Thomas Mann - Buddenbrooks: The Decline of a Family

THOMAS MANN
Buddenbrooks

T HOMAS M ANN was born in Germany in 1875. He was awarded the Nobel Prize for Literature in 1929, and left Germany for good in 1933. Among his major novels are Buddenbrooks (1901), The Magic Mountain (1924), the tetralogy Joseph and His Brothers (1933, 1934, 1936, 1943), and Doctor Faustus (1948). He is equally well known for his short stories and essays. Thomas Mann died in 1955.

The Black Swan

Confessions of Felix Krull, Confidence Man

Death in Venice and Seven Other Stories

Doctor Faustus

The Holy Sinner

Joseph and His Brothers

Lotte in Weimar: The Beloved Returns

The Magic Mountain

Royal Highness

Stories of Three Decades

The Transposed Heads

F IRST V INTAGE I NTERNATIONAL E DITION , J ULY 1994

Copyright 1993 by Alfred A. Knopf, Inc.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. Published in the United States by Vintage Books, a division of Random House, Inc., New York, and simultaneously in Canada by Random House of Canada Limited, Toronto. Originally published in hardcover by Alfred A. Knopf, Inc., New York, in 1993.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Mann, Thomas, 18751955.
[Buddenbrooks. English]
Buddenbrooks : the decline of a family / Thomas Mann; translated from the German by John E. Woods. 1st Vintage International
ed.
p. cm.
eISBN: 978-0-307-78095-9
I. Woods, John E. (John Edwin) II. Title.
PT2625.A44B82 1994
833.912dc20 93-43499

v3.1

PART ONE

1

W HAT DOES THIS MEAN .Whatdoes this mean.

Well, now, deuce take it, cest la question, ma trs chre demoiselle!

Madame Buddenbrook was sitting beside her mother-in-law on the sofa, its clean lines accented with white enamel and a golden lions head, its cushions upholstered a pale yellow; she first shot a glance at her husband, the consul, who was seated in an armchair beside her, and then came to the rescue of her young daughter, who was perched on her grandfathers knee near the window.

Tony! she said. I believe that God made me

And little Antonie, a petite eight-year-old in a dress of softly shimmering silk, was thinking hard, her pretty blond head turned slightly toward her grandfather, but her gray-blue eyes directed into the room without seeing anything. She first repeated, What does this mean, then slowly said, I believe that God made me, and quickly added, her face brightening, and all creatures, and, suddenly finding the track smoothshe was unstoppable now and her face beamed with happinessshe rattled off the whole article, as prescribed by her catechism, newly revised and published under the auspices of an august and wise senate in this year of our Lord, 1835. Once you were moving, she thought, it felt just like racing down Jerusalem Hill on the sled with her brothers in winter: every thought vanished from your mind, and you couldnt stop if you wanted to.

Including clothes and shoes, she said, meat and drink, hearth and home, wife and child, fields and cattle But at these words, old Monsieur Johann Buddenbrook burst into laughter, a high, pinched giggle that he had secretly kept at the ready. He laughed in delight at being able to mock the catechism, had presumably arranged this little exam for just that purpose. He inquired about Tonys fields and cattle, asked how much she wanted for a sack of wheat, and offered her a contract. His round, pastel pink, good-humored facetry as he would he could not look meanwas framed in snow-white powdered hair, and something like the merest hint of a pigtail brushed the wide collar of his mouse-gray frock coat. He had not, at seventy, proved untrue to the fashion of his youth; he had dispensed with lace between the buttons and the oversize pocket, but never in his life had he worn long trousers. His broad double-chin rested comfortably on the wide lace jabot.

They had all joined in the laughter, mainly out of respect for the head of the family. Madame Antoinette Buddenbrook, ne Duchamps, giggled exactly like her husband. She was a stout lady with thick white curls at her ears, her unadorned black dress with pale gray stripes expressed simplicity and modesty, and her beautiful white hands clasped a small velvet reticule on her lap. Over the years, her features had curiously become very like her husbands. Only the shape and lively dark hue of her eyes hinted at her half-Latin origins; her grandfather had been French-Swiss, but she was born in Hamburg.

Her daughter-in-law, Elisabeth Buddenbrook, ne Krger, laughed the Krger laugh, which began with a splutter as her chin was pressed against the chest. She was, like all Krgers, a person of great elegance, and though perhaps not a beauty, by her clear and cheerful voice, by her easy, sure, and gentle movements, she impressed everyone with her serenity and confidence. Her reddish hair, which swept back high on her head in a little crowning swirl and lay in broad, carefully coiffed waves over her ears, matched well with her extraordinary soft white complexion and the few little freckles. The most characteristic feature of her face, with its rather long nose and small mouth, was the lack of any indentation between lower lip and chin. Her short bodice with high puffed sleeves was fitted to a narrow skirt of filmy silk patterned in bright flowers and open at a neck of perfect beauty, adorned by a satin ribbon glistening with a spray of large diamonds.

The consul fidgeted and bent forward in his armchair. He wore a cinnamon jacket with broad lapels and leg-of-mutton sleeves that closed tight just below the wrist. His fitted trousers were of a white, washable fabric and trimmed with a black stripe down each side. The silk cravat wound around his stiff high-wing collar was fluffed to fill the broad, open neck of his multicolored vest. He had something of his fathers deep-set, blue, watchful eyes, though perhaps with a more preoccupied expression; but his features were more earnest and defined, the nose jutted forward in a strong curve, and blond curls ran halfway down his cheeks, which were much less full than the old mans.

Madame Buddenbrook turned to her daughter-in-law, pressing her arm with one hand and giggling as she spoke into her own lap: Oh, mon vieux, always the same, is he not, Bethsy? She pronounced it ollweez.

The consuls wife merely waved this aside with her delicate hand, setting her gold bracelet jingling softly; and then the hand performed a gesture peculiarly her own, moving from one corner of her mouth up to her coiffure, as if tucking back a hair that had strayed to her lips.

The consul, however, said with a mixture of indulgent amusement and reproach in his voice, Now, Father, you are making fun of the most sacred matters again!