Innstetten had been gone but four days when Crampas returned from
Stettin with the news that the higher authorities had definitely
dropped the plan of detailing two squadrons to Kessin. There were so
many small cities that were applying for a garrison of cavalry,
particularly for Blücher hussars, that as a rule, he said, an offer of
such troops met with a hearty reception, and not a halting one. When
Crampas made this report the magistracy looked quite badly
embarrassed. Only Gieshübler was triumphant, because he thought the
discomfiture served his narrow-minded colleagues exactly right. When
the news reached the common people a certain amount of depression
spread among them, indeed even some of the consuls with eligible
daughters were for the time being dissatisfied. But on the whole they
soon forgot about it, perhaps because the question of the day, "What
was Innstetten's business in Berlin?" was more interesting to the
people of Kessin, or at least to the dignitaries of the city. They
did not care to lose their unusually popular district councillor, and
yet very exaggerated rumors about him were in circulation, rumors
which, if not started by Gieshübler, were at least supported and
further spread by him. Among other things it was said that Innstetten
would go to Morocco as an ambassador with a suite, bearing gifts,
including not only the traditional vase with a picture of Sans Souci
and the New Palace, but above all a large refrigerator. The latter
seemed so probable in view of the temperature in Morocco, that the
whole story was believed.
In time Effi heard about it. The days when the news would have cheered
her were not yet so very far distant. But in the frame of mind in
which she had been since the end of the year she was no longer capable
of laughing artlessly and merrily. Her face had taken on an entirely
new expression, and her half-pathetic, half-roguish childishness,
which she had preserved as a woman, was gone. The walks to the beach
and the "Plantation," which she had given up while Crampas was in
Stettin, she resumed after his return and would not allow them to be
interfered with by unfavorable weather. It was arranged as formerly
that Roswitha should come to meet her at the end of the ropewalk, or
near the churchyard, but they missed each other oftener than before.
"I could scold you, Roswitha, for never finding me. But it doesn't
matter; I am no longer afraid, not even by the churchyard, and in the
forest I have never yet met a human soul."
It was on the day before Innstetten's return from Berlin that Effi
said this. Roswitha paid little attention to the remarks, as she was
absorbed in hanging up garlands over the doors. Even the shark was
decorated with a fir bough and looked more remarkable than usual. Effi
said: "That is right, Roswitha. He will be pleased with all the green
when he comes back tomorrow. I wonder whether I should go out again
today? Dr. Hannemann insists upon it and is continually saying I do
not take it seriously enough, otherwise I should certainly be looking
better. But I have no real desire today; it is drizzling and the sky
is so gray."
"I will fetch her Ladyship's raincoat."
"Do so, but don't come for me today; we should not meet anyhow," and
she laughed. "Really, Roswitha, you are not a bit good at finding. And
I don't want to have you catch a cold all for nothing."
So Roswitha remained at home and, as Annie was sleeping, went over to
chat with Mrs. Kruse. "Dear Mrs. Kruse," she said, "you were going to
tell me about the Chinaman. Yesterday Johanna interrupted you. She
always puts on such airs, and such a story would not interest her. But
I believe there was, after all, something in it, I mean the story of
the Chinaman and Thomsen's niece, if she was not his granddaughter."
Mrs. Kruse nodded.
Roswitha continued: "Either it was an unhappy love"--Mrs. Kruse nodded
again--"or it may have been a happy one, and the Chinaman was simply
unable to endure the sudden termination of it. For the Chinese are
human, like the rest of us, and everything is doubtless the same with
them as with us."
"Everything," assured Mrs. Kruse, who was about to corroborate it by
her story, when her husband entered and said: "Mother, you might give
me the bottle of leather varnish. I must have the harness shining when
his Lordship comes home tomorrow. He sees everything, and even if he
says nothing, one can tell that he has seen it all."
"I'll bring it out to you, Kruse," said Roswitha. "Your wife is just
going to tell me something more; but it will soon be finished and then
I'll come and bring it."
A few minutes later Roswitha came out into the yard with the bottle of
varnish in her hand and stood by the harness which Kruse had just hung
over the garden fence. "By George!" he said, as he took the bottle
from her hand, "it will not do much good; it keeps drizzling all the
time and the shine will come off. But I am one of those who think
everything must be kept in order."
"Indeed it must. Besides, Kruse, that is good varnish, as I can see at
a glance, and first-class varnish doesn't stay sticky very long, it
must dry immediately. Even if it is foggy tomorrow, or dewy, it will
be too late then to hurt it. But, I must say, that is a remarkable
story about the Chinaman."
