CHAPTER XX
Innstetten, who had observed Effi sharply as he lifted her from the sleigh, but had avoided speaking to her in private about the strange drive, arose early the following morning and sought to overcome his ill-humor, from the effects of which he still suffered.
"Did you sleep well?" he asked, as Effi came to breakfast.
"Yes."
"How fortunate! I can't say the same of myself. I dreamed you met with an accident in the sleigh, in the quicksand, and Crampas tried to rescue you—I must call it that—, but he sank out of sight with you."
"You say all this so queerly, Geert. Your words contain a covert reproach, and I can guess why."
"Very remarkable."
"You do not approve of Crampas's coming and offering us his assistance."
"Us?"
"Yes, us. Sidonie and me. You seem to have forgotten entirely that the Major came at your request. At first he sat opposite me, and I may say, incidentally, that it was indeed an uncomfortable seat on that miserable narrow strip, but when the Grasenabbs came up and took Sidonie, and our sleigh suddenly drove on, I suppose you expected that I should ask him to get out? That would have made a laughing stock of me, and you know how sensitive you are on that point. Remember, we have ridden horseback many times together, with your consent, and now you don't think I should ride in the same vehicle with him. It is wrong, we used to say at home, to mistrust a nobleman."
"A nobleman," said Innstetten with emphasis.
"Isn't he one? You yourself called him a cavalier, a perfect cavalier, in fact."
"Yes," continued Innstetten, his tone growing more friendly, though it still betrayed a slight shade of sarcasm. "A cavalier he is, and a perfect cavalier, that is beyond dispute. But nobleman? My dear Effi, a nobleman has a different look. Have you ever noticed anything noble about him? Not I."
Effi stared at the ground and kept silent.
"It seems we are of the same opinion. But, as you said, I myself am to blame. I don't care to speak of a faux pas; it is not the right word in this connection. I assume the blame, and it shall not occur again, if I can prevent it. But you will be on your guard, too, if you heed my advice. He is coarse and has designs of his own on young women. I knew him of old."
"I shall remember what you say. But just one thing—I believe you misunderstand him."
"I do not misunderstand him."
"Or me," she said, with all the force at her command, and attempted to meet his gaze.
"Nor you either, my dear Effi. You are a charming little woman, but persistence is not exactly your specialty."
He arose to go. When he had got as far as the door Frederick entered to deliver a note from Gieshübler, addressed, of course, to her Ladyship.
Effi took it. "A secret correspondence with Gieshübler," she said.
"Material for another fit of jealousy on the part of my austere Lord.
Or isn't it?"
"No, not quite, my dear Effi. I am so foolish as to make a distinction between Crampas and Gieshübler. They are not the same number of carats fine, so to speak. You know, the value of gold is estimated by carats, in certain circumstances that of men also. And I must add that I personally have a considerably higher regard for Gieshübler's white jabot, in spite of the fact that jabots are no longer worn, than I have for Crampas's red sapper whiskers. But I doubt if that is feminine taste."
"You think we are weaker than we are."
"A consolation of extraordinarily little practical application. But enough of that. Read your note."
Effi read: "May I inquire about the health of my gracious Lady? I know only that you luckily escaped the quicksand. But there was still plenty of danger lurking along the road through the woods. Dr. Hannemann has just returned and reassures me concerning Mirambo, saying that yesterday he considered the case more serious than he cared to let us know, but not so today. It was a charming sleigh-ride.—In three days we shall celebrate New Year's eve. We shall have to forego a festivity like last year's, but we shall have a ball, of course, and to see you present would delight the dancers and, by no means least, Yours most respectfully, Alonzo G."
Effi laughed. "Well, what do you say?"
"The same as before, simply that I should rather see you with
Gieshübler than with Crampas."
"Because you take Crampas too seriously and Gieshübler too lightly."
Innstetten jokingly shook his finger at her.
