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 housewives—for you housekeepers ought to know that your greengrocer makes but a small profit on what you buy.

"Among those to whom we shipped, we found seven speculators, men who never handled or saw the goods. One man sold immediately to another firm, which proved to be his wife; another man secured three commissions by selling produce to the greengrocers through two other 'firms'—one was his wife, the other his nine-year-old son. You see, in case of any trouble he could actually show two sales.

"We found men who had no offices, who had no bank account for their business, who had no clerks, who had absolutely no expenses, but who were making big money off the producer and the consumer. One man had an elegant home in Brooklyn and a beautiful summer place in Maine. He owned a steam yacht and three automobiles, but he did not contribute one single cent to the upkeep of New York City, in which he did his business, nor to New York State. He was not even paying a license as an ordinary peddler would have to do. He did not have to file any statement of his financial re-


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RV 236 (BUDDENBROOKS) great deal. It is exactly as if there were a spot of ink in the book here. But never mind. That is my affair. I will erase it. I am still young. Don’t you think I am still quite pretty? Though Frau Stuht, when she saw me again, said to me: ‘Oh, Heavens, Mme. Grünlich, how old you’ve grown!’ Well, I certainly couldn’t remain all my life the goose I was four years ago! Life takes one along with it. Anyhow, I shall marry again. You will see, everything can he put right by a good marriage.”

“That is in God’s hand, my child. It is most unfitting to speak of such things.”

Tony began at this time to use very frequently the expression “Such is life”; and with the word “life” she would open her eyes wide with a charming serious look, indicating the deep insight she had acquired into human affairs and human destinies.

Thomas returned from Pau in August of that year. The dining-table was opened out again, and Tony had a fresh audience for her tale. She loved and looked up to her brother, who had felt for her pain in that departure from Travemünde, and she respected him as the future head of the firm and the family.

“Yes, yes,” he said; “we’ve both of us gone through things, Tony.”

The corner of his eyebrow went up, and his cigarette moved from one corner of his mouth to the other: his thoughts were probably with the little flower-girl with the Malay face, who had lately married the son of her employer and now herself carried on the shop in Fishers’ Lane.

Thomas Buddenbrook, though still a little pale, was strikingly elegant. The last few years had entirely completed his education. His hair was brushed so that it stood out in two clumps above his ears, and his moustache was trimmed in the French mode, with sharp points that were stiffened with the tongs and stuck straight out. His stocky broad-shouldered figure had an almost military air. RV 236 (236)

license: Creative Commons - Attribution Share-Alike - https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0/


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 turns with the state treasurer, as other business concerns do—yet he was getting enormously rich on his commissions. He was one of the men who had promised us to sell at the best prices which grocers were paying, minus the commission. And our returns were six or eight cents a bushel for tomatoes!

"To see produce come in from various outlying states and to watch it handled on the docks, we had to stay up nights, but we got what we wanted—reliable figures and data. We knew then that there was no money for the Long Island farmer whose produce was handled by the New York commission merchant. He could sell it better in any other city.

"The next proposition was to do away with the commission man and reach the consumer direct. Mrs. Fullerton and I happened to run across a package or carrier which held six four-quart boxes. We decided that we would fill one box with potatoes, one with tomatoes, one with sweet corn, one with lima beans, one with beets. The remaining box should hold a combination—parsley, radishes, asparagus, and later in the season, cantaloupe, raspberries, strawberries or


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 other fruits. Then we christened the 'Home Hamper.'

"We picked out seven New York men, each of whom we knew to have families. To each of these went a hamper, with a letter something like this:

We are sending you a Home Hamper to-day by express. It is full of fresh stuff, and we hope you will get it in time for dinner. We should like to have your opinion of it, and, incidentally, if you think it is worth $1.50, we would be glad to have the $1.50. If you do not, please accept it with our compliments—and no harm done!'

"Then we waited for returns. Every one of the seven sent us the dollar fifty and several customers besides. For each hamper we sent out first, we received three and a half customers in return—and the cash came with each order. Apparently we were filling a long-felt want.

"Here was a business started in one day. Within three years we were able to sell all that was raised on two of the company's farms.


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 After eight years other Long Island farmers took it up, and truck raisers around such cities as Chicago, Philadelphia and St. Louis."

"How did you figure your profits?" inquired Mr. Larry.

"That was easy," answered Mr. Fullerton. "The express company got twenty-five cents out of the dollar and fifty cents. Boxes, nails, tags and green paraffin paper, to keep out dust during shipment, amounted to twenty-seven cents more. The vegetables, therefore, brought ninety-eight cents. In order to learn exactly what we gained by using the Home Hamper over the regular commission channel, we received for an equal amount of vegetables shipped in bulk, and of the same quality, from four cents to eight cents—an average of six cents through the commission man, as against ninety-eight cents from the consumer.

"And do you mean to say that all of your customers are satisfied?" asked Teresa Moore.

Mr. Fullerton's eyes twinkled.

"Well—hardly. If a woman didn't want cauliflower or kohl-rabi she would write as if we had committed an unpardonable crime in send-


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 ing her any. Again, some city folks were so used to hard dry vegetables, like peas and beans, that they thought there wasn't much to our tender juicy vegetables. But most of them appreciated the freshness of the green stuff, packed in the morning and received by them before night. The lettuce still had the morning dew on it; tomatoes and melons were ripened on the vine, peaches on the tree, instead of being picked green and ripened in a car during a three- or five-day railroad trip.

"As to the saving for the consumer—by checking up on our correspondence, we find that it ranged from sixty-five cents to three dollars a hamper, according to the markets formerly patronized by our customers, and also according to their ability as marketers.

"During the summer, of course, the consumer receives the vegetables fresh from the garden; during the winter, the hardier vegetables, which are stored in the farmer's cellar.

"The passage of years has proved this to be a practical plan for both producer and consumer. The producer makes a fair profit, and the consumer a considerable saving. It is a


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 proposition practical in all cities with outlying truck farms. Farmers are corresponding with me all over the country. Any group of women can communicate with the nearest grange or agricultural society and arrange for the shipment of these hampers the year around. I admit this will work a hardship on the small merchant, but until that merchant evolves a plan of dealing directly with the producer, instead of through a commission man, the housewife is justified in protecting herself.

"A housewife who knows how to utilize all sorts of vegetables, and who will buy directly from the producer in this way, can cut the cost of her table fifty per cent. Take the single item of eggs. When the better stores of New York were selling eggs anywhere from fifty to seventy-five cents a dozen, the commission men were paying the farmers around here seventeen cents. You can see who got the profits—the middleman. We sell eggs direct to the consumer at thirty-five cents a dozen, thereby receiving eighteen cents more than do our neighbors, who sell to the commission men, while the


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 consumer saves anywhere from fifteen to forty cents."

"I notice that you speak of making your shipments by express. Do you never use parcel post?"

"For fresh vegetables, eggs and so forth, I prefer express, because it is quicker, because there is no fee for the return of carrier, and because our hamper is too bulky for parcel post."

"Oh, yes!" exclaimed Mrs. Larry. "I remember Uncle George (you know he is assistant postmaster at —) says almost the same thing, that parcel post would not spell bigger profits for the producer and worth-while saving for the consumer until what he called 'empties' would be returned by the United States Post-office Department, free of charge."

"Nevertheless," said Mr. Fullerton, "a great many Long Island farmers, especially those who ship in small lots, are making good use of the parcel post. I would advise you to interview Mr. Kelley, Brooklyn's postmaster, on the subject. His was one of the last group of city post


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 offices selected by the authorities at Washington in their test of practical value of parcel-post shipment to producer and consumer."

"Dear me," exclaimed Mrs. Larry, as she sank back with luxurious enjoyment in the Burrows car, "it really doesn't seem possible that we have been engaged on so prosaic a mission as investigating the 'High Cost of Living.' It was just a beautiful hour among growing things and charming, intelligent people."

Mr. Larry smiled over his shoulder.

"There is no reason why a woman should not take the same satisfaction in a businesslike management of her home as her husband takes in the management of his store or office. The mistake we men make is depreciating or taking for granted good household management on the part of our wives. Perhaps if we were a little more sympathetic or appreciative, women would find thrift a joy and not a burden. And just to show you that I've had my little lesson as your partner in reducing the high cost of living, I'll make the trip to Brooklyn for you within the next day or so, and present the result of my interview with Postmaster Kelley at


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 a sort of Thrift Celebration, to which Mr. and Mrs. Moore, Mr. and Mrs. Norton and Claire will be duly invited."

"What a lovely idea!" exclaimed Mrs. Larry. "I've been keeping a diary; so with our coffee and cheese, some one shall read a little summary of our 'Adventures in Thrift.' Of course," she continued, with a suggestion of contrition, "I started these investigations, and I'm willing to look into parcel-post economy—but—well— My wardrobe's getting in a shocking state, so if you go to Brooklyn, I'll go shopping."

"And I'll go with you," said Teresa.

Mr. Larry chuckled.

"Perhaps you might even find the way to thrift in department-store buying."

"No," said Mrs. Moore decidedly. "I don't believe in bargain counters or sales."

"If not, why not? I propose that you add to this quest the problem: 'When is a bargain not a bargain?' Is there such a thing as standardization in fabrics and wearing apparel?"

"Larry, Larry!" cried his wife. "Haven't we had trouble enough with the food proposition?


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 And now you're asking us to shatter the last illusion of shopping—the bargain."

"Nothing of the sort," retorted her husband, "I was just thinking—if you know half as much about drygoods as you do about foodstuffs, we'll soon own a car like this—just see if we don't!"


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REFRESHING breeze floated into the dining-room window of Mr. and Mrs. Larry's apartment. It passed Teresa Moore's competent square shoulders and touched Mrs. Norton's sleek hair and Claire's pale clear skin. It played on Mrs. Larry's sparkling face. It made the men, including Jimmy Graves, who had come all the way from Kansas City for the great occasion, sit up a little straighter. It quickened Lena's steps, as, with crisp little cap and apron gleaming white in the dim room, she brought in the coffee service.

