hand,” her “consent,” “as long as life shall last!”Goodness gracious, what a step to take, all at once!

“And you, Mamma? Do you too advise me to—to—to yield[106]my consent?” She hesitated a little before the “yield my consent.”It sounded high-flown and awkward. But then, thiswas the first occasion in her life that was worthy of finelanguage. She began to blush for her earlier lack of self-control.It seemed to her now not less unreasonable thanit had ten minutes ago that she should marry Herr Grünlich;but the dignity of her situation began to fill her with a senseof importance which was satisfying indeed.

“I advise you to accept, my child? Has Papa advised youto do so? He has only not advised you not to, that is all. Itwould be very irresponsible of either of us to do that. Theconnection offered you is a very good one, my dear Tony.You would go to Hamburg on an excellent footing and livethere in great style.”

Tony sat motionless. She was having a sort of vision ofsilk portières, like those in grandfather’s salon. And, asMadame Grünlich, should she drink morning chocolate? Shethought it would not be seemly to ask.

“As your Father says, you have time to consider,” the FrauConsul continued. “But we are obliged to tell you thatsuch an offer does not come every day, that it would makeyour fortune, and that it is exactly the marriage which dutyand vocation prescribe. This, my child, it is my businessto tell you. You know yourself that the path which opensbefore you to-day is the prescribed one which your life oughtto follow.”

“Yes,” Tony said thoughtfully. She was well aware of herresponsibilities toward the family and the firm, and she wasproud of them. She was saturated with her family history—she,Tony Buddenbrook, who, as the daughter of Consul Buddenbrook,went about the town like a little queen, beforewhom Matthiesen the porter took off his hat and made a lowbow! The Rostock tailor had been very well off, to beginwith; but since his time, the family fortunes had advanced byleaps and bounds. It was her vocation to enhance the brillianceof family and firm in her allotted way, by making a[107]rich and aristocratic marriage. To the same end, Tom workedin the office. Yes, the marriage was undoubtedly preciselythe right one. But—but— She saw him before her, saw hisgold-yellow whiskers, his rosy, smiling face, the wart on hisnose, his mincing walk. She could feel his woolly suit, hearhis soft voice....

“I felt sure,” the Consul’s wife said, “that we were accessibleto quiet reason. Have we perhaps already made upour mind?”

“Oh, goodness, no!” cried Tony, suddenly. She utteredthe “Oh” with an outburst of irritation. “What nonsense!Why should I marry him? I have always made fun of him.I never did anything else. I can’t understand how he canpossibly endure me. The man must have some sort of pridein his bones!” She began to drip honey upon a slice ofbread.

This year the Buddenbrooks took no holiday during Christian’sand Clara’s vacation. The Consul said he was too busy;but it was Tony’s unsettled affair as well, that kept them lingeringin Mengstrasse. A very diplomatic letter, written bythe Consul himself, had been dispatched to Herr Grünlich;but the progress of the wooing was hindered by Tony’s obstinacy.She expressed herself in the most childish way.“Heaven forbid, Mamma,” she would say. “I simply can’tendure him!” with tremendous emphasis on the second syllable.Or she would explain solemnly, “Father” (Tony neverotherwise said anything but “Papa”), “I can never yield himmy consent.”

And at this point the matter would assuredly have stuck,had it not been for events that occurred some ten days afterthe talk in the breakfast-room—in other words, about the middleof July.

It was afternoon—a hot blue afternoon. The Frau Consulwas out, and Tony sat with a book alone at the window ofthe landscape-room, when Anton brought her a card. Beforeshe had time to read the name, a young man in a bell-skirtedcoat and pea-green pantaloons entered the room. Itwas, of course, Herr Grünlich, with an expression of imploringtenderness upon his face.

Tony started up indignantly and made a movement to fleeinto the next room. How could one possibly talk to a manwho had proposed for one’s hand? Her heart was in herthroat and she had gone very pale. While he had been ata safe distance she had hugely enjoyed the solemn conferenceswith her Father and Mother and the suddenly enhanced importance[109]of her own person and destiny. But now, here hewas—he stood before her. What was going to happen? Andagain she felt that she was going to weep.

At a rapid stride, his head tipped on one side, his armsoutstretched, with the air of a man who says: “Here I am,kill me if you will!” he approached. “What a providence!”he cried. “I find you here, Antonie—” (He said “Antonie”!)

Tony stood erect, her novel in her right hand. She stuckout her lips and gave her head a series of little jerks upward,relieving her irritation by stressing, in that manner, each wordas she spoke it. She got out “What is the matter with you?”—Butthe tears were already rising. And Herr Grünlich’sown excitement was too great for him to realize the check.

“How could I wait longer? Was I not driven to return?”he said in impassioned tones. “A week ago I had your Father’sletter, which filled me with hope. I could bear it nolonger. Could I thus linger on in half-certainty? I threwmyself into a carriage, I hastened hither, I have taken a coupleof rooms at the City of Hamburg—and here I am, Antonie,to hear from your lips the final word which will make mehappier than I can express.”

Tony was stunned. Her tears retreated abashed. This,then, was the effect of her Father’s careful letter, which hadindefinitely postponed the decision. Two or three times shestammered: “You are mistaken—you are mistaken.”

Herr Grünlich had drawn an arm-chair close to her seatin the window. He sat down, he obliged her to sit as well,and, bowing over her hand, which, limp with indecision, sheresigned to him, he went on in a trembling voice: “FräuleinAntonie, since first I saw you, that afternoon,—do you rememberthat afternoon, when I saw you, a vision of loveliness,in your own family circle?—Since then, your name has beenindelibly written on my heart.” He went back, correctedhimself, and said “graven”: “Since that day, Fräulein Antonie,it has been my only, my most ardent wish, to win yourbeautiful hand. What your Father’s letter permitted me only[110]to hope, that I implore you to confirm to me now in all certainty.I may feel sure of your consent—I may be assured ofit?” He took her other hand in his and looked deep into herwide-open, frightened eyes. He had left off his worsted glovesto-day, and his hands were long and white, marked with blueveins. Tony stared at his pink face, at his wart, at his eyes,which were as blue as a goose’s.

“Oh, no, no,” she broke out, rapidly, in terror. And thenshe added, “No, I will never yield my consent.” She tookgreat pains to speak firmly, but she was already in tears.

“How have I deserved this doubt and hesitation?” he askedin a lower, well-nigh reproachful tone. “I know you are amaiden cherished and sheltered by the most loving care. ButI swear to you, I pledge you my word of honour as a man,that I would carry you in my arms, that as my wife you wouldlack nothing, that you would live in Hamburg a life altogetherworthy of you—”

Tony sprang up. She freed her hand and, with the tearsrolling down her cheeks, cried out in desperation, “No, no!I said no! I am refusing you—for heaven’s sake, can’t youunderstand?” Then Herr Grünlich rose up too. He took onebackward step and stretched out his arms toward her, palmsup. Seriously, like a man of honour and resolution, he spoke.

“Mademoiselle Buddenbrook, you understand that I cannotpermit myself to be insulted?”

“But I am not insulting you, Herr Grünlich,” said Tony,repenting her brusqueness. Oh, dear, oh dear, why did allthis have to happen to her? Such a wooing as this she hadnever imagined. She had supposed that one only had to say:“Your offer does me great honour, but I cannot accept it,”and that would be an end of the matter. “Your offer does megreat honour,” she said, as calmly as she could, “but I cannotaccept it. And now I must go; please excuse me—I ambusy—” But Herr Grünlich stood in front of her.

“You reject me?” he said gloomily.

“Yes,” Tony said; adding with tact, “unfortunately.”

[111]Herr Grünlich gave a gusty sigh. He took two big stepsbackward, bent his torso to one side, pointed with his forefingerto the carpet and said in an awful voice: “Antonie!”Thus for the space of a moment they stood, he in a postureof commanding rage, Tony pale, weepy, and trembling, herdamp handkerchief to her mouth. Then he turned from herand, with his hands on his back, measured the room twicethrough, as if he were at home. He paused at the windowand looked out into the early dusk. Tony moved cautiouslytoward the glass doors, but she got only as far as the middleof the room when he stood beside her again.

“Tony!” he murmured, and gently took her hand. Then hesank, yes, he sank slowly upon his knees beside her! Histwo gold whiskers lay across her hand!

“Tony!” he repeated. “You behold me here—you see towhat you have brought me. Have you a heart to feel what Iendure? Listen. You behold a man condemned to death, devotedto destruction, a man who—who will certainly die ofgrief,” he interrupted himself, “if you scorn his love. HereI lie. Can you find it in your heart to say: ‘I despise you’?”

“No, no,” Tony said quickly in a consoling tone. Hertears were conquered, pity stirred. Heavens, how he mustadore her, to go on like that, while she herself felt completelyindifferent! Was it to her, Tony Buddenbrook, thatall this was happening? One read of it in the novels. Buthere in real life was a man in a frock-coat, on his knees infront of her, weeping, imploring. The idea of marrying himwas simply idiotic, because she had found him silly; but justat this moment he did not seem silly; heavens, no! Honourable,upright, desperate entreaty were in his voice and face.

“No, no,” she repeated, bending over him quite touched.“I don’t despise you, Herr Grünlich. How can you say sucha thing? Do get up—please do!”

“Then you will not kill me?” he asked again; and she answered,in a consoling, almost motherly tone, “No, no.”

“That is a promise!” he cried, springing to his feet. But[112]when he saw Tony’s frightened face he got down again andwent on in a wheedling tone: “Good, good, say no more,Antonie. Enough, for this time. We shall speak of thisagain. No more now—farewell. I will return—farewell!”He had got quickly to his feet. He took his broad grey hatfrom the table, kissed her hand, and was out through the glassdoors in a twinkling.

Tony saw him take his stick from the hall and disappeardown the corridor. She stood, bewildered and worn out, inthe middle of the room, with the damp handkerchief in oneof her limp hands.

Consul Buddenbrook said to his wife: “If I thought Tonyhad a motive in refusing this match— But she is a child,Betsy. She enjoys going to balls and being courted by theyoung fellows; she is quite aware that she is pretty and froma good family. Of course, it is possible that she is consciouslyor unconsciously seeking a mate herself—but I know the child,and I feel sure she has never yet found her heart, as thesaying goes. If you asked her, she would turn this way andthat way, and consider—but she would find nobody. She isa child, a little bird, a hoyden. Directly she once says yes,she will find her place. She will have carte blanche to setherself up, and she will love her husband, after a few days.He is no beau, God knows. But he is perfectly presentable.One mustn’t ask for five legs on a sheep, as we say in business.If she waits for somebody to come along who is an Adonisand a good match to boot—well, God bless us, Tony Buddenbrookcould always find a husband, but it’s a risk, after all.Every day is fishing-day, but not every day catching-day, touse another homely phrase—. Yesterday I had a long talkwith Grünlich. He is a most constant wooer. He showed meall his books. They are good enough to frame. I told himI was completely satisfied. The business is young, but infine condition—assets must be somewhere about a hundredand twenty thousand thaler, and that is obviously only thesituation at the moment, for he makes a good slice every year.I asked the Duchamps. What they said doesn’t sound at allbad. They don’t know his connections, but he lives like agentleman, mingles in society, and his business is known to beexpanding. And some other people in Hamburg have told me[114]things—a banker named Kesselmeyer, for instance—that Ifeel pleased with. In short, as you know, Betsy, I can onlywish for the consummation of this match, which would behighly advantageous for the family and the firm. I amheartily sorry the child feels so pressed. She hardly speaksat all, and acts as if she were in a state of siege. But I can’tbring myself to refuse him out and out. You know, Betsy,there is another thing I can’t emphasize often enough: inthese last years we haven’t been doing any too brilliantly.Not that there’s anything to complain of. Oh, no. Faithfulwork always finds its reward. Business goes quietly on—buta bit too quietly for me. And it only does that because I ameternally vigilant. We haven’t perceptibly advanced sinceFather was taken away. The times aren’t good for merchants.No, our prospects are not too bright. Our daughter is in aposition to make a marriage that would undoubtedly behonourable and advantageous; she is of an age to marry, andshe ought to do it. Delay isn’t advisable—it isn’t advisable,Betsy. Speak to her again. I said all I could, this afternoon.”

Tony was besieged, as the Consul said. She no longersaid no—but she could not bring herself to say yes. Shecould not wring a “yes” out of herself—God knew why; shedid not.

Meanwhile, first her Father would draw her aside andspeak seriously, and then her Mother would take up the tale,both pressing for a decision. Uncle Gotthold and familywere not brought into the affair; their attitude toward theMengstrasse was not exactly sympathetic. But Sesemi Weichbrodtgot wind of it and came to give good advice, with correctenunciation. Even Mademoiselle Jungmann said, “Tony, mylittle one, why should you worry? You will always be inthe best society.” And Tony could not pay a visit to theadmired silken salon outside the Castle Gate without gettinga dose from old Madame Kröger: “À propos, little one, I[115]hear there is an affair! I hope you are going to listen toreason, child.”

One Sunday, as she sat in St. Mary’s with her parents andbrothers, Pastor Kölling began preaching from the text aboutthe wife leaving father and mother and cleaving only to herhusband. His language was so violent that she began listeningwith a jump, staring up to see if he were looking at her.No, thank goodness, his head was turned in the other direction,and he seemed to be preaching in general to all thefaithful. Still, it was plain that this was a new attack uponher,—every word struck home. A young, a still childish girl,he said, could have as yet no will and no wisdom; and if sheset herself up against the loving advice of her parents shewas as deserving of punishment as the guilty are; she wasone of those whom the Lord spews out of his mouth. Withthis phrase, which the kind Pastor Kölling adored, she encountereda piercing glance from his eyes, as he made a threateninggesture with his right arm. Tony saw how her Father, sittingnext to her, raised his hand, as though he would say, “Not sohard.” But it was perfectly plain that either he or her Motherhad let the Pastor into the secret. Tony crouched in herplace with her face like fire, and felt the eyes of all theworld upon her. Next Sunday she flatly refused to go tochurch.

She moved dumbly about the house, she laughed no more,she lost her appetite. Sometimes she gave such heart-breakingsighs as would move a stone to pity. She was growing thinnertoo, and would soon lose her freshness. It would not do.At length the Consul said:

“This cannot go on, Betsy. We must not ill-use the child.She must get away a bit, to rest and be able to think quietly.You’ll see she will listen to reason then. I can’t leave, andthe holidays are almost over. But there is no need for us togo. Yesterday old Schwarzkopf from Travemünde was here,and I spoke to him. He said he would be glad to take the[116]child for a while. I’d give them something for it. Shewould have a good home, where she could bathe and be inthe fresh air and get clear in her mind. Tom can take her—soit’s all arranged. Better to-morrow than day after.”

Tony was much pleased with this idea. True, she hardlyever saw Herr Grünlich, but she knew he was in town, intouch with her parents. Any day he might appear before herand begin shrieking and importuning. She would feel saferat Travemünde, in a strange house. So she packed her trunkwith alacrity, and on one of the last days in July she mountedwith Tom into the majestic Kröger equipage. She said good-byein the best of spirits; and breathed more freely as theydrove out of the Castle Gate.

The road to Travemünde first crosses the ferry and then goesstraight ahead. The grey high-road glided away under thehoofs of Lebrecht Kröger’s fat brown Mecklenburgs. Thesound of their trotting was hollow and rhythmical, the sunburned hot, and dust concealed the meagre view. The familyhad eaten at one o’clock, an hour earlier than usual, and thebrother and sister set out punctually at two. They wouldarrive shortly after four; for what a hired carriage could doin three hours, the Kröger pair were mettlesome enough tomake in two.

Tony sat half asleep, nodding under her broad straw hatand her lace-trimmed parasol, which she held tipped backagainst the hood of the chaise. The parasol was twine-grey,with cream-coloured lace, and matched her neat, simply cutfrock. She reclined in the luxurious ease proper to theequipage, with her feet, in their white stockings and strapshoes, daintily crossed before her.

Tom was already twenty years old. He wore an extremelywell-cut blue suit, and sat smoking Russian cigarettes, withhis hat on the back of his head. He was not very tall; butalready he boasted a considerable moustache, darker in tonethan his brows and eyelashes. He had one eyebrow lifted atrifle—a habit with him—and sat looking at the dust and thetrees that fled away behind them as the carriage rolled on.

Tony said: “I was never so glad to come to Travemündebefore—for various reasons. You needn’t laugh, Tom. Iwish I could leave a certain pair of yellow mutton-chops evenfurther behind! And then, it will be an entirely differentTravemünde at the Schwarzkopfs’, on the sea front. I shan’t[118]be bothered with the Kurhouse society, I can tell you thatmuch. I am not in the mood for it. Besides, that—thatman could come there too as well as not. He has nerveenough—it wouldn’t trouble him at all. Some day he’d bebobbing up in front of me and putting on all his airs andgraces.”

Tom threw away the stub of his cigarette and took a freshone out of the box, a pretty little affair with an inlaid pictureinside the lid, of an overturned troika being set upon bywolves. It was a present from a Russian customer of theConsul. The cigarettes, those biting little trifles with theyellow mouthpiece, were Tom’s passion. He smoked quantitiesof them, and had the bad habit of inhaling the smoke,breathing it slowly out again as he talked.

“Yes,” he said. “As far as that goes, the garden of theKurhouse is alive with Hamburgers. Consul Fritsche, whohas bought it, is a Hamburger himself. He must be doing awonderful business now, Papa says. But you’ll miss somethingif you don’t take part in it a bit. Peter Döhlmann isthere—he never stops in town this time of year. His businessgoes on at a jog-trot, all by itself, I suppose. Funny! Well—andUncle Justus comes out for a little on a Sunday, ofcourse, to visit the roulette table. Then there are the Möllendorpfsand the Kistenmakers, I suppose, in full strength, andthe Hagenströms—”

“H’m. Yes, of course. They couldn’t get on withoutSarah Semlinger!”

“Her name is Laura, my child. Let us be accurate.”

“And Julchen with her, of course. Julchen ought to getengaged to August Möllendorpf this summer—and she willdo it, too. After all, they belong together. Disgusting,isn’t it, Tom? This adventurer’s family—”

“Yes, but good heavens, they are the firm of Strunck andHagenström. That is the point.”

“Naturally, they make the firm. Of course. And everybodyknows how they do it. With their elbows. Pushing[119]and shoving—entirely without courtesy or elegance. Grandfathersaid that Heinrich Hagenström could coin money out ofpaving-stones. Those were his very words.”

“Yes, yes, that is exactly it. It is money talks. And thismatch is perfectly good business. Julchen will be a Möllendorpf,and August will get a snug position—”

“Oh, you just want to make me angry, Tom, that’s all. Youknow how I despise that lot.”

Tom began to laugh. “Goodness, one has to get along withthem,” he replied. “As Papa said the other day, they are thecoming people; while the Möllendorpfs, for example— Andone can’t deny that the Hagenströms are clever. Hermann isalready useful in the business, and Moritz is very able. Hefinished school brilliantly, in spite of his weak chest; and heis going to study law.”

“That’s all very well, Tom, but all the same I am glad thereare families that don’t have to knuckle down to them. Forinstance, we Buddenbrooks—”

“Oh,” Tom said, “don’t let’s begin to boast. Every familyhas its own skeleton,” he went on in a lower voice, with aglance at Jock’s broad back. “For instance, God knows whatstate Uncle Julius’ affairs are in. Papa shakes his head whenhe speaks of him, and Grandfather Kröger has had to comeforward once or twice with large sums, I hear. The cousinsaren’t just the thing, either. Jürgen wants to study, but hestill hasn’t come up for his finals; and they are not very wellsatisfied with Jacob, at Dalbeck and Company. He is alwaysin debt, even with a good allowance, and when Uncle Justus refusesto send any more, Aunt Rosalie does— No, I find itdoesn’t do to throw stones. If you want to balance the scalewith the Hagenströms, you’d better marry Grünlich.”

“Did we get into this wagon to discuss that subject?—Oh,yes, I suppose you’re right. I ought to marry him—but Iwon’t think about it now! I want to forget it. We are goingto the Schwarzkopfs’. I’ve never seen them to know them:are they nice people?”

[120]“Oh, old Diederich Schwarzkopf—he’s not such a bad oldchap. Doesn’t speak such atrocious dialect, unless he’s hadmore than five glasses of grog. Once he was at the office, andwe went together to the Ships’ Company. He drank like atank. His father was born on a Norwegian freighter andgrew up to be captain on the very same line. Diederich hashad a good education; the pilot command is a responsibleoffice, and pretty well paid. Diederich is an old bear—butvery gallant with the ladies. Look out: he’ll flirt with you.”

“Ah—well, and his wife?”

“I don’t know her, myself. She must be nice, I shouldthink. There is a son, too. He was in first or second, in mytime at school, and is a student now, I expect. Look, there’sthe sea. We shall be there inside a quarter of an hour.”

They drove for a while along the shore on an avenue borderedwith young beech-trees. There was the water, blue andpeaceful in the sunshine; the round yellow light-house towercame into view, then the bay and the breakwater, the red roofsof the little town, the harbour with its sails, tackle, and shipping.They drove between the first houses, passed the church,and rolled along the front close to the water and up to apretty little house, the verandah of which was overhung withvines.

Pilot-Captain Schwarzkopf stood before his door and tookoff his seaman’s cap as the calèche drove up. He was a broad,stocky man with a red face, sea-blue eyes, and a bristlinggrizzled beard that ran fan-shaped from one ear to the other.His mouth turned down at the corners, in one of which heheld a wooden pipe. His smooth-shaven, red upper lip washard and prominent; he looked thoroughly solid and respectable,with big bones and well-rounded paunch; and hewore a coat decorated with gold braid, underneath which awhite piqué waistcoat was visible.

“Servant, Mademoiselle,” he said, as he carefully liftedTony from the calèche. “We know it’s an honour you do us,coming to stop with us like this. Servant, Herr Buddenbrook.[121]Papa well? And the honoured Frau Consul? Come in,come in! My wife has some sort of a bite ready, I suppose.Drive over to Peddersen’s Inn,” he said in his broadest dialectto the coachman, who was carrying in the trunk. “You’llfind they take good care of the horses there.” Then, turningto Thomas, “you’ll stop the night with us, Herr Buddenbrook?Oh, yes, you must. The horses want a bait and a rest, andyou wouldn’t get home until after dark.”

“Upon my word, one lives at least as well here as at theKurhouse,” Tony said a quarter of an hour later, as theysat around the coffee-table in the verandah. “What wonderfulair! You can smell the sea-weed from here. Howfrightfully glad I am to be in Travemünde again!”

Between the vine-clad columns of the verandah one couldlook out on the broad river-mouths, glittering in the sun;there were the piers and the boats, and the ferry-house on the“Prival” opposite, the projecting peninsula of Mecklenburg.— Theclumsy, blue-bordered cups on the table were almost likebasins. How different from the delicate old porcelain athome! But there was a bunch of flowers at Tony’s place,the food looked inviting, and the drive had whetted her appetite.

“Yes, Mademoiselle will see, she will pick up here fastenough,” the housewife said. “She looks a little poorly, if Imight say so. That is the town air, and the parties.”

Frau Schwarzkopf was the daughter of a Schlutup pastor.She was a head shorter than Tony, rather thin, and looked tobe about fifty. Her hair was still black, and neatly dressedin a large-meshed net. She wore a dark brown dress withwhite crocheted collar and cuffs. She was spotless, gentle,and hospitable, urging upon her guests the currant bread thatlay in a boat-shaped basket surrounded by cream, butter,sugar, and honeycomb. This basket had a border of bead-workembroidery, done by little Meta, the eight-year-olddaughter, who now sat next her mother, dressed in a plaidfrock, her flaxen hair in a thick pigtail.

[122]Frau Schwarzkopf made excuses for Tony’s room, whithershe had already been to make herself tidy after the journey.It was so very simple—

“Oh, all the better,” Tony said. It had a view of theocean, which was the main thing. And she dipped her fourthpiece of currant bread into her coffee. Tom talked withthe pilot-captain about the Wullenwewer, now undergoing repairsin the town.

There came suddenly into the verandah a young man ofsome twenty years. He took off his grey felt hat, blushed,and bowed rather awkwardly.

“Well, my son,” said Herr Schwarzkopf, “you are late.”He presented him to the guests: “This is my son, studyingto be a doctor. He is spending his vacation with us.” Hehad mentioned the young man’s name, but Tony failed tounderstand it.

“Pleased to meet you,” said Tony, primly. Tom rose andshook hands. Young Schwarzkopf bowed again, put downhis book, and took his place at the table, blushing afresh.He was of medium height, very slender, and as fair as hecould possibly be. His youthful moustaches, colourless asthe hair which covered his long head, were scarcely visible;and he had a complexion to match, a tint like translucentporcelain, which grew pink on the slightest provocation.His eyes, slightly darker than his father’s, had the same notvery animated but good-natured quizzical expression; and hisfeatures were regular and rather pleasing. When he beganto eat he displayed unusually regular teeth, glistening inclose ranks of polished ivory. For the rest, he wore a greyjacket buttoned up, with flaps on the pockets, and an elasticbelt at the back.

“Yes, I am sorry I am late,” he said. His speech wassomewhat slow and grating. “I was reading on the beach, anddid not look soon enough at my watch.” Then he ate silently,looking up now and then to glance at Tom and Tony.

Later on, Tony being again urged by the housewife to[123]take something, he said, “You can rely on the honey, FräuleinBuddenbrook; it is a pure nature product—one knows whatone is eating. You must eat, you know. The air here consumesone—it accelerates the process of metabolism. If youdo not eat well, you will get thin.” He had a pleasant, naïve,way of now and then bending forward as he spoke and lookingat some other person than the one whom he addressed.

His mother listened to him tenderly and watched Tony’sface to see the impression he made. But old Schwarzkopfsaid, “Now, now, Herr Doctor. Don’t be blowing off aboutyour metabolism—we don’t know anything about that sortof talk.” Whereupon the young man laughed, blushed again,and looked at Tony’s plate.

The pilot-captain mentioned more than once his son’s Christianname, but Tony could never quite catch what it was.It sounded like Moor—or Mort; but the Father’s broad, flatpronunciation was impossible to understand.

They finished their meal. Herr Diederich sat blinking inthe sun, his coat flung wide open over his white waistcoat,and he and his son took out their short pipes. Tom smokedhis cigarettes, and the young people began a lively conversation,the subject of which was their old school and all the oldschool recollections. Tony took part gaily. They quotedHerr Stengel: “What! You were to make a line, and whatare you making? A dash!” What a pity Christian was nothere! he could imitate him so much better.

Once Tom pointed to the flowers at Tony’s place and saidto his sister: “That trims things up uncommonly well, asHerr Grünlich would say!” Whereat Tony, red with anger,gave him a push and darted an embarrassed glance at youngSchwarzkopf.

The coffee-hour had been unusually late, and they had prolongedit. It was already half-past six, and twilight was beginningto descend over the Prival, when the captain got up.

“The company will excuse me,” he said; “I’ve some workdown at the pilot-house. We’ll have supper at eight o’clock,[124]if that suits the young folk. Or even a little later to-night,eh, Meta? And you” (here he used his son’s name again),“don’t be lolling about here. Just go and dig up your bonesagain. Fräulein Buddenbrook will want to unpack. Or perhapsthe guests would like to go down on the beach. Onlydon’t get in the way.”

“Diederich, for pity’s sake, why shouldn’t he sit still abit?” Frau Schwarzkopf said, with mild reproach. “Andif our guests like to go down on the beach, why shouldn’t hego along? Is he to see nothing at all of our visitors?”

In her neat little room with the flower-covered furniture,Tony woke next morning with the fresh, happy feeling whichone has at the beginning of a new chapter. She sat up inbed and, with her hands clasped round her knees and hertousled head flung back, blinked at the stream of light thatpoured through the closed shutters into the room. She beganto sort out the experiences of the previous day.

Her thoughts scarcely touched upon the Grünlich affair.The town, his hateful apparition in the landscape-room, theexhortations of her family and Pastor Kölling—all that layfar behind her. Here, every morning, there would be acare-free waking. These Schwarzkopfs were splendid people.Last night there had been pineapple punch, and they hadmade part of a happy family circle. It had been very jolly.Herr Schwarzkopf had told his best sea tales, and youngSchwarzkopf stories about student life at Göttingen. Howodd it was, that she still did not know his first name! Andshe had strained her ear to hear too, but even at dinner shedid not succeed, and somehow it did not seem proper to ask.She tried feverishly to think how it sounded—was it Moor—Mord—?Anyhow, she had liked him pretty well, this youngMoor or Mord. He had such a sly, good-natured laugh whenhe asked for the water and called it by letters and numbers,so that his father got quite furious. But it was only thescientific formula for water—that is, for ordinary water, forthe Travemünde product was a much more complicated affair,of course. Why, one could find a jelly-fish in it, any time!The authorities, of course, might have what notions they choseabout fresh water. For this he only got another scolding[126]from his father, for speaking slightingly of the authorities.But Frau Schwarzkopf watched Tony all the time, to see howmuch she admired the young man—and really, it was mostinteresting, he was so learned and so jolly, all at the sametime. He had given her considerable attention. She hadcomplained that her head felt hot, while eating, and thatshe must have too much blood. What had he replied? Hehad given her a careful scrutiny, and then said, Yes, thearteries in the temples might be full; but that did not provethat she had too much blood. Perhaps, instead, it meantshe had too little—or rather, that there were too few redcorpuscles in it. In fact, she was perhaps a little anæmic.

The cuckoo sprang out of his carven house on the wall andcuckooed several times, clear and loud. “Seven, eight, nine,”counted Tony. “Up with you!” She jumped out of bed andopened the blinds. The sky was partly overcast, but the sunwas visible. She looked out over the Leuchtenfeld with itstower, to the ruffled sea beyond. On the right it was boundedby the curve of the Mecklenburg coast; but before her itstretched on and on till its blue and green streaks mingledwith the misty horizon. “I’ll bathe afterwards,” she thought,“but first I’ll eat a big breakfast, so as not to be consumedby my metabolism.” She washed and dressed with quick,eager movements.

It was shortly after half-past nine when she left her room.The door of the chamber in which Tom had slept stoodopen; he had risen early and driven back to town. Even uphere in the upper storey, it smelled of coffee—that seemedto be the characteristic odour of the little house, for it grewstronger as she descended the simple staircase with its plainboard baluster and went down the corridor, where lay theliving-room, which was also the dining-room and the office ofthe pilot-captain. She went out into the verandah, looking, inher white piqué frock, perfectly fresh, and in the gayest oftempers. Frau Schwarzkopf sat with her son at the table. Itwas already partly cleared away, and the housewife wore[127]a blue-checked kitchen apron over her brown frock. A key-basketstood beside her.

“A thousand pardons for not waiting,” she said, as shestood up. “We simple folk rise early. There is so muchto be done! Schwarzkopf is in his office. I hope you don’ttake it ill?”

Tony excused herself in her turn. “You must not thinkI always sleep so late as this,” she said. “I feel very guilty.But the punch last night—”

The young man began to laugh. He stood behind the tablewith his short pipe in his hand and a newspaper before him.

“Good morning,” Tony said. “Yes, it is your fault. Youkept urging me. Now I deserve only cold coffee. I oughtto have had breakfast and a bathe as well, by this time.”

“Oh, no, that would be rather too early, for a young lady.At seven o’clock the water was rather cold—eleven degrees.That’s pretty sharp, after a warm bed.”

“How do you know I wanted a warm bath, monsieur?” andTony sat down beside Frau Schwarzkopf. “Oh, you havekept the coffee hot for me, Frau Schwarzkopf! But I willpour it out myself, thank you so much.”

The housewife looked on as her guest began to eat. “Fräuleinslept well, the first night? The mattress, dear knows,is only stuffed with sea-weed—we are simple folk! And now,good appetite, and a good morning. You will surely findmany friends on the beach. If you like, my son shall bearyou company. Pardon me for not sitting longer, but I mustlook after the dinner. The joint is in the oven. We willfeed you as well as we can.”

“I shall stick to the honeycomb,” Tony said when the twowere alone. “You know what you are getting.”

Young Schwarzkopf laid his pipe on the verandah rail.

“But please smoke. I don’t mind it at all. At home,when I come down to breakfast, Papa’s cigar-smoke is alreadyin the room. Tell me,” she said suddenly. “Is it true thatan egg is as good as a quarter of a pound of meat?”

[128]He grew red all over. “Are you making fun of me?” heasked, partly laughing but partly vexed. “I got another wiggingfrom my Father last night for what he calls my sillyprofessional airs.”

“No, really, I was asking because I wanted to know.”Tony stopped eating in consternation. “How could anybodycall them airs? I should be so glad to learn something.I’m such a goose, you see. At Sesemi Weichbrodt’s I wasalways one of the very laziest. I’m sure you know a greatdeal.” Inwardly her thoughts ran: “Everybody puts his bestfoot foremost, before strangers. We all take care to saywhat will be pleasant to hear—that is a commonplace....”

“Well, you see they are the same thing, in a way. Thechemical constituents of food-stuffs—” And so on, whileTony breakfasted. Next they talked about Tony’s boarding-schooldays, and Sesemi Weichbrodt, and Gerda Arnoldsen,who had gone back to Amsterdam, and Armgard von Schelling,whose home, a large white house, could be seen from thebeach here, at least in clear weather. Tony finished eating,wiped her mouth, and asked, pointing to the paper, “Is thereany news?” Young Schwarzkopf shook his head and laughedcynically.

“Oh, no. What would there be? You know these littleprovincial news-sheets are wretched affairs.”

“Oh, are they? Papa and Mamma always take it in.”

He reddened again. “Oh, well, you see I always read it,too. Because I can’t get anything else. But it is not verythrilling to hear that So-and-So, the merchant prince, is aboutto celebrate his silver wedding. Yes, you laugh. But youought to read other papers—the Königsberg Gazette, for instance,or the Rhenish Gazette. You’d find a different storythere, entirely. There it’s what the King of Prussia says.”

“What does he say?”

“Well—er—I really couldn’t repeat it to a lady.” He gotred again. “He expressed himself rather strongly on thesubject of this same press,” he went on with another cynical[129]laugh, which, for a moment, made a painful impression onTony. “The press, you know, doesn’t feel any too friendlytoward the government or the nobility or the parsons andjunkers. It knows pretty well how to lead the censor by thenose.”

“Well, and you? Aren’t you any too friendly with thenobility, either?”

“I?” he asked, and looked very embarrassed. Tony rose.

“Shall we talk about this again another time?” she suggested.“Suppose I go down to the beach now. Look, thesky is blue nearly all over. It won’t rain any more. I amsimply longing to jump into the water. Will you go downwith me?”

She had put on her big straw hat, and she raised her sunshade;for it was very hot, though there was a little seabreeze.Young Schwarzkopf, in his grey felt, book in hand,walked beside her and sometimes gave her a shy side-glance.They went along the front and walked through the garden ofthe Kurhouse, which lay there in the sun shadeless and still,with its rose-bushes and pebbly paths. The music pavilion,hidden among pine trees, stood opposite the Kurhouse, thepastry-cook’s, and the two Swiss cottages, which were connectedby a long gallery. It was about half-past eleven, andthe hotel guests were probably down on the beach.

They crossed the playground, where there were many benchesand a large swing, passed close to the building where onetook the hot baths, and strolled slowly across the Leuchtenfeld.The sun brooded over the grass, and there rose upa spicy smell from the warm weeds and clover; blue-bottleflies buzzed and droned about. A dull, booming roar cameup from the ocean, whose waters now and then lifted a crestedhead of spray in the distance.

“What is that you are reading?” Tony asked. The youngman took the book in both hands and ran it quickly through,from cover to cover.

“Oh, that is nothing for you, Fräulein Buddenbrook. Nothingbut blood and entrails and such awful things. This parttreats of nodes in the lungs. What we call pulmonary catarrh.The lungs get filled up with a watery fluid. It is avery dangerous condition, and occurs in inflammation of thelungs. In bad cases, the patient simply chokes to death.And that is all described with perfect coolness, from a scientificpoint of view.”

“Oh, horrors! But if one wants to be a doctor—I will see[131]that you become our family physician, when old Grabow retires.You’ll see!”

“Ha, ha! And what are you reading, if I may ask, FräuleinBuddenbrook?”

“Do you know Hoffmann?” Tony asked.

“About the choir-master, and the gold pot? Yes, that’svery pretty. But it is more for ladies. Men want somethingdifferent, you know.”

“I must ask you one thing,” Tony said, taking a suddenresolution, after they had gone a few steps. “And that is, do,I beg of you, tell me your first name. I haven’t been ableto understand it a single time I’ve heard it, and it is makingme dreadfully nervous. I’ve simply been racking my brains—Ihave, quite.”

“You have been racking your brains?”

“Now don’t make it worse—I’m sure it couldn’t have beenproper for me to ask, only I’m naturally curious. There’sreally no reason whatever why I should know.”

“Why, my name is Morten,” said he, and became redderthan ever.

“Morten? That is a nice name.”

“Oh—nice!”

“Yes, indeed. At least, it’s prettier than to be called somethinglike Hinz, or Kunz. It is unusual; it sounds foreign.”

“You are romantic, Fräulein Buddenbrook. You have readtoo much Hoffmann. My grandfather was half Norwegian,and I was named after him. That is all there is to it.”

Tony picked her way through the rushes on the edge of thebeach. In front of them was a row of round-topped woodenpavilions, and beyond they could see the basket-chairs at thewater’s edge and people camped by families on the warmsand—ladies with blue sun-spectacles and books out of theloan-library; gentlemen in light suits idly drawing picturesin the sand with their walking-sticks; sun-burnt children inenormous straw hats, tumbling about, shovelling sand, diggingfor water, baking with wooden moulds, paddling bare-legged[132]in the shallow pools, floating little ships. To the right, thewooden bathing-pavilion ran out into the water.

“We are going straight across to Möllendorpf’s pier,” saidTony. “Let’s turn off.”

“Certainly; but don’t you want to meet your friends?I can sit down yonder on those boulders.”

“Well, I suppose I ought to just greet them. But I don’twant to, you know. I came here to be in peace and quiet.”

“Peace? From what?”

“Why—from—from—”

“Listen, Fräulein Buddenbrook. I must ask you something.No, I’ll wait till another day—till we have more time. NowI will say au revoir and go and sit down there on the rocks.”

“Don’t you want me to introduce you, then?” Tony asked,importantly.

“Oh, no,” Morten said, hastily. “Thanks, but I don’t fitvery well with those people, you see. I’ll just sit down overthere on the rocks.”

It was a rather large company which Tony was approachingwhile Morten Schwarzkopf betook himself to the great heapof boulders on the right, near to the bathing-house andwashed by the waves. The party was encamped before theMöllendorpfs’ pier, and was composed of the Möllendorpf,Hagenström, Kistenmaker, and Fritsche families. Except forHerr Fritsche, the owner, from Hamburg, and Peter Döhlmann,the idler, the group consisted of women, for it wasa week-day, and most of the men were in their offices. ConsulFritsche, an elderly, smooth-shaven gentleman with a distinguishedface, was up on the open pier, busy with a telescope,which he trained upon a sailboat visible in the distance.Peter Döhlmann, with a broad-brimmed straw hat and a beardwith a nautical cut, stood chatting with the ladies perchedon camp-stools or stretched out on rugs on the sand. Therewere Frau Senator Möllendorpf, born Langhals, with her long-handledlorgnon and untidy grey hair; Frau Hagenström,with Julchen, who had not grown much, but already wore[133]diamonds in her ears, like her mother; Frau Consul Kistenmakerand her daughters; and Frau Consul Fritsche, awrinkled little lady in a cap, who performed the duties ofhospitality at the bath and went about perpetually hot andtired, thinking only about balls and routs and raffles, children’sparties and sailboat excursions. At a little distancesat her paid companion.

Kistenmaker and Son was the new firm of wine-merchantswhich had, in the last few years, managed to put C. F. Köppenrather in the shade. The two sons, Edouard and Stephan,worked in their father’s office. Consul Döhlmann possessednone of those graces of manner upon which Justus Kröger laidsuch stress. He was an idler pure and simple, whose specialcharacteristic was a sort of rough good humour. He couldand did take a good many liberties in society, being quiteaware that his loud, brusque voice and bluff ways caused theladies to set him down as an original. Once at a dinner at theBuddenbrooks, when a course failed to come in promptly andthe guests grew dull and the hostess flustered, he came to therescue and put them into a good humour by bellowing inhis big voice the whole length of the table: “Please don’twait for me, Frau Consul!” Just now, in this same reverberatingvoice, he was relating questionable anecdotes seasonedwith low-German idioms. Frau Senator Möllendorpf, inparoxysms of laughter, was crying out over and over again:“Stop, Herr Döhlmann, stop! for heaven’s sake, don’t tellany more.”

They greeted Tony—the Hagenströms coldly, the otherswith great cordiality. Consul Fritsche even came down thesteps of the pier, for he hoped that the Buddenbrooks wouldreturn next year to swell the population of the baths.

“Yours to command, Fräulein Buddenbrook,” said ConsulDöhlmann, with his very best pronunciation; for he was awarethat Mademoiselle did not especially care for his manners.

“Mademoiselle Buddenbrook!”

“You here?”

[134]“How lovely!”

“When did you come?”

“What a sweet frock!”

“Where are you stopping?”

“At the Schwarzkopfs’?”

“With the pilot-captain? How original!”

“How frightfully original.”

“You are stopping in the town?” asked Consul Fritsche,the owner of the baths. He did not betray that he felt theblow.

“Will you come to our next assembly?” his wife asked.

“Oh, you are only here for a short time?”—this fromanother lady.

“Don’t you think, darling, the Buddenbrooks rather givethemselves airs?” Frau Hagenström whispered to Frau SenatorMöllendorpf.

“Have you been in yet?” somebody asked. “Which of therest of you hasn’t bathed yet, young ladies? Marie? Julie,Louise? Your friends will go bathing with you, of course,Fräulein Antonie.” Some of the young girls rose, and PeterDöhlmann insisted on accompanying them up the beach.

“Do you remember how we used to go back and forth toschool together?” Tony asked Julie Hagenström.

“Yes, and you were always the one that got into mischief,”Julie said, joining in her laugh. They went across the beachon a foot-bridge made of a few boards, and reached the bathhouse.As they passed the boulders where Morten Schwarzkopfsat, Tony nodded to him from a distance, and somebodyasked, “who is that you are bowing to, Tony?”

“That was young Schwarzkopf,” Tony answered. “Hewalked down here with me.”

“The son of the pilot-captain?” Julchen asked, and peeredacross at Morten with her staring black eyes. He on hisside watched the gay troop with rather a melancholy air.Tony said in a loud voice: “What a pity August is nothere. It must be stupid on the beach.”

And now began for Tony Buddenbrook a stretch of beautifulsummer weeks, briefer, lovelier, than any she had ever spentin Travemünde. She bloomed as she felt her burden nolonger upon her; her gay, pert, careless manner had comeback. The Consul looked at her with satisfaction when hecame on Sundays with Tom and Christian. On those daysthey ate at the table-d’hôte, sat under the awnings at thepastry-cook’s, drinking coffee and listening to the band, andpeeped into the roulette-room at the gay folk there, like JustusKröger and Peter Döhlmann. The Consul himself neverplayed. Tony sunned herself, took baths, ate sausages withginger-nut sauce, and took long walks with Morten. Theywent out on the high-road to the next village, or along thebeach to the “ocean temple” on its height, whence a wideview was to be had over land and sea; or to the woods behindthe Kurhouse, where was a great bell used to call theguests to the table-d’hôte. Sometimes they rowed across theTrave to the Prival, to look for amber.

Morten made an entertaining companion, though hisopinions were often dogmatic, not to say heated. He had asevere and righteous judgment for everything, and he expressedit with finality, blushing all the time. It saddenedTony to hear him call the nobility idiots and wretches andto see the contemptuous if awkward gesture that accompaniedthe words. She scolded him, but she was proud to havehim express so freely in her presence the views and opinionswhich she knew he concealed from his parents. Once heconfided in her: “I’ll tell you something: I’ve a skeletonin my room at Göttingen—a whole set of bones, you know,[136]held together by wire. I’ve put an old policeman’s uniformon it. Ha, ha! Isn’t that great? But don’t say anything tomy Father about it.”

Tony was naturally often in the society of her town friends,or drawn into some assembly or boating party. Then Morten“sat on the rocks.” And after their first day this phrasebecame a convenient one. To “sit on the rocks” meant tofeel bored and lonely. When a rainy day came and a greymist covered the sea far and wide till it was one with thedeep sky; when the beach was drenched and the roads streamingwith wet, Tony would say: “To-day we shall both haveto sit on the rocks—that is, in the verandah or sitting-room.There is nothing left to do but for you to play me someof your student songs, Morten—even if they do bore mehorribly.”

“Yes,” Morten said, “come and sit down. But you knowthat when you are here, there are no rocks!” He neversaid such things when his father was present. His motherhe did not mind.

“Well, what now?” asked the pilot-captain, as Tony andMorten both rose from table and were about to take theirleave. “Where are the young folk off to?”

“I was going to take a little walk with Fräulein Antonie,as far as the temple.”

“Oh, is that it? Well, my son Filius, what do you say togoing up to your room and conning over your nerves? You’lllose everything out of your head before you get back to Göttingen.”

But Frau Schwarzkopf would intervene: “Now, Diederich,aren’t these his holidays? Why shouldn’t he take a walk?Is he to have nothing of our visitor?” So Morten went.

They paced along the beach close to the water, on thesmooth, hard sand that made walking easy. It was strewnwith common tiny white mussel-shells, and others too, paleopalescent and longish in shape; yellow-green wet sea-weed[137]with hollow round fruit that snapped when you squeezed it;and pale, translucent, reddish-yellow jelly-fish, which werepoisonous and burned your leg when you touched onebathing.

“I used to be frightfully stupid, you know,” Tony said.“I wanted the bright star out of the jelly-fish, so I brought alot home in my pocket-handkerchief and put them on thebalcony, to dry in the sunshine. When I looked at themagain, of course there was just a big wet spot that smelledof sea-weed.”

The waves whispered rhythmically beside them as theywalked, and the salt wind blew full in their faces, streamingover and about them, closing their ears to other sounds andcausing a pleasant slight giddiness. They walked in thishushed, whispering peacefulness by the sea, whose every faintmurmur, near or far, seemed to have a deep significance.

To their left was a precipitous cliff of lime and boulders,with jutting corners that came into view as they rounded thebay. When the beach was too stony to go on, they beganto climb, and continued upward through the wood until theyreached the temple. It was a round pavilion, built of roughtimbers and boards, the inside of which was covered withscribbled inscriptions and poetry, carved hearts and initials.Tony and Morten seated themselves in one of the little roomsfacing the sea; it smelled of wood, like the cabins at thebathhouse. It was very quiet, even solemn, up here at thishour of the afternoon. A pair of birds chattered, and thefaint rustling of the leaves mingled with the sound of the seaspread out below them. In the distance they could see therigging of a ship. Sheltered now from the wind that hadbeen thrumming at their ears, they suddenly experienced aquiet, almost pensive mood.

Tony said, “Is it coming or going?”

“What?” asked Morten, his subdued voice sounding as ifhe were coming back from a far distance. “Oh—going— That[138]is the Burgermeister Steenbock, for Russia.” He addedafter a pause: “I shouldn’t like to be going with it. It mustbe worse there than here.”

“Now,” Tony said, “you are going to begin again on thenobility. I see it in your face. And it’s not at all nice ofyou. Tell me, did you ever know a single one of them?”

“No!” Morten shouted, quite insulted. “Thank God, no.”

“Well, there, then, I have—Armgard von Schilling overthere, that I told you about. She was much better-naturedthan either of us; she hardly knew she was a von—she atesausage-meat and talked about her cows.”

“Oh, of course. There are naturally exceptions. Listen,Fräulein Tony. You are a woman, you see, so you takeeverything personally. You happen to know a single memberof the nobility, and you say she is a good creature—certainly!But one does not need to know any of them to beable to judge them all. It is a question of the principle,you understand—of—the organization of the state. You can’tanswer that, can you? They need only to be born to be thepick of everything, and look down on all the rest of us.While we, however hard we strive, cannot climb to their level.”Morten spoke with a naïve, honest irritation. He tried tofit his speech with gestures, then perceived that they wereawkward, and gave it up. But he was in the vein to talk, andhe went on, sitting bent forward, with his thumb between thebuttons of his jacket, a defiant expression in his usually good-naturedeyes. “We, the bourgeoisie—the Third Estate, as wehave been called—we recognize only that nobility which consistsof merit; we refuse to admit any longer the rights ofthe indolent aristocracy, we repudiate the class distinctionsof the present day, we desire that all men should be free andequal, that no person shall be subject to another, but allsubject to the law. There shall be no more privilege andarbitrary rule. All shall be sovereign children of the state;and as no middlemen exist any longer between the people andalmighty God, so shall the citizen stand in direct relation to[139]the State. We will have freedom of the press, of trade andindustry, so that all men, without distinction, shall be ableto strive together and receive their reward according to theirmerit. We are enslaved, muzzled!—What was it I wanted tosay? Oh, yes! Four years ago they renewed the laws of theConfederation touching the universities and the press. Finelaws they are! No truth may be written or taught whichmight not agree with the established order of things. Do youunderstand? The truth is suppressed—forbidden to bespoken. Why? For the sake of an obsolete, idiotic, decadentclass which everybody knows will be destroyed some day, anyhow.I do not think you can comprehend such meanness.It is the stupid, brutal application of force, the immediatephysical strength of the police, without the slightest understandingof new, spiritual forces. And apart from all that,there is the final fact of the great wrong the King of Prussiahas done us. In 1813, when the French were in thecountry, he called us together and promised us a Constitution.We came to the rescue, we freed Germany from the invader—”

Tony, chin in hand, stole a look at him and wondered fora moment if he could have actually helped to drive outNapoleon.

