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RV 308 (BUDDENBROOKS) in these things a frivolous feeling of fascination is very much to be regretted. I pray God that you and your Gerda,—for I well know that she does not belong to those firm in the faith—will in the course of time feel the necessary seriousness. You will forgive your mother her words, I know.”

On top of the fountain (she continued reading) there is a Madonna, and sometimes she is crowned with a wreath, and the common people come with rose garlands and kneel down and pray—which looks very pretty, but it is written: “Go into your chamber.” You often see monks here in the street; they look very respectable. But—imagine, Mamma!—yesterday in Theatiner Street some high dignitary of the church was driving past me in his coach; perhaps it was an archbishop; anyhow, an elderly man—well, this gentleman throws me an ogling look out of the window, like a lieutenant of the Guard! You know, Mother, I’ve no great opinion of your friends the ministers and missionaries, but Teary Trieschke was certainly nothing compared to this rakish old prince of the Church.

“Horrors!” interjected the Frau Consul, shocked.

“That’s Tony, to the life,” said the Consul.

“How is that, Tom?”

“Well, perhaps she just invited him a trifle—to try him, you know. I know Tony. And I am sure the ‘ogling look’ delighted her hugely, which was probably what the old gentleman wanted.”

The Frau Consul did not take this up, but continued to read:

Day before yesterday the Niederpaurs entertained in the evening. It was lovely, though I could not always follow the conversation, and I found the tone sometimes rather questionable. There was a singer there from the Court opera, who sang songs, and a young artist, who asked me to sit for him, which I refused, as I thought it not suitable. I enjoyed myself most with a Herr Permaneder. Would you ever think there

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of Christ for them that beleevebelieve not [per errata page] [sic]. But here we cannot find that generall Intercession of Christ they speake of, that every man might come to the faith by fitting meanes, but for the most part ineffectuall. The prayer required in the second Psalme Arminius referreth to the prayer which Christ offered to the Father for himselfe, according to the commandement and promise of the Father. Aske of me, and I will give thee the heathen for thine Inheritance: to which Promise of the Father Christ having respect, said, Father glorifie thy Sonne, that thy Sonne also may glorifie thee, as thou hast given him power over all flesh, that he might give eternall life to as many as thou hast given him. And from this prayer are to be distinguished (saith he) those supplications which with strong cries and teares he offered to his Father in the dayes of his flesh: by those he craved to be freed from his Agony, by this he prayeth that he might see his seed, and that the will of God might prosper in his hand. But howsoever it be, the prayer spoken of in that place, is absolute, certain, and effectuall: for what God there promised, Christ prayed for in particular, and he was heard therein: and therefore it cannot be applyed to that generall Intercession of Christ which they would maintaine, as every man may plainly see.

They further reply, that this Intercession of Christ, Joh. 17. pertaineth to the application of Christs death; that Christ maketh Intercession for beleevers: and by the world they are signified, who did or would contemne and reject Christ offered to them in the word of his Gospell; as the word world is used in many other places. Joh. 1. 10. and 3. 19. and 14. 17. & 16. 8, 9. & 14. 22. But if it pertain to the application of Christs death, it followeth thence, that the death of Christ shall be applyed to them, who were given unto him of the Father, that in speciall manner he might lay down his life for them, seeing Christ offered up himselfe a sacrifice to the Father for them, and them only, for whom according to his office of Mediatorship he made speciall Intercession. If by the world obstinate contemners of the Gospell be understood, what shall we thinke of them to whom the word of reconciliation was never sent, or Christ offered in the Ministery of the Gospell? are they partakers of the benefits of Christs speciall Intercession? or is the death of Christ applyed unto them? If only contemners of the Gospell be meant by the world, for

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HE accompanying illustrations represent specimens of the mandragora (mandrake) root, which is found in some parts of Asia Minor and Syria. Many of these roots take the form of human beings, especially from the hips downward, and all have more or less the shape of a man or woman; one of the specimens resembling a woman carrying a child under each arm. The peasants relate that when the roots are pulled up out of the ground they utter cries or shrieks, like a person in pain. The roots are still used for spells and other witchcraft. For these specimens we are indebted to Mr. A. Caillard, Ramleh, Alexandria, Egypt.


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RV 309 (BUDDENBROOKS) could be such a name? He is a hop-dealer, a nice, jolly man, in middle life and a bachelor. I had him at table, and stuck to him, for he was the only Protestant in the party. He is a citizen of Munich, but his family comes from Nuremberg. He assured me that he knew our firm very well by name, and you can imagine how it pleased me, Tom, to hear the respectful tone in which he said that. He asked how many there are of us, and things like that. He asked about Erica and Grünlich too. He comes sometimes to the Niederpaurs’, and is probably going to-morrow to Wurmsee with us.

Well, adieu, dear Mamma; I can write no more. If I live and prosper, as you always say, I shall stop here three or four weeks more, and when I come back I will tell you more of Munich, for in a letter it is hard to know where to begin. I like it very much; that I must say—though one would have to train a cook to make decent sauces. You see, I am an old woman, with my life behind me, and I have nothing more to look forward to on earth. But if, for example, Erica should—if she lives and prospers—marry here, I should have nothing against it; that I must say.

Again the Consul was obliged to stop eating and lean back in his chair to laugh.

“She is simply priceless, Mother. And when she tries to dissimulate, she is incomparable. She is a thousand miles away from being able to carry it off.”

“Yes, Tom,” said the Frau Consul, “she is a good child, and deserves good fortune.” And she finished the letter.

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At the end of April Frau Grünlich returned home. Another epoch was behind her, and the old existence began again—attending the daily devotions and the Jerusalem evenings and hearing Lea Gerhardt read aloud. Yet she was obviously in a gay and hopeful mood.

Her brother, the Consul, fetched her from the station—she had come from Buchen—and drove her through the Holsten Gate into the town. He could not resist paying her the old compliment—how, next to Clothilde, she was the prettiest one in the family; and she answered: “Oh, Tom, I hate you! To make fun of an old lady like that—”

But he was right, nevertheless: Madame Grünlich kept her good looks remarkably. You looked at the thick ash-blonde hair, rolled at the sides, drawn back above the little ears, and fastened on the top of the head with a broad tortoise-shell comb; at the soft expression of her grey-blue eyes, her pretty upper lip, the fine oval and delicate colour of her face—and you thought of three-and-twenty, perhaps; never of thirty. She wore elegant hanging gold earrings, which, in a somewhat different form, her grandmother had worn before her. A loose bodice of soft dark silk, with satin revers and flat lace epaulettes, gave her pretty bosom an enchanting look of softness and fulness.

She was in the best of tempers. On Thursday, when Consul Buddenbrook and the ladies from Broad Street, Consul Kröger, Clothilde, Sesemi Wiechbrodt and Erica came to tea, she talked vividly about Munich. The beer, the noodles, the artist who wanted to paint her, and the court coaches had made the greatest impressions. She mentioned Herr Permaneder in

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Theſe are all my Guards ye View,

What can theſe blind Archers do.

Blind they are, but ſtrike the Heart,

What Phœbus ſay’s is alwayes true.

They Wound indeed, but ’tis a pleaſing ſmart.

Earth and Skies addreſs their Duty,

To the Sovereign Queen of Beauty.

All Reſigning,

None Repining

At her undiſputed Sway

To Phœbus and Venus our Homage wee’l pay,

Her Charmes bleſt the Night, as his Beams bleſt the day.

See the Spring in all her Glory,

Welcomes Venus to the Shore.

Smiling Hours are now before you,

Hours that may return no more.

[Exit, Phœ. Ven. Soſt Muſick.

Our Youth and Form declare,

For what we were deſigned.

’Twas Nature made us Fair,

And you muſt make us kind.

He that fails of Addreſſing,

’Tis but Juſt he ſhou’d fail of Poſſeſſing.

Jolly Shepherds come away,

To Celebrate this Genial Day,

And take the Friendly Hours you vow to pay.

Now make Trial,

And take no Denial.

Now carry your Game, or for ever give o’re.

Let us Love and happy Live,

Poſſeſs thoſe ſmiling Hours,

The more auſpicious Powers,

And gentle Planets give,

Prepare thoſe ſoft returns to Meet,

That makes Loves Torments Sweet.

Enter

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 Next Sunday the City man tried the water-clock, and it took five hours and three-quarters for it to register an hour; so he had the hole at the bottom made larger—of more than five times its former capacity; and it registered the hours.

And the spirit of him that had fashioned it hovered ever about the clock, waiting to speak what it knew; and its time was soon to come.

the City man had grown old; and his son was the City man now. And on the morning of Monday he would arise from bed and shave, and wash, and dress; and when he had done these things it was Monday night, and he sat down and ate his breakfast; and when he had finished his breakfast and drawn on his boots, it was Tuesday morning; and when he had hurried to town, it was Tuesday night; and when he had opened one letter and one telegram, and said ten words to his clerk, it was Wednesday night; and when he had dashed back home, it was Thursday morning; and when he had eaten his dinner, it was Friday morning; and then a short glance at the newspaper brought him to Friday night; and then into bed by Saturday morning, to sleep until Monday morning.

And he became an elderly man; and now he would arise from bed on the Monday morning, and when he had washed and dressed, it was Tuesday morning; and when he had eaten his breakfast, it was Wednesday morning; so he could not go to town, as there was not time in the week. And men sat down dazed and paralyzed, for there was no time to do anything. And each week they enlarged the hole in the water-clock; and at the end of each week it dripped too slowly, and fell behind.

