Buddenbrooks: The Decline of a Family

by Thomas Mann

  “Too seriously, Thomas, too seriously?”

  “Yes. Good Lord, let’s not make a tragedy of this. Let’s speak a bit more modestly, rather than this ‘All is over’ and ‘Your unhappy Antonie.’ Don’t misunderstand me, Tony. You know very well that no one could be happier than I that you’ve come. I have been hoping for a long time now that you would come for a visit, without your husband, so that we could just be together again en famille. But that you’ve come now, and like this—pardon me, but that’s pure stupidity, my child. No—let me finish. Permaneder has behaved quite badly, true enough, and I’ll make it clear to him that I think so, you can be sure of that.”

  “I’ve already made it clear to him how he behaved, Thomas,” she interrupted, sitting up and laying a hand across her breast, “more than clear, let me tell you. If only as a matter of tact, any further discussion with my husband is fully inappropriate.” And then she let herself fall back and gazed sternly and resolutely at the ceiling.

  He bent forward, as if burdened by the weight of her words, and he smiled as he gazed at his own knees. “Well, then, I won’t send him a nasty letter, just as you wish. It is your affair, after all, and it’s quite sufficient if you haul him over the coals—that’s your job as a wife. But by the light of day, one can’t deny that there are mitigating circumstances. A friend was celebrating his name day, he comes home a little mellow and is guilty of a misdemeanor, a little unseemly escapade.”

  “Thomas,” she said, “I don’t understand you. I don’t understand the tone you’re taking—you, a man of principles. You didn’t see him, the way he was grabbing at her, and how drunk he was.”

  “I can imagine he looked rather comical. But that’s the point, Tony. You’re not seeing the comic side of this—and your bad digestion is to blame for that, of course. You caught your husband at a weak moment, you saw him making a fool of himself. But that’s no reason to be so dreadfully outraged; it should amuse you just a little, serve as a way to bring you closer together as man and wife. Let me be clear on this—of course you couldn’t approve of his conduct, couldn’t just smile and pass over it in silence, heaven forbid. You left, as a demonstration of your displeasure, perhaps a bit too spirited an action, perhaps a little too punitive—I certainly would not like to see him right now, sitting there woebegone—but a just action, all the same. My request is simply that you be somewhat less outraged by these things and regard them from a more politic point of view. This is just between us. I’m merely suggesting that in any marriage it is certainly not unimportant which side has the moral advantage. Do you understand me, Tony? Your husband has left himself open, there can be no doubt of that. He has compromised himself, made a fool of himself—a fool, because his crime is so harmless, something one needn’t take so seriously. To be brief, his dignity is no longer unimpeachable, and you now have a definite moral advantage over him. And, assuming you know how to use it, your future happiness is assured. You’ll see, if after, shall we say, two weeks—yes, I insist on having you to ourselves for at least that long!—if you then return to Munich, you will see.”

  “I’m not going back to Munich, Thomas.”

  “Beg your pardon?” he asked, screwing up his face and laying a hand to his ear as he leaned forward.

  She was lying on her back, her head pressed firmly into the pillows, so that her chin was thrust forward with a kind of severity. “Never!” she said, letting out a long, noisy breath and then clearing her throat—slowly and significantly. It was like a dry cough and was beginning to become a habit with her—apparently it had something to do with her stomach problems. A pause followed.

  “Tony,” he said suddenly and stood up, rapping his hand firmly on the arm of the Empire chair, “you are not to make a scandal!”

  From the corner of her eye, she could see that he was pale and that the muscles at his temples were twitching. She could not stay in this position. She made her move, and, in order to hide just how afraid of him she was, she turned loud and angry. She bounced up, letting her feet drop over the edge of the bed, and now she started in—with flushed cheeks, scowling brows, and quick, abrupt motions of her head and hands.

