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 curse, which now weighs me down to the earth with sorrow and remorse!"

"Did I not urge him," replied the Count, "Did I not supplicate him on my knees in your behalf? Did I not beseech him to consider your situation and his own? Unjust Ferdinand to reproach me—me, who have for three years wearied my father with tears, supplications and entreaties, to forgive and receive you to his paternal arms! What have I left unsaid, or undone, to convince you of my brotherly affection?"

"Pardon me," cried Ferdinand, extending his hand: "Forgive me, my dear brother, I know my inexpressible obligations to you; but grief, despair, and heart-rending retrospections, deprive me of my reason. O, my father! to the grave, even beyond this world, hast thou carried thy hatred and reprobation of thy wretched son! How great, how good, how benevolent, how forgiving to all, was Count Renaud! What then must my crimes


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 Rh "When this embassy returned, they were accompanied by An, who carried gold embroidered silk stuffs for the King. At that time an envoy of the Wa-la (Oirats) complained that Ma-ha-ma was arming for making war on the Wa-la. The emperor sent to warn him. In 1413 Ma-ha-ma sent one of his generals with tribute to China. He reached Kan Su. Orders had been given to the civil and military authorities to receive him honourably.

"In the next year (1414) people returning from the Si-yu brought the intelligence that Ma-ha-ma's brother and another had both died in a short interval. The emperor sent again An to Bie-shi-ba-li, with a letter of condolence. When Ma-ha-ma died he left no son. His nephew, Na-hei-shi-dji-han, succeeded him, and in the spring of 1416 despatched an envoy to inform the emperor of his uncle's death. The emperor sent the eunuch Li Ta to offer a sacrifice in memory of the late King and confer the title of wang (King) on his successor. In 1417 Na-hei-shi-dji-han sent an embassy to inform the emperor that he was about to marry a princess from Sa-ma-rh-han, and solicited in exchange for horses, a bride's trousseau. Then 500 pieces of variegated and 500 of plain white silk stuff were bestowed on the King of Bie-shi-ba-li as wedding presents.

"In 1418 an envoy, by name Su-ko, arrived from Bie-shi-ba-li, reporting that his sovereign (Na-hei-shi-dji-han) had been slain by his cousin, Wai-sz, who then had declared himself King. At the same time Wai-sz with his people had transferred their abode to the west, changing the former name of the empire (Bie-shi-ba-li) into I-li-ba-li. The emperor said that it was not his custom to meddle with the internal affairs of foreign countries. He bestowed upon Su-ko the rank of tu tu ts'ien shi, and at the same time sent the eunuch Yang Chung with a mission to Wai-sz, conferring on the King, as presents, an arrow, a sword, a suit of armour, and silk stuffs. The chieftain Hu-dai-da and more than seventy other people of I-li-ba-li all received presents. Subsequently Wai-sz sent frequently tribute to the Chinese court, as did also his mother, So-lu-tan Ha-tun (Sultan Khatun).

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


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Rh Courts must heed the ordinary meaning of the phrase as a whole, not just the meaning of the words in the phrase. That is because a phrase may have a more precise or confined meaning than the literal meaning of the individual words in the phrase. Examples abound. An “American flag” could literally encompass a flag made in America, but in common parlance it denotes the Stars and Stripes. A “three-pointer” could literally include a field goal in football, but in common parlance, it is a shot from behind the arc in basketball. A “cold war” could literally mean any wintertime war, but in common parlance it signifies a conflict short of open warfare. A “washing machine” could literally refer to any machine used for washing any item, but in everyday speech it means a machine for washing clothes.

This Court has often emphasized the importance of sticking to the ordinary meaning of a phrase, rather than the meaning of words in the phrase. In FCC v. AT&T Inc., 562 U. S. 397 (2011), for example, the Court explained: "“AT&T’s argument treats the term ‘personal privacy’ as simply the sum of its two words: the privacy of a person.... But two words together may assume a more particular meaning than those words in isolation. We understand a golden cup to be a cup made of or resembling gold. A golden boy, on the other hand, is one who is charming, lucky, and talented. A golden opportunity is one not to be missed. ‘Personal’ in the phrase ‘personal privacy’ conveys more than just ‘of a person.’ It suggests a type of privacy evocative of human concerns—not the sort usually associated with an entity like, say, AT&T.” Id., at 406."


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 have been, in what magnitude must they have appeared to him, thus to draw down everlasting resentment!"

He covered his face with his hands, and throwing his head upon the bosom of his brother, wept aloud; his whole frame was convulsed, and Rhodophil was obliged to call for assistance, that he might be conveyed to a bed, where it was some hours before the extreme violence of his feelings subsided into a melancholy silent sorrow. His brother and the steward of the late Count remained with him, and when they found the turbulence of grief had a little abated, the Count again mentioned the will.

"As it may be possible some particular orders may be given respecting the funeral, and more than probable that the contents of this packet may speak peace to your wounded mind, it is necessary, my dear brother (continued he) that we break the seals."Ferdinand bowed an assent; speech was de-


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 nied him at that moment, the principal domestics being summoned to the apartment, Rhodophil broke the seals, and delivered the packet to the steward.

"Do you read it," said he; "neither my eyes or my heart will permit me to do it."—The steward obeyed. There was a schedule of his estate and effects, which in a few words Count Renaud gave to the entire possession of his dear and dutiful son Rhodophil, 'a few legacies only excepted to his servants.'

"How!" cried the Count, "all, what all to me! Impossible! Is there no mention made of my brother?"

"No, my Lord," replied the old man, delivering the papers with a look of sorrow; "no, I have too truly read all the contents."

Not a word escaped from the lips of Ferdinand; at that moment riches or poverty was indifferent to him, nor could the wealth


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 of nations have given him peace or comfort, when unaccompanied with the forgiveness of a parent.

"How cruel, how unjust!" cried Rhodophil; "but he knew my heart. Yes, my dear brother," added he, embracing Ferdinand, "our father well knew that in giving all to me, he had procured to me the inexpressible delight of voluntarily sharing it with my brother. Henceforth (looking round on the servants) know you have two masters; my brother is equal with me in fortune, power, and command."

The servants bowed and withdrew, all but the faithful and affectionate Ernest, who had been upwards of twenty years steward to the late Lord, and had ever fondly loved the unhappy, reprobated, Ferdinand.—Rhodophil reiterated his caresses, and tender expressions: "We will no longer be separated (said he;) your Claudina, your little


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 Charles, shall be equally dear to me, as to yourself."

Ferdinand started up:—"Claudina! my Claudina!" repeated he, "Well, have you reminded me, I left her oppressed with sickness and sorrow."

"Hasten to her, then," said the Count; "let her be removed to the Castle immediately; accommodated here, she will soon be restored to health."

Rhodophil withdrew; his brother taking Ernest by the hand, "My worthy old man, your looks bespeak a sympathizing soul.—You read my heart: Oh! Ernest, it is not the loss of riches I deplore, my brother's kindness will relieve me there; but a father's curse, carried beyond the grave! there, there's the wound that never can be healed. My wife, poor, poor Claudina! how shall I return to tell her the sad event, already


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 sinking under sorrows she thinks she has deserved—in her situation too!"

"Dear master, dear Sir," cried Ernest, "I beg you to take comfort, the worst is now past, I am sure, I know my late good master forgave you in his heart, his mind never, never, harboured eternal displeasure and resentment. Things are contrary to my expectation; but—I dare not say all I think, nor will it avail now; but I beseech you, Sir, to hasten home to your poor dwelling, from whence you shall quickly return with all that is dear to you; I will prepare every thing, and then follow you."—With a heavy sigh that seemed to burst his heart-strings, a look of inexpressible grief, Ferdinand wrung his hand, and with slow and trembling steps repaired to his humble habitation in the suburbs of Baden, about a mile from the Castle of Renaud.

When his footsteps reached the threshold, he stopped, and paused: "The truth will


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 kill her (cried he:) Sure, if ever deception was pardonable, it may be now; yet how dearly have I already paid for the violation of truth! Heaven pardon me, for I must deceive her. Alas! one deviation from rectitude is productive of innumerable errors which spring from each other, and plunge us rapidly into guilt!" He entered the house at the very moment when his unfortunate wife had given birth to a daughter. The intelligence pierced his heart: "Another burden on the bounty of a brother!" exclaimed he, softly as he passed to the room where his Claudina lay. The sight of her instantly banished every idea, but anxiety for her safety.

He flew to her, "My love! my wife!" She fixed her feeble eyes upon him: "I am become a mother to another poor unfortunate. Ah! Ferdinand, have you found a father?" What a dagger to the heart of her husband was this question!


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 "All is well, my love," answered he, struggling to repress his emotions: "Compose your mind, and expect happier days; the moment you can be removed without danger, we shall reside at the Castle."—She uttered a faint exclamation of joy, and fainted. Ferdinand was terrified, and blamed himself for his abrupt communication; but happily she was soon restored, and capable of rejoicing at such unhoped-for intelligence.

"You are no longer reprobated then," said she, tenderly kissing his hand, "no longer consigned to misery, and our dear infants will not endure the pinching gripe of poverty. Blessed, blessed Count! you have at length relented, and I may think existence a blessing." This apostrophe was more than the unhappy Ferdinand could bear. Unable to speak, he hastily left the room; his poor deceived wife judging what he must feel from such a (supposed) revolution in his circumstances, imagined he had withdrawn, that their mutual transports might not too much agitate her


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 spirits; a thousand pleasing visions floated in her brain, and to have her husband restored to a father's love, to have her dear children rescued from want and misery, were such delightful considerations, that she was not sorry she could indulge them freely, and repressed her curiosity for particulars, satisfied that the event was certain.

Mean time Ferdinand sat lost in thought, and overwhelmed in wretchedness, the kindness of his brother afforded no compensation for the unalterable displeasure of his father, nor could he reconcile to himself, that determined hatred which one error (in his eyes a venial one, and not deserving such everlasting resentment) had drawn upon him, as at all consistent with the benevolence which had always formed a distinguished feature in the character of the late Count Renaud. Tormented by these painful conjectures he was found by Ernest, who came to acquaint him, that he had given orders for apartments to be instantly prepared for


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 him and his family, and was come to wait on his Lady to the Castle.