"For winding up adventures in thrift, I should like to remark that it was some dinner," said Mr. Moore, smiling at his hostess.

"I was thinking the same thing," commented Mr. Norton, "and wondering whether Mrs.


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 Larry has spent at one fell swoop all she has been saving in the last few months."

"Well," said Mrs. Larry, "I'm going to tell you what it cost. Four months ago this dinner would have made a shocking dent in my housekeeping allowance. Now, let me tell you the difference in prices:

"First course, iced melons, three for a quarter, if I had bought them at Dahlgren's Store. In the 'Home Hamper,' three for ten. Saving, fifteen cents.

"Cold consommé; a ten-cent can of soup and enough gelatine to make it quiver. In the old days I would have bought a soup bone at fifteen cents, soup greens, five cents, and used gas for the slow process of simmering. Of course, this process would yield more stock, but in hot weather it might not keep. So we'll say at least ten cents saved and just as delicious, too. I'm learning how to utilize standard, factory-made food.

"Chicken, four and a half pounds, at twenty-two cents, including parcel post. I used to pay Dahlgren twenty-seven cents, so saved on four and one-half pounds, twenty-two cents. We


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 three women have made arrangements with a certain farmer in Connecticut to supply us the year around with eggs, chickens and ducks. We have agreed to take a definite quantity each. He receives a little more than he would from the commission men, and we pay a little less than we would at the market.

"These fine new potatoes were bought by the bushel, enough to last the three of us for the year. The farmer keeps them for us in his cellar and ships them, a barrel at a time. We paid him cash for our year's supply of potatoes, at a dollar a bushel. We've been buying them here in New York at the rate of two dollars a bushel. So I saved fifty per cent. on the potatoes you ate.

"Corn, at Dahlgren's, sells at three ears for ten cents. Figuring up the contents of this week's hamper, the corn I served to-night cost only a cent and a half an ear.

"The tomatoes, lettuce, parsley and peaches all came out of the Home Hamper at half the price asked at a city market. Even those stuffed dates represent thrift. I used to pay eighty cents a pound for them at Dorlin's. Lena


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 stuffed these, and they are just as good. A pound of dates at ten cents, the same value of nuts, and a little powdered sugar.

"Summing up the menu, it cost at least one-third less than it would have cost before I made my investigations. We must take into consideration, also, the better food value given for the money expended. There is absolutely no waste to the vegetables, which come directly from the truck garden to our table. Every leaf of lettuce counts; every bean, every pod of peas. In addition to the waste in fruit and vegetables, which lie from twenty-four to seventy-two hours on the docks or in commission houses, dry withered vegetables are not so valuable to the human system as the fresh vegetables. I am receiving two hampers a week now, and serving less meat, because Doctor Davis says that we do not need so much meat in warm weather, and we ought to make the most of the fresh vegetables and fruits while they are in season.

"Twice a week Mrs. Norton, Teresa and I go to the city fish market very early and buy enough fish—that has been caught during the


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RV 237 (BUDDENBROOKS) His constitution was not of the best; the blue veins showed too plainly at the narrow temples, and he had a slight tendency to chills, which good Dr. Grabow struggled with in vain. In the details of his physical appearance—the chin, the nose, and especially the hands, which were wonderfully true to the Buddenbrook type—his likeness to his grandfather was more pronounced than ever.

He spoke French with a distinctly Spanish accent, and astonished everybody by his enthusiasm for certain modern writers of a satiric and polemic character. Broker Gosch was the only person in town who sympathized with his tastes. His father strongly reprehended them.

But the Father’s pride and joy in his eldest son were plain to be seen; they shone in the Consul’s eyes. He welcomed him joyfully home as his colleague in the firm, and himself began to work with increased satisfaction in his office—especially after the death of old Madame Kröger, which took place at the end of the year.

The old lady’s loss was one to be borne with resignation. She had grown very old, and lived quite alone at the end. She went to God, and the firm of Buddenbrooks received a large sum of money, a round hundred thousand thaler, which strengthened the working capital of the business in a highly desirable way.

The Consul’s brother-in-law Justus, weary of continual business disappointments, as soon as he had his hands on his inheritance settled his business and retired. The gay son of the cavalier à-la-mode was not a happy man. He had been too careless, too generous to attain a solid position in the mercantile world. But he had already spent a considerable part of his inheritance; and now Jacob, his eldest son, was the source of fresh cares to him.

The young man had become addicted to light, not to say disreputable, society in the great city of Hamburg. He had cost his father a huge sum in the course of years, and when Consul Kröger refused to give him more, the mother, a weak,

RV 237 (237)


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 night and brought up the bay—to serve for two meals; first, boiled, fried or broiled, and then for luncheon or breakfast the next day, creamed or baked au gratin. When I buy meat I now know the economical cuts, how to get the most proteids for my money, so to speak. Just by knowing how meat is cut up, I have reduced my meat bill one-third.

"These are actual figures. For nearly a month I have been transferring money from the envelope marked 'Food' to the envelope marked 'Recreation and Improvement,' I have charged up all the car fare, postage, etc., incidental to our adventures in thrift, and still have a good balance in favor of the investigation."

"Then what do you consider the secret of thrift in food buying?" asked Mr. Moore.

Mrs. Larry shook her head.

"I can't tell you that until Larry has reported his interview with the postmaster of Brooklyn, on the parcel-post system."

"All right, Lena, bring on the last course," said Mr. Larry.

And Lena brought from the living-room a


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 great sheaf of pamphlets, newspaper clippings and illustrated circulars, which she placed before the master of the house.

"Exhibits A, B and C," explained their host, as their guests looked with interest at the collection.

"All that about parcel post?" inquired Mr. Norton respectfully.

"I felt the same way when I left Postmaster Kelley's office," said Mr. Larry, as he sorted the collection. "I don't suppose one-tenth of the practical housekeepers in America realize what Uncle Sam is trying to do to reduce the high cost of living. And it should be most important to the wives of men like ourselves, in moderately prosperous circumstances, who know the importance of good food to family health and who, therefore, deprive themselves of many advantages and pleasures that their families shall have wholesome meals. These are the women who resent most deeply the rise in food prices; they pass resolutions in their clubs; they demand that we men legislate—when they ought to appoint practical committees to investigate


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 and work out direct connection between producer and consumer."

"Hear, hear!" cried Teresa Moore. "You'll be talking before the Federated Clubs next!"

"Well, if I do," said Mr. Larry, "I will first tell them what a clever wife I have.

"The parcel-post system is democratic. It was designed largely to meet the needs of the farmer or producer. To ship by freight or express, he must go to the nearest town. For parcel-post shipment, Uncle Sam, in the form of rural free delivery, passes his door each day, sometimes twice a day.

"But the government soon discovered that it must educate both the producer and consumer if the value of parcel post was to be raised to the nth power.

"So, in March, 1914, the Post-Office Department at Washington started a campaign of farm-to-table investigation and education. It selected certain cities for its experiment—Washington, St. Louis, Boston, Baltimore, Atlanta, Birmingham, San Francisco, Rock Island (Illinois), Lynn (Massachusetts), La-


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 Crosse (Wisconsin). The reports of postmasters in these cities have just been received and present some interesting facts.

"In spite of the fact that much perishable material was carried, damage to shipments in transit is reported as less than one-tenth of one per cent., due almost entirely to improper packing. The shipment of butter, dressed poultry and other perishable things fell off during hot weather because of lack of refrigerating facilities. This is now being met partly by cheap containers devised on the line of thermos bottles, while in the larger post-offices ice boxes are being installed to hold perishable shipments that must be kept overnight.

"Postmaster Bolling H. Jones, of Atlanta, co-operated with the Office of Markets of Agriculture, which sent out Guy B. Fitzpatrick to our contributory territory with rural mail carriers. He met the farmers personally, and gave them and their wives practical demonstrations in proper methods of packing the articles most in demand among city buyers.

"In the neighborhood of Washington, four hundred and forty-five farmers sent their


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 names to be placed upon the list of producers which the postmaster circulated among Washington consumers. Of this number, three hundred and thirty-four farmers offered eggs; one hundred and seventy-six, butter; one hundred and eighty-nine, poultry; two hundred and two, vegetables and fruit.

"E. C. Marshall, the retiring postmaster of Boston, offers a comment worth reading." Mr. Larry picked up a clipping:

One of the striking features which has come to my attention in making this campaign to bring the producers and consumers together is the fact that some farmers have been charging top prices for their products. It was assumed when the plan was first broached that the consumer would get the benefit of low prices as a means of reducing the cost of living, and that the producer, by sending direct by parcel post, could afford to sell at rock-bottom prices. This, however, has not proved generally to be so, and if the plan for bringing the producers directly in touch with consumers is found to be unsuccessful, it will be due largely to this fact.'

"In the smaller cities, like LaCrosse, Rock


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 Island, etc., the parcel post shipment from farm-to-table were proportionately smaller, because the truck gardeners quite generally drive to such cities and sell their produce either at a public market or by peddling from door to door to regular customers.

"The post-office authorities then selected other representative cities in different sections of the country in which to continue their investigations. Brooklyn was included in this second list, and the most interesting corner of the big post-office I visited the other day was that in which parcel-post shipments are handled.

"On November first of last year, the postmaster of Brooklyn issued two pamphlets. One, a Parcel Post Information circular, was sent to every farmer on Long Island whose name could be secured. The other, a list of Long Island farmers, was mailed to fifty thousand residents of Brooklyn. The farmers were urged to notify the post-office in Brooklyn as to the products they wished to market by parcel post. The residents of Brooklyn were urged to communicate directly with the farmer.


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 "Within twenty days after the service was established many farmers had written to Postmaster Kelley that they had made from forty to fifty or sixty dollars on eggs, poultry and Brussels sprouts sold directly to consumers.

