Buddenbrooks: The Decline of a Family

by Thomas Mann

  She clasped her hands behind her head and gazed at the ceiling. “Yes, it’s over ten years now since I accepted Grünlich. Ten years! And now I’m back in the same position—having to consent to someone’s proposal. You know, Ida, life is dreadfully serious, it really is. But the difference is that back then there was such a to-do about it, and everyone was pushing me and torturing me, and now they’re all so quiet and still about it, simply assuming that I’ll say yes. Because you should know, Ida, that there’s nothing festive or joyous about my engagement to Alois—I’m already calling him Alois, because it simply has to be. It’s not even a matter of my happiness. But by marrying a second time, very calm and cool, simply as a matter of course, I’m making up for my first marriage. It’s my duty, I owe that much to our family name. That’s what Mother thinks, that’s what Tom thinks.”

  “Come, come, Tony! If you don’t want to marry him, and if he’s not going to make you happy—”

  “Ida, I know about life—I’m not a silly goose anymore. I have eyes in my head. It may be that Mother wouldn’t exactly press me to do it—if there’s any doubt about something, she always just looks right on past and says, ‘Assez.’ But Tom wants me to. Don’t try to tell me anything about Tom. Do you know what Tom thinks? He’s saying to himself, ‘Anyone! Anyone who is not absolutely unworthy. Because it’s not a matter of a brilliant match this time, but solely of patching over the past as best we can with a second marriage.’ That’s what he thinks. And as soon as Permaneder arrived, Tom very quietly gathered information about his business, you can be sure of that, and when it turned out more or less favorable and solid, the question was resolved then and there. Tom is a politician, and he knows what he wants. Who showed Christian the door? That may be strong language, but that’s how it was. And why? Because he compromised the firm and the family, and in Tom’s eyes that’s what I do, too, Ida—not with deeds and words, but simply by being a divorced woman. And he wants that to stop, and he’s right. And God knows I don’t love him any less for it, and I hope that he loves me in the same way. In all these years, I have longed for nothing else but to get back into the thick of life, because I am bored here with Mother—God strike me if that’s a sin, but I’m barely thirty and I still feel young. Things fall out differently for people in life, Ida; you were gray at thirty, it’s in your family, and there was your uncle Prahl, who died of the hiccups.…”

  She reflected on all this from several angles that night, but every now and then she would say once more, “When all is said and done it simply has to be.” And then she slept for five hours—a gentle, deep sleep.

  6

  A LIGHT FOG lay over the town as the large carriage, open on all sides, pulled onto Meng Strasse; but Herr Longuet, who owned the livery stable on Johannis Strasse and was doing the driving this morning, said, “Won’t be more’n hour ’nd the sun’ll be shinin’ ”—so there was no need to worry.

  Madame Buddenbrook, Antonie, Herr Permaneder, Erika, and Ida Jungmann had breakfasted together; and now, ready for their excursion, they gathered one by one in the large entrance hall to wait for Tom and Gerda. Frau Grünlich was wearing a cream-colored dress with a satin scarf tied at the chin, and despite a short night’s rest she looked splendid. The quandaries and questions seemed to be at an end, for as she slowly buttoned up her gloves and chatted with their guest, her face was calm, assured, almost solemn. She had rediscovered the mood that she had once known so well. She was filled with a sense of her own importance, the significance of the decision she was asked to make, the awareness that once again a day had come on which duty demanded that she act earnestly and decisively to alter her family’s history—and her heart beat higher. Last night, in her dreams, she had seen the spot in the family records where she intended to enter the fact of her second engagement—a fact that would erase and render meaningless the black smudge contained within those pages. She was looking forward to the moment when Tom would appear and she would greet him with a dignified nod.