“—but do you think he kept his promise? Oh, no! Thepresent king is a fine orator, a dreamer; a romantic, likeyou, Fräulein Tony. But I’ll tell you something: take anygeneral principle or conception of life. It always happensthat, directly it has been found wanting and discarded bythe poets and philosophers, there comes along a King towhom it is a perfectly new idea, and who makes it a guidingprinciple. That is what kings are like. It is not only thatkings are men—they are even very distinctly average men;they are always a good way in the rear. Oh, yes, Germanyis just like a students’ society; it had its brave and spiritedyouth at the time of the great revolution, but now it is just alot of fretful Philistines.”

“Ye—es,” Tony said. “But let me ask you this: Why[140]are you so interested in Prussia? You aren’t a Prussian.”

“Oh, it is all the same thing, Fräulein Buddenbrook. Yes,I said Fräulein Buddenbrook on purpose, I ought even tohave said Demoiselle Buddenbrook, and given you your entiretitle. Are the men here freer, more brotherly, more equalthan in Prussia? Conventions, classes, aristocracy, here asthere. You have sympathy for the nobility. Shall I tell youwhy? Because you belong to it yourself. Yes, yes, didn’tyou know it? Your father is a great gentleman, and you area princess. There is a gulf between you and us, because wedo not belong to your circle of ruling families. You canwalk on the beach with one of us for the sake of your health,but when you get back into your own class, then the rest ofus can go and sit on the rocks.” His voice had grown quitestrangely excited.

“Morten,” said Tony, sadly. “You have been angry allthe time, then, when you were sitting on the rocks! And Ialways begged you to come and be introduced.”

“Now you are taking the affair personally again, like ayoung lady, Fräulein Tony, I’m only speaking of the principle.I say that there is no more fellowship of humanitywith us than in Prussia.—And even if I were speaking personally,”he went on, after a little pause, with a softer tone,out of which, however, the strange excitement had not disappeared,“I shouldn’t be speaking of the present, but rather,perhaps, of the future. When you as Madame So-and-Sofinally vanish into your proper sphere, one is left to sit onthe rocks all the rest of one’s life.”

He was silent, and Tony too. She did not look at him,but in the other direction, at the wooden partition. Therewas an uneasy stillness for some time.

“Do you remember,” Morten began again, “I once said toyou that there was a question I wanted to ask you? Yes, Ihave wanted to know, since the first afternoon you came.Don’t guess. You couldn’t guess what I mean. I am goingto ask you another time; there is no hurry; it has really[141]nothing to do with me; it is only curiosity. No, to-day Iwill only show you one thing. Look.” He drew out of thepocket of his jacket the end of a narrow gaily-striped ribbon,and looked with a mixture of expectation and triumphinto Tony’s eyes.

“How pretty,” she said uncomprehendingly. “What is it?”

Morten spoke solemnly: “That means that I belong toa students’ fraternity in Göttingen.—Now you know. I havea cap in the same colours, but my skeleton in the policeman’suniform is wearing it for the holidays. I couldn’t be seenwith it here, you understand. I can count on your sayingnothing, can’t I? Because it would be very unfortunate ifmy father were to hear of it.”

“Not a word, Morten. You can rely on me. But I don’tunderstand—have you all taken a vow against the nobility?What is it you want?”

“We want freedom,” Morten said.

“Freedom?” she asked.

“Yes, freedom, you know—Freedom!” he repeated; andhe made a vague, awkward, fervent gesture outward and downward,not toward the side where the coast of Mecklenburgnarrowed the bay, but in the direction of the open sea, whoserippling blue, green, yellow, and grey stripes rolled as faras eye could see out to the misty horizon.

Tony followed his gesture with her eye; they sat, theirhands lying close together on the bench, and looked intothe distance. Thus they remained in silence a long time,while the sea sent up to them its soft enchanting whispers....Tony suddenly felt herself one with Morten in agreat, vague yearning comprehension of this portentous somethingwhich he called “Freedom.”

“It is wonderful how one doesn’t get bored, here at the seashore,Morten. Imagine lying anywhere else for hours at atime, flat on your back, doing nothing, not even thinking—”

“Yes. But I must confess that I used to be bored sometimes—onlynot in the last few weeks.”

Autumn was at hand. The first strong wind had risen.Thin, tattered grey clouds raced across the sky. The dreary,tossing sea was covered far and wide with foam. Great,powerful waves rolled silently in, relentless, awesome; toweredmajestically, in a metallic dark-green curve, then crashedthundering on the sand.

The season was quite at an end. On that part of the beachusually occupied by the throng of bathers, the pavilions werealready partly dismantled, and it lay as quiet as the grave,with only a very few basket-chairs. But Tony and Mortenspent the afternoon in a distant spot, at the edge of theyellow loam, where the waves hurled their spray as far upas Sea-gull Rock. Morten had made her a solid sand fortress,and she leaned against it with her back, her feet in theirstrap shoes and white stockings crossed in front of her.Morten lay turned toward her, his chin in his hands. Nowand then a sea-gull flew past them, shrieking. They looked atthe green wall of wave, streaked with sea-weed, that camethreateningly on and on and then broke against the opposingboulders, with the eternal, confused tumult that deafens andsilences and destroys all sense of time.

Finally Morten made a movement as though rousing himselffrom deep thought, and said, “Well, you will soon beleaving us, Fräulein Tony.”

[143]“No; why?” Tony said absently.

“Well, it is the tenth of September. My holidays arenearly at an end, anyhow. How much longer can it last?Shall you be glad to get back to the society of your ownkind? Tell me—I suppose the gentlemen you dance withare very agreeable?—No, no, that was not what I wantedto say. Now you must answer me,” he said, with a suddenresolution, shifting his chin in his hands and looking at her.“Here is the question I have been waiting so long to ask.Now: who is Herr Grünlich?”

Tony sat up, looking at him quickly, her eyes shifting backand forth like those of a person recollecting himself on comingout of a dream. She was feeling again the sense of increasedpersonal importance first experienced when HerrGrünlich proposed for her hand.

“Oh, is that what you want to know, Morten?” she saidweightily. “Well, I will tell you. It was really very painfulfor me to have Thomas mention his name like that, the firstafternoon; but since you have already heard of him—well,Herr Grünlich, Bendix Grünlich, is a business friend of myfather, a well-to-do Hamburg merchant, who has asked for myhand. No, no,” she replied quickly to a movement of Morten’s,“I have refused him; I have never been able to makeup my mind to yield him my consent for life.”

“And why not?—if I may ask,” said Morten awkwardly.

“Why? Oh, good heavens, because I couldn’t endure him,”she cried out in a passion. “You ought to have seen him,how he looked and how he acted. Among other things, hehad yellow whiskers—dreadfully unnatural. I’m sure hecurled them and put on gold powder, like the stuff we use forthe Christmas nuts. And he was underhanded. He fawnedon my Father and Mother and chimed in with them in themost shameful way—”

Morten interrupted her. “But what does this mean: ‘Thattrims it up uncommonly.’”

Tony broke into a nervous giggle.

[144]“Well, he talked like that, Morten. He wouldn’t say ‘Thatlooks very well’ or ‘It goes very well with the room.’ He wasfrightfully silly, I tell you. And very persistent; he simplywouldn’t be put off, although I never gave him anything butsarcasm. Once he made such a scene—he nearly wept—imaginea man weeping!”

“He must have worshipped you,” Morten said softly.

“Well, what affair was that of mine?” she cried out, astonished,turning around on her sand-heap.

“You are cruel, Fräulein Tony. Are you always cruel?Tell me: You didn’t like this Herr Grünlich. But is thereany one to whom you have been more gracious? SometimesI think: Has she a cold heart? Let me tell you something:a man is not idiotic simply because he weeps when youwon’t look at him. I swear it. I am not sure, not at all,that I wouldn’t do the same thing. You see, you are such adainty, spoilt thing. Do you always make fun of peoplethat lie at your feet? Have you really a cold heart?”

After the first giggle, Tony’s lip began to quiver. Sheturned on him a pair of great distressed eyes, which slowlyfilled with tears as she said softly: “No, Morten, you shouldnot think that of me—you must not think that of me.”

“I don’t; indeed I don’t,” he cried, with a laugh of mingledemotion and hardly suppressed exultation. He turned fullyabout, so that he lay supporting himself on his elbows, tookher hands in both his, and looked straight into hers with hiskind steel-blue eyes, which were excited and dreamy and exaltedall at once.

“Then you—you won’t mock at me if I tell you—?”

“I know, Morten,” she answered gently, looking away fromhim at the fine white sand sifting through the fingers of herfree hand.

“You know—and you—oh, Fräulein Tony!”

“Yes, Morten. I care a great deal for you. More than forany one else I know.”

He started up, making awkward gestures with his arms,[145]like a man bewildered. Then he got to his feet, only tothrow himself down again by her side and cry in a voicethat stammered, wavered, died away and rose again, out ofsheer joy: “Oh, thank you, thank you! I am so happy!more than I ever was in all my life!” And he fell to kissingher hands. After a moment he said more quietly; “Youwill be going back to town soon, Tony, and my holidayswill be over in two weeks; then I must return to Göttingen.But will you promise me that you will never forget this afternoonhere on the beach—till I come back again with my degree,and can ask your Father—however hard that’s goingto be? And you won’t listen to any Herr Grünlich meantime?Oh, it won’t be so long—I will work like a—like anything!it will be so easy!”

“Yes, Morten,” she said dreamily, looking at his eyes, hismouth, his hands holding hers.

He drew her hand close to his breast and asked very softlyand imploringly: “And won’t you—may I—seal the promise?”

She did not answer, she did not look at him, but movednearer to him on the sand-heap, and Morten kissed herslowly and solemnly on the mouth. Then they stared indifferent directions across the sand, and both felt furiouslyembarrassed.

It rained in streams. Heaven, earth, and sea were in flood,while the driving wind took the rain and flung it againstthe panes as though not drops but brooks were flowing downand making them impossible to see through. Complainingand despairing voices sounded in the chimney.

When Morten Schwarzkopf went out into the verandah withhis pipe shortly after dinner to look at the sky, he found therea gentleman with a long, narrow yellow-checked ulster and agrey hat. A closed carriage, its top glistening with wet, itswheels clogged with mud, was before the door. Morten staredirresolutely into the rosy face of the gentleman. He hadmutton-chop whiskers that looked as though they had beendressed with gold paint.

The gentleman in the ulster looked at Morten as one looksat a servant, blinking gently without seeing him, and said ina soft voice: “Is Herr Pilot-Captain Schwarzkopf at home?”

“Yes,” stammered Morten, “I think my Father—”

Hereupon the gentleman fixed his eyes upon him; theywere as blue as a goose’s.

“Are you Herr Morten Schwarzkopf?” he asked.

“Yes, sir,” answered Morten, trying to keep his face straight.

“Ah—indeed!” remarked the gentleman in the ulster, andwent on, “Have the goodness to announce me to your Father,young man. My name is Grünlich.”

Morten led the gentleman through the verandah, openedfor him the right-hand door that led into the office, and wentback into the sitting-room to tell his Father. Then the youthsat down at the round table, resting his elbow on it, andseemed, without noticing his Mother, who was sitting at the[150]dark window mending stockings, to busy himself with the“wretched news-sheet” which had nothing in it except the announcementsof the silver wedding of Consul So-and-So.Tony was resting in her room.

The pilot-captain entered his office with the air of a mansatisfied with his meal. His uniform-coat stood open overthe usual white waistcoat. His face was red, and his ice-greybeard coldly set off against it; his tongue travelled aboutagreeably among his teeth, making his good mouth take themost extraordinary shapes. He bowed shortly, jerkily, withthe air of one conforming to the conventions as he understoodthem.

“Good afternoon,” he said. “At your service.”

Herr Grünlich, on his side, bowed with deliberation, althoughone corner of his mouth seemed to go down. He saidsoftly: “Ahem!”

The office was rather a small room, the walls of which hadwainscoting for a few feet and then simple plaster. Curtains,yellow with smoke, hung before the window, on whose panesthe rain beat unceasingly. On the right of the door was arough table covered with papers, above it a large map ofEurope, and a smaller one of the Baltic Sea fastened to thewall. From the middle of the ceiling hung the well-cut modelof a ship under full sail.

The Captain made his guest take the sloping sofa, coveredwith cracked oil-cloth, that stood opposite the door, and madehimself comfortable in a wooden arm-chair, folding his handsacross his stomach; while Herr Grünlich, his ulster tightlybuttoned up, his hat on his knees, sat bolt upright on theedge of the sofa.

“My name is, I repeat, Grünlich,” he said; “from Hamburg.I may say by way of introduction that I am a close businessfriend of Herr Buddenbrook.”

“Servant, Herr Grünlich; pleased to make your acquaintance.Won’t you make yourself comfortable? Have a glassof grog after your journey? I’ll send right into the kitchen.”

[151]“I must permit myself to remark that my time is limited,my carriage is waiting, and I am really obliged to ask forthe favour of a few words with you.”

“At your service,” repeated Herr Schwarzkopf, taken aback.There was a pause.

“Herr Captain,” began Herr Grünlich, wagging his headwith determination and throwing himself back on his seat.After this he was silent again; and by way of enhancing theeffect of his address he shut his mouth tight, like a pursedrawn together with strings.

“Herr Captain,” he repeated, and went on without furtherpause, “The matter about which I have come to you directlyconcerns the young lady who has been for some weeks stoppingin your house.”

“Mademoiselle Buddenbrook?” asked the Consul.

“Precisely,” assented Herr Grünlich. He looked down atthe floor, and spoke in a voice devoid of expression. Hardlines came out at the corners of his mouth.

“I am obliged to inform you,” he went on in a sing-songtone, his sharp eyes jumping from one point in the room toanother and then to the window, “that some time ago I proposedfor the hand of Mademoiselle Buddenbrook. I amin possession of the fullest confidence of both parents, andthe young lady herself has unmistakably given me aclaim to her hand, though no betrothal has taken place inform.”

“You don’t say—God keep us!” said Herr Schwarzkopf, ina sprightly tone. “I never heard that before! Congratulations,Herr—er—Grünlich. She’s a good girl—genuine goodstuff.”

“Thank you for the compliment,” said Herr Grünlich,coldly. He went on in his high sing-song: “What brings meto you on this occasion, my good Herr Captain, is the circ*mstancethat certain difficulties have just arisen—and these difficulties—appearto have their source in your house—?” Hespoke the last words in a questioning tone, as if to say, “Can[152]this disgraceful state of things be true, or have my ears deceivedme?”

Herr Schwarzkopf answered only by lifting his eyebrowsas high as they would go, and clutching the arms of his chairwith his brown, blond-felled fisherman’s hands.

“Yes. This is the fact. So I am informed,” Herr Grünlichsaid, with dreary certitude. “I hear that your son—studiosusmedicinae, I am led to understand—has allowed himself—ofcourse unconsciously—to encroach upon my rights.I hear that he has taken advantage of the present visit of theyoung lady to extract certain promises from her.”

“What?” shouted the pilot-captain, gripping the arms of hischair and springing up. “That we shall soon—we can soonsee—!” With two steps he was at the door, tore it open, andshouted down the corridor in a voice that would have out-roaredthe wildest seas: “Meta, Morten! Come in here, bothof you.”

“I shall regret it exceedingly if the assertion of my priorrights runs counter to your fatherly hopes, Herr Captain.”

Diederich Schwarzkopf turned and stared, with his sharp blueeyes in their wrinkled setting, straight into the stranger’s face,as though he strove in vain to comprehend his words.

“Sir!” he said. Then, with a voice that sounded as thoughhe had just burnt his throat with hot grog, “I’m a simple sortof a man, and don’t know much about landlubber’s tricks andskin games; but if you mean, maybe, that—well, sir, you canjust set it down right away that you’ve got on the wrong tack,and are making a pretty bad miscalculation about my fatherlyhopes. I know who my son is, and I know who MademoiselleBuddenbrook is, and there’s too much respect and too muchpride in my carcase to be making any plans of the sort you’vementioned.—And now,” he roared, jerking his head towardthe door, “it’s your turn to talk, boy. You tell me what thisaffair is; what is this I hear—hey?”

Frau Schwarzkopf and her son stood in the doorway, sheinnocently arranging her apron, he with the air of a hardened[153]sinner. Herr Grünlich did not rise at their entrance. Hewaited, erect and composed, on the edge of the sofa, buttonedup tight in his ulster.

“So you’ve been behaving like a silly fool?” bellowed thecaptain to Morten.

The young man had his thumb stuck between the buttonsof his jacket. He scowled and puffed out his cheeks defiantly.

“Yes, Father,” he said, “Fräulein Buddenbrook and I—”

“Well, then, I’ll just tell you you’re a perfect Tom-fool, ayoung ninny, and you’ll be packed off to-morrow for Göttingen—to-morrow,understand? It’s all damned childish nonsense,and rascality into the bargain.”

“Good heavens, Diederich,” said Frau Schwarzkopf, foldingher hands, “you can’t just say that, you know. Whoknows—?” She stopped, she said no more; but it was plainfrom her face that a mother’s beautiful dream had been shatteredin that moment.

“Would the gentleman like to see the young lady?” Schwarzkopfturned to Herr Grünlich and spoke in a harsh voice.

“She is upstairs in her room asleep,” Frau Schwarzkopf saidwith feeling.

“I regret,” said Herr Grünlich, and he got up, obviouslyrelieved. “But I repeat that my time is limited, and the carriagewaits. I permit myself,” he went on, describing withhis hat a motion in the direction of Herr Schwarzkopf, “toacknowledge to you, Herr Captain, my entire recognition ofyour manly and high-principled bearing. I salute you.Good-bye.”

Diederich Schwarzkopf did not offer to shake hands withhim. He merely gave a jerky bow with the upper part of hisheavy figure, that had an air of saying: “This is the properthing, I suppose.”

Herr Grünlich, with measured tread, passed between Mortenand his mother and went out the door.

Thomas appeared with the Kröger calèche. The day was athand.

The young man arrived at ten o’clock in the forenoon andtook a bite with the family in the living-room. They sattogether as on the first day, except that now summer was over;it was too cold and windy to sit in the verandah; and—Mortenwas not there. He was in Göttingen. Tony and he had noteven been able to say good-bye. The Captain had stood thereand said, “Well, so that’s the end of that, eh!”

At eleven the brother and sister mounted into the wagon,where Tony’s trunk was already fastened at the back. Shewas pale and shivered in her soft autumn coat—fromcold, weariness, excitement, and a grief that now and thenrose up suddenly and filled her breast with a painful oppression.She kissed little Meta, pressed the house-wife’s hand,and nodded to Herr Schwarzkopf when he said, “Well, youwon’t forget us, little Miss, will you? And no bad feeling,eh? And a safe journey and best greetings to your honouredFather and the Frau Consul.” Then the coach door slammed,the fat brown horses pulled at their traces, and the threeSchwarzkopfs waved their handkerchiefs.

Tony crooked her neck in the corner of the coach, in orderto peer out of the window. The sky was covered with whitecloud-flakes; the Trave broke into little waves that hurriedbefore the wind. Now and then drops of rain pattered againstthe glass. At the end of the front people sat in the doors oftheir cottages and mended nets; barefoot children came runningto look curiously at the carriage. They did not have togo away!

[155]As they left the last houses behind, Tony bent forward tolook at the light-house; then she leaned back and closed hertired and burning eyes. She had hardly slept for excitement.She had risen early to finish her packing, and discovered nodesire for breakfast. There was a dull taste in her mouth,and she felt so weak that she made no effort to dry the slow,hot tears that kept rising every minute.

But directly her eyes were shut, she found herself again inTravemünde, on the verandah. She saw Morten in the fleshbefore her; he seemed to speak and to lean toward her as healways did, and then look good-naturedly and searchingly atthe next person, unconsciously showing his beautiful teeth ashe smiled. Slowly her mind grew calm and peaceful again.She recalled everything that she had heard and learned fromhim in many a talk, and it solaced her to promise herselfthat she would preserve all this as a secret holy and inviolateand cherish it in her heart. That the King of Prussia hadcommitted a great wrong against his people; that the localnewspaper was a lamentable sheet; yes, that the laws of theLeague concerning universities had been renewed four yearsago—all these were from now on consoling and edifyingtruths, a hidden treasure which she might store up within herselfand contemplate whenever she chose. On the street, inthe family circle, at the table she would think of them. Whoknew? Perhaps she might even go on in the path prescribedfor her and marry Herr Grünlich—that was a detail, afterall—but when he spoke to her she could always say to herself,“I know something you don’t: the nobility is in principledespicable.”

She smiled to herself and was assuaged. But suddenly, inthe noise of the wheels, she heard Morten’s voice with miraculousclearness. She distinguished every nuance of his kindly,dragging speech as he said: “To-day we must both ‘sit onthe rocks,’ Fräulein Tony,” and this little memory overpoweredher. Her breast contracted with her grief, and shelet the tears flow down unopposed. Bowed in her corner, she[156]held her handkerchief before her face and wept bitterly.

Thomas, his cigarette in his mouth, looked somewhatblankly at the high-road. “Poor Tony,” he said at last,stroking her jacket. “I feel so sorry—I understand so well,you know. But what can you do? One has to bear thesethings. Believe me, I do understand what you feel.”

“Oh, you don’t understand at all, Tom,” sobbed Tony.

“Don’t say that. Did you know it is decided that I am togo to Amsterdam at the beginning of next year? Papa hasobtained a place for me with van der Kellen and Company.That means I must say good-bye for a long, long time.”

“Oh, Tom! Saying good-bye to your father and motherand sisters and brothers—that isn’t anything.”

“Ye-es,” he said, slowly. He sighed, as if he did not wishto say more, and was silent. He let the cigarette rove fromone corner of his mouth to the other, lifted one eyebrow, andturned his head away.

“Well, it doesn’t last for ever,” he began again after awhile. “Naturally one forgets.”

“But I don’t want to forget,” Tony cried out in desperation.“Forgetting—is that any consolation?”

Then came the ferry, and Israelsdorf Avenue, Jerusalem Hill,the Castle Field. The wagon passed the Castle Gate, with thewalls of the prison rising on the right, and rolled along CastleStreet and over the Koberg. Tony looked at the grey gables,the oil lamps hung across the streets, Holy Ghost Hospitalwith the already almost bare lindens in front of it. Oh, howeverything was exactly as it had been! It had been standinghere, in immovable dignity, while she had thought of it asa dream worthy only to be forgotten. These grey gables werethe old, the accustomed, the traditional, to which she was returning,in the midst of which she must live. She wept nomore. She looked about curiously. The pain of parting wasalmost dulled at the sight of these well-known streets andfaces. At that moment—the wagon was rolling through BroadStreet—the porter Matthiesen passed and took off his stove-pipehat so obsequiously that it seemed he must be thinking, “Bow,you dog of a porter—you can’t bow low enough.”

The equipage turned into the Mengstrasse, and the fat brownhorses stood snorting and stamping before the Buddenbrookdoor. Tom was very attentive in helping his sister out, whileAnton and Line hastened up to unfasten the trunk. But theyhad to wait before they could enter the house. Three greatlorries were being driven through, one close behind another,piled high with full corn sacks, with the firm name writtenon them in big black letters. They jolted along over thegreat boards and down the shallow steps to the cart-yard witha heavy rumbling noise. Part of the corn was evidently to beunloaded at the back of the house and the rest taken to the“Walrus,” the “Lion,” or the “Oak.”

[158]The Consul came out of the office with his pen behind hisear as the brother and sister reached the entry, and stretchedout his arms to his daughter.

“Welcome home, my dear Tony!”

She kissed him, looking a little shame-faced, her eyes stillred with weeping. But he was very tactful; he made no allusions;he only said: “It is late, but we waited with thesecond breakfast.”

The Frau Consul, Christian, Clothilde, Clara, and IdaJungmann stood above on the landing to greet her.

Tony slept soundly and well the first night in Mengstrasse.She rose the next morning, the twenty-second of September, refreshedand calmed, and went down into the breakfast-room.It was still quite early, hardly seven o’clock. Only MamsellJungmann was there, making the morning coffee.

“Well, well, Tony, my little child,” she said, looking roundwith her small, blinking brown eyes. “Up so early?”

Tony sat down at the open desk, clasped her hands behindher head, and looked for a while at the pavement of the court,gleaming black with wet, and at the damp, yellow garden.Then she began to rummage curiously among the visiting-cardsand letters on the desk. Close by the inkstand lay the well-knownlarge copy-book with the stamped cover, gilt edges, andleaves of various qualities and colours. It must have beenused the evening before, and it was strange that Papa had notput it back in its leather portfolio and laid it in its specialdrawer.

She took it and turned over the pages, began to read, andbecame absorbed. What she read were mostly simple factswell-known to her; but each successive writer had followedhis predecessor in a stately but simple chronicle style whichwas no bad mirror of the family attitude, its modest but honourableself-respect, and its reverence for tradition and history.The book was not new to Tony; she had sometimesbeen allowed to read in it. But its contents had never madethe impression upon her that they did this morning. She was[159]thrilled by the reverent particularity with which the simplestfacts pertinent to the family were here treated. She proppedherself on her elbows and read with growing absorption, seriousnessand pride.

No point in her own tiny past was lacking. Her birth, herchildish illnesses, her first school, her boarding-school daysat Mademoiselle Weichbrodt’s, her confirmation—everythingwas carefully entered, with an almost reverent observation offacts, in the Consul’s small, flowing business hand; for wasnot the least of them the will and work of God, who wonderfullyguided the destinies of the family? What, she mused,would there be entered here in the future after her name, whichshe had received from her grandmother Antoinette? All thatwas yet to be written there would be conned by later membersof the family with a piety equal to her own.

She leaned back sighing; her heart beat solemnly. Shewas filled with reverence for herself: the familiar feeling ofpersonal importance possessed her, heightened by all she hadbeen reading. She felt thrilled and shuddery. “Like a linkin a chain,” Papa had written. Yes, yes. She was importantprecisely as a link in this chain. Such was her significanceand her responsibility, such her task: to share by deed andword in the history of her family.

She turned back to the end of the great volume, where on arough folio page was entered the genealogy of the wholeBuddenbrook family, with parentheses and rubrics, indicatedin the Consul’s hand, and all the dates set down: from themarriage of the earliest scion of the family with BrigittaSchuren, the pastor’s daughter, down to the wedding of ConsulJohann Buddenbrook with Elizabeth Kröger in 1825. Fromthis marriage, it said, four children had resulted: whereuponthese were all entered, with the days and years of their birth,and their baptismal names, one after another. Under that ofthe eldest son it was recorded that he had entered as apprenticein his father’s business in the Easter of 1842.

Tony looked a long time at her name and at the blank[160]space next it. Then, suddenly, with a jerk, with a nervous,feverish accompaniment of sobbing breaths and quick-movinglips—she clutched the pen, plunged it rather than dipped itinto the ink, and wrote, with her forefinger crooked, her hothead bent far over on her shoulder, in her awkward handwritingthat climbed up the page from left to right: “Betrothed,on Sept. 22, 1845, to Herr Bendix Grünlich, Merchant,of Hamburg.”

“I entirely agree with you, my good friend. This importantmatter must be settled. In short, then: the usual dowry ofa young girl of our family is seventy thousand marks.”

Herr Grünlich cast at his future father-in-law a shrewd,calculating glance—the glance of the genuine man of business.

“As a matter of fact,” he said—and this “matter of fact”was of precisely the same length as his left-hand whisker,which he was drawing reflectively through his fingers; helet go of the end just as “of fact” was finished.

“You know, my honoured father,” he began again, “the deeprespect I have for traditions and principles. Only—in thepresent case is not this consideration for the tradition a littleexaggerated? A business increases—a family prospers—inshort, conditions change and improve.”

“My good friend,” said the Consul, “you see in me a fair-dealingmerchant. You have not let me finish, or you wouldhave heard that I am ready and willing to meet you in thecirc*mstances, and add ten thousand marks to the seventythousand without more ado.”

“Eighty thousand, then,” said Herr Grünlich, making motionswith his mouth, as though to say: “Not too much; butit will do.”

Thus they came to an affectionate settlement; the Consuljingled his keys like a man satisfied as he got up. And,in fact, his satisfaction was justified; for it was only with theeighty thousand marks that they had arrived at the dowrytraditional in the family.

Herr Grünlich now said good-bye and departed for Hamburg.Tony as yet realized but little of her new estate. She still[162]went to dances at the Möllendorpfs’, Kistenmakers’, and Langhals’,and in her own home; she skated on the Burgfield andthe meadows of the Trave, and permitted the attentions ofthe young gentlemen of the town. In the middle of Octobershe went to the betrothal feast at the Möllendorpfs’ for theoldest son of the house and Juliet Hagenström. “Tom,” shesaid, “I won’t go. It is disgusting.” But she went, and enjoyedherself hugely. And, as for the rest, by the entry withthe pen in the family history-book, she had won the privilegeof going, with the Frau Consul or alone, into all the shops intown and making purchases in a grand style for her trousseau.It was to be a brilliant trousseau. Two seamstressessat all day in the breakfast-room window, sewing, embroideringmonograms, and eating quantities of house-bread andgreen cheese.

“Is the linen come from Lentföhr, Mamma?”

“No, but here are two dozen tea-serviettes.”

“That is nice. But he promised it by this afternoon. Mygoodness, the sheets still have to be hemmed.”

“Mamsell Bitterlich wants to know about the lace for thepillow-cases, Ida.”

“It is in the right-hand cupboard in the entry, Tony, mychild.”

“Line—!”

“You could go yourself, my dear.”

“Oh, if I’m marrying for the privilege of running up anddown stairs—!”

“Have you made up your mind yet about the material forthe wedding-dress, Tony?”

“Moiré antique, Mamma—I won’t marry without moiréantique!”

So passed October and November. At Christmas time HerrGrünlich appeared, to spend Christmas in the Buddenbrookfamily circle and also to take part in the celebration at theKrögers’. His conduct toward his bride showed all the delicacyone would have expected from him. No unnecessary[163]formality, no importunity, no tactless tenderness. A light,discreet kiss upon the forehead, in the presence of the parents,sealed the betrothal. Tony sometimes puzzled over this, theleast in the world. Why, she wondered, did his present happinessseem not quite commensurate with the despair intowhich her refusal had thrown him? He regarded her withthe air of a satisfied possessor. Now and then, indeed, ifthey happened to be alone, a jesting and teasing mood seemedto overcome him; once he attempted to fall on his knees andapproach his whiskers to her face, while he asked in a voiceapparently trembling with joy, “Have I indeed captured you?Have I won you for my own?” To which Tony answered,“You are forgetting yourself,” and got away with all possiblespeed.

Soon after the holidays Herr Grünlich went back to Hamburg,for his flourishing business demanded his personal attention;and the Buddenbrooks agreed with him that Tonyhad had time enough before the betrothal to make his acquaintance.

The question of a house was quickly arranged. Tony, wholooked forward extravagantly to life in a large city, hadexpressed the wish to settle in Hamburg itself, and indeed inthe Spitalstrasse, where Herr Grünlich’s office was. But thebridegroom, by manly persistence, won her over to the purchaseof a villa outside the city, near Eimsbüttel, a romanticand retired spot, an ideal nest for a newly-wedded pair—“proculnegotiis.”—Ah, he had not yet forgotten quite allhis Latin!

Thus December passed, and at the beginning of the year’46 the wedding was celebrated. There was a splendid weddingfeast, to which half the town was bidden. Tony’s friends—amongthem Armgard von Schilling, who arrived in atowering coach—danced with Tom’s and Christian’s friends,among them Andreas Gieseke, son of the Fire Commissionerand now studiosus juris; also Stephan and Edward Kistenmacher,of Kistenmacher and Son. They danced in the dining-room[164]and the hall, which had been strewn with talc for theoccasion. Among the liveliest of the lively was Consul PeterDöhlmann; he got hold of all the earthenware crocks he couldfind and broke them on the flags of the big passage.

Frau Stuht from Bell-Founders’ Street had another opportunityto mingle in the society of the great; for it was shewho helped Mamsell Jungmann and the two seamstresses toadjust Tony’s toilette on the great day. She had, as God washer judge, never seen a more beautiful bride. Fat as shewas, she went on her knees; and, with her eyes rolled up inadmiration, fastened the myrtle twigs on the white moiré antique.This was in the breakfast-room. Herr Grünlich, inhis long-skirted frock-coat and silk waistcoat, waited at thedoor. His rosy face had a correct and serious expression, hiswart was powdered, and his gold-yellow whiskers carefullycurled.

Above in the hall, where the marriage was to take place,the family gathered—a stately assemblage. There sat the oldKrögers, a little ailing both of them, but distinguished figuresalways. There was Consul Kröger with his sons Jürgen andJacob, the latter having come from Hamburg, like the Duchamps.There were Gottfried Buddenbrook and his wife,born Stüwing, with their three offspring, Friederike, Henriette,and Pfiffi, none of whom was, unfortunately, likely tomarry. There was the Mecklenburg branch, represented byClothilde’s father, Herr Bernhard Buddenbrook, who hadcome in from Thankless and looked with large eyes at theseignorial house of his rich relations. The relatives fromFrankfort had contented themselves with sending presents;the journey was too arduous. In their place were the onlyguests not members of the family. Dr. Grabow, the familyphysician, and Mlle. Weichbrodt, Tony’s motherly friend—SesemiWeichbrodt, with fresh ribbons on her cap over theside-curls, and a little black dress. “Be happy, you goodchild,” she said, when Tony appeared at Herr Grünlich’s[165]side in the hall. She reached up and kissed her with a littleexplosion on the forehead. The family was satisfied with thebride: Tony looked pretty, gay, and at her ease, if a littlepale from excitement and tension.

The hall had been decorated with flowers and an altar arrangedon the right side. Pastor Kölling of St. Mary’s performedthe service, and laid special stress upon moderation.Everything went according to custom and arrangement, Tonybrought out a hearty yes, and Herr Grünlich gave his littleahem, beforehand, to clear his throat. Afterward, everybodyate long and well.

While the guests continued to eat in the salon, with thepastor in their midst, the Consul and his wife accompaniedthe young pair, who had dressed for their journey, out into thesnowy, misty air, where the great travelling coach stood beforethe door, packed with boxes and bags.

After Tony had expressed many times her conviction thatshe should soon be back again on a visit, and that they toowould not delay long to come to Hamburg to see her, sheclimbed in good spirits into the coach and let herself be carefullywrapped up by the Consul in the warm fur rug. Herhusband took his place by her side.

“And, Grünlich,” said the Consul, “the new laces are inthe small satchel, on top. You take a little in under yourovercoat, don’t you? This excise—one has to get around itthe best one can. Farewell, farewell! Farewell, dear Tony.God bless you.”

“You will find good accommodation in Arensburg, won’tyou?” asked the Frau Consul. “Already reserved, my dearMamma,” answered Herr Grünlich.

Anton, Line, Trine, and Sophie took leave of Ma’am Grünlich.The coach door was about to be slammed, when Tonywas overtaken by a sudden impulse. Despite all the troubleit took, she unwound herself again from her wrappings,climbed ruthlessly over Herr Grünlich, who began to grumble,[166]and embraced her Father with passion. “Adieu, Papa, adieu,my good Papa.” And then she whispered softly: “Are yousatisfied with me?”

The Consul pressed her without words to his heart, thenput her from him and shook her hands with deep feeling.

Now everything was ready. The coach door slammed, thecoachman cracked his whip, the horses dashed away so thatthe coach windows rattled; the Frau Consul let fly her littlewhite handkerchief; and the carriage, rolling down the street,disappeared in the mist.

The Consul stood thoughtfully next to his wife, who drewher cloak about her shoulders with a graceful movement.

“There she goes, Betsy.”

“Yes, Jean, the first to leave us. Do you think she ishappy with him?”

“Oh, Betsy, she is satisfied with herself, which is better;it is the most solid happiness we can have on this earth.”

They went back to their guests.

Thomas Buddenbrook went down Meng Street as far as the“Five Houses.” He avoided Broad Street so as not to be accostedby acquaintances and obliged to greet them. With hishands deep in the big pockets of his warm dark grey overcoat,he walked, sunk in thought, over the hard, sparkling snow,which crunched under his boots. He went his own way, andwhither it led no one knew but himself. The sky was pale blueand clear, the air biting and crisp—a still, severe, clearweather, with five degrees of frost; in short, a matchless Februaryday.

Thomas walked down the “Five Houses,” crossed Bakers’Alley, and went along a narrow cross-street into Fishers’Lane. He followed this street, which led down to the Traveparallel to Meng Street, for a few steps, and paused beforea small house, a modest flower-shop, with a narrow door anddingy show-window, where a few pots of onions stood on apane of green glass.

He went in, whereupon the bell above the door began togive tongue, like a little watch-dog. Within, before the counter,talking to the young saleswoman, was a little fat elderlylady in a Turkey shawl. She was choosing a pot of flowers,examining, smelling, criticizing, chattering, and constantlyobliged to wipe her mouth with her handkerchief. ThomasBuddenbrook greeted her politely and stepped to one side.She was a poor relation of the Langhals’, a good-naturedgarrulous old maid who bore the name of one of the bestfamilies without herself belonging to their set: that is, shewas not asked to the large dinners, but to the small coffeecircles. She was known to almost all the world as Aunt[168]Lottchen. She turned toward the door, with her pot offlowers, wrapped up in tissue paper, under her arm; andThomas, after greeting her again, said in an elevated voiceto the shop girl, “Give me a couple of roses, please. Nevermind the kind—well, La France.”

Then, after Aunt Lottchen had shut the door behind herand gone away, he said in a lower voice, “Put them awayagain, Anna. How are you, little Anna? Here I am—andI’ve come with a heavy heart.”

Anna wore a white apron over her simple black frock.She was wonderfully pretty. Delicately built as a fawn, shehad an almost mongol type of face, somewhat prominentcheek-bones, narrow black eyes full of a soft gleam, and apale yellow skin the like of which is rare anywhere. Herhands, of the same tint, were narrow, and more beautiful thana shop girl’s are wont to be.

She went behind the counter at the right end, so that shecould not be seen through the shop-window. Thomas followedon the outside of the counter and, bending over, kissed her onthe lips and the eyes.

“You are quite frozen, poor boy,” she said.

“Five degrees,” said Tom. “I didn’t notice it, I’ve feltso sad coming over.”

He sat down on the table, keeping her hand in his, andwent on: “Listen, Anna; we’ll be sensible to-day, won’t we?The time has come.”

“Oh, dear,” she said miserably, and lifted her apron toher eyes.

“It had to happen sometime, Anna. No, don’t weep. Wewere going to be reasonable, weren’t we? What else is thereto do? One has to bear such things.”

“When?” asked Anna, sobbing.

“Day after to-morrow.”

“Oh, God, no! Why to-morrow? A week longer—fivedays! Please, oh, please!”

[169]“Impossible, dear Anna. Everything is arranged and inorder. They are expecting me in Amsterdam. I couldn’tmake it a day longer, no matter how much I wanted.”

“And that is so far away—so far away!”

“Amsterdam? Nonsense, that isn’t far. We can alwaysthink of each other, can’t we? And I’ll write to you. You’llsee, I’ll write directly I’ve got there.”

“Do you remember,” she said, “a year and a half ago, atthe Rifle-club fair?”

He interrupted her ardently. “Do I remember? Yes, ayear and a half ago! I took you for an Italian. I boughta pink and put it in my button-hole.—I still have it—I am takingit with me to Amsterdam.—What a heat: how hot anddusty it was on the meadow!”

“Yes, you bought me a glass of lemonade from the nextbooth. I remember it like yesterday. Everything smelledof fatty-cakes and people.”

“But it was fine! We knew right away how we felt—abouteach other!”

“You wanted to take me on the carroussel, but I couldn’tgo; I had to be in the shop. The old woman would havescolded.”

“No, I know it wouldn’t have done, Anna.”

She said softly and clearly, “But that is the only thing I’verefused you.”

He kissed her again, on the lips and the eyes. “Adieu,darling little Anna. We must begin to say good-bye.”

“Oh, you will come back to-morrow?”

“Yes, of course, and day after to-morrow early, if Ican get away.—But there is one thing I want to say to you,Anna. I am going, after all, rather far away. Amsterdam isa long way off—and you are staying here. But—don’t throwyourself away, I tell you.”

She wept into her apron, holding it up with her free handto her face. “And you—and you?”

[170]“God knows, Anna, what will happen. One isn’t youngfor ever—you are a sensible girl, you have never said anythingabout marriage and that sort of thing—”

“God forbid—that I should ask such a thing of you!”

“One is carried along—you see. If I live, I shall takeover the business, and make a good match—you see, I amopen with you at parting, Anna. I wish you every happiness,darling, darling little Anna. But don’t throw yourselfaway, do you hear? For you haven’t done that—with me—Iswear it.”

It was warm in the shop. A moist scent of earth andflowers was in the air. Outside, the winter sun was hurryingto its repose, and a pure delicate sunset, like one paintedon porcelain, beautified the sky across the river. Peoplehurried past the window, their chins tucked into theirturned-up collars; no one gave a glance into the corner ofthe little flower-shop, at the two who stood there saying theirlast farewells.

[172]

“What is the matter, Betsy?” said the Consul, as he cameto the table and lifted up the plate with which his soup wascovered. “Aren’t you well? You don’t look just right tome.”

The round table in the great dining-room was grown verysmall. Around it there gathered in these days, besides theparents, only little Clara, now ten years old, Mamsell Jungmann,and Clothilde, as humble, lean, and hungry as ever.The Consul looked about him: every face was long and gloomy.What had happened? He himself was troubled and anxious;for the Bourse was unsteady, owing to this complicatedSchleswig-Holstein affair. And still another source of disquietwas in the air; when Anton had gone to fetch in themeat course, the Consul heard what had happened. Trina,the cook, who had never before been anything but loyal anddutiful to her mistress, had suddenly shown clear signs ofrevolt. To the Frau Consul’s great vexation, she had beenmaintaining relations—a sort of spiritual affinity, it seemed—withthe butcher’s apprentice; and that man of blood musthave influenced her political views in a most regrettable way.The Consul’s wife had addressed some reproach to her in thematter of an unsuccessful sauce, and she had put her nakedarms akimbo and delivered herself as follows: “You jus’wait, Frau Consul; ’tain’ goin’ t’ be much longer—there’llcome another order inter the world. ’N’ then I’ll be sittin’on the sofa in a silk gownd, an’ you’ll be servin’ me.” Naturally,she received summary notice.

The Consul shook his head. He himself had had similartroubles. The old porters and labourers were of course respectful[180]enough, and had no notions in their heads; but severalhere and there among the young ones had shown by theirbearing that the new spirit of revolt had entered into them.In the spring there had been a street riot, although a constitutioncorresponding to the demands of the new time hadalready been drafted; which, a little later, despite the oppositionof Lebrecht Kröger and other stubborn old gentlemen, becamelaw by a decree of the Senate. The citizens met togetherand representatives of the people were elected. Butthere was no rest. The world was upside down. Every onewanted to revise the constitution and the franchise, and thecitizens grumbled. “Voting by estates,” said some—ConsulJohann Buddenbrook among them. “Universal franchise,”said the others; Heinrich Hagenström was one of these. Stillothers cried “Universal voting by estates”—and dear knewwhat they meant by that! All sorts of ideas were in the air;for instance, the abolition of disabilities and the general extensionof the rights of citizenship—even to non-Christians!No wonder Buddenbrook’s Trina had imbibed such ideasabout sofas and silk gowns! Oh, there was worse to come!Things threatened to take a fearful turn.

It was an early October day of the year 1848. The skywas blue, with a few light floating clouds in it, silvered bythe rays of the sun, the strength of which was indeed not sogreat but that the stove was already going, behind the polishedscreen in the landscape-room. Little Clara, whose hair hadgrown darker and whose eyes had a rather severe expression,sat with some embroidery before the sewing-table, whileClothilde, busy likewise with her needlework, had the sofa-placenear the Frau Consul. Although Clothilde Buddenbrookwas not much older than her married cousin—that is tosay, only twenty-one years—her long face already showedpronounced lines; and with her smooth hair, which had neverbeen blond, but always a dull greyish colour, she presentedan ideal portrait of a typical old maid. But she was content;[181]she did nothing to alter her condition. Perhaps shethought it best to grow old early and thus to make a quickend of all doubts and hopes. As she did not own a singlesou, she knew that she would find nobody in all the wideworld to marry her, and she looked with humility into herfuture, which would surely consist of consuming a tiny incomein some tiny room which her influential uncle wouldprocure for her out of the funds of some charitable establishmentfor maidens of good family.

The Consul’s wife was busy reading two letters. Tonyrelated the good progress of the little Erica, and Christianwrote eagerly of his life and doings in London. He did notgive any details of his industry with Mr. Richardson ofThreadneedle Street. The Frau Consul, who was approachingthe middle forties, complained bitterly of the tendencyof blond women to grow old too soon. The delicate tintwhich corresponded to her reddish hair had grown dulleddespite all cosmetics; and the hair itself began relentlessly togrey, or would have done so but for a Parisian tincture ofwhich the Frau Consul had the receipt. She was determinednever to grow white. When the dye would no longer performits office, she would wear a blond wig. On top of her stillartistic coiffure was a silk scarf bordered with white lace,the beginning, the first adumbration of a cap. Her silk frockwas wide and flowing, its bell-shaped sleeves lined with thesoftest mull. A pair of gold circlets tinkled as usual onher wrist.

It was three o’clock in the afternoon. Suddenly there wasa noise of running and shouting: a sort of insolent hootingand cat-calling, the stamping of feet on the pavement, a hubbubthat grew louder and came nearer.

“What is that noise, Mamma?” said Clara, looking out ofthe window and into the gossip’s glass. “Look at the people!What is the matter with them? What are they so pleasedabout?”

[182]“My God!” shouted the Frau Consul, throwing down herletters and springing to the window. “Is it—? My God, it isthe Revolution! It is the people!”

The truth was that the town had been the whole day in astate of unrest. In the morning the windows of Benthien thedraper’s shop in Broad Street had been broken by stones—althoughGod knew what the owner had to do with politics!

“Anton,” the Consul’s wife called with a trembling voiceinto the dining-room, where the servants were bustling aboutwith the silver. “Anton! Go below! Shut the outsidedoors. Make everything fast. It is a mob.”

“Oh, Frau Consul,” said Anton. “Is it safe for me todo that? I am a servant. If they see my livery—”

“What wicked people,” Clothilde drawled without puttingdown her work. Just then the Consul crossed the entrancehall and came in through the glass door. He carried hiscoat over his arm and his hat in his hand.

“You are going out, Jean?” asked the Frau Consul in greatexcitement and trepidation.

“Yes, my dear, I must go to the meeting.”

“But the mob, Jean, the Revolution—”

“Oh, dear me, Betsy, it isn’t so serious as that! We arein God’s hand. They have gone past the house already. I’llgo down the back way.”

“Jean, if you love me—do you want to expose yourself tothis danger? Will you leave us here unprotected? I amafraid, I tell you—I am afraid.”

“My dear, I beg of you, don’t work yourself up like this.They will only make a bit of a row in front of the Town Hallor in the market. It may cost the government a few window-panes—butthat’s all.”

“Where are you going, Jean?”

“To the Assembly. I am late already. I was detainedby business. It would be a shame not to be there to-day.Do you think your Father is stepping away, old as heis?”

[183]“Then go, in God’s name, Jean. But be careful, I beg ofyou. And keep an eye on my Father. If anything hit him—”

“Certainly, my dear.”

“When will you be back?” the Frau Consul called afterhim.

“Well, about half-past four or five o’clock. Depends.There is a good deal of importance on the agenda, so I can’texactly tell.”

“Oh, I’m frightened, I’m frightened,” repeated the FrauConsul, walking up and down restlessly.

Consul Buddenbrook crossed his spacious ground floor inhaste. Coming out into Bakers’ Alley, he heard steps behindhim and saw Gosch the broker, a picturesque figure in his longcloak and Jesuit hat, also climbing the narrow street to themeeting. He lifted his hat with one thin long hand, andwith the other made a deferential gesture, as he said, “Well,Herr Consul—how are you?” His voice sounded sinister.

This broker, Siegismund Gosch, a bachelor of some fortyyears, was, despite his demeanour, the best and most honestsoul in the world; but he was a wit and an oddity. Hissmooth-shaven face was distinguished by a Roman nose, aprotruding pointed chin, sharp features, and a wide mouthdrooping at the corners, whose narrow lips he was in thehabit of pressing together in the most taciturn and forbiddingmanner. His grey hair fell thick and sombre over his brow,and he actually regretted not being humpbacked. It was hiswhim to assume the rôle of a wild, witty, and reckless intrigant—across between Mephistopheles and Napoleon,something very malevolent and yet fascinating too; andhe was not entirely unsuccessful in his pose. He wasa strange yet attractive figure among the citizens of theold city; still, he belonged among them, for he carried ona small brokerage business in the most modest, respectablesort of way. In his narrow, dark little office, however, hehad a large book-case filled with poetry in every language,and there was a story that he had been engaged since histwentieth year on a translation of Lope de Vega’s collecteddramas. Once he had played the rôle of Domingo in anamateur performance of Schiller’s “Don Carlos”—this wasthe culmination of his career. A common word never crossed[185]his lips; and the most ordinary business expressions he wouldhiss between his clenched teeth, as if he were saying “Curseson you, villain,” instead of some commonplace about stocksand commissions. He was, in many ways, the heir and successorto Jean Jacques Hoffstede of blessed memory, except thathis character had certain elements of the sombre and pathetic,with none of the playful liveliness of that old 18th centuryfriend of Johann Buddenbrook. One day he lost at a singleblow, on the Bourse, six and a half thaler on two or threepapers which he had bought as a speculation. This wasenough. He sank upon a bench; he struck an attitude whichlooked as though he had lost the Battle of Waterloo; hestruck his clenched fist against his forehead and repeatedseveral times, with a blasphemous roll of the eyes: “Ha,accursed, accursed!” He must have been, at bottom, cruellybored by the small, safe business he did and the petty transferof this or that bit of property; for this loss, this tragicblow with which Heaven had stricken him down—him, theschemer Gosch—delighted his inmost soul. He fed on it forweeks. Some one would say, “So you’ve had a loss, HerrGosch, I’m sorry to hear.” To which he would answer:“Oh, my good friend, ‘uomo non educato dal dolore rimansempre bambino’!” Probably nobody understood that. Wasit, possibly, Lope da Vega? Anyhow, there was no doubtthat this Siegismund Gosch was a remarkable and learnedman.