And a new Astronomer-Royal was appointed; and in him was the soul, re-incarnated, of him who had fashioned the clock in the dusk of pre-historic ages; and at last he could tell what he knew.

And he told all men that the thing they had felt was true: he told them how, for many thousands of years, the earth and all the universe had revolved ever faster and faster; all with proportionate increase of velocity, so that the circuit of the moon kept its wonted time with the revolution of the earth; and the comets came and went at their expected seasons, as also occurred the eclipses; so that no man could know that which was taking place, but only guess. And now each day they enlarged the hole in the water-clock; until the bowl was growing to be all hole: and now they could not bore fast enough in the hard stone; and now


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nineteenth century was ancient history, when one day, in a breathless, hurrying world, a busy City man was borne electrically home to his suburban villa one hundred miles from the City.

He was tired and morose, and a settled worry clouded his face.

"What is it to-day, John?" asked his wife. "Done nothing again?"

"Nothing," replied the City the man, wearily. "Absolutely nothing. Got up at seven—hurried like mad over dressing and breakfast, and managed to get through them by ten, and rush to town—got to town at twelve thirty, and sat down to write one short letter—finished that by two—saw Brown about the cargo, and said a few words to him by four-thirty—read a telegram and two letters, fast as I could read, by five-thirty—gave instructions, about twenty words, to chief clerk by seven—dashed home again like lightning, and now it's nearly ten! My dear, this can't go on! The day is over before one has time to breathe! There is no time for anything. It's all very well to say we live a hundred years now against the seventy of a thousand years ago; but I'm convinced the years have grown shorter. Why—just fancy, Maria when I was a boy we used to have time between sunrise and sunset to write out one hundred and fifty lines of Virgil, or row three miles on the river. Why, I saw in a very old newspaper in the Museum lately, that an athlete could once run a mile on the cinder path in four minutes seventeen seconds; and it can't be done now by a champion under twenty-five minutes! Halloa here's the carrier brought that curious old water-clock I bought at the antiquity shop yesterday... You see those faint lines inside? They were to mark the hours—hours, though—no! I'm sure the water would never drip through that little hole fast enough to sink one of those measurements in an hour. Let's try... Halloa! While I've been talking it's got to one o'clock a.m.; and we haven't had time for dinner today—I mean yesterday. Maria! this can't go on! It's killing!"


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 heard her melancholy shriek, and looked upwards: she sat upon the ridge of a window, which I recognized to be that of the haunted room. This brought to my remembrance the story of the bleeding nun, and I sighed while I reflected on the influence of superstition, and weakness of human reason. Suddenly I heard a faint chorus steal upon the silence of the night.

"What can occasion that noise, Theodore?"

"A stranger of distinction," replied he, "passed through the village to-day in his way to the castle: he is reported to be the father of Donna Agnes. Doubtless the baron has given an entertainment to celebrate his arrival."

The castle bell announced the hour of midnight. This was the usual signal for the family to retire to bed. Soon after I perceived lights in the castle, moving backwards and forwards in different directions. I conjectured the company to be separating. I could hear the heavy doors grate as they


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 opened with difficulty; and as they closed again, the rotten casements rattled in their frames. The chamber of Agnes was on the other side of the castle. I trembled lest she should have failed in obtaining the key of the haunted room. Through this it was necessary for her to pass, in order to reach the narrow stair-case by which the ghost was supposed to descend into the great hall. Agitated by this apprehension, I kept my eyes constantly fixed upon the window, where I hoped to perceive the friendly glare of a lamp borne by Agnes. I now heard the massy gates unbarred. By the candle in his hand, I distinguished old Conrad, the porter. He set the portal doors wide open, and retired. The lights in the castle gradually disappeared, and at length the whole building was wrapt in darkness.

While I sat upon a broken ridge of the hill, the stillness of the scene inspired me with melancholy ideas not altogether unpleasing. The castle, which stood full in my sight, formed an object equally awful


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 and picturesque. Its ponderous walls, tinged by the moon with solemn brightness; its old and partly ruined towers, lifting themselves into the clouds, and seeming to frown on the plains around them; its lofty battlements, overgrown with ivy; and folding gates, expanding in honour of the visionary inhabitant, made me sensible of a sad and reverential horror. Yet did not these sensations occupy me so fully as to prevent me from witnessing with impatience the slow progress of time. I approached the castle, and ventured to walk round it. A few rays of light still glimmered in the chamber of Agnes. I observed them with joy. I was still gazing upon them, when I perceived a figure draw near the window, and the curtain was carefully closed to conceal the lamp which burned there. Convinced by this observation that Agnes had not abandoned our plan, I returned with a light heart to my former station.

The half-hour struck! The three-quarters struck! My bosom beat high with


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 hope and expectation. At length, the wished-for sound was heard. The bell tolled "one," and the mansion echoed with the noise loud and solemn. I looked up to the casement of the haunted chamber. Scarcely had five minutes elapsed when the expected light appeared. I was now close to the tower. The window was not so far from the ground, but that I fancied I perceived a female figure with a lamp in her hand moving slowly along the apartment. The light soon faded away, and all was again dark and gloomy.

Occasional gleams of brightness darted from the stair-case windows as the lovely ghost passed by them. I traced the light through the hall: it reached the portal; and at length I beheld Agnes pass through the folding gates. She was habited exactly as she had described the spectre. A chaplet of beads hung upon her arm; her head was enveloped in a long white veil; her nun's dress was stained with blood; and she had taken care to provide herself with a lamp


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 and dagger. She advanced towards the spot where I stood. I flew to meet her, and clasped her in my arms.

"Agnes!" said I, while I pressed her to by bosom,

Terrified and breathless, she was unable to speak. She dropped her lamp and dagger, and sunk upon my bosom in silence. I raised her in my arms, and conveyed her to the carriage. Theodore remained behind in order to release dame Cunegonda. I also charged him with a letter to the baroness, explaining the whole affair, and entreating her good offices in reconciling Don Gaston to my union with his daughter. I discovered to her my real name. I proved to her that my birth and expectations justified my pretending to her niece; and assured her,


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 though it was out of my power to return her love, that I would strive unceasingly to obtain her esteem and friendship.

I stepped into the carriage, where Agnes was already seated. Theodore closed the door, and the postillions drove away. At first I was delighted with the rapidity of our progress; but as soon as we were in no danger of pursuit, I called to the drivers, and bade them moderate their pace. They strove in vain to obey me; the horses refused to answer the rein, and continued to rush on with astonishing swiftness. The postillions redoubled their efforts to stop them; but, by kicking and plunging, the beasts soon released themselves from this restraint. Uttering a loud shriek, the drivers were hurled upon the ground. Immediately thick clouds obscured the sky: the winds howled around us, the lightning flashed, and the thunder roared tremendously. Never did I behold so frightful a tempest! Terrified by the jar of contending elements, the horses seemed every moment


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 to increase their speed. Nothing could interrupt their career; they dragged the carriage through hedges and ditches, dashed down the most dangerous precipices, and seemed to vie in swiftness with the rapidity of the winds.

All this while my companion lay motionless in my arms. Truly alarmed by the magnitude of the danger, I was in vain attempting to recall her to her senses, when a loud crash announced that a stop was put to our progress in the most disagreeable manner. The carriage was shattered to pieces. In falling, I struck my temple against a flint. The pain of the wound, the violence of the shock, and apprehension for the safety of Agnes, combined to overpower me so completely, that my senses forsook me, and I lay without animation on the ground.

I probably remained for some time in this situation, since, when I opened my eyes, it was broad day-light. Several peasants were standing round me, and seemed disputing whether my recovery was possible. I


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 spoke German tolerably well. As soon as I could utter an articulate sound, I enquired after Agnes. What was my surprise and distress, when assured by the peasants that nobody had been seen answering the description which I gave of her! They told me, that in going to their daily labour they had been alarmed by observing the fragments of my carriage, and by hearing the groans of an horse, the only one of the four which remained alive: the other three lay dead by my side. Nobody was near me when they came up, and much time had been lost before they succeeded in recovering me. Uneasy beyond expression respecting the fate of my companion, I besought the peasants to disperse themselves, in search of her. I described her dress, and promised immense rewards to whoever brought me any intelligence. As for myself, it was impossible for me to join in the pursuit: I had broken two of my ribs in the fall; my arm being dislocated hung useless by my side; and my left leg was shat-


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Tell, Tell me, prithee Dolly,

And leave thy Melancholy.

Why on the Plaines, the Nymphs and Swaines,

This Morning are ſo Jolly.

By Zephires gentle Blowing,

And Venus Graces Flowing.

The Sun has bin to Court our Queen,

And Tired the Spring with wooing.

The Sun does guild our Bowers,

The Spring does yield us Flowers.

She ſends the Vine,

He makes the Wine,

To Charm our happy Hours.

She gives our Flocks their Feeding,

He makes ’em fit for Breeding.

She decks the Plain,

He fills the Grain,

And makes it worth the Weeding.

But the Jolly Nymph Thitis that long his Love ſought,

Has Fluſtred him now with a large Mornings draught.

Let’s go and divert him, whilſt he is Mellow,

You know in his Cups he’s a Hot-Headed Fellow.

[Exit.

Hake the Cloud from off your Brow,

Fate your wiſhes do Allow.

Empire Growing,

Pleaſures Flowing,

Fortune Smiles and ſo ſhould you,

Shake the Cloud from off your Brow,

Baniſh Sorrow, Baniſh Care,

Grief ſhould ne’re approach the Fair.

Ah! Belinda I am preſt,

With Torment not to be Confeſt.

