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.
Lebrecht Kröger 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 bouse-warming party given by the Buddenbrook family. October 1835.”
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
See 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 port about the Venus Anadyomene.
7
THE GENERAL MERRIMENT had now reached its height. Herr Köppen felt a great need to unfasten a few buttons of his waistcoat; but it obviously wouldn’t do, for not even the elderly gentlemen were permitting themselves the liberty. Lebrecht Kröger 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 Kröger – 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 proceeding from the hall. There in the dim light, little Christian 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 manner: “Better put him to bed and give him a Dover powder – 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 man. 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! He, 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, prescribe 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 unaware 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 occasions 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 ham with onion sauce had been delicious, hang it! And the Plettenpudding, when they were already stuffed full – macaroons, raspberries, custard … “A rigorous diet, Frau Consul, as I say. A little pigeon, a little French bread …”
8
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 Köppen, may I have the honour?”
Full of well-being, laughing and chattering, the company trooped back through the folding doors into the landscape-room. The Consul remained behind, and collected about him the gentlemen who wanted to play billiards.
“You won’t try a game, Father?”
No, Lebrecht Kröger would stop with the ladies, but Justus might go if he liked … Senator Langhals, Köppen, Gratjens, 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 passed through the hall, they could hear from the landscape-room the first notes of the flute, accompanied 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.