Ferdinand, roused by the entrance of his good old friend, soon informed him of the impossibility of their immediate removal, from his wife's situation, and also of the deception he had been compelled to give into.—"She does not as yet know of my father's death (continued he;) her too susceptible heart would sink under the knowledge of what my sufferings must be in such circumstances; by degrees, as her strength returns, I must reveal the dreadful truth:—But, oh! my friend, I cannot live a burden on the bounty of a brother, something I must resolve on, and if his kindness protects my wife and children, I will endeavour to support a separation from all that is dear to me, and carve out my own fortune by my sword.

Ernest had nothing to answer against this resolution but affectionate regrets, he had but too much cause to think the intention


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10 Exactly right and exactly on point in this case.

Justice Scalia explained the extraordinary importance of hewing to the ordinary meaning of a phrase: “Adhering to the fair meaning of the text (the textualist’s touchstone) does not limit one to the hyperliteral meaning of each word in the text. In the words of Learned Hand: ‘a sterile literalism ... loses sight of the forest for the trees.’ The full body of a text contains implications that can alter the literal meaning of individual words.” A. Scalia & B. Garner, Reading Law 356 (2012) (footnote omitted). Put another way, “the meaning of a sentence may be more than that of the separate words, as a melody is more than the notes.” Helvering v. Gregory, 69 F. 2d 809, 810–811 (CA2 1934) (L. Hand, J.). Judges must take care to follow ordinary meaning “when two words combine to produce a meaning that is not the mechanical composition of the two words separately.” Eskridge, Interpreting Law, at 62. Dictionaries are not “always useful for determining the ordinary meaning of word clusters (like ‘driving a vehicle’) or phrases and clauses or entire sentences.” Id., at 44. And we must recognize that a phrase can cover a “dramatically smaller category than either component term.” Id., at 62.

If the usual evidence indicates that a statutory phrase bears an ordinary meaning different from the literal strung-together definitions of the individual words in the phrase, we may not ignore or gloss over that discrepancy. “Legislation cannot sensibly be interpreted by stringing together dictionary synonyms of each word and proclaiming that, if the right example of the meaning of each is selected, the ‘plain meaning’ of the statute leads to a particular result. No theory of interpretation, including textualism itself, is premised on such an approach.” 883 F. 3d 100, 144, n. 7 (CA2 2018) (Lynch, J., dissenting).


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 adopted by many modern composers. A typical example occurs in the accompaniment to "Jerusalem, thou that killest the prophets" (St. Paul). He is also very fond of smooth, running legato passages for the two flutes, generally in thirds, as in the accompaniment to "Let all men praise the Lord" (Hymn of Praise). , Hymn of Praise, "Let all men praise the Lord." He assigns to the flute a dainty little obligato to the contralto solo "Oh rest in the Lord" (Elijah), giving it a graceful turn at the conclusion. Mendelssohn never writes anything difficult or in the bravura style for the flute; and although in the overture to Athalie he uses the high B♮′′′, as a rule he does not go above A′′′. He was one of the first to introduce tremolo passages on the flute.

Mendelssohn seldom introduces the piccolo. The only instances I can find are the overtures Meeresstille; Loreley; the Military Overture, op. 24, for wind and drums only; and several times in the Walpurgis' Nacht. Strange to say, it is not used in Midsummer Night's Dream, where we might have expected it. He never employs more than one, or uses it above G′′′.


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To Haydon

 * "To Haydon", in The Poetical Works of John Keats (1884)
 * "To Haydon (with the preceding sonnet)", in The complete poetical works and letters of John Keats (1899), edited by Horace Elisha Scudder

title: To Haydon


text:
Author:Elizabeth Anna Sophia Dawes

As translator

 * The Alexiad by Anna Komnene (1928)

title: Author:Elizabeth Anna Sophia Dawes


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Rh In other words, this Court’s precedents and longstanding principles of statutory interpretation teach a clear lesson: Do not simply split statutory phrases into their component words, look up each in a dictionary, and then mechanically put them together again, as the majority opinion today mistakenly does. See. To reiterate Justice Scalia’s caution, that approach misses the forest for the trees.

A literalist approach to interpreting phrases disrespects ordinary meaning and deprives the citizenry of fair notice of what the law is. It destabilizes the rule of law and thwarts democratic accountability. For phrases as well as terms, the “linchpin of statutory interpretation is ordinary meaning, for that is going to be most accessible to the citizenry desirous of following the law and to the legislators and their staffs drafting the legal terms of the plans launched by statutes and to the administrators and judges implementing the statutory plan.” Eskridge, Interpreting Law, at 81; see Scalia, A Matter of Interpretation, at 17.

Bottom line: Statutory Interpretation 101 instructs courts to follow ordinary meaning, not literal meaning, and to adhere to the ordinary meaning of phrases, not just the meaning of the words in a phrase.

Second, in light of the bedrock principle that we must adhere to the ordinary meaning of a phrase, the question in this case boils down to the ordinary meaning of the phrase “discriminate because of sex.” Does the ordinary meaning of that phrase encompass discrimination because of sexual orientation? The answer is plainly no.


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 46 "In 1428 Wai-sz died, and was succeeded by his son, Ye-sien bu-hua, who also sent repeatedly tribute to China. Tribute was also offered by Bu-sai-in, the son-in-law of the late King.

"Ye-sien bu-hua died in 1445, and was succeeded by Ye-mi-li-hu-djo. The latter sent camels as tribute, and also a block of rude jade weighing 3800 kin, but not of the best quality. The Chinese government returned for every two kin of jade one piece of white silk.

"In 1457 a Chinese envoy was sent to I-li-ba-li with presents for the King, and in 1456 again. It was then settled that I-li-ba-li was to send tribute every three or five years, and the number of the people in the suite of the envoy should not surpass ten men. Subsequently embassies from that country were seldom seen at the Chinese court."

Isán Bugha Khán seems to have been called into Moghulistan about 721 (1321), and to have reigned till 730 (1330).

An Interregnum.

Tughluk Timur Khán, son of Isán Bugha, born about 730, began to reign 748 (1347), died 764 (1363).

Usurpation of Amir Kámar-ud-Din. It was against him that the expeditions of Timur into Moghulistan were directed— 768–94 (1367–1392).

Khizir Khwája Khán, son of Tughluk Timur, raised to the throne in 791, before Kámar-ud-Din's death. He reigned till 801 (1399), and was succeeded by his son,

Shama-i-Jahán, who was succeeded by his brother,

Nakhsh-i-Jahán, who was succeeded by his brother,

Muhammad Khán, who was succeeded by his son,

Shir Muhammad Khán, who was succeeded by his nephew,

Sultan Vais Khán, the son of Shir Ali Oghlán, the brother of Shir Muhammad. Sultan Vais was killed 832 (1428–9). .


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vacant seat in the Senate must, according to the Constitution, be filled within four weeks. Three of them have passed, and this is election-day—a day of thaw, at the end of February.

It is about one o’clock, and people are thronging into Broad Street. They are thronging before the Town Hall, with its ornamental glazed-brick façade, its pointed towers and turrets mounting toward a whitish grey sky, its covered steps supported on outstanding columns, its pointed arcades, through which there is a glimpse of the market place and the fountain. The crowd stands steadfastly in the dirty slush that melts beneath their feet; they look into each other’s faces and then straight ahead again, and crane their necks. For beyond that portal, in the Council Room, in fourteen armchairs arranged in a semicircle sit the electors, who have been chosen from the Senate and the Assembly and await the proposals of the voting chambers.

The affair has spun itself out. It appears that the debate in the chambers will not die down; the struggle is so bitter that up to now not one single unanimous choice has been put before the Council—otherwise the Burgomaster would at once announce an election. Extraordinary! Rumours—nobody knows whence, nobody knows how—come from within the building and circulate in the street. Perhaps Herr Kaspersen, the elder of the two beadles, who always refers to himself as a “servant of the State,” is standing inside there and telling what he hears, out of the corner of his mouth, through his shut teeth, with his eyes turned the other way! The story goes that proposals have been laid before the

RV 21 (21)


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 Schubert gives the flutes a good deal of solo work; sometimes he uses only one. The scherzo of the Ninth Symphony contains a delicious melody given to the flute: this was an afterthought. In the overture to Rosamunde von Cypern (op. 26) we find a remarkable scale passage for the flute alone. Important solo passages occur also in the overtures in Italian style and Des Teufel's Lustschloss. The Sixth Symphony (andante) has a Haydn-like passage for two flutes and two oboes; they are subsequently joined by the clarinet. He is skilful in contrasting the tone of the different wood-wind, and in the Rosamunde ballet music and entre-act makes the flute, oboe, and clarinet converse with one another in a most delightful manner. Schubert never uses the piccolo in his symphonies; but it is to be found in several of his (now-forgotten) operas, which also contain several important flute solos. As a rule he employs only the upper register of the flute, often ascending to the , Symphony, No. 1, Cadenza.


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RV 22 (BUDDENBROOKS) sitting, but that each of the three chambers has turned in a different name: namely Hagenström, Kistenmaker, and Buddenbrook. A secret ballot must now be taken, with ballot-papers—it is to be hoped that it will show a clear plurality! For people without overshoes are suffering, and stamping their feet to warm them.

The waiting crowd is made up of all sorts and conditions. There are sea-faring characters, with bare tattoed necks and their hands in the pockets of their sailor trousers; grain porters with their incomparably respectable countenances, and their blouses and knee-breeches of black glazed calico; drivers who have clambered down from their wagons of piled-up sacks, and stand whip in hand to wait for the decision; servant-maids in neckerchiefs, aprons and thick striped petticoats with little white caps perched on the backs of their heads and market-baskets hanging on their bare arms; fish and vegetable women with their flat straw baskets—even a couple of pretty farm girls with Dutch caps, short skirts, and long flowing sleeves coming out from their gaily-embroidered stay-bodies. Mingled among these, burghers, shop-keepers who have come out hatless from neighbouring shops to exchange their views, sprucely-dressed young men who are apprentices in the business of their fathers or their fathers’ friends—and schoolboys with satchels and bundles of books.

