Buddenbrooks

Thomas, who was destined from birth to be a merchant and the future owner of the firm, attended modern, scientific classes beneath the Gothic arches of the Old School. He was a clever, alert, and prudent young man, but he took immense enjoyment in Christian’s wonderful gift for imitating the teachers of the humanities classes he attended, where he showed no less talent than his brother, although less seriousness.

Suddenly [Christian] said, “You know, it’s strange—sometimes I feel like I can’t swallow. No, now don’t laugh. I’m being quite serious. The thought occurs to me that I can’t swallow, and then I really can’t. What I’ve eaten is clear at the back of my mouth, but these muscles here, along the neck—they just won’t work. They won’t obey my will, you see. Or, better, the fact is: I can’t bring myself to actually will it.”

“Why do you constantly use the expression ‘Good God’?” Thomas asked in annoyance. But that was not really what upset him. He felt as if Christian told this story with such relish because it gave him an opportunity to scorn and ridicule work. At which point their mother discreetly changed the subject.

“There are so many ugly things in this world,” Elisabeth Buddenbrook, née Kröger, thought to herself. “Even brothers can hate or despite each other; that does happen, as awful as it may sound. But no one ever speaks of it. They gloss over it. It’s best to know nothing about it.”

The fierce contempt in which Thomas held his brother—and the wistful indifference with which Christian bore it—found expression in all those trivial moments of life that can only manifest themselves among people thrown together in families. If, for example, conversation turned to the history of the Buddenbrooks, Christian could become wrapped up in a mood of high seriousness—which ill became him—and speak with love and admiration of his hometown and his forebears. The consul would immediately cut him off with an icy remark. He could not stand it. He despised his brother so much that he would not allow him to love the things he loved.

“I became what I am,” Thomas said at last, with emotion in his voice, “because I did not want to become like you. If I have inwardly shrunk away from you, it was because I had to protect myself from you, because your nature and character are a danger to me. I am speaking the truth.”

Thomas, who was destined from birth to be a merchant and the future owner of the firm, attended modern, scientific classes beneath the Gothic arches of the Old School. He was a clever, alert, and prudent young man, but he took immense enjoyment in Christian’s wonderful gift for imitating the teachers of the humanities classes he attended, where he showed no less talent than his brother, although less seriousness.

Suddenly [Christian] said, “You know, it’s strange—sometimes I feel like I can’t swallow. No, now don’t laugh. I’m being quite serious. The thought occurs to me that I can’t swallow, and then I really can’t. What I’ve eaten is clear at the back of my mouth, but these muscles here, along the neck—they just won’t work. They won’t obey my will, you see. Or, better, the fact is: I can’t bring myself to actually will it.”

“Why do you constantly use the expression ‘Good God’?” Thomas asked in annoyance. But that was not really what upset him. He felt as if Christian told this story with such relish because it gave him an opportunity to scorn and ridicule work. At which point their mother discreetly changed the subject.

“There are so many ugly things in this world,” Elisabeth Buddenbrook, née Kröger, thought to herself. “Even brothers can hate or despite each other; that does happen, as awful as it may sound. But no one ever speaks of it. They gloss over it. It’s best to know nothing about it.”

The fierce contempt in which Thomas held his brother—and the wistful indifference with which Christian bore it—found expression in all those trivial moments of life that can only manifest themselves among people thrown together in families. If, for example, conversation turned to the history of the Buddenbrooks, Christian could become wrapped up in a mood of high seriousness—which ill became him—and speak with love and admiration of his hometown and his forebears. The consul would immediately cut him off with an icy remark. He could not stand it. He despised his brother so much that he would not allow him to love the things he loved.

“I became what I am,” Thomas said at last, with emotion in his voice, “because I did not want to become like you. If I have inwardly shrunk away from you, it was because I had to protect myself from you, because your nature and character are a danger to me. I am speaking the truth.”