Peace and I are Strangers grown,

I Languiſh till my Grief is known,

Yet wou’d not have it Gueſt. Rh

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RV 311 (BUDDENBROOKS) passing; and Pfiffi Buddenbrook let fall a word or two to the effect that such a journey might be very agreeable, but did not seem to have any practical results. Frau Grünlich passed this by with dignity, though she put back her head and tucked in her chin. She fell into the habit now, whenever the vestibule bell rang through the entry, of hurrying to the landing to see who had come. What might that mean? Probably only Ida Jungmann, Tony’s governess and year-long confidante, knew that. Ida would say, “Tony, my child, you will see: he’ll come.”

The family was grateful to the returned traveller for her cheering presence; for the atmosphere of the house sadly needed brightening. The relations between the head of the firm and his younger brother had not improved. Indeed, they had grown sadly worse. Their Mother, the Frau Consul, followed with anxious misgivings the course of events and had enough to do to mediate between the two. Her hints to visit the office more regularly were received in absent silence by Christian. He met his brother’s remonstrances with a mortified air, making no defence, and for a few days would apply himself with somewhat more zeal to the English correspondence. But there developed more and more in the elder an irritated contempt for the younger brother, not decreased by the fact that Christian received his occasional rebukes without seeming offence, only looking at him with the usual absent disquiet in his eyes.

Tom’s irritable activity and the condition of his nerves would not let him listen sympathetically or even patiently to Christian’s detailed accounts of his increasing symptoms. To his mother or sister, he referred to them with disgust as “the silly phenomena of an obstinate introspection.”

The ache, the indefinite ache in Christian’s left leg, had yielded by now to treatment; but the trouble in swallowing came on often at table, and there was lately a difficulty in breathing, an asthmatic trouble, which Christian thought for several weeks was consumption. He explained its nature and

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RV 312 (BUDDENBROOKS) activity at length to his family, his nose wrinkled up the while. Dr. Grabow was called in. He said the heart and lungs were operating soundly, but the occasional difficulty in breathing was due to muscular sluggishness, and ordered first the use of a fan and secondly that of a green powder which one burned, inhaling the smoke. Christian used the fan in the office, and to a remonstrance on the part of the chief answered that in Valparaiso every man in the office was provided with a fan on account of the heat: “Johnny Thunderstorm—good God!” But one day, after he had been wriggling about on his chair for some time, nervous and restless, he took his powder out of his pocket and made such a strong and violent-smelling reek in the room that some of the men began to cough violently, and Herr Marcus grew quite pale. There was an open explosion, a scandal, a dreadful talking-to which would have led to a break at once, but that the Frau Consul once more covered everything all up, reasoned them out of it, and set things going again.

But this was not all. The life Christian led outside the house, mainly with his old schoolmate Lawyer Gieseke, was observed by the Consul with disgust. He was no prig, no spoil-sport. He knew very well that his native town, this port and trading city, where men walked the streets proud of their irreproachable reputation as business men, was by no means of spotless morality. They made up to themselves for the tedious hours spent in their offices, by dinners with heavy wines and heavy dishes—and by other things. But the broad mantle of civic respectability concealed this side of their life. Thomas Buddenbrook’s first law was to preserve “the dehors”; wherein he showed himself not so different from his fellow burghers. Lawyer Gieseke was a member of the professional class, whose habits of life were much like those of the merchants. That he was also a “good fellow,” anybody could see who looked at him. But, like the other easy men of pleasure in the community, he knew how to avoid trouble by wearing the proper expression and saying the proper thing. And in

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RV 313 (BUDDENBROOKS) political and professional matters, he had a reputation of irreproachable respectability. His betrothal to Fräulein Huneus had just been announced; whereby he married a considerable dowry and a place in the best society. He was active in civic affairs, and he had his eye on a seat in the Council—even, ultimately, on the seat of old Burgomaster Överdieck.

But his friend Christian Buddenbrook—the same who could go calmly up to Mlle. Meyer-de-la-Grange, present her his bouquet, and say, “Oh, Fräulein, how beautifully you act!”—Christian had been developed by character and circumstances into a free-liver of the naïve and untrammeled type. In affairs of the heart, as in all others, he was disinclined to govern his feelings or to practise discretion for the sake of preserving his dignity. The whole town had laughed over his affair with an obscure actress at the summer theatre. Frau Stuht in Bell Founders’ Street—the same who moved in the best society—told everybody who would listen how Chris had been seen again walking by daylight in the open street with the person from the Tivoli.

Even that did not actually offend people. There was too much candied cynicism in the community to permit a display of serious moral disapproval. Christian Buddenbrook, like Consul Peter Döhlmann—whose declining business put him into somewhat the same artless class—was a popular entertainer and indispensable to gentlemen’s companions. But neither was taken seriously. In important matters they simply did not count. It was a significant fact that the whole town, the Bourse, the docks, the club, and the street called them by their first names—Peter and Chris. And enemies, like the Hagenströms, laughed not only at Chris’s stories and jokes, but at Chris himself, too.

He thought little or nothing of this. If he noticed it, it passed out of his mind again after a momentary disquiet. But his brother the Consul knew it. Thomas knew that Christian afforded a point of attack to the enemies of the family—and there were already too many such points. The connection

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116 measures of retaliation by the Chinese authorities, adversely affecting the trade of the Colony, urged that the Chinese Government should be pressed to reform its currency in the terms of the Mackay Treaty, and that an attempt should be made to secure an undertaking that the Canton Mint would cease coining subsidiary coin until Hongkong and Canton subsidiary coins reached par value, and that thenceforward both parties should agree to restrict minting to actual requirements.

BANKING.

first mention of Banking in the official summary of the history of the Colony is that a branch of the Oriental Banking Corporation was established in April, 1845—the year in which the first unsuccessful attempt was made to place the currency of the Colony

on a gold basis. The establishment of this institution was welcomed, it being regarded as indicative of the sanguine expectations entertained by the community as to the island's commercial future. Two years later, and before it was chartered, this bank put into circulation over 56,000 dollars' worth of notes, "to the great relief of local trade," as the historian informs us.

The subject of banking from that date onwards, for a period of nearly twenty years, is practically ignored by the records, though there are frequent references to the currency question. The issue of the prospectus of the Hongkong and Shanghai Banking Corporation in July, 1864, is the next mention, and, incidentally, Dr. Eitel alludes to the existence at that time of six banking institutions—the Oriental Bank already referred to, the Agra and United Service Bank; the Central Bank of Western India; the Chartered Bank of India, Australia and China; the Chartered Mercantile Bank of India, London, and China; and the Commercial Bank of India. This list does not appear to be a complete one, however, for some of the older inhabitants of the Colony well remember that there were also in operation the Comptoir Nationale d'Escompte de Paris; the Bank of Hindustan, China, and Japan; the Asiatic Bank; and the Bank of India. In fact, the manager of the French bank, Mr. Victor Kresser, became the first manager of the newly formed Hongkong Bank, and the accountant of the Bank of Hindustan, Mr. John Grigor, its first accountant.

Of all these institutions only three—the Chartered Bank of India, the Mercantile Bank of India, and the Hongkong Bank—actually survive to-day, whilst the financial interests of a fourth, the Comptoir Nationale d'Escompte de Paris, were taken over in 1896 by the Banque de l'Indo Chine. The exact fate of the others has hitherto escaped record for the most part, but they were all severely shaken by the great Bombay crisis of 1866, brought about by the failure of Premchand Roychand's “Back Bay” scheme of reclamation, and of many other companies floated by him, in which millions of money were lost. In the same year the failure of Overend, Gurney & Co., a big London firm, created widespread panic, and in consequence, there was a run on the various banks in the Colony. There was something of a scandal at the time, for in those days, before the advent of the cable, news filtered in slowly, and, in the excitement of the moment, some of the earliest recipients took matters into their own hands, grabbing notes from the bank counters, and in some cases landing themselves by their unseemly behaviour, in the police court. These causes, with the failure of Dent & Co., Lyall, Still & Co., and other firms, added to the general depression in the trade of the Colony which characterised the years 1866-69, led ultimately to the failure or closing of the Commercial, the Central, the Hindustan, the Asiatic, the Agra, and probably other of the banks. Even the Hongkong and Shanghai Bank, with its capital of two and a half million dollars and its influential directorate, passed through unpleasant vicissitudes of fortune, culminating in 1874-75 in its inability to pay a dividend; and it was not until Sir Thomas Jackson, probably the greatest financier the Colony has ever known, assumed the management of its affairs, and there was a revival of local prosperity, that the shareholders' fears were allayed, and the bank fulfilled the promises of its early years.

The banks in existence in the Colony at the present day are the Hongkong and Shanghai Bank (attached to which is the Hongkong Savings Bank), the Chartered Bank of India, Australia and China, the National Bank of China, the Mercantile Bank of India, the International Bank, the Banque de l'Indo Chine, the Russo-Chinese Bank, the Nederlandsch-Indische Handelsbank, the Deutsch-Asiatische Bank, and the Bank of Taiwan. The premises of the more important banks are in close proximity to one another, and are amongst the most imposing buildings in a city remarkable for its architectural features. That Hongkong should have risen to such eminence in the financial world is due, as Alexander Michie points out in his well-known work, not to its local resources, but to its strategical position which has enabled it “to retain the character of a pivot upon which Far Eastern commerce turns.”