"Next, Postmaster Kelley opened an exhibit of containers, which are a vital factor in the success of the plan. I found this exhibit most interesting. It ranged from a hammock egg carrier for a dozen eggs to steel-crated boxes, with ice box attachment, for shipping butter, poultry, fruit and vegetables. Postmaster Kelley invited all the farmers whose names were on his list to visit this exhibit, and the postmasters in all Long Island towns were asked to notify the farmers in their section. The result of this educational campaign is a daily increase in the volume of business done by parcel post, and Postmaster Kelley considers it a feasible method for reducing the cost of living.

"The point on which I could not satisfy myself, however, was this: Does the farmer demand the top notch prices asked by the high-grade city grocer and poultry dealer, thereby forcing the consumer to pay the full rate of


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 commission charged by the commission merchant, or is he willing to split this commission with the consumer? If the latter is done, then parcel post will reduce the cost of living for the consumer, and still pay the producer a better profit, by eliminating the middleman. But, unquestionably, the individual consumer must have some understanding with the farmer she patronizes. Moreover, the government will have to follow the express companies in the custom of returning containers free.

"There is no doubt in my mind that when the government has followed up these investigations with practical improvements in the service, and with parcel-post education for producer and consumer, we will find parcel post a big factor in thrift for the housewife. At present, in almost any of the large cities, the housekeeper can secure a list of farmers in her territory who will supply her with produce by parcel post, if she will apply to the local post-office. She must then drive her own bargain with the farmer, and study producers as carefully as she studies her city markets.

"Aside from the saving in price, you must


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 consider, as Mrs. Larry said a few moments ago, the superior freshness and nutritive value of the food bought in this way."

"To sum up the situation," said Mr. Norton, "you do not consider that parcel post to date is a big aid to economy in marketing?"

"That's about it," assented Mr. Larry, "and it will not be until the farmer and the housewife establish an amicable understanding as to prices."

"And now, Teresa, for our department-store experiences," said Mrs. Larry.

"Our first lesson in department-store sleuthing was the fact that the bargain counter is the natural enemy to thrift; the second, that the woman who buys, not for to-day alone, but for next week, next month, next year, must demand standardized goods.

"First, as to bargain sales: If a merchant announces silk gloves at seventy-nine cents, formerly sold for one dollar, one of two conditions exists-either he overcharged his customers when he sold the gloves for one dollar, or he is losing money on the gloves at seventy-nine cents. Men are not in business to lose money.


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 We, therefore, conclude that the gloves at one dollar were overpriced, so we are getting no bargain at seventy-nine cents. None of the prices in such a store are, therefore, reliable.

"Next we trailed a ribbon sale. Here we found one lot of ribbons offered at twenty-one cents, usual price twenty-five cents; and another lot at eleven cents, usual price fifteen and seventeen cents. We secured samples of both lots and then sleuthed. We found that the same quality and design employed in the twenty-one-cent lot was actually to be bought at the regular counter at twenty-five cents a yard, but with this difference—the bargain-counter ribbon was three inches wide, the ribbon at the regular counter about four inches wide. In other words, the bargain-counter ribbon was priced at just what it was worth—twenty-one cents. It was not worth twenty-five cents, because at the regular counter the twenty-five-cent ribbon was nearly an inch wider.

"The ribbon at eleven cents was such in name only. It was the flimsiest sort of cotton, almost transparent, wiry and highly mercerized. We duplicated it at a near-by five and ten-cent store


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 for ten cents a yard, one cent cheaper than it was offered at the big department store.

"The lure of such bargains lies in the cleverly worded signs, fancy articles beautifully made up from the ribbon by women expert in securing effects, and in the wonderful mass of blended colors which blind women to quality.

"At another store we saw a crowd of women buying upholstery goods, specially priced and heavily advertised. The sale included couch covers, fabrics by the yard, and squares for cushion tops. The couch covers, marked as having been sold at eleven dollars, now reduced to five-ninety-eight, were worth just that, five-ninety-eight. The really good values had evidently been used for window display and were faded in streaks by the sun. The fresher covers were in fabrics and designs now out of style. The firm was either unloading for itself or for some jobbing house a lot of couch covers that were out of date.

"Among the cushion tops we picked up three real bargains, evidently odd pieces that had sold in the piece at a much higher rate. But mixed in with these desirable squares were hundreds


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 of others, plainly cut off the bolts we saw later in the regular department, and priced higher than they could be bought at the counter, by the yard."

"Isn't that universally true," asked Mr. Norton, "that merchants cut off unsalable stuff and offer it as 'remnants' when it does not sell from the bolt?"

"Not always," replied Teresa Moore. "Many sales are bona fide. A jobber or manufacturer overloads with certain fabrics or products, and is forced to raise cash. He prefers to get rid of his entire overproduction at cost, than to lose in the long run. The merchant who secures these big lots for cash can give his customers the benefit of a bona fide sale, and he does this in a legitimate way entirely satisfactory to the customer."

"Which means that a woman must know what she is buying," added Mrs. Norton. "I saw two women fairly quarreling over some shirts which each wanted to buy for her husband. The woman who finally won on the score that she had picked them up first, was opening her purse, when she gave a little cry: 'Oh, I can't take


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 them. I don't know his number,' The other woman did know her husband's shirt size and carried them off in triumph."

When the laughter had subsided, Mrs. Moore continued her story.

"At another bargain counter we looked at silver-plated breakfast knives, as I needed to renew my set. Half a dozen knives put up in a fancy box, lined with cheap, cotton-back satin, were offered to us at one dollar and ninety-eight cents. I looked at the mark, 'Superfine, triple-plate,' That was all. In the regular silver department, we asked for and were shown, at three dollars and ninety-eight cents per half dozen, breakfast knives made by a responsible firm which spends hundreds of thousands of dollars every year advertising its wares. There was no fancy box, no showy silk, but a trademark. The salesgirl explained that, while no actual guarantee went with the knives, they were supposed to last fifteen to twenty years, with reasonable treatment. If within a few years after the date of purchase the customer returned a knife in bad condition, and could prove that she had not used scouring


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 soap or strong cleansers in polishing it, the damaged knife would be made good by the manufacturers. The difference in price of two dollars no doubt represents the better wearing value of the standard metal, and at least it protects the purchaser.

"In our shopping investigations, which covered four mornings, we found that almost invariably the goods pushed by the salespeople or shown most prominently were not standardized wares; they were imitations of standard goods, often so flimsy as to betray the adulteration. By asking for standardized goods, we could secure them. Now there must be a reason for the prominence given the unstandardized goods, and we have decided that the stores make a bigger profit on them, even though the price is less, than on the standardized goods. Therefore, we are not getting so much for our money."

"Just what do you mean by standardized goods?" asked Mr. Norton.

"In fabrics, those which have the name of the maker woven in the border, or printed plainly on the board or carton in which the ma-


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 terials are offered; in china, cut glass, silverware and writing paper, a trade mark blown, stamped or woven in the article; in hosiery, underwear, corsets, shields, ready-to-wear garments of all sorts, the stamp of the maker. To sum up, generally speaking, wares that are made by a well known concern willing to put its name on them and thus to stand back of them."

"But how can you be sure, even with a trade mark, that these goods will wear satisfactorily?" asked Mr. Larry.

"We don't know anything," said Mrs. Larry, "but it stands to reason that a man who spends thousands to make his goods known to us women will not give us a chance to say to our neighbors that what he guarantees is unreliable. In every case where the goods were made by a reputable firm and bore their trade mark, the salespeople told us we could bring them back if they were not satisfactory. This, because the merchant knows that he can hold the manufacturer for any faulty output of the factory.

"Take, for instance, dress shields; if they bear no firm name and go to pieces in the first


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 washing, they must be thrown away, but a washable dress shield, bearing the name of the manufacturer, can be taken to the store and exchanged for a perfect pair, without any question as to where it was bought or what price was paid for it.

"Adulterated, unstandardized drygoods represent the same waste in the household budget as unstandardized, unlabeled canned goods."

"This is all very well for you women who live in the city and can pick and choose among stores, but how about the small city or town woman?" said Mr. Norton.

"She is quite as independent as we are," replied Teresa Moore. "Consider, as an example, the small town or suburban woman and her corset. She has been to the large city store and found a corset made by a standard firm, which suits her figure. She need never wear any other kind; she can order it by mail, or she can insist that the local shopkeeper handle that make of corset or lose her trade. This is true of any other standard article that she wants.

"You sometimes hear people say that when


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 articles are so much advertised the consumer must pay the price of the advertising. This is ridiculous. My cousin, Wilbur Stanley, who is an expert in such matters, says that it has been proved over and over again that advertised goods cost less than the unadvertised goods, because the selling expense of unadvertised goods per unit is higher than the selling expense of advertised goods; because advertising increases the sales so much more than they can be increased by any other method of selling that the cost of advertising in reality pays for itself by the economies it effects.

"As for gloves, hosiery, underwear, sheeting, pillow casing, etc., we can buy them labeled or unlabeled, just as we choose to give time and thought to our shopping.

"Substitutes are seldom if ever as good as the trade-marked, advertised brands. When you buy reliable branded goods, you are guaranteed satisfaction. Many substitutes that are offered the purchaser as 'just as good' do not carry any manufacturer's label, so if you do not like the goods, there is no known person from whom you can demand satisfaction. If


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 you do like the goods you have no way of knowing how to reorder and be sure of getting the same quality. Goods that do not carry the name of a reputable manufacturer are often 'seconds' gathered from various sources by jobbers. They have no steady dependable quality, since no one person or firm is responsible for them."

"An interesting report," said Mr. Norton, "and it reminds me of a little experience which bears out your theory. I lost my fountain pen last week, picked up an unknown make at a shop in our arcade, and promptly soaked one of my pockets with ink. When I stopped in with my complaint, there was nothing doing. The pen carried no guarantee. Two dollars wasted!"

