The next morning the two took their rather late breakfast together.
Innstetten had overcome his ill-humor and something worse, and Effi
was so completely taken up with her feeling of liberation that not
only had her power of feigning a certain amount of good humor
returned, but she had almost regained her former artlessness. She was
still in Kessin, and yet she already felt as though it lay far behind
her.
"I have been thinking it over, Effi," said Innstetten, "you are not
entirely wrong in all you have said against our house here. For
Captain Thomsen it was quite good enough, but not for a spoiled young
wife. Everything old-fashioned and no room. You shall have a better
house in Berlin, with a dining hall, but different from the one here,
and in the hall and on the stairway colored-glass windows, Emperor
William with sceptre and crown, or some religious picture, a St.
Elizabeth or a Virgin Mary. Let us say a Virgin Mary; we owe that to
Roswitha."
Effi laughed. "So shall it be. But who will select an apartment for
us? I couldn't think of sending Cousin von Briest to look for one, to
say nothing of my aunts. They would consider anything good enough."
"When it comes to selecting an apartment, nobody can do that to the
satisfaction of any one else. I think you will have to go yourself."
"And when do you think?"
"The middle of March."
"Oh, that is much too late, Geert; everything will be gone then. The
good apartments will hardly wait for us."
"All right. But it was only yesterday that I came home and I can't
well say: 'go tomorrow.' That would not look right and it would not
suit me very well either. I am happy to have you with me once more."
"No," she said, as she gathered together the breakfast dishes rather
noisily to hide a rising embarrassment, "no, and it shall not be
either, neither today nor tomorrow, but before very long, however. And
if I find anything I shall soon be back again. But one thing more,
Roswitha and Annie must go with me. It would please me most if you
went too. But, I see, that is out of the question. And I think the
separation will not last long. I already know, too, where I shall
rent."
"Where?"
"That must remain my secret. I want to have a secret myself. I want to
surprise you later."
At this point Frederick entered to bring the mail. The most of the
pieces were official and newspapers. "Ah, there is also a letter for
you," said Innstetten. "And, if I am not mistaken, mama's
handwriting."
Effi took the letter. "Yes, from mama. But that is not the Friesack
postmark. Just see, why, it is plainly Berlin."
"Certainly," laughed Innstetten. "You act as though it were a miracle.
Mama is doubtless in Berlin and has written her darling a letter from
her hotel."
"Yes," said Effi, "that is probably it. But I almost have fears, and
can find no real consolation in what Hulda Niemeyer always said: that
when one has fears it is better than when one has hopes. What do you
think about it?"
"For a pastor's daughter not quite up to the standard. But now read
the letter. Here is a paper knife."
Effi cut open the envelope and read: "My dear Effi: For the last
twenty-four hours I have been here in Berlin--Consultations with
Schweigger. As soon as he saw me he congratulated me, and when I asked
him, astonished, what occasion there was, I learned that a director of
a ministerial department by the name of Wüllersdorf had just been at
his office and told him that Innstetten had been called to a position
with the ministry. I am a little vexed to have to learn a thing like
that from a third person. But in my pride and joy I forgive you.
Moreover, I always knew, even when I was at Rathenow, that he would
make something of himself. Now you are to profit by it. Of course you
must have an apartment and new furniture. If, my dear Effi, you think
you can make use of my advice, come as soon as your time will permit.
I shall remain here a week for treatment, and if it is not effective,
perhaps somewhat longer. Schweigger is rather indefinite on the
subject. I have taken a private room on Schadow St. Adjoining my room
there are others vacant. What the matter is with my eye I will tell
you when I see you. The thing that occupies me at present is your
future. Briest will be unspeakably happy. He always pretends to be so
indifferent about such things, but in reality he thinks more of them
than I do. My regards to Innstetten, and a kiss for Annie, whom you
will perhaps bring along. As ever your tenderly loving mother, Louise
von B."
Effi laid the letter on the table and said nothing. Her mind was
firmly made up as to what she should do, but she did not want to say
it herself. She wanted Innstetten to speak the first word and then she
would hesitatingly say, "yes."
Innstetten actually fell into the trap. "Well, Effi, you remain so
calm."
"Ah, Geert, everything has its two sides. On the one hand I shall be
happy to see mother again, and maybe even in a few days. But there are
so many reasons for delaying."
"What are they?"
"Mama, as you know, is very determined and recognizes only her own
will. With papa she has been able to have her way in everything. But I
should like to have an apartment to suit _my_ taste, and new furniture
that _I_ like."