Three days later was New Year's eve. Effi appeared in a charming ball gown, a gift that the Christmas table had brought her. But she did not dance. She took her seat among the elderly dames, for whom easy chairs were placed near the orchestra gallery. Of the particular noble families with which the Innstettens associated there was nobody present, because, shortly before, there had occurred a slight disagreement with the city faction in the management of the club, which had been accused of "destructive tendencies," especially by old Mr. Güldenklee. However, three or four other noble families from over the Kessine, who were not members of the club, but only invited guests, had crossed over the ice on the river, some of them from a great distance, and were happy to take part in the festivity. Effi sat between the elderly wife of baronial councillor von Padden and a somewhat younger Mrs. von Titzewitz. The former, an excellent old lady, was in every way an original, and sought by means of orthodox German Christianity to counteract the tendency toward Wendish heathenism, with which nature had endowed her, especially in the prominent structure of her cheek bones. In her orthodoxy she went so far that even Sidonie von Grasenabb was in comparison a sort of esprit fort. The elderly dame, having sprung from a union of the Radegast and the Schwantikow branches of the family, had inherited the old Padden humor, which had for years rested like a blessing upon the family and had heartily rejoiced everybody who came into touch with them, even though enemies in politics or religion.
"Well, child," said the baronial councillor's wife, "how are you getting on, anyhow?"
"Quite well, most gracious Lady. I have a very excellent husband."
"I know. But that does not always suffice. I, too, had an excellent husband. How do matters actually stand? No temptations?"
Effi was startled and touched at the same time. There was something uncommonly refreshing about the free and natural tone in which the old lady spoke, and the fact that she was such a pious woman made it even more refreshing.
"Ah, most gracious Lady—"
"There it comes. Nothing new, the same old story. Time makes no change here, and perhaps it is just as well. The essential thing, my dear young woman, is struggle. One must always wrestle with the natural man. And when one has conquered self and feels almost like screaming out, because it hurts so, then the dear angels shout for joy."
"Ah, most gracious Lady, it is often very hard."
"To be sure, it is hard. But the harder the better. You must be glad of that. The weakness of the flesh is lasting. I have grandsons and granddaughters and see it every day. But the conquering of self in the faith, my dear Lady, that is the essential thing, that is the true way. This was brought to our knowledge by our old man of God, Martin Luther. Do you know his Table Talks?"
"No, most gracious Lady."
"I am going to send them to you."
At this moment Major von Crampas stepped up to Effi and inquired about her health. Effi was red as blood. Before she had time to reply he said: "May I ask you, most gracious Lady, to present me to these Ladies?"
Effi introduced Crampas, who had already got his bearings perfectly and in the course of his small talk mentioned all the von Paddens and von Titzewitzes he had ever heard of. At the same time he excused himself for not yet having made his call and presented his wife to the people beyond the Kessine. "But it is strange what a separating power water has. It is the same way with the English Channel."
"How?" asked old Mrs. von Titzewitz.
Crampas, considering it inadvisable to give explanations which would have been to no purpose, continued: "To twenty Germans who go to France there is not one who goes to England. That is because of the water. I repeat, water has a dividing power."
Mrs. von Padden, whose fine instinct scented some insinuation in this remark, was about to take up the cudgels for water, but Crampas spoke on with increasing fluency and turned the attention of the ladies to a beautiful Miss von Stojentin, "without question the queen of the ball," he said, incidentally casting an admiring glance at Effi. Then he bowed quickly to the three ladies and walked away.
"Handsome man," said Mrs. von Padden. "Does he ever come to your house?"
"Casually."
"Truly a handsome man," repeated Mrs. von Padden. "A little bit too self-assured. Pride will have a fall. But just see, there he is, taking his place with Grete Stojentin. Why, really, he is too old, he is at least in the middle of the forties."
"He is going on forty-four."
"Aha, you seem to be well acquainted with him."
* * * * *
It was very opportune for Effi that the new year, from the very beginning, brought a variety of diversions. New Year's eve a sharp northeast wind began to blow and during the next few days it increased in velocity till it amounted almost to a hurricane. On the 3d of January in the afternoon it was reported that a ship which had not been able to make its way into port had been wrecked a hundred yards from the mole. It was said to be an English ship from Sunderland and, so far as could be ascertained, had seven men on board. In spite of strenuous efforts the pilots were unable to row around the mole, and the launching of a boat from the beach was out of the question, as the surf was too heavy. That sounded sad enough. But Johanna, who brought the news, had a word of comfort. Consul Eschrich, she said, was hastening to the scene with the life-saving apparatus and the rocket battery, and success was certain. The distance was not quite as great as in the year '75, and that time all lives had been saved; even the poodle had been rescued. "It was very touching to see how the dog rejoiced and again and again licked with his red tongue both the Captain's wife and the dear little child, not much larger than little Annie."
