BUDDENBROOKS
ous, a prolonged, patient, almost comfortable hum, rising and falling; now and then one heard whistles, and sometimes single words like “principle” and “rights of citizens.” The assembly listened respectfully.
After a while the chairman, Herr Dr. Langhals, spoke in a subdued tone: “Gentlemen, I think we could come to some agreement if we opened the meeting.”
But this humble suggestion did not meet with the slightest support from anybody.
“No good in that,” somebody said, with a simple decisiveness that permitted no appeal. It was a peasant sort of man, named Pfahl, from the Ritzerau district, deputy for the village of Little Schretstaken. Nobody remembered ever to have heard his voice raised before in a meeting, but its very simplicity made it weighty at the present crisis. Unafraid and with sure political insight, Herr Pfahl had voiced the feeling of the entire assemblage.
“God keep us,” Herr Benthien said despondently. “If we sit on the benches we can be seen from outside. They’re throwing stones—I’ve had enough of that.”
“And the cursed door is so narrow,” burst out Köppen the wine-merchant, in despair. “If we start to go out, we’ll probably get crushed.”
“Infamous, un-heard-of,” Herr Stuht intoned.
“Gentlemen,” began the Chairman urgently once more. “I have to put before the Burgomaster in the next three days a draft of to-day’s protocol, and the town expects its publication through the press. I should at least like to get a vote on that subject, if the sitting would come to order—”
But with the exception of a few citizens who supported the chairman, nobody seemed ready to come to the consideration of the agenda. A vote would have been useless anyhow—they must not irritate the people. Nobody knew what they wanted, so it was no good to offend them by a vote, in whatever direction. They must wait and control themselves. The clock of St. Mary’s struck half past four.
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