Two labourers with bristling sailor beards, stand chewing their tobacco; behind them is an excited lady, craning her neck this way and that to get a glimpse of the Town Hall between their powerful shoulders. She wears a long evening cloak trimmed with brown fur, which she holds together from the inside with both hands. Her face is well covered with a thick brown veil. She shifts her feet about in the melting snow.

“Gawd! Kurz bain’t gettin’ it this time, nuther, be he?” says the one labourer to the other.

“Naw, ye mutton-head, ’tis certain he bain’t. There’s no

RV 22 (22)


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RV 23 (BUDDENBROOKS) more talk o’ him. Th’ votin’s between Hagenström, Buddenbrook, ’n’ Kistenmaker. ’Tis all about they,—now.”

“ ’Tis whether which one o’ th’ three be ahead o’ the others, eh?”

“So ’tis; yes, they do say so.”

“Then I’m minded they’ll be choosin’ Hagenström.”

“Eh, smarty—so they’ll be choosin’ Hagenström? Ye can tell that to yer grandmother!” And therewith he spits his tobacco-juice on the ground close to his own feet, the crowd being too dense to admit of a trajectory. He takes hold of his trousers in both hands and pulls them up higher under his belt, and goes on: “Hagenström, he’s a great pig—he be so fat he can’t breathe through his own nose! If so be it’s all o’er wi’ Kurz then I’m fer Buddenbrook. ’Tis a very shrewd chap.”

“So ’tis, so ’tis. But Hagenström, he’s got the money.”

“That bain’t the question—’tis no matter o’ riches.”

“ ’n’ then this Buddenbrook—he be so devilish fine wi’ his cuffs ’n’ his silk tie ’n’ his stickin’-out moustaches; hast seen him walk? He hops along like a bird.”

“Ye ninny, that bain’t the question, no more’n th’ other.”

“They say his sister’ve put away two men a’ready.” The lady in the fur cloak trembles visibly.

“Eh, that soart o’ thing—what do we know about it? Likely the Consul he couldn’t help it hisself.”

The lady in the veil thinks to herself, “He couldn’t, indeed! Thank God for that,” and presses her hands together, inside her cloak.

“ ’n’ then,” adds the Buddenbrook partisan, “didn’t the Burgomaster his own self stan’ godfeyther to his son? Can’t ye tell somethin’ by that?”

“Yes, can’t you indeed?” thinks the lady. “Thank heaven, that did do some good.” She starts. A fresh rumour from the Town Hall, running zig-zag through the crowd, has reached her ears. The balloting, it seems, has not been decisive. Eduard Kistenmaker, indeed, has received fewer votes than

RV 23 (23)


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RV 24 (BUDDENBROOKS) the other two candidates, and his name has been dropped. But the struggle goes on between Buddenbrook and Hagenström. A sapient citizen remarks that if the voting continues to be even, it will be necessary to appoint five arbitrators.

A voice, down in front at the entrance steps, shouts suddenly: “Heine Seehas is ’lected—rah for Heine Seehas!” Heine Seehas, be it known, is an habitual drunkard, who peddles hot bread on a little wagon through the streets. Everybody roars with laughter, and stands on tip-toe to see the wag who is responsible for the joke. The lady in the veil is seized with a nervous giggle; her shoulders shake for a moment, and then give a shrug which expresses as plainly as words: “Is this the time for tom-foolery like that?” She collects herself again, and stares with intensity between the two labourers at the Town Hall. But almost at the same moment her hands slip from her cloak, so that it opens in front, her figure relaxes, her shoulders droop, she stands there entirely crushed.

Hagenström!—The word seems to have come from nobody knows where—down from the sky, or up from the earth. It is everywhere at once. There is no contradiction. So it is decided. Hagenström! Hagenström it is, then. One may as well go home. The lady in the veil might have known. It was ever thus. She will go home—she feels the tears rising in her throat.

This state of things has lasted a second or so, when there occurs a shouting and a backward jostling of the throng. It runs through the whole assemblage, as those in front press back those behind, and at the same time something red appears in the doorway. It is the coats of the beadles Kaspersen and Uhlefeldt. They are in full-dress uniform, with white riding breeches, three-cornered hats, yellow gauntlet gloves, and short dress swords. They appear side by side, and make their way through the crowd, which falls back before them.

They move like fate: silent, resolved, inexorable, not

RV 24 (24)


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 highest B♭′′′. The same is the case with Schumann, who hardly ever writes a passage for the low notes. Schumann allots to the flutes, as a rule, either sustained chords along with the other wind, or else chromatic passages. The overture to Manfred has a flute solo of considerable length, and his First Symphony contains several important flute passages: in the andante we find a remarkable shake and cadenza for the flute. The Fourth Symphony has elaborate running passages for two flutes in unison with the violins. Schumann never uses the piccolo in his symphonies; but we find it in Paradise and the Peri (where one in D♭ is used in a difficult passage in D minor), and in several of his overtures. He rarely, if ever, uses the piccolo without the flute, but in his Concertstück for horns (op. 83) he gives it an independent melody whilst the flutes play chords.

The increased facility and the improvement in the instrument consequent on the introduction of the Böhm flute have caused modern composers to write very freely for it. They use it often as they would a violin, and think nothing of giving it passages or great technical difficulty, such as the earlier composers would never have dreamed of assigning to it. Moreover, the number used is systematically increased to three (Haydn, Gretry, and Meyerbeer had already occasionally introduced three), and sometimes a piccolo is used in addition. Quantz recommended that an orchestra


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RV 25 (BUDDENBROOKS) looking to right or left, with gaze directed toward the ground. They take, according to instructions, the route marked out by the election. And it is not in the direction of Sand Street! They have turned to the right—they are going down Broad Street!

The lady in the veil cannot believe her eyes. However, all about her, people are seeing just what she sees; they are pushing on after the beadles, and saying to each other: “It isn’t Hagenström, it’s Buddenbrook!” And a group of gentlemen emerge from the portal, in excited conversation, and hurry with rapid steps down Broad Street, to be the first to offer congratulations.

Then the lady holds her cloak together and runs for it. She runs, indeed, as seldom lady runs. Her veil blows up, revealing her flushed face—no matter for that; and one of her furred goloshes keeps flapping open in the sloppy snow and hindering her frightfully: yet she outruns them all! She gains the house at the corner of Bakers’ Street, she rings the alarm-bell at the vestibule-door—fire, murder, thieves!—she shouts at the maid who opens: “They're coming, Kathrin, they’re coming,” takes the stairs, and storms into the living-room, Her brother himself sits there, certainly a little pale. He puts down his paper and makes a gesture, almost as if to ward her off. But she puts her arms about him, and repeats: “They’re coming, Tom, they're coming! You are the man—and Hermann Hagenström is out!”

That was Friday. On the following day, Senator Buddenbrook stood in the Council Hall, in the seat of the deceased James Möllendorpf, and in the presence of the City Fathers there assembled, and the Delegation of Burgesses, he took the oath: “I will conscientiously perform the duties of my office, strive with all my power for the good of the State, faithfully obey the Constitution, honourably pursue the public weal, and in the discharge of my office, regard neither my own advantage nor that of my relatives and friends. I will

RV 25 (25)


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RV 26 (BUDDENBROOKS) support the laws of the State and do justice on all alike, whether rich or poor. In all things where secrecy is needful, I will not speak, and especially will I not reveal what is given me to keep silent. So help me God!”

RV 26 (26)


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desires and our performance are conditioned by certain needs of our nervous systems which are very hard to define in words. What people called Thomas Buddenhrook’s “vanity”—his care for his personal appearance, his extravagant dressing—was at bottom not vanity hut something else entirely. It was, originally, no more than the effort of a man of action to be certain, from head to toe, of the adequacy and correctness of his bearing. But the demands made by himself and by others upon his talents and his capacities were constantly increased. He was overwhelmed by public and private affairs. When the Senate sat to appoint its committees, one of the main departments, the administration of the taxes, fell to his lot. But tolls, railways, and other administrative business claimed his time as well; and he presided at hundreds of committees that called into play all the capacities he possessed: he had to summon every ounce of his flexibility, his foresight, his power to charm, in order not to wound the sensibilities of his elders, to defer constantly to them, and yet to keep the reins in his own hands. If his so-called vanity notably increased at the same time, if he felt a greater and greater need to refresh himself bodily, to renew himself, to change his clothing several times a day, all this meant simply that Thomas Buddenbrook, though he was barely thirty-seven years old, was losing his elasticity, was wearing himself out fast.

When good Dr. Grabow begged him to relax a little, he answered, “Oh, my dear Doctor, I haven’t reached that point yet!” By which he meant that he still had an interminable deal of work to do before he arrived at the goal and could

RV 27 (27)


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RV 28 (BUDDENBROOKS) settle back to enjoy himself. The truth was, he hardly believed himself in such a condition. Yet it drove him on, it left him no peace. Even when he seemed to rest, as he sat with the paper after dinner, a thousand ideas whirled about in his brain, while the veins stood out on his temples, and he twisted the ends of his moustaches with a certain still intensity of passion. He concentrated with equal violence whether the subject of his thought was a business manœuvre, a public speech, or a decision to renew his entire stock of body linen, in order to be sure that he had enough, for a while, at least.

If such wholesale buying afforded him passing relief and satisfaction, he could indulge himself in it without scruple, for his business at this time was as brilliant as ever it had been in his grandfather’s day. The repute of the firm grew, not only in the town but round about, and throughout the whole community he continued to be held in ever greater regard. His talents were admitted on all hands, with admiration or envy as the case might be; while he himself wrestled ceaselessly, at times despairingly, to evolve an order and method of work which should enable him to overtake the flights of his own restless imagination.

Thus, when, in the summer of 1863, Senator Buddenbrook went about with his mind full of plans for the building of a great new house, it was not arrogance which impelled him. He was driven by his own inability to be quiet—which his fellow-burghers would have been right in ascribing to his “vanity”—for it was another manifestation of the same thing. To make a new home, and a radical change in his outward life; to pack up, to re-install himself afresh, to weed out all the accumulations of bygone years and set aside everything old or superfluous: all this, even in imagination, gave him feelings of freshness, newness, spotlessness, stimulation. All of which he must have craved indeed, for he attacked the plan with great enthusiasm, and already had his eye on a suitable location. RV 28 (28)


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 should Include four flutesthe number found in the Berlin Hof-Kapelle in 1742but he probably intended that the parts should be doubled. Thus Berlioz uses four flutes playing only two parts in octaves in the march in his Te Deum (op. 22). In the "Agnus Dei" of his Great Mass for the Dead the four flutes play some chords of four notes, accompanied only by the trombones: here the fourth flute was not in the score as first written. I cannot recall any other orchestral example of four flutes playing four distinct notes. In the "Tibi omnes" the flutes have some wonderful arpeggios. In Berlioz's Funeral Symphony five flutes and four piccolos are directed to be used (the piccolos were originally in D♭ and the third flutes in E♭), but they all play in unison or octaves.