"Geert, I must go there, I must see it," Effi declared, and both set out at once in order not to be too late. They chose just the right moment, for as they reached the beach beyond the "Plantation" the first shot was fired and they saw plainly how the rocket with the life line sailed beneath the storm cloud and fell down beyond the ship. Immediately all hands were astir on board and they used the small line to haul in the heavier hawser with the basket. Before long the basket returned and one of the sailors, a very handsome, slender man, with an oilcloth hood, was safe on land. He was plied with questions by the inquisitive spectators, while the basket made another trip to fetch the second man, then the third, and so on. All were rescued, and as Effi walked home with her husband a half hour later she felt like throwing herself on the sand and having a good cry. A beautiful emotion had again found lodgment in her heart and she was immeasurably happy that it was so.
This occurred on the 3d. On the 5th a new excitement was experienced, of an entirely different kind, to be sure. On his way out of the council house Innstetten had met Gieshübler, who, by the way, was an alderman and a member of the magistracy. In conversation with him Innstetten had learned that the ministry of war had inquired what attitude the city authorities would assume in case the question of a garrison were raised. If they showed their willingness to meet the necessary conditions, viz., to build stables and barracks, they might be granted two squadrons of hussars. "Well, Effi, what do you say about it?" Effi looked as though struck dumb. All the innocent happiness of her childhood years was suddenly brought back to her and for a moment it seemed as though red hussars—for these were to be red hussars, like those at home in Hohen-Cremmen—were the true guardians of Paradise and innocence. Still she remained silent.
"Why, you aren't saying anything, Effi."
"Strangely, I'm not, Geert. But it makes me so happy that I cannot speak for joy. Is it really going to be? Are they truly going to come?"
"It is a long way off yet. In fact, Gieshübler said the city fathers, his colleagues, didn't deserve it at all. Instead of simply being unanimous and happy over the honor, or if not over the honor, at least over the advantage, they had brought forward all sorts of 'ifs' and 'buts,' and had been niggardly about the buildings. In fact, Confectioner Michelsen had gone so far as to say it would corrupt the morals of the city, and whoever had a daughter would better be forehanded and secure iron grills for his windows."
"That is incredible. I have never seen more mannerly people than our hussars. Really, Geert. Well, you know so yourself. And so this Michelsen wants to protect everything with iron bars. Has he any daughters?"
"Certainly. Three, in fact. But they are all out of the race."
Effi laughed more heartily than she had for a long time. But the mood was of short duration and when Innstetten went away and left her alone she sat down by the baby's cradle, and tears fell on the pillows. The old feeling came over her again that she was a prisoner without hope of escape.
She suffered intensely from the feeling and longed more than ever for liberty. But while she was capable of strong emotions she had not a strong character. She lacked steadfastness and her good desires soon passed away. Thus she drifted on, one day, because she could not help it, the next, because she did not care to try to help it. She seemed to be in the power of the forbidden and the mysterious.
So it came about that she, who by nature was frank and open, accustomed herself more and more to play an underhand part. At times she was startled at the ease with which she could do it. Only in one respect she remained unchanged—she saw everything clearly and glossed nothing. Late one evening she stepped before the mirror in her bedroom. The lights and shadows flitted to and fro and Rollo began to bark outside. That moment it seemed to her as though somebody were looking over her shoulder. But she quickly bethought herself. "I know well enough what it is. It was not he," and she pointed her finger toward the haunted room upstairs. "It was something else—my conscience—Effi, you are lost."
Yet things continued on this course; the ball was rolling, and what happened one day made the actions of the next a necessity.
About the middle of the month there came invitations from the four families with which the Innstettens associated most. They had agreed upon the order in which they would entertain. The Borckes were to begin, the Flemmings and Grasenabbs followed, the Güldenklees came last. Each time a week intervened. All four invitations came on the same day. They were evidently intended to leave an impression of orderliness and careful planning, and probably also of special friendliness and congeniality.
"I shall not go, Geert, and you must excuse me in advance on the ground of the treatment which I have been undergoing for weeks past."