  The consul and his wife arrived a little late—Gerda was not accustomed to being up and ready so early in the day. Tom looked good in his tan, small-checked suit with broad lapels that revealed the edge of his summer vest; he was cheerful and a smile came into his eyes at the sight of Tony’s incomparable dignity. But, in curious contrast to her sister-in-law’s glowing prettiness, Gerda’s beauty was somehow unwholesome and enigmatic—and she was definitely not in the mood for a Sunday excursion. Presumably she had not had enough sleep. The rich lilac of her gown matched her heavy, dark chestnut hair in some very odd way and made her lusterless complexion look paler than ever; even the bluish shadows seemed deeper and darker in the corners of her close-set brown eyes. She coolly offered her mother-in-law her brow for a kiss, gave her hand to Herr Permaneder, but with a rather ironic look on her face, and, when Frau Grünlich clapped her hands and cried in a loud voice, “Gerda, oh, heavens, how lovely you do look!,” she responded with only a dismissive smile.

  She had a deep dislike of the kind of undertaking ahead of them today, especially in summer, and most especially on a Sunday. She lived in the twilight of her curtained rooms, seldom went out, and dreaded the sun, the dust, the common people in their Sunday best, the smell of coffee, beer, and tobacco. And most of all she loathed the dérangement, the heat, and the confusion. And when the arrangements had been made for this trip to Riesebusch Inn in Schwartau to show their guest from Munich a little something of the surrounding countryside, she had remarked offhandedly to Thomas, “Dearest, you know how I am. God made me for the quiet of everyday life, and not for bustle and novelty. You will make apologies for me, won’t you?”

  She would never have married him if she had not been certain of his virtual approval in such matters.

  “Lord, yes, Gerda, you’re right, of course. For the most part we just imagine that such excursions are amusing. But one goes along with it because one doesn’t want to appear odd to the others, or to oneself. Everyone has that much vanity, don’t you think? Otherwise one quickly finds oneself regarded as an unhappy loner and is held in less esteem. And one more thing, dear Gerda. We all have good reason to court Herr Permaneder a bit. I don’t doubt you’re well aware of the situation. Things are developing, and it would be a shame, a downright shame, if nothing came of it.”

  “I don’t see, dearest, how my presence—but no matter. Since you wish it, that’s how it will be. Let us endure these amusements.”

  “I would be much obliged.”

  They stepped out onto the street. And, indeed, the sun now began to pierce the morning fog; the bells of St. Mary’s rang out the Sunday, and birdcalls filled the air. The coachman tipped his hat and Madame Buddenbrook gave a nod of excessive kindness and said, “Good morning, my good man,” with the sort of patronizing benevolence that Thomas found embarrassing on occasion. “And now let us climb aboard, my dears,” she continued. “Early services are just starting, but we shall lift our hearts and praise God in the glory of nature, isn’t that right, Herr Permaneder?”

  “Sure is, ma’am.”

  And, one after another, they climbed the two metal steps that led to the small door at the rear of the coach, which could have easily seated ten adults, and made themselves comfortable on pillows striped in the white and blue of Bavaria—doubtless in honor of Herr Permaneder. Then the door was slammed shut, and as Herr Longuet clicked his tongue and shouted various “gee”s and “haw”s, the coach rolled down Meng Strasse, followed the Trave on past Holsten Gate, and then turned off onto Schwartau Road.

  Fields, meadows, stands of trees, farmsteads—and they searched the rising fog, growing bluer as it thinned, for the larks they could hear above them. Smoking his cigarettes, Thomas looked about attentively whenever they passed a field of grain and apprised Herr Permaneder of how each was doing. The hops dealer was in a truly youthful mood; he jauntily cocked his green hat with its chamois tuft, he balanced his cane with its huge deerhorn handle on the broad white palm of his hand, and even on his lo
wer lip—a parlor trick that never quite succeeded, but was greeted with such great applause, particularly from little Erika, that he repeated it several times.

  “Won’t be the Zugspitz, don’t s’pose, but we’ll have to hoof it a bit, and we’ll have a high ol’ time, reg’lar field day, damn if we won’t—ain’t that right, Frau Grünlich?”

  Then he began a lively account of mountain-climbing expeditions with backpacks and ice-axes, and was rewarded for his efforts by Elisabeth Buddenbrook, who exclaimed “My word!” at several points. This train of thought somehow led him to express his regrets that Christian was not with them and to say that he had heard he was quite a hoot.

