by Thomas Mann
Herr Permaneder refrained from any comment that might have confirmed an imminent departure and instead devoted himself to the vast array of delicacies on the table—certainly not the daily fare below the Danube.
They took their time eating all these good things, although little Erika seemed most delighted by the tissue-paper napkins, which she considered incomparably more beautiful than the large linen ones they used at home, even sticking a few of them in her pocket as souvenirs—after first asking the waiter’s permission. While the consul smoked cigarettes and Herr Permaneder puffed away on several very black cigars and drank his beer, the family sat chatting with their guest for quite a long time. But the remarkable thing was that no one said anything more about Herr Permaneder’s departure—indeed, the future was left totally unmentioned. Instead, they reminisced and talked about the political events of the past few years. Herr Permaneder jiggled with laughter at the anecdotes that Madame Buddenbrook told about her late husband’s role in the events of ’48, and in return he reported about the revolution in Munich and about Lola Montez, in whom Frau Grünlich took an immense interest. Noon came and another hour passed, but it was not until Erika returned, all flushed from her expedition with Ida, her pockets stuffed full of daisies, lady’s-smock, and grasses, and reminded them of the gingersnaps that still had to be bought, that they started off on a walk to the village—but only after Elisabeth, who was their hostess today, had paid the bill with a good-sized gold coin.
Orders were given at the inn to have the carriage ready in an hour, since they would want to rest for an hour or so before sitting down to dinner in town; and then they slowly strolled in the hot, dusty sunshine toward the low roofs of the village.
Shortly after passing the bridge over the Au, they arranged themselves quite naturally and of their own accord into three groups that were maintained for the rest of the way: at the head, given her long stride, was Mamselle Jungmann and beside her little Erika, who leapt about in untiring pursuit of small white butterflies; this pair was followed by Elisabeth, Thomas, and Gerda; and at some distance behind walked Frau Grünlich and Herr Permaneder. It was noisy at the head of the procession, because the little girl constantly shrieked with glee and Ida joined in, laughing in her singular deep, kindly whinny. The three in the middle were silent—all the dust had brought on another attack of Gerda’s moody nervousness, and both Madame Buddenbrook and her son were lost in their own thoughts. Things seemed quiet at the rear, too, but in fact Tony and her Bavarian guest were engaged in subdued, intimate conversation. And what were they talking about? About Herr Grünlich.
Herr Permaneder had made the accurate observation that Erika was a “durn” sweet, pretty child, but that she bore almost no resemblance to her mother.
To which Tony responded, “She’s her father all over, and is none the worse for it, one might say. Because externally Grünlich was a gentleman—to a tee. He had gold-colored muttonchops; quite original—I’ve never seen the like.”
And although Tony had told him the story of her marriage in some detail when she was visiting the Niederpaurs in Munich, he queried her once again about the whole affair, squinting in anxious sympathy and inquiring in particular about the specifics of the bankruptcy.
“He was a wicked man, Herr Permaneder, otherwise my father would not have taken me away from him, you can be sure of that. Not everyone on this earth has a good heart—life has taught me that, you see, as young as I am, with only ten years of widowhood or whatever behind me. He was wicked, and Kesselmeyer, his banker, was even more wicked—and sillier than a puppy besides. But please don’t misunderstand me—that does not mean that I consider myself an angel and free of all guilt. Grünlich neglected me, and when he did sit down with me, it was only to read his newspaper; he deceived me, just left me sitting there in Eimsbüttel—because if I had been in town I would have learned of the mess he had got himself into. But I am only a poor weak woman myself. I have my shortcomings, and I’m quite certain that I didn’t always do the right thing. For example, I gave my husband good reason to worry and complain about my frivolousness and extravagance and new dressing gowns. But let me say one thing as well: I do have some excuse, and that is that I was a mere child when I married, a goose, a silly young thing. Can you believe, for instance, that it was only very shortly before my marriage that I learned that the Confederation’s laws concerning the universities and the press had been renewed? Fine laws those were, by the way. Ah yes, it’s sad but true—one has but one life to live, Herr Permaneder, and there’s no starting all over again. There are so many things one would be wiser about.”