Berlioz was the only great composer (save Tschaïkowsky) who was himself a practical flautist. When a youth, his father bribed him to pursue his medical studies by the promise of a new flute with all the latest keys. Whilst quite a boy he was able to play Drouet's most difficult solos. In early life he composed two quintetts for flute and four strings, which he subsequently destroyed; but he afterwards used one of the themes in his Frane Juges. As a youthful student in Paris Berlioz gave lessons both on the flute and the guitar. In one of his letters he gives an amusing description of the usual style of prize compositions at the Conservatoire:


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RV 29 (BUDDENBROOKS) There was a property of considerable extent at the lower end of Fishers’ Lane. The house, grey with age, in bad repair, was offered for sale on the death of its owner, an ancient spinster, the relic of a forgotten family, who had dwelt there alone. On this piece of land the Senator thought to build his house; and he surveyed it with a speculative eye when he passed the spot on his way to the harbour. The neighbourhood was pleasant enough—good burgher-houses, the most modest among them being the narrow little façade opposite, with a small flower-shop on the ground floor.

He threw himself into the affair. He made a rough estimate of the expense involved, and though the sum he fixed provisionally was by no means a small one, he felt he could compass it without undue effort. But then he would suddenly have the thought that the whole thing was a senseless folly, and confess to himself that his present house had plenty of room for himself, his wife, their child, and their servants. But the half-conscious cravings were stronger; and in the desire to have them strengthened and justified from outside, he first revealed his plan to his sister.

“Well, Tony, what do you say to it? The whole house is a sort of band-box, isn’t it?—and the winding stair is really a joke. It isn’t quite the thing, is it? and now that you’ve had me made Senator—in a word, don’t you think I owe it to myself?”

Ah, in the eyes of Madame Permaneder, what was there he did not owe to himself? She was full of practical enthusiasm. She crossed her arms on her breast and walked up and down with her shoulders raised and her head in the air.

“Of course you do, Tom; goodness gracious, yes! What possible objection could there be? And when you have married an Arnoldsen, with a hundred thousand thaler to boot—I’m very proud to be the first you’ve told it to. It was lovely of you. And if you do do it, Tom, why, you must do it well, that’s what I say. It must be grand.”

“H’m, well, yes, I agree with you. I’m willing to spend

RV 29 (29)


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RV 30 (BUDDENBROOKS) something on it. I’ll have Voigt, and we’ll go over the plans together. Voigt has a great deal of taste.”

The second opinion which Thomas called in was Gerda’s. She praised the idea unreservedly. The confusion of moving would not be pleasant, but the prospect of a large music-room with good acoustic properties impressed her most happily. As for the old Frau Consul, she was quite prepared to think of the new house as a logical consequence of all the other blessings which had fallen to her lot, and to give thanks to God therefor, accordingly. Since the birth of the heir, and the recent election, she gave freer expression to her motherly pride, and had a way of saying “my son, the Senator,” which the Broad Street Buddenbrooks found most offensive.

These aging spinsters felt that all too little shadow set off the sunshine through which Thomas's outward life ran its brilliant course. It was no great consolation—at the Thursday family gatherings—to pour contempt on poor, good-natured Clothilde. As for Christian—Christian, through the good offices of Mr. Richardson, his former chief, had found a situation in London, whence he had lately telegraphed a fantastic desire to marry Fräulein Puvogel, an idea upon which his mother had firmly set her foot—Christian now belonged, quite simply, to Jacob Kröger’s class, and was, as it were, a dead issue. They consoled themselves, to some extent, with the little weaknesses of the old Frau Consul and Frau Permaneder. They would bring the conversation round to the subject of coiffures: the Frau Consul was capable of saying, in the blandest way, that she always wore “her” hair very simply, whereas it was plain to any one gifted by God with intelligence, and certainly to the Misses Buddenbrook, that the immutable red-blonde hair under the old lady’s cap could no longer by any stretch be called “her” hair. Still more gratifying was it to get Cousin Tony started on the subject of those nefarious persons who had formerly had an influence on her life. Teary Trietschke!

RV 30 (30)


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On the night of Monday, 20th June, in the year 1791, the baked streets of Paris were cooling after a day of cloudless sun. The pavements were emptying and the last hackney coaches were conveying festive citizens homewards. In the Rue de l'Echelle, at the corner where it is cut by the Rue St. Honoré, and where the Hôtel de Normandie stands to-day, a hackney carriage, of the type which was then called a "glass coach," stood waiting by the kerbcurb [sic]. It stood opposite the door of one Ronsin, a saddler, as if expecting a fare; but the windows were shuttered, and the honest Ronsin had gone to bed. On the box sat a driver in the ordinary clothes of a coachman, who while he waited took snuff with other cabbies, and with much good-humoured chaff declined invitations to drink.

The hour of eleven struck; the streets grew emptier and darker; but still the coach waited. Presently


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 of Earl of Perth presented himself in the person of a labourer in a Northumberland coal-pit. Hugh Miller, when working as a stone-mason near Edinburgh, was served by a hodman who was one of the numerous claimants for the earldom of Crauford—all that was wanted to establish his claim being a missing marriage certificate; and while the work was going on, the cry resounded from the walls many times in the day of—"John, Yearl Crauford, bring us anither hod o' lime." One of Oliver Cromwell's great grandsons was a grocer on Snow Hill, and others of his descendants died in great poverty. Many barons of proud names and titles have perished, like the sloth, upon their family tree, after eating up all the leaves; while others have been overtaken by adversities which they have been unable to retrieve, and sunk at last into poverty and obscurity Such are the mutabilities of rank and fortune.

The great bulk of our peerage is comparatively modern, so far as the titles go; but it is not the less noble that it has been recruited to so large an extent from the ranks of honourable industry. In olden times, the wealth and commerce of London, conducted as it was by energetic and enterprising men, was a prolific source of peerages. Thus, the earldom of Cornwallis was founded by Thomas Cornwallis, the Cheapside merchant; that of Essex by William Capel, the draper; and that of Craven by William Craven, the merchant tailor. The modern Earl of Warwick is not descended from the "King-maker," but from William Greville, the woolstapler; whilst the modern dukes of Northumberland find their head, not in the Percys, but in Hugh Smithson, a respectable London


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RV 31 (BUDDENBROOKS) Grünlich! Permaneder! Hagenström!—Tony, when she was egged on to it, would utter these names into the air like so many little trumpetings of disgust, with her shoulders well up. They had a sweet sound in the ears of the daughters of Uncle Gotthold.

They could not dissimulate, and they would accept no responsibility for omitting to say that little Johann was frightfully slow about learning to walk and talk. They were really quite right: it was an admitted fact that Hanno—this was the nickname adopted by the Frau Senator for her son—at a time when he was able to call all the members of his family by name with fair correctness, was incapable of pronouncing the names Friederike, Henriette, and Pfiffi so that any one could understand what he said. And at fifteen months he had not taken a single step alone. The Misses Buddenbrook, shaking their heads pessimistically, declared that the child would be halt and tongue-tied to the end of his days.

They later admitted the error of their gloomy prophecy; but nobody, in fact, denied that Hanno was a little backward. His early infancy was a struggle for life, and his family was in constant anxiety. At birth he had been too feeble to cry out; and soon after the christening a three-day attack of cholera-infantum was almost enough to still for ever the little heart set pumping, in the first place, with such difficulty. But he survived; and good Dr. Grabow did his best, by the most painstaking care and nourishment, to strengthen him for the difficult period of teething. The first tiny white point had barely pricked through the gum, when the child was attacked by convulsions, which repeated themselves with greater and greater violence, until again the worst was to be feared. Once more the old doctor speechlessly pressed the parents’ hands. The child lay in profound exhaustion, and the vacant look in the shadowy eyes indicated an affection of the brain. The end seemed almost to be wished for.

But Hanno regained some little strength, consciousness returned; and though the crisis which he had survived

RV 31 (31)


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On Visiting the Tomb of Burns

 * "On Visiting the Tomb of Burns", in The Poetical Works of John Keats (1884)
 * "On Visiting the Tomb of Burns", in The complete poetical works and letters of John Keats (1899), edited by Horace Elisha Scudder

title: On Visiting the Tomb of Burns


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RV 32 (BUDDENBROOKS) greatly hindered his progress in walking and talking, there was no longer any immediate danger to be feared. The child was slender of limb, and rather tall for his age. His hair, pale brown and very soft, began to grow rapidly, and fell waving over the shoulders of his full, pinafore-like frocks. The family likenesses were abundantly clear, even now. From the first he possessed the Buddenbrook hand, broad, a little too short, but finely articulated, and his nose was precisely the nose of his father and great-grandfather, though the nostrils would probably remain more delicate. But the whole lower part of his face, longish and narrow, was neither Buddenbrook nor Kröger, but from the mother’s side of the house. This was true of the mouth in particular, which, when closed, began very early to wear an anxious, woebegone expression that later matched the look of his strange, gold-brown, blue-shadowed eyes.

So he began to live: brooded over by his father’s reserved tenderness, clothed and nurtured under his mother’s watchful eye; prayed over by Aunt Antonie, presented with tops and hobby-horses by the Frau Consul and Uncle Justus; and when his charming little perambulator appeared on the streets, it was looked after with interest and expectation. Madame Decho, the stately nurse, had attended the child up to now; but it had been settled that when they moved into the new house, not she, but Ida Jungmann, should move in with them, and the latter’s place with the old Frau Consul be filled by somebody else.

