Five o’clock—the struggle could not get any worse than this. Sitting upright, her eyes wide open for battle, Madame Buddenbrook flailed her arms, as if grasping for support or hands that were reaching out to her, and constantly answered calls that came from all directions, which only she could hear, but which seemed to be growing ever more numerous and urgent. It was as if not only her dead husband and daughter were present now, but also her parents, her parents-in-law, and other relatives who had gone before. She called out names, and no one in the room could say precisely just which of her dead relatives she meant. “Yes,” she cried, turning first in one direction and then another. “I’m coming—soon—just a moment—but—I can’t—Gentlemen, something to help me sleep—”
At five-thirty, there was a moment of peace. And then, quite suddenly, a shudder passed over her aged, pain-racked face—the features twitched in a rush of horrified joy, trembled with deep, fearful tenderness. In the next second, she flung her arms wide, and then—so abruptly, so instantaneously that both what she had heard and her answer seemed almost simultaneous—she cried out in the most absolute obedience, with boundless, fearful, loving submission and surrender, “Here I am!” And passed on.
They had all pulled back in shock. What had happened? Whose call was it that had caused her to follow instantly?
Someone pulled the window curtains back and blew out the candles. Meanwhile, with a gentle look on his face, Dr. Grabow closed the dead woman’s eyes.
They stood there chilled by the pale light of the autumn dawn that now filled the room. Sister Leandra covered the mirror above the dresser with a cloth.
2
FRAU PERMANEDER could be seen at prayer through the open door of the room where her mother lay. She was alone; the skirts of her black dress were spread around her on the floor where she was kneeling near the bed, her head bowed, her hands tightly folded and resting on the seat of a chair beside her. She murmured her prayers. She heard her brother and sister-in-law enter the breakfast room, heard them stop in the middle of the room, instinctively waiting for her to end her devotions—but she did not let that hurry her. When she had finished, she gave her little dry cough, gathered her skirt with slow solemnity, got up, and, without a trace of confusion, walked toward her relatives, carrying herself with perfect dignity.
“Thomas,” she said, with some harshness in her voice, “as far as Severin is concerned, it seems to me that our dear, departed mother was nursing an adder at her breast.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’m perfectly furious with her. It’s enough to make one lose one’s temper and forget oneself. What gives that woman any right to make the pain of this day so much more bitter, and in such a vulgar way?”
“But what is the problem?”
“First of all, she’s outrageously greedy. She goes to the wardrobe, takes out Mother’s silk dresses, flings them over her arm, and starts to leave the room. ‘Rieke,’ I say, ‘where are you going with those?’—‘Madame promised me I could have them!’—‘My dear Severin,’ I say, and, with all due restraint, I remind her that her haste is rather unseemly. But do you suppose that does any good? She picks up the silk dresses, plus a whole stack of underclothes, and leaves. I can’t come to blows with her, can I? And it’s not just her—it’s the maids, too. Laundry baskets full of clothes and linens are being carried out of the house. The servants are dividing things up right under my nose, because Severin has the keys to all the cupboards. ‘Fräulein Severin,’ I say, ‘I want the keys.’ And what does she say to me? In the most common language she makes it quite clear that I have nothing to say to her, that I am not her employer, that I did not hire her, and that she is going to keep the keys until she leaves.”
“Do you have the keys to the silver?—Good. Let the rest go. That sort of thing is unavoidable when a house is being broken up, particularly when things have been somewhat lax toward the end anyway. I don’t want a lot of uproar now. The linens are old and worn. And we’ll check over what is left in any case. Do you have the inventory? On the desk? Good. We’ll have a look.”
And they went into the bedroom, just to stand a while there together by the bed. Frau Antonie removed the white cloth from the dead woman’s face. Madame Buddenbrook was already dressed in the silk dress in which she was to be laid out upstairs in the columned hall later that afternoon. It was now twenty-eight hours since she had drawn her last breath. Her false teeth had been removed, and her mouth and cheeks had fallen in, so that her chin jutted up, sharp and angular. They stood there gazing down at her, and all three of them had trouble recognizing their mother in that face, its eyes firmly, irrevocably closed now. But beneath the cap that the old woman always wore on Sunday was the same reddish-brown, evenly parted wig that had always been an object of ridicule among the Ladies Buddenbrook from Breite Strasse. Flowers had been strewn across the quilt.
“The most beautiful wreaths have come already,” Frau Permaneder said softly. “From all the families—oh, simply from everyone. I had them all placed out in the corridor. You’ll have to look at them later, Tom. They are so sad and beautiful, Gerda. Satin bows this big.”
“How far along are they with the hall?”
“They’re almost finished, Tom. Almost finished. Jakobs has done it in the finest taste, as always. And the …” She swallowed hard. “The casket came just a while ago. But do take your things off now, my dears,” she went on and carefully pulled the white cloth back in place. “It’s cold in here, but there’s a little heat in the breakfast room. Let me help you, Gerda—one must be careful with such a splendid cape. May I give you a kiss? You know that I love you, even if you have always despised me. I’ll take off your hat for you, and, no, I won’t spoil your hair. Your beautiful hair! Mother had hair like that when she was young. She was never as stunning as you, but there was a time—I was already a young girl—when she was a truly beautiful woman. And now—can it be true, what your old Grobleben always says, that we must all come to rot? As simple a man as he is.—Yes, Tom, those are the main inventory lists.”