The circulation of bank-notes in the Colony, first started by the Oriental Bank in 1847, has risen to an average of something like 17,000,000 dollars' worth, the majority being notes issued by the Hongkong and Shanghai Banking Corporation. The history of their gradual introduction is marked by a curious


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 Rh

which Christ would not pray, why should it be interpreted of speciall Intercession, seeing our Saviour (as they confesse) neither laid down his life, nor made generall Intercession for such as such, that they might be brought to the faith, or be partakers of the merits of his death? Our Saviour in that his prayer opposeth the world to them that are given unto him of the Father, and as to be given unto him of the Father, notes somewhat precedent to effectuall vocation and lively faith, though every one that is given unto him doth or shall beleeve, so the world notes a state antecedent to wilfull contempt, though they that be of this world; if they live under the Gospell, will prove themselves contemners, Joh. 6. 37. All that the Father giveth me shall come unto me; and him that commeth unto me, I will in no wise cast out, saith Christ. But to come unto Christ is to beleeve in him by effectuall vocation, Joh. 1. 10. The world knew not Christ: but they were the world, before they shut their eyes against the light, and refused Christ offering himselfe unto them. Joh 3. 19. They are the world who are not given unto Christ, are not his sheep, his people, his brethren, believe not in him, be disobedient, cast out, though they never stubbornly contemned the Gospell: because the sound therof never came into their eares, that light never shined amongst them. And now for conclusion of this argument, let this one thing be added, that if we search the Scripture we shall find no mention of this two-fold Intercession of Christ properly mediatory, one generall, the other speciall, which some of late have devised: but that he makes Intercession for all and every of them that are given unto him of the Father, and only for them, and that his Intercession is ever certain and effectuall; as when he saith to Peter, I have prayed for thee, that thy faith faile not:and to all the Apostles, I will pray the Father, and he shall give you another comforter, that he may abide with you for ever. And when we heare from Christ himselfe, that according to the proper office of his Mediatorship he makes Intercession only for them that are given unto him of the Father, we may conclude, that in speciall manner he offered up himself a sacrifice to the Father for them only. Other arguments are alleadged for confirmation of this truth, which who list may reade at large in sundry Treatises of this matter: but it would be too long to insist upon each particular, therefore


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Rh In the smoke his scalp-locks swung
 * Grimly to and fro.

Nightly down the river going, Swifter was the hunter’s rowing, When he saw that lodge-fire glowing
 * O’er the waters still and red;

And the squaw’s dark eye burned brighter, And she drew her blanket tighter, As, with quicker step and lighter,
 * From that door she fled.

For that chief had magic skill, And a Panisee’s dark will, Over powers of good and ill,
 * Powers which bless and powers which ban;

Wizard lord of Pennacook, Chiefs upon their war-path shook, When they met the steady look
 * Of that wise dark man.

Tales of him the gray squaw told, When the winter night-wind cold Pierced her blanket’s thickest fold,
 * And her fire burned low and small,

Till the very child abed, Drew its bear-skin over head, Shrinking from the pale lights shed
 * On the trembling wall.

All the subtle spirits hiding Under earth or wave, abiding In the caverned rock, or riding
 * Misty clouds or morning breeze;

Every dark intelligence, Secret soul, and influence Of all things which outward sense
 * Feels, or hears, or sees,—

These the wizard’s skill confessed, At his bidding banned or blessed, Stormful woke or lulled to rest
 * Wind and cloud, and fire and flood;

Burned for him the drifted snow, Bade through ice fresh lilies blow, And the leaves of summer grow
 * Over winter’s wood!

Not untrue that tale of old! Now, as then, the wise and bold All the powers of Nature hold
 * Subject to their kingly will;

From the wondering crowds ashore, Treading life’s wild waters o’er, As upon a marble floor,
 * Moves the strong man still.

Still, to such, life’s elements With their sterner laws dispense, And the chain of consequence
 * Broken in their pathway lies;

Time and change their vassals making, Flowers from icy pillows waking, Tresses of the sunrise shaking
 * Over midnight skies.

Still, to th’ earnest soul, the sun Rests on towered Gibeon, And the moon of Ajalon
 * Lights the battle-grounds of life;

To his aid the strong reverses Hidden powers and giant forces, And the high stars, in their courses,
 * Mingle in his strife!

 * Of women thronging round the bed,
 * The tinkling charm of ring and shell,
 * The Powah whispering o’er the dead!
 * All these the Sachem’s home had known,
 * When, on her journey long and wild
 * To the dim World of Souls, alone,

In her young beauty passed the mother of his child.

 * Three bow-shots from the Sachem’s dwelling
 * They laid her in the walnut shade,
 * Where a green hillock gently swelling
 * Her fitting mound of burial made.
 * There trailed the vine in summer hours,
 * The tree-perched squirrel dropped his shell,—
 * On velvet moss and pale-hued flowers,

Woven with leaf and spray, the softened sunshine fell!

 * The Indian’s heart is hard and cold,
 * It closes darkly o’er its care,
 * And formed in Nature’s sternest mould,
 * Is slow to feel, and strong to bear.
 * The war-paint on the Sachem’s face,
 * Unwet with tears, shone fierce and red,
 * And still, in battle or in chase,

Dry leaf and snow-rime crisped beneath his foremost tread.


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A NEW DIRECTION—FLEXIBLE RESPONSE functions were to be provided at one-stop service points. Elements of the support command were designed so that they could be detached and sent to support task forces in independent or semi-independent operations, The brigade headquarters, like the combat commands in the existing armored division, were not to have permanently assigned units and were not to enter the administrative chain of command; instead, they were to function exclusively as command and control headquarters, supervising from two to five maneuver elements in tactical operations.

Responding to Eddleman's wishes, the designers of ROAD determined that an infantry battalion was more appropriate than a battle group as the main building block of the infantry division, Benefits of a battalion included a better span of control, simpler training procedures, greater dispersion on the battlefield, and more career opportunities for infantry officers. In the battle group, the commander's effective span of control was too great. He had so many diverse elements to supervise (infantry, artillery, engineer, medical, signal, reconnaissance, supply, and maintenance) that he found it difficult to manage the unit. A return to the infantry battalion would simplify command and control, logistics and maintenance, and also training. Given the need for dispersion on the battlefield, the study noted that 20 percent of the pentomic infantry division’s combat strength was in each battle group. The loss of a single battle group in combat would be significant. With nine infantry battalions, the new division would lose only 11 percent of its battle strength if one of its battalions were hit by nuclear fire. In addition, many situations in combat required a greater variety of responses than the battle group could easily provide. Some tasks were too large for a company but too small for a battle group; others called for a force larger than one battle group but smaller than two. The smaller-size infantry battalions appeared to answer those needs. Finally, the battle group provided little opportunity for infantry officers to gain command experience. If the battle group were retained, only 5 percent of the Army's infantry lieutenant colonels would receive command assignments and only 4 percent of the majors would serve as second-in-command. Weighing all these aspects, the planners recommended that infantry battalions replace battle groups.

In an effort to provide maximum homogeneity, simplicity, and flexibility, the maneuver battalions were kept as similar as possible consistent with their individual roles. Each infantry, mechanized infantry, and armor battalion comprised a headquarters, three line companies, and a headquarters and service company. Similarity among the maneuver battalions extended to the reconnaissance platoons, which were the same in all battalions, and to the platoons in the reconnaissance squadrons. Given battalions of this nature, companies and platoons could be used to build task forces for specific operations with a minimum of turbulence. Taking advantage of the latest weapons, all infantry battalions and reconnaissance squadrons had two Davy Crocketts, low-yield nuclear weapons that were considered the "Sunday punch" of the ROAD divisions. Infantry and mechanized infantry battalions also had the new ENgin-Teleguide Anti-Char (ENTAC) missile, a French-designed antitank weapon.


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A NEW DIRECTION—FLEXIBLE RESPONSE borne brigade, Like divisions, the brigade had no fixed structure but consisted of a base, which could command and control from two to five maneuver battalions. The brigade base consisted of a headquarters company; a reconnaissance troop; light tank and engineer companies; a 105-mm. howitzer battalion; and a support battalion (Chart 38). Within the latter organization were administrative, medical, supply, transport, and maintenance resources that allowed the brigade to conduct independent operations. The brigade, however, had limitations, including inadequate air defense artillery and airlift resources, Its mobility on land was restricted by its limited number of organic vehicles. Nevertheless, the brigade met most of the Army's requirements for a small airborne combat team. At the Army Staff's direction, the idea was extended to armor, infantry, and mechanized infantry brigades. Since such units could operate independently or reinforce divisions, they promised to greatly increase the overall flexibility of the field army.

Powell suggested to Eddlemen during the early development of ROAD that if it were approved the Army should have a comprehensive information plan explaining the rationale for such a major reorganization. Both the military and the general public had to be reminded that organizations evolved in response to past experience and new equipment. Furthermore, political implications had to be considered. General Taylor, the primary advocate of pentomic divisions, then serving on the White House staff, might question the radical shift. Also, the reserve community might object to the turbulence so soon after completing the pentomic reorganization.

Powell's desire for a publicity plan received a boost when the new Kennedy administration, reacting to the worldwide struggle with communism, decided to improve the readiness of the nation’s military forces. On 25 May 1961, President John F. Kennedy announced to a joint session of Congress that the Army's divisional forces would be modernized to increase conventional firepower, improve tactical mobility in any environment, and ensure flexibility. In addition, separate brigades would be organized to help meet direct or indirect threats throughout the world.

Kennedy's statement implied an immediate reorganization, but international events delayed changes. During the summer of 1961 relations between the Soviet Union and the United States deteriorated, particularly over the status of Berlin, and on 25 July the president asked Congress for funds to fill existing pentomic divisions and modernize their equipment. He also sought authority to order the reserves to a year of active duty. Congress agreed, and the Army postponed the ROAD reorganization.