  “Scandal, Thomas? You tell me not to make a scandal, after I have been covered with shame, after he simply spat in my face? Is that worthy of a brother? Yes, it’s a perfectly justifiable question, if you please. Consideration and tact are fine things, heaven knows. But there are limits in this life, Tom—and I know as much about life as you—limits, when the fear of scandal verges on cowardice. And it amazes me that I should have to tell you that, especially since I am just a silly goose. Yes, that’s what I am, and I can understand quite well if Permaneder never loved me. I am an ugly old woman—that may well be—and Babbit is prettier, that much is sure. But that does not relieve him of the respect that he owes my family and my upbringing and my feelings. You did not see it, Tom, you did not see the manner in which he forgot all such respect, and anyone who did not see it knows nothing about it, because there is no way to describe how disgusting he was in that condition. And you did not hear the name that he called me, your sister, as I was gathering my things to leave so that I could spend the night on the sofa in the sitting room. Oh yes, but I had to hear that name come from his mouth, a name … a name! In short, Tom, it was that name, in fact if you must know, that caused me, forced me, to spend the whole night packing and to wake Erika at the crack of dawn and to leave. Because I could not stay anywhere near a man who might utter such things at any time. And I repeat, I will not return to such a man—I would perish, I would no longer have any regard for myself, would have no basis to go on living.”

  “Will you please be good enough to tell me what that damn name was? Yes or no?”

  “Never, Thomas. These lips shall never repeat it. I know full well what I owe you and myself within these walls.”

  “Then there’s no talking to you.”

  “That may be; and I would certainly prefer that we speak of it no more.”

  “What do you want to do? Get a divorce?”

  “That’s exactly what I want, Tom. I am firmly resolved to do it. It is the course of action that I owe to myself and my child and to you all.”

  “Well, that’s just plain nonsense,” he said coolly, turning on his heel and walking away as if that settled matters for good and all. “It takes two for a divorce, my child. And that Permaneder would willingly agree to it without further ado—the idea is simply too funny for words.”

  “Oh, let me worry about that,” she said—he had not intimidated her. “You think he will contest it, simply because of my seventeen thousand thalers courant. Well, Grünlich didn’t want a divorce, either, but he was forced to. There are ways—and I shall go to Dr. Gieseke, who is a friend of Christian’s, and he will stand by me. I know what you’re going to say: that was a different situation back then—and that’s true. The issue then was the ‘incapacity of the husband to support his family,’ right! So you see—I do know a thing or two about these matters, whereas you simply act as if this were the first time in my life that I ever got divorced. But it makes no difference, Tom. Perhaps it won’t work, perhaps it is impossible—that may well be; you could be right. But it changes nothing. It changes nothing about my decision. Then let him keep his pin money—there are nobler things in life. But he will never see me again!”

  And then she cleared her throat. She had left the bed and was sitting in an easy chair, one elbow set firmly on its arm, her chin buried so deep in her hand that four bent fingers clutched at her lower lip. And, turning to one side now, she stared out the window with fierce, reddened eyes.

  The consul paced back and forth in the room, sighed, shook his head, gave a shrug. Finally he stopped directly in front of her, his hands clenched together. “You have the mind of a child, Tony,” he said despondently, pleading with her. “Every word you’ve said is childish. I beg you, won’t you please, for just one second, agree to look at the matter like an adult? Don’t you see that you are carry
ing on as if something serious and awful had happened to you, as if your husband had cruelly betrayed you, holding you up to shame before all the world? Just consider for a moment—nothing happened at all! Not one human soul knows anything about that absurd scene on your staircase on Kaufinger Strasse. You will not prejudice your dignity, or ours, one iota if you return to Permaneder, perfectly calm and cool, and at most with your nose set slightly in the air. On the contrary—you will prejudice our dignity if you don’t do it, because that would turn a mere bagatelle into a true scandal.”