"And now," said Mrs. Larry, "for the summing up of our experiences. Thrift for the home-maker to-day means, first, knowing how to buy, and then how to utilize to best advantage what she has bought. In our grandmother's day the housewife was not a purchaser. Her husband raised and supplied what was needed for the family; her economy consisted


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 of using the supplies to best advantage. To-day she spends the family income and kitchen economy is without value unless she knows her market.

"I would, therefore, say that the housewife must know food and fabric values—what goes farthest in the home. Second, knowing these values, she must seek the markets where they are offered at the lowest figure. She will make her biggest saving in cooperative buying. I believe that in time every community will have its association like the Housewives' League of New York, and the National Housewives' Cooperative League in Cincinnati, or its cooperative store, such as we saw in Montclair, New Jersey. This will save on groceries alone at least ten per cent.

"Next in importance to cooperative buying is the establishment of direct communication between the producer and the consumer through the parcel post. We know that if the housewife gives the farmer to understand very clearly that she expects to split the middleman's commission with him, she will save ten per


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 cent. on her poultry, eggs, vegetables and fruit, and have better food on her table in the bargain.

"Third, she must consider the wearing qualities of drygoods first, and their attractiveness second. As to telephone ordering, that's largely a question of the intelligence of the housewife and the honesty of the butcher and grocer. Many a woman can get what she wants at the right prices, simply by using her mind a bit before she gives her order. Also she must check up her bills afterward. If sugar or coffee or smoked meats are cheap, as the result of certain wholesale conditions, she will know this by reading reports of the papers or by inquiry at her store or market. If she finds that her tradespeople are dishonest or careless, she can change. The woman who is firm and intelligent can, without haggling, get full value for her money, whether she orders in person or by phone.

"Before I undertook adventures in thrift I expended all my energy trying to stretch as far as possible the groceries and fresh provisions which I bought extravagantly through the or-


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 der clerk or telephone. Now I concentrate on buying intelligently, and I have reduced our table expenses thirty-three and a third per cent. by cooperative buying, farm-to-table marketing, and the personal purchase of daily supplies. I do not think I am less intelligent than the average wife of a salaried man, and I hope, by becoming more and more familiar with market conditions, to reduce the cost of setting this table and buying our clothing even further. My goal is fifty per cent. But I realize that I can not accomplish this without unremitting effort and concentration on my duties as the head of the purchasing department of the House of Larry."

Teresa Moore spoke quickly.

"I know you all feel like crying—'Three cheers for the House of Larry and more power to it,' but do not be misled by Mrs. Larry's practical way of summing up the situation. She has not mentioned what these investigations have represented to her personally. She has been their real inspiration, our unfailing, unflagging and ever sympathetic leader. If the rest of us have less anxieties and more luxuries


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 through the year to come, we will owe it to the little woman who never would admit discouragement or exhaustion."

Gay applause swept round the candle-lighted circle. Mrs. Larry sat with her hands clasped tightly in her lap, her lips quivering and something very like moisture blurring her vision. Why—she had never dreamed— And what in the world was Jimmy Graves trying to say? He was looking at her—too!

"The rest of you men may feel a debt to Mrs. Larry for leading your wives to the well of thrift, but my debt is one that can not be voiced in mere words. Mrs. Larry has made it possible for me to claim the greatest happiness within the reach of man. Claire and I were married this afternoon in the Little Church Around the Corner. Mrs. Larry, all unknowingly, has supplied our wedding feast."

On the amazed silence which followed this unexpected announcement, Mrs. Larry sprang to her feet, flashed round the table and clasped Claire in her arms.

"Oh, my dear—my dear—" was all she could say. "And I expected to be matron of honor!"


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 "And so you should have been, if you hadn't been so busy with this dinner," whispered Claire. "I hadn't the heart to interrupt—and it was all so sudden. Why should we ask mother, who did not entirely approve, to have a gorgeous wedding that we did not want? And why should I ask my lonely man to wait when in all things essential I was prepared?"

"Well," exclaimed Mr. Larry, his hand gripping that of Jimmy Graves, "who would expect adventures in thrift to lead to the altar—where they usually start?"

"I think," said Teresa Moore very gently, "that Claire has chosen the better way—she has learned first. She takes no chance with love."


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RV 238 (BUDDENBROOKS) sickly woman, sent money secretly to the son, and wretched clouds had sprung up between husband and wife.

The final blow came at the very time when B. Grünlich was making his failure: something happened at Dalbeck and Company in Hamburg, where Jacob Kröger worked. There had been some kind of dishonesty. It was not talked about; no questions were asked of Justus Kröger; but it got about that Jacob had a position as travelling man in New York and was about to sail. He was seen once in the town before his boat left, a foppishly dressed, unwholesome-looking youth. He had probably come hither to get more money out of his mother, besides the passage money his father sent him.

It finally came about that Justus spoke exclusively of “my son,” as though he had none but the one heir, his second son, Jürgen, who would certainly never be guilty of a false step, but who seemed on the other hand to be mentally limited. He had had difficulty getting through the High School; after which he spent some time in Jena, studying law—evidently without either pleasure or profit.

Johann Buddenbrook felt keenly the cloud on his wife’s family and looked with the more anxiety to the future of his own children. He was justified in placing the utmost confidence in the ability and earnestness of his older son. As for Christian, Mr. Richardson had written that he showed an unusual gift for acquiring English, but no genuine interest in the business. He had a great weakness for the theatre and for other distractions of the great city. Christian himself wrote that he had a longing to travel and see the world. He begged eagerly to be allowed to take a position “over there”—which meant in South America, perhaps in Chile. “That’s simply love of adventure,” the Consul said, and told him to remain with Mr. Richardson for another year and acquire mercantile experience. There followed an exchange of letters on the subject, with the result that in the summer of 1851 Christian Buddenbrook sailed for Valparaiso, where he had

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text: The Mystery of the Blue Train/Chapter 26


text: Adventures in Thrift

title: Adventures in Thrift


text: Adventures in Thrift/Preface

title: Adventures in Thrift/Preface


text: Adventures in Thrift/Chapter 1

title: Adventures in Thrift/Chapter 1


text: Adventures in Thrift/Chapter 2

title: Adventures in Thrift/Chapter 2


text: Adventures in Thrift/Chapter 3

title: Adventures in Thrift/Chapter 3


text: Adventures in Thrift/Chapter 4

title: Adventures in Thrift/Chapter 4


text: The Mystery of the Blue Train/Chapter 27


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RV 239 (BUDDENBROOKS) hunted up a position. He travelled direct from England, without coming home.

So much for his two sons. As for Tony, the Consul was gratified to see with what self-possession she defended her position in the town as a Buddenbrook born; for as a divorced wife she had naturally to overcome all sorts of prejudice on the part of the other families.

“Oh!” she said, coming hack with flushed cheeks from a walk and throwing her hat on the sofa in the landscape-room. “This Juliet Möllendorpf, or Hagenström—or Semmlinger—whatever she is, the creature!—Imagine, Mamma! She doesn’t speak. She doesn’t say ‘How do you do’: She waits for me to speak first. What do you say to that? I passed her in Broad Street with my head up and looked straight at her.”

“You go too far, Tony. There is a limit to everything. Why shouldn’t you speak first? You are the same age, and she is a married woman, just as you were.”

“Never, Mamma! Never under the shining sun! Such rag-tag and bob-tail!”

“Assez, my love. Such vulgar expressions—”

“Oh, it makes me feel perfectly beside myself!”

Her hatred of the upstart family was fed by the mere thought that the Hagenströms might now feel justified in looking down on her—especially considering the present good fortune of the clan. Old Hinrich had died at the beginning of 1851, and his son Hermann—he of the lemon buns and the boxes on the ear—was doing a very brilliant business with Herr Strunk as partner. He had married, less than a year later, the daughter of Consul Huneus, the richest man in town, who had made enough out of his business to leave each of his three children two million marks. Hermann’s brother Moritz, despite his lung trouble, had a brilliant career as student, and had now settled down in the town to practise law. He had a reputation for being able, witty, and literary, and soon acquired a considerable business. He did not

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text: Adventures in Thrift/Chapter 5

title: Adventures in Thrift/Chapter 5


text: Adventures in Thrift/Chapter 6

title: Adventures in Thrift/Chapter 6


text: Adventures in Thrift/Chapter 7

title: Adventures in Thrift/Chapter 7


text: Adventures in Thrift/Chapter 8

title: Adventures in Thrift/Chapter 8


text: Adventures in Thrift/Chapter 9

title: Adventures in Thrift/Chapter 9


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RV 240 (BUDDENBROOKS) look like the Semmlingers, having a yellow face and pointed teeth with wide spaces between.

Even in the family Tony had to take care to hold her head up. Uncle Gotthold’s temper toward his fortunate step-brother had grown more mild and resigned now that he had given up business and spent his time care-free in his modest house, munching lozenges out of a tin box—he loved sweets. Still, considering his three unmarried daughters, he could not have failed to feel a quiet satisfaction over Tony’s unfortunate venture; and his wife, born Stüwing, and his three daughters, twenty-six, twenty-seven, and twenty-eight years old, showed an exaggerated interest in their cousin’s misfortune and the divorce proceedings; more, in fact, than they had in her betrothal and wedding. When the “children’s Thursdays” began again in Meng Street after old Madame Kröger’s death, Tony found it no easy work to defend herself.

“Oh, heavens, you poor thing!” said Pfiffi, the youngest, who was little and plump, with a droll way of shaking herself at every word. A drop of water always came in the corner of her mouth when she spoke. “Has the decree been pronounced? Are you exactly as you were before?”

“Oh, on the contrary,” said Henriette, who like her elder sister, was extraordinarily tall and withered-looking. “You are much worse off than if you had never married at all.”

“Yes,” Friederike chimed in. “Then it is ever so much better never to have married at all.”

“Oh, no, dear Friederike,” said Tony, erecting her head, while she bethought herself of a telling and clever retort. “You make a mistake there. Marriage teaches one to know life, you see. One is no longer a silly goose. And then I have more prospect of marrying again than those who have never married at all!”

