The German Classics of the Nineteenth and Twentieth Centuries Volume Xii Part 71

"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 a.s.sume 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 Ladys.h.i.+p, 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 Ladys.h.i.+p--"

"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 Lords.h.i.+p'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. n.o.body 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 Gieshubler himself.

"Is the doctor in?" she asked further, when she had put the little bottle in her pocket.

"Certainly, your Ladys.h.i.+p, 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.

Gieshubler was delighted and embarra.s.sed. "What an honor! Here among my retorts! May I invite her Ladys.h.i.+p to be seated for a moment?"

"Certainly, dear Gieshubler. 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 Gieshubler.

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. Gieshubler 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 Lords.h.i.+p 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 Gieshubler 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 ma.s.s. Effi thought of the day, just a year and a quarter ago, when she had driven in an open carriage along the sh.o.r.e 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, pa.s.sed 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.

CHAPTER XXIII

[Effi was met at the Berlin station by her mother and Cousin von Briest. While drinking tea in the mother's room Cousin von Briest was asked to tell a joke, and propounded a Bible conundrum, which Effi took as an omen that no more sorrow was to befall her. The following day began the search for an apartment, and one was found on Keith street, which exactly suited, except that the house was not finished and the walls not yet dried out. Effi kept it in mind, however, and looked further, being as long about it as possible. After two weeks Innstetten began to insist on her return and to make pointed allusions. She saw there was nothing left but to sham illness. Then she rented the apartment on Keith street, wrote a card saying she would be home the next day, and had the trunks packed. The next morning she stayed in bed and feigned illness, but preferred not to call a doctor. She telegraphed about her delay to her husband. After three days of the farce she yielded to her mother and called an old ladies' doctor by the name of Rummschuttel ('Shake 'em around'). After a few questions he prescribed a mixture of bitter almond water and orange blossom syrup and told her to keep quiet. Later he called every third day, noticing that his calls embarra.s.sed her. She felt he had seen through her from the start, but the farce had to be kept up till Innstetten had closed his house and s.h.i.+pped his things. Four days before he was due in Berlin she suddenly got well and wrote him she could now travel, but thought it best to await him in Berlin. As soon as she received his favorable telegram she hastened to the new apartment, where she raised her eyes, folded her hands, and said: "Now, with G.o.d's help, a new life, and a different one!"]