"There is some question about that. Besides, there is a difference between thoughts and wishes. Thoughts, as a rule, keep in the background, but wishes, for the most part, hover on the lips."

"I wish you wouldn't say that."

"Ah, Crampas, you are—you are—"

"A fool."

"No. That is another exaggeration. But you are something else. In Hohen-Cremmen we always said, I along with the rest, that the most conceited person in the world was a hussar ensign at eighteen."

"And now?"

"Now I say, the most conceited person in the world is a district major of the landwehr at forty-two."

"Incidentally, my other two years that you most graciously ignore make amends for the remark. Kiss the hand" (—My respects to you).

"Yes, 'kiss the hand.' That is just the expression that fits you. It is Viennese. And the Viennese—I made their acquaintance four years ago in Carlsbad, where they courted me, a fourteen-year-old slip of a girl. What a lot of things I had to listen to!"

"Certainly nothing more than was right."

"If that were true, the intended compliment would be rather rude—But see the buoys yonder, how they swim and dance. The little red flags are hauled in. Every time I have seen the red flags this summer, the few times that I have ventured to go down to the beach, I have said to myself: there lies Vineta, it must lie there, those are the tops of the towers."

"That is because you know Heine's poem."

"Which one?"

"Why, the one about Vineta."

"No, I don't know that one; indeed I know very few, to my sorrow."

"And yet you have Gieshuebler and the Journal Club. However, Heine gave the poem a different name, 'Sea Ghosts,' I believe, or something of the sort. But he meant Vineta. As he himself—pardon me, if I proceed to tell you here the contents of the poem—as the poet, I was about to say, is passing the place, he is lying on the ship's deck and looking down into the water, and there he sees narrow, medieval streets, and women tripping along in hoodlike hats. All have songbooks in their hands and are going to church, and all the bells are ringing. When he hears the bells he is seized with a longing to go to church himself, even though only for the sake of the hoodlike hats, and in the heat of desire he screams aloud and is about to plunge in. But at that moment the captain seizes him by the leg and exclaims: 'Doctor, are you crazy?'"

"Why, that is delicious! I'd like to read it. Is it long?"

"No, it is really short, somewhat longer than 'Thou hast diamonds and pearls,' or 'Thy soft lily fingers,'" and he gently touched her hand. "But long or short, what descriptive power, what objectivity! He is my favorite poet and I know him by heart, little as I care in general for this poetry business, in spite of the jingles I occasionally perpetrate myself. But with Heine's poetry it is different. It is all life, and above everything else he is a connoisseur of love, which, you know, is the highest good. Moreover, he is not one-sided."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean he is not all for love."

"Well, even if he had this one-sidedness it would not be the worst thing in the world. What else does he favor?"

"He is also very much in favor of romance, which, to be sure, follows closely after love and, in the opinion of some people, coincides with it. But I don't believe it does. In his later poems, which have been called 'romantic'—as a matter of fact, he called them that himself—in these romantic poems there is no end of killing. Often on account of love, to be sure, but usually for other, more vulgar reasons, among which I include politics, which is almost always vulgar. Charles Stuart, for example, carries his head under his arm in one of these romances, and still more gruesome is the story of Vitzliputzli."

"Of whom?"

"Vitzliputzli. He is a Mexican god, and when the Mexicans had taken twenty or thirty Spaniards prisoners, these twenty or thirty had to be sacrificed to Vitzliputzli. There was no help for it, it was a national custom, a cult, and it all took place in the turn of a hand—belly open, heart out—"

"Stop, Crampas, no more of that. It is indecent, and disgusting besides. And all this when we are just about on the point of eating lunch!"

"I for my part am not affected by it, as I make it my rule to let my appetite depend only upon the menu."

During this conversation they had come from the beach, according to program, to a bench built in the lee of the dunes, with an extremely primitive table in front of it, simply a board on top of two posts. Kruse, who had ridden ahead, had the lunch already served—tea rolls, slices of cold roast meat, and red wine, and beside the bottle stood two pretty little gold-rimmed glasses, such as one buys in watering places or takes home as souvenirs from glass works.

They dismounted. Kruse, who had tied the reins of his own horse around a stunted pine, walked up and down with the other two horses, while Crampas and Effi sat down at the table and enjoyed the clear view of beach and mole afforded by a narrow cut through the dunes.

The half-wintery November sun shed its fallow light upon the still agitated sea and the high-running surf. Now and then a puff of wind came and carried the spray clear up to the table. There was lyme grass all around, and the bright yellow of the immortelles stood out sharply against the yellow sand they were growing in, despite the kinship of colors. Effi played the hostess. "I am sorry, Major, to have to pass you the rolls in a basket lid."