“Oh!” cried the others with one voice. They said it with a long hissing intake of breath which made it sound very sceptical indeed.

Sesemi Weichbrodt was too good and tactful even to men-

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RV 241 (BUDDENBROOKS) tion the subject. Tony sometimes visited her former teacher in the little red house at Millbrink No. 7. It was still occupied by a troop of girls, though the boarding-school was slowly falling out of fashion. The lively old maid was also invited to Meng Street on occasion to partake of a haunch of venison or a stuffed goose. She always raised herself on tiptoe to kiss Tony on the forehead, with a little exploding noise. Madame Kethelsen, her simple sister, had grown rapidly deaf and had understood almost nothing of Tony’s affair. She still laughed her painfully hearty laugh on the most unsuitable occasions, and Sesemi still felt it necessary to rap on the table and cry “Nally!”

The years went on. Gradually people forgot their feelings over Tony’s affair. She herself would only think now and then of her married life, when she saw on Erica’s healthy, hearty little face some expression that reminded her of Bendix Grünlich. She dressed again in colours, wore her hair in the old way, and made the same old visits into society.

Still, she was always glad that she had the chance to be away from the town for some time in the summer. The Consul’s health made it necessary for him to visit various cures.

“Oh, what it is to grow old!” he said. “If I get a spot of coffee on my trousers and put a drop of cold water on it, I have rheumatism. When one is young, one can do anything.” He suffered at times also from spells of dizziness.

They went to Obersalzbrunn, to Ems and Baden-Baden, to Kissingen, whence they made a delightful and edifying journey to Nuremberg and Munich and the Salzburg neighbourhood, to Ischl and Vienna, Prague, Dresden, Berlin, and home again. Madame Grünlich had been suffering from a nervous affection of the digestion, and was obliged to take a strenuous cure at the baths; but nevertheless she found the journey a highly desirable change, for she did not conceal her opinion that it was a little slow at home.

“Heavens, yes—you know how it is, Father,” she would say, regarding the ceiling with a thoughtful air. “Of course, I RV 241 (241)


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RV 242 (BUDDENBROOKS) have learned what life is like—but just for that reason it is rather a dull prospect for me to be always sitting here at home like a stupid goose. I hope you don’t think I mean I do not like to be with you, Papa. I ought to be whipped if I did, it would be so ungrateful. But I only mean life is like that, you know.”

The hardest thing she had to bear was the increasing piety of her parents’ home. The Consul’s religious fervour grew upon him in proportion as he himself felt the weight of years and infirmity; and his wife too, as she got older, began to find the spiritual side to her taste. Prayers had always been customary in the Buddenbrook house, but now for some time the family and the servants had assembled mornings and evenings in the breakfast-room to hear the Master read the Bible. And the visits of ministers and missionaries increased more and more from year to year. The godly patrician house in Meng Street, where, by the way, such good dinners were to be had, had been known for years as a spiritual haven to the Lutheran and reformed clergy and to both foreign and home missions. From all quarters of the Fatherland came long-haired, black-coated gentlemen, to enjoy the pious intercourse and the nourishing meals, and to be furnished with the sinews of their spiritual warfare. The ministers of the town went in and out as friends of the house.

Tom was much too discreet and prudent even to let any one see him smile; but Tony mocked quite openly. She even, sad to say, made fun of these pious worthies whenever she had a chance.

Sometimes when the Frau Consul had a headache, it was Tony’s turn to play the housekeeper and order the dinner. One day, when a strange clergyman whose appetite was the subject of general hilarity, was a guest, Tony mischievously ordered “bacon broth,” the famous local dish: a bouillon made with sour cabbage, in which was served the entire meal—ham, potatoes, beet-root, cauliflower, peas, beans, pears, sour plums, and goodness knows what, juice and all—a

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Rh

the green Amesbury hill which bears the name Of that half mythic ancestor of mine Who trod its slopes two hundred years ago, Down the long valley of the Merrimac, Midway between me and the river’s mouth, I see thy home, set like an eagle’s nest Among Deer Island’s immemorial pines, Crowning the crag on which the sunset breaks Its last red arrow. Many a tale and song, Which thou hast told or sung, I call to mind, Softening with silvery mist the woods and hills,


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RV 243 (BUDDENBROOKS) dish which nobody except those born to it could possibly eat.

“I do hope you are enjoying the soup, Herr Pastor,” she said several times. “No? Oh, dear, who would have thought it?” And she made a very roguish face, and ran her tongue over her lips, a trick she had when she thought of some prank or other.

The fat man laid down his spoon resignedly and said mildly: “I will wait till the next course.”

“Yes,” the Frau Consul said hastily, “there is a little something afterwards.” But a “next course” was unthinkable, after this mighty dish; and despite the French toast and apple jelly which finished the meal, the reverend guest had to rise hungry from table, while Tony tittered, and Tom, with fine self-control, lifted one eyebrow.

Another time Tony stood with Stina, the cook, in domestic discourse in the entry, when Pastor Mathias from Kannstadt, who was stopping a few days in the house, came back from a walk and rang at the outer door. Stina ran to open, with her peasant waddle, and the Pastor, with the view of saying an edifying word and testing her a little, asked in a friendly tone: “Do you love the Master?”

Perhaps he had the idea of giving her a tip if she professed herself on the side of the Saviour.

“Lord, Herr Pastor,” said Stina, trembling and blushing, with wide eyes. “Which one do Herr Pastor mean? T’ old un or t’ young un?” Madame Grünlich did not fail to tell the story at the table, so that even the Frau Consul burst out into her sputtering Kröger laugh. The Consul, however, looked down in displeasure at his plate.

“A misunderstanding,” said Herr Mathias, highly embarrassed.

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follows happened in the late summer of 1855, on a Sunday afternoon. The Buddenbrooks were sitting in the landscape-room waiting for the Consul, who was below dressing himself. They had arranged to take a holiday walk to a pleasure garden outside the City Gate, where, all except Clara and Clothilde, they were to drink coffee and, if the weather permitted, go for a row on the river. Clara and Clothilde went always on Sunday evenings to the house of a friend, where they knitted stockings for little negro children.

“Papa is ridiculous,” Tony said, using her habitual strong language. “Can he never be ready on time? He sits and sits and sits at his desk: something or other must be finished—good heavens, perhaps it is something really necessary, I don’t know. But I don’t believe we should actually become bankrupt if he put down his pen a quarter of an hour sooner. Well, when it is already ten minutes too late, he remembers his appointment and comes upstairs, always two steps at a time, although he knows he will get palpitation at the top. And it is like that at every company, before every expedition. Isn’t it possible for him to leave himself time enough? And stop soon enough? It’s so irresponsible of him; you ought to talk to him about it, Mamma.” She sat on the sofa beside her Mother, dressed in the changeable silk that was fashionable that summer; while the Frau Consul wore a heavy grey ribbed silk trimmed with black lace, and a cap of lace and stiffened tulle, tied under her chin with a satin bow. The lappets of her cap fell down on her breast. Her smooth hair was still inexorably reddish-blond in colour, and she held a work-bag in both her white delicately veined hands. Tom was

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128  The out-thrust headlands and inreaching bays Of our northeastern coast-line, trending where The Gulf, midsummer, feels the chill blockade Of icebergs stranded at its northern gate.

To thee the echoes of the Island Sound Answer not vainly, nor in vain the moan Of the South Breaker prophesying storm. And thou hast listened, like myself, to men Sea-periled oft where Anticosti lies Like a fell spider in its web of fog, Or where the Grand Bank shallows with the wrecks Of sunken fishers, and to whom strange isles And frost-rimmed bays and trading stations seem Familiar as Great Neck and Kettle Cove, Nubble and Boon, the common names of home. So let me offer thee this lay of mine, Simple and homely, lacking much thy play Of color and of fancy. If its theme And treatment seem to thee befitting youth Rather than age, let this be my excuse: It has beguiled some heavy hours and called Some pleasant memories up; and, better still, Occasion lent me for a kindly word To one who is my neighbor and my friend.

The skipper sailed out of the harbor mouth, Leaving the apple-bloom of the South
 * For the ice of the Eastern seas,
 * In his fishing schooner Breeze.

Handsome and brave and young was he, And the maids of Newbury sighed to see
 * His lessening white sail fall
 * Under the sea’s blue wall.

Through the Northern Gulf and the misty screen Of the isles of Mingan and Madeleine,
 * St. Paul’s and Blanc Sablon,
 * The little Breeze sailed on,

Backward and forward, along the shore Of lorn and desolate Labrador,
 * And found at last her way
 * To the Seven Islands Bay.

The little hamlet, nestling below Great hills white with lingering snow,
 * With its tin-roofed chapel stood
 * Half hid in the dwarf spruce wood;

Green-turfed, flower-sown, the last outpost Of summer upon the dreary coast,
 * With its gardens small and spare,

Sad in the frosty air.

Hard by where the skipper’s schooner lay, A fisherman’s cottage looked away
 * Over isle and bay, and behind
 * On mountains dim-defined.

And there twin sisters, fair and young, Laughed with their stranger guest, and sung
 * In their native tongue the lays
 * Of the old Provençal days.

Alike were they, save the faint outline Of a scar on Suzette’s forehead fine;
 * And both, it so befell,
 * Loved the heretic stranger well.

Both were pleasant to look upon, But the heart of the skipper clave to one;
 * Though less by his eye than heart
 * He knew the twain apart.

Despite of alien race and creed, Well did his wooing of Marguerite speed;
 * And the mother’s wrath was vain
 * As the sister’s jealous pain.

The shrill-tongued mistress her house forbade, And solemn warning was sternly said
 * By the black-robed priest, whose word
 * As law the hamlet heard.

But half by voice and half by signs The skipper said, “A warm sun shines
 * On the green-banked Merrimac;
 * Wait, watch, till I come back.

“And when you see, from my mast head, The signal fly of a kerchief red,
 * My boat on the shore shall wait;
 * Come, when the night is late.”

