Buddenbrooks_ The Decline Of A Family Part 1

Buddenbrooks.

The Decline of a Family.

Thomas Mann.

NOTE.

Buddenbrooks was written before the turn of the century; it was first published in 1902, and became a German cla.s.sic. It is one of those novels--we possess many of them in English--which are at once a work of art and a unique record of a period and a district. Buddenbrooks is great in its psychology, great as the monument of a van-ished cultural tradition, and ultimately great by the per-fection of its art: the cla.s.sic purity and beautiful austerity of its style. The translation of a book which is a triumph of style in its own language, is always a piece of effrontery. Budden-brooks is so leisurely, so chiselled: the great gulf of the war divided its literary method from that of our time. Besides, the author has recorded much dialect. This diffi-culty is insuperable. Dialect cannot be transferred. So the present translation is offered with humility. It was necessary to recognize that the difficulties were great. Yet it was necessary to set oneself the bold task of trans-ferring the spirit first and the letter so far as might be; and above all, to make certain that the work of art, coming as it does to the ear, in German, like music out of the past, should, in English, at least not come like a translation--which is, "G.o.d bless us, a thing of naught."

H.T. Lowe-Porter

PART ONE.

CHAPTER I.

"AND--and--what comes next?" "Oh, yes, yes, what the d.i.c.kens does come next? C'est Ia question, ma tr*ch* demoiselle!" Frau Consul Buddenbrook shot a glance at her husband and came to the rescue of her little daughter. She sat with her mother-in-law on a straight white-enamelled sofa with yellow cus.h.i.+ons and a gilded lion's head at the top. The Consul was in his easy-chair beside her, and the child perched on her grandfather's knee in the window. "Tony," prompted the Frau Consul, " 'I believe that G.o.d'--" Dainty little eight-year-old Antonie, in her light shot-silk frock, turned her head away from her grandfather and stared aimlessly about the room with her blue-grey eyes, trying hard to remember. Once more she repeated "What comes next?" and went on slowly: " 'I believe that G.o.d'--" and then, her face brightening, briskly finished the sentence: " 'created me, together with all living creatures.' " She was in smooth waters now, and rattled away, beaming with joy, through the whole Article, reproducing it word for word from the Catechism just promulgated, with the approval of an omniscient Senate, in that very year of grace 1835. When you were once fairly started, she thought, it was very like going down "Mount Jerusalem" with your brothers on the little sled: you had no lime to think, and you couldn't stop even if you wanted to. "'And clothes and shoes,'" she said, "'meat and drink, hearth and home, wife and child, acre and cow...' " But old Johann Buddenbrook could hold in no longer. He burst 3 out laughing, in a high, half-smothered t.i.tter, in his glee at being able to make fun of the Catechism. He had probably put the child through this little examination with no other end in view. He inquired after Tony's acre and cow, asked how much she wanted for a sack of wheat, and tried to drive a bargain with her. His round, rosy, benevolent face, which never would look cross no matter how hard he tried, was set in a frame of snow-white powdered hair, and the suggestion of a pigtail fell over the broad collar of his mouse-coloured coat. His double chin rested comfortably on a white lace frill. He still, in his seventies, adhered to the fas.h.i.+ons of his youth: only the lace frogs and the big pockets were missing. And never in all his life had he worn a pair of trousers. They had all joined in his laughter, but largely as a mark of respect for the head of the family. Madame Antoinette Buddenbrook, born Duchamps, t.i.ttered in precisely the same way as her husband. She was a stout lady, with thick white curls over her ears, dressed in a plain gown of striped black and grey stuff which betrayed the native quiet simplicity of her character. Her hands were still white and lovely, and she held a little velvet work-bag on her lap. It was strange to see how she had grown, in time, to look like her husband. Only her dark eyes, by their shape and their liveliness, sug-gested her half-Latin origin. On her grandfather's side Madame Buddenbrook was of French-Swiss stock, though born in Hamburg. Her daughter-in-law, Frau Consul Elizabeth Buddenbrook, born Kroger, laughed the sputtering Kroger laugh and tucked in her chin as the Kr*s did. She could not be called a beauty, but, like all the Kr*s, she looked distin-guished; she moved with graceful deliberation and had a clear, well-modulated voice. People liked her and felt confidence in her. Her reddish hair curled over her ears and was piled in a crown on top of her head; and she had the brilliant white com-plexion that goes with such hair, set off with a tiny freckle here 4. and there. Her nose was rather too long, her mouth somewhat small; her most striking facial peculiarity was the shape of her lower lip, which ran straight into the chin without a curve. She had on a short bodice with high puffed sleeves, that left exposed a flawlessly modelled neck adorned with a spray of diamonds on a satin ribbon. The Consul was leaning forward in his easy-chair, rather fidgety. He wore a cinnamon-coloured coat with wide lapels and leg-of-mutton sleeves close-fitting at the wrists, and white linen trousers with black stripes up the outside seams. His chin nestled in a stiff choker collar, around which was folded a silk cravat that flowed down amply over his flowered waist-coat. He had his father's deep-set blue observant eyes, though their expression was perhaps more dreamy; but his features were clearer-cut and more serious, his nose was prominent and aquiline, and his cheeks, half-covered with a fair curling beard, were not so plump as the old man's. Madame Buddenbrook put her hand on her daughter-in-law's arm 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 delicate hand, so that her gold bangles tinkled slightly. Then, with a gesture habitual to her, she drew her finger across her face from the corner of her mouth to her forehead, as if she were smoothing 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 first floor of the rambling old house in Meng Street, which the firm of Johann Buddenbrook had acquired some time since, though the family had not lived in it long. The room was hung with heavy resilient tapestries put up in such a way that they stood well out from the walls. They were woven in soft tones to harmonize with the carpet, and they depicted idyllic land-scapes in the style of the eighteenth