  “That varies,” the consul said. “But he’s incomparable on occasions like this, that’s true. We shall have crabs for lunch, Herr Permaneder,” he went on, in high spirits himself. “Crabs and fresh shrimp from the Baltic. You’ve already sampled them a few times at my mother’s table, but my friend Dieckmann, who owns the Riesebusch Inn, always serves the very best. And gingersnaps, the famous local specialty. Or has their fame not yet reached the banks of the Isar? Well, you’ll soon see.”

  Frau Grünlich had the carriage stop two or three times so that she could pick poppies and cornflowers along the side of the road, and each time Herr Permaneder protested vehemently that he wanted to help her—but since he was a little nervous about climbing in and out, he refrained from doing so.

  Erika reveled at every crow that took wing; and as a dependable governess Ida Jungmann responded to every mood of her young charge, not just outwardly but with childlike empathy. Dressed as always in an open raincoat and carrying an umbrella—even in the most settled weather—she now chimed in with her own frank, somewhat whinnying laughter. Gerda, who had not watched Ida grow old in service to the family, gazed at her with a kind of chilly amazement.

  They were in the Duchy of Oldenburg now. They could see groves of beech in the distance. They drove into the village, passing through the little market square with its fountain, and then back out into the countryside, and after rolling over the bridge across the little Au River, they finally halted at the Riesebusch, a low, one-story inn, flanked on one side by a level lawn with sandy paths and rustic flower beds, behind which rose an amphitheater of woods. Crude sets of stairs formed from protruding roots and jutting rocks led from one tier to the next, and at each level white wooden tables, benches, and chairs were set out among the trees.

  The Buddenbrooks were certainly not the only guests. A few stout maids and even a waiter in a greasy frock coat were marching at high speed across the lawn, bearing cold plates, lemonade, milk, and beer up to the tables, several of which were already occupied by scattered families with their children.

  Herr Dieckmann, the innkeeper, appeared in his shirtsleeves and a yellow-embroidered cap to assist personally in handing the party down from their carriage. As Longuet drove the carriage off to unhitch, Elisabeth remarked to Dieckmann, “We shall first go for a little walk, my good man, and then, in an hour or so, we shall have our luncheon. Would you serve us at one of those tables there, please, but not too high up—on the second level, I think.”

  “Do your best, Dieckmann,” the consul added. “We have a guest who’s hard to please.”

  Herr Permaneder protested, “Damn ’f I am. Some rat-trap and a brew’s fine by me.”

  Herr Dieckmann, however, did not quite understand what he’d said, and so began to rattle off his menu. “Anything you’d like, Consul Buddenbrook—crabs, shrimp, all kinds of cold cuts, cheeses, smoked eel, smoked salmon, smoked sturgeon.”

  “Fine, Dieckmann. You’ll do it up right, I’m sure. And then we’ll have—six glasses of milk and one mug of beer, if I’m not mistaken, Herr Permaneder?”

  “One beer, six milks. Sweet milk, buttermilk, sour milk, Herr Buddenbrook?”

  “Half sweet, half buttermilk, Dieckmann. In an hour or so.” And now they proceeded across the lawn.

  “Our first duty, Herr Permaneder, is to visit the spring,” Thomas said. “The spring is the source of the Au, and the Au is the little river on which Schwartau lies. Back in the darkest Middle Ages, our own town was also situated on the Au, until it burned down—it wasn’t a very permanent affair in those days, you see—and was rebuilt on the Trave. There are some rather painful memories connected with the name of that little river. When we were boys, we thought it great sport to pinch each other in the arm and ask, ‘What’s the name of Schwartau’s river?’ And the pinches hurt, of course, so we would reluctantly supply the correct answer. But look there,” he said, interrupting himself—they were about ten steps from the base of the hill now—“someone’s here ahead of us—the Möllendorpfs and the Hagenströms.”