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RV 245 (BUDDENBROOKS) lounging in an easy-chair beside her smoking his cigarette, while Clara and Clothilde sat opposite each other at the window. It was a mystery how much good and nourishing food that poor Clothilde could absorb daily without any result whatever! She grew thinner and thinner, and her shapeless black frock did not conceal the fact. Her face was as long, straight, and expressionless as ever, her hair as smooth and ash-coloured, her nose as straight, but full of large pores and getting thick at the end.

“Don’t you think it will rain?” said Clara. The young girl had the habit of not elevating her voice at the end of a question and of looking everybody straight in the face with a pronounced and rather forbidding look. Her brown frock was relieved only by a little stiff turn-over collar and cuffs. She sat straight up, her hands in her lap. The servants had more respect for her than for any one else in the family; it was she who held the services morning and evening now, for the Consul could not read aloud without getting a feeling of oppression in the head.

“Shall you take your new Baschlik?” she asked again. “The rain will spoil it. It would be a pity. I think it would be better to put off the party.”

“No,” said Tom. “The Kistenmakers are coming. It doesn’t matter. The barometer went down so suddenly—. There will be a storm—it will pour, but not last long. Papa is not ready yet; so we can wait till it is over.”

The Frau Consul raised a protesting hand. “You think there will be a severe storm, Tom? You know I am afraid of them.”

“No,” Tom answered. “I was down at the harbour this morning talking to Captain Kloot. He is infallible. There will be a heavy rain, but no wind.”

The second week in September had brought belated hot weather with it. There was a south-west wind, and the city suffered more than in July. A strange-looking dark blue sky hung above the roof-tops, pale on the skyline as it is in the

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Rh ::Did ever young love fail
 * To turn the trembling scale?

Under the night, on the wet sea sands, Slowly unclasped their plighted hands:
 * One to the cottage hearth,
 * And one to his sailor’s berth.

What was it the parting lovers heard? Nor leaf, nor ripple, nor wing of bird,
 * But a listener’s stealthy tread
 * On the rock-moss, crisp and dead.

He weighed his anchor, and fished once more By the black coast-line of Labrador;
 * And by love and the north wind driven,
 * Sailed back to the Islands Seven.

In the sunset’s glow the sisters twain Saw the Breeze come sailing in again;
 * Said Suzette, “Mother dear,
 * The heretic’s sail is here.”

“Go, Marguerite, to your room, and hide; Your door shall be bolted!” the mother cried:
 * While Suzette, ill at ease,
 * Watched the red sign of the Breeze.

At midnight, down to the waiting skiff She stole in the shadow of the cliff;
 * And out of the Bay’s mouth ran
 * The schooner with maid and man.

And all night long, on a restless bed. Her prayers to the Virgin Marguerite said:
 * And thought of her lover’s pain
 * Waiting for her in vain.

Did he pace the sands? Did he pause to hear The sound of her light step drawing near?
 * And, as the slow hours passed,
 * Would he doubt her faith at last?

But when she saw through the misty pane, The morning break on a sea of rain,
 * Could even her love avail
 * To follow his vanished sail?

Meantime the Breeze, with favoring wind, Left the rugged Moisic hills behind,
 * And heard from an unseen shore
 * The falls of Manitou roar.

On the morrow’s morn in the thick, gray weather They sat on the reeling deck together,
 * Lover and counterfeit
 * Of hapless Marguerite.

With a lover’s hand, from her forehead fair He smoothed away her jet-black hair,
 * What was it his fond eyes met?
 * The scar of the false Suzette!

Fiercely he shouted: “Bear away East by north for the Seven Isles Bay!”
 * The maiden wept and prayed,
 * But the ship her helm obeyed.

Once more the Bay of the Isles they found: They heard the bell of the chapel sound,
 * And the chant of the dying sung
 * In the harsh, wild Indian tongue.

A feeling of mystery, change, and awe Was in all they heard and all they saw:
 * Spell-bound the hamlet lay
 * In the hush of its lonely bay.

And when they came to the cottage door, The mother rose up from her weeping sore,
 * And with angry gestures met
 * The scared look of Suzette.

“Here is your daughter,” the skipper said; “Give me the one I love instead.”
 * But the woman sternly spake;
 * “Go, see if the dead will wake!”

He looked. Her sweet face still and white And strange in the noonday taper light,
 * She lay on her little bed,
 * With the cross at her feet and head.

In a passion of grief the strong man bent Down to her face, and, kissing it, went
 * Back to the waiting Breeze,
 * Back to the mournful seas.

Never again to the Merrimac And Newbury’s homes that bark came back.
 * Whether her fate she met
 * On the shores of Carraquette,

Miscou, or Tracadie, who can say? But even yet at Seven Isles Bay
 * Is told the ghostly tale
 * Of a weird, unspoken sail,


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RV 246 (BUDDENBROOKS) desert. After sunset a sultry breath, like a hot blast from an oven, streamed out of the small houses and up from the pavement of the narrow streets. To-day the wind had gone round to the west, and at the same time the barometer had fallen sharply. A large part of the sky was still blue, but it was slowly being overcast by heavy grey-blue clouds that looked like feather pillows.

Tom added: “It would be a good thing if it did rain, I think. We should collapse if we had to walk in this atmosphere. It is an unnatural heat. Hotter than it ever was in Pau.”

Ida Jungmann, with little Erica’s hand in hers, came into the room. The child looked a droll little figure in her stiffly starched cotton frock; she smelled of starch and soap. She had Herr Grünlich’s eyes and his rosy skin, but the upper lip was Tony’s.

The good Ida was already quite grey, almost white, although not out of the forties. It was a trait of her family: the uncle that died had had white hair at thirty. But her little brown eyes looked as shrewd and faithful as ever. She had been now for twenty years with the Buddenbrooks, and she realized with pride that she was indispensable. She oversaw kitchen, larders, linen and china cupboards, she made the most important purchases, she read to little Erica, made clothes for her dolls, and fetched her from school, with a slice of French bread, to take her walking on the Mill-wall. Every lady said to Frau Consul or her daughter: “What a treasure your Mamsell is, my dear! Goodness, she is worth her weight in gold! Twenty years—and she will be useful at sixty and more; these wiry people are. What faithful eyes she has! I envy you, my love.” But Ida Jungmann was very reserved. She knew her own position, and when some ordinary nurse-girl came and sat down with her charge on the same bench and tried to enter into conversation, Ida Jungmann would say: “There is a draught here, Erica,” and get up and go. RV 246 (246)


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RV 247 (BUDDENBROOKS) Tony drew her little daughter to her and kissed the rosy cheeks, and the Frau Consul stretched out her hand with rather an absent smile; for she was looking anxiously at the sky, which grew darker and darker. Her left hand fingered the sofa pillows nervously, and her light eyes wandered restlessly to the window.

Erica was allowed to sit next her Grandmother, and Ida sat up straight on a chair and began to knit. Thus all waited silently for the Consul. The air was heavy. The last bit of blue had disappeared; the dark grey sky lowered heavy and swollen over them. The colours in the room changed, the yellow of furniture and hangings and the tones of the landscapes on the walls were all quenched, like the gay shades in Tony’s frock and the brightness of their eyes. Even the west wind, which had been playing in the churchyard of St. Mary’s and whirling the dust around in the darkening street, was suddenly quiet.

This breathless moment of absolute calm came without warning, like some unexpected, soundless, awful event. The sultriness grew heavier, the atmosphere seemed to increase its weight in a second; it oppressed the brain, it rested on the heart, it prevented the breathing. A swallow flew so low over the pavement that its wings touched. And this pressure that one could not lift, this tension, this growing weight on the whole organism, would have become unbearable had it lasted even the smallest part of a second longer, if at its height there had not come a relief, a release—a little break somewhere, soundless, yet perceptible; and at the same moment, without any premonitory drops, the rain fell down in sheets, filling the gutters and overflowing the pavements.

Thomas, whose illness had taught him to pay attention to his nerves, bent over in this second, made a motion toward his head, and flung away his cigarette. He looked around the circle to see if the others had felt anything. He thought his Mother had, perhaps; the others did not seem to be aware. The Frau Consul was looking out now into the thick-streaming

RV 247 (247)


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Popularity of the fluteIts toneVarious registersIts agilityHarmonicsDouble tongueingThe glideVibrato effectShakes and turnsTremoloBest keysHygenic aspect.

flute excites more enthusiasm among its votaries than any other instrument. There is a kind of free-masonry among flute-players. "Can any mortal mixture of Earth's mould breathe such divine, enchanting ravishment?" cries one. Mersenne says that "if the concert of angels had not the sole right to be called 'ravishing,' the flute would merit this superlatively admiring epithet." An American enthusiast writes: "'Tis so elegant, so stately, so powerful, so gracious, that I can think of nothing to liken it to, except a tall, slender, grey-eyed, manifold-cultured young Queen, pure with all the reverend characteristics of maidenhood, and at the same time eloquent with that instinctive understanding of the whole humanity of life, by which genius gives expression to emotions it does not need to experience." (!) The Paradisical pleasures of the Mohammedans are said to consist largely of playing on the flute.


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RV 248 (BUDDENBROOKS) rain, which quite hid the church from view; she sighed “Thank God.”

“There,” said Tony, “that will cool the air in two minutes. But the drops will be hanging on the trees outside—we can drink coffee in the verandah. Open the window, Tilda.”

The noise of the rain grew louder. It almost roared. Everything pattered, streamed, rushed, foamed. The wind came up and blew the thick veils of water, tore them apart, and flung them about. It grew cooler every minute.

Lina, the maid-servant, came running through the hall and burst so suddenly into the room that Ida Jungmann called out sharply: “I say, what do you mean—?” Lina’s expressionless blue eyes were wide open, her jaws worked without making a sound—

“Oh, Frau Consul,” she got out, at last. “Come, come quick! oh, what a scare—”

“Yes,” Tony said, “she’s probably broken something again. Very likely the good porcelain. Oh, these servants of yours, Mamma!”