century, with merry 5 vine-dressers, busy husbandmen, and gaily beribboned shep-herdesses who sat beside crystal streams with spotless lambs in their laps or exchanged kisses with amorous shepherds. These scenes were usually lighted by a pale yellow sunset to match the yellow coverings on the white enamelled furniture and 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 of gilding, stood, not in front of the sofa, but by the wall oppo-site the little harmonium, on which lay a flute-case; some stiff arm-chairs were ranged in a row round the walls; there was a sewing-table by the window, and a flimsy ornamental writing-desk laden with knick-knacks. On the other side of the room from the windows was a gla.s.s door, through which one looked into the srmi-darkness of a pillared hall; and on the left were the lofty white folding doors that led to the dining-room. A semi-circular niche in the remaining wall was occupied by the stove, which crackled away behind a polished wrought-iron screen. For cold weather had set in early. The leaves of the little lime-trees around the churchyard of St. Mary's, across the way, had turned yellow, though it was but mid-October. The wind whistled around the corners of the ma.s.sive Gothic pile, and a cold, thin rain was falling. On Madame Budden-brook's account, the double windows had already been put in. It was Thursday, the day on which all the members of the family living in town a.s.sembled every second week, by esta-blished custom. To-day, however, a few intimate friends as well had been bidden to a family dinner; and now, towards four o'clock in the afternoon, the Buddenbrooks sat in the gathering twilight and awaited their guests. Little Antonie had not let her grandfather interfere with her toboggan-ride. She merely pouted, sticking out her al-ready prominent upper lip still further over the lower one. She was at the bottom of her Mount Jerusalem, hut not know- ing 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. "Did you hear, Mamma? She knows something. Can any one tell "If the lightning," uttered Tony, nodding her head with every word, "sets something on fire, then it's the lightning that strikes. If it doesn't, why, then it's the thunder!" She folded her arms and looked around her like one sure of ap-plause. But old Buddenbrook was annoyed by this display of wisdom. He demanded to know who had taught her such nonsense. It turned out that the culprit was the nursery governess, Ida Jungmann, who had lately been engaged from Marienwerder. The Consul had to come to her de-fence. "You are too strict, Papa. Why shouldn't the child have her own little ideas about such things, at her age?" "Excusez, mon cher!... Mais c'est une folie! You know I don't like the children's heads muddled with such things. The thunder strikes,' does it? Oh, very well, let it strike, and get along with your Prussian woman!" The truth was, the old gentleman hadn't a good word to say for Ida Jungmann. Not that he was narrow-minded. He had seen something of the world, having travelled by coach to Southern Germany in 1813 to buy up wheat for the Prussian army; he had been to Amsterdam and Paris, and was too en-lightened to condemn everything that lay beyond the gabled roofs of his native town. But in social intercourse he was more apt than his son to draw the line rigidly and give the cold shoulder to strangers. So when this young girl--she was then only twenty--had come back with his children from a visit to Western Prussia, as a sort of charity-child, the old man had made his son a scene for the act of piety, in which he spoke hardly anything but French and low German. Ida 7 was the daughter of an inn-keeper who had died just before the Buddenbrooks' arrival in Marienwerder. She had proved to be capable in the household and with the children, and her rigid honesty and Prussian notions of caste made her perfectly suited to her position in the family. She was a person of aristocratic principles, drawing hair-line distinctions be-tween cla.s.s and cla.s.s, and very proud of her position as servant of the higher orders. She objected to Tony's making friends with any schoolmate whom she reckoned as belonging only to the respectable middle cla.s.s. And now the Prussian woman herself came from the pillared hall through the gla.s.s door--a fairly tall, big-boned girl in a black frock, with smooth hair and an honest face. She held by the hand an extraordinarily thin small child, dressed in a flowered print frock, with l.u.s.treless ash-coloured hair and the manner of a little old maid. This was Clothilde, the daughter of a nephew of old Buddenbrook who belonged to a penniless branch of the family and was in business at Rostock as an estates agent. Clothilde was being brought up with Antonie, being about the same age and a docile little creature. "Everything is ready," Mamsell Jungmann said. She had had a hard time learning to p.r.o.nounce her r's, so now she rolled them tremendously in her throat. "Clothilde helped very well in the kitchen, so there was not much for cook to do." Monsieur Buddenbrook sneered behind his lace frill at Ida's accent. The Consul patted his little niece's cheek and said: "That's right, Tilda. Work and pray. Tony ought to take a pattern from you; she's far too likely to be saucy and idle." Tony dropped her head and looked at her grandfather from under her eyebrows. She knew he would defend her--he always did. "No, no," he said, "hold your head up, Tony. Don't let them frighten you. We can't all be alike. Each according to hia lights. Tilda is a good girl--but we're not so bad, either. Hey, Betsy?" He turned to his daughter-in-law, who generally deferred to his views. Madame Antoinette, probably more from shrewdness than conviction, sided with the Consul; and thus the older and the younger generation crossed hands in the dance of life. "You are very kind, Papa," the Consul's wife said. "Tony will try her best to grow up a clever and industrious woman.... Have the boys come home from school?" she asked Ida. Tony, who from her perch on her grandfather's knee was looking out the window, called out in the same breath: "Tom and Christian are coming up Johannes Street... and Herr Hoffstede... and Uncle Doctor. *.." The bells of St. Mary's began to chime, ding-dong, ding-dong--rather out of time, so that one could hardly tell what they were playing; still, it was very impressive. The big and the little bell announced, the one in lively, the other in dignified tones, that it was four o'clock; and at the same time a shrill peal from the bell over the vestibule door went ringing through the entry, and Tom and Christian entered, to-gether with the first guests, Jean Jacques Hoffstede, the poet, and Doctor Grabow, the family physician.