She fell silent and looked anxiously down at the road. She had given him an opening—had done so quite skillfully, in fact, since it was now but an easy step to the idea that, although a whole new life was impossible, that did not exclude beginning again in a new and better marriage. Except that Herr Permaneder let the chance go by and confined himself to censuring Herr Grünlich in such strong terms that the goatee on his little round chin bristled.
“What a puny, disgustin’ cuss! If I had that mangy dog here right now, I’d knock him into next week.”
“Shame, shame, Herr Permaneder! No, you must stop that right now. We must forgive and forget, and ‘Vengeance is mine, saith the Lord’—you need only ask mother. Heaven forbid! I have no idea where Grünlich may be now or how life has treated him, but I wish him the best, even if he perhaps does not deserve it.”
They were in the village now, standing in front of a little house that also served as the bakery shop. They had stopped almost without knowing why. Although they had spoken only of silly, unimportant things, they were so absorbed in their conversation that their solemn eyes were oblivious to the fact that Erika, Ida, Elisabeth, Thomas, and Gerda had ducked through the ridiculously low door and vanished.
Next to them was a fence, enclosing a long, narrow flower bed where a few mignonettes were growing in the loose, black soil, which Frau Grünlich, her flushed face bent low, now began to plow with the tip of her parasol. Herr Permaneder, whose green hat with its chamois tuft had slipped down over his forehead, stood beside her and joined her in cultivating the bed with his deerhorn cane. His head was hung low, too, but his little, pale blue, puffy eyes were glistening, had even reddened a little, and he looked up at her with a mixture of devotion, distress, and apprehension—the drooping, frayed fringe of his mustache even took on the same expression.
“And so now, I s’pose,” he said, “you’re dreadful feared of gettin’ married ’n’ wouldn’t ever try it again, ’m I right, Frau Grünlich?”
“How inept of him,” she thought. “Am I supposed to agree to that?” But she answered, “Yes, dear Herr Permaneder, I will be frank with you. It would be difficult for me ever to consent to a proposal of marriage again, for life has taught me, you see, what a dreadfully serious decision that is. One must have the firm conviction that the gentleman is truly honest, and noble, and kindhearted.”
And now he ventured to ask whether she considered him such a man.
To which she replied, “Yes, Herr Permaneder, I believe you are.”
And now there followed a very few softly spoken words that constituted their engagement and gave Herr Permaneder permission to speak to Elisabeth and Thomas once they had returned home.
When the rest of the party, laden with large sacks of gingersnaps, emerged from the shop, Thomas let his eyes drift discreetly over their heads—they were both obviously very embarrassed. Herr Permaneder made no attempt to disguise the fact, but Tony hid her confusion behind a mask of almost majestic dignity.
They hurried to get back to their coach, because the sky had clouded over and the first drops of rain were falling.
AS TONY HAD ASSUMED, her brother had gathered precise information about Herr Permaneder’s affairs shortly after his arrival. What he had learned was that X. Noppe & Co. was a smallish but quite solid firm, which, in conjunction with the joint-stock brewery headed by Herr Niederpaur, turned a ti
dy profit, and that Herr Permaneder’s share, together with Tony’s seventeen thousand thalers courant, would be sufficient for them to live a respectable life together, although it would be without luxury. Madame Buddenbrook had been informed of this; and that same evening, she joined Herr Permaneder, Antonie, and Thomas in the landscape room for a discussion in which all questions were resolved without difficulty—even those concerning little Erika. It was Tony’s wish, to which her fiancé agreed in a touching scene, that Erika join them in Munich.