“What times we live in,” he said, limping up the streetwith the Consul, supported by his stick. “Times of stormand unrest.”

“You are right,” replied the Consul. “The times are unquiet.This morning’s sitting will be exciting. The principleof the estates—”

“Well, now,” Herr Gosch went on, “I have been about allday in the streets, and I have been looking at the mob. Thereare some fine fellows in it, their eyes flaming with excitementand hatred—”

[186]Johann Buddenbrook began to laugh. “You like that, don’t,you? But you have the right end of it after all, let me tellyou. It is all childishness! What do these men want? Alot of uneducated rowdies who see a chance for a bit ofa scrimmage.”

“Of course. Though I can’t deny—I was in the crowdwhen Berkemeyer, the journeyman butcher, smashed HerrBenthien’s window. He was like a panther.” Herr Goschspoke the last word with his teeth particularly close together,and went on: “Oh, the thing has its fine side, that’scertain. It is a change, at least, you know; something thatdoesn’t happen every day. Storm, stress, violence—the tempest!Oh, the people are ignorant, I know—still, my heart,this heart of mine—it beats with theirs!” They were alreadybefore the simple yellow-painted house on the groundfloor of which the sittings of the Assembly took place.

The room belonged to the beer-hall and dance-establishmentof a widow named Suerkringel; but on certain days itwas at the service of the gentlemen burgesses. The entrancewas through a narrow whitewashed corridor opening into therestaurant on the right side, where it smelled of beer andcooking, and thence through a handleless, lockless green doorso small and narrow that no one could have supposed sucha large room lay behind it. The room was empty, cold, andbarnlike, with a whitewashed roof in which the beams showed,and whitewashed walls. The three rather high windows hadgreen-painted bars, but no curtains. Opposite them were thebenches, rising in rows like an amphitheatre, with a table atthe bottom for the chairman, the recording clerk, and theCommittee of the Senate. It was covered with a green clothand had a clock, documents, and writing materials on it.On the wall opposite the door were several tall hat-rackswith hats and coats.

The sound of voices met the Consul and his companion asthey entered through the narrow door. They were the lastto come. The room was filled with burgesses, hands in their[187]trousers pockets, on their hips, or in the air, as they stoodtogether in groups and discussed. Of the hundred and thirtymembers of the body at least a hundred were present. Anumber of delegates from the country districts had beenobliged by circ*mstances to stop at home.

Near the entrance stood a group composed of two or threesmall business men, a high-school teacher, the orphan asylum“father,” Herr Mindermann, and Herr Wenzel, the popularbarber. Herr Wenzel, a powerful little man with a blackmoustache, an intelligent face, and red hands, had shavedthe Consul that very morning; here, however, he stood on anequality with him. He shaved only in the best circles; heshaved almost exclusively the Möllendorpfs, Langhals, Buddenbrooks,and Överdiecks, and he owed his vote in the Assemblyto his omniscience in city affairs, his sociability andease, and his remarkable power of decision at a division.

“Have you heard the latest, Herr Consul?” he asked withround-eyed eagerness as his patron came up.

“What is there to hear, my dear Wenzel?”

“Nobody knew it this morning. Well, permit me to tellyou, Herr Consul, the latest is that the crowd are not going tocollect before the Town Hall, or in the market—they arecoming here to threaten the burgesses. Editor Rübsam hasstirred them up.”

“Is it possible?” said the Consul. He pressed through thevarious groups to the middle of the room, where he saw hisfather-in-law with Senators Dr. Langhals and James Möllendorpf.“Is it true, gentlemen?” he asked, shaking handswith them.

But there was no need to answer. The whole assemblagewas full of it: the peace-breakers were coming; they could beheard already in the distance.

“Canaille!” said Lebrecht Kröger with cold scorn. He haddriven hither in his carriage. On an ordinary day the tall,distinguished figure of the once famous cavalier showed theburden of his eighty years; but to-day he stood quite erect[188]with his eyes half-closed, the corners of his mouth contemptuouslydrawn down, and the points of his white moustachessticking straight up. Two rows of jewelled buttons sparkledon his black velvet waistcoat.

Not far from this group was Heinrich Hagenström, a square-built,fleshy man with a reddish beard sprinkled with grey,a heavy watch-chain across his blue-checked waistcoat, andhis coat open over it. He was standing with his partner HerrStrunck, and did not greet the Consul.

Herr Benthien, the draper, a prosperous looking man, hada large group of gentlemen around him, to whom he wascirc*mstantially describing what had happened to his show-window.“A brick, gentlemen, a brick, or at least half abrick—crack! through it went and landed on a roll of greenrep. The rascally mob! Oh, the Government will have totake it up! It’s their affair!”

And in every corner of the room unceasingly resoundedthe voice of Herr Stuht from Bell-Founders’ Street. He hadon a black coat over his woollen shirt; and he so deeplysympathized with the narrative of Herr Benthien that he neverstopped saying, in outraged accents, “Infamous, un-heard-of!”

Johann Buddenbrook found and greeted his old friend G. F.Köppen, and then Köppen’s rival, Consul Kistenmaker. Hemoved about in the crowd, pressed Dr. Grabow’s hand, andexchanged a few words with Herr Gieseke the Fire Commissioner,Contractor Voigt, Dr. Langhals, the Chairman, brotherof the Senator, and several merchants, lawyers, and teachers.

The sitting was not yet opened, but debate was alreadylively. Everybody was cursing that pestilential scribbler, EditorRübsam; everybody knew he had stirred up the crowd—andwhat for? The business in hand was to decide whetherthey were to go on with the method of selecting representativesby estates, or whether there was to be universal andequal franchise. The Senate had already proposed the latter.But what did the people want? They wanted thesegentlemen by the throats—no more and no less. It was the[189]worst hole they had ever found themselves in, devil take it!The Senatorial Committee was surrounded, its members’ opinioneagerly sought. They approached Consul Buddenbrook,as one who should know the attitude of Burgomaster Överdieck;for since Senator Doctor Överdieck, Consul JustusKröger’s brother-in-law, had been made President last year,the Buddenbrooks were related to the Burgomaster; whichhad distinctly enhanced the regard in which they were held.

All of a sudden the tumult began outside. Revolution hadarrived under the windows of the Sitting. The excited exchangeof opinions inside ceased simultaneously. Every man,dumb with the shock, folded his hands upon his stomach andlooked at his fellows or at the windows, where fists werebeing shaken in the air and the crowd was giving vent todeafening and frantic yelling. But then, most astonishingly,as though the offenders themselves had suddenly grown aghastat their own behaviour, it became just as still outside asin the hall; and in that deep hush, one word from the neighbourhoodof the lowest benches, where Lebrecht Kröger wassitting, was distinctly audible. It rang through the hall,cold, emphatic, and deliberate—the word “Canaille!” And,like an echo, came the word “Infamous,” in a fat, outragedvoice from the other corner of the hall. Then the hurried,trembling, whispering utterance of the draper Benthien:“Gentlemen, gentlemen! Listen! I know the house. Thereis a trap-door on to the roof from the attic. I used to shootcats through it when I was a lad. We can climb on to the nextroof and get down safely.”

“Cowardice,” hissed Gosch the broker between his teeth.He leaned against the table with his arms folded and headbent, directing a blood-curdling glance through the window.

“Cowardice, do you say? How cowardice? In God’sname, sir, aren’t they throwing bricks? I’ve had enoughof that.”

The noise outside had begun again, but without reaching itsformer stormy height. It sounded quieter and more continuous,[190]a prolonged, patient, almost comfortable hum, rising andfalling; now and then one heard whistles, and sometimessingle words like “principle” and “rights of citizens.” Theassembly listened respectfully.

After a while the chairman, Herr Dr. Langhals, spoke in asubdued tone: “Gentlemen, I think we could come to someagreement if we opened the meeting.”

But this humble suggestion did not meet with the slightestsupport from anybody.

“No good in that,” somebody said, with a simple decisivenessthat permitted no appeal. It was a peasant sort of man,named Pfahl, from the Ritzerau district, deputy for the villageof Little Schretstaken. Nobody remembered ever tohave heard his voice raised before in a meeting, but its verysimplicity made it weighty at the present crisis. Unafraidand with sure political insight, Herr Pfahl had voiced thefeeling of the entire assemblage.

“God keep us,” Herr Benthien said despondently. “If wesit on the benches we can be seen from outside. They’rethrowing stones—I’ve had enough of that.”

“And the cursed door is so narrow,” burst out Köppen thewine-merchant, in despair. “If we start to go out, we’ll probablyget crushed.”

“Infamous, un-heard-of,” Herr Stuht intoned.

“Gentlemen,” began the Chairman urgently once more. “Ihave to put before the Burgomaster in the next three days adraft of to-day’s protocol, and the town expects its publicationthrough the press. I should at least like to get a voteon that subject, if the sitting would come to order—”

But with the exception of a few citizens who supported thechairman, nobody seemed ready to come to the considerationof the agenda. A vote would have been useless anyhow—theymust not irritate the people. Nobody knew what they wanted,so it was no good to offend them by a vote, in whatever direction.They must wait and control themselves. The clock ofSt. Mary’s struck half-past four.

[191]They confirmed themselves and each other in this resolveof patient waiting. They began to get used to the noise thatrose and fell outside, to feel quieter; to make themselves morecomfortable, to sit down on the lower benches and chairs.The natural instinct toward industry, common to all these goodburghers, began to assert itself: they ventured to bargain alittle, to pick up a little business here and there. The brokerssat down by the wholesale dealers. These beleagueredgentlemen talked together like people shut in by a suddenstorm, who speak of other things, and now and then pause tolisten with respectful faces to the thunder. It was five o’clock—half-pastfive. It was getting dark. Now and then somebodysighed and said that the wife would be waiting with thecoffee—and then Herr Benthien would venture to mention thetrap-door. But most of them were like Herr Stuht, who saidfatalistically, shaking his head, “I’m too fat.”

Mindful of his wife’s request Johann Buddenbrook hadkept an eye on his father-in-law. He said to him: “Thislittle adventure isn’t disturbing you, is it, Father?”

Lebrecht Kröger’s forehead showed two swollen blue veinsunder his white wig. He looked ill. One aristocratic oldhand played with the opalescent buttons on his waistcoat; theother, with its great diamond ring, trembled on his knee.

“Fiddlesticks, Buddenbrook,” he said; but his voice showedextreme fatigue. “I am sick of it, that’s all.” Then he betrayedhimself by suddenly hissing out: “Parbleu, Jean, thisinfamous rabble ought to be taught some respect with a littlepowder and shot. Canaille! Scum!”

The Consul hummed assent. “Yes, yes, you are right; it isa pretty undignified affair. But what can we do? We mustkeep our tempers. It’s getting late. They’ll go away after abit.”

“Where is my carriage? I desire my carriage,” said theold man in a tone of command, suddenly quite beside himself.His anger exploded; he trembled all over. “I ordered itfor five o’clock: where is it? This sitting will never be held.[192]Why should I stop any longer? I don’t care about being madea fool of. My carriage! What are they doing to my coachman?Go see after it, Buddenbrook.”

“My dear Father-in-Law, for heaven’s sake be calm. Youare getting excited. It will be bad for you. Of course Iwill go and see after the carriage. I think myself we havehad enough of this. I will speak to the people and tell themto go home.”

Close by the little green door he was accosted by SiegismundGosch, who grasped his arm with a bony hand andasked in a gruesome whisper: “Whither away, Herr Consul?”

The broker’s face was furrowed with a thousand lines. Hispointed chin rose almost up to his nose, his face expressedthe most desperate resolution; his grey hair streamed distractedlyover brow and temples; his head was so drawn inbetween his shoulders that he really almost achieved his ambitionof looking like a dwarf—and he rapped out: “Youbehold me resolved to speak to the people.”

The Consul said: “No, let me do it, Gosch. I really knowmore of them than you do.”

“Be it so,” answered the broker tonelessly. “You are abigger man than I.” And, lifting his voice, he went on:“But I will accompany you, I will stand at your side, ConsulBuddenbrook. Let the wrath of the outraged people tearme in pieces—”

“What a day, what a night!” he said as they went out.There is no doubt he had never felt so happy before in hislife. “Ha, Herr Consul! Here are the people.”

They had gone down the corridor and outside the outerdoor, where they stood at the top of three little steps thatwent down to the pavement. The street was indeed a strangesight. It was as still as the grave. At the open and lightedwindows of the houses round, stood the curious, looking downupon the black mass of the insurgents before the Burgesses’House. The crowd was not much bigger than that inside the[193]hall. It consisted of young labourers from the harbour andgranaries, servants, school pupils, sailors from the merchantships, and other people from the little streets, alleys, courts,and rabbit-hutches round about. There were even two or threewomen—who had probably promised themselves the samemillennium as the Buddenbrooks’ cook. A few of the insurrectionists,weary of standing, had sat down with their feet inthe gutter and were eating sandwiches.

It was nearly six o’clock. Though twilight was well advanced,the oil lamps hung unlighted above the street. Thisfact, this open and unheard-of interruption of the regularorder, was the first thing that really made Consul Buddenbrook’stemper rise, and was responsible for his beginning tospeak in a rather short and angry tone and the broadest ofpronunciations:

“Now then, all of you, what is the meaning of this foolishness?”

The picnickers sprang up from the sidewalk. Those in theback ranks, beyond the foot-pavement, stood on their tip-toes.Some navvies, in the service of the Consul, took off their caps.They stood at attention, nudged each other, and muttered inlow tones, “’Tis Consul Buddenbrook. He be goin’ to talk.Hold yer jaw, there, Chrishan; he can jaw like the devilhimself! Ther’s Broker Gosch—look! What a monkey heis! Isn’t he gettin’ o’erwrought!”

“Carl Smolt!” began the Consul again, picking out andfastening his small, deep-set eyes upon a bow-legged younglabourer of about two-and-twenty, with his cap in his handand his mouth full of bread, standing in front of the steps.“Here, speak up, Carl Smolt! Now’s the time! I’ve beenhere the whole afternoon—”

“Yes, Herr Consul,” brought out Carl Smolt, chewingviolently. “The thing is—ower—it’s a soart o’—we’re makkin’a rivolution.”

“What kind of nonsense is that, then?”

[194]“Lord, Herr Consul, ye knaw what that is. We’re notsatisfied wi’ things as they be. We demand another order o’things; tain’t any more’n that—that’s what it is.”

“Now, listen, Carl Smolt and the rest of you. Whoever’sgot any sense will go home and not bother himself over anyrevolutions, disturbing the regular order of things—”

“The sacred order,” interrupted Herr Gosch dramatically.

“The regular order, I say,” finished the Consul. “Why,even the lamps aren’t lighted. That’s going too far with therevolution.”

Carl Smolt had swallowed his mouthful by now, and, withthe people at his back, stood his ground and made some objections.

“Well, Herr Consul, ye may say that. But we’re only aginthe principle of the voate—”

“God in heaven, you ninny,” shouted the Consul, forgetting,in his excitement, to speak dialect. “You’re talking thesheerest nonsense—”

“Lord, Herr Consul,” said Carl Smolt, somewhat abashed,“thet’s oall as it is. Rivolution it has to be. Ther’s rivolutioniverywheer, in Berlin, in Paris—”

“But, Smolt, what do you want? Just tell me that, if youcan.”

“Lord, Herr Consul, I say we wants a republic; that’s watI be sayin’.”

“But, you fool, you’ve got one already.”

“Well, Herr Consul, then we wants another.”

Some of the bystanders, who understood the matter better,began to laugh rudely and heartily; and although few evenheard Carl’s answer, the laughter spread until the whole crowdof republicans stood shaking good-naturedly. Some of thegentlemen from inside the hall appeared at the window withcurious faces and beer-mugs in their hands. The only persondisappointed and pained by this turn of affairs was SiegismundGosch.

[195]“Now, people,” shouted Consul Buddenbrook finally, “Ithink the best thing for you all to do is to go home.”

Carl Smolt, quite crestfallen over the result he had broughtabout, answered “That’s right, Herr Consul. Then things’llbe quieted down. And Herr Consul doesn’t take it ill of me,do’e, now? Good-bye, Herr Consul!”

The crowd began to disperse, in the best of humours.

“Wait a minute, Smolt,” shouted the Consul. “Have youseen the Kröger carriage? the calèche from outside the CastleGate?”

“Yes, sir, Herr Consul. He’s here; he be driven up in somecourt somewhere.”

“Then run quick and say he’s to come at once; his masterwants to go home.”

“Servant, Herr Consul,” and, throwing his cap on his headand pulling the leather visor well down over his brows, CarlSmolt ran with great swinging strides down the street.

When the Consul and Siegismund Gosch returned to the hall,the scene was a more comfortable one than it had been aquarter of an hour before. It was lighted by two large oillamps standing on the Committee table, in whose yellow lightthe gentlemen sat or stood together, pouring out beer intoshining tankards, touching glasses and talking loudly, in thegayest of humours. Frau Suerkringel, the widow, had consoledthem. She had loyally taken on her enforced guestsand given them good advice, recommending that they fortifythemselves for the siege, which might endure some while yet.And thus she had profitably employed the time by selling aconsiderable quantity of her light yet exhilarating beer. Asthe others entered, the house-boy, in shirt-sleeves and good-naturedgrin, was just bringing in a fresh supply of bottles.While it was certainly late, too late to consider further therevision of the Constitution, nobody seemed inclined to interruptthe meeting and go home. It was too late for coffee,in any case.

After the Consul had received congratulatory handshakes onhis success, he went up to his father-in-law. Lebrecht Krögerwas the only man in the room whose mood had not improved.He sat in his place, cold, remote, and lofty, and answered theinformation that the carriage would be around at once bysaying scornfully, in a voice that trembled more with bitternessthan age: “Then the mob permits me to go home?”

With stiff movements that no longer had in them anythingof the charm that had been his, he had his fur mantle putabout his shoulders, and laid his arm, with a careless “Merci,”on that of the Consul, who offered to accompany him home.[197]The majestic coach, with two large lanterns on the box, stoodin the street, where, to the Consul’s great satisfaction, thelamps were now being lighted. They both got in. Silentand stiffly erect, with his eyes half-closed, LebrechtKröger sat with the rug over his knees, the Consul at his righthand, while the carriage rolled through the streets. Beneaththe points of the old man’s white moustaches two lines randown perpendicularly from the corners of his mouth to hischin. He was gnawed by chagrin at the insult that had beenoffered him, and he stared, weary and chilled, at the cushionsopposite.

There was more gayety in the streets than on a Sunday evening.Obviously a holiday temper reigned. The people, delightedat the successful outcome of the revolution, were outin the gayest mood. There was singing. Here and thereyoungsters shouted “Hurrah!” as the carriage drove past, andthrew their caps into the air.

“I really think, Father, you let the matter affect you toomuch,” the Consul said. “When one thinks of it, what a tom-foolbusiness the whole thing was—simply a farce.” Inorder to get some reply from the old man he went on to talkabout the revolution in lively tones. “When the propertylessclass begin to realize how little they serve their own ends—why,good heavens, it’s the same everywhere. I was talkingthis afternoon with Gosch the broker, a wonderful man, lookingat everything with the eyes of a poet and writer. Yousee, Father, this revolution was made at the æsthetic tea-tablesof Berlin. Then the people take their own skin to market—for,of course, they will be the ones to pay for it!”

“It would be a good thing if you would open the windowon your side,” said Herr Kröger.

Johann Buddenbrook gave him a quick glance and let theglass down hastily.

“Aren’t you feeling well, dear Father?” he asked anxiously.

“Not at all,” answered Lebrecht Kröger severely.

“You need food and rest,” the Consul said; and in order to[198]be doing something he drew up the fur rug closer about hisfather-in-law’s knees.

Suddenly—the carriage was rolling through Castle Street—awretched thing happened. Fifteen paces from the CastleGate, in the half-dark, they passed a group of noisy andhappy street urchins, and a stone flew through the open window.It was a harmless little stone, the size of a hen’s egg,flung by the hand of some Chris Snut or Heine Voss to celebratethe revolution; certainly not with any bad intent, andprobably not directed toward the carriage at all. It camenoiselessly through the window and struck Lebrecht Kröger inhis chest, which was covered with the thick fur rug. Then itrolled down over the cover and fell upon the floor of thecoach.

“Clumsy fools!” said the Consul angrily. “Is everybodyout of their senses this evening? It didn’t hurt you, did it?”

Old Kröger was silent—alarmingly silent. It was too darkin the carriage to see his expression. He sat straighter,higher, stiffer than ever, without touching the cushions. Then,from deep within him, slowly, coldly, dully, came the singleword: “Canaille.”

For fear of angering him further, the Consul made no answer.The carriage clattered through the gate, and threeminutes later was in the broad avenue before the gilt-tippedrailings that bounded the Kröger domain. A drive borderedwith chestnut trees went from the garden gate up to the terrace;and on either side of the gate a gilt-topped lantern wasburning brightly. The Consul saw his father-in-law’s faceby this light—it was yellow and wrinkled; the firm, contemptuousset of the mouth had given way: it had changed to thelax, silly, distorted expression of a very old man. The carriagestopped before the terrace.

“Help me out,” said Lebrecht Kröger; but the Consul wasalready out, had thrown back the rug, and offered his armand shoulder as a support. He led the old man slowly for a[199]few paces across the gravel to the white stone steps that wentup to the dining-room. At the foot of these, the old manbent at the knee-joints. His head fell so heavily on hisbreast that the lower jaw clashed against the upper. Hiseyes rolled—grew dim; Lebrecht Kröger, the gallant, thecavalier à-la-mode, had joined his fathers.

A year and two months later, on a misty, snowy morning inJanuary of the year 1850, Herr and Madame Grünlich sat atbreakfast with their little three-year-old daughter, in thebrown wainscoted dining-room, on chairs that cost twenty-fivemarks apiece.

The panes of both windows were opaque with mist; behindthem one had vague glimpses of bare trees and bushes. Ared glow and a gentle, scented warmth came from the low,green-tiled stove standing in a corner. Through the open doornext to it one could see the foliage-plants in the “pensée-room.”On the other wall, half-drawn green stuff portières gave aview of the brown satin salon and of a lofty glass door leadingon to a little terrace beyond. The cracks in this doorwere carefully stopped with cotton-wool, and there was nothingto be seen through its panes but the whitish-grey mistbeyond.

The snow-white cloth of woven damask on the round tablehad an embroidered green runner across it, laid with gold-borderedporcelain so translucent that it gleamed like mother-of-pearl.The tea-kettle was humming. There was a finelyworked silver bread-basket in the shape of a curling leaf, withslices and rolls of fine bread; under one crystal bell werelittle balls of butter, under another different sorts of cheese,white, yellow, and green. There was even a bottle of winestanding before the master of the house; for Herr Grünlichhad a full breakfast every morning.

His whiskers were freshly curled, and at this early hour hisrosy face was rosier than ever. He sat with his back to thesalon, already arrayed in a black coat and light trousers with[201]a pattern of large checks, eating a grilled chop, in the Englishmanner. His wife thought this very elegant, but alsovery disgusting—she had never brought herself to take itinstead of her usual breakfast of bread and butter and anegg.

Tony was in her dressing-gown. She adored dressing-gowns.Nothing seemed more elegant to her than a handsomenegligée, and as she had not been allowed to indulge thispassion in the parental house she was the more given to itas a wife. She had three of these dainty clinging garments,to the fashioning of which can go so much more taste andfantasy than to a ball-gown. To-day she wore her dark-redone. Its colour toned beautifully with the paper above thewainscoting, and its large-flowered stuff, of a beautiful softtexture, was embroidered all over with sprays of tiny glassbeads of the same colour, while row after row of red velvetribbons ran from neck to hem.

Her thick ash-blonde hair, with its dark-red velvet band,curled about her brows. She had now, as she was herselfwell aware, reached the highest point of her physical bloom;yet her pretty, pouting upper lip retained just the naïve, provocativeexpression of her childhood. The lids of her grey-blueeyes were reddened with cold water. Her hands, thewhite Buddenbrook hands, finely shaped if a little stumpy,their delicate wrists caressed by the velvet cuffs of her dressing-gown,handled her knife and fork and tea-cup with motionsthat were to-day, for some reason or other, rather jerky andabrupt. Her little daughter Erica sat near her in a highchair. She was a plump child with short blonde hair, in afunny, shapeless, knitted frock of pale-blue wool. She helda large cup in both tiny hands, entirely concealing her face,and drank her milk with little sighs of satisfaction.

Frau Grünlich rang, and Tinka, the housemaid, came fromthe entry to take the child from her high chair and carryher upstairs into the play-room. “You may take her walkingoutside for a half-hour, Tinka,” said Tony. “But not longer;[202]and put on her thick jacket. It is very damp and foggy.”She remained alone with her husband.

“You only make yourself seem absurd,” she said then, aftera silence, obviously continuing an interrupted conversation.“What are your objections? Give me some reason. I can’tbe always attending to the child.”

“You are not fond of children, Antonie.”

“Fond of children, indeed! I have no time. I am takenup with the housekeeping. I wake up with twenty things thatmust be done, and I go to bed with forty that have not beendone.”

“There are two servants. A young woman like you—”

“Two servants. Good. Tinka has to wash up, to clean, toserve. The cook is busy all the time. You have chops earlyin the morning. Think it over, Grünlich. Sooner or later,Erica must have a bonne, a governess.”

“But to get a governess for her so soon is not suited to ourmeans.”

“Our means! Goodness, you are absurd! Are we beggars?Are we forced to live within the smallest limits we can? Ithink I brought you in eighty thousand marks—”

“Oh, you and your eighty thousand marks—!”

“Yes, I know you like to make light of them. They wereof no importance to you because you married me for love!Good. But do you still love me? You deliberately disregardmy wishes. The child is not to have a governess. AndI don’t even speak any more of the coupé, which we need quiteas much as we need food and drink. And why do you insiston our living out here in the country, if it isn’t in accordancewith our means to keep a carriage so that we can go into societyrespectably? Why do you never like it when I go in totown? You would always rather just have me bury myselfout here, so I should never see a living soul. I think youare very ill-tempered.”

Herr Grünlich poured some wine into his glass, lifted up[203]one of the crystal bells, and began on the cheese. He madeno reply.

“Don’t you love me any more?” repeated Tony. “Yoursilence is so insulting, it drives me to remind you of a certainday when you entered our landscape-room. You made a finefigure of yourself! But from the very first day after ourmarriage you have sat with me only in the evening, and thatonly to read the paper. Just at first you showed some littleregard for my wishes. But that’s been over with for a longwhile now. You neglect me.”

“And you? You are ruining me.”

“I? I am ruining you?”

“Yes, you are ruining me with your indolence, your extravagance,and love of luxury.”

“Oh, pray don’t reproach me with my good upbringing!In my parents’ house I never had to lift a finger. Now Ihave hard work to get accustomed to the housekeeping; but Ihave at least a right to demand that you do not refuse me theordinary assistance. Father is a rich man; he would neverdream that I could lack for service.”

“Then wait for this third servant until we get hold of someof those riches.”

“Oh, you are wishing for my Father’s death. But I meanthat we are well-to-do people in our own right. I did notcome to you with empty hands.”

Herr Grünlich smiled an embarrassed and dejected smile,although he was in the act of chewing his breakfast. Hemade no other reply, and his silence bewildered Tony.

“Grünlich,” she said more quietly, “why do you smile andtalk about our ‘means’? Am I mistaken? Has business beenbad? Have you—?”

Just then somebody drummed on the corridor door, andHerr Kesselmeyer walked in.

Herr Kesselmeyer entered unannounced, as a friend of thehouse, without hat or coat. He paused, however, near thedoor. His looks corresponded exactly to the description Tonyhad given to her Mother. He was slightly thick-set as to figure,but neither fat nor lean. He wore a black, already somewhatshiny coat, short tight trousers of the same material,and a white waistcoat, over which went a long thin watch-chainand two or three eye-glass cords. His clipped whitebeard was in sharp contrast with his red face. It coveredhis cheeks and left his chin and lips free. His mouth wassmall and mobile, with two yellowish pointed teeth in theotherwise vacant gum of his lower jaw, and he was pressingthese into his upper lip, as he stood absently by the door withhis hands in his trousers pockets and the black and whitedown on his head waving slightly, although there was not theleast perceptible draught.

Finally he drew his hands out of his pockets, bowed, releasedhis lip, and with difficulty freed one of the eye-glasscords from the confusion on his waistcoat. He lifted hispince-nez and put it with a single gesture astride his nose.Then he made the most astonishing grimaces, looked at thehusband and wife, and remarked: “Ah, ha!”

He used this expression with extraordinary frequency anda surprising variety of inflections. He might say it with hishead thrown back, his nose wrinkled up, mouth wide open,hands swishing about in the air, with a long-drawn-out, nasal,metallic sound, like a Chinese gong; or he might, with stillfunnier effect, toss it out, gently, en passant; or with any oneof a thousand different shades of tone and meaning. His a[205]was very clouded and nasal. To-day it was a hurried, lively“Ah ha!” accompanied with a jerk of the head, that seemedto arise from an unusually pleasant mood, and yet might notbe trusted to be so; for the fact was, Banker Kesselmeyernever behaved more gaily than when he was dangerous. Whenhe jumped about emitting a thousand “Ah ha’s,” lifting hisglasses to his nose and letting them fall again, waving hisarms, chattering, plainly quite beside himself with light-headedness,then you might be sure that evil was gnawingat his inwards. Herr Grünlich looked at him blinking, withunconcealed mistrust.

“Already—so early?” he asked.

“Ah, ha!” answered Herr Kesselmeyer, and waved one ofhis small, red, wrinkled hands in the air, as if to say: “Patience,there is a surprise coming.” “I must speak with you,without any delay; I must speak with you.”

The words sounded irresistibly comic as he rolled each oneabout before giving it out, with exaggerated movements ofhis little toothless, mobile mouth. He rolled his r’s as if hispalate were greased. Herr Grünlich blinked more and moresuspiciously.

“Come and sit down, Herr Kesselmeyer,” said Tony. “I’mglad you’ve come. Listen. You can decide between us.Grünlich and I have been disagreeing. Now tell me: oughta three-year-old child to have a governess or not?”

But Herr Kesselmeyer seemed not to be attending. He hadseated himself and was rubbing his stubbly beard with hisforefinger, making a rasping sound, his mouth as wide openas possible, nose as wrinkled, while he stared over hisglasses with an indescribably sprightly air at the elegantlyappointed breakfast-table, the silver bread-basket, the labelon the wine-bottle.

“Grünlich says I am ruining him,” Tony continued.

Herr Kesselmeyer looked at her; then he looked at HerrGrünlich; then he burst out into an astonishing fit of laughter.“You are ruining him?—you? You are ruining him—that’s[206]it, is it? Oh good gracious, heavens and earth, you don’tsay! That is a joke. That is a tre-men-dous, tre-men-dousjoke.” He let out a stream of ha ha’s all run in together.

Herr Grünlich was plainly nervous. He squirmed on hisseat. He ran his long finger down between his collar and hisneck and let his golden whiskers glide through his hand.

“Kesselmeyer,” he said. “Control yourself, man. Are youout of your head? Stop laughing! Will you have somewine? Or a cigar? What are you laughing at?”

“What am I laughing at? Yes, yes, give me a glass ofwine, give me a cigar. Why am I laughing? So you thinkyour wife is ruining you?”

“She is very luxuriously inclined,” Herr Grünlich said irritably.

Tony did not contradict him. She leaned calmly back, herhands in her lap on the velvet ribbons of her frock and herpert upper lip in evidence: “Yes, I am, I know. I have itfrom Mamma. All the Krögers are fond of luxury.”

She would have admitted in the same calm way that shewas frivolous, revengeful, or quick-tempered. Her stronglydeveloped family sense was instinctively hostile to conceptionsof free will and self-development; it inclined her ratherto recognize and accept her own characteristics wholesale,with fatalistic indifference and toleration. She had, unconsciously,the feeling that any trait of hers, no matter of whatkind, was a family tradition and therefore worthy of respect.

Herr Grünlich had finished breakfast, and the fragrance ofthe two cigars mingled with the warm air from the stove.“Will you take another, Kesselmeyer?” said the host. “I’llpour you out another glass of wine.—You want to see me?Anything pressing? Is it important?—Too warm here, isit? We’ll drive into town together afterward. It is coolerin the smoking-room.” To all this Herr Kesselmeyer simplyshook his hand in the air, as if to say: “This won’t get usanywhere, my dear friend.”

[207]At length they got up; and, while Tony remained in thedining-room to see that the servant-maid cleared away, HerrGrünlich led his colleague through the “pensée-room,” withhis head bent, drawing his long beard reflectively through hisfingers. Herr Kesselmeyer rowed into the room with hisarms and disappeared behind him.

Ten minutes passed. Tony had gone into the salon to givethe polished nut-wood secretary and the curved table-legs herpersonal attention with the aid of a gay little feather duster.Then she moved slowly through the dining-room into theliving-room with dignity and marked self-respect. The DemoiselleBuddenbrook had plainly not grown less importantin her own eyes since becoming Madame Grünlich. She heldherself very erect, chin in, and looked down at the worldfrom above. She carried in one hand her little lacquered key-basket;the other was in the pocket of her gown, whose softfolds played about her. The naïve expression of her mouthbetrayed that the whole of her dignity and importance werea part of a beautiful, childlike, innocent game which she wasconstantly playing with herself.

In the “pensée-room” she busied herself with a little brasssprinkler, watering the black earth around her plants. Sheloved her palms, they gave so much elegance to the room.She touched carefully a young shoot on one of the thickround stems, examined the majestically unfolded fans, andcut away a yellow tip here and there with the scissors. Suddenlyshe stopped. The conversation in the next room,which had for several minutes been assuming a livelier tone,became so loud that she could hear every word, though thedoor and the portières were both heavy.

“Don’t shriek like that—control yourself, for God’s sake!”she heard Herr Grünlich say. His weak voice could notstand the strain, and went off in a squeak. “Take anothercigar,” he went on, with desperate mildness.

“Yes, thanks, with the greatest pleasure,” answered the[208]banker, and there was a pause while he presumably helpedhimself. Then he said: “In short, will you or won’t you:one or the other?”

“Kesselmeyer, give me an extension.”

“Ah, ha! No, no, my friend. There is no question ofan extension. That’s not the point now.”

“Why not? What is stirring you up to this? Be reasonable,for heaven’s sake. You’ve waited this long.”

“Not a day longer, my friend. Yes, we’ll say eight days,but not an hour longer. But can’t we rely any longer on—?”

“No names, Kesselmeyer.”

“No names. Good. But doesn’t some one rely any longeron his estimable Herr Pa—”

“No hints, either. My God, don’t be a fool.”

“Very good; no hints, either. But have we no claimany longer on the well-known firm with whom our creditstands and falls, my friend? How much did it lose by theBremen failure? Fifty thousand? Seventy thousand? Ahundred thousand? More? The sparrows on the housetopsknow that it was involved, heavily involved. Yesterday—well,no names. Yesterday the well-known firm was good, andit was unconsciously protecting you against pressure. To-dayits stock is flat—and B. Grünlich’s stock is the flattest of theflat. Is that clear? Do you grasp it? You are the firstman to notice a thing like that. How are people treatingyou? How do they look at you? Beck and Goudstikker areperfectly agreeable, give you the same terms as usual? Andthe bank?”

“They will extend.”

“You aren’t lying, are you? Oh, no! I knowthey gave you a jolt yesterday—a very, very stimulatingjolt eh? You see? Oh, don’t be embarrassed. It is toyour interest, of course, to pull the wool over my eyes, sothat the others will be quiet. Hey, my dear friend? Well,you’d better write to the Consul. I’ll wait a week.”

“A part payment, Kesselmeyer!”

[209]“Part payment, rubbish! One accepts part payment toconvince oneself for the time of a debtor’s ability to pay.Do I need to make experiments of that kind on you? I amperfectly well-informed about your ability to pay. Ah, ha,ah, ha! Part payment! That’s a very good joke.”

“Moderate your voice, Kesselmeyer. Don’t laugh all thetime in that cursed way. My position is so serious—yes,I admit, it is serious. But I have such-and-such business inhand—everything may still come out all right. Listen, waita minute: Give me an extension and I’ll sign it for twentyper cent.”

“Nothing in it, nothing in it, my friend. Very funny,very amusing. Oh, yes, I’m in favour of selling at the righttime. You promised me eight per cent, and I extended. Youpromised me twelve and sixteen per cent, and I extended,every time. Now, you might offer me forty per cent, and Ishouldn’t consider it—not for a moment. Since Brother Westfallin Bremen fell on his nose, everybody is for the momentfreeing himself from the well-known firm and getting on asound basis. As I say, I’m for selling at the right time. I’veheld your signatures as long as Johann Buddenbrook wasgood—in the meantime I could write up the interest on thecapital and increase the per cent. But one only keeps athing so long as it is rising or at least keeping steady. Whenit begins to fall, one sells—which is the same as saying Iwant my capital.”

“Kesselmeyer, you are shameless.”

“Ah, ha, a-ha! Shameless, am I? That’s very charming,very funny. What do you want? You must apply to yourfather-in-law. The Credit Bank is raging—and you know youare not exactly spotless.”

“No, Kesselmeyer. I adjure you to hear me quietly. I’llbe perfectly frank. I confess that my situation is serious.You and the Credit Bank are not the only ones—there arenotes of hand—everything seems to have gone to pieces atonce!”

[210]“Of course—naturally. It is certainly a clean-up—aliquidation.”

“No, Kesselmeyer; hear me out. Do take another cigar.”

“This one is not half finished. Leave me alone with yourcigars. Pay up.”

“Kesselmeyer, don’t let me smash!—You are a friend ofmine—you have eaten at my table.”

“And maybe you haven’t eaten at mine?”

“Yes, yes—but don’t refuse me credit now, Kesselmeyer!”

“Credit? It’s credit, now, is it? Are you in your senses?A new loan?”

“Yes, Kesselmeyer, I swear to you— A little—a trifle. Ionly need to make a few payments and advances here andthere to get on my feet again and restore confidence. Helpme and you will be doing a big business. As I said, I havea number of affairs on hand. They may still all come outright. You know how shrewd and resourceful I am.”

“I know what a numbskull you are! A dolt, a nincompoop,my dear friend! Will you have the goodness to tell me whatyour resourcefulness can accomplish at this stage? Perhapsthere is a bank somewhere in the wide world that will lendyou a shilling? Or another father-in-law? Ah, no; youhave already played your best card. You can’t play it twice.—Withall due respect, my dear fellow, and my highest regards.”

“Speak lower, devil take you!”

“You are a fool. Shrewd and resourceful, are you? Yes,to the other chap’s advantage. You’re not scrupulous, I’llsay that for you, but much good it’s done you! You haveplayed tricks, and wormed capital out of people by hook orcrook, just to pay me my twelve or sixteen per cent. Youthrew your honour overboard without getting any return. Youhave a conscience like a butcher’s dog, and yet you are nothingbut a ninny, a scapegoat. There are always such people—theyare too funny for words. Why is it you are soafraid to apply to the person we mean with the whole story?[211]Isn’t it because there was crooked work four years ago?Perhaps it wasn’t all quite straight—what? Are you afraidthat certain things—?”

“Very well, Kesselmeyer; I will write. But suppose herefuses? Suppose he lets me down?”

“Oh—ah, ha! Then we will just have a bankruptcy, ahighly amusing little bankruptcy. That doesn’t bother meat all. So far as I am concerned, I have about covered myexpenses with the interest you have scratched together, and Ihave the priority with the assets. Oh, you wait; I shan’tcome short. I know everything pretty well, my good friend;I have an inventory already in my pocket. Ah, ha! Weshall see that no dressing-gown and no silver bread-basketgets away.”

“Kesselmeyer, you have sat at my table—”

“Oh, be quiet with your table! In eight days I’ll be backfor the answer. I shall walk in to town—the fresh air willdo me good. Good morning, my friend, good morning!”

And Herr Kesselmeyer seemed to depart—yes, he went.She heard his odd, shuffling walk in the corridor, and imaginedhim rowing along with his arms....

Herr Grünlich entered the “pensée-room” and saw Tonystanding there with the little watering-can in her hand. Shelooked him in the face.

“What are you looking at? Why are you staring likethat?” he said to her. He showed his teeth, and made vaguemovements in the air with his hands, and wiggled his bodyfrom side to side. His rosy face could not become actuallypale; but it was spotted red and white like a scarlet-feverpatient’s.

Consul Johann Buddenbrook arrived at the villa at twoo’clock in the afternoon. He entered the Grünlich salon ina grey travelling-cloak and embraced his daughter with painfulintensity. He was pale and seemed older. His smalleyes were deep in their sockets, his large pointed nose stuckout between the fallen cheeks, his lips seemed to have grownthinner, and the beard under his chin and jaws half-coveredby his stiff choker and high neck-band,—he had lately ceasedto wear the two locks running from the temples half-way downthe cheeks—was as grey as the hair on his head.

The Consul had hard, nerve-racking days behind him.Thomas had had a haemorrhage; the Father had learned ofthe misfortune in a letter from Herr van der Kellen. Hehad left his business in the careful hands of his clerk andhurried off to Amsterdam. He found nothing immediatelydangerous about his son’s illness, but an open-air cure wasnecessary, in the South, in Southern France; and as it fortunatelyhappened that a journey of convalescence had beenprescribed for the young son of the head of the firm, thetwo young men had left for Pau as soon as Thomas was ableto travel.

The Consul had scarcely reached home again when hewas attacked by a fresh misfortune, which had for the momentshaken his firm to its foundations and by which it had losteighty thousand marks at one blow. How? Discountedcheques drawn on Westfall Brothers had come back to thefirm, liquidation having begun. He had not failed to coverthem. The firm had at once showed what it could do, withouthesitation or embarrassment. But that could not prevent[213]the Consul from experiencing all the sudden coldness, thereserve, the mistrust at the banks, with “friends,” and amongfirms abroad, which such an event, such a weakening ofworking capital, was sure to bring in its train.

Well, he had pulled himself together, and had reviewed thewhole situation; had reassured, reinforced, made head. Andthen, in the midst of the struggle, among telegrams, letters,and calculations, this last blow broke upon him as well:B. Grünlich, his daughter’s husband, was insolvent. In along, whining, confused letter he had implored, begged, andprayed for an assistance of a hundred to a hundred and twentythousand marks. The Consul replied curtly and non-committallythat he would come to Hamburg to meet Herr Grünlichand Kesselmeyer the banker, made a brief, soothing explanationto his wife, and started off.

Tony received him in the salon. She was fond of receivingvisits in her brown silk salon, and she made no exceptionnow; particularly as she had a very profound impression ofthe importance of the present occasion, without comprehendingin the least what it was about. She looked blooming and yetbecomingly serious, in her pale grey frock with its laces atbreast and wrists, its bell-shaped sleeves and long train, andlittle diamond clasp at the throat. “How are you, Papa?At last you have come to see us again. How is Mamma?Is there good news from Tom? Take off your things, Fatherdear. Will you dress? The guest-room is ready for you.Grünlich is dressing.”

“Don’t call him, my child. I will wait for him here. Youknow I have come for a talk with your husband—a very, veryserious talk, my dear Tony. Is Herr Kesselmeyer here?”

“Yes, he is in the pensée-room looking at the album.”

“Where is Erica?”

“Up in the nursery with Tinka. She is very well. Sheis bathing her doll—of course, not in real water; I mean—sheis a wax-doll, she only—”

“Of course.” The Consul drew a deep breath and went[214]on: “Evidently you have not been informed as to—to thestate of affairs with your husband.”

He had sat down in an arm-chair near the large table,and Tony placed herself at his feet on a little seat made ofthree cushions on top of one another. The finger of her righthand toyed gently with the diamond at her throat.

“No, Papa,” answered Tony. “I must confess I knownothing. Heavens, I am a goose!—I have no understandingat all. I heard Kesselmeyer talking lately to Grünlich—atthe end it seemed to me he was just joking again—he alwaystalks so drolly. I heard your name once or twice—”

“You heard my name? In what connection?”

“Oh, I know nothing of the connection, Papa. Grünlichhas been insufferably sulky ever since that day, I must say.Until yesterday—yesterday he was in a good mood, and askedme a dozen times if I loved him, and if I would put in agood word for him with you if he had something to ask you.”

“Oh!”

“Yes, he told me he had written you and that you were cominghere. It is good you have. Everything is so queer.Grünlich had the card-table put in here. There are a lotof paper and pencils on it—for you to sit at, and hold acouncil together.”

“Listen, my dear child,” said the Consul, stroking herhair. “I want to ask you something very serious. Tellme: you love your husband with your whole heart, don’tyou?”

“Of course, Papa,” said Tony with a face of childlikehypocrisy—precisely the face of the child Tony when she wasasked: “You won’t tease the old doll-woman again, Tony?”The Consul was silent a minute.

“You love him so much,” he asked again, “that you couldnot live without him, under any circ*mstances, even if byGod’s will your situation should alter so that he could nolonger surround you with all these things?” And his handdescribed a quick movement over the furniture and portières,[215]over the gilt clock on the étagère, and finally over her ownfrock.

“Certainly, Papa,” repeated Tony, in the soothing tone shenearly always used when any one spoke seriously to her. Shelooked past her father out of the window, where a heavy veilof rain was silently descending. Her face had the expressionchildren wear when some one tells them a fairy story andthen tactlessly introduces a generalization about conduct andduty—a mixture of embarrassment and impatience, piety andboredom.

The Consul looked at her without speaking for a minute.Was he satisfied with her response? He had weighed everythingthoroughly, at home and during the journey.

It is comprehensible that Johann Buddenbrook’s first impulsewas to refuse his son-in-law any considerable payment.But when he remembered how pressing—to use a mild word—hehad been about this marriage; when he looked back intothe past, and recalled the words: “Are you satisfied withme?” with which his child had taken leave of him after thewedding, he gave way to a burdensome sense of guilt againsther and said to himself that the thing must be decided accordingto her feelings. He knew perfectly that she hadnot made the marriage out of love, but he was obliged toreckon with the possibility that these four years of life togetherand the birth of the child had changed matters; thatTony now felt bound body and soul to her husband andwould be driven by considerations both spiritual and worldlyto shrink from a separation. In such a case, the Consulargued, he must accommodate himself to the surrender ofwhatever sum was necessary. Christian duty and wifely feelingdid indeed demand that Tony should follow her husbandinto misfortune; and if she actually took this resolve, he didnot feel justified in letting her be deprived of all the easeand comfort to which she had been accustomed since childhood.He would feel himself obliged to avert the catastrophe,and to support B. Grünlich at any price. Yet the final[216]result of his considerations was the desire to take his daughterand her child home with him and let Grünlich go hisown way. God forbid that the worst should happen!

In any case, the Consul invoked the pronouncement of thelaw that a continued inability to provide for wife and childrenjustified a separation. But, before everything, he mustfind out his daughter’s real feelings.

“I see,” he said, “my dear child, that you are actuated bygood and praiseworthy motives. But—I cannot believe thatyou are seeing the thing as, unhappily, it really is—namely,as actual fact. I have not asked what you would do in thisor that case, but what you to-day, now, will do. I do notknow how much of the situation you know or suspect. Itis my painful duty to tell you that your husband is obligedto call his creditors together; that he cannot carry on hisbusiness any longer. I hope you understand me.”

“Grünlich is bankrupt?” Tony asked under her breath, halfrising from the cushions and seizing the Consul’s hand quickly.

“Yes, my child,” he said seriously. “You did not knowit?”

“My suspicions were not definite,” she stammered. “ThenKesselmeyer was not joking?” she went on, staring beforeher at the brown carpet. “Oh, my God!” she suddenly uttered,and sank back on her seat.

In that minute all that was involved in the word “bankrupt”rose clearly before her: all the vague and fearfulhints which she had heard as a child. “Bankrupt”—that wasmore dreadful than death, that was catastrophe, ruin, shame,disgrace, misery, despair. “He is bankrupt,” she repeated.She was so cast down and shaken by the fatal word that theidea of escape, of assistance from her father, never occurredto her. He looked at her with raised eyebrows, out of hissmall deep-set eyes, which were tired and sad and full of anunusual suspense. “I am asking you,” he said gently, “mydear Tony, if you are ready to follow your husband intomisery?” He realized at once that he had used the hard word[217]instinctively to frighten her, and he added: “He can workhimself up again, of course.”

“Certainly, Papa,” answered she. But it did not preventher from bursting into tears. She sobbed into her batistehandkerchief, trimmed with lace and with the monogram A. G.She still wept just like a child; quite unaffectedly and withoutembarrassment. Her upper lip had the most touchingexpression.

Her father continued to probe her with his eyes. “Thatis your serious feeling, my child?” he asked. He was assimple as she.

“I must, mustn’t I?” she sobbed. “Don’t I have to—?”

“Certainly not,” he said. But with a guilty feeling headded: “I would not force you to it, my dear Tony. If itshould be the case that your feelings did not bind you indissolublyto your husband—”

She looked at him with uncomprehending, tear-streamingeyes. “How, Papa?”

The Consul twisted and turned, and found a compromise.“My dear child, you can understand how painful it would befor me to have to tell you all the hardships and sufferingthat would come about through the misfortune of your husband,the breaking-up of the business and of your household.I desire to spare you these first unpleasantnesses bytaking you and little Erica home with me. You would beglad of that, I think?”

Tony was silent a moment, drying her tears. She carefullybreathed on her handkerchief and pressed it against her eyesto heal their inflammation. Then she asked tn a firm tone,without lifting her voice: “Papa, is Grünlich to blame? Isit his folly and lack of uprightness that has brought him tothis?”

“Very probably,” said the Consul. “That is—no, I don’tknow, my child. The explanation with him and the bankerhas not taken place yet.”

She seemed not to be listening. She sat crouched on her[218]three silk cushions, her elbow on her knee, her chin in herhand, and with her head bowed looked dreamily into theroom.

“Ah, Papa,” she said softly, almost without moving herlips, “wouldn’t it have been better—?”