"I don't mind the platter, so long as it holds a favor."

"But this is Kruse's arrangement—Why, there you are too, Rollo. But our lunch does not take you into account. What shall we do with Rollo?"

"I say, give him everything—I for my part out of gratitude. For, you see, dearest Effi—"

Effi looked at him.

"For, you see, most gracious Lady, Rollo reminds me of what I was about to tell you as a continuation or counterpart of the Vitzliputzli story, only much more racy, because a love story. Have you ever heard of a certain Pedro the Cruel?"

"I have a faint recollection."

"A kind of Bluebeard king."

"That is fine. That is the kind girls like best to hear about, and I still remember we always said of my friend Hulda Niemeyer, whose name you have heard, I believe, that she knew no history, except the six wives of Henry the Eighth, that English Bluebeard, if the word is strong enough for him. And, really, she knew these six by heart. You ought to have heard her when she pronounced the names, especially that of the mother of queen Elizabeth,—so terribly embarrassed, as though it were her turn next—But now, please, the story of Don Pedro."

"Very well. At Don Pedro's court there was a handsome black Spanish knight, who wore on his breast the cross of Calatrava, which is about the equivalent of the Black Eagle and the Pour le Merite together. This cross was essential, they always had to wear it, and this Calatrava knight, whom the queen secretly loved, of course—"

"Why of course?"

"Because we are in Spain."

"So we are."

"And this Calatrava knight, I say, had a very beautiful dog, a Newfoundland dog, although there were none as yet, for it was just a hundred years before the discovery of America. A very beautiful dog, let us call him Rollo."

When Rollo heard his name he barked and wagged his tail.

"It went on thus for many a day. But the secret love, which probably did not remain entirely secret, soon became too much for the king, who cared very little for the Calatrava knight anyhow; for he was not only a cruel king, but also a jealous old wether—or, if that word is not just suited for a king, and still less for my amiable listener, Mrs. Effi, call him at least a jealous creature. Well, he resolved to have the Calatrava knight secretly beheaded for his secret love."

"I can't blame him."

"I don't know, most gracious Lady. You must hear further. In part it was all right, but it was too much. The king, in my judgment, went altogether too far. He pretended he was going to arrange a feast for the knight in honor of his deeds as a warrior and hero, and there was a long table and all the grandees of the realm sat at this table, and in the middle sat the king, and opposite him was the place of honor for the Calatrava knight. But the knight failed to appear, and when they had waited a long while for him, they finally had to begin the feast without him, and his place remained vacant. A vacant place just opposite the king!"

"And then?"

"And then, fancy, most gracious Lady, as the king, this Pedro, is about to rise in order dissemblingly to express his regret that his 'dear guest' has not yet appeared, the horrified servants are heard screaming on the stairway, and before anybody knows what has happened, something flies along the table, springs upon the chair, and places a severed head upon the empty plate. Over this very head Rollo stares at the one sitting face to face with him, viz., the king. Rollo had accompanied his master on his last journey, and the moment the ax fell the faithful animal snatched the falling head, and here he was now, our friend Rollo, at the long festal board, accusing the royal murderer."

Effi was rapt with attention. After a few moments she said: "Crampas, that is in its way very beautiful, and because it is very beautiful I will forgive you. But you might do better, and please me more, if you would tell stories of another kind, even from Heine. Certainly Heine has not written exclusively of Vitzliputzli and Don Pedro and your Rollo. I say your, for mine would not have done such a thing. Come, Rollo. Poor creature, I can't look at you any more without thinking of the Calatrava knight, whom the queen secretly loved—Call Kruse, please, that he may put these things back in the saddle bag, and, as we ride home, you must tell me something different, something entirely different."

Kruse came. As he was about to take the glasses Crampas said: "Kruse, leave the one glass, this one here. I'll take it myself."

"Your servant, Major."

Effi, who had overheard this, shook her head. Then she laughed. "Crampas, what in the world are you thinking of? Kruse is stupid enough not to think a second time about anything, and even if he did he fortunately would arrive at no conclusion. But that does not justify you in keeping this thirty-pfennig glass from the Joseph Glass Works."

"Your scornful reference to its price makes me feel its value all the more deeply."

"Always the same story. You are such a humorist, but a very queer one. If I understand you rightly you are going to—it is ridiculous and I almost hesitate to say it—you are going to perform now the act of the King of Thule."

He nodded with a touch of roguishness.