  And, indeed, there on the third tier of the wooded terrace were the principal members of the two families, now related by marriage to their mutual advantage. Two tables had been joined together, and there they sat, eating and conversing breezily. Old Senator Möllendorpf presided—a pallid, diabetic gentleman with sparse white whiskers that ended in two points. His wife, née Langhals, was fidgeting with her long-handled lorgnette, and as always disheveled gray hair framed her face. Their son was there, too—August, a blond young man who exuded prosperity; with him was his wife, Julie, née Hagenström, who was sitting between her brothers, Hermann and Moritz—a short, energetic woman with large bright black eyes and equally large diamonds dangling from her earlobes. Consul Hermann Hagenström was beginning to get quite stout, for he lived very well, and it was said that he even started his day with pâté de foie gras. He sported a reddish blond, short-cropped beard and his flat nose—his mother’s nose—lay conspicuously flat against his upper lip. Moritz still had his shallow chest and yellow complexion, and his pointed gap-teeth showed whenever he spoke in his lively way. Both brothers had their wives with them—lawyer Moritz had married several years before as well: a Fräulein Puttfarken from Hamburg, a lady with butter-colored hair and an exceptionally impassive, decidedly English-looking face, with beautiful and terribly regular features. Moritz Hagenström would never have compromised his reputation as a man of taste and wit by marrying an ugly girl. Also present were Hermann Hagenström’s little daughter and Moritz’s little son—two children dressed in white, who were already as good as engaged to one another, because the Huneus-Hagenström fortune was not to be scattered and lost. They were all eating scrambled eggs and ham.

  They did not exchange greetings until the Buddenbrooks began climbing the stairs close by. Elisabeth gave an absent-minded and, so to speak, surprised nod; Thomas tipped his hat and moved his lips as if making some polite yet cool remark; and Gerda made an odd, formal bow. Herr Permaneder, however, was exhilarated by the climb and nonchalantly swung his green hat and called out in a loud, merry voice, “Right good mornin’ to y’all.” Madame Möllendorpf immediately reached for her lorgnette. For her part, Tony raised her shoulders just a little, laid her head back, trying all the while to tuck her chin against her chest, and greeted them as if from unattainable heights, her glance brushing past Julie Möllendorpf’s broad-brimmed, elegant hat. At that moment her decision was irrevocably fixed for good and all.

  “Thank the good Lord—and a thousand thanks to you, Tom—that we’re not eating for an hour yet. I wouldn’t want to have Julie watching my every bite. Did you see how she greeted us? As good as not at all. Although in my humble opinion her hat was in quite abominable taste.”

  “Well, I can’t speak as to the hat. And as far as greeting goes, you weren’t all that much more accommodating, my dear. But don’t let it annoy you so—it causes wrinkles.”

  “Let it annoy me, Tom? Oh no. Those people may think they’re the cream of the crop, but all anyone can do is laugh. What is the difference between me and that Julie, might I ask? Her husband didn’t turn out to be a scoundrel, just a blatherskite, as Ida would say, and if she ever found herself in my situation, we would soon see whether she could ever find a second one.”

  “Does that imply that you’
ll find one yourself?”

  “A blatherskite, Thomas?”

  “It’s much better than a scoundrel.”

  “It doesn’t have to be either. But it’s best we not speak of it.”

  “Right. We’re falling behind. Herr Permaneder is an energetic climber.”

  The shady woodland path leveled out, and it was not long before they had reached the spring, a lovely, romantic spot where a wooden bridge crossed a small ravine with steep, creviced sides and overhanging trees with exposed roots. Elisabeth had brought along a collapsible silver cup, and they dipped it in a small stone basin just below the source, refreshing themselves with cool water that tasted of iron. Herr Permaneder was seized with a little attack of gallantry and insisted that Frau Grünlich first taste his drink for him. He was all gratitude, repeating over and over, “Now, ain’t that nice.” He chatted tactfully and attentively with Elisabeth and Thomas, as well as with Gerda and Tony and even little Erika. Gerda, who thus far had been slightly flushed with the heat and had walked nervously beside them, silent and stiff, began to come alive now; and, indeed, after they had returned at a faster pace to the inn and were sitting down at their table laden with food on the second level of wooded terraces, it was Gerda who, in the most charming phrases, expressed her regret that Herr Permaneder would be departing so soon, just when they were all becoming a little better acquainted, and when, as she had noted by way of example, there were fewer and fewer confusions or misunderstandings resulting from differences in dialect. She was even ready to assert that on two or three occasions her friend and sister-in-law, Tony, had managed “Y’all take care now!” with absolute virtuosity.