CHAPTER II.

HERR JEAN JACQUES HOFFSTEDE was the town poet. He un-doubtedly had a few verses in his pocket for the present oc-casion. He was nearly as old as Johann Buddenbrook, and dressed in much the same style except that his coat was green instead of mouse-coloured. But he was thinner and more active than his old friend, with bright little greenish eyes arid a long pointed nose. "Many thanks," he said, shaking hands with the gentlemen and bowing before the ladies-especially the Frau Consul, for whom he entertained a deep regard. Such bows as his it was not given to the younger generation to perform; and he accompanied them with his pleasant quiet smile.."Many thanks for your kind invitation, my dear good people. We met these two young ones, the Doctor and I"--he pointed to Tom and Christian, in their blue tunics and leather belts--"in King Street, coming home from school. Fine lads, eh, Frau Consul? Tom is a very solid chap. He'll have to go into the business, no doubt of that. But Christian is a devil of a fel-low--a young 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 young monkey, that's what he is. Why not say at once that he is to be a poet, Hoffstede?" Mamsell Jungmann drew the curtains, and soon the room was bathed in mellow flickering light from the candles in the 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 singing lessons. He was a boy of seven, who already resem-bled his father to an almost comic extent. He had the same rather small round deep-set eyes and the same prominent aquiline nose; the lines of his face below the cheek-bones showed that it would not always retain its present child-like fulness. "We've been laughing dreadfully," he began to prattle, his eyes darting from one to another of the circle. "What do you think Herr Stengel said to Siegmund Kostermann?" He bent his bark, shook his head, and declaimed impressively: " 'Out-wardly, 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 the master's odd p.r.o.nunciation but the look of disgust on his face at the "outward sleekness" he described. The whole company burst out laughing. "Young monkey!" repeated old Buddenbrook. But Herr Hoffstede was in ecstasies. "Charmant!" he cried. "If you know Marrellus Stengel--that's he, to the life. Dh, that's ton good!" Thomas, to whom the gift of mimicry had been denied, stood near his younger brother and laughed heartily, without a trace of envy. His teeth were not very good, being small and yellowish. His nose was finely chiselled, and he strikingly resembled his grandfather in the eyes and the shape of the face. The company had for the most part seated themselves on the chairs and the sofa. They talked with the children or discussed the unseasonable cold and the new house. Herr Hoffstede admired a beautiful Sevres inkstand, in the shape of a black and white hunting dog, that stood on the secretary. Doctor Grabow, a man of about the Consul's age, with a long mild face between thin whiskers, was looking at the table, set out with cakes and currant bread and salt-cellars in different shapes. This was the "bread and salt" that had been sent by friends for the house warming; but the 11 "bread" consisted of rich, heavy pastries, and the salt came in dishes of ma.s.sive gold, that the senders might not seem to be mean in their gifts. "There will be work for me here," said the Doctor, pointing to the sweetmeats and threatening the childien with his glance. Shaking his head, he picked up a heavy salt and pepper stand from the table. "From Lebrecht Kr*," said old Buddenbrook, with a grimace. "Our dear kinsman is always open-handed. I did not spend as much on him when he built his summer house outside the Castle Gate. But he has always been like that--very lordly, very free with his money, a real cavalier *a-mode...." The bell had rung several times. Pastor Wunderlich was announced; a stout old gentleman in a long black coat and powdered hair. He had twinkling grey eyes set in a face that was jovial if rather pale. He had been a widower for many years, and considered himself a bachelor of the old school, like Herr Gratjens, the broker, who entered with him. Herr Gratjens was a tall man who went around with one of his thin hands up to his eye like a telescope, as if he were examining a painting. He was a well-known art connoisseur. Among the other guests were Senator Doctor Langhals and his wife, both friends of many years' standing; and Koppen the wine-merchant, with his great crimson face be-tween enormous padded sleeves. His wife, who came with him, was nearly as stout as he. It was after half past four when the Kr*s put in an appearance--the elders together with their children; the Consul Kr*s with their sons Jacob and J* who were about the age of Tom and Christian. On their heels came the parents of Frau Consul Kr*, the lumber-dealer Overdieck and his wife, a fond old pair who still addressed each other in public with nicknames from the days of their early love. "Fine people come late," said Consul Buddenbrook, and kissed his mother-in-law's hand. "But look at them when they do come!" and Johann Budden-brook included the whole Kr* connection with a sweeping gesture, and shook the elder Kr* by the hand. Lebrecht Kr*, the cavalier a-la-mode, was a tall, distinguished figure. He wore his hair slightly powdered, but dressed in the height of fas.h.i.+on, with a double row of jewelled b.u.t.tons on his velvet waistcoat. His son Justus, with his turned-up mustache and small beard, was very like the father in figure and manner, even to the graceful easy motions of the hands. The guests did not sit down, but stood about awaiting the princ.i.p.al event of the evening and pa.s.sing the time in casual talk. At length, Johann Buddenbrook the older offered his arm to Madame K*n and said in an elevated voice, "Well, mesdames et messieurs, if you are hungry..." Mamsell Jungmann and the servant had opened the folding-doors into the dining-room; and the company made its way with studied ease to table. One could be sure of a good square meal at the Buddenbrooks'.

CHAPTER III.

As the party began to move toward the dining-room, Consul Buddenbrook's hand went to his left breast-pocket and fingered a paper that was inside. The polite smile had left his face, giving place to a strained and care-worn look, and the muscles stood out on his temples as he clenched his teeth. For appear-ance's sake he made a few steps toward the dining-room, but stopped and sought his mother's eye as she was leaving the room on Pastor Wunderlich's arm, among the last of her guests. "Pardon me, dear Herr Pastor... just a word with you, Mamma." The Pastor nodded gaily, and the Consul drew his Mother 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 her dark eyes. "That is his writing. It is the third one, and Papa answered only the first. What shall I do? It came at 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 Madame Buddenbrook. She grasped her son's arm with a quick, habitual movement. "What do you suppose is in it?" she added uneasily. "The boy won't give in. He's taken it into his head he must be compensated for his share in the house.... No, no, Jean. Not now. To-night, perhaps, before we go to bed." "What am I to do?" repeated the Consul, shaking his bent head. "I have often wanted to ask Papa to give in. I don't like it to look as if I had schemed against Gotthold and worked myself into a snug place. I don't want Father to look at it like that, either. But, to be honest... I am a partner, after all. And Betsy and I pay a fair rent for the second storey. It is all arranged with my sister in Frankfort: her husband gets compensation already, in Papa's life-time--a quarter of the purchase price of the house. That is good business: Papa arranged it very cleverly, and it is very satisfactory from the point of view of the firm. And if Papa acts so unfriendly to Gotthold--" "Nonsense, Jean. Your position in the matter is quite clear. But it is painful for me to have Gotthold think that his step-mother looks out after her own children and delib-erately makes bad blood between him and his father!" "But it is his own fault," the Consul almost shouted, and then, with a glance at the dining-room door, lowered his voice. "It is his fault, the whole wretched thing. You can judge for yourself. Why couldn't he be reasonable? Why did he have to go and marry that St*girl and... the shop...." The Consul gave an angry, embarra.s.sed laugh at the last' word. "It's a weakness of Father's, that prejudice against the shop; but Gotthold ought to have respected it...." "Oh, Jean, it would be best if Papa would give in." "But ought I to advise him to?" whispered the Consul excitedly, clapping his hand to his forehead. "I am an interested party, sol ought to say, Pay it. But I am also a partner. And if Papa thinks he is under no obligation to a disobedient and rebellious son to draw the money out of the working capital of the firm... It is a matter of eleven thousand thaler, a good bit of money. No, no, I cannot advise him either for or against. I'd rather wash my hands of tKe whole affair. But the scene with Papa is so desagreable--" "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 threshold into the brightly lighted dining-room, where the company had already taken their places at the long table .15 The tapestries in this room had a sky-blue background, against which, between slender columns, white figures of G.o.ds and G.o.ddesses stood out with plastic effect. The heavy red damask window-curtains were drawn; stiff, ma.s.sive sofas in red damask stood ranged against the walls; and in each corner stood a tall gilt candelabrum with eight flaming candles, besides those in silver sconces on the table. Above the heavy sideboard, on the wall opposite the landscape room, hung a large painting of an Italian bay, the misty blue atmosphere of which was most effective in the candle-light. I Every trace of care or disquiet had vanished'from Madame Buddenbrook's face. She sat down between Pastor Wunder-lich and the elder Kr*, who presided on the window side. "Bon appet.i.t!" she said, with her short, quick, hearty nod, flas.h.i.+ng a glani-e down the whole length of the table till it reached the children at the bottom.

CHAPTER IV.