"Very well, for all I care. Everybody wears his right cap; you know which one. But I must be permitted to say that the role you are assigning to me in this connection is far from flattering. I don't care to figure as a rhyme to your King of Thule. Keep the glass, but please draw no conclusions that would compromise me. I shall tell Innstetten about it."

"That you will not do, most gracious Lady."

"Why not?"

"Innstetten is not the man to see such things in their proper light."

She eyed him sharply for a moment, then lowered her eyes confused and almost embarrassed.



CHAPTER XVIII

[Effi's peace was disturbed, but the prospect of a quiet winter, with few occasions to meet Crampas, reassured her. She and her husband began to spend their evenings reviewing their Italian journey. Gieshuebler joined them and soon announced that Crampas was planning an amateur performance of A Step out of the Way, with Effi as the heroine. She felt the danger, but was eager to act, as Crampas was only the coach. Her playing won enthusiastic applause and Innstetten raved over his captivating wife. A casual remark about Mrs. Crampas led him to assert that she was insanely jealous of Effi, and to tell how Crampas had wheedled her into agreeing to stay at home the second day after Christmas, while he himself joined the Innstettens and others on a sleighing party. Innstetten then said, in a way suggesting the strict pedagogue, that Crampas was not to be trusted, particularly in his relations to women. On Christmas day Effi was happy till she discovered she had received no greeting from Crampas. That put her out of sorts and made her conscious that all was not well. Innstetten noticed her troubled state and, when she told him she felt unworthy of the kindness showered upon her, he said that people get only what they deserve, but she was not sure of his meaning. The proposed sleighing party was carried out. After coffee at Forester Ring's lodge all went out for a walk. Crampas remarked to Effi that they were in danger of being snowed in. She replied with the story of a poem entitled God's Wall, which she had learned from her pastor. During a war an aged widow prayed God to build a wall to protect her from the enemy. God caused her cottage to be snowed under, and the enemy passed by. Crampas changed the subject.]



CHAPTER XIX

[At seven o'clock dinner was served. At the table Sidonie Grasenabb had much to say against the loose modern way of bringing up girls, with particular reference to the Forester's frivolous daughters. After a toast to Ring, in which Gueldenklee indulged in various puns on the name, the Prussian song was sung and the company made ready to start home. Gieshuebler's coachman had meanwhile been kicked in the shin by one of the horses and the doctor ordered him to stay at the Forester's for the present. Innstetten undertook to drive home in his place. Sidonie Grasenabb rode part of the way with Effi and Crampas, till a small stream with a quicksand bottom was encountered, when she left the sleigh and joined her family in their carriage. Crampas who had been sent by Innstetten to look after the ladies in his sleigh, was now alone with Effi. When she saw that the roundabout way was bringing them to a dark forest, through which they would have to pass, she sought to steady her nerves by clasping her hands together with all her might. Then she recalled the poem about God's Wall and tried two or three times to repeat the widow's prayer for protection, but was conscious that her words were dead. She was afraid, and yet felt as though she were under a spell, which she did not care to cast off. When the sleigh entered the dark woods Crampas spoke her name softly, with trembling voice, took her hand, loosened the clenched fingers, and covered them with fervent kisses. She felt herself fainting. When she again opened her eyes the sleigh had passed out of the woods and it soon drove up before her home in Kessin.]



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 Gieshuebler, addressed, of course, to her Ladyship.

Effi took it. "A secret correspondence with Gieshuebler," 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 Gieshuebler. 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 Gieshuebler'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 Gieshuebler than with Crampas."

"Because you take Crampas too seriously and Gieshuebler 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. Gueldenklee. 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 Gieshuebler, 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, Gieshuebler 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 Gueldenklees 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 anaemic, 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."



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.



CHAPTER XXI

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 Bluecher 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 Gieshuebler 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 Gieshuebler, 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 Gieshuebler 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 Gieshuebler 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? Gieshuebler 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 Gieshuebler 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.



CHAPTER XXII

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 Wuellersdorf 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 Gieshuebler 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.

Gieshuebler was delighted and embarrassed. "What an honor! Here among my retorts! May I invite her Ladyship to be seated for a moment?"

"Certainly, dear Gieshuebler. 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 Gieshuebler. 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. Gieshuebler 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 Gieshuebler 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.



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 Rummschuettel ('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 embarrassed 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 shipped 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 God's help, a new life, and a different one!"]