The hops dealer departed two days later—“ ’cause otherwise Noppe’ll start raisin’ holy hell.” In July, however, Frau Grünlich arrived in his beloved hometown, accompanied by Tom and Gerda, whom she then joined for four or five weeks in Bad Kreuth. Madame Buddenbrook, however, spent her summer vacation with Erika and Mamselle Jungmann on the shores of the Baltic. While they were in Munich, the two couples took the opportunity to have a look at the house on Kaufinger Strasse—very near the Niederpaurs’, in fact—that Herr Permaneder was about to buy, with the intention of renting out most of it. It was a very curious old house—on opening the front door, you were confronted with a narrow stairway, which, like Jacob’s ladder, ran straight up in a single flight, without a turn or a landing, to the second floor, where you then had to walk in either direction down a long corridor to the rooms at the front and back of the house.
In the middle of August, Tony returned home to devote the next few weeks to her trousseau. There were a great many things still left from her first marriage, but she had to buy some new items to supplement them. One day a package arrived from Hamburg, where she had ordered several things, and it contained a dressing gown—trimmed, this time, not with velvet, of course, but with little cotton bows.
In late autumn Herr Permaneder reappeared on Meng Strasse—it was decided to delay things no longer. Just as Tony had expected, and indeed wanted, the wedding festivities were carried out with no great to-do. “Let’s forget the pomp and ceremony,” the consul said. “You are to be a married woman again, and it’s simply as if you have never ceased to be one.” Only a few engagement announcements were sent—although Madame Grünlich made sure that Julie Möllendorpf, née Hagenström, received one of them—and there was to be no honeymoon, since Herr Permaneder detested such “fuss ’n’ bother” and Tony, who had recently returned from her summer vacation, thought the trip back to Munich would be quite long enough. This time the ceremony took place in St. Mary’s rather than in the columned hall, with only the closest family attending. Tony wore her orange blossoms, which replaced the sprays of myrtle, with great dignity; and although Pastor Kölling’s voice was somewhat weaker than on the first occasion, he still preached temperance in the strongest of terms.
Christian arrived from Hamburg, dressed very elegantly; he looked a little peaked, but he was in high spirits and declared that business and Burmeester were both “tip-top” and that he and Klothilde would probably have to wait to get married “in heaven—separately, I mean.” And he arrived at the church much too late for the ceremony, because he had paid a visit to the Club. Uncle Justus was very touched and proved as generous as always, giving the newlyweds an extraordinarily beautiful sterling-silver epergne—despite the fact that he and his weak-willed wife almost went hungry at home, because she continued to use her household money to pay the debts of the disowned and outcast Jakob, who was living in Paris at present, so people said. The Ladies Buddenbrook from Breite Strasse commented, “Well, let’s hope it lasts this time.” What made this even more unpleasant was a general doubt that they hoped anything of the sort. Sesame Weichbrodt, however, stood on her tiptoes, kissed her former ward—now Frau Permaneder—on the brow with a soft popping sound, and said with her most warmly exaggerated vowels, “Be heppy, you good chawld.”
7
WHEN CONSUL BUDDENBROOK left his bed each morning, he would descend to the ground floor via the spiral staircase hidden behind the little door, take his bath, and put his dressing gown back on—and by eight o’clock he was already engaged in civic affairs. Because at precisely that hour Herr Wenzel, the barber and member of the town council, would appear in his bathroom, a man with an intelligent face and red hands, in which he carried the tools of his trade and a basin of warm water fetched from the kitchen. The consul would sit down in a large armchair and lay his head back, Herr Wenzel would begin to lather his soap—and then there almost always ensued a conversation that started with the weather and how each had slept, but soon turned to events in the great, wide world, moved on to the town’s domestic affairs, and generally concluded with very personal matters of business and family. All of which tended to prolong the process, because, whenever the consul spoke, Herr Wenzel would have to lift the razor from his face.
“Did you sleep well, Consul Buddenbrook?”
“Yes, thanks. Good weather today?”
“Below freezing and a little fog and snow, Herr Buddenbrook. The boys have fixed themselves up another slide, good thirty foot long, out in front of St. Jakob’s, and I almost took a tumble as I was leaving the mayor’s house. Damn those kids.”
“Have you seen the papers?”