Innstetten laughed. "Is that all?"
"Well, that is enough, I should think. But it is not all." Then she
summoned up her courage, looked at him, and said: "And then, Geert, I
should not like to be separated from you again so soon."
"You rogue, you just say that because you know my weakness. But we are
all vain, and I will believe it. I will believe it and yet, at the
same time, play the hero who foregoes his own desires. Go as soon as
you think it necessary and can justify it before your own heart."
"You must not talk like that, Geert. What do you mean by 'justifying
it before my own heart?' By saying that you force me, half
tyrannically, to assume a role of affection, and I am compelled to
say from sheer coquetry: 'Ah, Geert, then I shall never go.' Or
something of the sort."
Innstetten shook his finger at her. "Effi, you are too clever for me.
I always thought you were a child, and now I see that you are on a par
with all the rest. But enough of that, or, as your papa always said,
'that is too wide a field.' Say, rather, when you are going?"
"Today is Tuesday. Let us say, then, Friday noon by the boat. Then I
shall be in Berlin in the evening."
"Settled. And when will you be back?"
"Well, let us gay Monday evening. That will make three days."
"Impossible. That is too soon. You can't accomplish everything in
three days. Your mama will not let you go so soon, either."
"Then leave it to my discretion."
"All right," and Innstetten arose from his seat to go over to the
district councillor's office.
* * * * *
The days before Effi's departure flew by quickly. Roswitha was very
happy. "Ah, your Ladyship, Kessin, oh yes--but it is not Berlin. And
the street cars. And then when the gong rings and one does not know
whether to turn to the right or the left, and it has sometimes seemed
to me as though everything would run right over me. Oh, there is
nothing like that here. Many a day I doubt if we see six people, and
never anything else but the dunes and the sea outside. And it roars
and roars, but that is all."
"Yes, Roswitha, you are right. It roars and roars all the time, but
this is not the right kind of life. Besides, one has all sorts of
stupid ideas. That you cannot deny, and your conduct with Kruse was
not in accord with propriety."
"Ah, your Ladyship--"
"Well, I will not make any further inquiries. You would not admit
anything, of course. Only be sure not to take too few things with you.
In fact, you may take all your things along, and Annie's too."
"I thought we were coming back."
"Yes, I am. It is his Lordship's desire. But you may perhaps stay
there, with my mother. Only see to it that she does not spoil little
Annie too badly. She was often strict with me, but a grandchild--"
"And then, too, you know, little Annie is so sweet, one is tempted to
take a bite of her. Nobody can help being fond of her."
That was on Thursday, the day before the departure. Innstetten had
driven into the country and was not expected home till toward evening.
In the afternoon Effi went down town, as far as the market square, and
there entered the apothecary's shop and asked for a bottle of _sal
volatile_. "One never knows with whom one is to travel," she said to
the old clerk, with whom she was accustomed to chat, and who adored
her as much as Gieshübler himself.
"Is the doctor in?" she asked further, when she had put the little
bottle in her pocket.
"Certainly, your Ladyship, he is in the adjoining room reading the
papers."
"I shall not disturb him, shall I?"
"Oh, never."
Effi stepped in. It was a small room with a high ceiling and shelves
around the walls, on which stood alembics and retorts. Along one wall
were filing cases arranged alphabetically and provided with iron rings
on the front ends. They contained the prescriptions.
Gieshübler was delighted and embarrassed. "What an honor! Here among
my retorts! May I invite her Ladyship to be seated for a moment?"
"Certainly, dear Gieshübler. But really only for a moment. I want to
bid you farewell."
"But, most gracious Lady, you are coming back, aren't you? I heard it
was only for three or four days."
"Yes, dear friend, I am supposed to come back, and it is even arranged
that I shall be back in Kessin in a week at the latest. But it is
possible that I may _not_ come back. I don't need to tell you all the
thousand possibilities--I see you are about to tell me I am still too
young to--but young people sometimes die. And then there are so many
other things. So I prefer to take leave of you as though it were for
ever."
"But, most gracious Lady--"
"As though it were for ever. And I want to thank you, dear Gieshübler.
For you were the best thing here; naturally, because you were the best
man. If I live to be a hundred years old I shall not forget you. I
have felt lonely here at times, and at times my heart was so heavy,
heavier than you can ever know. I have not always managed rightly. But
whenever I have seen you, from the very first day, I have always felt
happier, and better, too."
"Oh, most gracious Lady."