Kruse laughed. "It is nonsense, Roswitha. My wife, instead of paying
attention to proper things, is always telling such tales, and when I
go to put on a clean shirt there is a button off. It has been so ever
since we came here. She always had just such stories in her head and
the black hen besides. And the black hen doesn't even lay eggs. After
all, what can she be expected to lay eggs out of? She never goes out,
and such things as eggs can't come from mere cock-a-doodle-dooing. It
is not to be expected of any hen."
"See here, Kruse, I am going to repeat that to your wife. I have
always considered you a respectable man and now you say things like
that about the cock-a-doodle-dooing. Men are always worse than we
think. Really I ought to take this brush right now and paint a black
moustache on your face."
"Well, Roswitha, one could put up with that from you," and Kruse, who
was usually on his dignity, seemed about to change to a more flirting
tone, when he suddenly caught sight of her Ladyship, who today came
from the other side of the "Plantation" and just at this moment was
passing along the garden fence.
"Good day, Roswitha, my, but you are merry. What is Annie doing?"
"She is asleep, your Ladyship."
As Roswitha said this she turned red and quickly breaking off the
conversation, started toward the house to help her Ladyship change her
clothes. For it was doubtful whether Johanna was there. She hung
around a good deal over at the "office" nowadays, because there was
less to do at home and Frederick and Christel were too tedious for her
and never knew anything.
Annie was still asleep. Effi leaned over the cradle, then had her hat
and raincoat taken off and sat down upon the little sofa in her
bedroom. She slowly stroked back her moist hair, laid her feet on a
stool, which Roswitha drew up to her, and said, as she evidently
enjoyed the comfort of resting after a rather long walk: "Roswitha, I
must remind you that Kruse is married."
"I know it, your Ladyship."
"Yes, what all doesn't one know, and yet one acts as though one did
_not_ know. Nothing can ever come of this."
"Nothing is supposed to come of it, your Ladyship."
"If you think she is an invalid you are reckoning without your host.
Invalids live the longest. Besides she has the black chicken. Beware
of it. It knows everything and tattles everything. I don't know, it
makes me shudder. And I'll wager all that business upstairs has some
connection with this chicken."
"Oh, I don't believe it. But it is terrible just the same, and Kruse,
who always sides himself against his wife, cannot talk me out of it."
"What did he say?"
"He said it was nothing but mice."
"Well, mice are quite bad enough. I can't bear mice. But, to change
the subject, I saw you chatting with Kruse, plainly, also your
familiar actions, and in fact I think you were going to paint a
moustache on his lip. That I call pretty far advanced. A little later
you will be jilted. You are still a smug person and have your charms.
But beware, that is all I have to say to you. Just what was your
experience the first time? Was it such that you can tell me about it?"
"Oh, I can tell you. But it was terrible. And because it was so
terrible, your Ladyship's mind can be perfectly easy with regard to
Kruse. A girl who has gone through what I did has enough of it and
takes care. I still dream of it occasionally and then I am all knocked
to pieces the next day. Such awful fright."
Effi sat up and leaned her head on her arm. "Tell me about it, and how
it came about. I know from my observations at home that it is always
the same story with you girls."
"Yes, no doubt it is always the same at first, and I am determined not
to think that there was anything special about my case. But when the
time came that they threw it into my face and I was suddenly forced to
say: 'yes, it is so,' oh, _that_ was terrible. Mother--well, I could
get along with her, but father, who had the village blacksmith's shop,
he was severe and quick to fly into a rage. When he heard it, he came
at me with a pair of tongs which he had just taken from the fire and
was going to kill me. I screamed and ran up to the attic and hid
myself and there I lay and trembled, and did not come down till they
called me and told me to come. Besides, I had a younger sister, who
always pointed at me and said: 'Ugh!' Then when the child was about to
come I went into a barn near by, because I was afraid to stay in the
house. There strangers found me half dead and carried me into the
house and laid me in my bed. The third day they took the child away
and when I asked where it was they said it was well taken care of. Oh,
your Ladyship, may the holy mother of God protect you from such
distress!"
Effi was startled and stared at Roswitha with wide-opened eyes. But
she was more frightened than vexed. "The things you do say! Why, I am
a married woman. You must not say such things; it is improper, it is
not fitting."
"Oh, your Ladyship."
"Tell me rather what became of you. They had robbed you of your baby.
You told me that."
"And then, a few days later, somebody from Erfurt drove up to the
mayor's office and asked whether there was not a wet nurse there, and
the mayor said 'yes,' God bless him! So the strange gentleman took me
away with him and from that day I was better off. Even with the old
widow my life was tolerable, and finally I came to your Ladyship. That
was the best, the best of all." As she said this she stepped to the
sofa and kissed Effi's hand.