"OUR best respects to you, Buddenbrook--I repeat, our best respects!" Herr K*n's powerful voice drowned the general conversation as the maid-servant, in her heavy striped petticoat, her fat arms bare and a little white cap on the back of her head, pa.s.sed the cabbage soup and toast, a.s.sisted by Mamsell 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 how to do things!--I must say--" Herr K*n had never visited the house in its former owner's time. He did not come of a patrician family, and had only lately become a man of means. He could never quite get rid of certain vulgar tricks of speech--like the repet.i.tion of "I must say"; and he said "respecks" for "respects." "It didn't cost anything, either," remarked Herr Gratjens drily--he certainly ought to have known--and studied the wall-painting through the hollow of his hand. As far as possible, ladies and gentlemen had been paired off, and members of the family placed between friends of the house. But the arrangement could not be carried out in every case; the two Overdiecks were sitting, as usual, nearly on each other's laps, nodding affectionately at one another. The elder Kr* was bolt upright, enthroned between Madame Antoinette and Frau Senator Langhals, dividing his pet jokes and his flourishes between the two ladies. "When was the house built?" asked Herr Hoffstede diagonally across the table of old Buddenbrook, who was talking in a gay chaffing tone with Madame K*n. "Anno... let me see... about 1680, if I am not mis- taken. My son is better at dates than I am." "Eighty-two," said the Consul, leaning forward. He was sitting at the foot of the table, without a partner, next to Senator Langhals. "It was finished in the winter of 1682. Ratenkamp and Company were just getting to the top of their form.... Sad, how the firm broke down in the last twenty years!" A general pause in the conversation ensued, lasting for half a minute, while the company looked down at their plates and pondered on the fortunes of the brilliant family who had built and lived in the house and then, broken and im-poverished, had left it. "Yes," said Broker Gratjens, "it's sad, when you think of the madness that led to their ruin. If Dietrich Ratenkamp had not taken that fellow Geelmaack for a partner! I flung up my hands, I know, when he came into the management. I have it on the best authority, gentlemen, that he speculated disgracefully behind Ratenkamp's back, and gave notes and acceptances right and left in the firm's name.... Finally the game was up. The banks got suspicious, the firm couldn't give security.... You haven't the least idea... who looked after the warehouse, even? Geelmaack, perhaps? It was a perfect rats' nest there, year in, year out. But Raten-kamp never troubled himself about it." "He was like a man paralysed," the Consul said. A gloomy, taciturn look came on his face. He leaned over and stirred his soup, now and then giving a quick glance, with his little round deep-set eyes, at the upper end of the table. "He went about like a man with a load on his mind; I think one can understand his burden. What made him take Geel-maack into the business--a man who brought painfully little capital, and had not the best of reputations? He must have felt the need of sharing his heavy responsibility with some one, not much matter who, because he realized that the end was inevitable. The firm was ruined, the old family pa.s.see. Geelmaack only gave it the last push over the edge." Pastor Wunderlich filled his own and his neighbour's wine-gla.s.s. "So you think my dear Consul," he said with a dis-creet smile, "that even without Geelmaack, things would have turned out just as they did?" "Dh, probably not," the Consul said thoughtfully, not ad-dressing anybody in particular. "But I do think that Die-trich Ratenkamp was driven by fate when he took Geelmaack into partners.h.i.+p. That was the way his destiny was to be ful-filled.... He acted under the pressure of inexorable ne-cessity. I think he knew more or less what his partner was doing, and what the slate of affairs was at the warehouse. But he was paralyzed." "a.s.sez, Jean," interposed old Buddenbrook, laying down his spoon. "That's one of your id*...." The Consul rather absently lifted his gla.s.s to his father. Lebrecht Kr* broke in: "Let's stick by the jolly present!" He took up a bottle of white wine that had a little silver stag on the stopper; and with one of his fastidious, elegant motions, he held it on its side and examined the label. "C. F. K*n," 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 while they changed the giltedged Meissen plates; Mamsell Jung-mann called orders through the speaking-tube into the kitchen, and the fish was brought in. Pastor Wunderlich remarked, as he helped himself: "This 'jolly present' isn't such a matter of course as it seems, either. The young folk here can hardly realize, I suppose, that things could ever have been different from what they are now. But I think I may fairly claim to have had a personal share, more than once, in the fortunes of the Bud-denbrnok family. Whenever I see one of these, for in-stance--" he picked up one of the heavy silver spoons and turned to Madame Antoinette--"I can't help wandering whether they belong to the set that our friend the philosopher Lenoir, Sergeant under his Majesty the Emperor Napoleon, 19 had in his hands in the year 1805--and I think of our meeting in Alf Street, Madame." Madame Buddenbrook looked down at her plate with a smile half of memory, half of embarra.s.sment. Tom and Tony, at the bottom of the table, cried out almost with one voice, "Oh, yes, tell about it, CranJmama!" They did not want the fish, and they had been listening attentively to the conversation of their ciders. But the Pastor knew that she would not care to speak herself of an incident that had been rather painful to her. He came to her rescue and launched out once more upon the old story. It was new, perhaps, to one or two of the present company. As for the children, they could have listened to it a hundred times. 'Well, imagine a November afternoon, rnld and rainy, a wretched day; and me corning back down Alf Street from some parochial duty. I was thinking of the hard times we were having. Prince Bl*had gone, and the French were in the town. There was little outward sign of the excitement that reigned everywhere: the streets were quiet, and people. stopped close in their houses. Prahl the master-butcher had been shot through the head, just for standing at the door of his shop with his hands in his pockets and making a menacing re-mark about its being hard to stand. Well, thought I to my-self, I'll just have a look in at the Buddenbrooks'. Herr Buddenbrook is down with erysipelas, and Madame has a great deal to do, on account of the billeting. "At that very moment, whom should I see coming towards me but our honored Madame Buddenbrook herself? What a state she was in! hurrying through the rain halless, stum-bling rather than walking, with a shawl flung over her shoul-ders, 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 mind misgave me about the state of things. 'Where are you off to in such a hurry, my dear?' She realized who I was, looked at me, and burst out: 'Farewell, farewell! All is over--I'm going into the river!' " 'G.o.d forbid,' cried I--I could feel that I went white. 'That is no place for you, my dear.' And I held her as tightly as decorum permitted. 'What has happened?' 'What has happened!' she cried, all trembling. 'They've got at the silver, Wunderlich! That's what has happened! And Jean lies there with erysipelas and can't do anything--he couldn't even if he were up. They are stealing my spoons, Wunder-lich, and I am going into the river!' "Well, I kept holding her, and I said what one would in such cases: 'Courage, dear lady. It will be all right. Con-trol yourself, 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 her house. The soldiery were up in the dining-room, where Madame had left them, some twenty of them, at the great silver-chest. " 'Gentlemen,' I say politely, 'with which one of you may I have the pleasure of a little conversation?' They begin to laugh, and they say: 'With all of us, Papa.' But one of them steps out and presents himself, a fellow as tall as a tree, with a black waxed moustache and big red hands sticking out of his braided cuffs. 'Lenoir,' he said, and saluted with his left hand, for he had five or six spoons in his right. 'Ser-geant Lenoir. 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 sort of thing? The town has not closed its gates to the Emperor.' " 'What do you expect?' he answered. 'War is war. The people need these things....' " 'But you ought to be careful,' I interrupted him, for an idea had come into my head. 'This lady,' I said--one will say anything at a time like that--'the lady of the house, she isn't a German. She is almost a compatriot of yours--she is a Frenchwoman....' ' Oh, a Frenchwoman,' he repeated. And then what do you suppose he said, this big swashbuckler? 21 Oh, an emigres? 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 I consider your conduct unworthy.' He was silent for a moment. Then he got red, tossed his half-dozen spoons back into the chest, and exclaimed, 'Who told you I was going to do any-thing with these things but look at them? It's fine silver. If one 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 sup-pose they knew no other G.o.d than that terrible little Corsi-can...."