  She hastily let go of her chin and looked him squarely in the eye. “Hold your tongue, Thomas. It’s my turn now. Listen to me. So you think the only shame and scandal in life is what people gossip about, do you? Oh no. The secret scandals that gnaw at us and eat away at our self-respect are far worse. Are we Buddenbrooks the kind of people who want to be ‘tip-top’ on the outside, as they say here, while choking down our humiliation within our four walls? You do amaze me, Tom. Just picture your father and how he would react, and then judge as he would have. No, no, everything must be clean and out in the open. You can show the world your books at the end of every day and say, ‘There you are!’ And it dare not be different with any of us. I know how God made me. I am not afraid in the least. Let Julie Möllendorpf walk right past me and not say a word. And let Pfiffi Buddenbrook sit here every Thursday jiggling with joy at my misfortune, let her say, ‘Well, how sad. That’s the second time now, but of course it was the husband’s fault both times.’ But I am far above all that Thomas, far, far above it. I know that I have done what I thought was right. But to swallow insults and allow myself to be reviled in a drunken, illiterate dialect out of fear of Julie Möllendorpf and Pfiffi Buddenbrook, to live with such a man and in such a city, where I have to put up with that kind of language and with scenes like the one I saw on the stairs, out of fear of what they might say, to learn to deny my family and my upbringing and everything in me just so that I may appear to be happy and content—that is what I call a loss of dignity, that is what I call scandalous, let me tell you.”

  She broke off, buried her chin in her hand again, and stared fiercely in the direction of the windowpane. Tom was standing in front of her, his weight on one leg and his hands in his pockets; he was lost in thought, and his eyes gazed down at her without seeing her. Shaking his head slowly back and forth, he said, “Tony, you can’t get away with that with me. I was fairly sure all along, but what you said there at the end betrayed you. It isn’t your husband at all. It’s the place. It wasn’t that foolishness on the staircase at all. It’s the whole situation in general. You haven’t been able to adjust. Admit it.”

  “You’re right, Thomas!” she shouted. She even jumped to her feet, stretched out her arm, and pointed directly into his face. Her own face was flushed. She held this warlike pose, with one hand, gesticulating with the other, and she made a speech—a stirring, relentless speech, seething with passion. The consul watched her in bewilderment. No sooner would she take time to catch her breath than new words were gushing and surging out of her. Yes, she was able to put it all in words, all the disgust stored up over the past few years—a little disordered and confused, but she found the words. It was an explosion, an eruption of honest despair, and it burst from her like some elemental force that brooked no opposition, for which there was no rebuttal.

