Chapter VII

AMSTERDAM, July 30th, 1856
HOTEL HET HASSJE

MY DEAR MOTHER,

I have just received your important letter, and hasten to thank you
for the consideration you show me in asking for my consent in the
affair under discussion. I send you, of course, not only my hearty
agreement, but add my warmest good-wishes, being thoroughly convinced
that you and Clara have made a good choice. The fine name Tiburtius
is known to me, and I feel sure that Papa had business relations with
the father. Clara comes into pleasant connections, in any case, and
the position as pastor’s wife will be very suited to her temperament.

And Tiburtius has gone back to Riga, and will visit his bride
again in August? Well, it will be a gay time then with us in Meng
Street--gayer than you realize, for you do not know the reason why I
was so joyfully surprised by Mademoiselle Clara’s betrothal, nor what
a charming company it is likely to be. Yes, my dear good Mother: I
am complying with the request to send my solemn consent to Clara’s
betrothal from the Amstel to the Baltic. But I do so on condition
that you send me a similar consent by return of post! I would give
three solid gulden to see your face, and even more that of our honest
Tony, when you read these lines. But I will come to the point.

My clean little hotel is in the centre of the town with a pretty view
of the canal. It is not far from the Bourse; and the business on
which I came here--a question of a new and valuable connection, which
you know I prefer to look after in person--has gone successfully
from the first day. I have still considerable acquaintance here
from the days of my apprenticeship; so, although many families are
at the shore now, I have been invited out a good deal. I have been
at small evening companies at the Van Henkdoms and the Moelens, and
on the third day after my arrival I had to put on my dress clothes
to go to a dinner at the house of my former chief, van der Kellen,
which he had arranged out of season in my honour. Whom did I take
in to dinner? Should you like to guess? Fräulein Arnoldsen, Tony’s
old school-fellow. Her father, the great merchant and almost greater
violin artist, and his married daughter and her husband were also of
the party.

I well remember that Gerda--if I may call her so--from the beginning,
even when she was a young girl at school at Fräulein Weichbrodt’s
on the Millbrink, made a strong impression on me, never quite
obliterated. But now I saw her again, taller, more developed,
lovelier, more animated. Please spare me a description, which might
so easily sound overdrawn--and you will soon see each other face to
face.

You can imagine we had much to talk about at the table, but we had
left the old memories behind by the end of the soup, and went on
to more serious and fascinating matters. In music I could not hold
my own with her, for we poor Buddenbrooks know all too little of
that, but in the art of the Netherlands I was more at home, and in
literature we were fully agreed.

Truly the time flew. After dinner I had myself presented to old Herr
Arnoldsen, who received me with especial cordiality. Later, in the
salon, he played several concert pieces, and Gerda also performed.
She looked wonderful as she played, and although I have no notion of
violin playing, I know that she knew how to sing upon her instrument
(a real Stradivarius) so that the tears nearly came into my eyes.
Next day I went to call on the Arnoldsens. I was received at first
by an elderly companion, with whom I spoke French, but then Gerda
came, and we talked as on the day before for perhaps an hour, only
that this time we drew nearer together and made still more effort to
understand and know each other. The talk was of you, Mamma, of Tony,
of our good old town, and of my work.

And on that day I had already taken the firm resolve: this one or
no one, now or never! I met her again by chance at a garden party at
my friend van Svindren’s, and I was invited to a musical evening at
the Arnoldsens’, in the course of which I sounded the young lady by
a half-declaration, which was received encouragingly. Five days ago
I went to Herr Arnoldsen to ask for permission to win his daughter’s
hand. He received me in his private office. “My dear Consul,” he
said, “you are very welcome, hard as it will be for an old widower
to part from his daughter. But what does she say? She has already
held firmly to her resolve never to marry. Have you a chance?” He was
extremely surprised when I told him that Fräulein Gerda had actually
given me ground for hope.

He left her some time for reflection, and I imagine that out of pure
selfishness he dissuaded her. But it was useless. She had chosen
me--since yesterday evening the betrothal is an accomplished fact.

No, my dear Mother, I am not asking a written answer to this letter,
for I am leaving to-morrow. But I am bringing with me the Arnoldsens’
promise that father, daughter, and married sister will visit us in
August, and then you will be obliged to confess that she is the very
wife for me. I hope you see no objection in the fact that Gerda is
only three years younger than I? I am sure you never thought I would
marry a chit out of the Möllendorpf-Langhals, Kistenmaker-Hagenström
circle.

And now for the dowry. I am almost frightened to think how Stephan
Kistenmaker and Hermann Hagenström and Peter Döhlmann and Uncle
Justus and the whole town will blink at me when they hear of the
dowry. For my future father-in-law is a millionaire. Heavens, what is
there to say? We are such complex, contradictory creatures! I deeply
love and respect Gerda Arnoldsen; and I simply will not delve deep
down enough in myself to find out how much the thought of the dowry,
which was whispered into my ear that first evening, contributed to my
feeling. I love her: but it crowns my happiness and pride to think
that when she becomes mine, our firm will at the same time gain a
very considerable increase of capital.

I must close this letter, dear Mother; considering that in a few
days, we shall be talking over my good fortune together, it is
already too long. I wish you a pleasant and beneficial stay at the
baths, and beg you to greet all the family most heartily for me. Your
loving and obedient son,

T.