CHAPTER V.

"DlD you ever see him, Herr Pastor?" The plates were being changed again. An enormous brick-red boiled ham appeared, strewn with crumbs and served with a sour brown onion sauce, and so many vegetables that the company could have satisfied their appet.i.tes from that one vegetable-dish. Lebrecht Kr* undertook the carving, and skilfully cut the succulent slices, with his elbows slightly elevated and his two long forefingers laid out along the back of the knife and fork. With the ham went the Fran Consul's celebrated ' 'Russian jam," a pungent fruit conserve flavoured with spirits. No, Pastor Wunderlich regretted to say that he had never set eyes on Bonaparte. Old Buddenbrook and Jean Jacques Hoffstede had both seen him face to face, one in Paris just before the Russian campaign, reviewing the troops at the Tuileries; the other in Dantzig. "l must say, he wasn't a very cheerful person to look at," said the poet, raising his brows, as he disposed of a forkful of ham, potato, and sprouts. "But they say he was in a lively mood, at Dantzig. There was a story they used to tell, about how he would gamble all day with the Germans, and make them pay up too, and then spend the evening playing with his generals. Once he swept a handful of gold off the table, and said: 'Les Allemands aiment beaucoup ces pet.i.ts Napoleons, nest-ce pas, Rapp?' 'Oui, Sire, plus que le Grand'!' Rapp answered." There was general laughter--Hoffstede had told the story very prettily, even mimicking the Emperor's manner. Old Buddenbrook said: "Well, joking aside, one can't help having 23 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 we should revere the man who murdered the Due d'Engien, and butchered eight hundred prisoners in Egypt...." "All that is probably exaggerated and overdrawn," said Pastor Wunderlich. 'The Duke was very likely a feather-brained and seditious person, and as for the prisoners, their execution was probably the deliberate and necessary policy of a council of war.'" And he went on to speak of a book at which he had been looking, by one of the Emperor's secreta-ries, which had appeared some years before and was well worth reading. "All the same," persisted the Consul, snuffing a flickering candle in the sconce in front of him, "I cannot understand it--I cannot understand the admiration people have for this monster. As a Christian, as a religious man, I can find no room in my heart for such a feeling." He had, as he t? poke, the slightly inclined head and the rapt look of a man in a vision. His father and Pastor Wunder-lich could be seen to exchange the smallest of smiles. "Well, anyhow," grinned the old man, "the little napoleons aren't so bad, ch? My son has more enthusiasm for Louis Philippe," he said to the company in general. "Enthusiasm?" repeated Jean Jacques Hoffslede, rather sar-castically.... That is a curious juxtaposition, Philippe Ega-lite and enthusiasm...." "G.o.d knows, I feel we have much to learn from the July Monarchy," the Consul said, with serious zeal. "The friendly and helpful att.i.tude of French const.i.tutionalism toward the new, practical ideals and interests of our time... is some-thing we should be deeply thankful for...." "Practical ideals--well, yees--" The elder Buddenbrook gave his jaws a moment's rest and played with his gold snuff-box. "Practical ideals--well--h'm--they don't appeal to me in the least." He dropped into dialect, out of sheer vex- ation. "We have trade schools and technical schools and c.u.mmercial schools springing up on every corner; the high schools and the cla.s.sical education suddenly turn out to be all foolishness, and the whole world thinks of nothing but mines and factories and making money.... That's all very fine, of course. But in the long run, pretty stupid, isn't it?... I don't know why, but it irritates me like the deuce.... I don't mean, Jean, that the July Monarchy is not an admirable regime...." Senator Langhals, as well as Gratjens and K*n, stood by the Consul.... They felt that high praise was due to the French government, and to similar efforts that were being made in Germany. It was worthy of all respect--Herr K*en called it "respeck." He had grown more and more crim-son from eating, and puffed audibly as he spoke. Pastor Wunderlich had not changed colour; he looked as pale, re-fined, and alert as ever, while drinking down gla.s.s after gla.s.s of wine. The candles burned down slowly in their sockets. Now and then they flickered in a draught and dispersed a faint smell of wax over the table. There they all sat, on heavy, high-backed chairs, consuming good heavy food from good heavy silver plate, drinking full-bodied wines and expressing their views freely on all subjects. When they began to talk shop, they slipped unconsciously more and more into dialect, and used the clumsy but com-fortable idioms that' seemed to embody to them the busi-ness efficiency and the easy well-being of their community. Sometimes they even used an over-drawn p.r.o.nunciation by way of making fun of themselves and each other, and relished their clipped phrases and exaggerated vowels with the same heartiness as they did their food. The ladies had not long followed the discussion. Madame Kr* gave them the cue by setting forth a tempting method of boiling carp in red wine. "You cut it into nice pieces, my dear, and put it in the saucepan, add some cloves, and 25 onions, and a few rusks, a little sugar, and a spoonful of b.u.t.ter, and set it on the fire.... But don't wash it, on any account. All the blood must remain in it." The elder Kr* was telling the most delightful stories; and his son Justus, who sat with Dr. Grabow down at the bottom of the table, near the children, was chaffing Mamsell Jungmann. She screwed up her brown eyes and stood her knife and fork upright on the table and moved them back and forth. Even the Overdiecks were very lively. Old Frau *erdieck had a new pet name for her husband: "You good old bell-wether," she said, and laughed so hard that her cap bobbed up and down. But all the various conversations around the table flowed together in one stream when Jean Jacques Hoffstede embarked upon his favourite theme, and began to describe the Italian journey which he had taken fifteen years before with a rich Hamburg relative. He told of Venice, Rome, arid Vesuvius, of the Villa Borghese, where Goethe had written part of his Faust; he waxed enthusiastic over the beautiful Renaissance fountains that wafted coolness upon the warm Italian air, and the formal gardens through the avenues of which it was so enchanting to stroll. Some one mentioned the big wilder-ness of a garden outside the Castle Gate, that belonged to the Buddenbrooks. "Upon my word," the old man said, "I still feel angry with myself that I have never put it into some kind of order. I was out there the other day--and it is really a disgrace, a per-fect primeval forest. It would be a pretty bit of property, if the gra.s.s were cut and the trees trimmed into formal shapes." The Consul protested strenuously. "Oh, no, Papa! I love to go out there in the summer and walk in the undergrowth; it would quite spoil the place to trim and prune its free natural beauty." "But, deuce take it, the free natural beauty belongs to me--haven't I the right to put it in order if I like?" "Ah, Father, when I go out there and lie in the long gra.s.s among the undergrowth, I have a feeling that I belong to nature and not she to me...." "Krishan, don't eat too much," the old man suddenly called out, in dialect. "Never mind about Tilda--it doesn't hurt her. She can put it away like a dozen harvest hands, that child!" And truly it was amazing, the prowess of this scraggy child with the long, old-maidish face. Asked if she wanted more soup, she answered in a meek drawling voice: "Yees, ple-ase." She had two large helpings both of fish and ham, with piles of vegetables; and she bent short-sightedly over her plate, completely absorbed in the food, which she chewed ruminantly, in large mouthfuls. "Oh, Un-cle," she replied, with amiable simplicity, to the old man's gibe, which did not in the least disconcert her. She ate: whether it tasted good or not, whether they teased her or not, she smiled and kept on, heaping her plate with good things, with the instinctive, insensitive voracity of a poor relation--patient, persevering, hungry, and lean.