To answer Soviet initiatives in Berlin, Secretary of Defense Robert S. McNamara directed that the five divisions in Europe be brought to full table of organization strength and that the 3d, 8th, and 24th Infantry Divisions each be


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RV 314 (BUDDENBROOKS) with the Överdiecks was distant and would be quite worthless after the Burgomaster’s death. The Krögers played no rôle now; they lived retired, after the misfortunes with their son. The marriage of the deceased uncle Gotthold was always unpleasant. The Consul’s sister was a divorced wife, even if one did not quite give up hope of her re-marrying. And his brother was a laughing-stock in the town, a man with whose clownishness industrious men amused their leisure and then laughed good-naturedly or maliciously. He contracted debts, too, and at the end of the quarter, when he had no more money, would quite openly let Dr. Gieseke pay for him—which was a direct reflection on the firm. Thomas’s contemptuous ill will, which Christian bore with quiet indifference, expressed itself in all the trifling situations that come up between members of a family. If the conversation turned upon the Buddenbrook family history, Christian might be in the mood to speak with serious love and admiration of his native town and of his ancestors. It sat rather oddly on him, to be sure, and the Consul could not stand it: he would cut short the conversation with some cold remark. He despised his brother so much that he could not even permit him to love where he did. If Christian had uttered the same sentiments in the dialect of Marcellus Stengel, Tom could have borne it better. He had read a book, a historical work, which had made such a strong impression on him that he spoke about it and praised it in the family. Christian would by himself never have found out the book; but he was impressionable and accessible to every influence; so he also read it, found it wonderful, and described his reactions with all possible detail. That book was spoiled for Thomas for ever. He spoke of it with cold and critical detachment. He pretended hardly to have read it. He completely gave it over to his brother, to admire all by himself.

RV 314 (314)


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came from the “Harmony”—a reading-club for men, where he had spent the hour after second breakfast—back into Meng Street. He crossed the yard from behind, entered the side of the garden by the passage which ran between vine-covered walls and connected the back and front courtyards, and called into the kitchen to ask if his brother were at home. They should let him know when he came in. Then he passed through the office (where the men at the desks bent more closely over their work) into the private room; he laid aside his hat and stick, put on his working coat, and sat down in his place by the window, opposite Herr Marcus. Between his pale eyebrows were two deep wrinkles. The yellow end of a Russian cigarette roamed from one corner of his mouth to the other. The movements with which he took up paper and writing materials were so short and jerky that Herr Marcus ran his two fingers up and down his beard and gave his colleague a long, scrutinizing look. The younger men glanced at him with raised eyebrows. The Head was angry.

After half an hour, during which nothing was heard but the scratching of pens and the sound of Herr Marcus discreetly clearing his throat, the Consul looked over the green half-blind and saw Christian coming down the street. He was smoking. He came from the club, where he had eaten and also played a bit. He wore his hat a little awry on his head, and swung his yellow stick, which had come from “over there” and had the bust of a nun for a handle. He was obviously in good health and the best of tempers. He came humming into the office, said “Good morning, gentlemen,” al-

RV 315 (315)


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RV 316 (BUDDENBROOKS) though it was a bright spring afternoon, and took his place to “do a bit of work.” But the Consul got up and, passing him, said without looking at him, “Oh, may I have a few words with you?” Christian followed him. They walked rather rapidly through the entry. Thomas held his hands behind his back, and Christian involuntarily did the same, turning his big bony hooked nose toward his brother. The red-blond moustache drooped, English fashion, over his mouth. While they went across the court, Thomas said: “We will walk a few steps up and down the garden, my friend.”

“Good,” answered Christian. Then there was a long silence again, while they turned to the left and walked, by the outside way, past the rococo “portal” right round the garden, where the buds were beginning to swell. Finally the Consul said in a loud voice, with a long breath, “I have just been very angry, on account of your behaviour.”

“My—?”

“Yes. I heard in the ‘Harmony’ about a remark of yours that you dropped in the club last evening. It was so obnoxious, so incredibly tactless, that I can find no words—the stupidity called down a sharp snub on you at once. Do you care to recall what it was?”

“I know now what you mean. Who told you that?”

“What has that to do with it? Döhlmann.—In a voice loud enough so that all the people who did not already know the story could laugh at the joke.”

“Well, Tom, I must say I was ashamed of Hagenström.”

“You were ashamed—you were—! Listen to me,” shouted the Consul, stretching out both hands in front of him and shaking them in excitement. “In a company consisting of business as well as professional men, you make the remark, for everybody to hear, that, when one really considers it, every business man is a swindler—you, a business man yourself, belonging to a firm that strains every nerve and muscle to preserve its perfect integrity and spotless reputation!”

“Good heavens, Thomas, it was a joke!—although,

RV 316 (316)


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RV 317 (BUDDENBROOKS) really—” Christian hesitated, wrinkling his nose and stooping a little. In this position he took a few steps.

“A joke!” shouted the Consul. “I think I can understand a joke, but you see how your joke was understood. ‘For my part, I have the greatest respect for my calling.’ That was what Hermann Hagenström answered you. And there you sat, a good-for-nothing, with no respect for yours—”

“Tom, you don’t know what you are talking about. I assure you he spoiled the whole joke. After everybody laughed, as if they agreed with me, there sat this Hagenström and brought out with ridiculous solemnity, ‘For my part—’ Stupid fool! I was really ashamed for him. I thought about it a long time in bed last night, and I had a quite remarkable feeling—you know how it feels—”

“Stop chattering, stop chattering, I beg you,” interrupted the Consul. He trembled with disgust in his whole body. “I agree—I agree with you that his answer was not in the right key, and that it was tasteless. But that is just the kind of people you pick out to say such things to!—if it is necessary to say them at all—and so you lay yourself open to an insolent snub like that. Hagenström took the opening to—give not only you but us a slap. Do you understand what ‘for my part’ meant? It meant: ‘You may have such ideas going about in your brother’s office, Herr Buddenbrook.’ That’s what it meant, you idiot.”

“Idiot—?” said Christian. He looked disturbed and embarrassed.

“And finally, you belong not to yourself alone; I’m supposed to be indifferent when you make yourself personally ridiculous—and when don’t you make yourself personally ridiculous?” Thomas cried. He was pale, and the blue veins stood out on his narrow temples, from which the hair went back in two bays. One of his light eyebrows was raised; even the long, stiff pointed ends of his moustache looked angry as he threw his words down at Christian’s feet on the gravel with quick sidewise gestures. “You make yourself

RV 317 (317)


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RV 318 (BUDDENBROOKS) a laughing-stock with your love affairs, your harlequinades, your diseases and your remedies.”

Christian shook his head vehemently and put up a warning finger. “As far as that goes, Tom, you don’t understand very well, you know. The thing is—every one must attend to his own conscience, so to speak. I don’t know if you understand that.—Grabow has ordered me a salve for the throat muscles. Well—if I don’t use it, if I neglect it, I am quite lost and helpless, I am restless and uncertain and worried and upset, and I can’t swallow. But if I have been using it, I feel that I have done my duty, I have a good conscience, I am quiet and calm and can swallow famously. The salve does not do it, you know, but the thing is that an idea like that, you understand, can only be destroyed by another idea, an opposite one. I don’t know whether you understand me—”

“Oh, yes—oh, yes!” cried the Consul, holding his head for a moment with both hands. “Do it, do it, but don’t talk about it—don’t gabble about it. Leave other people alone with your horrible nuances, You make yourself ridiculous with your absurd chatter from morning to night. I must tell you, and I repeat it, I am not interested in how much you make a fool of yourself personally. But I forbid your compromising the firm in the way you did yesterday evening.”

Christian did not answer, except to run his hand slowly over his sparse red-brown locks, while his eyes roamed unsteadily and absently, and unrest sat upon his face. Undoubtedly he was still busy with the idea which he had just been expressing,

There was a pause. Thomas stalked along with the calmness of despair. “All business men are swindlers, you say,” he began afresh. “Good. Are you tired of it? Are you sorry you are a business man? You once got permission from Father—”

“Why, Tom,” said Christian reflectively, “I would really rather study. It must be nice to be in the university. One

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RV 319 (BUDDENBROOKS) attends when one likes, at one’s own free will, sits down and listens, as in the theatre—”

“As in the theatre! Yes, I think your right place is that of a comedian in a café chantant. I am not joking. I am perfectly convinced that is your secret ideal.” Christian did not deny it; he merely gazed aimlessly about. “And you have the cheek to make such a remark—when you haven’t the slightest notion of work, and spend your days storing up a lot of feelings and sensations and episodes you hear in the theatre and when you are loafing about, God knows where; you take these and pet them and study them and chatter about them shamelessly!”

“Yes, Tom,” said Christian. He was a little depressed, and rubbed his hand again over his head. “That is true: you have expressed it quite correctly. That is the difference between us. You enjoy the theatre yourself; and you had your little affairs too, once on a time, between ourselves! And there was a time when you preferred novels and poetry and all that. But you have always known how to reconcile it with regular work and a serious life. I haven’t that. I am quite used up with the other; I have nothing left over for the regular life—I don’t know whether you understand—”

“Oh, so you see that?” cried Thomas, standing still and folding his arms on his breast. “You humbly admit that, and still you go on the same old way? Are you a dog, Christian? A man has some pride, by God! One doesn’t live a life that one may not know how to defend oneself. But so you are. That is your character. If you can only see a thing and understand and describe it—. No, my patience is at an end, Christian.” And the Consul took a quick backward step and made a gesture with his arms straight out. “It is at an end, I tell you.—You draw your pay, and stay away from the office. That isn’t what irritates me. Go and trifle your life away, as you have been doing, if you choose. But you compromise us, all of us, wherever you are. You are a growth, a fester, on the body of our family. You are a dis-

RV 319 (319)


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RV 320 (BUDDENBROOKS) grace to us here in this town, and if this house were mine, I’d show you the door!” he screamed, making a wild sweeping gesture over the garden, the court, and the whole property. He had no more control of himself. A long-stored-up well of hatred poured itself out.