The Consul could not see her face—but it had the expressionit often wore those summer evenings at Travemünde, asshe leaned at the window of her little room. One arm restedon her Father’s knee, the hand hanging down limply. Thisvery hand was expressive of a sad and tender abandonment,a sweet, pensive longing, travelling back into the past.

“Better?” asked Consul Buddenbrook. “If what, mychild?”

He was thoroughly prepared for the confession that itwould have been better had this marriage not taken place;but Tony only answered with a sigh: “Oh, nothing.”

She seemed rapt by her thoughts, which had borne her sofar away that she had almost forgotten the “bankrupt.” TheConsul felt himself obliged to utter what he would ratheronly have confirmed.

“I think I guess your thoughts, Tony,” he said, “and Idon’t on my side hesitate to confess that in this hour I regretthe step that seemed to me four years ago so wise andadvisable. I believe, before God, I am not responsible. Ithink I did my duty in trying to give you an existence suitableto your station. Heaven has willed otherwise. Youwill not believe that your Father played lightly and unreflectinglywith your happiness in those days! Grünlich cameto us with the best recommendations, a minister’s son, aChristian and a cosmopolitan man. Later I made businessinquiries, and it all sounded as favourable as possible. Iexamined the connections. All that is still very dark; and theexplanation is yet to come. But you don’t blame me—?”

“No, Papa—how can you say such a thing? Come, don’ttake it to heart, poor Papa! You look pale. Shall I give[219]you a little cordial?” She put her arm around his neck andkissed his cheek.

“Thank you, no,” he said. “There, there! It is all right.Yes, I have bad days behind me. I have had much to tryme. These are all trials sent from God. But that does nothelp my feeling a little guilty toward you, my child. Everythingdepends on the question I have already asked you.Speak openly, Tony. Have you learned to love your husbandin these years of marriage?”

Tony wept afresh; and covering her eyes with both hands, inwhich she held the batiste handkerchief, she sobbed out:“Oh, what are you asking me, Papa? I have never loved him—hehas always been repulsive to me. You know that.”

It would be hard to say what went on in Johann Buddenbrook.His eyes looked shocked and sad; but he bit his lipshard together, and great wrinkles came in his cheeks, as theydid when he had brought a piece of business to a successfulconclusion. He said softly: “Four years—”

Tony’s tears ceased suddenly. With her damp handkerchiefin her hand, she sat up straight on her seat and saidangrily: “Four years! Yes! Sometimes, in those fouryears, he sat with me in the evening and read the paper.”

“God gave you a child,” said the Father, moved.

“Yes, Papa. And I love Erica very much, although Grünlichsays I am not fond of children. I would not be partedfrom her, that is certain. But Grünlich—no! Grünlich, no.And now he is bankrupt. Ah, Papa, if you will take Ericaand me home—oh, gladly.”

The Consul compressed his lips again. He was extremelywell satisfied. But the main point had yet to be touched upon;though, by the decision Tony showed, he did not risk much byasking.

“You seem not to have thought it might be possible to dosomething, to get help. I have already said to you that Ido not feel myself altogether innocent of the situation, and—in[220]case you should expect—hope—I might intervene, to preventthe failure and cover your husband’s debts, the best Icould, and float his business—”

He watched her keenly, and her bearing filled him withsatisfaction. It expressed disappointment.

“How much is it?” she asked.

“What is that to the point, my child? A very large sum.”And Consul Buddenbrook nodded several times, as though theweight of the very thought of such a sum swung his headback and forth. “I should not conceal from you,” he wenton, “that the firm has suffered losses already quite apart fromthis affair, and that the surrender of a sum like this would bea blow from which it would recover with difficulty. I do notin any way say this to—”

He did not finish. Tony had sprung up, had even takena few steps backward, and with the wet handkerchief stillin her hand she cried: “Good! Enough! Never!” Shelooked almost heroic. The words “the firm” had struck home.It is highly probable that they had more effect than evenher dislike of Herr Grünlich. “You shall not do that, Papa,”she went on, quite beside herself. “Do you want to be bankrupttoo? Never, never!”

At this moment the hall door opened a little uncertainlyand Herr Grünlich entered.

Johann Buddenbrook rose, with a movement that meant:“That’s settled.”

Herr Grünlich’s face was all mottled with red; but he haddressed carefully in a respectable-looking black coat and pea-greentrousers like those in which he had made his first visitsin Meng Street. He stood still, with his head down, lookingvery limp, and said in a weak exhausted sort of voice:“Father?”

The Consul bowed, not too cordially, and straightened hisneck-cloth with an energetic movement.

“Thank you for coming,” said Herr Grünlich.

“It was my duty, my friend,” replied the Consul. “ButI am afraid it will be about all I can do for you.”

Herr Grünlich threw him a quick look and seemed to growstill more limp.

“I hear,” the Consul went on, “that your banker, Herr Kesselmeyer,is awaiting us—where shall the conference be held?I am at your service.”

“If you will be so good as to follow me,” Herr Grünlichmurmured. Consul Buddenbrook kissed his daughter on theforehead and said, “Go up to your child, Antonie.”

Then he went, with Herr Grünlich fluttering in front ofand behind him to open the portières, through the dining-roominto the living-room.

Herr Kesselmeyer stood at the window, the black and whitedown softly rising and falling upon his cranium.

“Herr Kesselmeyer, Herr Consul Buddenbrook, my father-in-law,”said Herr Grünlich, meekly. The Consul’s face wasimpassive. Herr Kesselmeyer bowed with his arms hangingdown, both yellow teeth against his upper lip, and said“Pleasure to meet you, Herr Consul.”

[222]“Please excuse us for keeping you waiting, Kesselmeyer,”said Herr Grünlich. He was not more polite to one than tothe other. “Pray sit down.”

As they went into the smoking-room, Herr Kesselmeyersaid vivaciously: “Have you had a pleasant journey? Ah,rain? Yes, it is a bad time of year, a dirty time. If wehad a little frost, or snow, now—but rain, filth—very, veryunpleasant.”

“What a queer creature!” thought the Consul.

In the centre of the little room with its dark-flowered wall-paperstood a sizable square table covered with green baize.It rained harder and harder; it was so dark that the firstthing Herr Grünlich did was to light the three candles on thetable. Business letters on blue paper, stamped with the namesof various firms, torn and soiled papers with dates and signatures,lay on the green cloth. There were a thick ledgerand a metal inkstand and sand-holder, full of well-sharpenedpencils and goose-quills.

Herr Grünlich did the honours with the subdued and tactfulmien of a man greeting guests at a funeral. “Dear Father,do take the easy-chair,” he said. “Herr Kesselmeyer, willyou be so kind as to sit here?”

At last they were settled. The banker sat opposite thehost, the Consul presided on the long side of the table. Theback of his chair was against the hall door.

Herr Kesselmeyer bent over, released his upper lip, disentangleda glass from his waistcoat and stuck it on his nose,which he wrinkled for the purpose, and opened his mouthwide. Then he scratched his stubbly beard with an uglyrasping noise, put his hands on his knees, and remarked in asprightly tone, jerking his head toward the piles of papers:“Well, there we have the whole boiling.”

“May I look into matters a little more closely?” asked theConsul, taking up the ledger. But Herr Grünlich suddenlystretched out his hands over the table—long, trembling hands[223]marked with high blue veins—and cried out in a voice thattrembled too: “A moment, Father. Just a moment. Let memake just a few explanations. Yes, you will get an insightinto everything—nothing will escape your glance; but, believeme, you will get an insight into the situation of an unfortunate,not a guilty man. You see in me a man who foughtunwearied against fate, but was finally struck down. I aminnocent of all—”

“We shall see, my friend, we shall see,” said the Consul,with obvious impatience; and Herr Grünlich took his handsaway and resigned himself to his fate.

Then there were long dreadful minutes of silence. Thethree gentlemen sat close together in the flickering candle-light,shut in by the four dark walls. There was not a soundbut the rustling of the Consul’s papers and the falling rainoutside.

Herr Kesselmeyer stuck his thumbs in the arm-holes ofhis waistcoat and played piano on his shoulders with hisfingers, looking with indescribable jocosity from one to theother. Herr Grünlich sat upright in his chair, hands on thetable, staring gloomily before him, and now and then stealingan anxious glance at his father-in-law out of the tail ofhis eye. The Consul examined the ledger, followed columnsof figures with his finger, compared dates, and did indecipherablelittle sums in lead-pencil on a scrap of paper. His wornfeatures expressed astonishment and dismay at the conditionsinto which he now “gained an insight.” Finally he laid hisleft arm on Herr Grünlich’s and said with evident emotion:“You poor man!”

“Father,” Herr Grünlich broke out. Two great tears rolleddown his cheeks and ran into the golden whiskers. HerrKesselmeyer followed their course with the greatest interest.He even raised himself a little, bent over, and looked hisvis-à-vis in the face, with his mouth open. Consul Buddenbrookwas moved. Softened by his own recent misfortunes,[224]he felt himself carried away by sympathy; but he controlledhis feelings.

“How is it possible?” he said, with a sad head-shake.“In so few years—”

“Oh, that’s simple,” answered Herr Kesselmeyer, good-temperedly.“One can easily ruin oneself in four years.When we remember that it took an even shorter time forWestfall Brothers in Bremen to go smash—” The Consulstared at him, but without either seeing or hearing him.He himself had not expressed his own actual thoughts, his realmisgivings. Why, he asked himself with puzzled suspicion,why was this happening now? It was as clear as daylightthat, just where he stood to-day, B. Grünlich had stood twoyears, three years before. But his credit had been inexhaustible,he had had capital from the banks, and for his undertakingscontinual endorsem*nt from sound houses like SenatorBock and Consul Goudstikker. His paper had passed ascurrent as banknotes. Why now, precisely now—and the headof the firm of Johann Buddenbrook knew well what he meantby this “now”—had there come this crash on all sides, thiscomplete withdrawal of credit as if by common consent, thisunanimous descent upon B. Grünlich, this disregard of allconsideration, all ordinary business courtesy? The Consulwould have been naïve indeed had he not realized that thegood standing of his own firm was to the advantage of hisson-in-law. But had the son-in-law’s credit so entirely, sostrikingly, so exclusively depended upon his own? HadGrünlich himself been nothing at all? And the informationthe Consul had had, the books he had examined—? Well,however the thing stood, his resolution was firmer than evernot to lift a finger. They had reckoned without their host.

Apparently B. Grünlich had known how to make it appearthat he was connected with the firm of Buddenbrook—well,this widely-circulated error should be set right once for all.And this Kesselmeyer—he was going to get a shock too. Theclown! Had he no conscience whatever? It was very plain[225]how shamelessly he had speculated on the probability that he,Johann Buddenbrook, would not let his daughter’s husbandbe ruined; how he had continued to finance Grünlich longafter he was unsound, and exacted from him an ever cruellerrate of interest.

“Now,” he said shortly, “let us get to the point. If I amasked as a merchant to say frankly what I think, I am obligedto say that if the situation is that of an unfortunate man,it is also in a great degree that of a guilty one.”

“Father!” stammered Herr Grünlich.

“The name does not come well to my ears,” said the Consul,quickly and harshly. “Your demands on Herr Grünlichamount, sir”—turning for a moment to the banker—“to sixtythousand marks, I believe?”

“With the back interest they come to sixty-eight thousandseven hundred and fifty-five marks and fifteen shillings,” answeredHerr Kesselmeyer pleasantly.

“Very good. And you would not be inclined under anycirc*mstances to be patient for a longer time?”

Herr Kesselmeyer simply began to laugh. He laughed withhis mouth open, in spasms, without a trace of scorn, evengood-naturedly, looking at the Consul as though he were invitinghim to join in the fun.

Johann Buddenbrook’s little deep eyes clouded over andbegan to show red rims around them that ran down to thecheek-bones. He had only asked for form’s sake, being awarethat a postponement on the part of one creditor would notmaterially alter the situation. But the manner of this man’srefusal was mortifying indeed. With a motion of the handhe pushed away everything from in front of him, laid thepencil down with a jerk on the table, and said, “Then I mustexpress myself as unwilling to concern myself any furtherwith this affair.”

“Ah, ha!” cried Herr Kesselmeyer, shaking his hands inthe air. “That’s the way to talk. The Herr Consul willsettle everything out of hand—we shan’t have any long[226]speeches. Without more ado.” Johann Buddenbrook didnot even look at him.

“I cannot help you, my friend.” He turned calmly toHerr Grünlich. “Things must go on as they have begun.Pull yourself together, and God will give you strength andconsolation. I must consider our interview at an end.”

Herr Kesselmeyer’s face took on a serious expression whichwas vastly becoming to it. But then he nodded encouraginglyto Herr Grünlich. The latter sat motionless at the table,only wringing his hands so hard that the fingers cracked.

“Father—Herr Consul,” he said, with a trembling voice.“You will not—you cannot desire my ruin. Listen. It isa matter of a hundred and twenty thousand marks in all—youcan save me! You are a rich man. Regard it as you like—asa final arrangement, as your daughter’s inheritance, as aloan subject to interest. I will work—you know I am keenand resourceful—”

“I have spoken my last word,” said the Consul.

“Permit me—may I ask whether you could if you would?”asked Herr Kesselmeyer, looking at him through his glasses,with his nose wrinkled up. “I suggest to the Consul that thiswould be a most advantageous time to display the strengthof the firm of Buddenbrook.”

“You would do well, sir, to leave the good name of myhouse to me. I do not need to throw my money in the nearestditch in order to show how good my credit is.”

“Dear me, no, of course not—ditch, ah, ha!—Ditch is veryfunny. But doesn’t the gentleman think the failure of hisson-in-law places his own credit in a bad light—er—ah—?”

“I can only recommend you again to remember that mycredit in the business world is entirely my own affair,” saidthe Consul.

Herr Grünlich looked at his banker helplessly and beganafresh: “Father! I implore you again: think what you aredoing. Is it a question of me alone? I—oh, I myself mightbe allowed to perish. But your daughter, my wife, whom I[227]love, whom I won after such a struggle—and our child—bothinnocent children—are they to be brought low as well? No,Father, I will not bear it; I will kill myself. Yes, I wouldkill myself with this hand. Believe me—and may heavenpardon you if it will.”

Johann Buddenbrook leaned back in his arm-chair quitewhite, with a fast-beating heart. For the second time theemotions of this man played upon him, and their expressionhad the stamp of truth; again he heard, as when he toldHerr Grünlich the contents of his daughter’s letter fromTravemünde, the same terrible threat, and again there shudderedthrough him all the fanatical reverence of his generationfor human feelings, which yet had always been in conflictwith his own hard practical sense. But the attack lastedno longer than a moment. “A hundred thousand marks,” herepeated to himself; and then he said quietly and decisively:“Antonie is my daughter. I shall know how to protect herfrom unmerited suffering.”

“What do you mean by that?” asked Herr Grünlich, slowlystiffening.

“That you will see,” answered the Consul. “For the presentI have nothing to add.” And he got up, pushed backhis chair, and turned toward the door.

Herr Grünlich sat silent, stiff, irresolute; his mouth openedand closed without a word coming out. But the sprightlinessof Herr Kesselmeyer returned at this conclusive action of theConsul. Yes, it got the upper hand entirely, it passed allbounds, it became frightful. The glasses fell from his nose,which went skyward, while his little mouth, with the twotriangular yellow teeth, looked as though it were splitting.He rowed with his little red hands in the air, the fuzz on hishead waved up and down, his whole face, with its bristlywhite beard distorted and grotesque with uncontrolled hilarity—hadgrown the colour of cinnamon.

“Ah, ha, ha, ah, ha!” he yelled, his voice cracking. “Ifind that in the last—degree—funny! You ought to consider,[228]Consul Buddenbrook, before you consign to the grave such avaluable—such a supreme specimen of a son-in-law. Anythingso shrewd, so resourceful as he is, won’t be born uponGod’s wide earth a second time. Aha! Four years ago—whenthe knife was at our throat, the rope around our neck—suddenlywe made a match with Fräulein Buddenbrook, andspread the news on ’Change, even before it had actually comeoff! Congratulations, my dear friend; my best respects!”

“Kesselmeyer,” groaned Herr Grünlich, making spasmodicmotions with his hands, as though waving off an evil spirit.He rushed into one corner of the room, where he sat downand buried his face in his hands. The ends of his whiskerslay on his shanks, and he rocked his knees up and down inhis emotion.

“How did we do that?” went on Herr Kesselmeyer. “Howdid we actually manage to catch the little daughter and theeighty thousand marks? O-ho, ah, ha! That is easy. Evenif one has no more shrewdness and resourcefulness than atallow candle, it is easy! You show the saviour Papa nice,pretty, clean books, in which everything is put in the rightway—only that they don’t quite correspond with the plainfact—for the plain fact is that three-quarters of the dowryis already debts.”

The Consul stood at the door deathly pale, the handle inhis hand. Shivers ran up and down his back. He seemedto be standing in this little room lighted by the flickeringcandles, between a swindler and an ape gone mad with spite.

“I despise your words, sir,” he brought out with uncertainemphasis. “I despise your wild utterances the more that theyconcern me as well. I did not hand my daughter over light-headedlyto misfortune; I informed myself as to my son-in-law’sprospects. The rest was God’s will.”

He turned—he would not hear any more—he opened thedoor. But Herr Kesselmeyer shrieked after him: “Aha, inquiries?Where? Of Bock? Of Goudstikker? Of Petersen?[229]Of Massmann and Timm? They were all in it. Theywere all in it up to their necks. They were all uncommonlypleased to be secured by the wedding—” The Consulslammed the door behind him.

Dora the cook, about whose honesty Tony had had her doubts,was busy in the dining-room.

“Ask Madame Grünlich to come down,” ordered the Consul.“Get yourself ready, my child,” he said as Tony appeared.He went with her into the salon. “Get ready assoon as possible, and get Erica ready too. We are going tothe city. We shall sleep to-night in a hotel and travel hometo-morrow.”

“Yes, Papa,” Tony said. Her face was red; she was distractedand bewildered. She made unnecessary and hurriedmotions about her waist, as if not knowing where to beginand not grasping the actuality of the occasion.

“What shall I take, Papa?” she asked distractedly. “Everything?All our clothes? One trunk or two? Is Grünlichreally bankrupt? Oh, my God! But can I take my jewelry,then? Papa, the servants must leave—I cannot pay them.Grünlich was to have given me housekeeping money to-day orto-morrow.”

“Never mind, my child; things will all be arranged here.Just take what is necessary in a small trunk. They can sendyour own things after you. Hurry, do you hear?”

Just then the portières were parted and Herr Grünlich cameinto the salon. With quick steps, his arms outstretched, hishead on one side, with the bearing of a man who says: “HereI am; kill me if you will,” he hurried to his wife and sankdown on his knees right in front of her. His appearance waspitiable. His golden whiskers were dishevelled, his coatcrumpled, his neck-cloth askew, his collar open; little dropsstood upon his forehead.

[231]“Antonie!” he said. “Have you a heart that can feel?Hear me. You see before you a man who will be utterlyruined, if—yes, who will die of grief, if you deny him yourlove. Here I lie; can you find it in your heart to say to me:‘I despise you—I am leaving you’?”

Tony wept. It was just the same as that time in the landscape-room.Once more she saw his anguished face, his imploringeyes directed upon her; again she saw, and was movedto see, that this pleading, this anguish, were real and unfeigned.

“Get up, Grünlich,” she said, sobbing. “Please, pleaseget up.” She tried to raise his shoulders. “I do not despiseyou. How can you say such a thing?” Without knowingwhat else she should say, she turned helplessly to her father.The Consul took her hand, bowed to his son-in-law, andmoved with her toward the hall door.

“You are going?” cried Herr Grünlich, springing to hisfeet.

“I have told you already,” said the Consul, “that I cannotbe responsible for leaving my innocent child in misfortune—andI might add that you cannot, either. No, sir, you havemisprized the possession of my daughter. You may thankyour Creator that the child’s heart is so pure and unsuspiciousthat she parts from you without repulsion. Farewell.”

But here Herr Grünlich lost his head. He could have borneto hear of a brief parting—of a return and a new life andperhaps the saving of the inheritance. But this was too muchfor his powers of self-command, his shrewdness and resource.He might have taken the large bronze plaque that stood on theétagère, but he seized instead a thin painted vase with flowersthat stood next it, and threw it on the ground so that itsmashed into a thousand bits.

“Ha, good, good!” he screamed. “Get along with you!Did you think I’d whine after you, you goose? You are verymuch mistaken, my darling. I only married you for your[232]money; and it was not nearly enough, so you may aswell go home. I’m through with you—through—through—through!”

Johann Buddenbrook ushered his daughter silently out.Then he turned, went up to Herr Grünlich, who was standingin the window with his hands behind his back staringout at the rain, touched him softly on the shoulder, and spokewith soft admonishment. “Pull yourself together. Pray!”

A chastened mood reigned for some time at the old housein Meng Street after Madame Grünlich and her little daughterreturned thither to take up their abode. The familywent about rather subdued and did not speak much about “it,”with the exception of the chief actor in the affair, who, onthe contrary, talked about “it” inexhaustibly, and was entirelyin her element.

Tony had moved with Erica into the rooms in the secondstorey which her parents had occupied in the time of the elderBuddenbrooks. She was a little disappointed to find that itdid not occur to her Papa to engage a servant for her, andshe had rather a pensive half-hour when he gently explainedthat it would be fitting for her to live a retired life and giveup the society of the town: for though, he said, according tohuman judgments she was an innocent victim of the fatewhich God had sent to try her, still her position as a divorcedwife made a very quiet life advisable, particularly at first.But Tony possessed the gift of adaptability. She could adjustherself with ease and cheerfulness to any situation. Shesoon grew charmed with her rôle of the injured wife returnedto the house of her fathers; wore dark frocks, dressed herash-blonde hair primly like a young girl’s, and felt richlyrepaid for her lack of society by the weight she had acquiredin the household, the seriousness and dignity of her newposition, and above all by the immense pleasure of beingable to talk about Herr Grünlich and her marriage and tomake general observations about life and destiny, which shedid with the utmost gusto.

Not everybody gave her this opportunity, it is true. The[234]Frau Consul was convinced that her husband had acted correctlyand out of a sense of duty; but when Tony began totalk, she would put up her lovely white hand and say: “Assez,my child; I do not like to hear about it.”

Clara, now twelve years old, understood nothing, andCousin Clothilde was just as stupid. “Oh, Tony!”—that wasall she could say, with drawling astonishment. But the youngwife found an attentive listener in Mamsell Jungmann, whowas now thirty-five years old and could boast of having growngrey in the service of the best society. “You don’t need toworry, Tony, my child,” she would say. “You are young;you will marry again.” And she devoted herself to the upbringingof little Erica, telling her the same stories, the samememories of her youth, to which the Consul’s children hadlistened fifteen years before; and, in particular, of that unclewho died of hiccoughs at Marienwerder “because his heartwas broken.”

But it was with her father that Tony talked most andlongest. She liked to catch him after the noonday meal orin the morning at early breakfast. Their relations hadgrown closer and warmer; for her feeling had been heretoforeone of awe and respect rather than affection, on accountof his high position in the town, his piety, his solid, sternability and industry. During that talk in her own salon hehad come humanly near to her, and it had filled her withpride and emotion to be found worthy of that serious andconfidential consultation. He, the infallible parent, had putthe decision into her hands: he had confessed, almost humbly,to a sense of guilt. Such an idea would never have enteredTony’s head of itself; but since he said it, she believed it,and her feeling for him had thereby grown warmer and tenderer.As for the Consul, he believed himself bound to makeup to his daughter for her misfortune by redoubled love andcare.

Johann Buddenbrook had himself taken no steps againsthis untrustworthy son-in-law. Tony and her Mother did hear[235]from him, in the course of conversation, what dishonourablemeans Grünlich had used to get hold of the eighty thousandmarks; but the Consul was careful to give the matter no publicity.He did not even consider going to the courts with it.He felt wounded in his pride as a merchant, and he wrestledsilently with the disgrace of having been so thoroughly takenin.

But he pressed the divorce suit energetically as soon asthe failure of Grünlich came out, which it soon did, therebycausing no inconsiderable losses to certain Hamburg firms.

It was this suit, and the thought that she herself was aprincipal in it, that gave Tony her most delicious and indescribablefeelings of importance.

“Father,” she said—for in these conversations she nevercalled him “Papa”—“Father, how is our affair going on?Do you think it will be all right? The paragraph is perfectlyclear; I have studied it. ‘Incapacity of the husband toprovide for his family’: surely they will say that is quiteplain. If there were a son, Grünlich would keep him—”

Another time she said: “I have thought a great deal aboutthe four years of my marriage, Father. That was certainlythe reason the man never wanted us to live in the town, whichI was so anxious to do. That was the reason he never likedme even to be in the town or go into society. The dangerwas much greater there than in Eimsbüttel, of my hearingsomehow or other how things stood. What a scoundrel!”

“We must not judge, my child,” answered the Consul.

Or, when the divorce was finally pronounced: “Have youentered it in the family papers, Father? No? Then I’dbetter do it. Please give me the key to the secretary.” Withbustling pride she wrote, beneath the lines she had set therefour years ago under her name: “This marriage was dissolvedby law in February, 1850.” Then she put away the pen andreflected a minute.

“Father,” she said, “I understand very well that this affairis a blot on our family history. I have thought about it a[236]great deal. It is exactly as if there were a spot of ink inthe book here. But never mind. That is my affair. I willerase it. I am still young. Don’t you think I am still quitepretty? Though Frau Stuht, when she saw me again, said tome: ‘Oh, Heavens, Mme. Grünlich, how old you’ve grown!’Well, I certainly couldn’t remain all my life the goose I wasfour years ago! Life takes one along with it. Anyhow, Ishall marry again. You will see, everything can be put rightby a good marriage.”

“That is in God’s hand, my child. It is most unfitting tospeak of such things.”

Tony began at this time to use very frequently the expression“Such is life”; and with the word “life” she would open hereyes wide with a charming serious look, indicating the deepinsight she had acquired into human affairs and humandestinies.

Thomas returned from Pau in August of that year. Thedining-table was opened out again, and Tony had a freshaudience for her tale. She loved and looked up to herbrother, who had felt for her pain in that departure fromTravemünde, and she respected him as the future head ofthe firm and the family.

“Yes, yes,” he said; “we’ve both of us gone through things,Tony.”

The corner of his eyebrow went up, and his cigarette movedfrom one corner of his mouth to the other: his thoughts wereprobably with the little flower-girl with the Malay face, whohad lately married the son of her employer and now herselfcarried on the shop in Fishers’ Lane.

Thomas Buddenbrook, though still a little pale, was strikinglyelegant. The last few years had entirely completed hiseducation. His hair was brushed so that it stood out in twoclumps above his ears, and his moustache was trimmed in theFrench mode, with sharp points that were stiffened with thetongs and stuck straight out. His stocky broad-shoulderedfigure had an almost military air.

[237]His constitution was not of the best; the blue veins showedtoo plainly at the narrow temples, and he had a slight tendencyto chills, which good Dr. Grabow struggled with in vain.In the details of his physical appearance—the chin, the nose,and especially the hands, which were wonderfully true to theBuddenbrook type—his likeness to his grandfather was morepronounced than ever.

He spoke French with a distinctly Spanish accent, andastonished everybody by his enthusiasm for certain modernwriters of a satiric and polemic character. Broker Goschwas the only person in town who sympathized with his tastes.His father strongly reprehended them.

But the Father’s pride and joy in his eldest son were plainto be seen; they shone in the Consul’s eyes. He welcomedhim joyfully home as his colleague in the firm, and himselfbegan to work with increased satisfaction in his office—especiallyafter the death of old Madame Kröger, which tookplace at the end of the year.

The old lady’s loss was one to be borne with resignation.She had grown very old, and lived quite alone at the end.She went to God, and the firm of Buddenbrooks received alarge sum of money, a round hundred thousand thaler, whichstrengthened the working capital of the business in a highlydesirable way.

The Consul’s brother-in-law Justus, weary of continual businessdisappointments, as soon as he had his hands on hisinheritance settled his business and retired. The gay son ofthe cavalier à-la-mode was not a happy man. He had beentoo careless, too generous to attain a solid position in themercantile world. But he had already spent a considerablepart of his inheritance; and now Jacob, his eldest son, wasthe source of fresh cares to him.

The young man had become addicted to light, not to saydisreputable, society in the great city of Hamburg. He hadcost his father a huge sum in the course of years, and whenConsul Kröger refused to give him more, the mother, a weak,[238]sickly woman, sent money secretly to the son, and wretchedclouds had sprung up between husband and wife.

The final blow came at the very time when B. Grünlich wasmaking his failure: something happened at Dalbeck and Companyin Hamburg, where Jacob Kröger worked. There hadbeen some kind of dishonesty. It was not talked about;no questions were asked of Justus Kröger; but it got aboutthat Jacob had a position as travelling man in New Yorkand was about to sail. He was seen once in the town beforehis boat left, a foppishly dressed, unwholesome-lookingyouth. He had probably come hither to get more moneyout of his mother, besides the passage money his father senthim.

It finally came about that Justus spoke exclusively of “myson,” as though he had none but the one heir, his second son,Jürgen, who would certainly never be guilty of a false step,but who seemed on the other hand to be mentally limited.He had had difficulty getting through the High School; afterwhich he spent some time in Jena, studying law—evidentlywithout either pleasure or profit.

Johann Buddenbrook felt keenly the cloud on his wife’sfamily and looked with the more anxiety to the future of hisown children. He was justified in placing the utmost confidencein the ability and earnestness of his older son. Asfor Christian, Mr. Richardson had written that he showed anunusual gift for acquiring English, but no genuine interestin the business. He had a great weakness for the theatre andfor other distractions of the great city. Christian himselfwrote that he had a longing to travel and see the world. Hebegged eagerly to be allowed to take a position “over there”—whichmeant in South America, perhaps in Chile. “That’ssimply love of adventure,” the Consul said, and told himto remain with Mr. Richardson for another year and acquiremercantile experience. There followed an exchange of letterson the subject, with the result that in the summer of 1851Christian Buddenbrook sailed for Valparaiso, where he had[239]hunted up a position. He travelled direct from England, withoutcoming home.

So much for his two sons. As for Tony, the Consul wasgratified to see with what self-possession she defended herposition in the town as a Buddenbrook born; for as a divorcedwife she had naturally to overcome all sorts of prejudiceon the part of the other families.

“Oh!” she said, coming back with flushed cheeks from awalk and throwing her hat on the sofa in the landscape-room.“This Juliet Möllendorpf, or Hagenström—or Semmlinger—whatevershe is, the creature!—Imagine, Mamma!She doesn’t speak. She doesn’t say ‘How do you do’: Shewaits for me to speak first. What do you say to that? Ipassed her in Broad Street with my head up and lookedstraight at her.”

“You go too far, Tony. There is a limit to everything.Why shouldn’t you speak first? You are the same age, andshe is a married woman, just as you were.”

“Never, Mamma! Never under the shining sun! Suchrag-tag and bob-tail!”

“Assez, my love. Such vulgar expressions—”

“Oh, it makes me feel perfectly beside myself!”

Her hatred of the upstart family was fed by the merethought that the Hagenströms might now feel justified in lookingdown on her—especially considering the present goodfortune of the clan. Old Heinrich had died at the beginningof 1851, and his son Hermann—he of the lemon buns andthe boxes on the ear—was doing a very brilliant businesswith Herr Strunk as partner. He had married, less than ayear later, the daughter of Consul Huneus, the richest man intown, who had made enough out of his business to leaveeach of his three children two million marks. Hermann’sbrother Moritz, despite his lung trouble, had a brilliant careeras student, and had now settled down in the town to practiselaw. He had a reputation for being able, witty, and literary,and soon acquired a considerable business. He did not[240]look like the Semmlingers, having a yellow face and pointedteeth with wide spaces between.

Even in the family Tony had to take care to hold her headup. Uncle Gotthold’s temper toward his fortunate step-brotherhad grown more mild and resigned now that he hadgiven up business and spent his time care-free in his modesthouse, munching lozenges out of a tin box—he loved sweets.Still, considering his three unmarried daughters, he could nothave failed to feel a quiet satisfaction over Tony’s unfortunateventure; and his wife, born Stüwing, and his threedaughters, twenty-six, twenty-seven, and twenty-eight yearsold, showed an exaggerated interest in their cousin’s misfortuneand the divorce proceedings; more, in fact, than they hadin her betrothal and wedding. When the “children’s Thursdays”began again in Meng Street after old Madame Kröger’sdeath, Tony found it no easy work to defend herself.

“Oh, heavens, you poor thing!” said Pfiffi, the youngest,who was little and plump, with a droll way of shaking herselfat every word. A drop of water always came in thecorner of her mouth when she spoke. “Has the decree beenpronounced? Are you exactly as you were before?”

“Oh, on the contrary,” said Henriette, who like her eldersister, was extraordinarily tall and withered-looking. “Youare much worse off than if you had never married at all.”

“Yes,” Friederike chimed in. “Then it is ever so muchbetter never to have married at all.”

“Oh, no, dear Friederike,” said Tony, erecting her head,while she bethought herself of a telling and clever retort.“You make a mistake there. Marriage teaches one to knowlife, you see. One is no longer a silly goose. And then Ihave more prospect of marrying again than those who havenever married at all!”

“Oh!” cried the others with one voice. They said it witha long hissing intake of breath which made it sound verysceptical indeed.

Sesemi Weichbrodt was too good and tactful even to mention[241]the subject. Tony sometimes visited her former teacherin the little red house at Millbrink No. 7. It was still occupiedby a troop of girls, though the boarding-school wasslowly falling out of fashion. The lively old maid was alsoinvited to Meng Street on occasion to partake of a haunch ofvenison or a stuffed goose. She always raised herself on tip-toeto kiss Tony on the forehead, with a little exploding noise.Madame Kethelsen, her simple sister, had grown rapidlydeaf and had understood almost nothing of Tony’s affair.She still laughed her painfully hearty laugh on the most unsuitableoccasions, and Sesemi still felt it necessary to rapon the table and cry “Nally!”

The years went on. Gradually people forgot their feelingsover Tony’s affair. She herself would only think now andthen of her married life, when she saw on Erica’s healthy,hearty little face some expression that reminded her of BendixGrünlich. She dressed again in colours, wore her hair in theold way, and made the same old visits into society.

Still, she was always glad that she had the chance to beaway from the town for some time in the summer. The Consul’shealth made it necessary for him to visit various cures.

“Oh, what it is to grow old!” he said. “If I get a spot ofcoffee on my trousers and put a drop of cold water on it, Ihave rheumatism. When one is young, one can do anything.”He suffered at times also from spells of dizziness.

They went to Obersalzbrunn, to Ems and Baden-Baden, toKissingen, whence they made a delightful and edifying journeyto Nuremberg and Munich and the Salzburg neighbourhood,to Ischl and Vienna, Prague, Dresden, Berlin, and homeagain. Madame Grünlich had been suffering from a nervousaffection of the digestion, and was obliged to take a strenuouscure at the baths; but nevertheless she found the journey ahighly desirable change, for she did not conceal her opinionthat it was a little slow at home.

“Heavens, yes—you know how it is, Father,” she would say,regarding the ceiling with a thoughtful air. “Of course, I[242]have learned what life is like—but just for that reason it israther a dull prospect for me to be always sitting here athome like a stupid goose. I hope you don’t think I mean Ido not like to be with you, Papa. I ought to be whipped if Idid, it would be so ungrateful. But I only mean life is likethat, you know.”

The hardest thing she had to bear was the increasing pietyof her parents’ home. The Consul’s religious fervour grewupon him in proportion as he himself felt the weight of yearsand infirmity; and his wife too, as she got older, began tofind the spiritual side to her taste. Prayers had always beencustomary in the Buddenbrook house, but now for some timethe family and the servants had assembled mornings and eveningsin the breakfast-room to hear the Master read theBible. And the visits of ministers and missionaries increasedmore and more from year to year. The godly patrician housein Meng Street, where, by the way, such good dinners were tobe had, had been known for years as a spiritual haven to theLutheran and reformed clergy and to both foreign and homemissions. From all quarters of the Fatherland came long-haired,black-coated gentlemen, to enjoy the pious intercourseand the nourishing meals, and to be furnished with the sinewsof their spiritual warfare. The ministers of the town wentin and out as friends of the house.

Tom was much too discreet and prudent even to let any onesee him smile; but Tony mocked quite openly. She even, sadto say, made fun of these pious worthies whenever she had achance.

Sometimes when the Frau Consul had a headache, it wasTony’s turn to play the housekeeper and order the dinner.One day, when a strange clergyman whose appetite was thesubject of general hilarity, was a guest, Tony mischievouslyordered “bacon broth,” the famous local dish: a bouillonmade with sour cabbage, in which was served the entiremeal—ham, potatoes, beet-root, cauliflower, peas, beans,pears, sour plums, and goodness knows what, juice and all—a[243]dish which nobody except those born to it could possibly eat.

“I do hope you are enjoying the soup, Herr Pastor,” shesaid several times. “No? Oh, dear, who would have thoughtit?” And she made a very roguish face, and ran her tongueover her lips, a trick she had when she thought of some prankor other.

The fat man laid down his spoon resignedly and saidmildly: “I will wait till the next course.”

“Yes,” the Frau Consul said hastily, “there is a littlesomething afterwards.” But a “next course” was unthinkable,after this mighty dish; and despite the French toast andapple jelly which finished the meal, the reverend guest hadto rise hungry from table, while Tony tittered, and Tom, withfine self-control, lifted one eyebrow.

Another time Tony stood with Stina, the cook, in domesticdiscourse in the entry, when Pastor Mathias from Kannstadt,who was stopping a few days in the house, came back froma walk and rang at the outer door. Stina ran to open, withher peasant waddle, and the Pastor, with the view of sayingan edifying word and testing her a little, asked in a friendlytone: “Do you love the Master?”

Perhaps he had the idea of giving her a tip if she professedherself on the side of the Saviour.

“Lord, Herr Pastor,” said Stina, trembling and blushing,with wide eyes. “Which one do Herr Pastor mean? T’ oldun or t’ young un?” Madame Grünlich did not fail to tell thestory at the table, so that even the Frau Consul burst out intoher sputtering Kröger laugh. The Consul, however, lookeddown in displeasure at his plate.

“A misunderstanding,” said Herr Mathias, highly embarrassed.

What follows happened in the late summer of 1855, on aSunday afternoon. The Buddenbrooks were sitting in thelandscape-room waiting for the Consul, who was below dressinghimself. They had arranged to take a holiday walk to apleasure garden outside the City Gate, where, all except Claraand Clothilde, they were to drink coffee and, if the weatherpermitted, go for a row on the river. Clara and Clothildewent always on Sunday evenings to the house of a friend,where they knitted stockings for little negro children.

“Papa is ridiculous,” Tony said, using her habitual stronglanguage. “Can he never be ready on time? He sits andsits and sits at his desk: something or other must be finished—goodheavens, perhaps it is something really necessary, I don’tknow. But I don’t believe we should actually become bankruptif he put down his pen a quarter of an hour sooner.Well, when it is already ten minutes too late, he remembershis appointment and comes upstairs, always two steps at atime, although he knows he will get palpitation at the top.And it is like that at every company, before every expedition.Isn’t it possible for him to leave himself time enough? Andstop soon enough? It’s so irresponsible of him; you oughtto talk to him about it, Mamma.” She sat on the sofa besideher Mother, dressed in the changeable silk that was fashionablethat summer; while the Frau Consul wore a heavy greyribbed silk trimmed with black lace, and a cap of lace andstiffened tulle, tied under her chin with a satin bow. Thelappets of her cap fell down on her breast. Her smooth hairwas still inexorably reddish-blond in colour, and she held awork-bag in both her white delicately veined hands. Tom was[245]lounging in an easy-chair beside her smoking his cigarette,while Clara and Clothilde sat opposite each other at thewindow. It was a mystery how much good and nourishingfood that poor Clothilde could absorb daily without any resultwhatever! She grew thinner and thinner, and her shapelessblack frock did not conceal the fact. Her face was as long,straight, and expressionless as ever, her hair as smooth andash-coloured, her nose as straight, but full of large pores andgetting thick at the end.

“Don’t you think it will rain?” said Clara. The younggirl had the habit of not elevating her voice at the end of aquestion and of looking everybody straight in the face with apronounced and rather forbidding look. Her brown frockwas relieved only by a little stiff turn-over collar and cuffs.She sat straight up, her hands in her lap. The servants hadmore respect for her than for any one else in the family; itwas she who held the services morning and evening now, forthe Consul could not read aloud without getting a feeling ofoppression in the head.

“Shall you take your new Baschlik?” she asked again.“The rain will spoil it. It would be a pity. I think itwould be better to put off the party.”

“No,” said Tom. “The Kistenmakers are coming. Itdoesn’t matter. The barometer went down so suddenly—.There will be a storm—it will pour, but not last long. Papais not ready yet; so we can wait till it is over.”

The Frau Consul raised a protesting hand. “You thinkthere will be a severe storm, Tom? You know I am afraid ofthem.”

“No,” Tom answered. “I was down at the harbour thismorning talking to Captain Kloot. He is infallible. Therewill be a heavy rain, but no wind.”

The second week in September had brought belated hotweather with it. There was a south-west wind, and the citysuffered more than in July. A strange-looking dark blue skyhung above the roof-tops, pale on the skyline as it is in the[246]desert. After sunset a sultry breath, like a hot blast from anoven, streamed out of the small houses and up from the pavementof the narrow streets. To-day the wind had gone roundto the west, and at the same time the barometer had fallensharply. A large part of the sky was still blue, but it wasslowly being overcast by heavy grey-blue clouds that lookedlike feather pillows.

Tom added: “It would be a good thing if it did rain, Ithink. We should collapse if we had to walk in this atmosphere.It is an unnatural heat. Hotter than it ever was inPau.”

Ida Jungmann, with little Erica’s hand in hers, came intothe room. The child looked a droll little figure in her stifflystarched cotton frock; she smelled of starch and soap. Shehad Herr Grünlich’s eyes and his rosy skin, but the upperlip was Tony’s.

The good Ida was already quite grey, almost white, althoughnot out of the forties. It was a trait of her family:the uncle that died had had white hair at thirty. But herlittle brown eyes looked as shrewd and faithful as ever. Shehad been now for twenty years with the Buddenbrooks, andshe realized with pride that she was indispensable. She oversawkitchen, larders, linen and china cupboards, she made themost important purchases, she read to little Erica, madeclothes for her dolls, and fetched her from school, with aslice of French bread, to take her walking on the Mill-wall.Every lady said to Frau Consul or her daughter: “What atreasure your Mamsell is, my dear! Goodness, she is worthher weight in gold! Twenty years—and she will be useful atsixty and more; these wiry people are. What faithful eyesshe has! I envy you, my love.” But Ida Jungmann was veryreserved. She knew her own position, and when some ordinarynurse-girl came and sat down with her charge on thesame bench and tried to enter into conversation, Ida Jungmannwould say: “There is a draught here, Erica,” and get up andgo.

[247]Tony drew her little daughter to her and kissed the rosycheeks, and the Frau Consul stretched out her hand with ratheran absent smile; for she was looking anxiously at the sky,which grew darker and darker. Her left hand fingered thesofa pillows nervously, and her light eyes wandered restlesslyto the window.

Erica was allowed to sit next her Grandmother, and Idasat up straight on a chair and began to knit. Thus all waitedsilently for the Consul. The air was heavy. The last bit ofblue had disappeared; the dark grey sky lowered heavy andswollen over them. The colours in the room changed, theyellow of furniture and hangings and the tones of the landscapeson the walls were all quenched, like the gay shades inTony’s frock and the brightness of their eyes. Even the westwind, which had been playing in the churchyard of St. Mary’sand whirling the dust around in the darkening street, wassuddenly quiet.

This breathless moment of absolute calm came withoutwarning, like some unexpected, soundless, awful event. Thesultriness grew heavier, the atmosphere seemed to increase itsweight in a second; it oppressed the brain, it rested on theheart, it prevented the breathing. A swallow flew so low overthe pavement that its wings touched. And this pressurethat one could not lift, this tension, this growing weighton the whole organism, would have become unbearable had itlasted even the smallest part of a second longer, if at its heightthere had not come a relief, a release—a little break somewhere,soundless, yet perceptible; and at the same moment,without any premonitory drops, the rain fell down in sheets,filling the gutters and overflowing the pavements.

Thomas, whose illness had taught him to pay attention tohis nerves, bent over in this second, made a motion towardhis head, and flung away his cigarette. He looked around thecircle to see if the others had felt anything. He thought hisMother had, perhaps; the others did not seem to be aware.The Frau Consul was looking out now into the thick-streaming[248]rain, which quite hid the church from view; she sighed “ThankGod.”

“There,” said Tony, “that will cool the air in two minutes.But the drops will be hanging on the trees outside—we candrink coffee in the verandah. Open the window, Tilda.”

The noise of the rain grew louder. It almost roared.Everything pattered, streamed, rushed, foamed. The windcame up and blew the thick veils of water, tore them apart,and flung them about. It grew cooler every minute.

Lina, the maid-servant, came running through the hall andburst so suddenly into the room that Ida Jungmann called outsharply: “I say, what do you mean—?” Lina’s expressionlessblue eyes were wide open, her jaws worked without makinga sound—

“Oh, Frau Consul,” she got out, at last. “Come, comequick! oh, what a scare—”

“Yes,” Tony said, “she’s probably broken something again.Very likely the good porcelain. Oh, these servants of yours,Mamma!”

But the girl burst out: “Oh, no, Ma’am Grünlich—if that’sall it was!—It’s the Master—I were bringing him his boots,and there he sits and can’t speak, on his chair, and I says tomyself, there’s something wrong there; the Herr Consul—”

“Get Grabow,” cried Thomas and ran out of the room.

“My God—oh, my God!” cried the Frau Consul, puttingher hands to her face and hurrying out.

“Quick, get a wagon and fetch Grabow,” Tony repeatedbreathlessly.

Everybody flew downstairs and through the breakfast-roominto the bedroom.

But Johann Buddenbrook was already dead.

[250]

“Good evening, Justus,” said the Frau Consul. “How areyou? Sit down.”

Consul Kröger embraced her tenderly and shook handswith his elder niece, who was also present in the dining-room.He was now about fifty-five years old, and wore a heavy roundwhisker as well as his moustache, leaving his chin free. Itwas quite grey. His scanty hair was carefully combed overthe broad pink expanse of his skull. The sleeve of his elegantfrock-coat had a broad mourning band.

“Do you know the latest, Betsy?” he asked. “Yes, Tony,this will particularly interest you. To put it briefly, ourproperty outside the Castle Gate is sold—guess to whom?Not to one man, but to two: for the house is to be pulled down,and a hedge run through diagonally, and Benthien will buildhimself a dog-kennel on the right side, and Sorenson one onthe left. God bless us!”

“Whoever heard the like?” said Frau Grünlich, folding herhands in her lap and gazing up at the ceiling. “Grandfather’sproperty! Well, now the estate is all haggled up. Its greatcharm was its extent: there was really too much of it, but thatwas what made it elegant. The large garden, all the waydown to the Trave, the house set far back with the drive,and the chestnut avenue. So it is to be divided. Benthienwill stand in front of one door and Sorenson in front of theother. I say, ‘God bless us,’ too, Uncle Justus! I supposethere is nobody grand enough these days to occupy the wholething. It is good that Grandpapa is not here to see it.”

The sense of mourning still lay too heavily on the air forTony to give expression to her outraged feelings in livelier or[252]stronger terms. It was the day on which the will had beenread, two weeks after the death of the Consul, at half-pastfive in the afternoon. Frau Consul Buddenbrook had invitedher brother to Meng Street, in order that he might talk overthe provisions made by the deceased with Thomas and withHerr Marcus the confidential clerk. Tony had announced herintention to be present at the settlements. This attention, shesaid, she owed to the firm as well as to the family, and shetook pains to give the meeting the character of a family council.She had closed the curtains, and despite the two oillamps on the green-covered dining-table, drawn out to its fullextent, she had lighted all the candles in the great gildedcandelabrum as well. And, though there was no particularneed of them, she had put on the table a quantity of writingpaper and sharpened pencils.

Tony’s black frock gave her figure a maidenly slimness.She, of them all, was perhaps most deeply moved by the deathof the Consul, to whom she had drawn so close in the lastmonths that even to-day the thought of him made her burst outtwice in bitter weeping; yet the prospect of this family council,this solemn little conference in which she could bear a worthypart, had power to flush her pretty cheek, brighten her glance,and give her motions dignity and even joy. The Frau Consul,on the other hand, worn with anxiety and grief and the thousandformalities of the funeral and the mourning, looked ailing.Her face, framed in the black lace of her cap-strings,seemed paler, and her light-blue eyes were tired and dull.But there was not a single white hair to be seen in her smoothred-blonde coiffure. Was this still the Parisian tonic, or wasit the wig? Mamsell Jungmann alone knew, and she wouldnot have betrayed the secret even to the other ladies of thefamily.

They sat at the end of the table and waited for Herr Marcusand Thomas to come out of the office. The painted statuesseemed to stand out white and proud on their pedestalsagainst the sky-blue background.

[253]The Frau Consul said: “The thing is—I bade you come,my dear Justus—in short, it is about Clara, the child. Mybeloved husband left to me the choice of a guardian forher—she will need one for three years. I know you do notwant to be overburdened with responsibilities. You haveduties to your wife and sons—”

“My son, Betsy.”

“Yes, yes, we must be Christlike and merciful, Justus. Aswe forgive our debtors, it says. Think of our gracious Fatherin Heaven.”

Her brother looked at her, a little aggrieved. Such turnsof phrase had come in the past only from the mouth of theConsul.

“Enough,” she went on. “There are as good as no obligationsconnected with this service of love. I should like toask you to accept it.”

“Gladly, Betsy; of course, I’ll do it with pleasure. May Inot see my ward? A little too serious, isn’t she, the goodchild—?” Clara was called. She slowly appeared, all blackand pallid, her movements melancholy and full of restraint.She had spent the time since her father’s death in her roompraying almost without ceasing. Her dark eyes were immobile;she seemed frozen with grief and awe.