Senator Buddenbrook carried out his plans. He had no difficulty in obtaining title to the property in Fishers’ Lane. The Broad Street house was turned over to Gosch the broker, who dramatically declared himself prepared to assume the task of disposing of it. Stephan Kistenmaker, who had a growing family, and, with his brother Eduard, made good money in the wine business, bought it at once. Herr Voigt undertook the new building, and soon there was a clean plan to unroll before the eyes of the family on Thursday after-

RV 32 (32)


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Berlioz makes frequent and delicious use of the flute, availing himself much of the low register; he employs the entire compass, right up to C in alt., as in Faust, in which work the flute has a fine running passage whilst the horn plays the melody. In L'Enfance du Christ we find an entire movement for two flutes and harpa rather unique combination. Berlioz was very fond of writing for the flute or piccolo along with the harp; a notable example occurs in his arrangement of Weber's Invitation à la Valse. The combination appears to have been much favoured by the ancient Egyptians, and many modern composers have adopted it; amongst others, Mehul (Uthal), Mendelssohn (Antigone), Meyerbeer (Prophete and Stuensee overture), Adam (Si J'etais Roi), R. Strauss (Tod und Verklartung), Brahms (Requiem). It is used by Wagner in The Rheingold (where the two instruments echo each other), in Lohengrin, and in The Walkure in a curious passage for two piccolos along with three harps answering each other.

Berlioz frequently combines the flute and oboe, sometimes giving the flute the lower part, an arrangement


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RV 33 (BUDDENBROOKS) noons, when they could, in fancy, see the facade already before them: an imposing brick façade with sandstone caryatides supporting the bow-window, and a flat roof, of which Clothilde remarked, in her pleasant drawl, that one might drink afternoon coffee there. The Senator planned to transfer the business offices to his new building, which would, of course, leave empty the ground floor of the house in Meng Street. But here also things turned out well: for it appeared that the City Fire Insurance Company wanted to rent the rooms by the month for their offices—which was quickly arranged.

Autumn came, and the grey walls crumbled to heaps of rubbish, and Thomas Buddenbrook’s new house rose above its roomy cellars, while winter set in and slowly waned again. In all the town there was no pleasanter topic of conversation. It was “tip-top”—it was the finest dwelling-house far and wide. But it must cost like the deuce—the old Consul would never have spent money so recklessly. Thus the neighbours, the middle-class dwellers in the gabled houses, looking out at the workmen on the scaffoldings, enjoying the sight of the rising walls, and speculating on the date of the carpenters’ feast.

It came at length, and was celebrated with due circumstance. Up on the flat-topped roof an old master mason made the festal speech and flung the champagne bottle over his shoulder, while the tremendous wreath, woven of roses, green garlands, and gay-coloured leaves, swayed between standards, heavily in the breeze. The workmen’s feast was held at a neighbouring inn, at long tables, with beer, sandwiches, and cigars; and Senator Buddenbrook and his wife and his little son on Madame Decho’s arm, walked through the narrow space between the tables and bowed his thanks at the cheers they gave him.

When they got outside, they put little Hanno hack into his carriage, and Thomas and Gerda crossed the road to have another look at the red façade with the white caryatides.

RV 33 (33)


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RV 34 (BUDDENBROOKS) They stood before the flower-shop with the narrow door and the poor little show-window, in which only a few pots of onions stood on a green glass slab. Iwersen, the proprietor, a blond giant of a man, in a woollen jacket, was in the doorway with his wife. She was of a quite different build, slender and delicate, with a dark, southern-looking face. She held a four- or five-year-old boy by one hand, while with the other she was pushing a little carriage back and forth, in which a younger child lay asleep; and she was plainly expecting a third blessing.

Iwersen made a low, awkward bow; his wife, continuing to push the little carriage hack and forth, looked calmly and observantly at the Frau Senator with her narrow black eyes, as the lady approached them on her husband’s arm.

Thomas paused and pointed with his walking-stick at the great garland far above them.

“You did a good job, Iwersen,” said he.

“No, Herr Sen’tor. That’s the wife’s work. She’s the one fer these affairs.”

“Oh,” said the Senator, raised his head with a little jerk, and gave, for a second, a clear friendly look straight into Frau Iwersen’s face. Then, without adding a word, he courteously waved his hand, and they moved on their way.

RV 34 (34)


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Sunday at the beginning of July—Senator Buddenbrook had moved some four weeks before—Frau Permaneder appeared at her brother’s house toward evening. She crossed the cool ground floor, paved with flags and decorated with reliefs by Thorwaldsen, whence there was a door leading into the bureau; she rang at the vestibule door—it could be opened from the kitchen by pressing on a rubber bulb—and entered the spacious lobby, where, at the foot of the steps, stood the bear presented by Tiburtius and Clara. Here she learned from Anton that the Senator was still at work.

“Very good, Anton,” she said. “I will go to him.”

Yet she did not go at once into the office, but passed the door that led into it and stood at the bottom of the splendid staircase, which as far as the first storey had a cast-iron balustrade, but at the distance of the second storey became a wide pillared balcony in white and gold, with a great gilt chandelier hanging down from the skylight’s dizzy height.

“Very elegant,” said Frau Permaneder, softly, in a tone of great satisfaction, gazing up into this spacious magnificence. To her it meant, quite simply, the power, the brilliance, and the triumph of the Buddenbrook family. But now it occurred to her that she was not, in fact, come upon a very cheerful errand, and she slowly turned away and passed through the door into the office.

Thomas sat there quite alone, in his place by the window, writing a letter. He glanced up, raised an eyebrow, and put out his hand to his sister.

“ ’Evening, Tony. What’s the good word?”

“Oh, nothing very good, Tom. Oh, your staircase—it’s

RV 35 (35)


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RV 36 (BUDDENBROOKS) just too splendid! Why are you sitting here writing in the dark?”

“It was a pressing letter. Well—nothing very good, eh? Come into the garden, a little. It is pleasanter out there.”

As they crossed the entry, a violin adagio came trillingly down from the storey above.

“Listen,” said Tony, and paused a moment. “Gerda is playing. How heavenly! What a woman! She isn’t a woman, she’s a fairy. How is Hanno, Tom?”

“Just having his supper, with Jungmann. Too bad he is so slow about walking—”

“Oh, that will come, Tom, that will come. Are you pleased with Ida?”

“Why not?”

They crossed the flags at the back, leaving the kitchen on the right, went through a glass door and up two steps into the lovely, scented flower-garden.

“Well?” the Senator asked.

It was warm and still. The fragrance from the neat beds and borders hung in the evening air, and the fountain, surrounded by tall pale purple iris, sent its stream gently plashing heavenward, where the first stars began to gleam. In the background, an open flight of steps flanked by low obelisks, led up to a gravelled terrace, with an open wooden pavilion, a closed marquee, and some garden chairs. On the left hand was the property wall between them and the next garden; on the right the side wall of the next house was covered with a wooden trellis intended for climbing plants. There were a few currant and gooseberry bushes at the sides of the terrace steps, but there was only one tree, a large, gnarled walnut by the left-hand wall.

“The thing is this,” answered Frau Permaneder, with some hesitation, as the brother and sister began to pace the gravel path of the fore part of the garden. “Tiburtius has written—” RV 36 (36)


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RV 37 (BUDDENBROOKS) “Clara?” questioned Thomas. “Please don’t make a long story of it.”

“Yes, Tom. She is in bed; she is very bad—the doctor is afraid of tuberculosis—of the brain.—I can hardly speak the words. Here is the letter Tiburtius wrote me, and enclosed another for Mother, which we are to give her when we have prepared her a little. It tells the same story. And there is this second enclosure, to Mother, from Clara herself—written in pencil, in a shaky hand. And Tiburtius wrote that she herself said they were the last she should write, for it seems the sad thing is she makes no effort to live. She was always longing for Heaven—” finished Frau Permaneder, and wiped her eyes.

The Senator walked at her side, his hands behind his back, his head bowed.

“You are so quiet, Tom. But you are right—what is there to say? Just now, too, when Christian lies ill in Hamburg—”

For this was, in fact, the state of things. Christian’s “misery” in the left side had increased so much of late that it had become actual pain, severe enough to make him forget all smaller woes. He was quite helpless, and had written to his mother from London that he was coming home, for her to take care of him. He quit his situation in London and started off; but at Hamburg had been obliged to take to his bed; the doctor diagnosed his ailment as rheumatism of the joints, and he had been removed from his hotel to a hospital. Any further journey was for the time impossible. There he lay, and dictated to his attendant letters that betrayed extreme depression.

“Yes,” said the Senator, quietly. “It seems as if one thing just followed on another.”

She put her arm for an instant across his shoulders.

“But you musn’t give way, Tom. This is no time for you to be down-hearted. You need all your courage—”

“Yes, God knows I need it.” RV 37 (37)


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RV 38 (BUDDENBROOKS) “What do you mean, Tom? Tell me, why were you so quiet Thursday afternoon at dinner, if I may ask?”

“Oh—business, my child. I had to sell no very small quantity of grain not very advantageously—or, rather, I had to sell a large quantity very much at a loss.”

“Well, that happens, Tom. You sell at a loss to-day, and to-morrow you make it good again. To get discouraged over a thing of that kind—”

“Wrong, Tony,” he said, and shook his head. “My courage does not go down to zero because I have a piece of bad luck. It’s the other way on. I believe in that, and events show it.”

“But what is the matter with it, then?” she asked, surprised and alarmed. “One would think you have enough to make you happy, Tom. Clara is alive, and with God’s help she will get better. And as for everything else—here we are, walking about, in your own garden, and it all smells so sweet—and yonder is your house, a dream of a house—Hermann Hagenström’s is a dog-kennel beside it! And you have done all that—”

“Yes, it is almost too beautiful, Tony. I’ll tell you—it is too new. It jars on me a little—perhaps that is what is the matter with me. It may be responsible for the bad mood that comes over me and spoils everything. I looked forward immensely to all this; but the anticipation was the best part of it—it always is. Everything gets done too slowly—so when it is finished the pleasure is already gone.”

“The pleasure is gone, Tom? At your age?”

“A man is as young, or as old, as he feels. And when one gets one’s wish too late, or works too hard for it, it comes already weighted with all sorts of small vexatious drawbacks—with all the dust of reality upon it, that one did not reckon with in fancy. It is so irritating—so irritating—”

“Oh yes.—But what do you mean by ‘as old as you feel’?”