“What is the matter with you, Thomas?” said Christian. He was seized with unaccustomed anger, standing there in a position common to bow-legged people, like a questionmark, with head, stomach, and knees all prominent. His little deep eyes were wide open and surrounded by red rims down to the cheek-bones, as his Father’s used to be in anger. “How are you speaking to me? What have I done to you? I'll go, without being thrown out. Shame on you!” he added with downright reproach, accompanying the word with a short, snapping motion in front of him, as if he were catching a fly.

Strange to say, Thomas did not meet this outburst by more anger. He bent his head and slowly took his way around the garden. It seemed to quiet him, actually to do him good to have made his brother angry at last—to have pushed him finally to the energy of a protest.

“Believe me,” he said quietly, putting his hands behind his back again, “this conversation is truly painful to me. But it had to take place. Such scenes in the family are frightful, but we must speak out once for all. Let us talk the thing over quietly, young one. You do not like your present position, it seems?”

“No, Tom; you are right about that. You see, at first I was very well satisfied. I know I’m better off here than in a stranger's business. But what I want is the independence, I think. I have always envied you when I saw you sit there and work, for it is really no work at all for you. You work not because you must, but as master and head, and let others work for you, and you have the control, make your calculations, and are free. It is quite different.”

“Good, Christian. Why couldn’t you have said that before?

RV 320 (320)


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RV 321 (BUDDENBROOKS) You can make yourself free, or freer, if you like, You know Father left you as well as me an immediate inheritance of fifty thousand marks current; and I am ready at any moment to pay out this sum for a reasonable and sound purpose. In Hamburg, or anywhere else you like, there are plenty of safe but limited firms where they could use an increase of capital, and where you could enter as a partner. Let us think the matter over quietly, each by himself, and also speak to Mother at a good opportunity. I must get to work, and you could for the present go on with the English correspondence.” As they crossed the entry, he added, “What do you say, for instance, to H. C. F. Burmeester and Company in Hamburg? Import and export. I know the man. I am certain he would snap at it.”

That was in the end of May of the year 1857. At the beginning of June Christian travelled via Buchen to Hamburg—a heavy loss to the club, the theatre, the Tivoli, and the liberal livers of the town. All the “good fellows,” among them Dr. Gieseke and Peter Döhlmann, took leave of him at the station, and brought him flowers and cigars, and laughed to split their sides—recalling, no doubt, all the stories Christian had told them. And Lawyer Gieseke, amidst general applause, fastened to Christian’s overcoat a great favour made out of gold paper. This favour came from a sort of inn in the neighbourhood of the port, a place of free and easy resort where a red lantern burned above the door at night, and it was always very lively. The favour was awarded to the departing Chris Buddenbrook for his distinguished services.

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outer bell rang, and Frau Grünlich appeared on the landing to look down into the court—a habit she had lately formed. The door was hardly opened below when she started, leaned over still more, and then sprang back with one hand pressing her handkerchief to her mouth and the other holding up her gown. She hurried upstairs.

On the steps to the second storey she met Ida Jungmann, to whom she whispered in a suffocated voice. Ida gave a joyous shriek and answered with some Polish gibberish.

The Frau Consul was sitting in the landscape room, crocheting a shawl or some such article with two large wooden needles. It was eleven o’clock in the morning.

The servant came through the hall, knocked on the glass door, and waddled in to bring the Fran Consul a visiting-card. She took the card, got out her sewing-glasses, and read it. Then she looked again at the girl’s red face; then read again; then looked up again at the girl. Finally she said calmly but firmly:

“What is this, my dear? What does it mean?”

On the card was printed: “X. Noppe and Company.” The “X. Noppe” and the “and” were crossed out with a lead-pencil, so that only the “Company” was left. “Oh, Frau Consul,” said the maid, “there’s a gentleman, but he doen’t speak German, and he do go on so—”

“Ask the gentleman in,” said the Frau Consul; for she understood now that it was the “Company” who desired admittance. The maid went. Then the glass door was opened again to let in a stocky figure, who remained in the shadowy background of the room for a moment and said with a drawl-

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RV 323 (BUDDENBROOKS) ing pronunciation something that seemed as if it might have been: “I have the honour—”

“Good morning,” said the Frau Consul. “Will you not come in?” And she supported herself on the sofa-cushion and rose a little; for she did not know yet whether she ought to rise all the way or not.

“I take the liberty,” replied the gentleman in a pleasant sing-song; while he bowed in the politest manner, and took two steps forward. Then he stood still again and looked around as if searching for something—perhaps for a place to put his hat and stick, for he had brought both—the stick being a horn crutch with the top shaped like a claw and a good foot and a half long—into the room with him.

He was a man of forty years. Short-legged and chubby, he wore a wide-open coat of brown frieze and a light flowered waistcoat which covered the gentle protuberant curve of his stomach and supported a gold watch-chain with a whole bouquet of charms made of horn, bone, silver, and coral. His trousers were of an indefinite grey-green colour and too short. The material must have been extraordinarily stiff, for the edges stood out in a circle around the legs of his short, broad boots. He had a bullet head, untidy hair, and a stubby nose, and the light-blond curly moustache drooping over his mouth made him look like a walrus. By way of contrast, the imperial between his chin and his underlip stood out rather bristly. His cheeks were extremely fat and puffy, crowding his eyes into two narrow light-blue cracks with wrinkles at the corners. The whole face looked swollen and had a funny expression of fierceness, mingled with an almost touching good nature. Directly below his tiny chin a steep line ran into the white neck-cloth: his goiterous neck could not have endured a choker. In fact, the whole lower part of his face and his neck, the back of his head, his cheeks and nose, all ran rather formlessly in together. The whole skin of the face was stretched to an immoderate tightness and showed a roughness at the ear-joinings and the sides of the nose. In

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RV 324 (BUDDENBROOKS) one of his short fat white hands the visitor held his stick; in the other his green Tyrolese hat, decorated with a chamois beard.

The Frau Consul had taken off her glasses and was still rising from her sofa-pillow.

“What can I do for you?” she asked politely but pointedly.

The gentleman, with a movement of decision, laid his hat and stick on the lid of the harmonium. He rubbed his free hands with satisfaction and looked at the Frau Consul out of his kindly, light-blue eyes. “I beg the gracious lady’s pardon for the card,” he said. “I had no other by me. My name is Permaneder—Alois Permaneder, from Munich. Perhaps you might have heard my name from your daughter.” He said all this in a puzzling dialect with a rather loud, coarse voice; but there was a confidential gleam from the cracks of his eyes, which seemed to say: “I’m sure we understand each other already.”

The Frau Consul had now risen entirely and went forward with her hand outstretched and her head inclined in greeting.

“Herr Permaneder! Is it you? Certainly my daughter has spoken of you. I know how much you contributed to make her visit in Munich pleasant and entertaining. And so some wind has blown you all the way up here?”

“That's it; you’re just right there,” said Herr Permaneder. He sat down by the Frau Consul in the armchair which she gracefully indicated to him, and began to rub his short round thighs comfortably with both hands.

“I beg your pardon?” asked the Frau Consul. She had not understood a single word of his remark.

“You've guessed it, that’s the point,” answered Herr Permaneder, as he stopped rubbing his knees.

“How nice!” said the Frau Consul blankly. She leaned back in her chair with feigned satisfaction and folded her hands. Actually, she was quite as much at sea as before, and only wondering if Antonie were really able to follow the

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RV 325 (BUDDENBROOKS) windings of the Bavarian tongue. But Herr Permaneder—though his appearance hardly led one to expect that he possessed acute sensibilities—saw through her at once. He bent forward, making—God knows why—circles in the air with his hand, and, struggling after clarity, enunciated the words: “The gracious lady is surprised?”

“Yes, Herr Permaneder, yes!” she cried, with disproportionate joy, for she had really understood him. Perhaps they could manage after all! But now there came a pause. To fill it out, Herr Permaneder gave a sort of groan, and followed it up by an exclamation in the broadest of dialect: something that shocked the Frau Consul because it sounded so like swearing, though it probably wasn’t—at least, she hoped not! Should she ask him to repeat it?

“Ah—what did you say?” she ventured, turning her light eyes a little away, that he might not see the bewilderment they expressed.

Herr Permaneder obliged by repeating, with extraordinary loudness and coarseness. Surely it was something about a crucifix! Horrors!

“How nice!” she stammered again, with desperate finality; and thus this subject also was disposed of. It might be better to talk a little oneself. “May one ask,” she went on, “what brings you so far, Herr Permaneder? It is a good long journey from Munich:”

“A little business,” said Herr Permaneder, as before, and waved his broad hand in the air. It was really touching, the efforts he made. “A little business, my dear lady, with the brewery at Walkmill.”

“Oh, yes—you are hop merchants, of course, my dear Herr Permaneder: Noppe and Company, isn’t it? I am sure I have heard good things of your firm from my son,” said the Frau Consul cordially. Again she felt as if she were almost upon firm ground. Herr Permaneder waved away the compliment. That was nothing to mention. No, the main thing was, he wanted to pay his respects to the Frau Consul

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RV 326 (BUDDENBROOKS) and—see Frau Grünlich again. That was enough to make the journey repay the trouble it cost.