But the girl burst out: “Oh, no, Ma’am Grünlich&mdas;if that’s all it was!—It’s the Master—I were bringing him his boots, and there he sits and can’t speak, on his chair, and I says to myself, there’s something wrong there; the Herr Consul—”

“Get Grabow,” cried Thomas and ran out of the room.

“My God—oh, my God!” cried the Frau Consul, putting her hands to her face and hurrying out.

“Quick, get a wagon and fetch Grabow,” Tony repeated breathlessly.

Everybody flew downstairs and through the breakfast-room into the bedroom.

But Johann Buddenbrook was already dead.

RV 248 (248)


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130 In the pale, sad light of the Northern day Seen by the blanketed Montagnais,
 * Or squaw, in her small kyack,
 * Crossing the spectre’s track.

On the deck a maiden wrings her hands; Her likeness kneels on the gray coast sands;
 * One in her wild despair,
 * And one in the trance of prayer.

She flits before no earthly blast, The red sign fluttering from her mast,
 * Over the solemn seas,
 * The ghost of the schooner Breeze!

The following is a copy of the warrant issued by Major Waldron, of Dover, in 1662. The Quakers, as was their wont, prophesied against him, and saw, as they supposed, the fulfilment of their prophecy when, many years after, he was killed by the Indians.

You, and every one of you, are required, in the King’s Majesty’s name, to take these vagabond Quakers, Anne Colman, Mary Tomkins, and Alice Ambrose, and make them fast to the cart’s tail, and driving the cart through your several towns, to whip them upon their naked backs not exceeding ten stripes apiece on each of them, in each town; and so to convey them from constable to constable till they are out of this jurisdiction, as you will answer it at your peril; and this shall be your warrant.

Dated at Dover, December 22, 1662.


text: The Complete Poetical Works of John Greenleaf Whittier/The Rock-Tomb of Bradore


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 Macfarren in 1837 found in the Isle of Man sixteen flute-players to a single violoncellist and clarinetist. Special journals, such as The Flutists' Magazine and The Flutonicon (1842), containing music and critical notices of the great players of the day, were issued by Mr. James for the delectation of the countless amateurs of the instrument. Whole operas were transcribed for two, or even one flute. Schopenhauer mentions in his Table-Talk that he possessed all of Rossini's operas arranged for the flute, and that he played them for an hour daily; luckily he never requiredor even permittedany one to listen to him! The Musical Monthly for 1820 complained that accompaniments "for the German flute" were added to every piece of music. The climax was reached about 1820-50. It was followed by a decline in popularity. Of late, however, there has been a very perceptible increase of interest taken in the flute, due in a great measure to the skill and high artistic standard of some of the present-day solo players, and to the good class of compositions favoured by them. Several notable soloists have given successful flute recitals in London and elsewhere; their programmes have included much really good music, and the public are discovering that, as Hamlet says, "There is much music, excellent voice, in this little organ."

The most obvious feature of the flute is the limpid sweetness and clearness of its tone. This liquid sound is quite peculiar to it; even the organ cannot exactly reproduce it. It rather resembles the human voice,


text: The Complete Poetical Works of John Greenleaf Whittier/The Bay of Seven Islands


text: The Complete Poetical Works of John Greenleaf Whittier/The Wishing Bridge


text:
Dido and Aeneas

 * 1689 edition, with libretto only
 * 1889 edition of the libretto and score

title: Dido and Aeneas


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 especially that of a boy. There is something particularly fascinating about the soft, velvety, so to speak, "glassy" tone of the flute, which "falls upon the ear like flakes of snow." Though passionate, it is quite devoid of the rough, tearing tone of the reed instruments. Many orchestral players produce a hard, mechanical tone like a clarinet or oboe; others strive apparently to rival the cornet or trombone, but this is not the true flute tone. The old flute had undoubtedly more of this characteristic mellifluous sound than the modern Böhm. The cause of this peculiar tone-quality is not known with certainty, but it probably arises from the absence of a mouthpiece of any kind. Flute tone requires gentle treatment, is limited in power or quantity, and is unsuited for large concert halls; but is capable of the most delicate effects in skilfulskillful [sic] hands, when the player becomes, as it were, united sympathetically to his flute. Too many play forte throughout. Goethe says, "To blow is not to play upon the flute; you must move the fingers"; he might have added, "and vary the strength and manner of your blowing." Its real character is too often sacrificed to rapid execution, calculated to show off the technique of the player rather than the beauty of the instrument.

The tone varies very considerably in the various registers. The characteristic notes of the lowest octave (especially if played piano and in a minor key) are invaluable in soft, mournful, elegaic passages, expressing, as Berlioz says, "an accent of desolation, but of


text: Page:Buddenbrooks vol 1 - Mann (IA buddenbrooks0001mann).pdf/261


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460   “Hush, child!” the father answered,
 * “By His decree man fell;

His ways are in clouds and darkness,
 * But He doeth all things well.

“And whether by His ordaining
 * To us Cometh good or ill,

Joy or pain, or light or shadow,
 * We must fear and love Him still.”

“Oh, I fear Him!” said the daughter,
 * “And I try to love Him, too;

But I wish He was good and gentle,
 * Kind and loving as you.”

The minister groaned in spirit
 * As the tremulous lips of pain

And wide, wet eyes uplifted
 * Questioned his own in vain.

Bowing his head he pondered
 * The words of the little one;

Had he erred in his life-long teaching?
 * Had he wrong to his Master done?

To what grim and dreadful idol
 * Had he lent the holiest name?

Did his own heart, loving and human,
 * The God of his worship shame?

And lo! from the bloom and greenness,
 * From the tender skies above,

And the face of his little daughter,
 * He read a lesson of love.

No more as the cloudy terror
 * Of Sinai’s mount of law,

But as Christ in the Syrian lilies
 * The vision of God he saw.

And, as when, in the clefts of Horeb,
 * Of old was His presence known,

The dread Ineffable Glory
 * Was Infinite Goodness alone.

Thereafter his hearers noted
 * In his prayers a tenderer strain,

And never the gospel of hatred
 * Burned on his lips again.

And the scoffing tongue was prayerful,
 * And the blinded eyes found sight,

And hearts, as flint aforetime,
 * Grew soft in his warmth and light.

of sacred pictures manifold,
 * A minster rich in holy effigies,
 * And bearing on entablature and frieze

The hieroglyphic oracles of old. Along its transept aureoled martyrs sit;
 * And the low chancel side-lights half acquaint
 * The eye with shrines of prophet, bard, and saint,

Their age-dimmed tablets traced in doubtful writ!


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evening, Justus,” said the Frau Consul. “How are you? Sit down.”

Consul Kröger embraced her tenderly and shook hands with his elder niece, who was also present in the dining-room. He was now about fifty-five years old, and wore a heavy round whisker as well as his moustache, leaving his chin free. It was quite grey. His scanty hair was carefully combed over the broad pink expanse of his skull. The sleeve of his elegant frock-coat had a broad mourning band.

“Do you know the latest, Betsy?” he asked. “Yes, Tony, this will particularly interest you. To put it briefly, our property outside the Castle Gate is sold—guess to whom? Not to one man, but to two: for the house is to be pulled down, and a hedge run through diagonally, and Benthien will build himself a dog-kennel on the right side, and Sorenson one on the left. God bless us!”

“Whoever heard the like?” said Frau Grünlich, folding her hands in her lap and gazing up at the ceiling. “Grandfather’s property! Well, now the estate is all haggled up. Its great charm was its extent: there was really too much of it, but that was what made it elegant. The large garden, all the way down to the Trave, the house set far back with the drive, and the chestnut avenue. So it is to be divided. Benthien will stand in front of one door and Sorenson in front of the other. I say, ‘God bless us,’ too, Uncle Justus! I suppose there is nobody grand enough these days to occupy the whole thing. It is good that Grandpapa is not here to see it.”

The sense of mourning still lay too heavily on the air for Tony to give expression to her outraged feelings in livelier or

RV 251 (251)


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RV 252 (BUDDENBROOKS) stronger terms. It was the day on which the will had been read, two weeks after the death of the Consul, at half-past five in the afternoon. Frau Consul Buddenbrook had invited her brother to Meng Street, in order that he might talk over the provisions made by the deceased with Thomas and with Herr Marcus the confidential clerk. Tony had announced her intention to be present at the settlements. This attention, she said, she owed to the firm as well as to the family, and she took pains to give the meeting the character of a family council. She had closed the curtains, and despite the two oil lamps on the green-covered dining-table, drawn out to its full extent, she had lighted all the candles in the great gilded candelabrum as well. And, though there was no particular need of them, she had put on the table a quantity of writing paper and sharpened pencils.

Tony’s black frock gave her figure a maidenly slimness. She, of them all, was perhaps most deeply moved by the death of the Consul, to whom she had drawn so close in the last months that even to-day the thought of him made her burst out twice in bitter weeping; yet the prospect of this family council, this solemn little conference in which she could bear a worthy part, had power to flush her pretty cheek, brighten her glance, and give her motions dignity and even joy. The Frau Consul, on the other hand, worn with anxiety and grief and the thousand formalities of the funeral and the mourning, looked ailing. Her face, framed in the black lace of her cap-strings, seemed paler, and her light blue eyes were tired and dull. But there was not a single white hair to be seen in her smooth red-blonde coiffure. Was this still the Parisian tonic, or was it the wig? Mamsell Jungmann alone knew, and she would not have betrayed the secret even to the other ladies of the family.

They sat at the end of the table and waited for Herr Marcus and Thomas to come out of the office. The painted statues seemed to stand out white and proud on their pedestals against the sky-blue background. RV 252 (252)


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 hands of skilled players, and they occasionally use them even in orchestral compositions, in order to simplify difficult passages. Sometimes they are used (especially by continental flautists) for the purpose of varying the tone-colour and expression, and Terschak, Doppler, and others have introduced these "flageletto" notes into some of their solo compositions. The tone of harmonics produced from the lowest C♮ and C♯ (and B, if on the instrument) is very remarkable. Drouet objected to the use of harmonics, owing to their being always accompanied by a very slight sound of a fifth below.