“Why, Tony—it is a mood, certainly. It may pass. But just now I feel older than I am. I have business cares. And

RV 38 (38)


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RV 39 (BUDDENBROOKS) at the Directors’ meeting of the Buchen Railway yesterday, Consul Hagenström simply talked me down, refuted my contentions, nearly made me appear ridiculous. I feel that could not have happened to me before. It is as though something had begun to slip—as though I haven’t the firm grip I had on events.—What is success? It is an inner, an indescribable force, resourcefulness, power of vision; a consciousness that I am, by my mere existence, exerting pressure on the movement of life about me. It is my belief in the adaptability of life to my own ends. Fortune and success lie with ourselves. We must hold them firmly—deep within us. For as soon as something begins to slip, to relax, to get tired, within us, then everything without us will rebel and struggle to withdraw from our influence. One thing follows another, blow after blow—and the man is finished. Often and often, in these days, I have thought of a Turkish proverb; it says, ‘When the house is finished, death comes.’ It doesn’t need to be death. But the decline, the falling-off, the beginning of the end. You know, Tony,” he went on, in a still lower voice, putting his arm underneath his sister’s, “when Hanno was christened, you said: ‘It looks as if quite a new life would dawn for us all!’ I can still hear you say it, and I thought then that you were right, for I was elected Senator, and was fortunate in my business, and this house seemed to spring up out of the ground. But the ‘Senator’ and this house are superficial after all. I know, from life and from history, something you have not thought of: often, the outward and visible material signs and symbols of happiness and success only show themselves when the process of decline has already set in. The outer manifestations take time—like the light of that star up there, which may in reality be already quenched, when it looks to us to be shining its brightest.”

He ceased to speak, and they walked for a while in silence, while the fountain gently murmured, and a whispering sounded from the top of the walnut tree. Then Frau Permaneder breathed such a heavy sigh that it sounded like a sob. RV 39 (39)


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RV 40 (BUDDENBROOKS) “How sadly you talk, Tom. You never spoke so sadly before. But it is good to speak out, and it will help you to put all that kind of thoughts out of your mind.”

“Yes, Tony, I must try to do that, I know, as well as I can. And now give me the enclosures from Clara and the Pastor. It will be best, won’t it, for me to take over the matter, and speak to-morrow morning with Mother? Poor Mother! If it is really tuberculosis, one may as well give up hope.”

RV 40 (40)


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don’t even ask me? You go right over my head?”

“I have done as I had to do.”

“You have acted like a distracted person, in a perfectly unreasonable way.”

“Reason is not the highest thing on earth.”

“Please don’t make phrases. The question is one of the most ordinary justice, which you have most astonishingly ignored.”

“Let me suggest to you, my son, that you yourself are ignoring the duty and respect which you owe to your mother.”

“And I answer you, my dear Mother, by telling you that I have never for a moment forgotten the respect I owe you; but that my attributes as a son became void when I took my father’s place as head of the family and of the firm.”

“I desire you to be silent, Thomas!”

“No, I will not be silent, so long as you fail to realize the extent of your own weakness and folly.”

“I have a right to dispose of my own property as I choose!”

“Within the limits of justice and reason.”

“I could never have believed you would have the heart to wound me like this!”

“And I could never have believed that my own Mother would slap me in the face!”

“Tom! Why, Tom!” Frau Permaneder’s anguished voice got itself a hearing at last. She sat at the window of the landscape-room, wringing her hands, while her brother paced up and down in a state of high excitement, and the Frau Consul, beside herself with angry grief, sat on the sofa, leaning with one hand on its upholstered arm, while the other struck

RV 41 (41)


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RV 42 (BUDDENBROOKS) the table to emphasize her words. All three wore mourning for Clara, who was now no longer of this earth; and all three were pale and excited.

What was going on? Something amazing, something dreadful, something at which the very actors in the scene themselves stood aghast and incredulous. A quarrel, an embittered disagreement between mother and son!

It was a sultry August afternoon. Only ten days after the Senator had gently prepared his mother and given her the letters from Clara and Tiburtius, the blow fell, and he had the harder task of breaking to the old lady the news of death itself. He travelled to Riga for the funeral, and returned with his brother-in-law, who spent a few days with the family of his deceased wife, and also visited Christian in the hospital at Hamburg. And now, two days after the Pastor had departed for home, the Frau Consul, with obvious hesitation, made a certain revelation to her son.

“One hundred and twenty-seven thousand, five hundred marks current,” cried he, and shook his clasped hands in front of him. “If it were the dowry, even! If he wanted to keep the eighty thousand marks! Though, considering there’s no heir, even that—! But to promise him Clara’s whole inheritance, right over my head! Without saying aye, yes, or no!”

“Thomas, for our blessed Lord’s sake, do me some sort of justice, at least. Could I act otherwise? Tell me, could I? She who has been taken from us, and is now with God, she wrote me from her death-bed, with faltering hand, a pencilled letter. ‘Mother,’ she wrote, ‘we shall see each other no more on this earth, and these are, I know, my dying words to you. With my last conscious thoughts, I appeal to you for my husband. God gave us no children; but when you follow me, let what would have been mine if I had lived go to him to enjoy during his lifetime. Mother, it is my last request—my dying prayer. You will not refuse it.’—No, Thomas, I did not refuse it—I could not. I sent a dispatch to her, and she died in peace.” The Frau Consul wept violently. RV 42 (42)


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RV 43 (BUDDENBROOKS) “And you never told me a syllable. Everybody conceals things from me, and acts without my authority,” repeated the Senator.

“Yes, Thomas, I have kept silent. For I felt I must fulfil the last wish of my dying child, and I knew you would have tried to prevent me!”

“Yes! By God, I would have!”

“You would have had no right to, for three of my children would have been on my side.”

“I think my opinion has enough weight to balance that of two women and a degenerate fool.”

“You speak of your brother and sisters as heartlessly as you do to me.”

“Clara was a pious, ignorant woman, Mother. And Tony is a child—and, anyhow, she knew nothing about the affair at all until now—or she might have talked at the wrong time, eh? And Christian? Oh, he got Christian’s consent, did Tibertius! Who would have thought it of him? Do you know now, or don’t you grasp it yet—what he is, this ingenious pastor? He is a rogue, and a fortune-hunter!”

“Sons-in-law are always rogues,” said Frau Permaneder, in a hollow voice.

“He is a fortune-hunter! What does he do? He travels to Hamburg, and sits down by Christian’s bed. He talks to him—‘Yes,’ says Christian, ‘yes, Tibertius, God bless you! Have you any idea of the pain I suffer in my left side?’—Oh, the idiots, the scoundrels! They joined hands against me!” And the Senator, perfectly beside himself, leaned against the wrought-iron fire-screen and pressed his clenched hands to his temples.

This paroxysm of anger was out of proportion to the circumstances. No, it was not the hundred and twenty-seven thousand marks that had brought him to this unprecedented state of rage. It was rather that his irritated senses connected this case with the series of rebuffs and misfortunes which had lately attended him in both public and private

RV 43 (43)


text:
Translation from a Sonnet of Ronsard

 * "From Ronsard", in The Poetical Works of John Keats (1884)
 * "Translation from a Sonnet of Ronsard", in The complete poetical works and letters of John Keats (1899), edited by Horace Elisha Scudder

title: Translation from a Sonnet of Ronsard


text:
User talk:2600:1005:B192:D631:6EF0:6445:7D6B:8B9F

Wiki-formatting
Your edits are not correct for wiki-formatting.

If you wish to help proofread a copy of Title 2, please do so at Index:US Code Section 2.pdf. The scan copy will replace the copy we currently have, because our current copy has no set text to compare against. --EncycloPetey (talk) 01:26, 26 February 2024 (UTC)

 * Application of confirmation Melissa Ashanti S Wiggs (talk) 01:57, 26 February 2024 (UTC)


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RV 44 (BUDDENBROOKS) business. Nothing went well any more. Nothing turned out as he intended it should. And now, had it come to this, that in the house of his fathers they “went over his head” in matters of the highest importance? That a pastor from Riga could thus bamboozle him behind his back? He could have prevented it if he had only been told! But events had taken their course without him. It was this which he felt could not have happened earlier—would not have dared to happen earlier! Again his faith tottered—his faith in himself, his luck, his power, his future. And it was nothing but his own inward weakness and despair that broke out in this scene before mother and sister.

Frau Permaneder stood up and embraced her brother. “Tom,” she said, “do control yourself. Try to be calm. You will make yourself ill. Are things so very bad? Tibertius doesn’t need to live so very long, perhaps, and the money would come back after he dies. And if you want it to, it can be altered—can it not be altered, Mamma?”

The Frau Consul answered only with sobs.

“Oh, no, no,” said the Consul, pulling himself together, and making a weak gesture of dissent. “Let it be as it is. Do you think I would carry it into court and sue my own mother, and add a public scandal to the family one? It may go as it is,” he concluded, and walked lifelessly to the glass door, where he paused and stood.

“But you need not imagine,” he said in a suppressed voice, “that things are going so brilliantly with us. Tony lost eighty thousand marks, and Christian, beside the setting up of fifty thousand that he has run through with, has already had thirty thousand in advance, and will need more, as he is not earning anything, and will have to take a cure at Öynhausen. And now Clara’s dowry is permanently lost, and her whole inheritance besides for an indefinite period. And business is poor; it seems to have gone to the devil precisely since the time when I spent more than a hundred thousand marks on my

RV 44 (44)


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RV 45 (BUDDENBROOKS) house. No, things are not going well in a family where there are such scenes as this to-day. Let me tell you one thing; if Father were alive, if he were here in this room, he would fold his hands and commend us to the mercy of God.”

RV 45 (45)


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RV 46 (BUDDENBROOKS)

and rumours of war, billeting and bustle! Prussian officers tread the parquetry floors of Senator Buddenbrook’s bel-étage, kiss the hand of the lady of the house, and frequent the club with Christian, who is back from Öynhausen. In Meng Street Mamsell Severin, Riekchen Severin, the Frau Consul’s new companion, helps the maids to drag piles of mattresses into the old garden-house, which is full of soldiers.