They had returned to the adjoining room, and as they took their seats at the round table, the senator picked up the papers with the lists of things to be divided among the closest heirs. Frau Permaneder never took her eyes off her brother’s face, and she watched, visibly tense and excited. There was something on her mind, one great, inescapable question that occupied all her anxious thoughts and that would have to be dealt with before many hours had passed.
“I think,” the senator began, “we should hold to the usual rule that all gifts go back to the giver, so that …”
His wife interrupted him. “Forgive me, Thomas, but it seems that … Christian—where is he?”
“Yes, good Lord, Christian!” Frau Permaneder cried. “We’ve forgotten him.”
“Right,” the senator said, putting the papers down. “Wasn’t he called?”
And Frau Permaneder went over to the bell rope. At the same moment, however, Christian opened the door and entered. He stepped into the room rather hastily and was not very quiet about closing the door; he stood there now, scowling, and his little, round, deep-set eyes wandered from one to another without really looking at anyone, and under his bushy, reddish mustache his mouth worked uneasily, snapping open and closed. It appeared he was in a rather defiant and irritable mood.
“I heard that you were in here,” he said gruffly. “If there are things to be discussed, you should have informed me.”
“We were just calling you,” the senator replied calmly. “Have a seat.”
But his eyes were fixed on the white buttons on Christian’s shirt. His own mourning clothes were impeccable. His shirtfront, set off at the collar with a wide, black bow tie, stood out in sharp contrast to his black cloth coat and was fastened with black buttons rather than the gold studs he usually wore.
Christian noticed the look, and as he pulled a chair over and sat down, he ran his hand along his chest and said, “I know, I’m wearing w
hite buttons. I haven’t got around to buying black ones yet—or, better, I’ve neglected to do it. There’s been many a time over the last few years when I’ve had to borrow five shillings for tooth powder and find my way to bed with a match. I don’t know if I’m the only one to blame for that. And black buttons are not the most important thing in the world. I have no great love of formalities. I’ve never set much store by appearances.”
Gerda had been watching him as he spoke, and now laughed softly.
The senator remarked, “I don’t think you should try to hold yourself to that claim for very long.”
“You don’t? Well, perhaps you know better, Thomas. But I’m telling you that such things are of no importance to me. I have seen quite a bit of the world, and I have lived among far too many different kinds of people, with far too many different customs, for me to—And I’m a grown man in any case,” he suddenly shouted. “I am forty-three years old. I am my own master, and I’m certainly entitled to tell anyone not to meddle in my affairs.”
“It seems you have something weighing on your mind, my friend,” the senator said in amazement. “As for your buttons, if I’m not mistaken, I haven’t mentioned a word about them. You may choose whatever mourning attire you like, but don’t think that you can impress me with your cheap broad-mindedness.”
“I have no intention of trying to impress you.”
“Tom—Christian,” Frau Permaneder said. “Let us not be irritable with one another, not today, not here, while in the very next room … Go on, Tom. So all gifts are to be returned? That’s only fair.”
And Thomas went on. He began with larger objects and made a list of those that he could use in his own house: the candelabra in the dining room, the carved chest that stood in the vestibule. Frau Permaneder paid extraordinarily close attention, and the moment any doubt arose as to the future owner of a given object, she would say in her inimitable fashion, “Well, I’d be willing to take it,” and look as if the whole world should thank her for such self-sacrifice. She claimed by far the largest share of the furnishings for herself, her daughter, and her granddaughter.
Christian, who had received a few pieces of furniture—including an Empire clock, even the harmonium—seemed quite content. But when they got around to dividing the silver and linens and the various sets of china, to everyone’s astonishment he displayed an eagerness that looked very much like greed.
“And me? What about me?” he asked. “I would ask that you please not forget me entirely.”
“Who’s forgetting you? I’ve already put you down—here, look—I’ve put you down for a whole tea service with a silver tray. But only we would have any real use for the Sunday service with the gold plate, and …”
“I’m willing to take the everyday china with the onion pattern,” Frau Permaneder said.
“And me?” Christian cried. He rarely became indignant like this, but when he did, it did not suit him—his cheeks looked hollower than ever. “I want my share of the table service. How many forks and spoons am I getting? Almost none, it looks like.”
“But, my dear fellow, what do you want with such things? You have no use for them at all. I don’t understand—it’s better for such things to be used by the family.”
“And what if I only want them to remember Mother by?” Christian said stubbornly.
“My dear friend,” the senator replied with some impatience, “I’m not in a mood for jokes. But, to judge by your comments, you want to remember Mother by displaying a soup tureen on your dresser—that is how it looks, isn’t it? I beg you not to assume that we’re trying to cheat you. And if you get a few less of these items, it will be made up for in some other way. It’s the same with the linens.”
“I don’t want money. I want linens and china.”
“But why, for heaven’s sake?”
