Rummschüttel was called and pronounced Effi's condition serious. He
saw that the hectic flush he had noticed for over a year was more
pronounced than ever, and, what was worse, she showed the first
symptoms of nervous fever. But his quiet, friendly manner, to which he
added a dash of humor, did Effi good, and she was calm so long as
Rummschüttel was with her. When he left, Roswitha accompanied him as
far as the outer hall and said: "My, how I am scared, Sir Councillor;
if it ever comes back, and it may--oh, I shall never have another
quiet hour. But it was too, too much, the way the child acted. Her
poor Ladyship! And still so young; at her age many are only beginning
life."
"Don't worry, Roswitha. It may all come right again. But she must get
away. We will see to that. Different air, different people."
Two days later there arrived in Hohen-Cremmen a letter which ran:
"Most gracious Lady: My long-standing friendly relations to the houses
of Briest and Belling, and above all the hearty love I cherish for
your daughter, will justify these lines. Things cannot go on any
longer as they are. Unless something is done to rescue your daughter
from the loneliness and sorrow of the life she has been leading for
years she will soon pine away. She always had a tendency to
consumption, for which reason I sent her to Ems years ago. This old
trouble is now aggravated by a new one; her nerves are giving out.
Nothing but a change of air can check this. But whither shall I send
her? It would not be hard to make a proper choice among the watering
places of Silesia. Salzbrunn is good, and Reinerz still better, on
account of the nervous complication. But no place except Hohen-Cremmen
will do. For, most gracious Lady, air alone cannot restore your
daughter's health. She is pining away because she has nobody but
Roswitha. The fidelity of a servant is beautiful, but parental love is
better. Pardon an old man for meddling in affairs that lie outside of
his calling as a physician. No, not outside, either, for after all it
is the physician who is here speaking and making demands--pardon the
word--in accordance with his duty. I have seen so much of life--But
enough on this topic. With kindest regards to your husband, your
humble servant, Dr. Rummschüttel."
Mrs. von Briest had read the letter to her husband. They were sitting
on the shady tile walk, with their backs to the drawing room and
facing the circular bed and the sundial. The wild grapevine twining
around the windows was rustling gently in the breeze and over the
water a few dragon-flies were hovering in the bright sunshine.
Briest sat speechless, drumming on the tea-tray.
"Please don't drum, I had rather you would talk."
"Ah, Luise, what shall I say? My drumming says quite enough. You have
known for over a year what I think about it. At the time when
Innstetten's letter came, a flash from a clear sky, I was of your
opinion. But that was half an eternity ago. Am I to play the grand
inquisitor till the end of my days? I tell you, I have had my fill of
it for a long time."
"Don't reproach me, Briest. I love her as much as you, perhaps more;
each in his own way. But it is not our only purpose in life to be weak
and affectionate and to tolerate things that are contrary to the law
and the commandments, things that men condemn, and in the present
instance rightly."
"Hold on! One thing comes first."
"Of course, one thing comes first; but what is the one thing?"
"The love of parents for their children, especially when they have
only one child."
"Then good-by catechism, morality, and the claims of 'society.'"
"Ah, Luise, talk to me about the catechism as much as you like, but
don't speak to me about 'society.'"
"It is very hard to get along without 'society."'
"Also without a child. Believe me, Luise,'society' can shut one eye
when it sees fit. Here is where I stand in the matter: If the people
of Rathenow come, all right, if they don't come, all right too. I am
simply going to telegraph: 'Effi, come.' Are you agreed?"
She got up and kissed him on the forehead. "Of course I am. Only you
must not find fault with me. An easy step it is not, and from now on
our life will be different."
"I can stand it. There is a good rape crop and in the autumn I can
hunt an occasional hare. I still have a taste for red wine, and it
will taste even better when we have the child back in the house. Now I
am going to send the telegram."
* * * * *
Effi had been in Hohen-Cremmen for over six months. She occupied the
two rooms on the second floor which she had formerly had when there
for a visit. The larger one was furnished for her personally, and
Roswitha slept in the other. What Rummschüttel had expected from this
sojourn and the good that went with it, was realized, so far as it
could be realized. The coughing diminished, the bitter expression that
had robbed Effi's unusually kind face of a good part of its charm
disappeared, and there came days when she could laugh again. About
Kessin and everything back there little was said, with the single
exception of Mrs. von Padden--and Gieshübler, of course, for whom old
Mr. von Briest had a very tender spot in his heart. "This Alonzo, this
fastidious Spaniard, who harbors a Mirambo and brings up a
Trippelli--well, he must be a genius, and you can't make me believe
he isn't." Then Effi had to yield and act for him the part of
Gieshübler, with hat in hand and endless bows of politeness. By virtue
of her peculiar talent for mimicry, she could do the bows very well,
although it went against the grain, because she always felt that it
was an injustice to the dear good man.--They never talked about
Innstetten and Annie, but it was settled that Annie was to inherit
Hohen-Cremmen.
Effi took a new lease on life, and her mother, who in true womanly
fashion was not altogether averse to regarding the affair, painful
though it was, as merely an interesting case, vied with her father in
expressions of love and devotion.
"Such a good winter we have not had for a long time," said Briest.