CHAPTER XXIV

Three days later, at nine o 'clock in the evening, Innstetten arrived in Berlin. Effi, her mother, and Cousin Briest were at the station. The reception was hearty, particularly on the part of Effi, and a world of things had been talked about when the carriage they had taken stopped before their new residence on Keith street. "Well, you have made a good choice, Effi," said Innstetten, as he entered the vestibule; "no shark, no crocodile, and, I hope, no spooks."

"No, Geert, that is all past. A new era has dawned and I am no longer afraid. I am also going to be better than heretofore and live more according to your will." This she whispered to him as they climbed the carpeted stairs to the third story. Cousin von Briest escorted the mother.

In their apartment there was still a great deal to be done, but enough had been accomplished to make a homelike impression and Innstetten exclaimed out of the joy of his heart: "Effi, you are a little genius." But she declined the praise, pointing to her mother, saying she really deserved the credit. Her mother had issued inexorable commands, such as, "It must stand here," and had always been right, with the natural result that much time had been saved and their good humor had never been disturbed. Finally Roswitha came in to welcome her master. She took advantage of the opportunity to say: "Miss Annie begs to be excused for today,"—a little joke, of which she was proud, and which accomplished her purpose perfectly.

They took seats around the table, already set, and when Innstetten had poured himself a glass of wine and all had joined him in a toast to "happy days," he took Effi's hand and said: "Now tell me, Effi, what was the nature of your illness?"

"Oh, let us not talk about that; it would be a waste of breath—A little painful and a real disturbance, because it cancelled our plans. But that was all, and now it is past. Rummschuettel justified his reputation; he is a fine, amiable old man, as I believe I wrote you. He is said not to be a particularly brilliant scholar, but mama says that is an advantage. And she is doubtless right, as usual. Our good Dr. Hannemann was no luminary either, and yet he was always successful. Now tell me, how are Gieshuebler and all the others?"

"Let me see, who are all the others? Crampas sends his regards to her Ladyship."

"Ah, very polite."

"And the pastor also wishes to be remembered to you. But the people in the country were rather cool and seemed inclined to hold me responsible for your departure without formally taking leave. Our friend Sidonie spoke quite pointedly, but good Mrs. von Padden, whom I called on specially the day before yesterday, was genuinely pleased to receive your regards and your declaration of love for her. She said you were a charming woman, but I ought to guard you well. When I replied that you considered me more of a pedagogue than a husband, she said in an undertone and almost as though speaking from another world: 'A young lamb as white as snow!' Then she stopped."

Cousin von Briest laughed. "'A young lamb as white as snow.' Hear that, cousin?" He was going to continue teasing her, but gave it up when he saw that she turned pale.

The conversation dragged on a while longer, dealing chiefly with former relations, and Effi finally learned, from various things Innstetten said, that of all their Kessin household Johanna alone had declared a willingness to move with them to Berlin. She had remained behind, to be sure, but would arrive in two or three days with the rest of the things. Innstetten was glad of her decision, for she had always been their most useful servant and possessed an unusual amount of the style demanded in a large city, perhaps a bit too much. Both Christel and Frederick had said they were too old, and Kruse had not even been asked. "What do we want with a coachman here?" concluded Innstetten, "private horses and carriages are things of the past; that luxury is seen no more in Berlin. We could not even have found a place for the black chicken. Or do I underestimate the apartment?"

Effi shook her head, and as a short pause ensued the mother arose, saying it was half past ten and she had still a long way to go, but nobody should accompany her, as the carriage stand was quite near. Cousin Briest declined, of course, to accede to this request. Thereupon they bade each other good night, after arranging to meet the following morning.

Effi was up rather early and, as the air was almost as warm as in the summer, had ordered the breakfast table moved close to the open balcony door. When Innstetten appeared she stepped out upon the balcony with him and said: "Well, what do you say? You wished to hear the finches singing in the Tiergarten and the parrots calling in the Zoological Garden. I don't know whether both will do you the favor, but it is possible. Do you hear that? It came from the little park over yonder. It is not the real Tiergarten, but near it."

Innstetten was delighted and as grateful as though Effi herself had conjured up all these things for him. Then they sat down and Annie came in. Roswitha expected Innstetten to find a great change in the child, and he did. They went on chatting, first about the people of Kessin, then about the visits to be made in Berlin, and finally about a summer journey. They had to stop in the middle of their conversation in order to be at the rendezvous on time.

They met, as agreed, at Helms's, opposite the Red Palace, went to various stores, lunched at Hiller's, and were home again in good season. It was a capital day together, and Innstetten was very glad to be able once more to share in the life of a great city and feel its influence upon him. The following day, the 1st of April, he went to the Chancellor's Palace to register, considerately foregoing a personal call, and then went to the Ministry to report for duty. He was received, in spite of the rush of business and social obligations, in fact he was favored with a particularly friendly reception by his chief, who said: "I know what a valuable man you are and am certain nothing can ever disturb our harmony."