  “You’re right, Thomas! Go ahead and say it again. Oh, I’ll say it to you straight out—I am not a silly goose anymore and I know what I know about life. I no longer freeze when I learn that life isn’t always so neat and proper. I’ve known people like Teary Trieschke and I was married to Grünlich and I know about our suitiers in town here. I’m no innocent from the country, let me tell you, and, believe me, taken just for itself and out of context, this affair with Babbit would not have chased me off. But the point is, Thomas, that I’ve had it up to here—and it didn’t take much, the cup was already full, had been full for a long time, a very long time. It took little or nothing to do it—and then came this: the realization that I couldn’t depend on Permaneder even in that regard. That was all I needed. It pulled the plug on the keg. And all of a sudden I was ready to follow through on my decision to get out of Munich for good—and it had been ripening for a long, long time, Tom. Because I can’t live down south, by God and all His heavenly hosts, I can’t. You have no idea how unhappy I’ve been, you can’t know, because I didn’t let on when you came to visit. No, because I know something about tact, I know better than to burden others with my complaints, to wear my heart on my sleeve. I’ve always tended to close things up inside me. But I suffered, Tom, everything in me suffered—my whole personality, so to speak. Like a plant, to use a metaphor, like a flower that has been transplanted to some foreign soil—though you may think the comparison inappropriate, because I’m an ugly old woman. But you couldn’t have put me in more foreign soil, I’d just as soon end up in Turkey. Oh, we northerners should never leave here. We should stay beside our little bay and earn an honest living. There was a time when you used to mock me for my partiality for the nobility; yes, and in the past few years I’ve often thought about what someone—a very clever man, in fact—told me a long time ago. ‘Your sympathies are with the nobility,’ he said, ‘and do you want me to tell you why? Because you’re an aristocrat yourself. Your father is a great sovereign, and you are a princess, separated by an abyss from all us others, who don’t belong to your circle of ruling families.’ Yes, Tom, we feel that we are aristocrats, and we’re aware of that distance, and we should never try to live where people know nothing about us and don’t understand our worth, because it will only bring humiliation and they will think that we are ridiculously arrogant. Yes, they all thought I was ridiculously arrogant. No one ever said it, but I felt it every single hour, and I suffered because of it. Oh, a place where they eat their cake with a knife, where even princes can’t get their don’ts and doesn’ts straight, and where they think a gentleman is courting a woman if he picks up her fan for her—it’s easy to be thought arrogant in a place like that, Tom. Adjust to that? No, not to people who have no dignity, morals, ambition, elegance, or discipline, not to impolite, unkempt, slovenly people, people who are lazy and frivolous, sluggish and superficial all at the same time. I cannot adjust to people like that and I never will, as surely as I am your sister. Eva Ewers knew how—fine. But an Ewers is not a Buddenbrook, and, then, she has a husband who is good for something in life. And what was it like for me? Think back, Tom, to the very beginning, think back. I come from here, from this house. And that means something—it means people work hard and have goals. And I go down there with Permaneder, who takes my dowry and retires. Oh, it was genuine, quite in character—that was the one good thing about it. And then? I was going to have a baby. And I was so delighted. It would have made up for everything. And what happened? She died. She was dead. That wasn’t Permaneder’s fault, heaven knows. He did what he could, didn’t even go to his tavern for two or three nights—God forbid. But it was all part of the same thing, Tom. It didn’t make me any happier, as you can well imagine. I bore it all and didn’t grumble. I went on, alone and misunderstood and with everyone calling me arrogant, but I said to myself, ‘For better or for worse, till death do you part. He’s a little plump and lazy and he’s disappointed your hopes in him; but he means well and his heart is pure.’ And then this happened, and I had to see him in that one disgusting moment. And I realized that he understands me so well, respects me so much more than the others that he can call me a name, a name that one of your warehouse workers wouldn’t even call a dog. And I realized that nothing was keeping me there, and that it would be a disgrace to stay. And as I was riding up Holsten Strasse from the train station, Nielsen the grain hauler passed by and tipped his stovepipe hat, and I greeted him back, not arrogantly at all, but the way Father used to greet people—like this, with my hand. And now I’m here. And you can harness a team of two dozen draft horses, Tom, but you’ll not get me back to Munich. And tomorrow
I’m going to see Gieseke!”

  This was the speech that Tony made, and when she was done she sank back wearily in her chair, buried her chin in her hand, and stared at the windowpane.

  The consul stood in front of her—appalled, dazed, close to shock—and said nothing. Then he drew a long breath, raised his arms shoulder-high, and let them drop to his sides again. “Yes, well, then, there’s nothing I can do,” he said softly, turning on his heel and walking toward the door.

  She watched him go, her face set in the same long-suffering pout with which she had greeted him. “Tom?” she asked. “Are you angry with me?”

  He held the oval doorknob in one hand and gestured a weary protest with the other. “Oh no—not at all.”

  She reached her hand out to him and laid her head on her shoulder. “Come here, Tom. Your sister hasn’t had it very good in life. Everything happens to her. And at this moment there doesn’t seem to be anyone on her side.”

  He came back and took her hand—but with a kind of limp indifference, standing next to her and without looking at her.

  Suddenly her upper lip began to quiver. “You’ll have to do it all by yourself now,” she said. “Christian is probably not going to amount to much, and I’m finished. I’m ruined. I won’t accomplish anything more. Yes, I’ll have to live off your charity, a useless old woman. I never would have thought that I could fail so miserably at being some help to you, Tom. And now you must see to it all alone that we Buddenbrooks hold our ground. God be with you.”

  Two tears—two large, clear, childish tears—rolled down her cheeks, where little wrinkles in her skin could be seen now.

  11

  TONY LOST NO TIME—she took matters in hand. In hopes that she would calm down, cool off, and rethink all this, the consul demanded only one thing of her for now: that she lie low and that neither she nor Erika leave the house. Everything might still turn out for the best. The town did not need to know anything as yet. The Thursday “family day” was canceled.