Free Buddenbrooks by Thomas Mann Page A

seemed probable that more might be expected from Thomas Buddenbrook than from his brother Christian. He was even-tempered, and his high spirits never crossed the bounds of discretion. Christian, on the other hand, was in-clined to be moody: guilty at times of the most extravagant silliness, at others he would be seized by a whim which could terrify the rest of them in the most astonishing way. The family are at table eating dessert and conversing pleas-antly the while. Suddenly Christian turns pale and puts back on his plate the peach into which he has just bitten. His round, deep-set eyes, above the too-large nose, have opened wider. "I will never eat another peach," he says. "Why not, Christian? What nonsense! What's the mat-ter?" "Suppose I accidentally--suppose I swallowed the stone, and it stuck in my throat, so I couldn't breathe, and I jumped 65 up, strangling horribly--and all of you jump up--Ugh...!" and he suddenly gives a short groan, full of horror and affright, starts up in his chair, and acts as if he were trying to escape. The Frau Consul and Ida Jungmann actually do jump up. "Heavens, Christian!--you haven't swallowed it, have you?" For his whole appearance suggests that he has. "No," says Christian slowly. "No"--he is gradually quieting down--"I only mean, suppose I actually had swallowed it!" The Consul has been pale with fright, but he recovers and begins to scold. Old Johann bangs his fist on the table and forbids any more of these idiotic practical jokes. But Chris-tian, for a long, long time, eats no more peaches.
    CHAPTER IV
    IT was not simply the weakness of age that made Madame Antoinette Buddenbrook take to her lofty bed in the bed-chamber of the entresol, one cold January day after they had dwelt some six years in Meng Street. The old lady had re-mained hale and active, and carried her head, with its clustering white side-curls, proudly erect to the very last. She had gone with her husband and children to most of the large din-ners given in the town, and presided no whit less elegantly than her daughter-in-law when the Buddenbrooks themselves entertained. But one day an indefinable malady had suddenly made itself felt--at first in the form of a slight intestinal catarrh, for which Dr. Crabow prescribed a mild diet of pigeon and French bread. This had been followed by colic and vomiting, which reduced her strength so rapidly as to bring about an alarming decline. Dr. Grabow held hurried speech with the Consul, outside on the landing, and another doctor was called in consultation--a stout, black-bearded, gloomy-looking man who began going in and out with Dr. Grabow. And now the whole at-mosphere of the house changed. They went about on their tip-toes and spoke in whispers. The wagons were no longer allowed to roll through the great entry-way below. They looked in each others' eyes and saw there something strange. It was the idea of death that had entered, and was holding silent sway in the spacious rooms. But there was no idle watching, for visitors came: old Senator Duchamps, the dying woman's brother, from Ham-burg, with his daughter; and a few days later, the Consul's sister from Frankfort and her husband, who was a banker .67 The illness lasted fourteen or fifteen days, during which the guests lived in the house, and Ida Jungmann had her hands full attending to the bedrooms and providing heavy break-fasts, with shrimps and port wine. Much roasting and baking went on in the kitchen. Upstairs, Job ami Buddenbrook sat by the sick-bed, his old Netta's limp hand in his, and stared into space with his brows knitted and his lower lip hanging. A clock hung on the wall and ticked dully, with long pauses between; not so long, however, as the pauses between the dying woman's fluttering breaths. A black-robed sister of mercy busied herself about the beef-tea which they still sought to make the patient take. NoW and then some member of the family would appear at the door and disappear again. Perhaps the old man