CHAPTER VI.

AND now came, in two great cut-gla.s.s dishes, the "Pletlen-pudding." It was made of layers of macaroons, raspberries, lady-fingers, and custard. At the same time, at the other end of the table, appeared the blazing plum-pudding which was the children's favourite sweet. "Thomas, my son, come here a minute," said Johann Bud-denbrook, taking his great bunch of keys from his trousers pocket. "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 and soon came bark with the two bottles, covered with dust and cobwebs; and the little dessert-gla.s.ses were filled with sweet, golden-yellow malmsey from these unsightly receptacles. Now the moment came when Pastor Wunderlich rose, gla.s.s in hand, to propose a toast; and the company fell silent to listen. He spoke in the pleasant, conversational tone which he liked to use in the pulpit; his head a little on one side, a subtle, humorous smile on his pale face, gesturing easily with his free hand. "Come, my honest friends, let us honour ourselves by drinking a gla.s.s of this excellent liquor to the health of our host and hostess in their beautiful new home. Gome, then--to the health of the Buddenbrook family, present and absent! May they live long and prosper!" "Absent?" thought the Consul to himself, bowing as the company lifted their gla.s.ses. "Is he referring to the Frank-fort Buddenbrooks, or perhaps the Duchamps in Hamburg--or did old Wunderlich really mean something by that?" He stood up and clinked gla.s.ses with his father, looking him affectionately in the eye. Broker Gratjens got up next, and his speech was rather long-winded; he ended by proposing in his high-pitched voice a health to the firm of Johann Buddenbrook, that it might continue to grow and prosper and do honour to the town. Johann Buddenbrook thanked them all for their kindness, first as head of the family and then as senior partner of the firm--and sent Thomas for another bottle of Malmsey. It had been a mistake to suppose that two would be enough. Lebrerht Kr* spoke too. He took the liberty of remaining seated, because it looked less formal, and gestured with his head and hands most charmingly as he proposed a toast to the two ladies of the family, Madame Antoinette and the Frau Consul. As he finished, the Plettenpudding was nearly consumed, and the Malmsey nearing its end; and then, to a universal, long-drawn "Ah-h!" Jean Jacques Hoffstede rose up slowly, clearing his throat. The children clapped their hands with delight. "Excusez! I really couldn't help it," he began. He put his finger to his long sharp nose and drew a paper from his coat pocket.... A profound silence reigned throughout the room. His paper was gaily parti-coloured. On the outside of it was written, in an oval border surrounded by red flowers and a profusion of gilt flourishes: "On the occasion of my friendly partic.i.p.ation in a delightful house-warming party given by the Buddenbrook family. October I835.' He read this aloud first; then turning the paper over, he began, in a voice that was already somewhat tremulous: Honoured friends, my modest lay Hastes to greet you in these walls: May kind Heaven grant to-day Blessing on their s.p.a.cious halls.

Thee, my friend with silver hair, And thy faithful, loving spouse, And your children young and fair-- I salute you, and your house.

Industry and beauty chaste Sec we linked in marriage band: Venus Anadyomene And cunning Vulcan's busy hand.

May no future storms dismay With unkind blast the joyful hour; May each new returning day Blessings on your pathway shower.

Ceaselessly shall I rejoice O'er the fortune that is yours: As to-day I lift my voice, May I still, while life endures.

In your splendid walls live well, And cherish with affection true Him who in his humble cell Penned to-day these lines for you He bowed to a unanimous outburst of applause. "Charming, Hoffstede," cried old Buddenbrook. "It was too charming for words. I drink your health." But when the Frau Consul touched gla.s.ses with the poet, a delicate blush mantled her cheek; for she had seen the courtly bow he made in her direction when he came to the part about the Venus Anadyomene.

CHAPTER VII.

