BUDDENBROOKS
of your fortune. Now I know more: and not regarding my self as disinherited in principle, I claim as my right the sum of thirty-three thousand and three hundred and thirty-three marks current, or a third of the purchase price. I make no comment on the damnable influences which are responsible for the treatment I have received. But I protest against them with my whole sense of justice as a Christian and a business man. Let me tell you for the last time that, if you cannot bring yourself to recognize the justice of my claims, I shall no longer be able to respect you as a Christian, a parent, or a man of business.
Gotthold Buddenbrook.
“You will excuse me for saying that I don’t get much pleasure out of reading that rigmarole all over again.—Voila!” And Johann Buddenbrook tossed the letter to his son, with a contemptuous gesture. The Consul picked it up as it fluttered to his feet, and looked at his father with troubled eyes, while the old man took the long candle-snuffers from their place by the window and with angry strides crossed the room to the candelabrum in the corner.
“Assez, I say. N’en parlous plus! To bed with you—en avant!” He quenched one flame after another under the little metal cap. There were only two candles left when the elder turned again to his son, whom he could hardly see at the far end of the room.
“Eh bien—what are you standing there for? Why don’t you say something?”
“What shall I say, Father? I am thoroughly taken aback.”
“You are pretty easily taken aback, then,” Johann Buddenbrook rapped out irritably, though he knew that the reproach was far from being a just one. His son was in fact often his superior when it came to a quick decision upon the advantageous course.
“ ‘Damnable influences,’ ” the Consul quoted. “That is the first line I can make out. Do you know how it makes
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