A peculiarity of the flute is that very rapid staccato passages can be played with great distinctness by means of "double-tongueing" and "triple-tongueing"; the only other instrument on which this can be done is the cornet. This effect, which was known in the days of Hotteterre, is produced by the rapid enunciation of such syllables as "dou-gou" or "too-coo-too," in which the tongue strikes alternately on two different parts of the palate. This is, no doubt, more or less of a trickJames terms it "Babylonish gabble" (which it too often is)and should only be used when absolutely necessary. It is very usual in old-fashioned flute solos, but is not very frequently employed in orchestral music. Raff, however, uses it in his Third Symphony, Saint-Saens in his ballet in Ascanio; and Rimsky-Korsakow, in his Grande Paque Russe, produces a tremolo effect by very rapid double-tongueing on a piccolo and two flutes.


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RV 253 (BUDDENBROOKS) The Frau Consul said: “The thing is—I bade you come, my dear Justus—in short, it is about Clara, the child. My beloved husband left to me the choice of a guardian for her—she will need one for three years. I know you do not want to be overburdened with responsibilities. You have duties to your wife and sons—”

“My son, Betsy.”

“Yes, yes, we must be Christlike and merciful, Justus. As we forgive our debtors, it says. Think of our gracious Father in Heaven.”

Her brother looked at her, a little aggrieved. Such turns of phrase had come in the past only from the mouth of the Consul.

“Enough,” she went on. “There are as good as no obligations connected with this service of love. I should like to ask you to accept it.”

“Gladly, Betsy; of course. I’ll do it with pleasure. May I not see my ward? A little too serious, isn’t she, the good child—?” Clara was called. She slowly appeared, all black and pallid, her movements melancholy and full of restraint. She had spent the time since her father’s death in her room praying almost without ceasing. Her dark eyes were immobile; she seemed frozen with grief and awe.

Uncle Justus the gallant stepped up to her, bowed as he pressed her hand, and murmured something appropriate. She went out, after receiving the Frau Consul’s kiss on her stiff lips.

“How is Jürgen?” began the Frau Consul again. Does it agree with him in Wismar?”

“Very well,” answered Justus Kröger, sitting down again with a shrug of the shoulders. “I think he has found his place now. He is a good lad, Betsy, a lad of principle, but—after he had failed twice in the examination, it seemed best—He did not like the law himself, and the position in the post-office at Wismar is quite suitable. Tell me—I hear Christian is coming?” RV 253 (253)


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 Drouet and Richardson excelled in this device. Good "double-tongueing" can only be acquired by constant practice. One Dothel Figlio is said by Southey to have slit his tongue that he might excel in it. Mr. Taylor mentions a player who always carried the head-joint of his flute with him on solitary walks in the country and practised his "double-tongueing" as he walked along. I have known a flautist to silently practise this action of the tongue (but, of course, without the flute) during the sermon in church! In the hands of a skilful player a single flute can produce the effect of two, one playing the melody and the other the accompaniment. The extraordinary performances of one George Bayr (c. 1810) created a great sensation in Vienna, and to this day it is sometimes stated that he played double notes on the flute. Mr. Broadwood tells an amusing story of a Dutchman who was noted for his power of sustaining chords on his flute:

"I was present," he says, "at the Philharmonic rehearsal [in London], and well remember the brilliant and rapid staccato articulation with which the special wonder was ushered in. Presently came a pause; then amid deep silence and breathless expectation, the player emitted three several simultaneous sounds, which were greeted by the orchestra and its conductor (Sterndale Bennett) with one vast, irrepressible shout of laughter. When this subsided the Dutchman had fled."

The name or this magician was Koppitz; he composed a concerto with a long cadenza in these double notes.


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RV 254 (BUDDENBROOKS) “Yes, Justus, he is coming. May God watch over him on the seas! I wrote to him the next day after Jean’s death, but he hasn’t even had the letter yet, and then he will take about two months with the sailing-vessel after that. But he must come, Justus; I must see him. Tom says Jean would never have been willing for Christian to give up his position in Valparaiso; but I ask you—nearly eight years since I have seen him! And then, under the circumstances! No, I must have them all about me in this painful time—that is a natural feeling for a mother.”

“Surely, surely,” said Consul Kröger; for she had begun to eep.

“Thomas agrees with me now, too,” she went on; “for where will Christian be better off than in his own father’s business, in Tom’s business? He can stay here, work here. I have been in constant fear that the climate over there might be bad for him—”

Thomas Buddenbrook, accompanied by Herr Marcus, came into the room. Friederich Wilhelm Marcus, for years the dead Consul’s confidential clerk, was a tall man in a brown-skirted coat with a mourning band. He spoke softly, hesitatingly, stammering a little and considering each word before he uttered it. He had a habit of slowly and cautiously stroking the red-brown moustache that grew over his mouth with the extended middle and index fingers of his left hand; or he would rub his hands together and let his round brown eyes wander so aimlessly about that he gave the impression of complete confusion and absent-mindedness, though he was always most watchfully bent on the matter in hand.

Thomas Buddenbrook, now the youthful head of the great house, displayed real dignity in manner and bearing. But he was pale. His hands in particular, on one of which shone the Consul’s signet ring with the green stone, were as white as the cuffs beneath his black sleeves—a frozen whiteness which showed that they were quite dry and cold. He had extraordinarily sensitive hands, with beautifully cared-for

RV 254 (254)


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RV 255 (BUDDENBROOKS) oval bluish fingernails. Sometimes, in a difficult situation, they would take positions or make little nervous movements that were indescribably expressive of shrinking sensibility and painful reserve. This was an individual trait strange heretofore to the rather broad, though finely articulated Buddenbrook hand.

Tom’s first care was to open the folding doors into the landscape-room in order to get the benefit of the warmth from the stove burning there behind the wrought-iron lattice. Then he shook hands with Consul Kröger and sat down at the table with Herr Marcus opposite him. He looked at his sister Tony, and his eyebrow went up in surprise. But she flung her head back and tucked in her chin in a way that warned him to suppress any comment on her presence.

“Well, and one may not say Herr Consul?” asked Justus Kröger. “The Netherlands hope in vain that you should represent them, Tom, my dear chap?”

“Yes, Uncle Justus, I thought it was better. You see, I could have taken over the Consulate along with so many other responsibilities, but in the first place I am a little too young—and then I spoke to Uncle Gotthold, and he was very pleased to accept it.”

“Very sensible, my lad; very politic. And very gentlemanly.”

“Herr Marcus,” said the Frau Consul, “my dear Herr Marcus!” And with her usual sweeping gesture she reached out her hand, which he took slowly, with a respectful side-glance: “I have asked you to come up—you know what the affair is; and I know that you are agreed with us. My beloved husband expressed in his final arrangements the wish that after his death you would put your loyal and well-tried powers at the service of the firm, not as an outsider but as partner.”

“Certainly, Frau Consul,” said Herr Marcus, “I must protest that I know how to value the honour your offer does me, being aware, as I am, that the resources I can bring to the firm are but small. In God’s name, I know nothing better to

RV 255 (255)


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Rom Aurora’s Spicy Bed,

Phœbus tears his Sacred Head.

His Courſers Advancing,

Curvetting and Prancing.

Phœbus ſtrives in vain to Tame ’em,

With Ambroſia Fed too high.

Phœbus ought not new to blame ’em,

Wild and eager to Survey

The faireſt Pageant of the Sea.

Tritons and Nereids come pay your Devotion

To the New riſing Star of the Ocean.

Look down ye Orbs and See

A New Divinity.

Whoſe Luſtre does Out-Shine

Your fainter Beams, and half Eclipſes mine,

Give Phœbus leave to Prophecy.

Phœbus all Events can ſee.

Ten Thouſand Thouſand Harmes.

From ſuch prevailing Charmes,

To Gods and Men muſt inſtantly Enſue.

And if the Deity’s above,

Are Victims of the powers of Love,

What muſt wretched Mortals do.

Fear not Phœbus, fear not me,

A harmleſs Deity. Rh

title: Page:Dido and Aeneas (1689).pdf/5


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RV 256 (BUDDENBROOKS) do than thankfully to accept the offer you and your son make me.”

“Yes, Marcus. And I thank you in my turn, most warmly, for your willingness to share with me the great responsibilities which would perhaps be too heavy for me alone.” Thomas Buddenbrook spoke quickly and whole-heartedly, reaching his hand across the table to his partner; for they were already long since agreed on the subject, and this was only the formal expression.

“Company is trumpery—you will spoil our chat, between you,” said Consul Kröger. “And now, shall we run through the provisions, my children? All I have to look out for is the dowry of my ward. The rest is not my affair. Have you a copy of the will here, Betsy? And have you made a rough calculation, Tom?”

“I have it in my head,” said Thomas; and he began, leaning back, looking into the landscape-room, and moving his gold pencil back and forth on the table, to explain how matters stood. The truth was that the Consul’s estate was more considerable than any one had supposed. The dowry of his oldest daughter, indeed, was gone, and the losses which the firm had suffered in the Bremen failure in 1851 had been a heavy blow. And the year ’48, as well as the present year ’55, with their unrest and interval of war, had brought losses. But the Buddenbrook share of the Kröger estate of four hundred thousand current marks had been full three hundred thousand, for Justus had already had much of his beforehand. Johann Buddenbrook had continually complained, as a merchant will; but the losses of the firm had been made good by the accrued profits of some fifteen years, amounting to thirty thousand thaler, and thus the property, aside from real estate, amounted in round figures, to seven hundred thousand marks. Thomas himself, with all his knowledge of the business, had been left in ignorance by his father of this total. The Frau Consul took the announcement with discreet calm; Tony put on an adorable expression of pride and ignorance, and then

RV 256 (256)