Confusion, disorder, and suspense reign. Troops march off through the gate, new ones come in. They overrun the town; they eat, sleep, fill the ears of the citizens with the noise of rolling drums, commands, and trumpet calls—and march off again. Royal princes are fêted, entry follows entry. Then quiet again—and suspense.

In the late autumn and winter the victorious troops return. Again they are billeted in the town for a time, are mustered out and go home—to the great relief of the cheering citizens. Peace comes—the brief peace, heavy with destiny, of the year 1865.

And between two wars, little Johann played. Unconscious and tranquil, with his soft curling hair and voluminous pinafore frocks, he played in the garden by the fountain, or in the little gallery partitioned off for his use by a pillared railing from the vestibule of the second storey—played the plays of his four and a half years—those plays whose meaning and charm no grown person can possibly grasp: which need no more than a few pebbles, or a stick of wood with a dandelion for a helmet, since they command the pure, powerful, glowing, untaught and unintimidated fancy of those blissful years before life touches us, when neither duty nor remorse

RV 46 (46)


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RV 47 (BUDDENBROOKS) dares to lay upon us a finger’s weight, when we may see, hear, laugh, dream, and feel amazement, when the world yet makes upon us not one single demand; when the impatience of those whom we should like so much to love does not yet torment us for evidence of our ability to succeed in the impending struggle. Ah, only a little while, and that struggle will be upon us—and they will do their best to bend us to their will and cut us to their pattern, to exercise us, to lengthen us, to shorten us, to corrupt us. . ..

Great things happened while little Hanno played. The war flamed up, and its fortunes swayed this way and that, then inclined to the side of the victors; and Hanno Buddenhrook’s native city, which had shrewdly stuck to Prussia, looked on not without satisfaction at wealthy Frankfort, which had to pay with her independence for her faith in Austria.

But with the failure in July of a large firm of Frankfort wholesale dealers, immediately before the armistice, the firm of Johann Buddenbrook lost at one fell swoop the round sum of twenty thousand thaler.

RV 47 (47)


text:
Dear Reynolds! As last night I lay in bed

 * "A Reminiscence of Claude's Enchanted Castle", in The Poetical Works of John Keats (1884)
 * "Epistle to John Hamilton Reynolds", in The complete poetical works and letters of John Keats (1899), edited by Horace Elisha Scudder


text: Buddenbrooks/Volume 2/Part 7

title: Buddenbrooks/Volume 2/Part 7


text: Buddenbrooks/Volume 2/Part 7/Chapter 1

title: Buddenbrooks/Volume 2/Part 7/Chapter 1


text: Buddenbrooks/Volume 2/Part 7/Chapter 2

title: Buddenbrooks/Volume 2/Part 7/Chapter 2


text: Buddenbrooks/Volume 2/Part 7/Chapter 3

title: Buddenbrooks/Volume 2/Part 7/Chapter 3


text: Buddenbrooks/Volume 2/Part 7/Chapter 4

title: Buddenbrooks/Volume 2/Part 7/Chapter 4


text: Buddenbrooks/Volume 2/Part 7/Chapter 5

title: Buddenbrooks/Volume 2/Part 7/Chapter 5


text: Buddenbrooks/Volume 2/Part 7/Chapter 6

title: Buddenbrooks/Volume 2/Part 7/Chapter 6


text: Buddenbrooks/Volume 2/Part 7/Chapter 7

title: Buddenbrooks/Volume 2/Part 7/Chapter 7


text: Buddenbrooks/Volume 2/Part 7/Chapter 8

title: Buddenbrooks/Volume 2/Part 7/Chapter 8


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text: Buddenbrooks/Volume 2/Part 8

title: Buddenbrooks/Volume 2/Part 8


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Herr Hugo Weinschenk—in his buttoned-up frockcoat, with his drooping lower lip and his narrow black moustaches, which grew, in the most masculine way imaginable, right into the corners of his mouth; with both his fists held out in front of him, and making little motions with his elbows at about the height of his waist—when Herr Hugo Weinschenk, now for some time Director of the City Fire Insurance Company, crossed the great entry in Meng Street and passed, with a swinging, pompous stride, from his front to his back office, he gave an impressive impersonation of an energetic and prosperous man.

And Erica Grünlich, on the other hand, was now twenty years old: a tall, blooming girl, fresh-coloured and pretty, full of health and strength. If chance took her up or down the stairs just as Herr Weinschenk passed that way—and chance did this not seldom—the Director took off his top-hat, displaying his short black hair, which was already greying at the temples, minced rather more than ever at the waist of his frockcoat, and greeted the young girl with an admiring glance from his bold and roving brown eye. Whereat Erica ran away, sat down somewhere in a window, and wept for hours out of sheer helpless confusion.

Fräulein Grünlich had grown up under Therese Weichbrodt’s care and correction: her thoughts did not fly far afield. She wept over Herr Weinschenk’s top-hat, the way he raised his eyebrows at sight of her and let them fall; over his regal bearing and his balancing fists. Her mother, Frau Permaneder, saw further.

Her daughter’s future had troubled her for years; for

RV 51 (51)


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RV 52 (BUDDENBROOKS) Erica was at a disadvantage compared with other young girls of her age. Frau Permaneder not only did not go into society, she was actually at war with it. The conviction that the “best people” thought slightingly of her because of her two divorces, had become almost a fixed idea; and she read contempt and aversion where probably there was only indifference. Consul Hermann Hagenström, for instance, simple and liberal-minded man that he was, would very likely have been perfectly glad to greet her on the street; his money had only increased his joviality and good nature. But she stared, with her head flung back, past his “goose-liver-paté” face, which, to use her own strong language, she “hated like the plague”—and her look, of course, distinctly forbade him. So Erica grew up outside her uncle’s social circle; she frequented no balls, and had small chance of meeting eligible young gentlemen.

Yet it was Frau Antonie’s most ardent hope, especially after she herself had “failed in business,” as she said, that her daughter might realize her own unfulfilled dream of a happy and advantageous marriage, which should redound to the glory of the family and sink the mother’s failure in final oblivion. Tony longed for this beyond everything, and chiefly now for her brother’s sake, who had latterly shown so little optimism, as a sign to him that the luck of the family was not yet lost, that they were by no means “at the end of their rope.” Her second dowry, the eighteen thousand thaler so magnanimously returned by Herr Permaneder, lay waiting for Erica; and directly Frau Antonie’s practiced glance marked the budding tenderness between her daughter and the Director, she began to trouble Heaven with a prayer that Herr Weinschenk might be led to visit them.

He was. He appeared in the first storey, where he was received by the three ladies, mother, daughter, and granddaughter, talked for ten minutes, and promised to return another day for coffee and more leisurely conversation.

This too came to pass, and the acquaintance progressed.

RV 52 (52)


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RV 53 (BUDDENBROOKS) The Director was a Silesian by birth. His old father, in fact, still lived in Silesia; but the family seemed not to come into consideration, Hugo being, evidently, a “self-made man.” He had the self-consciousness of such men: a not quite native, rather insecure, mistrustful, exaggerated air. His grammar was not perfect, and his conversation was distinctly clumsy. And his countrified frock coat had shiny spots; his cuffs, with large jet cuff-buttons, were not quite fresh; and the nail on the middle finger of his left hand had been crushed in some accident, and was shrivelled and blackened. The impression, on the whole, was rather unpleasing; yet it did not prevent Hugo Weinschenk from being a highly worthy young man, industrious and energetic, with a yearly salary of twelve thousand marks current; nor from being, in Erica Grünlich’s eyes, handsome to boot.

Frau Permaneder quickly looked him over and summed him up. She talked freely with her mother and the Senator. It was clear to her that here was a case of two interests meeting and complementing each other. Director Weinschenk was, like Erica, devoid of every social connection: the two were thus, in a manner, marked out for each other—it was plainly the hand of God himself. If the Director, who was nearing the forties, his hair already sprinkled with grey, desired to found a family appropriate to his station and connections, here was an opening for him into one of the best circles in town, calculated to advance him in his calling and consolidate his position. As for Erica’s welfare, Frau Permaneder could feel confident that at least her own lot would be out of the question. Herr Weinschenk had not the faintest resemblance to Herr Permaneder; and he was differentiated from Bendix Grünlich by his position as an old-established official with a fixed salary—which, of course, did not preclude a further career.

In a word, much good will was shown on both sides. Herr Weinschenk’s visits followed each other in quick succession, and by January—January of the year 1867—he permitted

RV 53 (53)


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RV 54 (BUDDENBROOKS) himself to make a brief and manly offer for Erica Grünlich’s hand.

From now on he belonged to the family. He came on children’s day, and was received civilly by the relatives of his betrothed. He must soon have seen that he did not fit in very well; but he concealed the fact under an increased assurance of manner, while the Frau Consul, Uncle Justus, and the Senator—though hardly the Broad Street Buddenbrooks—practised a tactful complaisance toward the socially awkward, hard-working official.

And tact was needed. For pauses would come at the family table, when Director Weinschenk tried to make conversation by asking if “orange marmalade” was a “pudden”; when he gave out the opinion that Romeo and Juliet was a piece by Schiller; when his manner with Erica’s cheek or arm became too roguish. He uttered his views frankly and cheerfully, rubbing his hands like a man whose mind is free from care, and leaning back sidewise against the arm of his chair. Some one always needed to fill in the pause by a sprightly or diverting remark.

He got on best with the Senator, who knew how to steer a safe course between politics and business. His relations with Gerda Buddenbrook were hopeless. This lady’s personality put him off to such a degree that he was incapable of finding anything to talk about with her for two minutes on end. The fact that she played the violin made a strong impression upon him; and he finally confined himself, on each Thursday afternoon encounter, to the jovial enquiry, “Well, how’s the fiddle?” After the third time, however, the Frau Senator refrained from reply.

Christian, on the other hand, used to look at his new relative down his nose, and the next day imitate him and his conversation with full details. The second son of the deceased Consul Buddenbrook had been relieved of his rheumatism in Öynhausen; but a certain stiffness of the joints was left, as well as the periodic misery in the left side, where all the

RV 54 (54)


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RV 55 (BUDDENBROOKS) nerves were too short, and sundry other ills to which he was heir, as difficulty in breathing and swallowing, irregularity of the heart action, and a tendency to paralysis—or at least to a fear of it. He did not look like a man at the end of the thirties. His head was entirely bald except for vestiges of reddish hair at the back of the neck and on the temples; and his small round roving eyes lay deeper than ever in their sockets. And his great bony nose and his lean, sallow cheeks were startlingly prominent above his heavy drooping red moustaches. His trousers, of beautiful and lasting English stuff, flapped about his crooked emaciated legs.