"And I wished to thank you for it. I have just bought a small bottle
of _sal volatile_. There are often such remarkable people in the
compartment, who will not even permit a window to be opened. If I shed
any tears--for, you know, it goes right up into one's head, the salts,
I mean--then I will think of you. Adieu, dear friend, and give my
regards to your friend, Miss Trippelli. During these last weeks I have
often thought of her and of Prince Kotschukoff. After all is said and
done it remains a peculiar relation. But I can understand it--and let
me hear from you some day. Or I shall write."
With these words Effi went out. Gieshübler accompanied her out upon
the square. He was dumbfounded, so completely that he entirely
overlooked many enigmatical things she said.
Effi went back home. "Bring me the lamp, Johanna," she said, "but into
my bedroom. And then a cup of tea. I am so cold and cannot wait till
his Lordship returns."
The lamp and the tea came. Effi was already sitting at her little
writing desk, with a sheet of letter paper before her and the pen in
her hand. "Please, Johanna, put the tea on the table there."
When Johanna had left the room Effi locked her door, looked into the
mirror for a moment and then sat down again, and wrote: "I leave
tomorrow by the boat, and these are farewell lines. Innstetten expects
me back in a few days, but I am _not_ coming back--why I am not coming
back, you know--it would have been better if I had never seen this
corner of the earth. I implore you not to take this as a reproach. All
the fault is mine. If I look at your house--_your_ conduct may be
excusable, not mine. My fault is very grievous, but perhaps I can
overcome it. The fact that we were called away from here is to me, so
to speak, a sign that I may yet be restored to favor. Forget the past,
forget me. Your Effi."
She ran hastily over the lines once more. The strangest thing to her
was the avoidance of the familiar "Du," but that had to be. It was
meant to convey the idea that there was no bridge left. Then she put
the letter into an envelope and walked toward a house between the
churchyard and the corner of the forest. A thin column of smoke arose
from the half tumbled down chimney. There she delivered the letter.
When she reached home Innstetten was already there and she sat down by
him and told him about Gieshübler and the _sal volatile_. Innstetten
laughed. "Where did you get your Latin, Effi?"
The boat, a light sailing vessel (the steamers ran only in the summer)
left at twelve. A quarter of an hour before, Effi and Innstetten were
on board; likewise Roswitha and Annie.
The baggage was bulkier than seemed necessary for a journey of so few
days. Innstetten talked with the captain. Effi, in a raincoat and
light gray traveling hat, stood on the after deck, near the tiller,
and looked out upon the quay and the pretty row of houses that
followed the line of the quay. Just opposite the landing stood the
Hoppensack Hotel, a three-story building, from whose gable a yellow
flag, with a cross and a crown on it, hung down limp in the quiet
foggy air. Effi looked up at the flag for a while, then let her eyes
sink slowly until they finally rested on a number of people who stood
about inquisitively on the quay. At this moment the bell rang. Effi
had a very peculiar sensation. The boat slowly began to move, and as
she once more looked closely at the landing bridge she saw that
Crampas was standing in the front row. She was startled to see him,
but at the same time was glad. He, on the other hand, with his whole
bearing changed, was obviously agitated, and waved an earnest adieu to
her. She returned his greeting in like spirit, but also with great
friendliness, and there was pleading in her eyes. Then she walked
quickly to the cabin, where Roswitha had already made herself at home
with Annie. She remained here in the rather close rooms till they
reached the point where the river spreads out into a sheet of water
called the "Broad." Then Innstetten came and called to her to come up
on deck and enjoy the glorious landscape. She went up. Over the
surface of the water hung gray clouds and only now and then could one
catch a half-veiled glimpse of the sun through a rift in the dense
mass. Effi thought of the day, just a year and a quarter ago, when she
had driven in an open carriage along the shore of this same "Broad." A
brief span, and life often so quiet and lonely. Yet how much had
happened since then!
Thus they sailed up the fairway and at two o'clock were at the station
or very near it. As they, a moment later, passed the Prince Bismarck
Hotel, Golchowski, who was again standing at the door, joined them and
accompanied them to the steps leading up the embankment. At the
station they found the train was not yet signaled, so they walked up
and down on the platform. Their conversation turned about the question
of an apartment. They agreed on the quarter of the city, that it must
be between the Tiergarten and the Zoological Garden. "I want to hear
the finches sing and the parrots scream," said Innstetten, and Effi
was willing.
Then they heard the signal and the train ran into the station. The
station master was full of attentions and Effi received a compartment
to herself.
Another handshake, a wave of her handkerchief, and the train began
again to move.