Buddenbrooks (3 page)
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 appetites 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 petits 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...." "God knows, I feel we have much to learn from the July Monarchy," the Consul said, with serious zeal. "The friendly and helpful attitude of French constitutionalism 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 cummercial schools springing up on every corner; the high schools and the classical 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 glass after glass 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 pronunciation 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 butter, 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 grass 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 grass 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-glass 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-glasses were filled with sweet, golden-yellow malmsey from these unsightly receptacles. Now the moment came when Pastor Wunderlich rose, glass 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 glass 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 glasses. "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 glasses 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 participation 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 spacious 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 glasses 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 buttons 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 butter, cheese and fruit had just been handed round; and the Frau Consul rose from her chair and unobtrusively 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, damned ill," whimpered Christian, his little deep-set eyes darting back and forth, and his big nose looking bigger than ever. The "damned" came out in a tone of utter despair; but the Frau Consul said: "If we use such words, God 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 reassured 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, damned 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, God 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 assure 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 God. 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, God 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..."