THE general merriment had now reached its height. Herr K*n felt a great need to unfasten a few b.u.t.tons of his waistcoat; but it obviously wouldn't do, for not even the el-derly gentlemen were permitting themselves the liberty. Le-brecht Kr* sat up as straight as he did at the beginning; Pastor Wunderlich's face was as pale as ever, his manner as correct. The elder Buddenbrook had indeed sat back a little in his chair, but he maintained perfect decorum. There was only Justus Kr*--he was plainly a little overtaken. But where was Dr. Grabow? The b.u.t.ter, cheese and fruit had just been handed round; and the Frau Consul rose from her chair and un.o.btrusively followed the waitress from the room; for the Doctor, Mamsell Jungmann, and Christian were no longer in their places, and a smothered wail was pro-ceeding from the hall. There in the dim light, little Chris-tian was half lying, half crouching on the round settee that encircled the central pillar. He was uttering heart-breaking groans. Ida and the Doctor stood beside him. "Oh dear, oh dear," said she, "the poor child is very bad!" "I'm ill, Mamma, d.a.m.ned ill," whimpered Christian, his little deep-set eyes darting back and forth, and his big nose looking bigger than ever. The "d.a.m.ned" came out in a tone of utter despair; but the Frau Consul said: "If we use such words, G.o.d will punish us by making us suffer still more!" Doctor Grabow felt the lad's pulse. His kindly face grew longer and gentler. "It's nothing much, Frau Consul," he rea.s.sured her. "A touch of indigestion." He prescribed in his best bed-side man-ner: "Better put him to bed and give him a Dover powder--31 perhaps a cup of camomile tea, to bring out the perspiration.... And a rigorous diet, you know, Frau Consul. A little pigeon, a little French bread..." "I don't want any pigeon," bellowed Christian angrily. "I don't want to eat anything, ever any more. I'm ill, I tell you, d.a.m.ned ill!" The fervour with which he uttered the bad word seemed to bring him relief. Doctor Grabow smiled to himself--a thoughtful, almost a melancholy smile. He would soon eat again, this young mar,. He would do as the rest of the world did--his father, and all their relatives and friends: he would lead a sedentary life and eat four good, rich, satisfying meals a day. Well, G.o.d bless us all! HP, Friedrich Grabow, was not the man to upset the habits of these prosperous, comfortable tradesmen and their families. He would come when he was sent for, pre-scribe a few days' diet--a little pigeon, a slice of French bread--yes, yes, and a.s.sure the family that it was nothing serious this time. Young as he was, he had held the head of many an honest burgher who had eaten his last joint of smoked meat, his last stuffed turkey, and, whether overtaken un-aware in his counting-house or after a brief illness in his solid old four-poster, had commended his soul to G.o.d. Then it was called paralysis, a "stroke," a sudden death. And he, Friedrich Grabow, could have predicted it, on all of these or-casions when it was "nothing serious this time"--or perhaps at the times when he had not even been summoned, when there had only been a slight giddiness after luncheon. Well, G.o.d bless us all! He, Friedrich Grabow, was not the man to despise a roast turkey himself. That harn with onion sauce had been delicious, hang it! And the Plettenpudding, when they were already stuffed full--macaroons, raspberries, cus-tard... "A rigorous diet, Frau Consul, as I say. A little pigeon, a little French bread..."

CHAPTER VIII.

THEY were rising from table. "Well, ladies and gentlemen, gesegnete Mahlzeit! Cigars and coffee in the next room, and a liqueur if Madame feels generous.... Billiards for whoever chooses. Jean, you will show them the way back to the billiard-room? Madame K*n, may I have the honour?" Full of well-being, laughing and chattering, the company trooped back through the folding doors into the landsrape-room. The Consul remained behind, and collected about him the gentlemen who wanted to play billiards. "You won't try a game, Father?" No, Lebrenht Kr* would stop with the ladies, but Justus might go if he liked.... Senator Langhals, K*n, Grat-jens, and Doctor Grabow went with the Consul, and Jean Jacques Hoffstede said he would join them later. "Johann Buddenbrook is going to play the flute," he said. "I must stop for that. Au revoir, messieurs." As the gentlemen pa.s.sed through the hall, they could hear from the landscape-room the first notes of the flute, accom-panied by the Frau Consul on the harmonium: an airy, charming little melody that floated sweetly through the lofty rooms. The Consul listened as long as he could. He would have liked to stop behind in an easy-chair in the landscape-room and indulge the reveries that the music conjured up; but his duties as host... "Bring some coffee and cigars into the billiard-room," he said to the maid whom he met in the entry. "Yes, Line, coffee!" Herr K*n echoed, in a rich, well-fed voice, trying to pinch the girl's red arm. The c came 33 from far back in his throat, as if he were already swallowing the coffee. "I'm sure Madame K*n saw you through the gla.s.s," Con-sul Kr* remarked. "So you live up there, Buddenbrook?" asked Senator Lang-hals. To the right a broad white staircase with a carved bal.u.s.ter led up to the sleeping-chambers of the Consul's fam-ily in the second storey; to the left came another row of rooms. The party descended the stairs, smoking, and the Consul halted at the landing. "The entresol has three rooms," he explained--the breakfast-room, my parents' sleeping-chamber, and a third room 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 pa.s.sage-way below was paved with great square 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 of the steps. On the right, at the height of a storey above the pa.s.sageway, a scaffolding of ungainly but neatly varnished rafters thrust out from the wall, supporting the servants' quar-ters above. A sort of ladder which led up to them from the pa.s.sage was their only means of ingress or egress. Below the scaffolding were some enormous old cupboards and a carved chest. Two low, worn steps led through a gla.s.s door out to the courtyard and the small wash-house. From here you could look into the pretty little garden, which was well laid out, though just now brown and sodden with the autumn rains, its beds protected with straw mats against the cold. At the other end of the garden rose the "portal," the rococo fa*e of the summer house. From the courtyard, however, the party took the path to the left, leading between two walls through another courtyard to the annexe. They entered by slippery steps into a cellar-like vault with an earthen floor, which was used as a granary and provided with a rope for hauling up the sacks. A pair of stairs led up to the first storey, where the Consul opened a white door and admitted his guests to the billiard-room. It was a bare, severe-looking room, with stiff chairs ranged round the sides. Herr K*n flung himself exhausted into one of them. "I'll look on for a while," said he, brus.h.i.+ng the wet from his coat. "It's the devil of a Sabbath day's journey through your house, Buddenbrook!" Here too the stove was burning merrily, behind a bra.s.s lattice. Through the three high, narrow windows one looked out over red roofs gleaming with the wet, grey gables and court-yards. The Consul took the cues out of the rack. "Shall we play a carambolage, Senator?" he asked. He went around and closed the pockets on both tables. "Who is playing with us? Gratjens? The Doctor? All right. Then will you take the other table, Gratjens and Justus? K*n, you'll have to play." - The wine-merchant stood up and listened, with his mouth full of smoke. A violent gust of wind whistled between the houses, lashed the window-panes with rain, and howled down the chimney. "Good Lord!" he said, blowing out the smoke. "Do you think the Wullenwewer will get into port, Buddenbrook? What abominable weather!" Yes, and the news from Travem*as not of the best, Consul Kr* agreed, chalking his cue. Storms everywhere on the coast. Nearly as bad as in 1824, the year of the great flood 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 Budden-brook waxed enthusiastic. "An inspiration, gentlemen," he said. He finished a shot and turned to the other table, where the topic had begun. "We ought to join at the earliest opportunity." Herr K*n disagreed. He fairly snorted in opposition. "How about our independence?" he asked incensed, supporting himself belligerently on his CUB. "How about our self-determination? Would Hamburg consent to be a party to this 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, K*n. And the Russian products are all right. But there is little or nothing else im-ported. As for exports, well, we send a little corn to Holland and England, it is true. But I think we are far from being well enough as we are. In days gone by a very different busi-ness went on. Now, with the Customs Union, the Mecklen-burgs and Schleswig-Holstein would be opened up--and pri-vate business would increase beyond all reckoning...." "But look here, Buddenbrook," Cratjens broke in, leaning far over the table and s.h.i.+fting his cue in his bony hand as he took careful aim, "I don't get the idea. Certainly our own system is perfectly simple and practical. Clearing on the security of a civic oath--" "A fine old inst.i.tution," the Consul admitted. "Do you call it fine, Herr Consul?" Senator Langhals spoke with some heat. '"I am not a merchant; but to speak frankly--well, I think this civic oath business has become little short of a farce: everybody makes light of it, and the State pockets 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 K*n flung down his cue. "Then there will be a conflick," he said heatedly, forgetting to be careful with his p.r.o.nunciation." I know what I'm sayin'--G.o.d help you, but you don't know what you're talkin' about, beggin' your par-don." Well, thank goodness! thought the rest of the company, as Jean Jacques entered at this point. He and Pastor Wunderlich came together, arm in arm, two cheerful, unaf-fected old 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, who leaned upon their rues across the tables. Drawing a paper from his pocket and laying his long finger with the signet ring to the side of his pointed nose, he read aloud, with a mock-heroic intonation: "When the Marechal Saxe and the proud Pompadour Were driving out gaily in gilt coach and four, Frelon spied the pair: 'Oh, see them,' he cried: 'The sword of our king--and his sheath, side by side.'" Herr K*n looked disconcerted for a minute. Then he dropped the "conflick" where it was and joined in the hearty laughter that echoed to the ceiling of the billiard-room. Pas-tor Wunderlich withdrew to the window, but the movement of his shoulders betrayed that he was chuckling to himself. Herr Hoffstede had more ammunition of the same sort in his pocket, and the gentlemen remained for some time in the billiard-room. Herr K*n unb.u.t.toned his waistcoat all the way down, and felt much more at ease here than in the dining-room. He gave vent to droll low-German expressions at every turn, and at frequent intervals began reciting to himself with enormous relish: "When the Mar*al Saxe..." It sounded quite different in his harsh ba.s.s.