Uncle Justus the gallant stepped up to her, bowed as hepressed her hand, and murmured something appropriate. Shewent out, after receiving the Frau Consul’s kiss on her stifflips.

“How is Jürgen?” began the Frau Consul again. “Does itagree with him in Wismar?”

“Very well,” answered Justus Kröger, sitting down againwith a shrug of the shoulders. “I think he has found hisplace now. He is a good lad, Betsy, a lad of principle, but—afterhe had failed twice in the examination, it seemedbest— He did not like the law himself, and the position inthe post-office at Wismar is quite suitable. Tell me—I hearChristian is coming?”

[254]“Yes, Justus, he is coming. May God watch over him onthe seas! I wrote to him the next day after Jean’s death, buthe hasn’t even had the letter yet, and then he will take abouttwo months with the sailing-vessel after that. But he mustcome, Justus; I must see him. Tom says Jean would neverhave been willing for Christian to give up his position in Valparaiso;but I ask you—nearly eight years since I have seenhim! And then, under the circ*mstances! No, I must havethem all about me in this painful time—that is a natural feelingfor a mother.”

“Surely, surely,” said Consul Kröger; for she had begunto weep.

“Thomas agrees with me now, too,” she went on; “forwhere will Christian be better off than in his own father’sbusiness, in Tom’s business? He can stay here, work here.I have been in constant fear that the climate over there mightbe bad for him—”

Thomas Buddenbrook, accompanied by Herr Marcus, cameinto the room. Friederich Wilhelm Marcus, for years thedead Consul’s confidential clerk, was a tall man in a brown-skirtedcoat with a mourning band. He spoke softly, hesitatingly,stammering a little and considering each word beforehe uttered it. He had a habit of slowly and cautiouslystroking the red-brown moustache that grew over his mouthwith the extended middle and index fingers of his left hand;or he would rub his hands together and let his round browneyes wander so aimlessly about that he gave the impressionof complete confusion and absent-mindedness, though he wasalways most watchfully bent on the matter in hand.

Thomas Buddenbrook, now the youthful head of the greathouse, displayed real dignity in manner and bearing. But hewas pale. His hands in particular, on one of which shonethe Consul’s signet ring with the green stone, were as whiteas the cuffs beneath his black sleeves—a frozen whitenesswhich showed that they were quite dry and cold. He hadextraordinarily sensitive hands, with beautifully cared-for[255]oval bluish fingernails. Sometimes, in a difficult situation,they would take positions or make little nervous movementsthat were indescribably expressive of shrinking sensibilityand painful reserve. This was an individual trait strangeheretofore to the rather broad, though finely articulatedBuddenbrook hand.

Tom’s first care was to open the folding doors into thelandscape-room in order to get the benefit of the warmthfrom the stove burning there behind the wrought-iron lattice.Then he shook hands with Consul Kröger and sat down at thetable with Herr Marcus opposite him. He looked at his sisterTony, and his eyebrow went up in surprise. But she flungher head back and tucked in her chin in a way that warned himto suppress any comment on her presence.

“Well, and one may not say Herr Consul?” asked JustusKröger. “The Netherlands hope in vain that you shouldrepresent them, Tom, my dear chap?”

“Yes, Uncle Justus, I thought it was better. You see, Icould have taken over the Consulate along with so many otherresponsibilities, but in the first place I am a little too young—andthen I spoke to Uncle Gotthold, and he was very pleasedto accept it.”

“Very sensible, my lad; very politic. And very gentlemanly.”

“Herr Marcus,” said the Frau Consul, “my dear Herr Marcus!”And with her usual sweeping gesture she reached outher hand, which he took slowly, with a respectful side-glance:“I have asked you to come up—you know what the affair is;and I know that you are agreed with us. My beloved husbandexpressed in his final arrangements the wish that after hisdeath you would put your loyal and well-tried powers at theservice of the firm, not as an outsider but as partner.”

“Certainly, Frau Consul,” said Herr Marcus, “I must protestthat I know how to value the honour your offer does me,being aware, as I am, that the resources I can bring to thefirm are but small. In God’s name, I know nothing better to[256]do than thankfully to accept the offer you and your son makeme.”

“Yes, Marcus. And I thank you in my turn, most warmly,for your willingness to share with me the great responsibilitieswhich would perhaps be too heavy for me alone.”Thomas Buddenbrook spoke quickly and whole-heartedly,reaching his hand across the table to his partner; for theywere already long since agreed on the subject, and this wasonly the formal expression.

“Company is trumpery—you will spoil our chat, betweenyou,” said Consul Kröger. “And now, shall we run throughthe provisions, my children? All I have to look out for isthe dowry of my ward. The rest is not my affair. Have youa copy of the will here, Betsy? And have you made a roughcalculation, Tom?”

“I have it in my head,” said Thomas; and he began, leaningback, looking into the landscape-room, and moving hisgold pencil back and forth on the table, to explain how mattersstood. The truth was that the Consul’s estate was moreconsiderable than any one had supposed. The dowry of hisoldest daughter, indeed, was gone, and the losses which thefirm had suffered in the Bremen failure in 1851 had been aheavy blow. And the year ’48, as well as the present year ’55,with their unrest and interval of war, had brought losses. Butthe Buddenbrook share of the Kröger estate of four hundredthousand current marks had been full three hundred thousand,for Justus had already had much of his beforehand. JohannBuddenbrook had continually complained, as a merchant will;but the losses of the firm had been made good by the accruedprofits of some fifteen years, amounting to thirty thousandthaler, and thus the property, aside from real estate, amountedin round figures, to seven hundred thousand marks.

Thomas himself, with all his knowledge of the business, hadbeen left in ignorance by his father of this total. The FrauConsul took the announcement with discreet calm; Tony puton an adorable expression of pride and ignorance, and then[257]could not repress an anxious mental query: Is that a lot?Are we very rich now? Herr Marcus slowly rubbed hishands, apparently in absence of mind, and Consul Krögerwas obviously bored. But the sum filled Tom himself, as hestated it, with such a rush of excited pride that the effort atself-control made him seem dejected. “We must have alreadypassed the million,” he said. He controlled his voice, but hishands trembled. “Grandfather could command nine hundredthousand marks in his best time; and we’ve made great effortssince then, and had successes, and made fine coups here andthere. And Mamma’s dowry, and Mamma’s inheritance!There was the constant breaking-up—well, good heavens, thatlay in the nature of things! Please forgive me if I speak justnow in the sense of the firm and not of the family. Thesedowries and payments to Uncle Gotthold and to Frankfort,these hundreds of thousands which had to be drawn out of thebusiness—and then there were only two heirs beside the headof the firm. Good; we have our work cut out for us, Marcus.”The thirst for action, for power and success, the longing toforce fortune to her knees, sprang up quick and passionatein his eyes. He felt all the world looking at him expectantly,questioning if he would know how to command prestige forthe firm and the family and protect its name. On exchangehe had been meeting measuring side-looks out of jovial, mockingold eyes, that seemed to be saying “So you’re taking it on,my son!” “I am!” he thought.

Friederich Wilhelm Marcus rubbed his hands circ*mspectly,and Justus Kröger said: “Quietly, quietly, my dear chap.Times aren’t what they were when your grandfather was aPrussian army contractor.”

There began now a detailed conversation upon the provisionsof the will, in which they all joined, and Consul Krögertook a lighter tone, referring to Thomas as “his Highness thereigning Prince” and saying, “The warehouses will go with thecrown, according to tradition.” In general, of course, it wasdecided that as far as possible everything should be left together,[258]that Frau Elizabeth Buddenbrook should be consideredthe sole heir, and that the entire property should remain in thebusiness. Herr Marcus announced that as partner he shouldbe able to strengthen the working capital by a hundred andtwenty thousand marks current. A sum of fifty thousandmarks was set aside as a private fortune for Thomas, and thesame for Christian, in case he wished to establish himselfseparately. Justus Kröger paid close attention to the passagethat ran: “The fixing of the dowry of my beloveddaughter Clara I leave to the discretion of my dear wife.”“Shall we say a hundred thousand?” he suggested, leaningback, one leg crossed over the other, and turning up his shortgrey moustache with both hands. He was affability itself.But the sum was fixed at eighty thousand. “In case of a secondmarriage of my dearly loved older daughter Antonie, inview of the fact that eighty thousand marks have alreadybeen applied to her first marriage, the sum of seventeen thousandthaler current must not be exceeded.” Frau Antoniewaved her arm with a graceful but excited gesture whichtossed back her flowing sleeve; she looked at the ceiling andsaid loudly: “Grünlich, indeed!” It sounded like a challenge,like a little trumpet-call. “You know, Herr Marcus,”she said, “about that man. We are sitting, one fine afternoon,perfectly innocent, in the garden, in front of the door—youknow the portal, Herr Marcus. Well! Who appears? a personwith gold-coloured whiskers—the scoundrel!”

“Yes,” Thomas said. “We will talk about Herr Grünlichafterward.”

“Very well; but you are a clever creature, and you will admit,Tom, that in this life things don’t always happen fairly andsquarely. That’s been my experience, though a short timeago I was too simple to realize it.”

“Yes,” Tom said. They went into detail, noting the Consul’sinstructions about the great family Bible, about his diamondbuttons, and many, many other matters.

Justus Kröger and Herr Marcus stopped for supper.

In the beginning of February, 1856, after eight years’ absence,Christian Buddenbrook returned to the home of hisfathers. He arrived in the post-coach from Hamburg, wearinga yellow suit with a pattern of large checks, that had adistinctly exotic look. He brought the bill of a swordfishand a great sugar-cane, and received the embraces of hismother with a half-embarrassed, half absent air.

He wore the same air when, on the next afternoon after hisarrival, the family went to the cemetery outside the CastleGate to lay a wreath on the grave. They stood together on thesnowy path in front of the large tablet on which were thenames of those resting there, surrounding the family armscut in the stone. Before them was the upright marble crossthat stood at the edge of the bare little churchyard grove.They were all there except Clothilde, who was at Thankless,nursing her ailing father.

Tony laid the wreath on the tablet, where her father’s namestood on the stone in fresh gold letters: then, despite thesnow, she knelt down by the grave to pray. Her black veilplayed about her, and her full skirt lay spread out in picturesquefolds. God alone knew how much grief and religiousemotion—and, on the other hand, how much of a prettywoman’s self-conscious pleasure—there was in the bowed attitude.Thomas was not in the mood to think about it. ButChristian looked sidewise at his sister with a mixture ofmockery and misgiving, as if to say: “Can you really carrythat off? Shan’t you feel silly when you get up? How uncomfortable!”Tony caught this look as she rose, but she wasnot in the least put out. She tossed her head back, arranged[260]her veil and skirt, and turned with dignified assurance to go;whereupon Christian was obviously relieved.

The deceased Consul’s fanatical love of God and of theSaviour had been an emotion foreign to his forebears, whonever cherished other than the normal, every-day sentimentsproper to good citizens. The two living Buddenbrooks had intheir turn their own idiosyncrasies. One of these appeared tobe a nervous distaste for the expression of feeling. Thomashad certainly felt the death of his father with painful acuteness,much as his grandfather had felt the loss of his. Buthe could not sink on his knees by his grave. He had never,like his sister Tony, flung himself across the table sobbing likea child; and he shrank from hearing the heart-broken wordsin which Madame Grünlich, from roast to dessert, loved tocelebrate the character and person of her dead father. Suchoutbursts he met with composed silence or a reservednod. And yet, when nobody had mentioned or was thinkingof the dead, it would be just then that his eyes would fillwith slow tears, although his facial expression remained unchanged.

It was different with Christian. He unfortunately did notsucceed in preserving his composure at the naïve and childishoutpourings of his sister. He bent over his plate, turned hishead away, and looked as though he wanted to sink throughthe floor; and several times he interrupted her with a low,tormented “Good God, Tony!” his large nose screwed intocountless tiny wrinkles.

In fact, he showed disquiet and embarrassment wheneverthe conversation turned to the dead. It seemed as though hefeared and avoided not only the indelicate expression of deepand solemn feeling, but even the feeling itself.

No one had seen him shed a tear over the death of hisfather; and his long absence alone hardly explained this fact.A more remarkable thing, however, was that he took his sisterTony aside again and again to hear in vivid detail the events[261]of that fatal afternoon; for Madame Grünlich had a gift oflively narration.

“He looked yellow?” he asked for the fifth time. “Whatwas it the girl shrieked when she came running in to you?He looked quite yellow, and died without saying anotherword? What did the girl say? What sort of sound was ithe made?” Then he would be silent—silent a long time—whilehis small deep-set eyes travelled round the room inthought.

“Horrible,” he said suddenly, and a visible shudder ranover him as he got up. He would walk up and down withthe same unquiet and brooding eyes. Madame Grünlich feltastonished to see that her brother, who for some unknownreason was so embarrassed when she bewailed her fatheraloud, liked to reproduce with a sort of dreadful relish thedying efforts to speak which he had inquired about in detailof Lina the maid-servant.

Christian had certainly not grown better looking. He waslean and pallid. The skin was stretched over his skull verytightly; his large nose, with a distinct hump, stuck out fleshlessand sharp between his cheek-bones, and his hair was alreadynoticeably scantier. His neck was too thin and longand his lean legs decidedly bowed. His London period seemedto have made a lasting impression upon him. In Valparaiso,too, he had mostly associated with Englishmen; and his wholeappearance had something English about it which somehowseemed rather appropriate. It was partly the comfortablecut and durable wool material of his clothing, the broad,solid elegance of his boots, his crotchety expression, and theway in which his red-blond moustache drooped over hismouth. Even his hands had an English look: they were adull porous white from the hot climate, with round, clean,short-trimmed nails.

“Tell me,” he said, abruptly, “do you know that feeling—itis hard to describe—when you swallow something hard, the[262]wrong way, and it hurts all the way down your spine?” Hiswhole nose wrinkled as he spoke.

“Yes,” said Tony; “that is quite common. You take adrink of water—”

“Oh,” he said in a dissatisfied tone. “No, I don’t thinkwe mean the same thing.” And a restless look floated acrosshis face.

He was the first one in the house to shake off his mourningand re-assume a natural attitude. He had not lost the art ofimitating the deceased Marcellus Stengel, and he often spokefor hours in his voice. At the table he asked about the theatre—ifthere were a good company and what they were giving.

“I don’t know,” said Tom, with a tone that was exaggeratedlyindifferent, in order not to seem irritated. “I haven’tnoticed lately.”

But Christian missed this altogether and went on to talkabout the theatre. “I am too happy for words in the theatre.Even the word ‘theatre’ makes me feel happy. I don’t knowwhether any of you have that feeling. I could sit for hoursand just look at the curtain. I feel as I used to when I wasa child and we went in to the Christmas party here. Eventhe sound of the orchestra beforehand! I would go if only tohear that and nothing more. I like the love scenes best.Some of the heroines have such a fetching way of taking theirlovers’ heads between their hands. But the actors—in Londonand Valparaiso I have known a lot of actors. At first I wasvery proud to get to know them in ordinary life. In thetheatre I watched their every movement. It is fascinating.One of them says his last speech and turns around quietly andgoes deliberately, without the least embarrassment, to thedoor, although he knows that the eyes of the whole audienceare on his back. How can he do that? I used to be continuallythinking about going behind the scenes. But now Iam pretty much at home there, I must say. Imagine: once, inan operetta—it was in London—the curtain went up one eveningwhen I was on the stage! I was talking with Miss Waterhouse,[263]a very pretty girl. Well, suddenly there was the wholeaudience! Good Lord, I don’t know how I got off the stage.”

Madame Grünlich was the only one who laughed, to speakof, in the circle round the table. But Christian went on, hiseyes wandering back and forth. He talked about Englishcafé-chantant singers; about an actress who came on in powderedwig, and knocked with a long cane on the ground andsang a song called: “That’s Maria.” “Maria, you know—Mariais the most scandalous of the lot. When somebodydoes something perfectly shocking, why—‘that’s Maria’—thebad lot, you know—utterly depraved!” He said this lastwith a frightful expression and raised his right hand with thefingers formed into a ring.

“Assez, Christian,” said the Frau Consul. “That does notinterest us in the least.”

But Christian’s gaze flickered absently over her head; hewould probably have stopped without her suggestion, for heseemed to be sunk in a profound, disquieting dream of Mariaand her depravity, while his little round deep eyes wanderedback and forth.

Suddenly he said: “Strange—sometimes I can’t swallow.Oh, it’s no joke. I find it very serious. It enters my headthat perhaps I can’t swallow, and then all of a sudden I can’t.The food is already swallowed, but the muscles—right here—theysimply refuse. It isn’t a question of will-power. Orrather, the thing is, I don’t dare really will it.”

Tony cried out, quite beside herself: “Christian! GoodLord, what nonsense! You don’t dare to make up your mindto swallow! What are you talking about? You are absurd!”

Thomas was silent. But the Frau Consul said: That isnerves, Christian. Yes, it was high time you came home;the climate over there would have killed you in the end.

After the meal Christian sat down at the little harmoniumthat stood in the dining-room and imitated a piano virtuoso.He pretended to toss back his hair, rubbed his hands, andlooked around the room; then, without a sound, without[264]touching the bellows—for he could not play in the least, andwas entirely unmusical, like all the Buddenbrooks—he bentquite over and began to belabour the bass, played unbelievablepassages, threw himself back, looked in ecstasy at the ceiling,and banged the key-board in a triumphant finale. EvenClara burst out laughing. The illusion was convincing; fullof assurance and charlatanry and irresistible comicality of theburlesque, eccentric English-American kind; so certain of itsown effect that the result was not in the least unpleasant.

“I have gone a great deal to concerts,” he said. “I liketo watch how the people behave with their instruments. Itis really beautiful to be an artist.”

Then he began to play again, but broke off suddenly andbecame serious, as though a mask had fallen over his features.He got up, ran his hand through his scanty hair, moved away,and stood silent, obviously fallen into a bad mood, with unquieteyes and an expression as though he were listening tosome kind of uncanny noise.

“Sometimes I find Christian a little strange,” said MadameGrünlich to her brother Thomas, one evening, when they werealone. “He talks so, somehow. He goes so unnaturally intodetail, seems to me—or what shall I say? He looks at thingsin such a strange way; don’t you think so?”

“Yes,” said Tom, “I understand what you mean very well,Tony. Christian is very incautious—undignified—it is difficultto express what I mean. Something is lacking in him—whatpeople call equilibrium, mental poise. On the one hand,he does not know how to keep his countenance when otherpeople make naïve or tactless remarks—he does not understandhow to cover it up, and he just loses his self-possessionaltogether. But the same thing happens when he begins to begarrulous himself, in the unpleasant way he has, and tells hismost intimate thoughts. It gives one such an uncanny feeling—itis just the way people speak in a fever, isn’t it? Self-controland personal reserve are both lacking in the sameway. Oh, the thing is quite simple: Christian busies himself[265]too much with himself, with what goes on in his own insides.Sometimes he has a regular mania for bringing out the deepestand the pettiest of these experiences—things a reasonableman does not trouble himself about or even want to knowabout, for the simple reason that he would not like to tellthem to any one else. There is such a lack of modesty in somuch communicativeness. You see, Tony, anybody, exceptChristian, may say that he loves the theatre. But he would sayit in a different tone, more en passant, more modestly, in short.Christian says it in a tone that says: ‘Is not my passion forthe stage something very marvellous and interesting?’ Hestruggles, he behaves as if he were really wrestling to expresssomething supremely delicate and difficult.”

“I’ll tell you,” he went on after a pause, throwing his cigarettethrough the wrought-iron lattice into the stove: “Ihave thought a great deal about this curious and useless self-preoccupation,because I had once an inclination to it myself.But I observed that it made me unsteady, hare-brained, and incapable—andcontrol, equilibrium, is, at least for me, the importantthing. There will always be men who are justified inthis interest in themselves, this detailed observation of theirown emotions; poets who can express with clarity and beautytheir privileged inner life, and thereby enrich the emotionalworld of other people. But the likes of us are simple merchants,my child; our self-observations are decidedly inconsiderable.We can sometimes go so far as to say that the soundof orchestra instruments gives us unspeakable pleasure, andthat we sometimes do not dare try to swallow—but it wouldbe much better, deuce take it, if we sat down and accomplishedsomething, as our fathers did before us.”

“Yes, Tom, you express my views exactly. When I thinkof the airs those Hagenströms put on—oh, Heavens, whattruck! Mother doesn’t like the words I use, but I find theyare the only right ones. Do you suppose they think they arethe only good family in town? I have to laugh, you know;I really do.”

The head of the firm of Johann Buddenbrook had measuredhis brother on his arrival with a long, scrutinizing gaze. Hehad given him passing and unobtrusive observation duringseveral days; and then, though he did not allow any sign ofhis opinion to appear upon his calm and discreet face, his curiositywas satisfied, his mind made up. He talked with himin the family circle in a casual tone on casual subjects andenjoyed himself like the others when Christian gave a performance.A week later he said to him: “Well, shall wework together, young man? So far as I know, you consentto Mamma’s wish, do you not? As you know, Marcus hasbecome my partner, in proportion to the quota he has paidin. I should think that, as my brother, you could ostensiblytake the place he had—that of confidential clerk. What yourwork would be—I do not know how much mercantile experienceyou have really had. You have been loafing a bit, sofar—am I right? Well, in any case, the English correspondencewill suit you. But I must beg one thing of you, mydear chap. In your position as brother of the head of thehouse, you will actually have a superior position to theothers; but I do not need to tell you that you will impressthem far more by behaving like their equal and doing yourduty, than you will by making use of privileges and takingliberties. Are you willing to keep office hours and observeappearances?”

And then he made a proposal in respect of salary, whichChristian accepted without consideration, with an embarrassedand inattentive face that betrayed very little love of gain anda great zeal to settle the matter quickly. Next day Thomas led[267]him into the office; and Christian’s labours for the old firmbegan.

The business had taken its uninterrupted and solid courseafter the Consul’s death. But soon after Thomas Buddenbrookseized the reins, a fresher and more enterprisingspirit began to be noticeable in the management. Risks weretaken now and then. The credit of the house, formerly aconception, a theory, a luxury, was consciously strained andutilized. The gentlemen on ’Change nodded at each other.“Buddenbrook wants to make money with both hands,” theysaid. They thought it was a good thing that Thomas had tocarry the upright Friederich Wilhelm Marcus along with him,like a ball and chain on his foot. Herr Marcus’ influence wasthe conservative force in the business. He stroked his moustachewith his two fingers, punctiliously arranged his writingmaterials and glass of water on his desk, looked at everythingon both sides and top and bottom; and, five or six times inthe day, would go out through the courtyard into the wash-kitchenand hold his head under the tap to refresh himself.

“They complement each other,” said the heads of the greathouses to each other; Consul Huneus said it to Consul Kistenmaker.The small families echoed them; and the dockyardand warehouse hands repeated the same opinion. The wholetown was interested in the way young Buddenbrook would“take hold.” Herr Stuht in Bell-Founders’ Street would sayto his wife, who knew the best families: “They balance eachother, you see.”

But the personality of the business was plainly the youngerpartner. He knew how to handle the personnel, the ship-captains,the heads in the warehouse offices, the drivers andthe yard hands. He could speak their language with ease andyet keep a distance between himself and them. But whenHerr Marcus spoke in dialect to some faithful servant itsounded so outlandish that his partner would simply beginto laugh, and the whole office would dissolve in merriment.

Thomas Buddenbrook’s desire to protect and increase the[268]prestige of the old firm made him love to be present in thedaily struggle for success. He well knew that his assuredand elegant bearing, his tact and winning manners were responsiblefor a great deal of good trade.

“A business man cannot be a bureaucrat,” he said toStephan Kistenmaker, of Kistenmaker and Sons, his formerschool-fellow. He had remained the oracle of this oldplaymate, who listened to his every word in order to give itout later as his own. “It takes personality—that is my view.I don’t think any great success is to be had from the officealone—at least, I shouldn’t care for it. I always want todirect the course of things on the spot, with a look, a word,a gesture—to govern it with the immediate influence of my willand my talent—my luck, as you call it. But, unfortunately,personal contact is going out of fashion. The times move on,but it seems to me they leave the best behind. Relations areeasier and easier; the connections better and better; the riskgets smaller—but the profits do too. Yes, the old peoplewere better off. My grandfather, for example—he drovein a four-horse coach to Southern Germany, as commissary tothe Prussian army—an old man in pumps, with his headpowdered. And there he played his charms and his talentsand made an astonishing amount of money, Kistenmaker.Oh, I’m afraid the merchant’s life will get duller and dulleras time goes on.”

It was feelings like these that made him relish most thetrade he came by through his own personal efforts. Sometimes,entirely by accident, perhaps on a walk with thefamily, he would go into a mill for a chat with the miller,who would feel himself much honoured by the visit; andquite en passant, in the best of moods, he would concludea good bargain. His partner was incapable of that sortof thing.

As for Christian, he seemed at first to devote himself tohis task with real zest and enjoyment, and to feel exceptionallywell and contented. For several days he ate with[269]appetite, smoked his short pipe, and squared his shouldersin the English jacket, giving expression to his sense of easeand well-being. In the morning he went to the office at aboutthe same time as Thomas, and sat opposite his brother andHerr Marcus in a revolving arm-chair like theirs. First heread the paper, while he comfortably smoked his morningcigarette. Then he would fetch out an old cognac from hisbottom desk drawer, stretch out his arms in order to feelhimself free to move, say “Well!” and go to work good-naturedly,his tongue roving about among his teeth. HisEnglish letters were extraordinarily able and effective, for hewrote English as he spoke it, simply and fluently, withouteffort.

He gave expression to his mood in his own way in thefamily circle.

“Business is really a fine, gratifying calling,” he said.“Respectable, satisfying, industrious, comfortable. I wasreally born to it—fact! And as a member of the house!—well,I’ve never felt so good before. You come fresh intothe office in the morning, and look through the paper, smoke,think about this and that, take some cognac, and then goto work. Comes midday; you eat with your family, take arest, then to work again. You write, on smooth, good businesspaper, with a good pen, rule, paper-knife, stamp—everythingfirst-class and all in order. You keep at it, getthings done one after the other, and finish up. To-morrowis another day. When you go home to supper, you feelthoroughly satisfied—satisfied in every limb. Even yourhands—”

“Heavens, Christian,” cried Tony. “What rubbish! Howcan your hands feel satisfied?”

“Why, yes, of course—can’t you understand that? Imean—” he made a painstaking effort to express and explain.“You can shut your fist, you see. You don’t make aviolent effort, of course, because you are tired from yourwork. But it isn’t flabby; it doesn’t make you feel irritable.[270]You have a sense of satisfaction in it; you feel easy andcomfortable—you can sit quite still without feeling bored.”

Every one was silent. Then Thomas said in a casual tone,so as not to show that he disagreed: “It seems to me thatone doesn’t work for the sake of—” He broke off and didnot continue. “At least, I have different reasons,” he addedafter a minute. But Christian did not hear. His eyes roamedabout, sunk in thought; and he soon began to tell a story ofValparaiso, a tale of assault and murder of which he hadpersonal knowledge. “Then the fellow ripped out hisknife—” For some reason Thomas never applauded thesetales. Christian was full of them, and Madame Grünlichfound them vastly entertaining. The Frau Consul, Clara,and Clothilde sat aghast, and Mamsell Jungmann and Ericalistened with their mouths open. Thomas used to make coolsarcastic comments and act as if he thought Christian wasexaggerating or hoaxing—which was certainly not the case.He narrated with colour and vividness. Perhaps Thomasfound unpleasant the reflection that his younger brother hadbeen about and seen more of the world than he! Or werehis feelings of repulsion due to the glorification of disorder,the exotic violence of these knife- and revolver-tales? Christiancertainly did not trouble himself over his brother’s failureto appreciate his stories. He was always too much absorbedin his narrative to notice its success or lack of success withhis audience, and when he had finished he would look pensivelyor absently about the room.

But if in time the relations between the two brothers cameto be not of the best, Christian was not the one who thoughtof showing or feeling any animosity against his brother. Hesilently took for granted the pre-eminence of his elder, hissuperior capacity, earnestness, and respectability. But preciselythis casual, indiscriminate acknowledgment irritatedThomas, for it had the appearance of setting no value uponsuperior capacity, earnestness, or respectability.

Christian appeared not to notice the growing dislike of the[271]head of the firm. Thomas’s feelings were indeed quite justifiable;for unfortunately Christian’s zeal for business visiblydecreased, even after the first week, though more after thesecond. His little preparations for work, which, in the beginning,wore the air of a prolonged and refined anticipation:the reading of the paper, the after-breakfast cigarette, thecognac, began to take more and more time, and finally usedup the whole morning. It gradually came about that Christianfreed himself largely from the constraint of office hours.He appeared later and later with his breakfast cigarette tobegin his preparations for work; he went at midday to eatat the Club, and came back late or not at all.

This Club, to which mostly unmarried business men belonged,occupied comfortable rooms in the first storey of arestaurant, where one could eat and meet in unrestrainedand sometimes not altogether harmless conversation—for therewas a roulette table. Even some of the more light-mindedfathers of families, like Justus Kröger and, of course, PeterDöhlmann, were members, and police senator Crema washere “the first man at the hose.” That was the expressionof Dr. Gieseke—Andreas Gieseke, the son of the Fire Commissionerand Christian’s old schoolmate. He had settledas a lawyer in the town, and Christian renewed the friendshipwith him, though he ranked as rather a wild fellow. Christian—or,as he was called everywhere, Chris—had knownthem all more or less in the old days, for nearly all of themhad been pupils of Marcellus Stengel. They received himinto the Club with open arms; for, while neither business mennor scholars found him a genius, they recognized his amusingsocial gifts. It was here that he gave his best performancesand told his best stories. He did the virtuoso at theclub piano and imitated English and transatlantic actorsand opera singers. But the best things he did were storiesof his affairs with women, related in the most harmless andentertaining way imaginable—adventures that had befallenhim on shipboard, on trains, in St. Paul’s, in Whitechapel,[272]in the virgin forest. There was no doubt that Christian’sweakness was for women. He narrated with a fluency andpower that entranced his listeners, in an exhaustless stream,with his somewhat plaintive, drawling voice, burlesque andinnocent, like an English humourist. He told a story abouta dog that had been sent in a satchel from Valparaiso toSan Francisco and was mangy to boot. Goodness knew whatwas the point of the anecdote—in his mouth it was indescribablycomic. And while everybody about him writhed withlaughter, unable to leave off, he himself sat there cross-legged,a strange, uneasy seriousness in his face with its great hookednose, his thin, long neck, his sparse light-red hair and littleround deep-set eyes. It almost seemed as if the laugh wereat his expense, as if they were laughing at him. But thatnever occurred to him.

At home his favourite tales were about his office in Valparaiso.He told of the extreme heat there, and about ayoung Londoner, named Johnny Thunderstorm, a ne’er-do-well,an extraordinary chap, whom he had “never seen do astroke of work, God damn me,” and who yet was a remarkablebusiness man.

“Good God, the heat!” he said. “Well, the chief cameinto the office—there we all lay, eight of us, like flies, andsmoked cigarettes to keep the mosquitoes away. Good God!Well, the chief said: ‘You are not working, gentlemen?’‘No, sir,’ says Johnny Thunderstorm, ‘as you see, sir!’ Andwe all blew our cigarette-smoke in his face. Good God!”

“Why do you keep saying ‘good God’?” asked Thomas irritably.But his irritation was at bottom because he feltthat Christian told this story with particular relish just becauseit gave him a chance to sneer at honest work.

The Mother would discreetly change the subject. Therewere many hateful things in the world, thought the FrauConsul, born Kröger. Brothers could despise and dislike eachother, dreadful as it sounded; but one didn’t mention suchthings. They had to be covered up and ignored.

In May it happened that Uncle Gotthold—Consul GottholdBuddenbrook, now sixty years old—was seized with a heartattack one night and died in the arms of his wife, bornStüwing.

The son of poor Madame Josephine had had the worst ofit in life, compared with the younger and stronger brotherand sister born of Madame Antoinette. But he had longsince resigned himself to his fortunes; and in his later years,especially after his nephew turned over to him the Consulateof the Netherlands, he ate his lozenges out of his tin box andharboured the friendliest feelings. It was his ladies who keptup the feud now: not so much his good-natured wife as thethree elderly damsels, who could not look at Frau Consul, orAntonie, or Thomas, without a spark in their eyes.

On the traditional “children’s day,” at four o’clock, theyall gathered in the big house in Meng Street, to eat dinnerand spend the evening. Sometimes Consul Kröger or SesemiWeichbrodt came too, with her simple sister. On these occasionsthe three Miss Buddenbrooks from Broad Street lovedto turn the conversation to Tony’s former marriage and todart sharp glances at each other while they egged MadameGrünlich on to use strong language. Or they would makegeneral remarks on the subject of the undignified vanity ofdyeing one’s hair. Or they would enquire particularly afterJacob Kröger, the Frau Consul’s nephew. They made jokesat the expense of poor, innocent, Clothilde—jokes not soharmless as those which the charity girl received in good partevery day from Tom and Tony. They made fun of Clara’sausterity and bigotry. They were quick to find out that Tom[274]and Christian were not on the best of terms; also, that theydid not need to pay much attention to Christian anyhow, forhe was a sort of Tom-fool. As for Thomas himself, who hadno weak point for them to ferret out, and who always metthem with a good-humoured indulgence, that signified “Iunderstand what you mean, and I am very sorry”—him theytreated with respect tinctured with bitterness. Next camethe turn of little Erica. Rosy and plump as she was, theyfound her alarmingly backward in her growth. And Pfiffiin a series of little shakes drew attention several times tothe child’s shocking resemblance to the deceiver Grünlich.

But now they stood with their mother about their Father’sdeath-bed, weeping; and a message was sent to Meng Street,though the feeling was not entirely wanting that their richrelations were somehow or other to blame for this misfortunetoo.

In the middle of the night the great bell downstairs rang;and as Christian had come home very late and was not feelingup to much, Tom set out alone in the spring rain.

He came just in time to see the last convulsive motionsof the old gentleman. Then he stood a long time in thedeath-chamber and looked at the short figure under the covers,at the dead face with the mild features and white whiskers.“You haven’t had a very good time, Uncle Gotthold,” hethought. “You learned too late to make concessions andshow consideration. But that is what one has to do. IfI had been like you, I should have married a shop girl yearsago. But for the sake of appearances—! I wonder if youreally wanted anything different? You were proud, andprobably felt that your pride was something idealistic; butyour spirit had little power to rise. To cherish the visionof an abstract good; to carry in your heart, like a hidden love,only far sweeter, the dream of preserving an ancient name,an old family, an old business, of carrying it on, and addingto it more and more honour and lustre—ah, that takes imagination,Uncle Gotthold, and imagination you didn’t have.[275]The sense of poetry escaped you, though you were braveenough to love and marry against the will of your father.And you had no ambition, Uncle Gotthold. The old nameis only a burgher name, it is true, and one cherishes it bymaking the grain business flourish, and oneself beloved andpowerful in a little corner of the earth. Did you think: ‘Iwill marry her whom I love, and pay no attention to practicalconsiderations, for they are petty and provincial?’ Oh,we are travelled and educated enough to realize that the limitsset to our ambition are small and petty enough, looked atfrom outside and above. But everything in this world is comparative,Uncle Gotthold. Did you know one can be agreat man, even in a small place; a Cæsar even in a littlecommercial town on the Baltic? But that takes imaginationand idealism—and you didn’t have it, whatever you mayhave thought yourself.”

Thomas Buddenbrook turned away. He went to the windowand looked out at the dim grey gothic façade of the TownHall opposite, shrouded in rain. He had his hands behindhis back and a smile on his intelligent face.

The office and title of the Royal Consulate of the Netherlands,which Thomas Buddenbrook might have taken afterhis father’s death, went back to him now, to the boundlesssatisfaction of Tony Grünlich; and the curving shield withthe lions, the arms, and the crown was once more to be seenon the gabled front of the house in Meng Street, under the“Dominus providebit.”

Soon after this was accomplished, in June of the sameyear, the young Consul set out to Amsterdam on a businessjourney the duration of which he did not know.

Deaths in the family usually induce a religious mood. Itwas not surprising, after the decease of the Consul, to hearfrom the mouth of his widow expressions which she had notbeen accustomed to use.

But it was soon apparent that this was no passing phase.Even in the last years of the Consul’s life, his wife had moreand more sympathized with his spiritual cravings; and it nowbecame plain that she was determined to honour the memoryof her dead by adopting as her own all his pious conceptions.

She strove to fill the great house with the spirit of thedeceased—that mild and Christlike spirit which yet had notexcluded a certain dignified and hearty good cheer. Themorning and evening prayers were continued and lengthened.The family gathered in the dining-room, and the servants inthe hall, to hear the Frau Consul or Clara read a chapterout of the great family Bible with the big letters. Theyalso sang a few verses out of the hymn-book, accompaniedby the Frau Consul on the little organ. Or, often, in placeof the chapter from the Bible, they had a reading from oneof those edifying or devotional books with the black bindingand gilt edges—those Little Treasuries, Jewel-Caskets, HolyHours, Morning Chimes, Pilgrims’ Staffs, and the like, whosecommon trait was a sickly and languishing tenderness for thelittle Jesus, and of which there were all too many in thehouse.

Christian did not often appear at these devotions. Thomasonce chose a favourable moment to disparage the practice,half-jestingly; but his objection met with a gentle rebuff. Asfor Madame Grünlich, she did not, unfortunately, always conduct[277]herself correctly at the exercises. One morning whenthere was a strange clergyman stopping with the Buddenbrooks,they were invited to sing to a solemn and devout melody thefollowing words:—

Whereat Frau Grünlich threw down her book and left theroom, bursting with suppressed giggles.

But the Frau Consul made more demands upon herself thanupon her children. She instituted a Sunday School, and onSunday afternoon only little board-school pupils rang at thedoor of the house in Meng Street. Stine Voss, who lived bythe city wall, and Mike Stuht from Bell-Founders’ Street,and Fike Snut from the river-bank or Groping Alley, theirstraw-coloured locks smoothed back with a wet comb, crossedthe entry into the garden-room, which for a long time nowhad not been used as an office, and in which rows of bencheshad been arranged and Frau Consul Buddenbrook, bornKröger, in a gown of heavy black satin, with her white refinedface and still whiter lace cap, sat opposite to themat a little table with a glass of sugar-water and catechizedthem for an hour.

Also, she founded the “Jerusalem evenings,” which notonly Clara and Clothilde but also Tony were obliged to attend,willy-nilly. Once a week they sat at the extension-tablein the dining-room by the light of lamps and candles. Sometwenty ladies, all of an age when it is profitable to beginto look after a good place in heaven, drank tea or bishop,ate delicate sandwiches and puddings, read hymns and sermonsaloud to each other, and did embroidery, which at the[278]end of the year was sold at a bazaar and the proceeds sentto the mission in Jerusalem.

This pious society was formed in the main from ladiesof the Frau Consul’s own social rank: Frau Senator Langhals,Frau Consul Möllendorpf, and old Frau Consul Kistenmakerbelonged; but other, more worldly and profane oldladies, like Mme. Köppen, made fun of their friend Betsy.The wives of the clergymen of the town were all members,likewise the widowed Frau Consul Buddenbrook, born Stüwing,and Sesemi Weichbrodt and her simple sister. There is, however,no rank and no discrimination before Jesus; and so certainhumble oddities were also guests at the Jerusalem evenings—forexample, a little wrinkled creature, rich in thegrace of God and knitting-patterns, who lived in the HolyGhost Hospital and was named Himmelsburger. She was thelast of her name—“the last Himmelsburger,” she called herselfhumbly, and ran her knitting-needle under her cap toscratch her head.

But far more remarkable were two other extraordinary oldcreatures, twins, who went about hand in hand through thetown doing good deeds, in shepherdess hats out of the eighteenthcentury and faded clothes out of the long, long ago.They were named Gerhardt, and asserted that they descendedin a direct line from Paul Gerhardt. People said they wereby no means poor; but they lived wretchedly and gave awayall they had. “My dears,” remarked the Frau Consul, whowas sometimes rather ashamed of them, “God sees the heart,I know; but your clothes are really a little—one must takesome thought for oneself.” But she could not prevent themkissing their elegant friend on the brow with the forebearing,yearning, pitying superiority of the poor in heartover the worldly great who seek salvation. They were not atall stupid. In their homely shrivelled heads—for all theworld like ancient parrots—; they had bright soft browneyes and they looked out at the world with a wonderful expressionof gentleness and understanding. Their hearts were[279]full of amazing wisdom. They knew that in the last day allour beloved gone before us to God will come with song andsalvation to fetch us home. They spoke the words “the Lord”with the fluent authority of early Christians, as if they hadheard out of the Master’s own mouth the words, “Yet a littlewhile and ye shall see me.” They possessed the most remarkabletheories concerning inner light and intuition andthe transmission of thought. One of them, named Lea, wasdeaf, and yet she nearly always knew what was being talkedabout!

It was usually the deaf Gerhardt who read aloud at theJerusalem evenings, and the ladies found that she read beautifullyand very affectingly. She took out of her bag an oldbook of a very disproportionate shape, much taller thanit was broad, with an inhumanly chubby presentment of herancestor in the front. She held it in both hands and readin a tremendous voice, in order to catch a little herself ofwhat she read. It sounded as if the wind were imprisonedin the chimney:

“If Satan me would swallow.”

“Goodness!” thought Tony Grünlich, “how could Satan wantto swallow her?” But she said nothing and devoted herselfto the pudding, wondering if she herself would ever becomeas ugly as the two Miss Gerhardts.

She was not happy. She felt bored and out of patiencewith all the pastors and missionaries, whose visitshad increased ever since the death of the Consul. Accordingto Tony they had too much to say in the house and receivedentirely too much money. But this last was Tom’s affair, andhe said nothing, while his sister now and then murmuredsomething about people who consumed widows’ homes andmade long prayers.

She hated these black gentlemen bitterly. As a maturewoman who knew life and was no longer a silly innocent,[280]she found herself unable to believe in their irreproachablesanctity. “Mother,” she said, “oh dear, I know I must notspeak evil of my neighbours. But one thing I must say, andI should be surprised if life had not taught you that too,and that is that not all those who wear a long coat and say‘Lord, Lord’ are always entirely without blemish.”

History does not say what Tom thought of his sister’sopinion on this point. Christian had no opinion at all. Heconfined himself to watching the gentlemen with his nosewrinkled up, in order to imitate them afterward at the clubor in the family circle.

But it is true that Tony was the chief sufferer from thepious visitants. One day it actually happened that a missionarynamed Jonathan, who had been in Arabia and Syria—aman with great, reproachful eyes and baggy cheeks wasstopping in the house, and challenged her to assert that thecurls she wore on her forehead were consistent with trueChristian humility. He had not reckoned with Tony Grünlich’sskill at repartee. She was silent a moment, while hermind worked rapidly; and then out it came. “May I askyou, Herr Pastor, to concern yourself with your own curls?”With that she rustled out, shoulders up, head back, and chinwell tucked in. Pastor Jonathan had very few curls on hishead—it would be nearer truth to say that he was quitebald.

And once she had an even greater triumph. There was acertain Pastor Trieschke from Berlin. His nickname wasTeary Trieschke, because every Sunday he began to weep atan appropriate place in his sermon. Teary Trieschke hada pale face, red eyes, and cheek-bones like a horse’s. Hehad been stopping for eight or ten days with the Buddenbrooks,conducting devotions and holding eating contests withpoor Clothilde, turn about. He happened to fall in love withTony—not with her immortal soul, oh no, but with her upperlip, her thick hair, her pretty eyes and charming figure.And the man of God, who had a wife and numerous children[281]in Berlin, was not ashamed to have Anton leave a letter inMadame Grünlich’s bedroom in the upper storey, whereinBible texts and a kind of fawning sentimentality were surpassinglymingled. She found it when she went to bed, readit, and went with a firm step downstairs into the Frau Consul’sbedroom, where by the candle-light she read aloud thewords of the soul-saver to her Mother, quite unembarrassedand in a loud voice; so that Teary Trieschke became impossiblein Meng Street.

“They are all alike,” said Madame Grünlich; “ah, theyare all alike. Oh, heavens, what a goose I was once! Butlife has destroyed my faith in men. Most of them are scoundrels—alas,it is the truth. Grünlich—” The name was, asalways, like a summons to battle. She uttered it with hershoulders lifted and her eyes rolled up.

Sievert Tiburtius was a small, narrow man with a largehead and a thin, long, blond beard parted in the middle,so that he sometimes put the ends back over his shoulders.A quantity of little woolly ringlets covered his round head.His ears were large and outstanding, very much curled upat the edges and pointed at the tips like the ears of a fox.His nose sat like a tiny flat button in his face, his cheek-bonesstood out, and his grey eyes, usually drawn close together andblinking about rather stupidly, could at certain momentswiden quite extraordinarily, and get larger and larger, protrudingmore and more until they almost sprang out of theirsockets.

This Pastor Tiburtius, who came from Riga, had preachedfor some years in central Germany, and now touched at thetown on his way back home, where a living had been offeredto him. Armed with the recommendation of a brother of thecloth who had eaten at least once in Meng Street of mock-turtlesoup and ham with onion sauce, he waited upon theFrau Consul and was invited to be her guest for a few days.He occupied the spacious guest-chamber off the corridor inthe first storey. But he stopped longer than he had expected.Eight days passed, and still there was this or that to beseen: the dance of death and the apostle-clock in St. Mary’s,the Town Hall, the ancient Ships’ Company, the Cathedralclock with the movable eyes. Ten days passed, and he spokerepeatedly of his departure, but at the first word of demurfrom anybody would postpone anew.

He was a better man than Herr Jonathan or Teary Trieschke.He thought not at all about Frau Antonie’s curls and wrote[283]her no letters. Strange to say, he paid his attentions toClara, her younger and more serious sister. In her presence,when she spoke, entered or left the room, his eyes wouldgrow surprisingly larger and larger and open out until theynearly jumped out of his head. He would spend almost theentire day in her company, in spiritual or worldly converseor reading aloud to her in his high voice and with thedroll, jerky pronunciation of his Baltic home.

Even on the first day he said: “Permit me to say, FrauConsul, what a treasure and blessing from God you havein your daughter Clara. She is certainly a wonderfulchild.”

“You are right,” replied the Frau Consul. But he repeatedhis opinion so often that she began looking him overwith her pale-blue eyes, and led him on to speak of hishome, his connections, and his prospects. She learned that hecame of a mercantile family, that his mother was with God,that he had no brothers and sisters, and that his old fatherhad retired and lived on his income in Riga—an incomewhich would sometime fall to him, Pastor Tiburtius. Healso had a sufficient living from his calling.

Clara Buddenbrook was now in her nineteenth year. Shehad grown to be a young lady of an austere and peculiarbeauty, with a tall, slender figure, dark, smooth hair, andstern yet dreamy eyes. Her nose was slightly hooked, hermouth a little too firmly closed. In the household she wasmost intimate with her poor and pious cousin Clothilde,whose father had lately died, and whose idea it was to “establishherself” soon—which meant to go into a pension somewherewith the money and furniture which she had inherited.Clara had nothing of Clothilde’s meek and hungry submissiveness.On the contrary, with the servants and even withher brothers and sister and mother, a commanding tone wasusual with her. Her low voice, which seemed only to dropwith decision and never to rise with a question, had an imperioussound and could often take on a short, hard, impatient,[284]haughty quality—on days, for example, when Clara had aheadache.

Before the father’s death had shrouded the family in mourning,she had taken part with irreproachable dignity in thesociety of her parents’ house and other houses of like rank.But when the Frau Consul looked at her, she could not denythat, despite the stately dowry and Clara’s domestic prowess,it would not be easy to marry her off. None of the godless,jovial, claret-drinking merchants of their circle would answerin the least; a clergyman would be the only suitable partnerfor this earnest and God-fearing maiden. After the FrauConsul had conceived this joyful idea, she responded withfriendliness to the delicate advances of Pastor Tiburtius.

And truly the affair developed with precision. On a warm,cloudless July afternoon the family took a walk: the FrauConsul, Antonie, Christian, Clara, Clothilde, Erica Grünlich,and Mamsell Jungmann, with Pastor Tiburtius in their midst,went out far beyond the Castle Gate to eat strawberries andclotted milk or porridge at a wooden table laid out-of-doors,going after the meal into the large nut-garden which randown to the river, in the shade of all sorts of fruit-trees,between currant and gooseberry bushes, asparagus and potatopatches.

Sievert Tiburtius and Clara Buddenbrook stopped a littlebehind the others. He, much the smaller of the two, with hisbeard parted back over his shoulders, had taken off his broad-brimmedblack hat from his big head; and he wiped his brownow and then with his handkerchief. His eyes were largerthan usual and he carried on with her a long and gentleconversation, in the course of which they both stood still, andClara, with a serious, calm voice said her “Yes.”

After they returned, the Frau Consul, a little tired andoverheated, was sitting alone in the landscape-room, whenPastor Tiburtius came and sat beside her. Outside therereigned the pensive calm of the Sabbath afternoon; and theysat inside and held, in the brightness of the summer evening,[285]a long, low conversation, at the end of which the Frau Consulsaid: “Enough, my dear Herr Pastor. Your offer coincideswith my motherly plans for my daughter; and you onyour side have not chosen badly—that I can assure you. Whowould have thought that your coming and your stay here inour house would be so wonderfully blest! I will not speakmy final word to-day, for I must write first to my son, theConsul, who is at present, as you know, away. You willtravel to-morrow, if you live and have your health, to Riga,to take up your work; and we expect to go for some weeksto the seashore. You will receive word from me soon, andGod grant that we shall have a happy meeting.”

That year there was indeed a merry midsummer holiday inthe Buddenbrook home. At the end of July Thomas returnedto Meng Street and visited his family at the shoreseveral times, like the other business men in the town. Christianhad allotted full holidays unto himself, as he complainedof an indefinite ache in his left leg. Dr. Grabow did notseem to treat it successfully, and Christian thought of it somuch the more.

“It is not a pain—one can’t call it a pain,” he expatiated,rubbing his hand up and down his leg, wrinkling his big nose,and letting his eyes roam about. “It is a sort of ache, acontinuous, slight, uneasy ache in the whole leg and on theleft side, the side where the heart is. Strange. I find itstrange—what do you think about it, Tom?”