The Frau Consul did not understand it all, but she got the general drift, and was glad. “Oh, thank you,” she said, with the utmost heartiness, and again offered him her hand, with the palm outstretched.

“But we must call my daughter,” she added, and stood up and went toward the embroidered bell-pull near the glass door.

“Oh, Lord, yes, I’ll be glad to see her!” cried the hop merchant, and turned his chair and himself toward the door at one and the same time.

The Frau Consul said to the servant: “Ask Madame Grünlich to come down, my dear.”

Then she went back to her sofa, and Herr Permaneder turned himself and his chair around again.

“Lord, yes, I’ll be glad!” he repeated, while he stared at the hangings and the furniture and the great Sèvres inkstand on the secretary. But then he sighed heavily, several times over, rubbed his knees, and gave vent to his favourite outlandish phrase. The Frau Consul thought it more discreet not to inquire again into his meaning; besides, he muttered it under his breath, with a sort of groan, though his mood, otherwise, appeared to be anything but despondent.

And now Frau Grünlich appeared. She had made a little toilette, put on a light blouse, and dressed her hair. Her face looked fresher and prettier than ever, and the tip of her tongue played in the corner of her mouth.

Scarcely had she entered when Herr Permaneder sprang up and went to meet her with tremendous enthusiasm. He vibrated all over. He seized both her hands, shook them and cried: “Well, Frau Grünlich! Well, well, grüss Gott! Well, and how’s it been going with you? What you been doing up here? Yes, yes! Grüss Gott! Lord, I’m just silly glad to see you. Do you think sometimes of little old

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RV 327 (BUDDENBROOKS) Munich and what a gay time we had? Oh, my, oh my! And here we are again. Who would ’a’ thought it?”

Tony, on her side, greeted him with great vivacity, drew up a chair, and began to chat with him about her weeks in Munich. Now the conversation went on without hitches, and the Frau Consul followed it, smiling and nodding encouragingly at Herr Permaneder. She would translate this or that expression into her own tongue, and then lean back into the sofa again, well pleased with her own intelligence.

Herr Permaneder had to explain to Frau Antonie in her turn the reason of his appearance. But he laid small stress on the “little business” with the brewery, and it was obviously not the occasion of his visit at all. He asked with interest after the second daughter and the sons of the Frau Consul, and regretted loudly the absence of Clara and Christian, as he had always wanted to get acquainted with the whole family.

He said his stay in the town was of indefinite length, but when the Frau Consul said: “I am expecting my son for second breakfast at any moment, Herr Permaneder. Will you give us the pleasure of your company?” he accepted the invitation almost before she gave it, with such alacrity that it was plain he had expected it.

The Consul came. He had found the breakfast-room empty, and appeared in his office coat, tired and preoccupied, to take a hasty bite. But when he saw the strange guest with the frieze jacket and the fantastic watch chain, he became all charm. He had heard his name often enough from Frau Antonie, and he threw a quick glance at his sister as he greeted Herr Permaneder in his most fascinating manner. He did not sit down. They went directly down to the entresol, where Mamsell Jungmann had laid the table and set the samovar—a real samovar, a present from Pastor Tiburtius and Clara.

“You've got it good here,” said Herr Permaneder, as he

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RV 328 (BUDDENBROOKS) let himself down in his chair and looked at the variety of cold meats on the table. His grammar, now and then, was of the most artless and disarming quality.

“It isn’t Munich beer, of course, Herr Permaneder, but still it is better than our domestic brew.” And the Consul poured him a glass of the brown foaming porter, which he was accustomed to drink himself at midday.

“Thank you kindly, neighbour,” said Herr Permaneder, quite unaware of the outraged look Mamsell Jungmann cast at him. But he drank so moderately of the porter that the Frau Consul had a bottle of red wine brought up; whereat he grew visibly gayer and began to talk with Frau Grünlich again. He sat, on account of his prominent stomach, well away from the table, with his legs far apart, and one of his arms, with the plump white hand, hanging down over the chair-back. He put his round head with its walrus moustache on one side and blinked out of the cracks of his eyes naively as he listened to Tony’s conversation. He looked offensively comfortable. As he had had no experience with sprats, she daintily dismembered them for him, commenting the while on life in general.

“Oh Heavens, how sad it is, Herr Permaneder, that everything good and lovely in this world is so fleeting,” she said, referring to her Munich visit. She laid down her knife and fork a moment and looked earnestly up at the ceiling. She made charming if unsuccessful efforts to speak Bavarian.

During the meal there was a knock at the door, and the office boy brought in a telegram. The Consul read it, letting the long ends of his moustache run through his fingers. He was plainly preoccupied with the contents of the message; but, even as he read it, he asked in the easiest tone: “Well, how is business, Herr Permaneder?—That will do,” he said immediately to the apprentice, who disappeared.

“Oh, well, neighbour,” answered Herr Permaneder, turning himself about toward the Consul’s side with the awkwardness of a man who has a thick, stiff neck, and letting his

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RV 329 (BUDDENBROOKS) other arm hang over the chair-back. “There’s naught to speak of—it’s a fair plague. You see, Munich”—he pronounced the name of his native city in such a way that one could only guess what he meant—“Munich is no commercial town. Everybody wants his peace and quiet and his beer—nobody gets despatches while he’s eating; not there. You're a different cut up here—Holy Sacrament! Yes, thank you kindly, I’ll take another glass. Tough luck, that’s what it is; tough luck. My partner, Noppe, wanted to go to Nuremberg, because they have a Bourse there and are keen on business, but I won’t forsake my Munich. Not me! That would be a fine thing to do! You see, there’s no competition, and the export trade is just silly. Even in Russia they'll be beginning soon to plant and build for themselves.”

Then he suddenly threw the Consul a quick, shrewd look and said: “Oh, well, neighbour, ’tain’t so bad as it sounds. Yon’s a fair little business. We make money with the joint-stock brewery, that Niederpaur is director of. That was just a small affair, but we’ve put it on its legs and lent it credit—cash too, four per cent on security—and now we can do business at a profit, and we’ve collared a blame good trade already.” Herr Permaneder declined cigars and cigarettes and asked leave to smoke his pipe. He drew the long horn bowl out of his pocket, enveloped himself in a reek of smoke, and entered upon a business conversation with the Consul, which glided into politics, and Bavaria’s relations with Prussia, and King Max, and the Emperor Napoleon. He garnished his views with disjointed sighs and some perfectly unintelligible Munich phrases.

Mamsell Jungmann, out of sheer astonishment, continually forgot to chew, even when she had food in her mouth. She blinked speechlessly at the guest out of her bright brown eyes, standing her knife and fork perpendicularly on the table and swaying them back and forth. This room had never before beheld Herr Permaneder’s like. Never had it been filled by such reeking pipe-smoke; such unpleasantly easy manners

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 frontispieces for books, at a Virgin, at a picture of the Congregation of St. Louis, at the various designs for the gallery, and, finally, at designs for the royal tapestry. I have only one pair of hands and a feeble head, and can neither be helped nor can my labours be lightened by another."

Annoyed by the enemies his success had provoked and whom he was unable to conciliate, he determined, at the end of less than two years' labour in Paris, to return to Rome. Again settled there in his humble dwelling on Mont Pincio, he employed himself diligently in the practice of his art during the remaining years of his life, living in great simplicity and privacy. Though suffering much from the disease which afflicted him, he solaced himself by study, always striving after excellence. "In growing old," he said, "I feel myself becoming more and more inflamed with the desire of surpassing myself and reaching the highest degree of perfection." Thus toiling, struggling, and suffering, Poussin spent his later years. He had no children; his wife died before him; all his friends were gone: so that in his old age he was left absolutely alone in Rome, so full of tombs, and died there in 1665, bequeathing to his relatives at Andeleys the savings of his life, amounting to about 1,000 crowns; and leaving behind him, as a legacy to his race, the great works of his genius.

The career of Ary Scheffer furnishes one of the best examples in modern times of a like high-minded devotion to art, Born at Dordrecht, the son of a German artist, he early manifested an aptitude for drawing and painting, which his parents encouraged. His father dying while he was still young, his mother resolved, though her means


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RV 330 (BUDDENBROOKS) were foreign to it. The Frau Consul abode in cordial miscomprehension, after she had made inquiries and received information as to the sufferings of the little protestant oasis among the Munich papists. Tony seemed to grow somewhat absent and restive in the course of the meal. But the Consul was highly entertained, asked his mother to order up another bottle of wine, and cordially invited Herr Permaneder to a visit in Broad Street—his wife would he charmed. A good three hours after his arrival the hop dealer began to show signs of leaving—emptied his glass, knocked out his pipe, called something or other “bad luck,” and got up.

“I have the honour, madame. Good day, Frau Grünli’ and Herr Consul—servant, servant.” At this Ida Jungmann actually shivered and changed colour. “Good day, Freilein,” he said to her, and he repeated “Good day” at the door.