CHAPTER IX.

IT was rather late, nearly eleven, when the party began to break up. They had rea.s.sembled in the landscape-room, and they all made their adieux at the same time. The Frau Con-sul, as soon as her hand had been kissed in farewell, went upstairs to see how Christian was doing. To Mamsell Jung-mann was left the supervision of the maids as they set things to rights and put away the silver. Madame Antoinette re-tired to the entresol. But the Consul accompanied his guests downstairs, across the entry, and outside the house. A high wind was driving the rain slantwise through the streets as the old Kr*s, wrapped in heavy fur mantles, slipped as fast as they could into their carriage. It had been waiting for hours before the door. The street was lighted by the flickering yellow rays from oil lamps hanging on posts before the houses or suspended on heavy chains across the streets. The projecting fronts of some of the houses jutted out into the roadway; others had porticos or raised benches added on. The street ran steeply down to the River Trave; it was badly paved, and sodden gra.s.s sprang up between the cracks. The church of St. Mary'a was entirely shrouded in rain and darkness. "Merci" said Lebreiht Kr*, shaking the Consul's hand as he stood by the carriage door. "Merci, Jean; it was too charming!" The door slammed, and the carriage drove off. Pastor Wunderlich and Broker Gratjens expressed their thanks and went their way. Herr K*n, in a mantle with a five-fold cape and a broad grey hat, took his plump wife on his arm and said in his gruff ba.s.s: "G'night, Buddenbrook. Go in, go in; don't catch cold. Best thanks for everything-- BUDDENBRDOK5 don't know when I've fed so well! So you like my red wine at four marks? Well, g'night, again." The K*ns went in the same direction as the Kr*s, down toward the river; Senator Langhals, Doctor Grabow, and Jean Jacques Hoffstede turned the other way. Consul Bud-denbrook stood with his hands in his trousers pockets and listened to their footsteps as they died away down the empty, damp, dimly-lighted street. He s.h.i.+vered a little in his light clothes as he stood there a few paces from his own house, and turned to look up at its grey gabled fa*e. His eyes lin-gered upon the motto carved in the stone over the entrance, in antique lettering: Dorninus providebit--"The Lord will pro-vide." He bowed his head a little and went in, bolting the door carefully behind him. Then he locked the vestibule door and walked slowly across the echoing floor of the great entry. The cook was coming down the stairs with a tray of gla.s.ses in her hands, and he asked her, "Where's the master, Trina?" "In the dining-room, Herr Consul," said she, and her face went as'red as her arms, for she came from the country and was very bashful. As he pa.s.sed through the dark hall, he felt in his pocket for the letter. Then he went quickly into the dining-room, where a few small candle-ends in one of the candelabra cast a dim light over the empty table. The sour smell of the onion sauce still hung on the air. Over by the windows Johann Buddenbrook was pacing comfortably up and down, with his hands behind his back.

CHAPTER X.

"WELL, Johann, my son, where are you going?" He stood still and put his hand out to his son--his white Buddenbrook hand, a little too short, though finely modelled. His active figure showed indistinctly against the dark red curtains, the only gleams of white being from his powdered hair and the lace frill at his throat. "Aren't you sleepy? I've been here listening to the wind; the weather is something fearful. Captain Kloht is on his way from Riga...." "Oh, Father, with G.o.d's help all will be well." "Well, do you think I can depend on that? I know you are on intimate terms with the Almighty--" The Consul felt his courage rise at this display of good humour. "Well, to get to the point," he began, "I came in here not to bid you good night, but to--you won't be angry, will you, Papa?... I didn't want to disturb you with this letter on such a festive occasion... it came this afternoon...." "Monsieur Gotthold, voila!" The old man affected to be quite unmoved as he took the sealed blue paper. "Herr Jo-hann Buddenbrook, Senior. Personal. A careful man, your step-brother, Jean! Have I answered his second letter, that came the other day? And so now he writes me a third." The old man's rosy face grew sterner as he opened the seal with one finger, unfolded the thin paper, and gave it a smart rap with the back of his hand as he turned about to catch the light from the candles. The very handwriting of this letter seemed to express revolt and disloyalty. All the Bud-denbrooks wrote a fine, flowing hand; but these tall straight letters were full of heavy strokes, and many of the words were hastily underlined. The Consul had drawn back a little to where the row of chairs stood against the wall; he did not sit down, as his father did not,' hut he grasped one of the high chair-backs nervously and watched the old man while he read, his lips moving rapidly, his brows drawn together, and his head on one side.

FATHER,.

I am probably mistaken in entertaining any further hope of your sense of justice or any appreciation of my feelings at receiving no reply from my second pressing letter con-cerning the matter in question. I do not comment again on the character of the reply I received to my first one. I feel compelled to say, however, that the way in which you,