“Well, well,” said Tom, “you can have a rest and thesea-baths.”

So Christian went down to the shore to tell stories tohis fellow-guests, and the beach resounded with their laughter.Or he played roulette with Peter Döhlmann, Uncle Justus,Dr. Gieseke, and other Hamburg high-fliers.

Consul Buddenbrook went with Tony, as always when theywere in Travemünde, to see the old Schwarzkopfs on thefront. “Good day, Ma’am Grünlich,” said the pilot-captain,and spoke low German out of pure good feeling.

“Well, well, what a long time ago that was! AndMorten, he’s a doctor in Breslau and has all the practice inthe town, the rascal.” Frau Schwarzkopf ran off and madecoffee, and they supped in the green verandah as they usedto—only all of them were a good ten years older, and Morten[291]and little Meta were not there, she having married the magistrateof Haffkrug. And the captain, already white-haired andrather deaf, had retired from his office—and Madame Grünlichwas not a goose any more! Which did not prevent herfrom eating a great many slices of bread and honey, for, asshe said: “Honey is a pure nature product—one knowswhat one is getting.”

At the beginning of August the Buddenbrooks, like most ofthe other families, returned to town; and then came the greatmoment when, almost at the same time, Pastor Tiburtius fromPrussia and the Arnoldsens from Holland arrived for a longvisit in Meng Street.

It was a very pretty scene when the Consul led his bridefor the first time into the landscape-room and took her to hismother, who received her with outstretched arms. Gerdahad grown tall and splendid. She walked with a free andgracious bearing; with her heavy dark-red hair, her close-setbrown eyes with the blue shadows round them, her large,gleaming teeth which showed when she smiled, her straightstrong nose and nobly formed mouth, this maiden of seven-and-twentyyears had a strange, aristocratic, haunting beauty. Herface was white and a little haughty, but she bowed her headas the Frau Consul with gentle feeling took it between herhands and kissed the pure, snowy forehead. “Yes, you arewelcome to our house and to our family, you dear, beautiful,blessed creature,” she said. “You will make him happy. DoI not see already how happy you make him?” And shedrew Thomas forward with her other arm, to kiss him also.

Never, except perhaps in Grandfather’s time, was theremore gay society in the great house, which accommodatedits guests with ease. Pastor Tiburtius had modestly chosena bed-chamber in the back building next the billiard-room.But the rest divided the unoccupied space on the ground floornext the hall and in the first storey: Gerda; Herr Arnoldsen,a quick, clever man at the end of the fifties, with apointed grey beard and a pleasant impetuosity in every motion;[292]his oldest daughter, an ailing-looking woman; and hisson-in-law, an elegant man of the world, who was turned overto Christian for entertainment in the town and at the club.

Antonie was overjoyed that Sievert Tiburtius was the onlyparson in the house. The betrothal of her adored brotherrejoiced her heart. Aside from Gerda’s being her friend, theparti was a brilliant one, gilding the family name and thefirm with such new glory! And the three-hundred-thousandmark dowry and the thought of what the town and particularlythe Hagenströms would say to it, put her in a state of prolongedand delightful enchantment. Three times daily, atleast, she passionately embraced her future sister-in-law.

“Oh, Gerda,” she cried, “I love you—you know I alwaysdid love you. I know you can’t stand me—you used to hateme; but—”

“Why, Tony!” said Fräulein Arnoldsen. “How could Ihave hated you? Did you ever do anything to me?” Forsome reason, however—probably out of mere wantonness andlove of talking—Tony asserted stoutly that Gerda had alwayshated her, while she on her side had always returned the hatewith love. She took Thomas aside and told him: “You havedone very well, Tom. Oh, heavens, how well you have done!If Father could only see this—it is just dreadful that hecannot! Yes, this wipes out a lot of things—not least theaffair with that person whose name I do not even like tospeak.”

Which put it into her head to take Gerda into an emptyroom and tell her with awful detail the story of her marriedlife with Bendix Grünlich. Then they talked for hoursabout boarding-school days and the bed-time gossip; of Armgardvon Schilling in Mecklenburg and Eva Ewers in Munich.Tony paid little or no attention to Sievert Tiburtius and hisbetrothed—which troubled them not at all. The lovers satquietly together hand in hand, and spoke gently and earnestlyof the beautiful future before them.

As the year of mourning was not quite over, the two betrothals[293]were celebrated only in the family. But Gerdaquickly became a celebrity in the town. Her person formedthe chief subject of conversation on the Bourse, at the club,at the theatre, and in society. “Tip-top,” said the gallants,and clucked their tongues, for that was the latest Hamburgslang for a superior article, whether a brand of claret, acigar, or a “deal.” But among the solid, respectable citizensthere was much head-shaking. “Something queer about her,”they said. “Her hair, her face, the way she dresses—a littletoo unusual.” Sorenson expressed it: “She has a certainsomething about her!” He made a face as if he were onthe Bourse and somebody had made him a doubtful proposition.But it was all just like Consul Buddenbrook: a littlepretentious, not like his forebears. Everybody knew—notleast Benthien the draper—that he ordered his clothes fromHamburg: not only the fine new-fashioned materials for hissuits—and he had a great many of them, cloaks, coats, waistcoats,and trousers—but his hats and cravats and linen as well.He changed his shirt every day, sometimes twice a day, andperfumed his handkerchief and his moustache, which he worecut like Napoleon III. All this was not for the sake of thefirm, of course—the house of Johann Buddenbrook did notneed that sort of thing—but to gratify his own personal tastefor the superfine and aristocratic—or whatever you might callit. And then the quotations from Heine and other poetswhich he dropped sometimes in the most practical connections,in business or civic matters! And now, his bride—well,Consul Buddenbrook himself had “a certain something” abouthim! All this, of course, with the greatest respect; for thefamily was highly esteemed, the firm very, very “good,” andthe head of it an able and charming man who loved his cityand would still serve her well. It was really a devilishlyfine match for him; there was talk of a hundred thousandthaler down; but of course.... Among the ladies there weresome who found Gerda “silly”; which, it will be recalled,was a very severe judgment.

[294]But the man who gazed with furious ardour at ThomasBuddenbrook’s bride, the first time he saw her on the street,was Gosch the broker. “Ah!” he said in the club or theShips’ Company, lifting his glass and screwing up his faceabsurdly, “what a woman! Hera and Aphrodite, Brunhildaand Melusine all in one! Oh, how wonderful life is!” hewould add. And not one of the citizens who sat about withtheir beer on the hard wooden benches of the old guild-house,under the models of sailing vessels and big stuffed fish hangingdown from the ceiling, had the least idea what the adventof Gerda Arnoldsen meant in the yearning life of Gosch thebroker.

The little company in Meng Street, not committed, as wehave seen, to large entertainments, had the more leisure forintimacy with each other. Sievert Tiburtius, with Clara’shand in his, talked about his parents, his childhood, and hisfuture plans. The Arnoldsens told of their people, who camefrom Dresden, only one branch of them having been transplantedto Holland.

Madame Grünlich asked her brother for the key of thesecretary in the landscape-room, and brought out the portfoliowith the family papers, in which Thomas had already enteredthe new events. She proudly related the Buddenbrookhistory, from the Rostock tailor on; and when she read outthe old festival verses:

she looked at Tom and Gerda and let her tongue play overher lips. Regard for historical veracity also caused her tonarrate events connected with a certain person whose name shedid not like to mention!

On Thursday at four o’clock the usual guests came. UncleJustus brought his feeble wife, with whom he lived an unhappy[295]existence. The wretched mother continued to scrapetogether money out of the housekeeping to send to the degenerateand disinherited Jacob in America, while she and herhusband subsisted on almost nothing but porridge. The Buddenbrookladies from Broad Street also came; and their loveof truth compelled them to say, as usual, that Erica Grünlichwas not growing well and that she looked more than everlike her wretched father. Also that the Consul’s bride worea rather conspicuous coiffure. And Sesemi Weichbrodt cametoo, and standing on her tip-toes, kissed Gerda with her littleexplosive kiss on the forehead and said with emotion: “Behappy, my dear child.”

At table Herr Arnoldsen gave one of his witty and fancifultoasts in honour of the two bridal pairs. While the rest dranktheir coffee he played the violin, like a gipsy, passionately,with abandonment—and with what dexterity!... Gerdafetched her Stradivarius and accompanied him in his passageswith her sweet cantilena. They performed magnificent duetsat the little organ in the landscape-room, where once theConsul’s grandfather had played his simple melodies on theflute.

“Sublime!” said Tony, lolling back in her easy-chair. “Oh,heavens, how sublime that is!” And she rolled up her eyesto the ceiling to express her emotions. “You know how itis in life,” she went on, weightily. “Not everybody is givensuch a gift. Heaven has unfortunately denied it to me,though I used to pray for it at night. I am a goose, a sillycreature. You know, Gerda—I am the elder and have learnedto know life—let me tell you, you ought to thank your Creatorevery day on your knees, for being such a gifted creature!”

“Oh, please,” said Gerda, with a laugh, showing her beautifullarge white teeth.

Later they all ate wine jelly and discussed their plans forthe near future. At the end of that month or the beginningof September, it was decided, Sievert Tiburtius and the Arnoldsenswould go home. Then, directly after Christmas,[296]Clara’s wedding would be celebrated with due solemnity inthe great hall. The Frau Consul, health permitting, wouldattend Tom’s wedding in Amsterdam. But it must be put offuntil the beginning of the next year, that there might be alittle pause for rest between. It was no use for Thomas toprotest. “Please,” said the Frau Consul, and laid her handon his sleeve. “Sievert should have the precedence, I think.”

The Pastor and his bride had decided against a weddingjourney. Gerda and Thomas, however, were to take a tripto northern Italy, as far as Florence, and be gone about twomonths. In the meantime Tony, with the help of the upholstererJacobs in Fish Street, was to make ready the charminglittle house in Broad Street, the property of a bachelorwho had moved to Hamburg. The Consul was already arrangingfor its purchase. Oh, Tony would furnish it to theQueen’s taste. “It will be perfect,” she said. They wereall sure it would.

Christian looked on while the two bridal pairs held hands,and listened to the talk about weddings and trousseaux andbridal journeys. His nose looked bigger and his legs morecrooked than ever. He felt an indefinite sort of pain in theleft one, and stared solemnly at them all out of his littleround deep-set eyes. Finally, in the accents of MarcellusStengel, he said to his cousin Clothilde, who sat elderly,dried-up, silent, and hungry, at table among the happythrong: “Well, Tilda, let’s us get married too—I mean, ofcourse each one for himself.”

Some six months later Consul Buddenbrook returned withhis bride from Italy. The March snows lay in Broad Streetas the carriage drove up at five o’clock before the front doorof their simple painted façade. A few children and grownfolk had stopped to watch the home-coming pair descend.Frau Antonie Grünlich stood proudly in the doorway, behindher the two servant-maids, with white caps, bare arms, andthick striped skirts—she had engaged them beforehand forher sister-in-law. Flushed with pleasure and industry, she ranimpetuously down the steps; Gerda and Thomas climbed outof the trunk-laden carriage wrapped in their furs; and shedrew them into the house in her embrace.

“Here you are! You lucky people, to have travelled sofar in the world. ‘Knowest thou the house? High-pillaredare its walls!’ Gerda, you are more beautiful than ever;here, I must kiss you—no, so, on the mouth. How are you,Tom, old fellow?—yes, I must kiss you too. Marcus sayseverything has gone well here. Mother is waiting for youat home, but you can first just make yourselves comfortable.Will you have some tea? Or a bath? Everything is ready—youwon’t complain. Jacobs did his best—and I have doneall I could, too.”

They went together into the vestibule, and the servantsbrought in the luggage with the help of the coachman. Tonysaid: “The rooms here in the parterre you will probablynot need for the present. For the present,” she repeated,running her tongue over her upper lip. “Look, this ispretty,” and she opened a door directly next the vestibule.“Simple oak furniture, ivy at the windows. Over there, the[298]other side of the corridor, is another room, a larger one.Here on the right are the kitchen and larder. But let’s goup. I will show you everything.” They went up the stairs,which were covered with a dark-red runner. Above, behinda glass partition, was a narrow corridor which led to thedining-room. This had dark-red damask wall-paper, a heavyround table upon which the samovar was steaming, a massivesideboard, and chairs of carved nut-wood, with rush seats.Then there was a comfortable sitting-room upholstered ingrey, separated by portières from a small salon with abay-window and furniture in green striped rep. A fourthof this whole storey was occupied by a large hall with threewindows.

Then they went into the sleeping-room, on the right of thecorridor. It had flowered hangings and solid mahogany beds.Tony passed on to a small door with open-work carving inthe opposite wall, and displayed a winding stair leading fromthe bedroom to the lower floors, the bathroom, and the servants’quarters.

“It is pretty here. I shall stop here,” said Gerda, and sankwith a deep breath into the reclining-chair beside one of thebeds.

The Consul bent over and kissed her forehead. “Tired? Ifeel like that too. I should like to tidy up a bit.”

“I’ll look after the tea,” said Tony Grünlich, “and waitfor you in the dining-room.”

The tea stood steaming in the Meissenware cups whenThomas entered. “Here I am,” he said. “Gerda would liketo rest a little. She has a headache. Afterward we will goto Meng Street. Well, how is everything, my dear Tony—allright? Mother, Erica, Christian? But now,” he wenton with his most charming manner, “our warmest thanks—Gerda’stoo—for all your trouble, you good soul. Howpretty you have made everything! Nothing is missing.—Ionly need a few palms for my wife’s bay-window; and Imust look about for some suitable oil paintings. But tell[299]me, now, how are you? What have you been doing all thistime?”

He had drawn up a chair for his sister beside himself, andslowly drank his tea and ate a biscuit as they talked.

“Oh, Tom,” she answered. “What should I be doing? Mylife is over.”

“Nonsense, Tony—you and your life! But it is pretty tiresome,is it?”

“Yes, Tom, it is very tiresome. Sometimes I just have toshriek, out of sheer boredom. It has been nice to be busywith this house, and you don’t know how happy I am atyour return. But I am not happy here—God forgive me, ifthat is a sin. I am in the thirties now, but I’m still notquite old enough to make intimate friends with the last of theHimmelsburgers, or the Miss Gerhardts, or any of mother’sblack friends that come and consume widows’ homes. Idon’t believe in them, Tom; they are wolves in sheep’s clothing—ageneration of vipers. We are all weak creatures withsinful hearts, and when they begin to look down on me fora poor worldling I laugh in their faces. I’ve always thoughtthat all men are the same, and that we don’t need any intercessorsbetween us and God. You know my political beliefs.I think the citizens—”

“Then you feel lonely?” Tom asked, to bring her back toher starting-point. “But you have Erica.”

“Yes, Tom, and I love the child with my whole heart—althougha certain person did use to declare that I am not fondof children. But you see—I am perfectly frank; I am anhonest woman and speak as I think, without making words—”

“Which is splendid of you, Tony.”

“Well, in short—it is sad, but the child reminds me toomuch of Grünlich. The Buddenbrooks in Broad Street thinkshe is very like him too. And then, when I see her beforeme I always think: ‘You are an old woman with a big daughter,and your life is over. Once for a few years you werealive; but now you can grow to be seventy or eighty years[300]old, sitting here and listening to Lea Gerhardt read aloud.’That is such an awful thought, Tom, that a lump comes inmy throat. Because I still feel so young, and still long tosee life again. And besides, I don’t feel comfortable—notonly in the house; but in the town. You know I haven’t beenstruck blind. I have my eyes in my head and see how thingsare; I am not a stupid goose any more, I am a divorcedwoman—and I am made to feel it, that’s certain. Believeme, Tom, it lies like a weight on my heart, to know that Ihave besmirched our name, even if it was not any fault ofmine. You can do whatever you will, you can earn moneyand be the first man in the town—but people will still say:‘Yes, but his sister is a divorced woman.’ Julchen Möllendorpf,the Hagenström girl—she doesn’t speak to me! Oh,well, she is a goose. It is the same with all families.And yet I can’t get rid of the hope that I could make it allgood again. I am still young—don’t you think I am stillrather pretty? Mamma cannot give me very much again, buteven what she can give is an acceptable sum of money. SupposeI were to marry again? To confess the truth, Tom, itis my most fervent wish. Then everything would be putright and the stain wiped out. Oh, if I could only make amatch worthy of our name, and set myself up again—do youthink it is entirely out of the question?”

“Not in the least, Tony. Heaven forbid! I have alwaysthought of it. But it seems to me that in the first place youmust get out a little, have a little change, and brighten upa bit.”

“Yes, that’s it,” she cried eagerly. “Now I must tell youa little story.”

Thomas was well pleased. He leaned back in his chairand smoked his second cigarette. The twilight was coming on.

“Well, then, while you were away, I almost took a situation—aposition as companion in Liverpool! Would you havethought it was shocking? Oh, I know it would have beenundignified! But I was so wildly anxious to get away. The[301]plan came to nothing. I sent my photograph to the lady,and she wrote that she must decline my services, because Iwas too pretty—there was a grown son in the house. ‘Youare too pretty,’ she wrote! I don’t know when I have been sopleased.”

They both laughed heartily.

“But now I have something else in mind,” went on Tony.“I have had an invitation, from Eva Ewers, to go to Munich.Her name is Eva Niederpaur now; her husband is superintendentof a brewery. Well, she has asked me to visit her,and I think I will take advantage of the invitation. Of course,Erica could not go with me. I would put her in SesemiWeichbrodt’s pension. She would be well taken care of.Have you any objection?”

“Not at all. It is necessary, in any case, that you shouldmake some new connections.”

“Yes, that’s it,” she said gratefully. “But now, Tom. Ihave been talking the whole time about myself; I am a selfishthing. Now, tell me your affairs. Oh, Heavens, how happyyou must be.”

“Yes, Tony,” he said with emphasis. There was a pause.He blew out the smoke across the table and continued: “Inthe first place, I am very glad to be married and set up anestablishment. You know I should not make a good bachelor.It has a side to it that suggests loneliness and also laziness—andI am ambitious, as you know. I don’t feel that my careeris finished, either in business or—to speak half-jestingly—inpolitics. And a man gains the confidence of the world betterif he is a family man and a father. Though I came withinan ace of not doing it, after all! I am a bit fastidious. Fora long time I thought it would not be possible to find theright person. But the sight of Gerda decided me. I felt atonce that she was the only one for me: though I know thereare people in town who don’t care for my taste. She isa wonderful creature; there are few like her in the world.She is nothing like you, Tony, to be sure. You are simpler,[302]and more natural too. My lady sister is simply more temperamental,”he continued, suddenly taking a lighter tone.“Oh, Gerda has temperament too—her playing shows that;but she can sometimes be a little cold. In short, she is notto be measured by the ordinary standards. She is an artist,an individual, a puzzling, fascinating creature.”

“Yes, yes,” Tony said. She had given her brother theclosest attention. It was nearly dark, and she had not thoughtof lighting the lamps.

The corridor door opened, and there stood before them inthe twilight, in a pleated piqué house-frock, white as snow,a slender figure. The heavy dark-red hair framed her whiteface, and blue shadows lay about her close-set brown eyes.It was Gerda, mother of future Buddenbrooks.

[304]

Thomas Buddenbrook took a solitary early breakfast in hispretty dining-room. His wife usually left her room late, asshe was subject to headaches and vapours in the morning.The Consul went at once to Meng Street, where the officesstill were, took his second breakfast with his mother, Christianand Ida Jungmann in the entresol, and met Gerda onlyat dinner, at four in the afternoon.

The ground floor of the old house still preserved the lifeand movement of a great business; but the upper storeys wereempty and lonely. Little Erica had been received as a boarderby Mademoiselle Weichbrodt, and poor Clothilde had movedwith her few sticks of furniture into a cheap pension withthe widow of a high-school teacher, a Frau Dr. Krauseminz.Even Anton had left the house, and gone over to the youngpair, where he was more needed. When Christian was at theclub, the Frau Consul and Ida Jungmann sat at four o’clockdinner alone at the round table, in which there was now nota single extra leaf. It looked quite lost in the great spacesof the dining-temple with its images of the gods.

The social life of Meng Street had been extinguished withthe death of Consul Johann Buddenbrook. Except for thevisits of this or that man of God, the Frau Consul saw noguests but the members of her family, who still came onThursday afternoons. But the first great dinner had alreadybeen given by the young pair in Broad Street. Tables werelaid in both dining- and living-room, and there were a hiredcook and waiters and Kistenmaker wines. It began at fiveo’clock, and its sounds and smells were still in the air ateleven. All the business and professional men were present,[306]married pairs and bachelors as well: all the tribe of Langhals,Hagenströms, Huneus’, Kistenmakers, Överdiecks, and Möllendorpfs.It finished off with whist and music. They talkedabout it in glowing terms on the Bourse for a whole week.The young Frau Consul certainly knew how to entertain!When she and the Consul were alone, in the room lighted byburned-down candles, with the furniture disarranged and theair thick with heavy odours of rich food, wine, cigars, coffee,perfume, and the scent of the flowers from the ladies’ toilettesand the table decorations, he pressed her hand and said:“Very good, Gerda. We do not need to be ashamed. Thissort of thing is necessary. I have no great fondness for balls,and having the young people jumping about here; and, besides,there is not room. But we must entertain the settledpeople. A dinner like that costs a bit more—but it is wellspent.”

“You are right,” she had answered, and arranged the lacesthrough which her bosom shimmered like marble. “I muchprefer the dinners to the balls myself. A dinner is so soothing.I had been playing this afternoon, and felt a littlequeer. My brain feels quite dead now. If I were to bestruck by lightning I should not change colour.”

Next morning at half-past eleven the Consul sat down besidehis Mother at the breakfast-table, and she read a letteraloud to him:

Here the Consul began to laugh, leaning back in the sofawith a piece of bread and herb cheese in his hand.

“Yes, Tom, you are laughing,” said his Mother, and tappedwith her middle finger on the table. “But it pleases me verymuch that she holds fast to the faith of her fathers and shunsthe unevangelical gim-crackery. I know that you felt a certainsympathy for the papal church, while you were in Franceand Italy: but that is not religion in you, Tom—it is somethingelse, and I understand what. We must be forbearing; yet[308]in these things a frivolous feeling of fascination is verymuch to be regretted. I pray God that you and your Gerda,—forI well know that she does not belong to those firm in thefaith—will in the course of time feel the necessary seriousness.You will forgive your mother her words, I know.”

On top of the fountain (she continued reading) there is aMadonna, and sometimes she is crowned with a wreath, andthe common people come with rose garlands and kneel downand pray—which looks very pretty, but it is written: “Gointo your chamber.” You often see monks here in the street;they look very respectable. But—imagine, Mamma!—yesterdayin Theatiner Street some high dignitary of the churchwas driving past me in his coach; perhaps it was an archbishop;anyhow, an elderly man—well, this gentleman throwsme an ogling look out of the window, like a lieutenant of theGuard! You know, Mother, I’ve no great opinion of yourfriends the ministers and missionaries, but Teary Trieschkewas certainly nothing compared to this rakish old prince ofthe Church.

“Horrors!” interjected the Frau Consul, shocked.

“That’s Tony, to the life,” said the Consul.

“How is that, Tom?”

“Well, perhaps she just invited him a trifle—to try him,you know. I know Tony. And I am sure the ‘ogling look’delighted her hugely, which was probably what the old gentlemanwanted.”

The Frau Consul did not take this up, but continued toread:

Again the Consul was obliged to stop eating and lean backin his chair to laugh.

“She is simply priceless, Mother. And when she tries todissimulate, she is incomparable. She is a thousand milesaway from being able to carry it off.”

“Yes, Tom,” said the Frau Consul, “she is a good child,and deserves good fortune.” And she finished the letter.

At the end of April Frau Grünlich returned home. Anotherepoch was behind her, and the old existence began again—attendingthe daily devotions and the Jerusalem evenings andhearing Lea Gerhardt read aloud. Yet she was obviously ina gay and hopeful mood.

Her brother, the Consul, fetched her from the station—shehad come from Buchen—and drove her through the HolstenGate into the town. He could not resist paying her the oldcompliment—how, next to Clothilde, she was the prettiest onein the family; and she answered: “Oh, Tom, I hate you!To make fun of an old lady like that—”

But he was right, nevertheless: Madame Grünlich kept hergood looks remarkably. You looked at the thick ash-blondehair, rolled at the sides, drawn back above the little ears, andfastened on the top of the head with a broad tortoise-shellcomb; at the soft expression of her grey-blue eyes, her prettyupper lip, the fine oval and delicate colour of her face—andyou thought of three-and-twenty, perhaps; never of thirty.She wore elegant hanging gold earrings, which, in a somewhatdifferent form, her grandmother had worn before her.A loose bodice of soft dark silk, with satin revers and flatlace epaulettes, gave her pretty bosom an enchanting look ofsoftness and fulness.

She was in the best of tempers. On Thursday, when ConsulBuddenbrook and the ladies from Broad Street, Consul Kröger,Clothilde, Sesemi Wiechbrodt and Erica came to tea, shetalked vividly about Munich. The beer, the noodles, theartist who wanted to paint her, and the court coaches had madethe greatest impressions. She mentioned Herr Permaneder in[311]passing; and Pfiffi Buddenbrook let fall a word or two to theeffect that such a journey might be very agreeable, but didnot seem to have any practical results. Frau Grünlich passedthis by with dignity, though she put back her head and tuckedin her chin. She fell into the habit now, whenever the vestibulebell rang through the entry, of hurrying to the landingto see who had come. What might that mean? Probablyonly Ida Jungmann, Tony’s governess and year-long confidante,knew that. Ida would say, “Tony, my child, you willsee: he’ll come.”

The family was grateful to the returned traveller for hercheering presence; for the atmosphere of the house sadlyneeded brightening. The relations between the head of thefirm and his younger brother had not improved. Indeed,they had grown sadly worse. Their Mother, the Frau Consul,followed with anxious misgivings the course of events andhad enough to do to mediate between the two. Her hints tovisit the office more regularly were received in absent silenceby Christian. He met his brother’s remonstrances with a mortifiedair, making no defence, and for a few days would applyhimself with somewhat more zeal to the English correspondence.But there developed more and more in the elder an irritatedcontempt for the younger brother, not decreased by thefact that Christian received his occasional rebukes withoutseeming offence, only looking at him with the usual absentdisquiet in his eyes.

Tom’s irritable activity and the condition of his nerveswould not let him listen sympathetically or even patiently toChristian’s detailed accounts of his increasing symptoms. Tohis mother or sister, he referred to them with disgust as “thesilly phenomena of an obstinate introspection.”

The ache, the indefinite ache in Christian’s left leg, hadyielded by now to treatment; but the trouble in swallowingcame on often at table, and there was lately a difficulty inbreathing, an asthmatic trouble, which Christian thought forseveral weeks was consumption. He explained its nature and[312]activity at length to his family, his nose wrinkled up thewhile. Dr. Grabow was called in. He said the heart andlungs were operating soundly, but the occasional difficulty inbreathing was due to muscular sluggishness, and ordered firstthe use of a fan and secondly that of a green powder whichone burned, inhaling the smoke. Christian used the fan inthe office, and to a remonstrance on the part of the chief answeredthat in Valparaiso every man in the office was providedwith a fan on account of the heat: “Johnny Thunderstorm—goodGod!” But one day, after he had been wrigglingabout on his chair for some time, nervous and restless, he tookhis powder out of his pocket and made such a strong andviolent-smelling reek in the room that some of the men beganto cough violently, and Herr Marcus grew quite pale. Therewas an open explosion, a scandal, a dreadful talking-to whichwould have led to a break at once, but that the Frau Consulonce more covered everything all up, reasoned them out of it,and set things going again.

But this was not all. The life Christian led outside thehouse, mainly with his old schoolmate Lawyer Gieseke, wasobserved by the Consul with disgust. He was no prig, nospoil-sport. He knew very well that his native town, thisport and trading city, where men walked the streets proud oftheir irreproachable reputation as business men, was by nomeans of spotless morality. They made up to themselves forthe tedious hours spent in their offices, by dinners with heavywines and heavy dishes—and by other things. But the broadmantle of civic respectability concealed this side of their life.Thomas Buddenbrook’s first law was to preserve “the dehors”;wherein he showed himself not so different from his fellowburghers. Lawyer Gieseke was a member of the professionalclass, whose habits of life were much like those of the merchants.That he was also a “good fellow,” anybody could seewho looked at him. But, like the other easy men of pleasurein the community, he knew how to avoid trouble by wearingthe proper expression and saying the proper thing. And in[313]political and professional matters, he had a reputation of irreproachablerespectability. His betrothal to Fräulein Huneushad just been announced; whereby he married a considerabledowry and a place in the best society. He was active in civicaffairs, and he had his eye on a seat in the Council—even,ultimately, on the seat of old Burgomaster Överdieck.

But his friend Christian Buddenbrook—the same who couldgo calmly up to Mlle. Meyer-de-la-Grange, present her hisbouquet, and say, “Oh, Fräulein, how beautifully you act!”—Christianhad been developed by character and circ*mstancesinto a free-liver of the naïve and untrammeled type. In affairsof the heart, as in all others, he was disinclined to governhis feelings or to practise discretion for the sake of preservinghis dignity. The whole town had laughed over his affair withan obscure actress at the summer theatre. Frau Stuht in BellFounders’ Street—the same who moved in the best society—toldeverybody who would listen how Chris had been seenagain walking by daylight in the open street with the personfrom the Tivoli.

Even that did not actually offend people. There was toomuch candid cynicism in the community to permit a displayof serious moral disapproval. Christian Buddenbrook, likeConsul Peter Döhlmann—whose declining business put himinto somewhat the same artless class—was a popular entertainerand indispensable to gentlemen’s companions. Butneither was taken seriously. In important matters theysimply did not count. It was a significant fact that the wholetown, the Bourse, the docks, the club, and the street calledthem by their first names—Peter and Chris. And enemies,like the Hagenströms, laughed not only at Chris’s stories andjokes; but at Chris himself, too.

He thought little or nothing of this. If he noticed it, itpassed out of his mind again after a momentary disquiet. Buthis brother the Consul knew it. Thomas knew that Christianafforded a point of attack to the enemies of the family—andthere were already too many such points. The connection[314]with the Överdiecks was distant and would be quite worthlessafter the Burgomaster’s death. The Krögers played no rôlenow; they lived retired, after the misfortunes with their son.The marriage of the deceased uncle Gotthold was always unpleasant.The Consul’s sister was a divorced wife, even if onedid not quite give up hope of her re-marrying. And hisbrother was a laughing-stock in the town, a man with whoseclownishness industrious men amused their leisure and thenlaughed good-naturedly or maliciously. He contracted debts,too, and at the end of the quarter, when he had no moremoney, would quite openly let Dr. Gieseke pay for him—whichwas a direct reflection on the firm. Thomas’s contemptuousill will, which Christian bore with quiet indifference,expressed itself in all the trifling situations that come up betweenmembers of a family. If the conversation turned uponthe Buddenbrook family history, Christian might be in themood to speak with serious love and admiration of his nativetown and of his ancestors. It sat rather oddly on him, to besure, and the Consul could not stand it: he would cut shortthe conversation with some cold remark. He despised hisbrother so much that he could not even permit him to lovewhere he did. If Christian had uttered the same sentimentsin the dialect of Marcellus Stengel, Tom could have borne itbetter. He had read a book, a historical work, which hadmade such a strong impression on him that he spoke about itand praised it in the family. Christian would by himselfnever have found out the book; but he was impressionableand accessible to every influence; so he also read it, found itwonderful, and described his reactions with all possible detail.That book was spoiled for Thomas for ever. He spokeof it with cold and critical detachment. He pretendedhardly to have read it. He completely gave it over to hisbrother, to admire all by himself.

Consul Buddenbrook came from the “Harmony”—a reading-clubfor men, where he had spent the hour after second breakfast—backinto Meng Street. He crossed the yard from behind,entered the side of the garden by the passage which ranbetween vine-covered walls and connected the back and frontcourtyards, and called into the kitchen to ask if his brotherwere at home. They should let him know when he came in.Then he passed through the office (where the men at the desksbent more closely over their work) into the private room;he laid aside his hat and stick, put on his working coat,and sat down in his place by the window, opposite Herr Marcus.Between his pale eyebrows were two deep wrinkles.The yellow end of a Russian cigarette roamed from one cornerof his mouth to the other. The movements with which hetook up paper and writing materials were so short and jerkythat Herr Marcus ran his two fingers up and down his beardand gave his colleague a long, scrutinizing look. The youngermen glanced at him with raised eyebrows. The Head wasangry.

After half an hour, during which nothing was heard but thescratching of pens and the sound of Herr Marcus discreetlyclearing his throat, the Consul looked over the green half-blindand saw Christian coming down the street. He wassmoking. He came from the club, where he had eaten andalso played a bit. He wore his hat a little awry on his head,and swung his yellow stick, which had come from “overthere” and had the bust of a nun for a handle. He was obviouslyin good health and the best of tempers. He came humminginto the office, said “Good morning, gentlemen,” although[316]it was a bright spring afternoon, and took his place to“do a bit of work.” But the Consul got up and, passing him,said without looking at him, “Oh, may I have a few words withyou?” Christian followed him. They walked rather rapidlythrough the entry. Thomas held his hands behind his back,and Christian involuntarily did the same, turning his big bonyhooked nose toward his brother. The red-blond moustachedrooped, English fashion, over his mouth. While they wentacross the court, Thomas said: “We will walk a few steps upand down the garden, my friend.”

“Good,” answered Christian. Then there was a long silenceagain, while they turned to the left and walked, by the outsideway, past the rococo “portal” right round the garden,where the buds were beginning to swell. Finally the Consulsaid in a loud voice, with a long breath, “I have just beenvery angry, on account of your behaviour.”

“My—?”

“Yes. I heard in the ‘Harmony’ about a remark of yoursthat you dropped in the club last evening. It was so obnoxious,so incredibly tactless, that I can find no words—thestupidity called down a sharp snub on you at once. Do youcare to recall what it was?”

“I know now what you mean. Who told you that?”

“What has that to do with it? Döhlmann.—In a voiceloud enough so that all the people who did not already knowthe story could laugh at the joke.”

“Well, Tom, I must say I was ashamed of Hagenström.”

“You were ashamed—you were—! Listen to me,” shoutedthe Consul, stretching out both hands in front of him andshaking them in excitement. “In a company consisting ofbusiness as well as professional men, you make the remark, foreverybody to hear, that, when one really considers it, everybusiness man is a swindler—you, a business man yourself,belonging to a firm that strains every nerve and muscle topreserve its perfect integrity and spotless reputation!”

“Good heavens, Thomas, it was a joke!—although,[317]really—” Christian hesitated, wrinkling his nose and stoopinga little. In this position he took a few steps.

“A joke!” shouted the Consul. “I think I can understand ajoke, but you see how your joke was understood. ‘For mypart, I have the greatest respect for my calling.’ That waswhat Hermann Hagenström answered you. And there yousat, a good-for-nothing, with no respect for yours—”

“Tom, you don’t know what you are talking about. I assureyou he spoiled the whole joke. After everybody laughed,as if they agreed with me, there sat this Hagenström andbrought out with ridiculous solemnity, ‘For my part—’ Stupidfool! I was really ashamed for him. I thought aboutit a long time in bed last night, and I had a quite remarkablefeeling—you know how it feels—”

“Stop chattering, stop chattering, I beg you,” interruptedthe Consul. He trembled with disgust in his whole body.“I agree—I agree with you that his answer was not in theright key, and that it was tasteless. But that is just the kindof people you pick out to say such things to!—if it is necessaryto say them at all—and so you lay yourself open to aninsolent snub like that. Hagenström took the opening to—givenot only you but us a slap. Do you understand what‘for my part’ meant? It meant: ‘You may have such ideasgoing about in your brother’s office, Herr Buddenbrook.’That’s what it meant, you idiot.”

“Idiot—?” said Christian. He looked disturbed and embarrassed.

“And finally, you belong not to yourself alone; I’m supposedto be indifferent when you make yourself personallyridiculous—and when don’t you make yourself personally ridiculous?”Thomas cried. He was pale, and the blue veinsstood out on his narrow temples, from which the hair wentback in two bays. One of his light eyebrows was raised;even the long, stiff pointed ends of his moustache lookedangry as he threw his words down at Christian’s feet on thegravel with quick sidewise gestures. “You make yourself[318]a laughing-stock with your love affairs, your harlequinades,your diseases and your remedies.”

Christian shook his head vehemently and put up a warningfinger. “As far as that goes, Tom, you don’t understand verywell, you know. The thing is—every one must attend to hisown conscience, so to speak. I don’t know if you understandthat.—Grabow has ordered me a salve for the throatmuscles. Well—if I don’t use it, if I neglect it, I am quitelost and helpless, I am restless and uncertain and worriedand upset, and I can’t swallow. But if I have been using it,I feel that I have done my duty, I have a good conscience, Iam quiet and calm and can swallow famously. The salvedoes not do it, you know, but the thing is that an idea likethat, you understand, can only be destroyed by another idea,an opposite one. I don’t know whether you understandme—”

“Oh, yes—oh, yes!” cried the Consul, holding his head fora moment with both hands. “Do it, do it, but don’t talkabout it—don’t gabble about it. Leave other people alonewith your horrible nuances. You make yourself ridiculouswith your absurd chatter from morning to night. I must tellyou, and I repeat it, I am not interested in how much youmake a fool of yourself personally. But I forbid your compromisingthe firm in the way you did yesterday evening.”

Christian did not answer, except to run his hand slowlyover his sparse red-brown locks, while his eyes roamed unsteadilyand absently, and unrest sat upon his face. Undoubtedlyhe was still busy with the idea which he had justbeen expressing.

There was a pause. Thomas stalked along with the calmnessof despair. “All business men are swindlers, you say,”he began afresh. “Good. Are you tired of it? Are yousorry you are a business man? You once got permission fromFather—”

“Why, Tom,” said Christian reflectively, “I would reallyrather study. It must be nice to be in the university. One[319]attends when one likes, at one’s own free will, sits down andlistens, as in the theatre—”

“As in the theatre! Yes, I think your right place is that ofa comedian in a café chantant. I am not joking. I am perfectlyconvinced that is your secret ideal.” Christian did notdeny it; he merely gazed aimlessly about. “And you havethe cheek to make such a remark—when you haven’t theslightest notion of work, and spend your days storing up alot of feelings and sensations and episodes you hear in thetheatre and when you are loafing about, God knows where;you take these and pet them and study them and chatter aboutthem shamelessly!”

“Yes, Tom,” said Christian. He was a little depressed, andrubbed his hand again over his head. “That is true: you haveexpressed it quite correctly. That is the difference betweenus. You enjoy the theatre yourself; and you had your littleaffairs too, once on a time, between ourselves! And therewas a time when you preferred novels and poetry and all that.But you have always known how to reconcile it with regularwork and a serious life. I haven’t that. I am quite used upwith the other; I have nothing left over for the regular life— Idon’t know whether you understand—”

“Oh, so you see that?” cried Thomas, standing still andfolding his arms on his breast. “You humbly admit that,and still you go on the same old way? Are you a dog, Christian?A man has some pride, by God! One doesn’t live alife that one may not know how to defend oneself. But soyou are. That is your character. If you can only see a thingand understand and describe it—. No, my patience is at anend, Christian.” And the Consul took a quick backward stepand made a gesture with his arms straight out. “It is at anend, I tell you.—You draw your pay, and stay away fromthe office. That isn’t what irritates me. Go and trifle yourlife away, as you have been doing, if you choose. But youcompromise us, all of us, wherever you are. You are agrowth, a fester, on the body of our family. You are a disgrace[320]to us here in this town, and if this house were mine, I’dshow you the door!” he screamed, making a wild sweepinggesture over the garden, the court, and the whole property.He had no more control of himself. A long-stored-up well ofhatred poured itself out.

“What is the matter with you, Thomas?” said Christian. Hewas seized with unaccustomed anger, standing there in aposition common to bow-legged people, like a questionmark,with head, stomach, and knees all prominent. His little deepeyes were wide open and surrounded by red rims down to thecheek-bones, as his Father’s used to be in anger. “How areyou speaking to me? What have I done to you? I’ll go,without being thrown out. Shame on you!” he added withdownright reproach, accompanying the word with a short,snapping motion in front of him, as if he were catching afly.

Strange to say, Thomas did not meet this outburst by moreanger. He bent his head and slowly took his way aroundthe garden. It seemed to quiet him, actually to do him goodto have made his brother angry at last—to have pushed himfinally to the energy of a protest.

“Believe me,” he said quietly, putting his hands behind hisback again, “this conversation is truly painful to me. Butit had to take place. Such scenes in the family are frightful,but we must speak out once for all. Let us talk the thingover quietly, young one. You do not like your present position,it seems?”

“No, Tom; you are right about that. You see, at first Iwas very well satisfied. I know I’m better off here than in astranger’s business. But what I want is the independence, Ithink. I have always envied you when I saw you sit thereand work, for it is really no work at all for you. You worknot because you must, but as master and head, and let otherswork for you, and you have the control, make your calculations,and are free. It is quite different.”

“Good, Christian. Why couldn’t you have said that before?[321]You can make yourself free, or freer, if you like. You knowFather left you as well as me an immediate inheritance offifty thousand marks current; and I am ready at any momentto pay out this sum for a reasonable and sound purpose. InHamburg, or anywhere else you like, there are plenty of safebut limited firms where they could use an increase of capital,and where you could enter as a partner. Let us think thematter over quietly, each by himself, and also speak to Motherat a good opportunity. I must get to work, and you couldfor the present go on with the English correspondence.” Asthey crossed the entry, he added, “What do you say, for instance,to H. C. F. Burmeester and Company in Hamburg?Import and export. I know the man. I am certain he wouldsnap at it.”

That was in the end of May of the year 1857. At the beginningof June Christian travelled via Buchen to Hamburg—aheavy loss to the club, the theatre, the Tivoli, and the liberallivers of the town. All the “good fellows,” among themDr. Gieseke and Peter Döhlmann, took leave of him at thestation, and brought him flowers and cigars, and laughed tosplit their sides—recalling, no doubt, all the stories Christianhad told them. And Lawyer Gieseke, amidst general applause,fastened to Christian’s overcoat a great favour made out ofgold paper. This favour came from a sort of inn in theneighbourhood of the port, a place of free and easy resortwhere a red lantern burned above the door at night, and itwas always very lively. The favour was awarded to the departingChris Buddenbrook for his distinguished services.

The outer bell rang, and Frau Grünlich appeared on thelanding to look down into the court—a habit she had latelyformed. The door was hardly opened below when she started,leaned over still more, and then sprang back with one handpressing her handkerchief to her mouth and the other holdingup her gown. She hurried upstairs.

On the steps to the second storey she met Ida Jungmann, towhom she whispered in a suffocated voice. Ida gave a joyousshriek and answered with some Polish gibberish.

The Frau Consul was sitting in the landscape-room, crochetinga shawl or some such article with two large woodenneedles. It was eleven o’clock in the morning.

The servant came through the hall, knocked on the glassdoor, and waddled in to bring the Frau Consul a visiting-card.She took the card, got out her sewing-glasses, and read it.Then she looked again at the girl’s red face; then read again;then looked up again at the girl. Finally she said calmly butfirmly:

“What is this, my dear? What does it mean?”

On the card was printed: “X. Noppe and Company.”The “X. Noppe” and the “and” were crossed out with a lead-pencil,so that only the “Company” was left. “Oh, FrauConsul,” said the maid, “there’s a gentleman, but he doesn’tspeak German, and he do go on so—”

“Ask the gentleman in,” said the Frau Consul; for sheunderstood now that it was the “Company” who desired admittance.The maid went. Then the glass door was openedagain to let in a stocky figure, who remained in the shadowybackground of the room for a moment and said with a drawling[323]pronunciation something that seemed as if it might havebeen: “I have the honour—”

“Good morning,” said the Frau Consul. “Will you notcome in?” And she supported herself on the sofa-cushionand rose a little; for she did not know yet whether she oughtto rise all the way or not.

“I take the liberty,” replied the gentleman in a pleasantsing-song; while he bowed in the politest manner, and tooktwo steps forward. Then he stood still again and lookedaround as if searching for something—perhaps for a place toput his hat and stick, for he had brought both—the stick beinga horn crutch with the top shaped like a claw and a goodfoot and a half long—into the room with him.

He was a man of forty years. Short-legged and chubby, hewore a wide-open coat of brown frieze and a light floweredwaistcoat which covered the gentle protuberant curve of hisstomach and supported a gold watch-chain with a whole bouquetof charms made of horn, bone, silver, and coral. Histrousers were of an indefinite grey-green colour and too short.The material must have been extraordinarily stiff, for theedges stood out in a circle around the legs of his short, broadboots. He had a bullet head, untidy hair, and a stubby nose,and the light-blond curly moustache drooping over his mouthmade him look like a walrus. By way of contrast, the imperialbetween his chin and his underlip stood out ratherbristly. His cheeks were extremely fat and puffy, crowdinghis eyes into two narrow light-blue cracks with wrinkles atthe corners. The whole face looked swollen and had a funnyexpression of fierceness, mingled with an almost touchinggood nature. Directly below his tiny chin a steep line raninto the white neck-cloth: his goiterous neck could not haveendured a choker. In fact, the whole lower part of his faceand his neck, the back of his head, his cheeks and nose, allran rather formlessly in together. The whole skin of theface was stretched to an immoderate tightness and showeda roughness at the ear-joinings and the sides of the nose. In[324]one of his short fat white hands the visitor held his stick; inthe other his green Tyrolese hat, decorated with a chamoisbeard.

The Frau Consul had taken off her glasses and was stillrising from her sofa-pillow.

“What can I do for you?” she asked politely but pointedly.

The gentleman, with a movement of decision, laid his hatand stick on the lid of the harmonium. He rubbed his freehands with satisfaction and looked at the Frau Consul outof his kindly, light-blue eyes. “I beg the gracious lady’spardon for the card,” he said. “I had no other by me. Myname is Permaneder—Alois Permaneder, from Munich. Perhapsyou might have heard my name from your daughter.”He said all this in a puzzling dialect with a rather loud,coarse voice; but there was a confidential gleam from thecracks of his eyes, which seemed to say: “I’m sure we understandeach other already.”

The Frau Consul had now risen entirely and went forwardwith her hand outstretched and her head inclined ingreeting.

“Herr Permaneder! Is it you? Certainly my daughterhas spoken of you. I know how much you contributed tomake her visit in Munich pleasant and entertaining. Andso some wind has blown you all the way up here?”

“That’s it; you’re just right there,” said Herr Permaneder.He sat down by the Frau Consul in the arm-chair which shegracefully indicated to him, and began to rub his short roundthighs comfortably with both hands.

“I beg your pardon?” asked the Frau Consul. She had notunderstood a single word of his remark.

“You’ve guessed it, that’s the point,” answered Herr Permaneder,as he stopped rubbing his knees.

“How nice!” said the Frau Consul blankly. She leanedback in her chair with feigned satisfaction and folded herhands. Actually, she was quite as much at sea as before,and inly wondering if Antonie were really able to follow the[325]windings of the Bavarian tongue. But Herr Permaneder—thoughhis appearance hardly led one to expect that he possessedacute sensibilities—saw through her at once. He bentforward, making—God knows why—circles in the air with hishand, and, struggling after clarity, enunciated the words:“The gracious lady is surprised?”

“Yes, Herr Permaneder, yes!” she cried, with disproportionatejoy, for she had really understood him. Perhapsthey could manage after all! But now there came a pause.To fill it out, Herr Permaneder gave a sort of groan, and followedit up by an exclamation in the broadest of dialect:something that shocked the Frau Consul because it soundedso like swearing, though it probably wasn’t—at least, shehoped not! Should she ask him to repeat it?

“Ah—what did you say?” she ventured, turning her lighteyes a little away, that he might not see the bewildermentthey expressed.

Herr Permaneder obliged by repeating, with extraordinaryloudness and coarseness. Surely it was something about acrucifix! Horrors!

“How nice!” she stammered again, with desperate finality;and thus this subject also was disposed of. It might bebetter to talk a little oneself. “May one ask,” she went on,“what brings you so far, Herr Permaneder? It is a goodlong journey from Munich!”

“A little business,” said Herr Permaneder, as before, andwaved his broad hand in the air. It was really touching, theefforts he made. “A little business, my dear lady, with thebrewery at Walkmill.”

“Oh, yes—you are hop merchants, of course, my dear HerrPermaneder: Noppe and Company, isn’t it? I am sure Ihave heard good things of your firm from my son,” said theFrau Consul cordially. Again she felt as if she were almostupon firm ground. Herr Permaneder waved away thecompliment. That was nothing to mention. No, the mainthing was, he wanted to pay his respects to the Frau Consul[326]and—see Frau Grünlich again. That was enough to make thejourney repay the trouble it cost.

The Frau Consul did not understand it all, but she got thegeneral drift, and was glad. “Oh, thank you,” she said, withthe utmost heartiness, and again offered him her hand, withthe palm outstretched.

“But we must call my daughter,” she added, and stood upand went toward the embroidered bell-pull near the glassdoor.

“Oh, Lord, yes, I’ll be glad to see her!” cried the hopmerchant, and turned his chair and himself toward the doorat one and the same time.

The Frau Consul said to the servant: “Ask Madame Grünlichto come down, my dear.”

Then she went back to her sofa, and Herr Permanederturned himself and his chair around again.

“Lord, yes, I’ll be glad!” he repeated, while he stared atthe hangings and the furniture and the great Sèvres inkstandon the secretary. But then he sighed heavily, several timesover, rubbed his knees, and gave vent to his favourite outlandishphrase. The Frau Consul thought it more discreetnot to inquire again into his meaning; besides, he mutteredit under his breath, with a sort of groan, though his mood,otherwise, appeared to be anything but despondent.

And now Frau Grünlich appeared. She had made a littletoilette, put on a light blouse, and dressed her hair. Herface looked fresher and prettier than ever, and the tip of hertongue played in the corner of her mouth.