"Roswitha, you must not always be kissing my hand, I don't like it.
And do beware of Kruse. Otherwise you are a good and sensible
person--With a married man--it is never well."
"Ah, your Ladyship, God and his saints lead us wondrously, and the
bad fortune that befalls us has also its good side. If one is not made
better by it there is no help for him--Really, I like the men."
"You see, Roswitha, you see."
"But if the same feeling should come over me again--the affair with
Kruse, there is nothing in that--and I could not control myself, I
should run straight into the water. It was too terrible. Everything.
And I wonder what ever became of the poor baby? I don't think it is
still living; they had it killed, but I am to blame." She threw
herself down by Annie's cradle, and rocked the child and sang her
favorite lullaby over and over again without stopping.
"Stop," said Effi, "don't sing any more; I have a headache. Bring in
the newspapers. Or has Gieshübler sent the journals?"
"He did, and the fashion paper was on top. We were turning over the
leaves, Johanna and I, before she went across the street. Johanna
always gets angry that she cannot have such things. Shall I fetch the
fashion paper?"
"Yes, fetch it and bring me the lamp, too."
Roswitha went out and when Effi was alone she said: "What things they
do have to help one out! One pretty woman with a muff and another with
a half veil--fashion puppets. But it is the best thing for turning my
thoughts in some other direction."
In the course of the following morning a telegram came from
Innstetten, in which he said he would come by the second train, which
meant that he would not arrive in Kessin before evening. The day
proved one of never ending restlessness. Fortunately Gieshübler came
in the afternoon and helped pass an hour. Finally, at seven o'clock,
the carriage drove up. Effi went out and greeted her husband.
Innstetten was in a state of excitement that was unusual for him and
so it came about that he did not notice the embarrassment mingled with
Effi's heartiness. In the hall the lamps and candles were burning, and
the tea service, which Frederick had placed on one of the tables
between the cabinets, reflected the brilliant light.
"Why, this looks exactly as it did when we first arrived here. Do you
remember, Effi?"
She nodded.
"Only the shark with his fir bough behaves more calmly today, and even
Rollo pretends to be reticent and does not put his paws on my
shoulders. What is the matter with you, Rollo?"
Rollo rubbed past his master and wagged his tail.
"He is not exactly satisfied; either it is with me or with others.
Well, I'll assume, with me. At all events let us go in." He entered
his room and as he sat down on the sofa asked Effi to take a seat
beside him. "It was so fine in Berlin, beyond expectation, but in the
midst of all my pleasure I always felt a longing to be back. And how
well you look! A little bit pale and also a little bit changed, but it
is all becoming to you."
Effi turned red.
"And now you even turn red. But it is as I tell you. You used to have
something of the spoiled child about you; now all of a sudden you look
like a wife."
"I like to hear that, Geert, but I think you are just saying it."
"No, no, you can credit yourself with it, if it is something
creditable."
"I should say it is."
"Now guess who sent you his regards."
"That is not hard, Geert. Besides, we wives, for I can count myself
one since you are back"--and she reached out her hand and laughed--"we
wives guess easily. We are not so obtuse as you."
"Well, who was it?"
"Why, Cousin von Briest, of course. He is the only person I know in
Berlin, not counting my aunts, whom you no doubt failed to look up,
and who are far too envious to send me their regards. Haven't you
found, too, that all old aunts are envious?"
"Yes, Effi, that is true. And to hear you say it reminds me that you
are my same old Effi. For you must know that the old Effi, who looked
like a child, also suited my taste. Just exactly as does your Ladyship
at present."
"Do you think so? And if you had to decide between the two"--
"That is a question for scholars; I shall not talk about it. But there
comes Frederick with the tea. How I have longed for this hour! And I
said so, too, even to your Cousin Briest, as we were sitting at
Dressel's and drinking Champagne to your health--Your ears must have
rung--And do you know what your cousin said?"
"Something silly, certainly. He is great at that."
"That is the blackest ingratitude I have ever heard of in all my life.
'Let us drink to the health of Effi,' he said, 'my beautiful
cousin--Do you know, Innstetten, that I should like nothing better
than to challenge you and shoot you dead? For Effi is an angel, and
you robbed me of this angel.' And he looked so serious and sad, as he
said it, that one might almost have believed him."
"Oh, I know that mood of his. The how-manieth were you drinking?"
"I don't recall now and perhaps could not have told you then. But this
I do believe, that he was wholly in earnest. And perhaps it would have
been the right match. Don't you think you could have lived with him?"
"Could have lived? That is little, Geert. But I might almost say, I
could not even have lived with him."
