“To-day, April 14, 1838, at six o’clock in the morning, my dear wife,
Elizabeth Buddenbrook, born Kröger, was, by God’s gracious help,
happily delivered of a daughter, who will receive the name of Clara
in Holy Baptism. Yea, the Lord hath holpen mightily; for according to
Doctor Grabow, the birth was somewhat premature, and her condition not
of the best. She suffered great pain. Oh, Lord God of Sabaoth, where
is there any other God save Thee? who helpest us in all our times of
need and danger, and teachest us to know Thy will aright, that we may
fear Thee and obey Thy commandments! O Lord, lead us and guide us all,
so long as we live upon this earth....” The pen hurried glibly over
the paper, with here and there a commercial flourish, talking with
God in every line. Two pages further on: “I have taken out,” it said,
“an insurance policy for my youngest daughter, of one hundred and
fifty thaler current. Lead her, O Lord, in Thy ways, give her a pure
heart, O God, that she may one day enter into the mansions of eternal
peace. For inasmuch as our weak human hearts are prone to forget Thy
priceless gift of the sweet, blessed Jesus....” And so on for three
pages. Then he wrote “Amen.” But still the faint scratching sound of
the pen went on, over several more pages. It wrote of the precious
spring that refreshes the tired wanderer, of the Saviour’s holy wounds
gushing blood, of the broad way and the narrow way, and the glory of
the Eternal God. It is true that after a while the Consul began to
feel that he had written enough; that he might let well enough alone,
and go in to see his wife, or out to the counting-house. Oh, fie, fie!
Did one so soon weary of communion with his Lord and Saviour? Was it
not robbing his God to scant Him of this service? No, he would go on,
as a chastisement for these unholy impulses. He cited whole pages of
Scripture, he prayed for his parents, his wife, his children, and
himself, he prayed even for his brother Gotthold. And then, with a last
quotation and three final “Amens,” he strewed sand on the paper and
leaned back with a sigh of relief.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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