Scarcely had she entered when Herr Permaneder sprangup and went to meet her with tremendous enthusiasm. Hevibrated all over. He seized both her hands, shook them andcried: “Well, Frau Grünlich! Well, well, grüss Gott!Well, and how’s it been going with you? What you beendoing up here? Yes, yes! Grüss Gott! Lord, I’m justsilly glad to see you. Do you think sometimes of little old[327]Munich and what a gay time we had? Oh, my, oh my! Andhere we are again. Who would ’a’ thought it?”

Tony, on her side, greeted him with great vivacity, drewup a chair, and began to chat with him about her weeks inMunich. Now the conversation went on without hitches, andthe Frau Consul followed it, smiling and nodding encouraginglyat Herr Permaneder. She would translate this or thatexpression into her own tongue, and then lean back into thesofa again, well pleased with her own intelligence.

Herr Permaneder had to explain to Frau Antonie in herturn the reason of his appearance. But he laid small stresson the “little business” with the brewery, and it was obviouslynot the occasion of his visit at all. He asked withinterest after the second daughter and the sons of the FrauConsul, and regretted loudly the absence of Clara and Christian,as he had always wanted to get acquainted with thewhole family.

He said his stay in the town was of indefinite length,but when the Frau Consul said: “I am expecting my sonfor second breakfast at any moment, Herr Permaneder. Willyou give us the pleasure of your company?” he accepted theinvitation almost before she gave it, with such alacrity thatit was plain he had expected it.

The Consul came. He had found the breakfast-room empty,and appeared in his office coat, tired and preoccupied, totake a hasty bite. But when he saw the strange guest withthe frieze jacket and the fantastic watch-chain, he became allcharm. He had heard his name often enough from FrauAntonie, and he threw a quick glance at his sister as hegreeted Herr Permaneder in his most fascinating manner. Hedid not sit down. They went directly down to the entresol,where Mamsell Jungmann had laid the table and set the samovar—areal samovar, a present from Pastor Tiburtius andClara.

“You’ve got it good here,” said Herr Permaneder, as he[328]let himself down in his chair and looked at the variety ofcold meats on the table. His grammar, now and then, wasof the most artless and disarming quality.

“It isn’t Munich beer, of course, Herr Permaneder, but stillit is better than our domestic brew.” And the Consul pouredhim a glass of the brown foaming porter, which he wasaccustomed to drink himself at midday.

“Thank you kindly, neighbour,” said Herr Permaneder,quite unaware of the outraged look Mamsell Jungmann castat him. But he drank so moderately of the porter that theFrau Consul had a bottle of red wine brought up; whereathe grew visibly gayer and began to talk with Frau Grünlichagain. He sat, on account of his prominent stomach, wellaway from the table, with his legs far apart, and one of hisarms, with the plump white hand, hanging down over thechair-back. He put his round head with its walrus moustacheon one side and blinked out of the cracks of his eyes naïvelyas he listened to Tony’s conversation. He looked offensivelycomfortable. As he had had no experience with sprats, shedaintily dismembered them for him, commenting the whileon life in general.

“Oh Heavens, how sad it is, Herr Permaneder, that everythinggood and lovely in this world is so fleeting,” she said,referring to her Munich visit. She laid down her knife andfork a moment and looked earnestly up at the ceiling. Shemade charming if unsuccessful efforts to speak Bavarian.

During the meal there was a knock at the door, and theoffice boy brought in a telegram. The Consul read it, lettingthe long ends of his moustache run through his fingers. Hewas plainly preoccupied with the contents of the message;but, even as he read it, he asked in the easiest tone: “Well,how is business, Herr Permaneder?—That will do,” he saidimmediately to the apprentice, who disappeared.

“Oh, well, neighbour,” answered Herr Permaneder, turninghimself about toward the Consul’s side with the awkwardnessof a man who has a thick, stiff neck, and letting his[329]other arm hang over the chair-back. “There’s naught tospeak of—it’s a fair plague. You see, Munich”—he pronouncedthe name of his native city in such a way that onecould only guess what he meant—“Munich is no commercialtown. Everybody wants his peace and quiet and his beer—nobodygets despatches while he’s eating; not there. You’rea different cut up here—Holy Sacrament! Yes, thank youkindly, I’ll take another glass. Tough luck, that’s what itis; tough luck. My partner, Noppe, wanted to go to Nuremberg,because they have a Bourse there and are keen on business,but I won’t forsake my Munich. Not me! That wouldbe a fine thing to do! You see, there’s no competition, andthe export trade is just silly. Even in Russia they’ll be beginningsoon to plant and build for themselves.”

Then he suddenly threw the Consul a quick, shrewd lookand said: “Oh, well, neighbour, ’tain’t so bad as it sounds.Yon’s a fair little business. We make money with the joint-stockbrewery, that Niederpaur is director of. That was justa small affair, but we’ve put it on its legs and lent it credit—cashtoo, four per cent on security—and now we can do businessat a profit, and we’ve collared a blame good trade already.”Herr Permaneder declined cigars and cigarettes andasked leave to smoke his pipe. He drew the long horn bowlout of his pocket, enveloped himself in a reek of smoke, andentered upon a business conversation with the Consul, whichglided into politics, and Bavaria’s relations with Prussia, andKing Max, and the Emperor Napoleon. He garnished hisviews with disjointed sighs and some perfectly unintelligibleMunich phrases.

Mamsell Jungmann, out of sheer astonishment, continuallyforgot to chew, even when she had food in her mouth. Sheblinked speechlessly at the guest out of her bright browneyes, standing her knife and fork perpendicularly on the tableand swaying them back and forth. This room had never beforebeheld Herr Permaneder’s like. Never had it been filledby such reeking pipe-smoke; such unpleasantly easy manners[330]were foreign to it. The Frau Consul abode in cordial miscomprehension,after she had made inquiries and received informationas to the sufferings of the little protestant oasisamong the Munich papists. Tony seemed to grow somewhatabsent and restive in the course of the meal. But the Consulwas highly entertained, asked his mother to order up anotherbottle of wine, and cordially invited Herr Permaneder to avisit in Broad Street—his wife would be charmed. A goodthree hours after his arrival the hop dealer began to showsigns of leaving—emptied his glass, knocked out his pipe,called something or other “bad luck,” and got up.

“I have the honour, madame. Good day, Frau Grünli’and Herr Consul—servant, servant.” At this Ida Jungmannactually shivered and changed colour. “Good day, Freilein,”he said to her, and he repeated “Good day” at the door.

The Frau Consul and her son exchanged a glance. HerrPermaneder had announced his intention of stopping at themodest inn on the Trave whither he had gone on arrival.The Frau Consul went toward him again. “My daughter’sMunich friend,” she began, “lives so far away that we shallhave no opportunity to repay her hospitality. But if you, mydear sir, would give us the pleasure of your company whileyou are in town—you would be very welcome.” She heldher hand out to him; and lo! Herr Permaneder accepted thisinvitation as blithely as he had the one to dinner. He kissedthe hands of both ladies—and a funny sight he was as hedid so—fetched his hat and stick from the landscape-room,and promised to have his trunk brought at once and to beon the spot at four o’clock, after transacting his business.Then he allowed the Consul to convoy him down the stairs.But even at the vestibule door he turned again and shookhands violently. “No offence, neighbour,” he said—“yoursister is certainly a great girl—no doubt about it. Goodday,” and he disappeared, still wagging his head.

The Consul felt an irresistible drawing to go up again andsee the ladies. Ida Jungmann had gone to look after the[331]linen for the guest-room. The Frau Consul still sat at thebreakfast-table, her light eyes fixed on a spot on the ceiling.She was lightly drumming with her white fingers on thecloth. Tony sat at the window, her arms folded, gazingstraight ahead of her with a severe air. Silence reigned.

“Well?” said Thomas, standing in the door and taking acigarette out of the box ornamented with the troika. Hisshoulders shook with laughter.

“A pleasant man,” commented the Frau Consul innocently.

“Quite my opinion.” The Consul made a quick, humorousturn toward Tony, as if he were asking her in the most respectfulmanner for her opinion as well. She was silent, andlooked neither to the right nor to the left.

“But I think, Tom, he ought to stop swearing,” went onthe Frau Consul with mild disapproval. “If I understoodhim correctly, he kept using the words Sacrament and Cross.”

“Oh, that’s nothing, Mother—he doesn’t mean anything bythat.”

“And perhaps a little too easy-mannered, Tom?”

“Oh, yes; that is south-German,” said the Consul, breathingthe smoke slowly out into the room. He smiled at hismother and stole glances at Tony. His mother saw the glancesnot at all.

“You will come to dinner to-day with Gerda. Please dome the favour, Tom.”

“Certainly, Mother, with the greatest of pleasure. To tellthe truth, I promise myself much pleasure from this guest,don’t you? He is something different from your ministers,in any case.”

“Everybody to his taste, Tom.”

“Of course. I must go now.—Oh, Tony,” he said, the door-handlein his hand, “you have made a great impression onhim. No, no joke. Do you know what he called you downthere just now? A great girl! Those were his very words.”

But here Frau Grünlich turned around and said clearly:“Very good, Tom. You are repeating his words—and I don’t[332]know that he would mind; but even so I am not sure it wasjust the nicest thing to do. But this much I do know: andthis much I am going to say: that in this life it does not dependon how things are said and expressed, but on how theyare felt and meant in the heart; and if you make fun ofHerr Permaneder’s language and find him ridiculous—”

“Who? Why? Tony, what an idea! Why are you gettingexcited—?”

“Assez,” said the Frau Consul, casting an imploring glanceat her son. It meant “Spare her!”

“Please don’t be angry, Tony,” he said. “I didn’t meanto provoke you. And now I will go and see that somebodyfrom the warehouse brings Herr Permaneder’s trunk. Aurevoir.”

Herr Permaneder moved into Meng Street; he ate dinnerwith Thomas Buddenbrook and his wife the following day;and on the third, a Thursday, he made the acquaintance ofJustus Kröger and his wife, the three ladies from BroadStreet, who found him “frightfully funny” (they said fr-right-fully),Sesemi Weichbrodt, who was rather stern with him,and poor Clothilde and little Erica, to whom he gave a bagof bonbons.

The man was invincibly good-humoured. His sighs, in fact,meant nothing, and seemed to arise out of an excess of comfort.He smoked his pipe, talked in his curious dialect, anddisplayed an inexhaustible power of sitting still. He kept hisplace long after the meal was finished, in the most easy attitudepossible, and smoked, drank, and chatted. His presencegave to the life in the old home a new and strange tone; hisvery being brought something unharmonious into the room.But he disturbed none of the traditional customs of the house.He was faithful to morning and evening prayers, asked permissionto attend one of the Frau Consul’s Sunday Schoolclasses, and even appeared on a Jerusalem evening in thedrawing-room and was presented to the guests, but withdrewaffrighted when Lea Gerhardt began to read aloud.

He was soon known in the town. They spoke in the greathouses about the Buddenbrooks’ guest from Bavaria; butneither in the family nor on the Bourse did he make connections,and as it was already the time when people weremaking ready to go to the shore, the Consul refrained fromintroducing Herr Permaneder into society. But he devotedhimself with zeal to the guest, taking time from his businessand civic engagements to show him about the town and pointout the mediæval monuments—churches, gates, fountains,[334]market, Town Hall, and Ship Company. He made him acquaintedwith his own nearest friends on Exchange and entertainedhim in every way. His mother took occasion oneday to thank him for his self-sacrifice; but he only remarkeddrily: “Why, ye-es, Mother—what wouldn’t one do?”

The Frau Consul left this unanswered. She did not evensmile or move her eyelids, but shifted the gaze of her lighteyes and changed the subject.

She preserved an even, hearty friendliness toward HerrPermaneder—which could hardly be said of her daughter. Onthe third or fourth day after his arrival the hop dealer letit be known that he had concluded his business with thelocal brewery. But a week and a half had passed since then,and he had been present for two children’s afternoons. Onthese occasions, Frau Grünlich had sat blushing and watchinghis every motion, casting quick embarrassed glances atThomas and the three Buddenbrook cousins. She talkedhardly at all, sat for long minutes stiff and speechless, oreven got up and left the room.

The green blinds in Frau Grünlich’s sleeping-room weregently stirred by the mild air of a June night, for the windowswere open. It was a large room, with simple furniturecovered in grey linen. On the night-table at the side of thehigh bed several little wicks burned in a glass with oil andwater in it, filling the room with faint, even light. FrauGrünlich was in bed. Her pretty head was sunk softly in thelace-edged pillow, and her hands lay folded on the quiltedcoverlet. But her eyes, too thoughtful to close themselves,slowly followed the movements of a large insect with a longbody, which perpetually besieged the glass with a millionsoundless motions of his wings. Near the bed there was aframed text hanging on the wall, between two old copper-plateviews of the town in the Middle Ages. It said: “Commityour ways unto the Lord.” But what good is a text likethat when you are lying awake at midnight, and you have to[335]decide for your whole life, and other people’s too, whetherit shall be yes or no?

It was very still. The clock ticked away on the wall, andthe only other sound was Mamsell Jungmann’s occasionalcough. Her room was next to Tony’s, divided only by curtainsfrom it. She still had a light. The born-and-bred Prussianwas sitting under the hanging lamp at her extension-table,darning stockings for little Erica. The child’s deep, peacefulbreathing could be heard in the room, for Sesemi’s pupilswere having summer holidays and Erica was at home again.

Frau Grünlich sighed and sat up a little, propping her headon her hand. “Ida,” she called softly, “are you still sittingthere mending?”

“Yes, yes, Tony, my child,” Ida answered. “Sleep now;you will be getting up early in the morning, and you won’tget enough rest.”

“All right, Ida. You will wake me at six o’clock?”

“Half-past is early enough, child. The carriage is orderedfor eight. Go on sleeping, so you will look fresh and pretty.”

“Oh, I haven’t slept at all yet.”

“Now, Tony, that is a bad child. Do you want to lookall knocked up for the picnic? Drink seven swallows ofwater, and then lie down and count a thousand.”

“Oh, Ida, do come here a minute. I can’t sleep, I tell you,and my head aches for thinking. Feel—I think I have somefever, and there is something the matter with my tummy again.Or is it because I am anæmic? The veins in my temples areall swollen and they beat so that it hurts; but still, there maybe too little blood in my head.”

A chair was pushed back, and Ida Jungmann’s lean, vigorousfigure, in her unfashionable brown gown, appeared betweenthe portières.

“Now, now, Tony—fever? Let me feel, my child—I’llmake you a compress.”

She went with her long firm masculine tread to the chestfor a handkerchief, dipped it into the water-basin, and, going[336]back to the bed, laid it on Tony’s forehead, stroking herbrow a few times with both hands.

“Thank you, Ida; that feels good.—Oh, please sit down afew minutes, good old Ida. Sit down on the edge of the bed.You see, I keep thinking the whole time about to-morrow.What shall I do? My head is going round and round.”

Ida sat down beside her, with her needle and the stockingdrawn over the darner again in her hand, and bent over themthe smooth grey head and the indefatigable bright brown eyes.“Do you think he is going to propose to-morrow?” she asked.

“No doubt of it at all. He won’t lose this opportunity.It happened with Clara on just such an expedition. I couldavoid it, of course, I could keep with the others all the timeand not let him get near me. But then, that would settleit! He is leaving day after to-morrow, he said, and he cannotstay any longer if nothing comes of it to-day. It mustbe decided to-day.—But what shall I say, Ida, when he asksme? You’ve never been married, so of course you know nothingabout life, really; but you are a truthful woman, and youhave some sense—and you are forty-two years old! Do tellme what you think.—I do so need advice!”

Ida Jungmann let the stocking fall into her lap.

“Yes, yes, Tony child, I have thought a great deal aboutit. But what I think is, there is nothing to advise about. Hecan’t go away without speaking to you and your Mamma,and if you didn’t want him, you should have sent him awaybefore now.”

“You are right there, Ida; but I could not do it—I supposebecause it is to be! But now I keep thinking: ‘It isn’t toolate yet; I can still draw back!’ So I am living here tormentingmyself—”

“Do you like him, Tony? Tell me straight out.”

“Yes, Ida. It would not be the truth if I should say no.He is not handsome—but that isn’t the important thing in thislife; and he is as good as gold, and couldn’t do anythingmean—at least, he seems so to me. When I think about[337]Grünlich—oh, goodness! He was all the time saying howclever and resourceful he was, and all the time hiding hisvillainy. Permaneder is not in the least like that. Youmight say he is too easy-going and takes life too comfortably—andthat is a fault too; because he will never be a millionairethat way, and he really is too much inclined to letthings go and muddle along—as they say down there. Theyare all like that down there, Ida—that is what I mean. InMunich, where he was among his own kind and everybodyspoke and looked as he does, I fairly loved him, he seemed sonice and faithful and comfy. And I noticed it was mutual—butpart of that, I dare say, was that he takes me for a richwoman, richer probably than I am; because Mother cannotdo much more for me, as you know. But I hardly think thatwill make much difference to him—a great lot of money wouldnot be to his taste.—But—what was I saying, Ida?”

“That is in Munich, Tony. But here—”

“Oh, here, Ida! You know how it was already: up herehe was torn right out of his own element and set againsteverybody here, and they are all ever so much stiffer, and—moredignified and serious. Here I really often blush forhim, though it may be unworthy of me. You know—iteven happened several times that he said ‘me’ instead of ‘I.’But they say that down there; even the most cultured peopledo, and it doesn’t hurt anything—it slips out once in a whileand nobody minds. But up here—here sits Mother on oneside and Tom on the other, looking at him and lifting theireyebrows, and Uncle Justus gives a start and fairly snorts,the way the Krögers do, and Pfiffi Buddenbrook gives herMother a look, or Friederike or Henriette, and I feel so mortifiedI want to run out of the room, and it doesn’t seem as ifI could marry him—”

“Oh, childie—it would be Munich that you would live inwith him.”

“You are right, Ida. But the engagement!—and if I haveto feel the whole time mortified to death before the family[338]and the Kistenmakers and the Möllendorpfs, because theythink he is common— Oh, Grünlich was much more refined,though he was certainly black within, as Herr Stengelwould have said.—Oh, Ida, my head! do wet the compressagain.”

“But it must be so, in the end,” she went on again, drawinga long breath as the compress went on; “for the main pointis and remains that I must get married again, and not stickabout here any longer as a divorced woman. Ah, Ida, Ithink so much about the past these days: about the time whenGrünlich first appeared, and the scenes he made me—scandalous,Ida!—and then about Travemünde and the Schwarzkopfs—”She spoke slowly, and her eyes rested for a whiledreamily on a darn in Erica’s stocking. “And then the betrothal,and Eimsbüttel, and our house. It was quite elegant,Ida. When I think of my morning-gowns— It would not belike that with Permaneder; one gets more modest as life goeson— And Dr. Klaasen and the baby, and Banker Kesselmeyer—andthen the end. It was frightful; you can’t imaginehow frightful it was. And when you have had such dreadfulexperiences in life— But Permaneder would never go infor anything filthy like that. That is the last thing in theworld I should expect of him, and we can rely on him too ina business way, for I really think he makes a good deal withNoppe at the Niederpaur brewery. And when I am his wife,you’ll see, Ida, I will take care that he has ambition and getsahead and makes an effort and is a credit to me and all ofus. That, at least, he takes upon himself when he marries aBuddenbrook!”

She folded her hands under her head and looked at theceiling. “Yes, ten years ago and more, I married Grünlich.Ten years! And here I am at the same place again, sayingyes to somebody else. You know, Ida, life is very, veryserious. Only the difference is that then it was a great affair,and they all pressed me and tormented me, whereas now theyare all perfectly quiet and take it for granted that I am going[339]to say yes. Of course you know, Ida, that this engagementto Alois—I say Alois, because of course it is to be—hasnothing very gay or festive about it, and it isn’t really aquestion of my happiness at all. I am making this secondmarriage with my eyes open, to make good the mistake ofmy first one, as a duty which I owe our name. Mother thinksso, and so does Tom.”

“But oh, dear, Tony—if you don’t like him, and if he won’tmake you happy—”

“Ida, I know life, and I am not a little goose any more.I have the use of my senses. I don’t say that Mother wouldactually insist on it—when there is a dispute over anythingshe usually avoids it and says ‘Assez!’ But Tom wants it.I know Tom. He thinks: ‘Anybody! Anybody who isn’tabsolutely impossible.’ For this time it is not a question ofa brilliant match, but just one that will make good the otherone. That is what he thinks. As soon as Permaneder appeared,you may be sure that Tom made all the proper inquiriesabout his business, and found it was all right—andthen, as far as he was concerned, the matter was settled.Tom is a politician—he knows what he wants. Who was itthrew Christian out? That is strong language, Ida, but thatwas really the truth of it. And why? Because he was compromisingthe firm and the family. And in his eyes I do thesame thing—not with words or acts, but by my very existenceas a divorced woman. He wants that put an end to, and he isright. I love him none the less for that—nor, I hope, doeshe me. In all these years, I have always longed to be out inthe world again; it is so dull here in this house. God punishme if that is a sin: but I am not much more than thirty, and Istill feel young. People differ about that. You had greyhair at thirty, like all your family and that uncle that diedat Marienwerder.”

More and more observations of the same kind followed asthe night wore on; and every now and again she would say:“It is to be, after all.” But at length she went to sleep, andslept for five hours on end, deeply and peacefully.

A mist lay over the town. But—or so said Herr Longuet,the livery man in John Street, as he himself drove the coveredchar-à-banc up to the door of the house in Meng Street:“The sun will be out before an hour is over”—which wasmost encouraging.

The Frau Consul, Antonie, Herr Permaneder, Erica, andIda had breakfast together and gathered one after another,ready for the expedition, in the great entry, to wait for Gerdaand Tom. Frau Grünlich, in a cream-coloured frock witha satin tie, looked her best, despite the loss of sleep the nightbefore. Her doubts and fears seemed to be laid to rest, andher manner was assured, calm, and almost formal as shetalked with their guest and fastened her glove-button. Shehad regained the tone of the old days. The well-known convictionof her own importance, of the weightiness of her owndecisions, the consciousness that once more a day had comewhen she was to inscribe herself decisively in the familyhistory—all this filled her heart and made it beat higher. Shehad dreamed of seeing that page in the family papers onwhich she would write down the fact of her betrothal—thefact that should obliterate and make void the black spot whichthe page contained. She looked forward to the moment whenTom would appear and she would greet him with a meaningnod.

He came with his wife, somewhat tardily, for the youngFrau Consul was not used to make such an early toilette.He looked well and happy in his light-brown checked suit,the broad revers of which showed the white waistcoat beneath;and his eyes had a smile in them as he noted Tony’sincomparably dignified mien. Gerda, with her slightly exotic,[341]even morbid beauty, which was always in great contrast to hersister-in-law’s healthy prettiness, was not in a holiday mood.Probably she had risen too early. The deep lilac backgroundof her frock suited oddly with her dark-red hair andmade her skin look whiter and more even-toned than ever,and the bluish shadows deeper and darker in the corners ofher close-set brown eyes. She rather coldly offered hermother-in-law her brow to kiss, gave her hand to Herr Permanederwith an almost ironical expression on her face, andanswered only by a deprecating smile when Tony clappedher hands and cried out in her hearty way: “Oh, Gerda, howlovely you always look!”

She had a real distaste for expeditions like to-day’s, especiallyin summer and most especially on Sunday. She livedin the twilight of her curtained living-rooms, and dreadedthe sun, the dust, the crowds of townsfolk in their holidayclothes, the smell of coffee, beer, and tobacco; and aboveeverything else in the world she hated getting hot and upset.When the expedition to Swartau and the “Giant Bush” wasarranged, in order to give the Munich guest a glimpse of thesurroundings of the old town, Gerda said lightly to her husband“Dearest, you know how I am made: I only likepeace and quiet. I was not meant for change and excitement.You’ll let me off, won’t you?”

She would not have married him if she had not felt sureof his essential agreement with her in these matters.

“Oh, heavens, yes; you are right, of course, Gerda. It ismostly imagination that one enjoys oneself on such parties.Still, one goes, because one does not like to seem odd, eitherto oneself or to the others. Everybody has that kind ofvanity; don’t you think so? People get the idea that youare solitary or else unhappy, and they have less respect foryou. And then, there is something else, Gerda dear. We allwant to pay a little court to Herr Permaneder. Of course yousee what the situation is. Something is going on; it wouldbe a real pity if it came to nothing.”

[342]“I do not see, my dear friend, why my presence—but nomatter. Let it be as you wish. Let us indulge.”

They went into the street. And the sun actually began atthat moment to pierce the morning mist. The bells of St.Mary’s were ringing for Sunday, and the twittering of birdsfilled the air. The coachman took off his hat, and the FrauConsul greeted him with the patriarchal kindness which sometimesput Thomas a little on edge: “Good morning, myfriend!—Well, get in now, my dears. It is just time forearly service, but to-day we will praise God with full heartsin his own free out-of-doors; shall we not, Herr Permaneder?”

“That’s right, Frau Consul.”

They climbed one after another up the steps through thenarrow back door of the wagon and made themselves comfortableon the cushioned seats, which—doubtless in honourof Herr Permaneder—were striped blue and white, the Bavariancolours. The door slammed, Herr Longuet cluckedto the horses and shouted “Gee” and “Haw,” the strong brownbeasts tugged at the harness, and the wagon rolled downMeng Street along the Trave and out the Holsten gateand then to the right along the Swartau Road.

Fields, meadows, tree-clumps, farmyards. They stared upinto the high, thin blue mist above them for the larks theyheard singing there. Thomas, smoking his cigarette, lookedabout keenly, and when they came to the grain he calledHerr Permaneder’s attention to its condition. The hop dealerwas in a mood of childlike anticipation. He had perchedhis green hat with the goat’s beard on the side of his head,and was balancing his big stick with the horn handle onthe palm of his broad white hand and even on his underlip—afeat which, though he never quite succeeded in accomplishingit, was always greeted with applause from little Erica.He repeated over and over remarks like: “’Twon’t be theZugspitz, but we’ll climb a bit and have a little lark—kindof a little old spree, hey, Frau Grünli’?”

Then he began to relate with much liveliness stories of[343]mountain-climbing with knapsack and alpenstock, the FrauConsul rewarding him with many an admiring “You don’tsay!” He came by some train of thought or other to Christian,and expressed the most lively regret for his absence—hehad heard what a jolly chap he was.

“He varies,” the Consul said drily. “On a party like thishe is inimitable, it is true.—We shall have crabs to eat, HerrPermaneder,” he said in a livelier tone; “crabs and Balticshrimps! You have had them a few times already at myMother’s, but friend Dieckmann, the owner of the ‘GiantBush,’ serves especially fine ones. And ginger-nuts, thefamous ginger-nuts of these parts. Has their fame reachedeven as far as the Isar? Well, you shall try them.”

Two or three times Frau Grünlich stopped the wagon topick poppies and corn-flowers by the roadside, and each timeHerr Permaneder testified to his desire to get out and helpher, if it were not for his slight nervousness at climbing inand out of the wagon.

Erica rejoiced at every crow she saw; and Ida Jungmann,wearing her mackintosh and carrying her umbrella, as she alwaysdid even in the most settled weather, rejoiced with herlike a good governess who shares not only outwardly but inwardlyin the childish emotions of her charge. She enteredheartily into Erica’s pleasure, with her rather loud laugh thatsounded like a horse neighing. Gerda, who had not seen hergrowing grey in the family service, looked at her repeatedlywith cold surprise.

They were in Oldenberg. The beech groves came in sight.They drove through the village, across the market squarewith its well, and out again into the country, over the bridgethat spanned the little river Au, and finally drew up in frontof the one-storey inn, “The Giant Bush.” It stood at the sideof a flat open space laid out with lawns and sandy paths andcountry flower-beds; beyond it, the forest rose gradually likean amphitheatre. Each stage was reached by rude stepsformed from the natural rocks and tree roots; and on each[344]one white-painted tables, benches, and chairs stood placedamong the trees.

The Buddenbrooks were by no means the first guests. Acouple of plump maids and a waiter in a greasy dress-coatwere hurrying about the square carrying cold meat, lemonades,milk, and beer up to the tables, even the more remoteones, which were already occupied by several families withchildren.

Herr Dieckmann, the landlord, appeared personally, inshirt-sleeves and a little yellow-embroidered cap, to helpthe guests dismount, and Longuet drove off to unhitch. TheFrau Consul said: “My good man, we will take our walkfirst, and after an hour or so we should like luncheon servedup above—but not too high up; say perhaps at the secondlanding.”

“You must show what you are made of, Herr Dieckmann,”added the Consul. “We have a guest who is used to goodliving.”

“Oh, no such thing,” Herr Permaneder protested. “A beerand cheese—”

But Herr Dieckmann could not understand him, and beganwith great fluency: “Everything we have, Herr Consul:crabs, shrimps, all sorts of sausages, all sorts of cheese,smoked eel, smoked salmon, smoked sturgeon—”

“Fine, Dieckmann; give us what you have. And then—sixglasses of milk and a glass of beer—if I am not mistaken,Herr Permaneder?”

“One beer, six milks—sweet milk, buttermilk, sour milk,clotted milk, Herr Consul?”

“Half and half, Herr Dieckmann: sweet milk and buttermilk.In an hour, then.” They went across the square.

“First, Herr Permaneder, it is our duty to visit the spring,”said Thomas. “The spring, that is to say, is the source ofthe Au; and the Au is the tiny little river on which Swartaulies, and on which, in the grey Middle Ages, our own townwas situated—until it burned down. There was probably[345]nothing very permanent about it at that time, and it was rebuiltagain, on the Trave. But there are painful recollectionsconnected with the Au. When we were schoolboys we usedto pinch each other’s arms and say: ‘What is the name ofthe river at Swartau?’ Of course, it hurt, and the involuntaryanswer was the right one.—Look!” he interrupted himselfsuddenly, ten steps from the ascent, “they’ve gotahead of us.” It was the Möllendorpfs and the Hagenströms.

There, on the third landing of the wooded terrace, sat theprincipal members of those affiliated families, at two tablesshoved close together, eating and talking with the greatestgusto. Old Senator Möllendorpf presided, a pallid gentlemanwith thin, pointed white mutton-chops; he suffered fromdiabetes. His wife, born Langhals, wielded her lorgnon; and,as usual, her hair stood up untidily all over her head. Herson Augustus was a blond young man with a prosperous exterior,and there was Julie his wife, born Hagenström, littleand lively, with great blank black eyes and diamond earringsthat were nearly as large. She sat between her brothers,Hermann and Moritz. Consul Hermann Hagenström had begunto get very stout with good living: people said he beganthe day with paté de foie gras. He wore a full, shortreddish-blond beard, and he had his mother’s nose, whichcame down quite flat on the upper lip. Dr. Morris was narrow-chestedand yellow-skinned, and he talked very gaily,showing pointed teeth with gaps between them. Both brothershad their ladies with them—for the lawyer had married,some years since, a Fräulein Puttfarken from Hamburg, alady with butter-coloured hair and wonderful cold, regular,English features of more than common beauty; Dr. Hagenströmhad not been able to reconcile with his reputation asconnoisseur the idea of taking a plain wife. And, finally,there were the little daughter of Hermann and the little sonof Moritz, two white-frocked children, already as good asbetrothed to each other, for the Huneus-Hagenström money[346]must be kept together, of course. They all sat there eatingham and scrambled eggs.

Greetings were exchanged when the Buddenbrook partypassed at a little distance the company seated at the table.The Frau Consul bowed confusedly; Thomas lifted his hat,his lips moving in a courteous and conventional greeting,and Gerda inclined her head with formal politeness.But Herr Permaneder, stimulated by the climb, swung hisgreen hat unaffectedly and shouted in a loud, hearty voice:“Hearty good morning to all of you!” whereat Frau SenatorMöllendorpf made use of her lorgnon. Tony, for her part,flung back her head and tucked in her chin as much as possible,while her shoulders went up ever so slightly, and shegreeted the party as if from some remote height—which meantthat she stared straight ahead directly over the broad brimof Julie Möllendorpf’s elegant hat. Precisely at this moment,her decision of the night before became fixed, unalterableresolve.

“Thanks be to goodness, Tom, we are not going to eat foranother hour. I’d hate to have that Julie watching us. Didyou see how she spoke? Hardly at all. I only had a glimpseof her hat, but it looked frightfully bad taste.”

“Well, as far as that goes, I don’t know about the hat—butyou were certainly not much more cordial than she was, mylove. And don’t get irritated—it makes for wrinkles.”

“Irritated, Tom? Not at all. If these people think theyare the first and foremost, why, one can only laugh at them,that’s all. What difference is there between this Julie andme, if it comes to that? She only drew a fool, instead of aknave, for a husband; and if she were in my position now, weshould see if she would find another one.”

“How can you tell that you will find another one?”

“A fool, Thomas?”

“Very much better than a knave.”

“It doesn’t have to be either. But it is not a fit subjectfor discussion.”

[347]“Quite right. The others are ahead of us—Herr Permanederis climbing lustily.”

The shady forest road grew level, and it was not long beforethey reached the “spring,” a pretty, romantic spot witha wooden bridge over a little ravine, steep cliffs, and overhangingtrees with their roots in the air. The Frau Consulhad brought a silver collapsible cup, and they scooped upthe water from the little stone basin directly under the sourceand refreshed themselves with the iron-impregnated spring.And here Herr Permaneder had a slight attack of gallantry,and insisted on Frau Grünlich tasting his cup before presentingit to him. He ran over with friendliness and displayedgreat tact in chatting with the Frau Consul and Thomas, aswell as with Gerda and Tony, and even with little Erica.Gerda, who had up to now been suffering from the heat anda kind of silent and rigid nervousness, began to feel like herselfa*gain. They came back to the inn by a shorter way, andsat down at a groaning table on the second of the woodedterraces; and it was Gerda who gave expression in friendlyterms to the general regret over Herr Permaneder’s early departure,now that they were just becoming a little acquaintedand finding less and less difficulty with the language. Shewas ready to swear that she had heard her friend and sister-in-law,Tony, use several times the most unadulterated Munichdialect!

Herr Permaneder forebore to commit himself on the subjectof his departure. Instead, he devoted himself for the timeto the dainties that weighted down the table—dainties suchas he seldom saw the other side of the Danube.

They sat and consumed the good things at their leisure—whatlittle Erica liked far better than anything else were theserviettes made of tissue paper, much nicer than the big linenones at home. With the waiter’s permission she put a fewin her pocket as a souvenir. When they had finished, theystill sat; Herr Permaneder smoked several very black cigarswith his beer, Thomas smoked cigarettes, and the whole family[348]chatted a long time with their guest. It was noticeable thatHerr Permaneder’s leaving was not mentioned again; in fact,the future was left shrouded in darkness. Rather, they turnedto memories of the past or talked of the political events ofrecent years. Herr Permaneder shook with laughter oversome dozens of stories of the late Herr Consul, which hiswidow related, and then in his turn told about the MunichRevolution, and about Lola Montez, in whom Frau Grünlichdisplayed an unbounded interest. The hour after luncheonslowly wore on, and little Erica came back laden with daisies,grasses, and ladies’ smocks from an expedition with Ida Jungmann,and recalled the fact that the ginger-nuts were still tobe bought. They started on their walk down to the village,not before the Frau Consul, who was the hostess of the occasion,had paid the bill with a good-sized gold-piece.

They gave orders at the inn that the wagon should beready in half an hour, so that there would be time for a restin town before dinner, and then they rambled slowly down,in the dusty sunshine, to the handful of cottages that formedthe village.

After they crossed the bridge they fell naturally into littlegroups, in which they continued after that to walk: MamsellJungmann with her long stride in the van, with littleErica jumping tirelessly alongside, hunting for butterflies;then the Frau Consul, Thomas, and Gerda together; andlastly, at some distance, Frau Grünlich and Herr Permaneder.The first pair made considerable noise, for the child shoutedfor joy, and Ida joined in with her neighing, good-naturedlaugh. In the middle, all three were silent; for the dust haddriven Gerda into another fit of depression, and the old FrauConsul, and her son as well, were plunged in thought. Thecouple behind were quiet too, but their quietness was onlyapparent, for in reality Tony and her Bavarian guest wereconversing in subdued and intimate tones. And what was thesubject of their discourse? It was Herr Grünlich....

Herr Permaneder had made the pointed remark that little[349]Erica was a dear and pretty child, but that she had not theslightest resemblance to her mother. To which Tony hadanswered: “She is altogether like her father in looks, andone may say that it is not at all to her disadvantage, for asfar as looks go, Grünlich was a gentleman. He had golden-yellowwhiskers—very uncommon; I never saw anything likethem.” When Tony visited the Niederpaurs in Munich, shehad already told Herr Permaneder in considerable detail thestory of her first marriage; but now he asked again all theparticulars of it, listening with anxiously sympathetic blinksto the details of the bankruptcy.

“He was a bad man, Herr Permaneder, or Father wouldnever have taken me away from him—of that you may be sure.Life has taught me that not everybody in the world has agood heart. I have learned that, young as I am for a personwho, as you might say, has been a widow for ten years. Hewas a bad man, and his banker, Kesselmeyer, was a worseone—and a silly puppy into the bargain. I won’t say thatI consider myself an angel and perfectly free from all blame—don’tmisunderstand me. Grünlich neglected me, and evenwhen he was with me he just sat and read the paper; and hedeceived me, and kept me in Eimsbüttel, because he wasafraid if I went to town I would find out the mess he wasin. But I am a weak woman, and I have my faults too, andI’ve no doubt I did not always go the right way to work. Iknow I gave him cause to worry and complain over my extravaganceand silliness and my new dressing-gowns. But itis only fair to say one thing: I was just a child when Iwas married, a perfect goose, a silly little thing. Just imagine:only a short time before I was engaged, I didn’t even somuch as know that the Confederation decrees concerning theuniversities and the press had been renewed four years before!And fine decrees they were, too! Ah, me, Herr Permaneder!The sad thing is that one lives but once—one can’tbegin life over again. And one would know so much betterthe second time!”

[350]She was silent; she looked down at the road—but she wasvery intent on the reply Herr Permaneder would make, forshe had not unskilfully left him an opening, it being onlya step to the idea that, even though it was impossible to beginlife anew, yet a new and better married life was not outof the question. Herr Permaneder let the chance slip andconfined himself to laying the blame on Herr Grünlich, withsuch violence that his very chin-whiskers bristled.

“Silly ass! If I had the fool here I’d give it to him!What a swine!”

“Fie, Herr Permaneder! No, you really mustn’t. Wemust forgive and forget—‘Vengeance is mine, saith the Lord.’Ask Mother. Heaven forbid—I don’t know where Grünlichis, nor what state his affairs are in, but I wish him the bestof fortune, even though he doesn’t deserve it.”

They had reached the village and stood before the littlehouse which was at the same time the bakery. They hadstopped walking, almost without knowing it, and were hardlyaware that Ida, Erica, the Frau Consul, Thomas, and Gerdahad disappeared through the funny, tiny little door, so lowthat they had to stoop to enter. They were absorbed in theirconversation, though it had not got beyond these trifling preliminaries.

They stood by a hedge with a long narrow flower-bed beneathit, in which some mignonette was growing. FrauGrünlich, rather hot, bent her head and poked industriouslywith her parasol in the black loam. Herr Permaneder stoodclose to her, now and then assisting her excavations withhis walking-stick. His little green hat with the tuft of goat’sbeard had slid back on his forehead. He was stooping overthe bed too, but his small, bulging pale-blue eyes, quite blankand even a little reddish, gazed up at her with a mixture ofdevotion, distress, and expectancy. It was odd to see how hisvery moustache, drooping down over his mouth, took thesame expression.

“Likely, now,” he ventured, “likely, now, ye’ve taken a[351]silly fright, and are too damned scared of marriage ever totry it again—hey, Frau Grünlich?”

“How clumsy!” thought she. “Must I say yes to that?”Aloud she answered: “Well, dear Herr Permaneder, I mustconfess that it would be hard for me to yield anybody my consentfor life; for life has taught me, you see, what a seriousstep that is. One needs to be sure that the man in question isa thoroughly noble, good, kind soul—”

And now he actually ventured the question whether shecould consider him such a man—to which she answered:“Yes, Herr Permaneder, I do.” Upon which there followedthe few short murmured words which clinched the betrothaland gave Herr Permaneder the assurance that he mightspeak to Thomas and the Frau Consul when they reachedhome.

When the other members of the party came forth, ladenwith bags of ginger-nuts, Thomas let his eye rove discreetlyover the heads of the two standing outside, for they were embarrassedto the last degree. Herr Permaneder simply madeno effort to conceal the fact, but Tony was hiding her embarrassmentunder a well-nigh majestic dignity.

They hurried back to the wagon, for the sky had cloudedover and some drops began to fall.

Tony was right: her brother had, soon after Herr Permanederappeared, made proper inquiries as to his situation inlife. He learned that X. Noppe and Company did athoroughly sound if somewhat restricted business, operatingwith the joint-stock brewery managed by Herr Niederpaur asdirector. It showed a nice little income, Herr Permaneder’sshare of which, with the help of Tony’s seventeen thousand,would suffice for a comfortable if modest life. The FrauConsul heard the news, and there was a long and particularconversation among her, Herr Permaneder, Antonie, andThomas, in the landscape-room that very evening, and everythingwas arranged. It was decided that little Erica should[352]go to Munich too, this being her Mother’s wish, to which herbetrothed warmly agreed.

Two days later the hop dealer left for home—“Noppe willbe raising the deuce if I don’t,” he said. But in July FrauGrünlich was again in his native town, accompanied by Tomand Gerda. They were to spend four or five weeks at BadKreuth, while the Frau Consul with Erica and Ida were onthe Baltic coast. While in Munich, the four had time to seethe house in Kaufinger Street which Herr Permaneder wasabout to buy. It was in the neighbourhood of the Niederpaurs’—aperfectly remarkable old house, a large part ofwhich Herr Permaneder thought to let. It had a steep, ladderlikepair of stairs which ran without a turning from thefront door straight up to the first floor, where a corridor ledon each side back to the front rooms.

Tony went home the middle of August to devote herself toher trousseau. She had considerable left from her earlierequipment, but new purchases were necessary to complete it.One day several things arrived from Hamburg, among them amorning-gown—this time not trimmed with velvet but withbands of cloth instead.

Herr Permaneder returned to Meng Street well on in theautumn. They thought best to delay no longer. As for thewedding festivities, they went off just as Tony expected anddesired, no great fuss being made over them. “Let us leaveout the formalities,” said the Consul. “You are marriedagain, and it is simply as if you always had been.” Only afew announcements were sent—Madame Grünlich saw to itthat Julie Möllendorpf, born Hagenström, received one—andthere was no wedding journey. Herr Permaneder objected tomaking “such a fuss,” and Tony, just back from the summertrip, found even the journey to Munich too long. The weddingtook place, not in the hall this time, but in the church ofSt. Mary’s, in the presence of the family only. Tony worethe orange-blossom, which replaced the myrtle, with great[353]dignity, and Doctor Kölling preached on moderation, with asstrong language as ever, but in a weaker voice.

Christian came from Hamburg, very elegantly dressed,looking a little ailing but very lively. He said his businesswith Burmeester was “top-top”; thought that he and Tildawould probably get married “up there”—that is to say, “eachone for himself, of course”; and came very late to the weddingfrom the visit he paid at the club. Uncle Justus was muchmoved by the occasion, and with his usual lavishness presentedthe newly-wedded pair with a beautiful heavy silverepergne. He and his wife practically starved themselves athome, for the weak woman was still paying the disinheritedand outcast Jacob’s debts with the housekeeping money.Jacob was rumoured to be in Paris at present. The Buddenbrookladies from Broad Street made the remark: “Well,let’s hope it will last, this time.” The unpleasant part ofthis lay in the doubt whether they really hoped it. SesemiWeichbrodt stood on her tip-toes, kissed her pupil, now FrauPermaneder, explosively on the forehead, and said with hermost pronounced vowels: “Be happy, you go-od che-ild!”

In the morning at eight o’clock Consul Buddenbrook, so soonas he had left his bed, stolen through the little door and downthe winding stair into the bathroom, taken a bath, and put onhis night-shirt again—Consul Buddenbrook, we say, began tobusy himself with public affairs. For then Herr Wenzel,barber and member of the Assembly, appeared, with his intelligentface and his red hands, his razors and other tools,and the basin of warm water which he had fetched from thekitchen; and the Consul sat in a reclining-chair and leanedhis head back, and Herr Wenzel began to make a lather; andthere ensued almost always a conversation that began with theweather and how you had slept the night before, went on topolitics and the great world, thence to domestic affairs in thecity itself, and closed in an intimate and familiar key onbusiness and family matters. All this prolonged very muchthe process in hand, for every time the Consul said anythingHerr Wenzel had to stop shaving.

“Hope you slept well, Herr Consul?”

“Yes, thanks, Wenzel. Is it fine to-day?”

“Frost and a bit of snow, Herr Consul. In front of St.James’s the boys have made another slide, more than ten yardslong—I nearly sat down, when I came from the Burgomaster’s.The young wretches!”

“Seen the papers?”

“The Advertiser and the Hamburg News—yes. Nothing inthem but the Orsini bombs. Horrible. It happened on theway to the opera. Oh, they must be a fine lot over there.”

“Oh, it doesn’t signify much, I should think. It has nothingto do with the people, and the only effect will be that thepolice will be doubled and there will be twice as much interference[355]with the press. He is on his guard. Yes, it must bea perpetual strain, for he has to introduce new projects allthe time, to keep himself in power. But I respect him, allthe same. At all events, he can’t be a fool, with his traditions,and I was very much impressed with the cheap bread affair.There is no doubt he does a great deal for the people.”

“Yes, Herr Kistenmaker says so too.”

“Stephan? We were talking about it yesterday.”

“It looks bad for Frederick William of Prussia. Thingswon’t last much longer as they are. They say already thatthe prince will be made Regent in time.”

“It will be interesting to see what happens then. He hasalready shown that he has liberal ideas and does not feel hisbrother’s secret disgust for the Constitution. It is just thechagrin that upsets him, poor man. What is the news fromCopenhagen?”

“Nothing new, Herr Consul. They simply won’t. TheConfederation has declared that a united government for Holsteinand Lauenburg is illegal—they won’t have it at anyprice.”

“Yes, it is unheard-of, Wenzel. They dare the Bundestag toput it into operation—and if it were a little more lively—oh,these Danes!—Careful with that chapped place, Wenzel.—There’sour direct-line Hamburg railway, too. That has costsome diplomatic battles, and will cost more before they get theconcession from Copenhagen.”

“Yes, Herr Consul. The stupid thing is that the Altona-KielRailway Company is against it—and, in fact, all Holsteinis. Dr. Överdieck, the Burgomaster, was saying so justnow. They are dreadfully afraid of Kiel prospering much.”

“Of course, Wenzel. A new connection between the NorthSea and the Baltic.—You’ll see, the Kiel-Altona line willkeep on intriguing. They are in a position to build a rivalrailway: East Holstein, Neuminster, Neustadt—yes, that isquite on the cards. But we must not let ourselves be bullied,and we must have a direct route to Hamburg.”

[356]“Herr Consul must take the matter up himself.”

“Certainly, so far as my powers go, and wherever I haveany influence. I am interested in the development of ourrailways—it is a tradition with us from 1851 on. My Fatherwas a director of the Buchen line, which is probably the reasonwhy I was elected so young. I am only thirty-three yearsold, and my services so far have been very inconsiderable.”

“Oh, Herr Consul! How can the Herr Consul say that afterhis speech in the Assembly—?”

“Yes, that made an impression, and I’ve certainly shownmy good will, at least. I can only be grateful that my Father,Grandfather, and great-Grandfather prepared the way for me,and that I inherited so much of the respect and confidencethey received from the town; for without it I could not moveas I am now able to. For instance, after ’48 and the beginningof this decade, what did my Father not do towards thereform of our postal service? Think how he urged in theAssembly the union of the Hamburg diligences with the postalservice; and how in 1850 he forced the Senate by continuouspressure to join the German-Austrian Postal Union! If wehave cheap letter postage now, and stamps and book post,and letter-boxes, and telegraphic connection with Hamburgand Travemünde, he is not the last one to be grateful to.Why, if he and a few other people had not kept at the Senatecontinually, we should most likely still be behind the Danishand the Thurn-and-Taxis postal service! So when I have anopinion nowadays on these subjects, people listen to me.”

“The Herr Consul is speaking God’s truth. About the Hamburgline, Doctor Överdieck was saying to me only three daysago: ‘When we get where we can buy a suitable site for thestation in Hamburg, we will send Consul Buddenbrook to helptransact the business, for in such dealings he is better thanmost lawyers.’ Those were his very words.”

“Well, that is very flattering to me, Wenzel.—Just put alittle more lather on my chin, will you? It wants a bit morecleaning up.—Yes, the truth is, we mustn’t let the grass[357]grow under our feet. I am saying nothing against Överdieck,but he is getting on. If I were Burgomaster I’d make thingsmove a little faster. I can’t tell you how pleased I am thatthey are installing gas for the street-lighting, and the miserableold oil lamps are disappearing—I admit I had a littlesomething to do with that change. Oh, how much there is todo! Times are changing, Wenzel, and we have many responsibilitiestoward the new age. When I think back to my boyhood—youknow better than I do what the town looked likethen: the streets without sidewalks, grass growing a foot highbetween the paving-stones, and the houses with porticos andbenches sticking out into the streets—and our buildings fromthe time of the Middle Ages spoilt with clumsy additions,and all tumbling down because, while individuals had moneyand nobody went hungry, the town had none at all and justmuddled along, as my brother-in-law calls it, without everthinking of repairs. That was a happy and comfortable generation,when my grandfather’s crony, the good Jean JacquesHofstede, strolled about the town and translated improperlittle French poems. They had to end, those good old times;they have changed, and they will have to change still more.Then the population was thirty-seven thousand: now it isfifty, you know, and the whole character of the place is altering.There is so much building, and the suburbs are spreadingout, and we are able to have good streets and restore theold monuments out of our great period. Yet even all that ismerely superficial. The most important matter is still outstanding,my dear Wenzel. I mean, of course, the ceterumcenseo of my dear Father: the customs union. We must join,Wenzel; there should be no longer any question about it, andyou must all help me fight for it. As a business man, believeme, I am better informed than the diplomats, and the fear thatwe should lose independence and freedom of action is simplylaughable in this case. The Mecklenburg and Schleswig-HolsteinInland would take us in, which is the more desirablefor the reason that we do not control the northern trade quite[358]to the extent that we once did.—That’s enough. Please giveme the towel, Wenzel,” concluded the Consul.