"Why not? He is really a fine amiable fellow and quite sensible,
besides."
"Yes, he is that."
"But--"
"But he is a tomfool. And that is not the kind of a man we women love,
not even when we are still half children, as you have always thought
me and perhaps still do, in spite of my progress. Tomfoolery is not
what we want. Men must be men."
"It's well you say so. My, a man surely has to mind his p's and q's.
Fortunately I can say I have just had an experience that looks as
though I had minded my p's and q's, or at least I shall be expected to
in the future--Tell me, what is your idea of a ministry?"
"A ministry? Well, it may be one of two things. It may be people, wise
men of high rank, who rule the state; and it may be merely a house, a
palace, a Palazzo Strozzi or Pitti, or, if these are not fitting, any
other. You see I have not taken my Italian journey in vain."
"And could you make up your mind to live in such a palace? I mean in
such a ministry?"
"For heaven's sake, Geert, they have not made you a minister, have
they? Gieshübler said something of the sort. And the Prince is
all-powerful. Heavens, he has accomplished it at last and I am only
eighteen."
Innstetten laughed. "No, Effi, not a minister; we have not risen to
that yet. But perhaps I may yet develop a variety of gifts that would
make such a thing not impossible."
"So not just yet, not yet a minister?"
"No. And, to tell the truth, we are not even to live in the ministry,
but I shall go daily to the ministry, as I now go to our district
council office, and I shall make reports to the minister and travel
with him, when he inspects the provincial offices. And you will be the
wife of a head clerk of a ministerial department and live in Berlin,
and in six months you will hardly remember that you have been here in
Kessin, where you have had nothing but Gieshübler and the dunes and
the 'Plantation.'"
Effi did not say a word, but her eyes kept getting larger and larger.
About the corners of her mouth there was a nervous twitching and her
whole slender body trembled. Suddenly she slid from her seat down to
Innstetten's feet, clasped her arms around his knees and said in a
tone, as though she were praying: "Thank God!"
Innstetten turned pale. What was that? Something that had come over
him weeks before, but had swiftly passed away, only to come back from
time to time, returned again now and spoke so plainly out of his eyes
that it startled Effi. She had allowed herself to be carried away by a
beautiful feeling, differing but little from a confession of her
guilt, and had told more than she dared. She must offset it, must find
some way of escape, at whatever cost.
"Get up, Effi. What is the matter with you?"
Effi arose quickly. However, she did not sit down on the sofa again,
but drew up a high-backed chair, apparently because she did not feel
strong enough to hold herself up without support.
"What is the matter with you?" repeated Innstetten. "I thought you had
spent happy days here. And now you cry out, 'Thank God!' as though
your whole life here had been one prolonged horror. Have I been a
horror to you? Or is it something else? Speak!"
"To think that you can ask such a question!" said Effi, seeking by a
supreme effort to suppress the trembling of her voice. "Happy days!
Yes, certainly, happy days, but others, too. Never have I been
entirely free from fear here, never. Never yet a fortnight that it did
not look over my shoulder again, that same face, the same sallow
complexion. And these last nights while you were away, it came back
again, not the face, but there was shuffling of feet again, and Rollo
set up his barking again, and Roswitha, who also heard it, came to my
bed and sat down by me and we did not go to sleep till day began to
dawn. This is a haunted house and I was expected to believe in the
ghost, for you are a pedagogue. Yes, Geert, that you are. But be that
as it may, thus much I know, I have been afraid in this house for a
whole year and longer, and when I go away from here the fear will
leave me, I think, and I shall be free again."
Innstetten had not taken his eyes off her and had followed every word.
What could be the meaning of "You are a pedagogue," and the other
statement that preceded, "And I was expected to believe in the ghost?"
What was all that about? Where did it come from? And he felt a slight
suspicion arising and becoming more firmly fixed. But he had lived
long enough to know that all signs deceive, and that in our jealousy,
in spite of its hundred eyes, we often go farther astray than in the
blindness of our trust. Possibly it was as she said, and, if it was,
why should she not cry out: "Thank God!"
And so, quickly looking at the matter from all possible sides, he
overcame his suspicion and held out his hand to her across the table:
"Pardon me, Effi, but I was so much surprised by it all. I suppose, of
course, it is my fault. I have always been too much occupied with
myself. We men are all egoists. But it shall be different from now on.
There is one good thing about Berlin, that is certain: there are no
haunted houses there. How could there be! Now let us go into the other
room and see Annie; otherwise Roswitha will accuse me of being an
unaffectionate father."
During these words Effi had gradually become more composed, and the
consciousness of having made a felicitous escape from a danger of her
own creation restored her countenance and buoyancy.