Chapter X: Dearest Mademoiselle Buddenbrook,

For how long must the undersigned exist without a glimpse of his
enchantress? These few lines will tell you that the vision has never
ceased to hover before his spiritual eye; that never has he during
these interminably anxious months ceased to think of the precious
afternoon in your parental salon, when you let fall a blushing
promise which filled me with bliss unspeakable! Since then long weeks
have flown, during which you have retired from the world for the
sake of calm and self-examination. May I now hope that the period
of probation is past? The undersigned permits himself, dearest
Mademoiselle, to send the enclosed ring as an earnest of his undying
tenderness. With the most tender compliments, and devotedly kissing
your hand, I remain,

Your obedient servant,
GRÜNLICH.

DEAR PAPA,

How angry I’ve been! I had the enclosed letter and ring just now
from Grünlich, and my head aches fearfully from excitement. I don’t
know what else to do but send them both to you. He simply will not
understand me, and what he so poetically writes about the promise
isn’t in the least true, and I beg you emphatically to make it
immediately perfectly clear to him that I am a thousand times less
able to say yes to him than I was before, and that he must leave me
in peace. He makes himself ridiculous. To you, my dearest Father,
I can say that I have bound myself elsewhere, to one who adores me
and whom I love more than I can say. Oh, Papa! I could write pages
to you! I mean Herr Morten Schwarzkopf, who is studying to be a
physician, and who as soon as that happens will ask for my hand. I
know that it is the rule of the family to marry a business man, but
Morten belongs to the other section of respectable men, the scholars.
He is not rich, which I know is important to you and Mamma: but I
must tell you that, young as I am, I have learned that riches do not
make every one happy. With a thousand kisses,

Your obedient daughter,
ANTONIE.

P.S. I find the ring very poor gold, and too narrow.

MY DEAR TONY,

Your letter duly received. As regards its contents, I must tell you
that I did not fail to communicate them to Herr Grünlich: the result
was of such a nature as to shock me very much. You are a grown girl,
and at a serious time of life, so I need not scruple to tell you the
consequences that a frivolous step of yours may draw after it. Herr
Grünlich, then, burst into despair at my announcement, declaring that
he loved you so dearly, and could so little console himself for your
loss, that he would be in a state to take his own life if you remain
firm in your resolve. As I cannot take seriously what you write me
of another attachment, I must beg you to master your excitement
over the ring, and consider everything again very carefully. It
is my Christian conviction, my dear daughter, that one must have
regard for the feelings of others. We do not know that you may not
be made responsible by the most high Judge if a man whose feelings
you have coldly and obstinately scorned should trespass against his
own life. But the thing I have so often told you by word of mouth,
I must recall again to your remembrance, and I am glad to have the
occasion to repeat it in writing; for though speech is more vivid and
has the more immediate effect, the written word has the advantage
that it can be chosen with pains and fixed in a form well-weighed
and calculated by the writer, to be read over and over again, with
proportionate effect.--My child, we are not born for that which, with
our short-sighted vision, we reckon to be our own small personal
happiness. We are not free, separate, and independent entities, but
like links in a chain, and we could not by any means be what we are
without those who went before us and showed us the way, by following
the straight and narrow path, not looking to right or left. Your
path, it seems to me, has lain all these weeks sharply marked out
for you, and you would not be my daughter, nor the granddaughter of
your Grandfather who rests in God, nor a worthy member of our own
family, if you really have it in your heart, alone, wilfully, and
light-headedly to choose your own unregulated path. Your Mother,
Thomas, Christian, and I beg you, my dear Antonie, to weigh all this
in your heart. Mlle. Jungmann and Clara greet you affectionately,
likewise Clothilde, who has been the last several weeks with her
father at Thankless. We all rejoice at the thought of embracing you
once more.

With unfailing affection,
YOUR LOVING FATHER.