Then the market price of rye, which stood at fifty-fivethaler and showed disquieting signs of falling still further,was talked about, and perhaps there was a mention of someevent or other in the town; and then Herr Wenzel vanishedby the basem*nt route and emptied the lather out of hisshiny basin on to the pavement in the street. And the Consulmounted the winding stair into the bedroom, and found Gerdaawake, and kissed her on the forehead. Then he dressed.

These little morning sessions with the lively barber formedthe introduction to busy days, full to running over with thinking,talking, writing, reckoning, doing business, going aboutin the town. Thanks to his travel, his interests, and his knowledgeof affairs, Thomas Buddenbrook’s mind was the leastprovincial in the district; and he was certainly the first torealize the limitations of his lot. The lively interest inpublic affairs which the years of the Revolution had broughtin, was suffering throughout the whole country from a periodof prostration and arrest, and that field was too sterile to occupya vigorous talent; but Thomas Buddenbrook possessedthe spirit to take to himself that wise old saying that all humanachievement is of a merely symbolic value, and thus todevote all that he had of capacity, enthusiasm, energy, andstrength of will to the service of the community as well as tothe service of his own name and firm. He stood in the frontrank of his small society and was seriously ambitious to givehis city greatness and power within her sphere—though hehad the intellect too, to smile at himself for the ambitioneven while he cherished it.

He ate his breakfast, served by Anton, and went to theoffice in Meng Street, where he remained about an hour, writingtwo or three pressing letters and telegrams, giving thisor that instruction, imparting to the wheels of industry a smallpush, and then leaving them to revolve under the cautious eyeof Herr Marcus.

[359]He went to assemblies and committee meetings, visited theBourse, which was held under the Gothic arcades in the Marketsquare, inspected dockyards and warehouses, talked with thecaptains of the ships he owned, and transacted much and variousbusiness all day long until evening, interrupted only bythe hasty luncheon with his Mother and dinner with Gerda;after which he took a half-hour’s rest on the sofa with hiscigarette and the newspaper. Customs, rates, construction,railways, posts, almonry—all this as well as his own businessoccupied him; and even in matters commonly left to professionalshe acquired insight and judgment, especially in finance,where he early showed himself extremely gifted.

He was careful not to neglect the social side. True, hewas not always punctual, and usually appeared at the verylast minute, when the carriage waited below and his wife satin full toilette. “I’m sorry, Gerda,” he would say; “I wasdetained”; and he would dash upstairs to don his eveningclothes. But when he arrived at a dinner, a ball, or an eveningcompany, he showed lively interest and ranked as acharming causeur. And in entertaining he and his wife werenot behind the other rich houses. In kitchen and cellar everythingwas “tip-top,” and he himself was considered a mostcourteous and tactful host, whose toasts were wittier thanthe common run. His quiet evenings he spent at homewith Gerda alone, smoking, listening to her music, or readingwith her some book of her selection.

Thus his labours enforced success, his consequence grew inthe town, and the firm had excellent years, despite the sumsdrawn out to settle Christian and to pay Tony’s second dowry.And yet there were troubles which had, at times, the power tolame his courage for hours, weaken his elasticity, and depresshis mood.

There was Christian in Hamburg. His partner, Herr Burmeester,had died quite suddenly of an apoplectic stroke, inthe spring of the year 1858. His heirs drew their money outof the business, and the Consul strongly advised Christian[360]against trying to continue it with his own means, for he knewhow difficult it is to carry on a business already establishedon definite lines if the working capital be suddenly diminished.But Christian insisted upon the continuation of his independence.He took over the assets and the liabilities of H. C. F.Burmeester and Company, and trouble was to be looked for.

Then there was the Consul’s sister Clara in Riga. Her marriagewith Pastor Tiburtius had remained unblest with children—butthen, as Clara Buddenbrook she had never wantedchildren, and probably had very little talent for motherhood.Now her husband wrote that her health left much to bedesired. The severe headaches from which she had sufferedeven as a girl were now recurring periodically, to an almostunbearable extent.

That was disquieting. And even here at home there wasanother source of worry—for, as yet, there was no certaintywhatever that the family name would live. Gerda treated thesubject with sovereign indifference which came very near tobeing repugnance. Thomas concealed his anxiety. Butthe old Frau Consul took the matter in hand and consultedGrabow.

“Doctor—just between ourselves—something is bound tohappen sometime, isn’t it? A little mountain air at Kreuth,a little seashore at Glucksberg or Travemünde—but they don’tseem to work. What do you advise?” Dr. Grabow’s pleasantold prescription: “a nourishing diet, a little pigeon, a slice ofFrench bread,” didn’t seem strong enough, either, to fit thecase. He ordered Pyrmont and Schlangenbad.

Those were three worries. And Tony? Poor Tony!

She wrote: “... And when I say ‘croquettes,’ she doesn’tunderstand me, because here they are called ‘meaties’; andwhen she says ‘broccoli,’ how could any Christian know shemeans cauliflower? When I say ‘baked potatoes,’ she screams‘How?’ at me, until I remember to say ‘roast potatoes,’ whichis what they call them here. ‘How’ means ‘What did yousay?’ And she is the second one I’ve had—I sent away thefirst one, named Katy, because she was so impertinent—orat least, I thought she was. I’m getting to see now that I mayhave been mistaken, for I’m never quite sure whether peoplehere mean to be rude or friendly. This one’s name is Babette.She has a very pleasing exterior, with somethingsouthern, the way of some of them have here; black hairand eyes, and teeth that any one might envy. She iswilling, too, and I am teaching her how to make some of ourhome dishes. Yesterday we had sorrel and currants, but Iwish I hadn’t, for Permaneder objected so much to the sorrel—hepicked the currants out with a fork—that he would notspeak to me the whole afternoon, but just growled; and I cantell you, Mother, that life is not so easy.”

Alas, it was not only the sorrel and the “meaties” that wereembittering Tony’s life. Before the honeymoon was over shehad had a blow so unforeseen, so unexpected, so incomprehensible,that it took away all her joy in life. She could notget over it. And here it was.

Not until after the Permaneder couple had been someweeks in Munich had Consul Buddenbrook liquidated thesum fixed by his Father’s will as his sister’s second marriageportion. That sum, translated into gulden, had at last safelyreached Herr Permaneder’s hands, and Herr Permaneder had[362]invested it securely and not unprofitably. But then, what hehad said, quite unblushingly and without embarrassment, tohis wife, was this: “Tonerl”—he called her “Tonerl”—“Tonerl,that’s good enough for me. What do we want ofmore? I been working my hide off all my days; now I’d liketo sit down and have a little peace and quiet, damned if Iwouldn’t. Let’s rent the parterre and the second floor, andstill we’ll have a good house, where we can sit and eat ourbit of pig’s meat without screwing ourselves up and puttingon so much lug. And in the evening I can go to the Hofbräuhouse. I’m no swell—I don’t care about scraping money together.I want my comfort. I quit to-morrow and go intoprivate life.”

“Permaneder!” she had cried; and for the first time shehad spoken his name with that peculiar throaty sound whichher voice always had when she uttered the name of Grünlich.

“Oh, shut up! Don’t take on!” was all he answered.There had followed, thus early in their life together, a quarrel,serious and violent enough to endanger the happiness of anymarriage. He came off victorious. Her passionate resistancewas shattered upon his urgent longing for “peace andquiet.” It ended in Herr Permaneder’s withdrawing the capitalhe had in the hop business, so that now Herr Noppe, inhis turn, could strike the “and Company” off his card. Afterwhich Tony’s husband, like most of the friends whom he metaround the table in the Hofbräu House, to play cards anddrink his regular three litres of beer, limited his activities tothe raising of rents in his capacity of landlord, and to an undisturbedcutting of coupons.

The Frau Consul was notified quite simply of this fact.But Frau Permaneder’s distress was evident in the letters whichshe wrote to her brother. Poor Tony! Her worst fearswere more than realized. She had always known that HerrPermaneder possessed none of that “resourcefulness” of whichher first husband had had so much; but that he would so entirelyconfound the expectations she had expressed to Mamsell[363]Jungmann on the eve of her betrothal—that he would so completelyfail to recognize the duties he had taken upon himselfwhen he married a Buddenbrook—that she had never dreamed.

But these feelings must be overcome; and her family athome saw from her letters how she resigned herself. Shelived on rather monotonously with her husband and Erica,who went to school; she attended to her housekeeping, kept upfriendly relations with the people who rented the parterre andthe first storey and with the Niederpaur family in Marienplatz;and she wrote now and then of going to the theatre with herfriend Eva. Herr Permaneder did not care for the theatre.And it came out that he had grown to more than forty yearsof age in his beloved Munich without ever having seen the insideof the Pinakothek.

Time passed. But Tony could feel no longer any truehappiness in her new life, since the day when Herr Permanederreceived her dowry and settled himself down to enjoy hisease. Hope was no more. She would never be able to writehome to announce new ventures and new successes. Just aslife was now—free from cares, it was true, but so limited, solamentably “unrefined,”—just so it would remain until theend. It weighed upon her. It was plain from her lettersthat this very lowness of tone was making it harder for herto adapt herself to the south-German surroundings. In smallmatters, of course, things grew easier. She learned to makeherself understood by the servants and errand-boys, to say“meaties” instead of “croquettes,” and to set no more fruitsoup before her husband after the one he had called a “sickeningmess.” But, in general, she remained a stranger in hernew home; and she never ceased to taste the bitterness of theknowledge that to be a born Buddenbrook was not to enjoy anyparticular prestige in her adopted home. She once relatedin a letter the story of how she met in the street a mason’s apprentice,carrying a mug of beer in one hand and holding alarge white radish by its tail in the other; who, waving hisbeer, said jovially: “Neighbour, can ye tell us the time?”[364]She made a joke of it, in the telling; yet even so, a strongundercurrent of irritation betrayed itself. You might bequite certain that she threw back her head and vouchsafed tothe poor man neither answer nor glance in his direction. Butit was not alone this lack of formality and absence of distinctionsthat made her feel strange and unsympathetic. Shedid not live deeply, it is true, into the life or affairs of hernew home; but she breathed the Munich air, the air of a greatcity, full of artists and citizens who habitually did nothing:an air with something about it a little demoralizing, whichshe sometimes found it hard to take good-humouredly.

The days passed. And then it seemed that there was afterall a joy in store—in fact, the very one which was longedfor in vain in Broad Street and Meng Street. For not longafter the New Year of 1859 Tony felt certain that she wasagain to become a mother.

The joy of it trembled in her letters, which were full of theold childish gaiety and sense of importance. The Frau Consul,who, with the exception of the summer holiday, confinedher journeyings more and more to the Baltic coast, lamentedthat she could not be with her daughter at this time.Tom and Gerda made plans to go to the christening, andTony’s head was full of giving them an elegant reception.Alas, poor Tony! The visit which took place was sad indeed,and the christening—Tony had cherished visions of a ravishinglittle feast, with flowers, sweetmeats, and chocolate—nevertook place at all. The child, a little girl, only entered intolife for a tiny quarter of an hour; then, though the doctor didhis best to set the pathetic little mechanism going, it faded outof being.

Consul Buddenbrook and his wife arrived in Munich tofind Tony herself not out of danger. She was far more illthan before, and a nervous weakness from which she had alreadysuffered prevented her from taking any nourishment atall for several days. Then she began to eat, and on their departure,the Buddenbrooks felt reassured as far as her health[365]was concerned. But in other ways there was much reason foranxiety; for it had been all too plain, especially to the Consul’sobservant eye, that not even their common loss wouldsuffice to bring husband and wife together again.

There was nothing against Herr Permaneder’s good heart.He was truly shaken by the death of the child; big tears rolleddown out of his bulging eyes upon his puffy cheeks and oninto his frizzled beard. Many times he sighed deeply andgave vent to his favourite expression. But, after all, Tonyfelt that his “peace and quiet” had not suffered any long interruption.After a few evenings, he sought the HofbräuHouse for consolation, and was soon, as he always said, “muddlingalong” again in his old, good-natured, comfortable,grumbling way, with the easy fatalism natural to him.

But from now on Tony’s letters never lost their hopeless,even complaining tone. “Oh, Mother,” she wrote, “why do Ihave to bear everything like this? First Grünlich and thebankruptcy, and then Permaneder going out of business—andthen the baby! How have I deserved all these misfortunes?”

When the Consul read these outpourings, he could neverquite forego a little smile: for, nothwithstanding all the realpain they showed, he heard an undertone of almost comicpride, and he knew that Tony Buddenbrook, as MadameGrünlich or as Madame Permaneder, was and would remaina child. She bore all her mature experiences almost with achild’s unbelief in their reality, yet with a child’s seriousness,a child’s self-importance, and, above all, with a child’s powerto throw them off at will.

She could not understand how she had deserved her misfortunes;for even while she mocked at her mother’s piety,she herself was so full of it that she fervently believed injustice and righteousness on this earth.

Poor Tony! The death of her second child was neitherthe last nor the hardest blow that fell upon her. As the year1859 drew to a close, something frightful indeed happened.

It was a day toward the end of November—a cold autumn daywith a hazy sky. It looked almost as if there would be snow,and a mist was rising, pierced through every now and thenby the sun. It was one of those days, common in a seaporttown, when a sharp north-east wind whistled round the massivechurch corners and influenzas were to be had cheap.

Consul Thomas Buddenbrook entered the breakfast-roomtoward midday, to find his Mother, with her spectacles on hernose, bent over a paper on the table.

“Tom,” she said; and she looked at him, holding the paperwith both hands, as if she hesitated to show it to him. “Don’tbe startled. But it is not very good news. I don’t understand— Itis from Berlin. Something must have happened.”

“Give it to me, please,” he said shortly. He lost colour,and the muscles stood out on his temples as he clenched histeeth. His gesture as he stretched out his hand was so full ofdecision that it was as if he said aloud: “Just tell me quickly.Don’t prepare me for it!”

He read the lines still standing; one of his light eyebrowswent up, and he drew the long ends of his moustache throughhis fingers. It was a telegram, and it said: “Don’t befrightened. Am coming at once with Erica. All is over.Your unhappy Antonie.”

“‘At once ... at once,’” he said, with irritation, lookingat the Frau Consul and giving his head a quick shake. “Whatdoes she mean by ‘at once’?”

“That is just a way of putting it, Tom; it doesn’t meananything particular. She means by the next train, or somethinglike that.”

[367]“And from Berlin! What is she doing in Berlin? Howdid she get to Berlin?”

“I don’t know, Tom; I don’t understand it. The dispatchonly came ten minutes ago. But something must have happened,and we must just wait to see what it is. God in hismercy will turn it all to good. Sit down, my son, and eatyour luncheon.”

He took his chair, and mechanically he poured out a glassof porter.

“‘All is over,’” he repeated. And then “‘Antonie.’ Howchildish!”

He ate and drank in silence.

After a while the Frau Consul ventured to say: “It must besomething about Permaneder, don’t you think, Tom?”

He shrugged his shoulders without looking up.

As he went away he said, with his hand on the doorknob,“Well, we must wait and see. As she is not likely to burstinto the house in the middle of the night, she will probablyreach here sometime to-morrow. You will let me know,won’t you?”

The Frau Consul waited from hour to hour. She hadslept very badly, and in the night she rang for Ida Jungmann,who now slept in the back room of the entresol. Shehad Ida make her some eau sucrée; and she sat up in bed fora long time and embroidered. And now the forenoon passedin nervous expectancy. When the Consul came to secondbreakfast, he said that Tony could not arrive before thethree-thirty-three train from Buchen. At that hour the FrauConsul seated herself in the landscape-room and tried to read,out of a book with a black leather cover decorated with agold palm-leaf.

It was a day like its predecessor: cold, mist, wind. Thestove crackled away behind its wrought-iron screen. The oldlady trembled and looked out of the window whenever sheheard a wagon. At four o’clock, when she had stopped watching[368]and almost stopped thinking about her daughter, there wasa stir below in the house. She hastily turned toward thewindow and wiped away the damp with her handkerchief.Yes, a carriage had stopped below, and some one was comingup the steps.

She grasped the arms of her chair with both hands to rise.But then she thought better of it and sank back. She onlyturned her head as her daughter entered, and her face worean almost defensive expression. Tony burst impetuously intothe room: Erica remained outside at the glass door, withher hand in Ida Jungmann’s.

Frau Permaneder wore a fur wrap and a large felt hat witha veil. She looked very pale and ailing, and her upper liptrembled as it used to when the little Tony was about to weep.Her eyes were red. She raised her arms and let them drop,and then she fell on her knees at her Mother’s side, burying herface in the folds of her gown and sobbing bitterly. It wasas though she had rushed straight hither from Munich all inone breath, and now lay there, having gained the goal of herheadlong flight, exhausted but safe. The Frau Consul sat amoment quite still.

“Tony!” she said then, with gentle remonstrance. Shedrew the long hatpins out of Frau Permaneder’s hat and laidit on the window-seat; then she stroked gently and soothinglyher daughter’s thick ash-blonde hair.

“What is it, my child? What has happened?”

But she saw that patience was her only weapon; for it waslong before her question drew out any reply.

“Mother!” uttered Frau Permaneder. “Mamma!” Butthat was all.

The Frau Consul looked toward the glass door and, stillembracing her daughter, stretched out her hand to her grandchild,who stood there shyly with her finger to her mouth.

“Come, child; come here and say how do you do. Youhave grown so big, and you look so strong and well, for whichGod be thanked. How old are you now, Erica?”

[369]“Thirteen, Grandmama.”

“Good gracious! A young lady!” She kissed the littlemaiden over Tony’s head and told her: “Go up with Idanow—we shall soon have dinner. Just now Mamma and Iwant to talk.”

They were alone.

“Now, my dear Tony? Can you not stop crying? WhenGod sends us a heavy trial, we must bear it with composure.‘Take your cross upon you,’ we are told. Would you like togo up first and rest a little and refresh yourself, and thencome down to me again? Our good Jungmann has your roomready. Thanks for your telegram—of course, it shocked us agood deal—”

She stopped. For Tony’s voice came, all trembling andsmothered, out of the folds of her gown: “He is a wickedman—a wicked man! Oh, he is—”

Frau Permaneder seemed not able to get away from thisdreadful phrase. It possessed her altogether. She buried herface deeper and deeper in the Frau Consul’s lap and clenchedher fist beside the Frau Consul’s chair.

“Do you mean your husband, my child?” asked the oldlady, after a pause. “It ought not to be possible for me tohave such a thought in my mind, I know; but you leave menothing else to think, Tony. Has Herr Permaneder done youan injury? Are you making a complaint of him?”

“Babette” Frau Permaneder brought out. “Babette—”

“Babette?” repeated the Frau Consul, inquiringly. Thenshe leaned back in her chair, and her pale eyes wanderedtoward the window. She understood now. There was apause, broken by Tony’s gradually decreasing sobs.

“Tony,” said the Frau Consul after a little space, “I seenow that there has been an injury done you—that you havecause to complain. But was it necessary to give the sense ofinjury such violent expression? Was it necessary to travelhere from Munich, with Erica, and to make it appear—forother people will not be so sensible as we are—that you have[370]left him permanently; that you will not go back to him?”

“But I won’t go back to him—never!” cried Frau Permaneder,and she lifted up her head with a jerk and looked ather Mother wildly with tear-stained eyes, and then buried herface again. The Frau Consul affected not to have heard.

“But now,” she went on, in a louder key, slowly noddingher head from one side to the other, “now that you are here,I am glad you are. For you can unburden your heart, andtell me everything, and then we shall see how we can putthings right, by taking thought, and by mutual forbearanceand affection.”

“Never,” Tony said again. “Never!” And then she toldher story. It was not all intelligible, for she spoke into thefolds of her Mother’s stuff gown, and broke into her own narrativewith explosions of passionate anger. But what had happenedwas somewhat as follows:

On the night of the twenty-fourth of the month, MadamePermaneder had gone to sleep very late, having been disturbedduring the day by the nervous digestive trouble to whichshe was subject. She had been awakened about midnight, outof a light slumber, by a confused and continuous noise outsideon the landing—a half-suppressed, mysterious noise, inwhich one distinguished the creaking of the stairs, a sort ofgiggling cough, smothered, protesting words, and, mixed withthese, the most singular snarling sounds. But there was nodoubt whence they proceeded. Frau Permaneder had hardly,with her sleepy senses, taken them in before she interpretedthem as well, in such a way that she felt the blood leave hercheeks and rush to her heart, which contracted and then wenton beating with heavy, oppressed pulsations. For a long,dreadful minute she lay among the pillows as if stunned, asif paralysed. Then, as the shameless disturbance did notstop, she had with trembling hands kindled a light, had lefther bed, thrilling with horror, repulsion, and despair, hadopened the door and hurried out on to the landing in herslippers, the light in her hand—to the top of the “ladder”[371]that went straight up from the house door to the first storey.And there, on the upper steps, in all its actuality, was indeedthe very scene she had pictured in her mind’s eye as shelistened to the compromising noises. It was an unseemly andindecent scuffle, a sort of wrestling match between Babettethe cook and Herr Permaneder. The girl must have beenbusied late about the house, for she had her bunch of keys andher candle in her hand as she swayed back and forth in theeffort to fend her master off. He, with his hat on the back ofhis head, held her round the body and kept making essays,now and then successfully, to press his face, with its greatwalrus moustache, against hers. As Antonie appeared, Babetteexclaimed something that sounded like “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph!”—and“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph!” echoed Herr Permanederlikewise, as he let go. Almost in the same second thegirl vanished, and there was Herr Permaneder left standingbefore his wife, with drooping head, drooping arms, droopingmoustaches too; and all he could get out was some idioticremark like “Holy Cross, what a mess!” When he venturedto lift his eyes, she was no longer there. She was in thebed-chamber, half-sitting, half-lying on the bed, repeatingover and over again with frantic sobbing, “Shame, shame!”He leaned rather flabbily in the doorway and jerked hisshoulder in her direction—had he been closer, the gesturewould have been a nudge in the ribs. “Hey, Tonerl—don’t bea fool, you know. Say—you know Franz, the Ramsau Franz,he had his name-day to-day, and we’re all half-seas over.”Strong alcoholic fumes pervaded the room as he spoke; andthey brought Frau Permaneder’s excitement to a climax. Shesobbed no more, she was no longer weak and faint. Carriedaway by frenzy, incapable of measuring her words, she pouredout her disgust, her abhorrence, her complete and utter contemptand loathing of him and all his ways. Herr Permanederdid not take it meekly. His head was hot; for he hadtreated his friend Franz not only to many beers, but to“champagne wine” as well. He answered and answered[372]wildly—the quarrel reached a height far greater than theone that had signalized Herr Permaneder’s retirement intoprivate life, and it ended in Frau Antonie gathering herclothes together and withdrawing into the living-room forthe night. And at the end he had flung at her a word—a wordwhich she would not repeat—a word that should never passher lips—a word....

This was the major content of the confession which FrauPermaneder had sobbed into the folds of her mother’s gown.But the “word,” the word that in that fearful night had sunkinto her very depths—no, she would not repeat it; no, shewould not, she asseverated,—although her mother had not inthe least pressed her to do so, but only nodded her head,slowly, almost imperceptibly, as she looked down on Tony’slovely ash-blond hair.

“Yes, yes,” she said; “this is very sad, Tony. And I understandit all, my dear little one, because I am not onlyyour Mamma, but I am a woman like you as well. I seenow how fully your grief is justified, and how completelyyour husband, in a moment of weakness, forgot what he owedto you and—”

“In a moment—?” cried Tony. She sprang up. She madetwo steps backward and feverishly dried her eyes. “A moment,Mamma! He forgot what he owed to me and to ourname? He never knew it, from the very beginning! A manthat quietly sits down with his wife’s dowry—a man withoutambition or energy or will-power! A man that has somekind of thick soup made out of hops in his veins instead ofblood—and I verily believe he has! And to let himself downto such common doings as this with Babette—and when I reproachedhim with his good-for-nothingness, to answer with aword that—a word—”

And, arrived once more at the word, the word she would notrepeat, quite suddenly she took a step forward and said, in acompletely altered, a quieter, milder, interested tone:“How perfectly sweet! Where did you get that, Mamma?”[373]She motioned with her chin toward a little receptacle, acharming basket-work stand woven out of reeds and decoratedwith ribbon bows, in which the Frau Consul kept herfancy-work.

“I bought it, some time ago,” answered the old lady. “Ineeded it.”

“Very smart,” Tony said, looking at it with her head onone side. The Frau Consul looked at it too, but without seeingit, for she was in deep thought.

“Now, my dear daughter,” she said at last, putting out herhand again, “however things are, you are here, and welcome ahundred times to your old home. We can talk everythingover when we are calmer. Take your things off in your roomand make yourself comfortable. Ida!” she called into thedining-room, lifting her voice, “lay a place for Madame Permaneder,and one for Erica, my dear.”

Tony returned to her bed-chamber after dinner. During themeal her Mother had told her that Thomas was aware of herexpected arrival; and she did not seem particularly anxiousto meet him.

The Consul came at six o’clock. He went into thelandscape-room and had a long talk with his Mother.

“How is she?” he asked. “How does she seem?”

“Oh, Tom, I am afraid she is very determined. She isterribly wrought up. And this word—if I only knew whatit was he said—”

“I will go up and see her.”

“Yes, do, Tom. But knock softly, so as not to startle her,and be very calm, will you? Her nerves are upset. That isthe trouble she has with her digestion—she has eaten nothing.Do talk quietly with her.”

He went up quickly, skipping a step in his usual way. Hewas thinking, and twisting the ends of his moustache, butas he knocked his face cleared—he was resolved to handle thesituation as long as possible with humour.

A suffering voice said “Come in,” and he opened the door,to find Frau Permaneder lying on the bed fully dressed. Thebed curtains were flung back, the down quilt was underneathher back, and a medicine bottle stood on the night-table. Sheturned round a little and propped her head on her hand, lookingat him with her pouting smile. He made a deep bowand spread out his hands in a solemn gesture.

“Well, dear lady! To what are we indebted for the honourof a visit from this personage from the royal city of—?”

“Oh, give me a kiss, Tom,” she said, sat up to offer him hercheek, and then sank back again. “Well, how are you, my[375]dear boy? Quite unchanged, I see, since I saw you inMunich.”

“You can’t tell much about it with the blinds down, mydear. And you ought not to steal my thunder like that, either.It is more suitable for me to say—” he held her hand in his,and at the same time drew up a chair beside the bed—“as Iso often have, that you and Tilda—”

“Oh, for shame, Tom!—How is Tilda?”

“Well, of course. Madame Krauseminz sees she doesn’tstarve. Which doesn’t prevent her eating for the week aheadwhen she comes here on Thursday.”

She laughed very heartily—as she had not for a long timeback, in fact. Then she broke off with a sigh, and asked “Andhow is business?”

“Oh, we get on. Mustn’t complain.”

“Thank goodness, here everything is as it should be. Oh,Tom, I don’t feel much like chatting pleasantly about trifles!”

“Pity. One should preserve one’s sense of humour, quandmême.”

“All that is at an end, Tom.—You know all?”

“‘You know all’!” he repeated. He dropped her hand andpushed back his chair. “Goodness gracious, how that sounds!‘All’! What-all lies in that ‘all’? ‘My love and grief I gavethee,’ eh? No, listen!”

She was silent. She swept him with an astonished anddeeply offended glance.

“Yes, I expected that look,” he said, “for without that lookyou would not be here. But, dear Tony, let me take the thingas much too lightly as you take it too seriously. You will seewe shall complement each other very nicely—”

“Too seriously, Thomas? I take it too seriously?”

“Yes.—For heaven’s sake, don’t let’s make a tragedy of it!Let us take it in a lower key, not with ‘all is at an end’ and‘your unhappy Antonie.’ Don’t misunderstand me, Tony.You well know that no one can be gladder than I that you havecome. I have long wished you would come to us on a visit[376]by yourself, without your husband, so that we could be enfamille together once more. But to come now, like this—mydear child, I beg your pardon, but it was—foolish. Yes—letme finish! Permaneder has certainly behaved very badly, asI will give him to understand pretty clearly—don’t be afraidof that—”

“As to how he has behaved himself, Thomas,” she interruptedhim, raising herself up to lay a hand upon her breast,“as far as that goes, I have already given him to understandthat—and not only ‘given him to understand,’ I can tell you!I am convinced that further discussion with that man is entirelyout of place.” And she let herself fall back again andlooked sternly and fixedly at the ceiling.

He bowed, as if under the weight of her words, and kepton looking down at his knee and smiling.

“Well, then, I won’t send him a stiff letter. It is just asyou say. In the end it is after all your affair, and it is quiteenough if you put him in his place—it is your duty as hiswife. After all, there are some extenuating circ*mstances.There was a birthday celebration, and he came home a littlebit exalted, so to speak, and was guilty of a false step, anunseemly blunder—”

“Thomas,” said she, “I do not understand you. I do notunderstand your tone. You—a man with your principles!But you did not see him. You did not see how drunk helooked—”

“He looked ridiculous enough, I’m sure. But that is it,Tony. You will not see how comic it was—but probably thatis the fault of your bad digestion. You caught your husbandin a moment of weakness, and you have seen him make himselflook ridiculous. But that ought not to outrage you tosuch an extent. It ought to amuse you a little, perhaps, butbring you closer together as human beings. I will say that Idon’t mean you could have just let it pass with a laugh andsaid nothing about it—not at all. You left home; that was ademonstration of a rather extreme kind, perhaps—a bit too[377]severe—but, after all, he deserved it. I imagine he is feelingpretty down in the mouth. I only mean that you must getto take the thing differently—not so insulted—a little morepolitic point of view. We are just between ourselves. Letme tell you something, Tony. In any marriage, the importantthing is, on which side the moral ascendency lies. Understand?Your husband has laid himself open, there is nodoubt of that. He compromised himself and made a laughablespectacle—laughable, precisely because what he did wasactually so harmless, so impossible to take seriously. But,after all, his dignity is impaired—and the moral advantagehas passed over to you. If you know how to use it wisely,your happiness is assured. If you go back, say in a coupleof weeks—certainly I must insist on keeping you for ourselvesas long as that—if you go back to Munich in a couple of weeks,you will see—”

“I will not go back to Munich, Thomas.”

“I beg your pardon?” he asked, putting his hand to hisear and screwing up his face as he bent forward.

She was lying on her back with her head sunk in the pillow,so that her chin stood out with an effect of severity. “Never,”she said. And she gave a long, audible outward breath andcleared her throat, also at length and deliberately. It waslike a dry cough, which had of late become almost a habitwith her, and had probably to do with her digestive trouble.There followed a pause.

“Tony,” he said suddenly, getting up and slapping hishand on the arm of his chair, “you aren’t going to make ascandal!”

She gave a side-glance and saw him all pale, with themuscles standing out on his temples. Her position was nolonger tenable. She bestirred herself and, to hide the fearshe really felt of him, grew angry in her turn. She sat upquickly and put her feet to the floor. With glowing cheeksand a frowning brow, making hasty motions of the head andhands, she began: “Scandal, Thomas! You want to tell me[378]not to make a scandal, when I have been insulted, and peoplespit in my face? Is that worthy of a brother, you will permitme to ask? Circ*mspection, tact—they are very well in theirplace. But there are limits, Tom—I know just as much oflife as you do, and I tell you there is a point where the carefor appearances leaves off, and cowardice begins! I amastonished that such a stupid goose as I am have to tell youthis—yes, I am a stupid goose, and I should not be surprisedif Permaneder never loved me at all, for I am an ugly oldwoman, very likely, and Babette is certainly prettier than Iam! But did that give him a right to forget the respect heowed to my family, and my upbringing, and all my feelings?You did not see the way he forgot himself, Tom; and since youdid not see it, you cannot understand, for I can never tell youhow disgusting he was. You did not hear the word that hecalled after me, your sister, when I took my things and wentout of the room, to sleep on the sofa in the living-room.But I heard it, and it was a word that—a word— Oh, it wasthat word, let me tell you, Thomas, that caused me, to spendthe whole night packing my trunk, to wake Erica early in themorning, and to leave the place, rather than to remain in theneighbourhood of a man who could utter such words. Andto such a man, as I said before, I will never, never return,not so long as I have any self-respect, or care in the least whatbecomes of me in my life on this earth.”

“And will you now have the goodness, to tell me what thiscursed word was? Yes or no?”

“Never, Thomas! Never would I permit that word to crossmy lips. I know too well what I owe to you and to myselfwithin these walls.”

“Then it’s no use talking with you!”

“That may easily be. I am sure I do not want to discussit any further.”

“What do you expect to do? Get a divorce?”

“Yes, Tom; such is my firm determination. I feel that Iowe it to myself, my child, and my family.”

[379]“That is all nonsense, of course,” he said in a dispassionatetone. He turned on his heel and moved away, as if his wordshad settled the matter. “It takes two to make a divorce, mychild. Do you think Permaneder will just say yes and thankyou kindly? The idea is absurd.”

“Oh, you can leave that to me,” she said, quite undismayed.“You mean he will refuse on account of the seventeen thousandmarks current. But Grünlich wasn’t willing, either, andthey made him. There are ways and means, I’m sure. I’llgo to Dr. Gieseke. He is Christian’s friend, and he will helpme. Oh, yes, of course, I know it was not the same thingthen. It was ‘incapacity of the husband to provide for hisfamily.’ You see, I know my way about in these affairs.Dear me, you act as if this were the first time in my life thatI got a divorce! But even so, Tom. Perhaps there is nothingthat applies to this case. Perhaps it is impossible—you maybe right. But it is all the same; my resolve is fixed. Lethim keep the money. There are higher things in life. Hewill never see me again, either way.”

She coughed again. She had left the bed and seated herselfin an easy-chair, resting one elbow on its arm. Her chinwas so deeply buried in her hand that her four bent fingersclutched her under lip. She sat with her body turned to theright, staring with red, excited eyes out of the window.

The Consul walked up and down, sighed, shook his head,shrugged his shoulders. He paused in front of her, fairlywringing his hands.

“You are a child, Tony, a child,” said he in a discouraged,almost pleading tone. “Every word you have spoken is themost utter childish nonsense. Will you make an effort, now,if I beg you, to think about the thing for just one minute likea grown woman? Don’t you see that you are acting as ifsomething very serious and dreadful had happened to you—asif your husband had cruelly betrayed you and heaped insultson you before all the world? Do try to realize thatnothing of the sort has happened! Not a single soul in the[380]world knows anything about that silly affair that happenedat the top of your staircase in Kaufinger Street. Your dignity,and ours, will suffer no slightest diminution if you go calmlyand composedly back to Permaneder—of course, with yournose in the air! But, on the other hand, if you don’t goback, if you give this nonsense so much importance as tomake a scandal out of it, then you will be wounding ourdignity indeed.”

She jerked her chin out of her hand and stared him in theface.

“That’s enough, Thomas Buddenbrook. Be quiet now; it’smy turn. Listen. So you think there is no shame and noscandal so long as people don’t get to hear it? Ah, no! Theshame that gnaws at us secretly and eats away our self-respect—thatis far, far worse. Are we Buddenbrooks the sort ofpeople to be satisfied if everything looks ‘tip-top,’ as you sayhere, on the outside, no matter how much mortification wehave to choke down, inside our four walls? I cannot helpfeeling astonished at you, Tom. Think of our Father and howhe would act to-day—and then judge as he would! No, no!Clean and open dealings must be the rule. Why, you canopen your books any day, for all the world to see, and say,‘Here they are, look at them.’ We should all of us be justthe same. I know how God has made me. I am not afraid.Let Julchen Möllendorpf pass me in the street and not speak,if she wants to. Let Pfiffi Buddenbrook sit here on Thursdayafternoons and shake all over with spite, and say, ‘Well, thatis the second time! But, of course, both times the men wereto blame!’ I feel so far above all that now, Thomas—fartherthan I can tell you! I know I have done what I thoughtwas right. But if I am to be so afraid of Julchen Möllendorpfand Pfiffi Buddenbrook as to swallow down all sorts of insultsand let myself be cursed out in a drunken dialect that isn’teven grammar—to stop with a man in a town where I have toget used to that kind of language and the kind of scenes I sawthat night at the top of the stairs—where I have to forget my[381]origin and my upbringing and everything that I am, and learnto disown it altogether in order to act as if I were satisfiedand happy—that is what I call undignified—that is what Icall scandalous, I tell you!”

She broke off, buried her chin once more in her hand, andstared out of the window. He stood before her, his weighton one leg, his hands in his trousers pockets. His eyes restedon her unseeing, for he was in deep thought, and slowlymoving his head from side to side.

“Tony,” he said. “You’re telling the truth. I knew itall along; but you betrayed yourself just now. It is notthe man at all. It is the place. It isn’t this other idioticbusiness—it is the whole thing all together. You couldn’tget used to it. Tell the truth.”

“Thomas,” she cried, “it is the truth!” She sprang up asshe spoke, and pointed straight into his face with her outstretchedhand. Her own face was red. She stood there ina warlike pose, one hand grasping the chair, gesticulating withthe other, and made a long, agitated, passionate speech thatwelled up in a resistless tide. The Consul stared at heramazed. Scarcely would she pause to draw breath, whennew words would come gushing and bubbling forth. Yes,she found words for everything; she gave full expression toall the accumulated disgust of her Munich years. Unassorted,confused, she poured it all out, one thing afteranother; she kept nothing back. It was like the bursting ofa dam—an assertion of desperate integrity; something elemental,a force of nature, that brooked no restraint.

“It is the truth!” she cried. “Say it again, Thomas! Oh,I can tell you plainly, I am no stupid goose any longer; Iknow what I have to expect. I don’t faint away at my time oflife, to hear that dirty work goes on now and then. I’veknown people like Teary Trieschke, and I was married toBendix Grünlich, and I know the dissipated creatures thereare here in this town. I am no country innocent, I tell you;and the affair with Babette wouldn’t have made me go off the[382]handle like that, just by itself. No, Thomas, the thing wasthat it filled the cup to overflowing—and that didn’t takemuch, for it was full already, and had been for a long time—along time. It would have taken very little to make itrun over. And then this happened! The knowledge thatI could not depend on Permaneder even in that way—that putthe top on everything. It knocked the bottom out of thecask. It brought to a head all at once my intention to getaway from Munich, that had been slowly growing in my minda long time before that, Tom; for I cannot live down there—Iswear it before God and all His heavenly hosts! Howwretched I have been, Thomas, you can never know. Whenyou were there on a visit, I concealed everything, for I am atactful woman and do not burden others with my complainings,nor wear my heart on my sleeve on a week-day. I havealways been rather reserved. But I have suffered, Tom,suffered with my entire being—with my whole personality, soto speak. Like a plant, a flower that has been transplantedinto a foreign soil—if I may make such a comparison. Youwill probably find it a most unsuitable one, for I am reallyan ugly old woman—but I could not be planted in a moreforeign soil than that, and I would just as lief go and live inTurkey! Oh, we should never be transplanted, we northernfolk! We should stick to the shore of our own bay; wecan only really thrive upon our native soil! You all usedto laugh at my taste for the nobility. Yes, in these years Ihave often thought of what somebody said to me once, intimes gone by. A very clever man. ‘Your sympathies arewith the nobility,’ he said. ‘Shall I tell you why? Becauseyou yourself belong to the nobility. Your father is a greatgentleman, and you are a princess. A gulf lies between youand the rest of us who do not belong to the governing classes.’Yes, Tom. We feel like the nobility, and we realize the difference;we should never try to live where we are not known,where no one understands our worth, for we shall have nothingbut chagrin, and be laughed at for our arrogance. Yes, they[383]all found me ridiculously arrogant. They did not say so,but I felt it every minute, and that made me suffer, too. Doyou think I feel arrogant, Tom—in a place where they eatcake with a knife, and the very princes speak bad grammar,and if a gentleman picks up a lady’s fan it is supposed to bea love-affair. Get used to it? To people without dignity,morals, energy, ambition, self-respect, or good manners, lazyand frivolous, stupid and shallow at the same time?—no,never, never, as long as I am a Buddenbrook and your sister!Eva Ewers managed it—but Eva is not a Buddenbrook, and shehas a husband that amounts to something. It was differentwith me. You think back, Tom, from the very beginning:I come from a home where people work and get things accomplishedand have a purpose in life, and I go down thereto Permaneder—and he sits himself down with my dowry— Oh,that was genuine enough, that was characteristic—butit was the only good thing there was about it! And then?I was going to have a baby; that would have made everythingup to me. And what happens? It dies. I don’t blamePermaneder for that, of course; I don’t mean that. God forbid.He did everything he could—and he didn’t go to thecafé for several days. But, after all, it belonged to the samething. It made me no happier, as you can well believe.But I didn’t give in, and I didn’t grumble. I was alone, andmisunderstood, and pointed at for being arrogant; but I saidto myself: ‘You yielded him your consent for life. He islumpy and lazy, and he caused you a cruel disappointment.But his heart is pure, and he means well.’ And then I had tobear the sight of him in that last unspeakable minute. And Isaid to myself: ‘He understands you no better and respectsyou no more and no less than the others do, and he calls younames that one of our workmen up here wouldn’t throw at adog!’ I knew then that nothing bound me to him any more,and that it was an indignity for me to stay. When I was drivingfrom the station this afternoon, I passed Nielsen theporter, and he took off his hat and made me a deep bow, and[384]I bowed back to him—not arrogantly, not a bit—I wavedmy hand, just the way Father used to. And here I am.You can do what you like: you can harness up all your work-horses—butyou can never drag me back to Munich again.And to-morrow I go to Gieseke!”

Thus she spoke; and, finishing, sank back exhausted inher chair and stared again out of the window.

Tom was alarmed, shaken, stupefied. He stood before herand found no words. He raised his arms up shoulder-high,drawing a long breath. Then he let them fall against histhighs.

“Well, that’s an end of it,” he said. His voice was calm,and he turned and went toward the door.

Her face wore now the same expression, the same half-pouting,half-injured smile, as when he entered.

“Tom?” she said, with a rising inflection. “Are you vexedwith me?”

He held the oval doorknob in one hand and made a gestureof weary protest with the other. “Oh, no. Not at all.”

She put out her hand and tipped her head on one side.“Come here, Tom. Your poor sister has had a hard time.Life is hard on her. She has much to bear. And at thisminute she has nobody, in all the world—”

He came back; he took her hand; but wearily, indifferently,not looking at her face. Suddenly her lip began to quiver.

“You must go on alone now,” she said. “There’s nothinggood to be looked for from Christian, and I am finished.Failed. Gone to pieces. I can do no more. I am a poor,useless woman, dependent on you all for my living. I couldnever have dreamed, Tom, that I should be no help to you atall. Now you stand quite alone, and upon you it depends tokeep up the honour and dignity of the family. May God helpyou in the task.”

Two large, clear, childish tears rolled down over her cheeks,which were beginning to show, very faintly, the first signs ofa*ge.

Tony lost no time. She went resolutely about her affair.In the hope of quieting her, of bringing her slowly to adifferent frame of mind, the Consul said but little. He askedonly one thing: that she should be very quiet and stop entirelyin the house—and Erica as well. Perhaps it would blowover. The town did not need to know. The family Thursdayafternoon was put off on some pretext.

But on the very next day she wrote to Dr. Gieseke andsummoned him to Meng Street. She received him alone, inthe middle corridor room on the first floor, where a fire waslaid, and she had arranged a heavy table with ink and writingmaterials and a quantity of foolscap paper from the office.They sat down in two easy-chairs.

“Doctor Gieseke,” said Tony. She folded her arms, flungback her head, and looked at the ceiling while she spoke.“You are a man of experience, both professionally and personally.I can speak openly with you.” And thereupon sherevealed to him the whole story about Babette and what hadhappened in her sleeping-chamber. Dr. Gieseke regretted beingobliged to explain to her that neither the affair on thestairs nor the insult she had undoubtedly received, the precisenature of which she hesitated to divulge, was sufficientground for a divorce.

“Very good,” she said. “Thank you.”

And then, at her request, he gave an exposition of theexisting legal grounds for divorce, and an even longer discourseafter it, which had for its subject-matter the law touchingdowry rights. She listened with open mind and strainedattention; and then, with cordial thanks, dismissed Dr. Giesekefor the time being.

[386]She went downstairs and demanded audience of her brotherin his private office.

“Thomas,” she said, “please write to the man at once—Ido not like to mention his name. As far as the money goes,I am perfectly informed on that subject. Let him speak.Me he shall never see again, whatever he decides. If heagrees to a divorce, we will ask him to give an accountingand restore my dos. If he refuses, we need not be discouraged.For, as you probably know, Permaneder’s right to my dos, is,legally speaking a property right. We grant that. But onthe other hand, thank goodness, I have certain material rightson my side—”

The Consul walked up and down with his hands behindhis back, his shoulders twitching nervously. Tony’s face,as she uttered the word dos was too unutterably self-satisfied!

He had no time. Heaven knew he had no time. Let herhave patience, and wait, and bethink herself a hundred times.His nearest duty was a journey to Hamburg—indeed, he mustgo the very next day, for the purpose of a personal interviewwith Christian. Christian had written for help, for moneywhich would have to come out of the Frau Consul’s inheritance.His business was in frightful condition; he was inconstant difficulties. Yet he seemed to amuse himself royallyand went everywhere, to theatres, restaurants, and concerthalls. To judge from the debts now coming to light, which hehad been able to pile up on the credit of his family name, hehad been living far, far beyond his means. And they knew inMeng Street, and at the club—yes, the whole town knew—whowas responsible. It was a certain female, a certain AlinePuvogel, who lived alone with her two pretty children. Christianwas not the only Hamburg business man who possessedher favours and spent money on her.

In short, Tony’s intentions in the matter of her divorce werenot the only dark spot in the Consul’s sky; and the journey toHamburg was pressing. Besides, it was altogether likely thatthey would hear from Herr Permaneder.

[387]The Consul went to Hamburg, and came back angry anddepressed. No word had come from Munich, and he feltobliged to take the first step. He wrote; wrote rather coldly,with curt condescension, to this effect: Antonie, during her lifewith Permaneder, had been subjected to great disappointments—thatwould not be denied. Without going into detail, it wasevident that she could never find happiness in this marriage.Her wish that it should be dissolved must be justified, to themind of any reasonable person; and her determination notto return to Munich was entirely unshakable. And he putthe question as to what were Herr Permaneder’s feelings inview of the facts which he had just stated.

There were more days of suspense. And then came HerrPermaneder’s reply.

He answered as no one had expected him to answer—notDr. Gieseke, nor the Frau Consul, not Thomas, nor Antonieherself. He agreed, quite simply, to a divorce.

He wrote that he deeply regretted what had happened, butthat he respected Antonie’s wishes, as he saw that he and shehad “never hit it off.” If it were true that she had sufferedduring those years through him, he begged her to forget andforgive. As he would probably never see her and Erica again,he sent them both his hearty good-wishes for all happiness onthis earth. And he signed himself, Alois Permaneder. In apostscript he offered to make immediate restitution of thedowry. He had enough without it to lead a life free fromcare. He did not require to have notice given, for businessthere was none to wind up, the house belonged to him, andthe money was ready any time.

Tony felt a slight twinge of shame, and was almost inclined,for the first time, to admit that Herr Permaneder’s indifferenceto money matters might have something good about it.

Now it was Dr. Gieseke’s turn again. He communicatedwith the husband, and a plea of “mutual incompatibility”was set up as ground for the divorce. The hearing began—Tony’ssecond divorce case. She talked about it night and[388]day, and the Consul lost his temper several times. Tonywas in no state to share his feelings. She was entirely takenup with words like “tangibilities,” “improvabilities,” “accessions,”“productivity,” “dowry rights,” and the like, whichshe used in season and out of season, with marvellous fluency,her shoulders slightly raised. One point in Dr. Gieseke’slong disquisitions had made a great impression on her: ithad to do with “treasure” found in any piece of propertythat has constituted part of a dowry, which was to be regardedas a component part of the dowry, to be liquidatedif the marriage came to an end. About this “treasure”—whichwas, of course, non-existent—she talked to every soulshe knew: Ida Jungmann, Uncle Justus, poor Clothilde, theBroad Street Buddenbrooks—and they, when they heard howmatters stood, just folded their hands in their laps and lookedat each other in speechless joy that this satisfaction, too,had been vouchsafed them. Therese Weichbrodt was told ofit—Erica had gone to stay at the pension again—andMadame Kethelsen too, though this last, for more than onereason, understood not a single word.

Then came the day when the divorce was pronounced;when the last formalities were gone through, and Tonyasked Thomas for the family papers and set down this lastevent with her own hand. Yes, it was done. All that remainedwas to get used to it.

She did it gallantly. She bore, with unscathed dignity, thetiny dagger-thrusts of the ladies from Broad Street; she metthe Hagenströms and Möllendorpfs on the street and lookedwith chilling indifference straight over their heads; and shequite gave up going into society—the more easily that it hadfor some years past forsaken her Mother’s house for herbrother’s. She had her own immediate family, the FrauConsul, Tom, and Gerda; she had Ida Jungmann and hermotherly friend Sesemi Weichbrodt; and she had Erica,upon whose future she probably built her own last secret[389]hopes, and upon whose aristocratic upbringing she expendedmuch care and thought.

Thus she lived, and thus time went on.

Later, in some way that was never quite clear, there cameto certain members of the family knowledge of that “word,”the desperate word which had escaped from Herr Permanederon that never-to-be-forgotten night.

What was it, then, that he had said?

“Go to the devil, you filthy sprat-eating slu*t!”

And thus Tony Buddenbrook’s second marriage came toan end.

END OF VOLUME I

A NOTE ON THE TYPE IN
WHICH THIS BOOK IS SET