He had come back once more to his mother’s house, and had a room on the corridor of the first storey. But he spent more of his time at the club than in Meng Street, for life there was not made any too pleasant for him. Rickchen Severin, Ida Jungmann’s successor, who now reigned over the Frau Consul’s household and managed the servants, had a peasant’s instinct for hard facts. She was a thick-set country-bred creature, with coarse lips and fat red cheeks. She perceived directly that it was not worth while to put herself out for this idle story-teller, who was silly and ill by turns, whom his brother, the Senator—the real head of the family—ignored with lifted eyebrows. So she quite calmly neglected Christian’s wants. “Gracious, Herr Buddenbrook,” she would say, “you needn’t think as I’ve got time for the likes of you!” Christian would look at her with his nose all wrinkled up, as if to say “Aren’t you ashamed of yourself?” and go his stiff-kneed way.

“Do you think,” he said to Tony, “that I have a candle to go to bed by? Very seldom. I generally take a match.” The sum his mother could allow him was small. “Hard times,” he would say. “Yes, things were different once. Why, what do you suppose? Sometimes I’ve had to borrow money for tooth-powder!”

“Christian!” cried Frau Permaneder. “How undignified! “And going to bed with a match!” She was shocked and

RV 55 (55)


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 apothecary. The founders of the families of Dartmouth, Radnor, Ducie, and Pomfret were respectively a skinner, a silk manufacturer, a merchant tailor, and a Calais merchant; whilst the founders of the peerages of Tankerville, Dormer, and Coventry were mercers. The ancestors of Earl Romney, and Lord Dudley and Ward, were goldsmiths and jewellers; and Lord Dacre's was a banker in the reign of Charles I., as Lord Overstone is in that of Queen Victoria. Edward Osborne, the founder of the Dukedom of Leeds, was apprentice to William Hewet, a rich clothworker on London Bridge, whose only daughter he courageously rescued from drowning, by leaping into the Thames after her, and eventually married. Among other peerages founded by trade are those of Fitzwilliam, Leigh, Petre, Cowper, Darnley, Hill, and Carrington. The founders of the houses of Foley and Normanby were remarkable men in many respects, and, as furnishing striking examples of energy of character, the story of their lives is worthy of preservation.

The father of Richard Foley, the founder of the family, was a small yeoman living in the neighbourhood of Stourbridge in the time of Charles I. That place was then the centre of the iron manufacture of the Midland districts, and Richard was brought up to work at one of the branches of the trade—that of nail-making. He was thus a daily observer of the great labour and loss of time caused by the clumsy process then adopted for dividing the rods of iron in the manufacture of nails. It appeared that the Stourbridge nailers were gradually losing their trade in consequence of the importation of nails from Sweden, by which they were undersold in the market. It became known that the Swedes 16


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RV 56 (BUDDENBROOKS) outraged in her deepest sensibilities—but that did not mend matters.

The tooth-powder money Christian borrowed from his old friend Andreas Gieseke, Doctor of Civil and Criminal Jurisprudence. He was fortunate in this friendship, and it did him credit; for Dr. Gieseke, though as much of a rake as Christian, knew how to keep his dignity. He had been elected Senator the preceding winter, for Dr. Överdieck had sunk gently to his long rest, and Dr. Langhals sat in his place. His elevation did not affect Andreas Gieseke’s mode of life. Since his marriage with Fräulein Huneus, he had acquired a spacious house in the centre of the town; but as everybody knew, he also owned a certain comfortable little vine-clad villa in the suburb of St. Gertrude, which was charmingly furnished, and occupied quite alone by a still young and uncommonly pretty person of unknown origin. Above the house-door, in ornamental gilt lettering, was the word “Quisisana,” by which name the retired little dwelling was known throughout the town, where they pronounced it with a very soft s and a very broad a. Christian Buddenbrook, as Senator Gieseke’s best friend, had obtained entry into Quisisana, and been successful there, as formerly with Aline Puvogel in Hamburg, and on other occasions in London, Valparaiso, and sundry other parts of the world. He “told a few stories,” and was “a little friendly”; and now he visited the little vine-clad house on the same footing as Senator Gieseke himself. Whether this happened with the latter’s knowledge and consent, is of course doubtful. What is certain is, that Christian found there, without money and without price, the same friendly relaxtion as Dr. Gieseke, who, however, had to pay for the same with his wife’s money.

A short time after the betrothal of Hugo Weinschenk and Erica Grünlich, the Director proposed to his relative that he should enter the Insurance office; and Christian actually worked for two weeks in the service of the Company. But the misery in his side began to get worse, and his other, in-

RV 56 (56)


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RV 57 (BUDDENBROOKS) definable ills as well; and the Director proved to be a domineering superior, who did not hesitate, on the occasion of a little misunderstanding, to call his relative a booby. So Christian felt constrained to leave this post too.

Madame Permaneder, at this period of the family’s history, was in such a joyful mood that her happiness found vent in shrewd observations about life: how, when all was said and done, it had its good side. Truly, she bloomed anew in these weeks; and their invigorating activity, the manifold plans, the search for suitable quarters, and the feverish preoccupation with furnishings brought back with such force the memories of her first betrothal that she could not but feel young again—young and boundlessly hopeful. Much of the graceful high spirits of girlhood returned to her ways, and movements; indeed, she profaned the mood of one entire Jerusalem evening by such uncontrollable hilarity that even Lea Gerhardt let the book of her ancestor fall in her lap and stared about the room with the great, innocent, startled eyes of the deaf.

Erica was not to be parted from her mother. The Director agreed—nay, it was even his wish,—that Frau Antonie should live with the Weinschenks, at least at first, and help the inexperienced Erica with her housekeeping. And it was precisely this which called up in her the most priceless feeling, as though no Bendix Grünlich or Alois Permaneder had ever existed, and all the trials, disappointments, and sufferings of her life were as nothing, and she might begin anew and with fresh hopes. She bade Erica be grateful to God, who bestowed upon her the one man of her desire, whereas the mother had been obliged to offer up her first and dearest choice on the altar of duty and reason. It was Erica’s name which, with a hand trembling with joy, she inscribed in the family book next the Director’s. But she, Tony Buddenbrook, was the real bride. It was she who might once more ransack furniture and upholstery shops and test hangings and carpets with a practised hand; she who once

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RV 58 (BUDDENBROOKS) more found and rented a truly “elegant” apartment. It was she who was once more to leave the pious and roomy parental mansion and cease to be a divorced wife; she who might once more lift her head and begin a new life, calculated to arouse general remark and enhance the prestige of the family. Even—was it a dream?—dressing-gowns appeared upon the horizon: two dressing-gowns, for Erica and herself, of soft, woven stuff, with close rows of velvet trimming from neck to hem!

The weeks fled by—the last weeks of Erica Grünlich’s maidenhood. The young pair had made calls in only a few houses; for the Director, a serious and preoccupied man, with no social experience, intended to devote what leisure he had to intimate domesticity. There was a betrothal dinner in the great salon of the house in Fishers’ Lane, at which, besides Thomas and Gerda, there were present the bridal pair and Henriette, Friederike and Pfiffi Buddenbrook, and some close friends of the Senator; and the Director continually pinched the bare shoulders of his fiancee, rather to the disgust of the other guests. And the wedding day drew near.

The marriage was solemnized in the columned hall, as on that other occasion when it was Frau Grünlich who wore the myrtle. Frau Stuht from Bell-Founders’ Street, the same who moved in the best circles, helped to arrange the folds of the bride’s white satin gown and pin on the decorations. The Senator gave away the bride, supported by Christian’s friend Senator Gieseke, and two school friends of Erica’s acted as bridesmaids. Director Hugo Weinschenk looked imposing and manly, and only trod once on Erica’s flowing veil on the way to the improvised altar. Pastor Pringsheim held his hands clasped beneath his chin, and performed the service with his accustomed air of sweet exaltation; and everything went off with dignity and according to rule. When the rings were exchanged, and the deep and the treble “yes” sounded in the hush (both a trifle husky), Frau Permaneder, overpowered by the past, the present, and the future, burst

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RV 59 (BUDDENBROOKS) into audible sobs: just the unthinking, unembarrassed tears of her childhood. And the sisters Buddenbrook—Pfiffi, in honour of the day, was wearing a gold chain to her pince-nez—smiled a little sourly, as always on such occasions. But Mademoiselle Weichbrodt, who had grown shorter with the lengthening years, and had the oval brooch with the miniature of her mother around her thin neck—Sesemi said, with the disproportionate solemnity which hides deep emotion: “Be happy, you good che-ild!”

Followed a banquet, as solemn as solid, beneath the eyes of the white Olympians, looking down composedly from their blue background. As it drew toward its end, the newly wedded pair disappeared, to begin their wedding journey, which was to include visits to several large cities. All this was at the middle of April; and in the next two weeks, Frau Permaneder, assisted by the upholsterer Jacobs, accomplished one of her masterpieces: she moved into and settled the spacious first storey which she had rented in a house halfway down Baker Alley. There, in a bower of flowers, she welcomed the married pair on their return.

And thus began Tony Buddenbrook’s third marriage.

Yes, this was really the right way to put it. The Senator himself, one Thursday afternoon when the Weinschenks were not present, had called it that, and Frau Permaneder quite relished the joke. All the cares of the new household fell upon her, but she reaped her reward in pride and pleasure. One day she happened to meet on the street Frau Consul Julchen Möllendorpf, born Hagenström, into whose face she looked with a challenging, triumphant glance; it actually dawned upon Frau Möllendorpf that she had better speak first, and she did. Tony waxed so important in her pride and joy, when she showed off the new house to visiting relatives, that little Erica, beside her, seemed but a guest herself.

Frau Antonie displayed the house to their guests, the train of her morning gown dragging behind her, her shoulders up and her head thrown back, carrying on her arm the key

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