“_On the occasion of my friendly participation in a delightful house-warming party given by the Buddenbrook family. October 1835._” He read this aloud first; then turning the paper over, he began, in a voice that was already somewhat tremulous: Honoured friends, my modest lay Hastes to greet you in these walls: May kind Heaven grant to-day Blessing on their spacious halls. Thee, my friend with silver hair, And thy faithful, loving spouse, And your children young and fair-- I salute you, and your house. Industry and beauty chaste See we linked in marriage band: Venus Anadyomene And cunning Vulcan’s busy hand. May no future storms dismay With unkind blast the joyful hour; May each new returning day Blessings on your pathway shower. Ceaselessly shall I rejoice O’er the fortune that is yours: As to-day I lift my voice, May I still, while life endures. In your splendid walls live well, And cherish with affection true Him who in his humble cell Penned to-day these lines for you He bowed to a unanimous outburst of applause. “Charming, Hoffstede,” cried old Buddenbrook. “It was too charming for words. I drink your health.” But when the Frau Consul touched glasses with the poet, a delicate blush mantled her cheek; for she had seen the courtly bow he made in her direction when he came to the part about the Venus Anadyomene. CHAPTER VII The general merriment had now reached its height. Herr Köppen felt a great need to unfasten a few buttons of his waistcoat; but it obviously wouldn’t do, for not even the elderly gentlemen were permitting themselves the liberty. Lebrecht Kröger sat up as straight as he did at the beginning; Pastor Wunderlich’s face was as pale as ever, his manner as correct. The elder Buddenbrook had indeed sat back a little in his chair, but he maintained perfect decorum. There was only Justus Kröger--he was plainly a little overtaken. But where was Dr. Grabow? The butter, cheese and fruit had just been handed round; and the Frau Consul rose from her chair and unobtrusively followed the waitress from the room; for the Doctor, Mamsell Jungmann, and Christian were no longer in their places, and a smothered wail was proceeding from the hall. There in the dim light, little Christian was half-lying, half-crouching on the round settee that encircled the central pillar. He was uttering heart-breaking groans. Ida and the Doctor stood beside him. “Oh dear, oh dear,” said she, “the poor child is very bad!” “I’m ill, Mamma, damned ill,” whimpered Christian, his little deep-set eyes darting back and forth, and his big nose looking bigger than ever. The “damned” came out in a tone of utter despair; but the Frau Consul said: “If we use such words, God will punish us by making us suffer still more!” Doctor Grabow felt the lad’s pulse. His kindly face grew longer and gentler.