The Frau Consul and her son exchanged a glance. Herr Permaneder had announced his intention of stopping at the modest inn on the Trave whither he had gone on arrival. The Frau Consul went toward him again. “My daughter’s Munich friend,” she began, “lives so far away that we shall have no opportunity to repay her hospitality. But if you, my dear sir, would give us the pleasure of your company while you are in town—you would he very welcome.” She held her hand out to him; and lo! Herr Permaneder accepted this invitation as blithely as he had the one to dinner. He kissed the hands of both ladies—and a funny sight he was as he did so—fetched his hat and stick from the landscape room, and promised to have his trunk brought at once and to be on the spot at four o’clock, after transacting his business. Then he allowed the Consul to convoy him down the stairs, But even at the vestibule door he turned again and shook hands violently. “No offence, neighbour,” he said—”your sister is certainly a great girl—no doubt about it. Good day,” and he disappeared, still wagging his head.

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RV 331 (BUDDENBROOKS) linen for the guest-room. The Frau Consul still sat at the breakfast table, her light eyes fixed on a spot on the ceiling. She was lightly drumming with her white fingers on the cloth. Tony sat at the window, her arms folded, gazing straight ahead of her with a severe air. Silence reigned.

“Well?” said Thomas, standing in the door and taking a cigarette out of the box ornamented with the troika. His shoulders shook with laughter.

“A pleasant man,” commented the Frau Consul innocently.

“Quite my opinion.” The Consul made a quick, humorous turn toward Tony, as if he were asking her in the most respectful manner for her opinion as well. She was silent, and looked neither to the right nor to the left.

“But I think, Tom, he ought to stop swearing,” went on the Frau Consul with mild disapproval. “If I understood him correctly, he kept using the words Sacrament and Cross.”

“Oh, that’s nothing, Mother—he doesn’t mean anything by that.”

“And perhaps a little too easy-mannered, Tom?”

“Oh, yes; that is south-German,” said the Consul, breathing the smoke slowly out into the room. He smiled at his mother and stole glances at Tony. His mother saw the glances not at all.

“You will come to dinner to-day with Gerda. Please do me the favour, Tom.”

“Certainly, Mother, with the greatest of pleasure. To tell the truth, I promise myself much pleasure from this guest, don’t you? He is something different from your ministers, in any case,”

“Everybody to his taste, Tom.”

“Of course. I must go now.—Oh, Tony,” he said, the door-handle in his hand, “you have made a great impression on him. No, no joke. Do you know what he called you down there just now? A great girl! Those were his very words.”

But here Frau Grünlich turned around and said clearly: “Very good, Tom. You are repeating his words—and I don’t

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RV 332 (BUDDENBROOKS) know that he would mind; but even so I am not sure it was just the nicest thing to do. But this much I do know: and this much I am going to say: that in this life it does not depend on how things are said and expressed, but on how they are felt and meant in the heart; and if you make fun of Herr Permaneder’s language and find him ridiculous—”

“Who? Why? Tony, what an idea! Why are you getting excited—?”

“Assez,” said the Frau Consul, casting an imploring glance at her son. It meant “Spare her!”

“Please don’t be angry, Tony,” he said. “I didn’t mean to provoke you. And now I will go and see that somebody from the warehouse brings Herr Permaneder’s trunk. Au revoir.” RV 332 (332)


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moved into Meng Street; he ate dinner with Thomas Buddenbrook and his wife the following day; and on the third, a Thursday, he made the acquaintance of Justus Kröger and his wife, the three ladies from Broad Street, who found him “frightfully funny” (they said fr-right-fully), Sesemi Weichbrodt, who was rather stern with him, and poor Clothilde and little Erica, to whom he gave a bag of bonbons.

The man was invincibly good-humoured. His sighs, in fact, meant nothing, and seemed to arise out of an excess of comfort. He smoked his pipe, talked in his curious dialect, and displayed an inexhaustible power of sitting still. He kept his place long after the meal was finished, in the most easy attitude possible, and smoked, drank, and chatted. His presence gave to the life in the old home a new and strange tone; his very being brought something unharmonious into the room. But he disturbed none of the traditional customs of the house. He was faithful to morning and evening prayers, asked permission to attend one of the Frau Consul’s Sunday School classes, and even appeared on a Jerusalem evening in the drawing-room and was presented to the guests, but withdrew affrighted when Lea Gerhardt began to read aloud.

He was soon known in the town. They spoke in the great houses about the Buddenbrooks’ guest from Bavaria; but neither in the family nor on the Bourse did he make connections, and as it was already the time when people were making ready to go to the shore, the Consul refrained from introducing Herr Permaneder into society. But he devoted himself with zeal to the guest, taking time from his business and civic engagements to show him about the town and point out the medival monuments—churches, gates, fountains,

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Hello! I am new to Wikisource, although I have made many minor edits to Wikipedia over the years. I have a PhD in mathematics and an interest in the history of mathematics.

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RV 334 (BUDDENBROOKS) market, Town Hall, and Ship Company. He made him acquainted with his own nearest friends on Exchange and entertained him in every way. His mother took occasion one day to thank him for his self-sacrifice; but he only remarked drily: “Why, ye-es, Mother—what wouldn’t one do?”

The Frau Consul left this unanswered. She did not even smile or move her eyelids, but shifted the gaze of her light eyes and changed the subject.

She preserved an even, hearty friendliness toward Herr Permaneder—which could hardly be said of her daughter. On the third or fourth day after his arrival the hop dealer let it be known that he had concluded his business with the local brewery. But a week and a half had passed since then, and he had been present for two children’s afternoons. On these occasions, Frau Grünlich had sat blushing and watching his every motion, casting quick embarrassed glances at Thomas and the three Buddenbrook cousins. She talked hardly at all, sat for long minutes stiff and speechless, or even got up and left the room.

The green blinds in Frau Grünlich’s sleeping-room were gently stirred by the mild air of a June night, for the windows were open. It was a large room, with simple furniture covered in grey linen. On the night table at the side of the high bed several little wicks burned in a glass with oil and water in it, filling the room with faint, even light. Frau Grünlich was in bed. Her pretty head was sunk softly in the lace-edged pillow, and her hands lay folded on the quilted coverlet. But her eyes, too thoughtful to close themselves, slowly followed the movements of a large insect with a lone body, which perpetually besieged the glass with a million soundless motions of his wings. Near the bed there was a framed text hanging on the wall, between two old copper-plate views of the town in the Middle Ages. It said: “Commit your ways unto the Lord.” But what good is a text like that when you are lying awake at midnight, and you have to

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RV 335 (BUDDENBROOKS) decide for your whole life, and other people’s too, whether it shall be yes or no?

It was very still. The clock ticked away on the wall, and the only other sound was Mamsell Jungmann’s occasional cough. Her room was next to Tony’s, divided only by curtains from it. She still had a light. The born-and-bred Prussian was sitting under the hanging lamp at her extension-table, darning stockings for little Erica. The child’s deep, peaceful breathing could be heard in the room, for Sesemi’s pupils were having summer holidays and Erica was at home again.

Frau Grünlich sighed and sat up a little, propping her head on her hand. “Ida,” she called softly, “are you still sitting there mending?”

“Yes, yes, Tony, my child,” Ida answered. “Sleep now; you will be geiting up early in the morning, and you won't get enough rest.”

“All right, Ida. You will wake me at six o'clock?”

“Half past is early enough, child. The carriage is ordered for eight. Go on sleeping, so you will look fresh and pretty.”

“Oh, I haven’t slept at all yet.”

“Now, Tony, that is a bad child. Do you want to look all knocked up for the picnic? Drink seven swallows of water, and then lie down and count a thousand.”

“Oh, Ida, do come here a minute. I can’t sleep, I tell you, and my head aches for thinking. Feel—I think I have some fever, and there is something the matter with my tummy again. Or is it because I am anmic? The veins in my temples are all swollen and they beat so that it hurts; but still, there may be too little blood in my head.”

A chair was pushed back, and Ida Jungmann’s lean, vigorous figure, in her unfashionable brown gown, appeared between the portières.

“Now, now, Tony—fever? Let me feel, my child—I’ll make you a compress.”

She went with her long firm masculine tread to the chest for a handkerchief, dipped it into the water-basin, and, going

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RV 336 (BUDDENBROOKS) back to the bed, laid it on Tony’s forehead, stroking her brow a few times with both hands.

“Thank you, Ida; that feels good.—Oh, please sit down a few minutes, good old Ida. Sit down on the edge of the bed. You see, I keep thinking the whole time about to-morrow. What shall I do? My head is going round and round.”

Ida sat down beside her, with her needle and the stocking drawn over the darner again in her hand, and bent over them the smooth grey head and the indefatigable bright brown eyes. “Do you think he is going to propose to-morrow?” she asked.

“No doubt of it at all. He won’t lose this opportunity. It happened with Clara on just such an expedition. I could avoid it, of course, I could keep with the others all the time and not let him get near me. But then, that would settle it! He is leaving day after to-morrow, he said, and he cannot stay any longer if nothing comes of it to-day. It must be decided to-day.—But what shall I say, Ida, when he asks me? You’ve never been married, so of course you know nothing about life, really; but you are a truthful woman, and you have some sense—and you are forty-two years old! Do tell me what you think.—I do so need advice!”

Ida Jungmann let the stocking fall into her lap.

“Yes, yes, Tony child, I have thought a great deal about it. But what I think is, there is nothing to advise about. He can’t go away without speaking to you and your Mamma, and if you didn’t want him, you should have sent him away before now.”

“You are right there, Ida; but I could not do it—I suppose because it is to be! But now I keep thinking: ‘It isn’t too late yet; I can still draw back!’ So I am living here tormenting myself—”

“Do you like him, Tony? Tell me straight out.”

“Yes, Ida. It would not be the truth if I should say no. He is not handsome—but that isn’t the important thing in this life; and he is as good as gold, and couldn’t do anything mean—at least, he seems so to me. When I think about

RV 336 (336)


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