“Yes, the Advertiser and the Hamburg News. Nothing but Orsini and his bombs—gruesome. On the way to the opera, it was. Nice bunch of folks they have there.”
“Well, I don’t think it means much. The common folk aren’t involved in it, and the only result is that they’ll just double the police and increase the pressure on the press and the rest of it. He won’t take any chances. Yes, things are always in a turmoil, true enough, and he’s constantly having to come up with new schemes just to stay in power. But he has my respect—no matter what. Given their traditions, there’s no way the man can be a blatherskite, as Mamselle Jungmann would say, and the way he managed the bakery fund and cheap bread, for instance, that impressed me no end. He does a great deal for the common people, no doubt of it.”
“Yes, Herr Kistenmaker was saying the same thing just this morning.”
“Stephan? We were speaking about it yesterday.”
“And Friedrich Wilhelm of Prussia’s doing poorly, Herr Buddenbrook. Things can’t go on like this. People are saying the prince should be made regent for good and all.”
“Oh, I’m anxious to see what happens there. He’s already shown his liberal tendencies, Wilhelm has, and doesn’t share his brother’s secret disgust for the constitution. Ultimately, it’s only grief that has worn him down, the poor man. Anything new from Copenhagen?”
“Not a thing, Herr Buddenbrook. They’re not about to do it. The Confederation can declare the constitution for a united Holstein and Lauenburg to be illegal all they want. Those fellows up there are simply not about to abandon it.”
“Yes, it’s quite outrageous, Wenzel. They’re simply daring the Bundestag to act—if only it were just a little more alert. Oh, these Danes! I can recall quite well how as a young lad one verse of a hymn always annoyed me, ‘Jesus loves his children all, disdains not one most lowly,’ which I took to mean ‘this Dane’s not one most lowly’ and couldn’t understand why he should be better than I. Don’t laugh so hard, and watch that chapped spot there, Wenzel. Well, and here we are back again to the question of a direct railroad line to Hamburg. It’s already cost a lot of diplomatic blood, and will cost a lot more before Copenhagen gives in.”
“Yes, Herr Buddenbrook, and the stupid thing is that the Altona-Kiel Railroad Company is against it, and all Holstein, too, when you get down to it. Mayor Oeverdieck was saying that just this morning, too. They’re dreadfully afraid of an economic boom in Kiel.”
“That’s understandable, Wenzel. A new connection like that between the Baltic and North Seas. And just you wait, those Altona-Kiel fellows won’t stop their scheming against it. They’re perfectly capable of building a competing line—East Holstein, Neumünster, Neustadt. No, sir, it’s not out of the question. But we can’t let ourselves be cowed, and we need a direct line to Hamburg.”
“You need to get involv
ed in the matter yourself, Herr Buddenbrook.”
“Yes, well, as far as it’s in my powers and to the extent I have any influence. I’m interested in railroad policy—it’s a tradition with us. My father was on the board of directors of the Büchen Line as far back as ’51, which is probably the reason I’ve been elected to it at age thirty-two. I’ve not done all that much to deserve it.”
“Oh, now, Herr Buddenbrook, what about that speech you gave in the council?”
“Yes, I probably did make some impression with that, and there’s no lack of good will, at any rate. I can only be grateful, you know, that my father, grandfather, and great-grandfather paved the way for me, and that a great deal of the trust and esteem they gained in this town have automatically fallen to me. Otherwise I couldn’t move a finger. For example, just think of what all my father did after ’48, and on through the beginning of this decade, for the postal system. Think back, Wenzel, how he prodded the council to merge the post with the Hamburg coach system, or in 1850 how he pushed the senate, which was so irresponsibly slow in those days, to join the Austro-German Postal Union. If we have lower postal rates these days—and stamps and book rates and mailboxes and a telegraph connection between Berlin and Travemünde—he’s not the last person we have to thank for it, and if he and a few other people had not constantly urged the senate to act, we would have lagged behind the Danish and Thurn and Taxis postal services forever. And so, when I offer my opinion about such matters now, people listen.”