They returned to the next room and sat down at the round table, while the Senator took up the paper, on which was a list of the objects to be divided among the nearest heirs. Frau Permaneder’s eyes never left her brother’s face, and her own wore a strained, excited look. There was something in her mind, a question hard to put, upon which, nevertheless, all her thoughts were bent, and which must, in the next few hours, come up for discussion.
“I think,” said the Senator, “we may as well keep to the usual rule, that presents go back; so—”
His wife interrupted him.
“Pardon me, Thomas. It seems to me—where is Christian?”
“Oh, goodness, yes, Christian!” cried Frau Permaneder. “We’ve forgotten him!”
She went to ring the bell. But at the same moment Christian opened the door. He entered rather quickly, closed it behind him with a slight bang, and stood there frowning, his little deep round eyes not resting on anybody, but rolling from side to side. His mouth opened and shut under the bushy red moustaches. His mood seemed irritated and defiant.
“I heard you were here,” he said. “If the things are to be talked about, it is proper that I should be told.”
“We were just about to call you,” the Senator said indifferently. “Sit down.”
His eyes rested, as he spoke, on the white studs in Christian’s shirt. He himself was in irreproachable mourning: a black cloth coat, blinding white shirt set off at the collar with a black tie, and black studs instead of the gold ones he usually wore. Christian saw his glance. He drew up a chair to the table and sat down, saying as he did so, with a gesture toward his shirt, “I know I have on white studs. I haven’t got round to buying black—or rather, I haven’t bothered. In the last few years I’ve seen times when I had to borrow money for tooth-powder, and go to bed by the light of a match. I don’t know that I am altogether and entirely to blame. Anyhow, there are other things in the world more important than black studs. I don’t set much store by appearances—I never have.”
Gerda looked at him as he spoke, and now she gave a little laugh. The Senator remarked: “I doubt if you could bear out the truth of that last statement.”
“No? Perhaps you know better than I do, Thomas. I say I don’t set much store by them. I’ve seen too much of the world, and lived with too many different sorts of men, with too many different ways, to care what—and anyhow, I am a grown man”—his voice grew suddenly loud—“I am forty-three years old, and my own master and in a position to warn everybody not to mix in my affairs.”
The Senator was quite astonished. “It seems to me you have something on your mind, my friend,” he said. “As far as the studs go, I haven’t so much as mentioned them, if my memory serves me. Wear whatever mourning you choose, or none at all if that pleases you; but don’t imagine you make any impression on me with your cheap broad-mindedness—”
“I am not trying to make an impression on you.”
“Tom—Christian!” said Frau Permaneder. “Don’t let us have any hard words—not today—when in the next room—Just go on, Thomas. Presents are to be returned? That is only right.”
And Thomas went on. He began with the large things, and wrote down for himself the articles he could use in his own house: the candelabra in the dining-room, the great carved chest that stood in the downstairs entry. Frau Permaneder paid extraordinarily close attention. No matter what the article was, the future possession of which was at the moment in question, she would say with an incomparable air, “Oh, well, I’m willing to take it”—as if the whole world owed her thanks for her act of self-sacrifice. She accepted for herself, her daughter, and her granddaughter far and away the largest share of the furnishings.
Christian had some pieces of furniture, an Empire table-clock and the harmonium. He seemed satisfied enough. But when they came to dividing the table-linen and silver and the sets of dishes, he displayed, to the great astonishment of the others, an eagerness that was almost avidity.
“What about me?” he would say. “I must ask you not to forget me, please.”
“Who is forgetting you? Look: I’ve put a whole tea-service and a silver tray down to you. I’ve taken the gilt Sunday service, as we are probably the only ones who would have a use for it.”
“I’m willing to take the everyday onion pattern,” said Frau Permaneder.
“And what about me?” cried Christian. He was possessed now by that excitement which sometimes seized him and sat so extraordinarily on his haggard cheek. “I certainly want a share in the dishes. And how many forks and spoons do I get? Almost none at all, it seems to me.”
“But, my dear man, what do you want of them? You have no use for them at all. I don’t understand. It is better the things should continue in the family—”
“But suppose I say I want them—if only in remembrance of Mother,” Christian cried defiantly.
To which the Senator impatiently replied, “I don’t feel much like making jokes; but am I to judge from your words that you would like to put a soup-tureen on your chest of drawers and keep it there in memory of Mother? Please don’t get the idea that we want to cheat you out of your share. If you get less of the effects, you will get more elsewhere. The same is true of the linen.”
“I don’t want the money. I want the linen and dishes.”
“Whatever for?”
Christian’s reply to this was one that made Gerda Buddenbrook turn and gaze at him with an enigmatic expression in her eyes. The Senator hastily donned his pince-nez to look the better, and Frau