Innstetten laughed. "Treatment. I am to blame it on the treatment.
That is the pretext. The real reason is you don't care to."
"No, I am more honest than you are willing to admit. It was your own suggestion that I consult the doctor. I did so and now I must follow his advice. The good doctor thinks I am anæmic, strangely enough, and you know that I drink chalybeate water every day. If you combine this in imagination with a dinner at the Borckes', with, say, brawn and eel aspic, you can't help feeling that it would be the death of me. And certainly you would not think of asking such a thing of your Effi. To be sure, I feel at times—"
"I beg you, Effi."
"However, the one good thing about it is that I can look forward with pleasure to accompanying you each time a part of the way in the carriage, as far as the mill, certainly, or the churchyard, or even to the corner of the forest, where the crossroad to Morgnitz comes in. Then I can alight and saunter back. It is always very beautiful among the dunes."
Innstetten was agreed, and when the carriage drove up three days later Effi got in with her husband and accompanied him to the corner of the forest. "Stop here, Geert. You drive on to the left now, but I am going to the right, down to the beach and back through the 'Plantation.' It is rather far, but not too far. Dr. Hannemann tells me every day that exercise is everything, exercise and fresh air. And I almost believe he is right. Give my regards to all the company, only you needn't say anything to Sidonie."
The drives on which Effi accompanied her husband as far as the corner of the forest were repeated every week, but even on the intervening days she insisted that she should strictly observe the doctor's orders. Not a day passed that she did not take her prescribed walk, usually in the afternoon, when Innstetten began to become absorbed in his newspapers. The weather was beautiful, the air soft and fresh, the sky cloudy. As a rule she went out alone, after saying to Roswitha: "Roswitha, I am going down the turnpike now and then to the right to the place with the merrygo-round. There I shall wait for you, meet me there. Then we can walk back by the avenue of birches or through the ropewalk. But do not come unless Annie is asleep. If she is not asleep send Johanna. Or, rather, just let it go. It is not necessary; I can easily find the way."
The first day they met as planned. Effi sat on a bench by a long shed, looking over at a low yellow plaster house with exposed timbers painted black, an inn at which the lower middle classes drank their glass of beer or played at ombre. It was hardly dusk, but the windows were already bright, and their gleams of light fell upon the piles of snow and the few trees standing at one side. "See, Roswitha, how beautiful that looks."
This was repeated for a few days. But usually, when Roswitha reached the merry-go-round and the shed, nobody was there, and when she came back home and entered the hall Effi came to meet her, saying: "Where in the world have you been, Roswitha? I have been back a long time."
Thus it went on for weeks. The matter of the hussars was about given up, on account of objections made by the citizens. But as the negotiations were not yet definitely closed and had recently been referred to the office of the commander in chief, Crampas was called to Stettin to give his opinion to the authorities.
From there he wrote the second day to Innstetten: "Pardon me, Innstetten, for taking French leave. It all came so quickly. Here, however, I shall seek to draw the matter out long, for it is a pleasure to be out in the world again. My regards to your gracious wife, my amiable patroness."
He read it to Effi, who remained silent. Finally she said:
"It is very well thus."
"What do you mean by that?"
"That he is gone. To tell the truth, he always says the same things. When he is back he will at least for a time have something new to say."
[Illustration: HIGH ALTAR AT SALZBURG From the Painting by Adolph von Menzel]
Innstetten gave her a sharp scrutinizing glance, but he saw nothing, and his suspicion was allayed. "I am going away, too," he said after a while, "and to Berlin at that. Perhaps I, too, can bring back something new, as well as Crampas. My dear Effi always wants to hear something new. She is bored to death in our good Kessin. I shall be away about a week, perhaps a day or two longer. But don't be alarmed—I don't think it will come back—You know, that thing upstairs—But even if it should, you have Rollo and Roswitha."
Effi smiled to herself and felt at the same time a mingling of sadness. She could not help recalling the day when Crampas had told her for the first time that her husband was acting out a play with the ghost and her fear. The great pedagogue! But was he not right? Was not the play in place? All kinds of contradicting thoughts, good and bad, shot through her head.
The third day Innstetten went away. He had not said anything about his business in Berlin.