Then Effi arose from her seat and stroked back the sparse hairs from
his forehead. But beautiful as everything seemed from the point of
view of Effi's health, it was all illusion, for in reality the disease
was gaining ground and quietly consuming her vitality. Effi again
wore, as on the day of her betrothal to Innstetten, a blue and white
striped smock with a loose belt, and when she walked up to her parents
with a quick elastic step, to bid them good morning, they looked at
each other with joyful surprise--with joyful surprise and yet at the
same time with sadness, for they could not fail to see that it was not
the freshness of youth, but a transformation, that gave her slender
form and beaming eyes this peculiar appearance. All who observed her
closely saw this, but Effi herself did not. Her whole attention was
engaged by the happy feeling at being back in this place, to her so
charmingly peaceful, and living reconciled with those whom she had
always loved and who had always loved her, even during the years of
her misery and exile.
She busied herself with all sorts of things about the home and
attended to the decorations and little improvements in the household.
Her appreciation of the beautiful enabled her always to make the right
choice. Reading and, above all, study of the arts she had given up
entirely. "I have had so much of it that I am happy to be able to lay
my hands in my lap." Besides, it doubtless reminded her too much of
her days of sadness. She cultivated instead the art of contemplating
nature with calmness and delight, and when the leaves fell from the
plane trees, or the sunbeams glistened on the ice of the little pond,
or the first crocuses blossomed in the circular plot, still half in
the grip of winter--it did her good, and she could gaze on all these
things for hours, forgetting what life had denied her, or, to be more
accurate, what she had robbed herself of.
Callers were not altogether a minus quantity, not everybody shunned
her; but her chief associates were the families at the schoolhouse and
the parsonage.
It made little difference that the Jahnke daughters had left home;
there could have been no very cordial friendship with them anyhow. But
she found a better friend than ever in old Mr. Jahnke himself, who
considered not only all of Swedish Pomerania, but also the Kessin
region as Scandinavian outposts, and was always asking questions about
them. "Why, Jahnke, we had a steamer, and, as I wrote to you, I
believe, or may perhaps have told you, I came very near going over to
Wisby. Just think, I almost went to Wisby. It is comical, but I can
say 'almost' with reference to many things in my life."
"A pity, a pity," said Jahnke.
"Yes, indeed, a pity. But I actually did make a tour of Rügen. You
would have enjoyed that, Jahnke. Just think, Arcona with its great
camping place of the Wends, that is said still to be visible. I myself
did not go there, but not very far away is the Hertha Lake with white
and yellow water lilies. The place made one think a great deal of your
Hertha."
"Yes, yes, Hertha. But you were about to speak of the Hertha Lake."
"Yes, I was. And just think, Jahnke, close by the lake stood two large
shining sacrificial stones, with the grooves still showing, in which
the blood used to run off. Ever since then I have had an aversion for
the Wends."
"Oh, pardon me, gracious Lady, but they were not Wends. The legends of
the sacrificial stones and the Hertha Lake go back much, much farther,
clear back before the birth of Christ. They were the pure Germans,
from whom we are all descended."
"Of course," laughed Effi, "from whom we are all descended, the
Jahnkes certainly, and perhaps the Briests, too."
Then she dropped the subject of Rügen and the Hertha Lake and asked
about his grandchildren and which of them he liked best, Bertha's or
Hertha's.
Indeed Effi was on a very friendly footing with Jahnke. But in spite
of his intimate relation to Hertha Lake, Scandinavia, and Wisby, he
was only a simple man and so the lonely young woman could not fail to
value her chats with Niemeyer much higher. In the autumn, so long as
promenades in the park were possible, she had an abundance of such
chats, but with the beginning of winter came an interruption for
several months, because she did not like to go to the parsonage. Mrs.
Niemeyer had always been a very disagreeable woman, but she pitched
her voice higher than ever now, in spite of the fact that in the
opinion of the parish she herself was not altogether above reproach.
The situation remained the same throughout the winter, much to Effi's
sorrow. But at the beginning of April when the bushes showed a fringe
of green and the park paths dried off, the walks were resumed.
Once when they were sauntering along they heard a cuckoo in the
distance, and Effi began to count to see how many times it called. She
was leaning on Niemeyer's arm. Suddenly she said: "The cuckoo is
calling yonder, but I don't want to consult him about the length of my
life. Tell me, friend, what do you think of life?"
"Ah, dear Effi, you must not lay such doctors' questions before me.
You must apply to a philosopher or offer a prize to a faculty. What do
I think of life? Much and little. Sometimes it is very much and
sometimes very little."
"That is right, friend, I like that; I don't need to know anymore." As
she said this they came to the swing. She sprang into it as nimbly as
in her earliest girlhood days, and before the old man, who watched
her, could recover from his fright, she crouched down between the two
ropes and set the swing board in motion by a skillful lifting and
dropping of the weight of her body. In a few seconds she was flying
through the air. Then, holding on with only one hand, she tore a
little silk handkerchief from around her neck and waved it happily and
haughtily. Soon she let the swing stop, sprang out, and took
Niemeyer's arm again.
"Effi, you are just as you always were."
"No, I wish I were. But I am too old for this; I just wanted to try it
once more. Oh, how fine it was and how much good the air did me! It
seemed as though I were flying up to heaven. I wonder if I shall go to
heaven? Tell me, friend, you ought to know. Please, please."
Niemeyer took her hand into his two wrinkled ones and gave her a kiss
on the forehead, saying: "Yes, Effi, you will."