And now Christian gave them an answer—one that made Gerda Buddenbrook turn hastily toward him and study his face with an inscrutable look in her eye, that caused the senator promptly to remove his pince-nez and stare directly at him, that left Frau Permaneder with nothing to do but fold her hands. What he said was this: “Well, to put it bluntly, I’m thinking of getting married sooner or later.”
He said these words rather softly and quickly, flicking his hand as if he were tossing his brother something across the table; then he leaned back to let his eyes roam about irresolutely, and the expression on his face was strangely preoccupied and peevish, almost resentful. A longish pause followed.
Finally the senator said, “I must say, Christian, that you’re rather late about making such plans—always presuming, of course, that these are real and practicable plans, and not the sort of ill-considered ones that you once suggested to our dear, departed mother.”
“My intentions have remained the same,” Christian said, still without looking at any of them, the same expression on his face.
“That’s quite out of the question. You were only waiting for Mother to die, so that you could …”
“I waited, out of consideration for her, yes. You’re apparently inclined to think, Thomas, that you have a monopoly on the world’s supply of tact and discretion.”
“I don’t think you have any justification for that remark. As far as that goes, I can merely marvel at the extent of the consideration you’ve shown. Mother has been dead only a day, and you’re already defying her openly.”
“Because the subject came up. And the main thing is that Mother will not be upset by my taking such a step—no more today than she would be a year from now. Good God, Thomas, Mother wasn’t always absolutely right, merely right from her point of view, and I respected that—as long as she was alive. She was an old woman, a woman from a different time, with a different way of looking at things.”
“Well, let it be noted that, as far as the subject at hand goes, I share that way of looking at things.”
“I can’t worry about that.”
“Oh, but you will worry about it, my friend.”
Christian stared at him. “No!” he cried. “I will not! And what if I tell you I can’t worry about it? Surely I know what it is I must do. I am a grown man.”
“Oh, the ‘grown man’ part of you is very much a physical matter. You have no idea what it is you must do.”
“Oh yes, I do. First of all, I will act as an honorable man. You aren’t even thinking of the actual state of affairs, Thomas. Tony and Gerda are sitting here now—so we can’t discuss it in detail. But I have told you before that I have responsibilities. And there’s the last child, little Gisela.…”
“I don’t know anything about any little Gisela, and don’t want to know. I am certain that you’re being lied to. And in any case, the only responsibilities you have toward this individual you’re talking about are legal ones, which you may continue to fulfill as you have thus far.”
“ ‘Individual,’ Thomas? ‘Individual’? You’re very mistaken about her. Aline is a …”
“Silence!” Senator Buddenbrook shouted in a thundering voice. The two brothers glared eye to eye now across the table. Thomas was pale and trembling with wrath; and Christian’s mouth was wide open with outrage, making his cheeks more gaunt than ever, and his little, round, deep-set eyes were wide with anger, a fleck of red visible under each—even the eyelids had suddenly turned red. Gerda looked from one to the other with a rather ironic expression on her face.
Tony wrung her hands and pled with them: “Now, now, Tom—now, now, Christian. And Mother lying in the next room.”
“Are you so lacking in all sense of shame,” the senator continued, “that you can bring yourself—no, it doesn’t even cost you any effort—to mention that name here, under such circumstances? Your lack of tact is almost abnormal, pathological.”
“I do not understand why I shouldn’t mention Aline’s name!” Christian was so agitated that Gerda was watching him with growing interest. “And I mention it now, Thomas, as you can well hear, because I plan to marry her. I long for a home of my own, for p
eace and quiet. And I insist, do you hear—please note the word I use—I insist that you stay out of my affairs. I am a free man—I am my own master.”
“You’re a fool, that’s what you are! You’ll find out when the will is read just how much of your own master you are. Provision has been made—do you hear me?—provision has been made to prevent you from squandering Mother’s estate the way you’ve already squandered thirty thousand marks courant. I have been made guardian of the rest of your inheritance, and you will never receive more than your monthly allowance from me—I swear to you.”
“Well, who would know better than you who talked Mother into setting up such restrictions. But I am amazed that Mother did not entrust the job to someone who is closer to me and whose feelings are more brotherly than yours.” Christian was completely beside himself now. He began to say things that he had never uttered before in his life. He was bent over the table, rapping it steadily with the tip of his crooked index finger, and stared up with red-rimmed eyes and a bristling mustache at his brother, Thomas—who sat pale and erect, gazing down at him with half-lowered eyelids.
“Your heart is so icy and full of malice and disdain,” Christian went on, and his voice was somehow muffled and squawking at the same time. “As far back as I can remember, I have felt such icy contempt coming from you that I’ve always been frozen to the bone in your presence. Yes, it may be a strange way to put it—but if that’s what I really felt? You rebuff me just by looking at me, and you almost never even do that. And what gives you the right to act that way? You’re human, too. You have your weaknesses. You were always a better son to our parents, but if you really were closer to them than I, then you might have adopted a little of their Christian kindness. And if brotherly love is so totally alien to you, one should at least expect a trace of Christian charity from you. But there’s so little love in you that you never once visited me—not once—when I was lying there in the hospital in Hamburg, struck down by rheumatic fever.”