Likewise at home everything assumed a good aspect. Effi truly regretted to see her mother return to Hohen-Cremmen, even after her treatment had been prolonged to nearly six weeks, as she had predicted in the beginning. But the loss was partly offset by Johanna's arrival in Berlin on the same day. That was at least something, and even if the pretty blonde was not so near to Effi's heart as the wholly unselfish and infinitely good-natured Roswitha, nevertheless she was treated on an equality with her, both by Innstetten and her young mistress, because she was very clever and useful and showed a decided, self-conscious reserve toward the men. According to a Kessin rumor the roots of her existence could be traced to a long-retired officer of the Pasewalk garrison, which was said to explain her aristocratic temperament, her beautiful blonde hair, and the special shapeliness of her appearance. Johanna shared the joy displayed on all hands at her arrival and was perfectly willing to resume her former duties as house servant and lady's maid, whereas Roswitha, who after an experience of nearly a year had acquired about all of Christel's cookery art, was to superintend the culinary department. The care and nurture of Annie fell to Effi herself, at which Roswitha naturally laughed, for she knew young wives.

Innstetten was wholly devoted to his office and his home. He was happier than formerly in Kessin, because he could not fail to observe that Effi manifested more artlessness and cheerfulness. She could do so because she felt freer. True, the past still cast a shadow over her life, but it no longer worried her, or at least much more rarely and transiently, and all such after-effects served but to give her bearing a peculiar charm. In everything she did there was an element of sadness, of confession, so to speak, and it would have made her happy if she could have shown it still more plainly. But, of course, she dared not.

When they made their calls, during the first weeks of April, the social season of the great city was not yet past, but it was about to end, so they were unable to share in it to any great extent. During the latter half of May it expired completely and they were more than ever happy to be able to meet at the noon hour in the Tiergarten, when Innstetten came from his office, or to take a walk in the afternoon to the garden of the Palace in Charlottenburg. As Effi walked up and down the long front, between the Palace and the orange trees, she studied time and again the many Roman emperors standing there, found a remarkable resemblance between Nero and Titus, gathered pine cones that had fallen from the trees, and then walked arm in arm with her husband toward the Spree till they came to the lonely Belvedere Palace.

"They say this palace was also once haunted," she remarked.

"No, merely ghostly apparitions."

"That is the same thing."

"Yes, sometimes," said Innstetten. "As a matter of fact, however, there is a difference. Ghostly apparitions are always artificial, or at least that is said to have been the case in the Belvedere, as Cousin von Briest told me only yesterday, but hauntings are never artificial; hauntings are natural."

"So you do believe in them?"

"Certainly I believe in them. There are such things. But I don't quite believe in those we had in Kessin. Has Johanna shown you her Chinaman yet?"

"What Chinaman?"

"Why, ours. Before she left our old house she pulled him off the back of the chair upstairs and put him in her purse. I caught a glimpse of him not long ago when she was changing a mark for me. She was embarrassed, but confessed."

"Oh, Geert, you ought not to have told me that. Now there is such a thing in our house again."

"Tell her to burn it up."

"No, I don't want to; it would not do any good anyhow. But I will ask Roswitha—"

"What? Oh, I understand, I can imagine what you are thinking of. You will ask her to buy a picture of a saint and put it also in the purse. Is that about it?"

Effi nodded.

"Well, do what you like, but do not tell anybody."

* * * * *

Effi finally said she would rather not do it, and they went on talking about all sorts of little things, till the plans for their summer journey gradually crowded out other interests. They rode back to the "Great Star" and then walked home by the Korso Boulevard and the broad Frederick William Street.

They planned to take their vacation at the end of July and go to the Bavarian Alps, as the Passion Play was to be given again this year at Oberammergau. But it could not be done, as Privy Councillor von Wuellersdorf, whom Innstetten had known for some time and who was now his special colleague, fell sick suddenly and Innstetten had to stay and take his place. Not until the middle of August was everything again running smoothly and a vacation journey possible. It was too late then to go to Oberammergau, so they fixed upon a sojourn on the island of Ruegen. "First, of course, Stralsund, with Schill, whom you know, and with Scheele, whom you don't know. Scheele discovered oxygen, but you don't need to know that. Then from Stralsund to Bergen and the Rugard, where Wuellersdorf said one can get a good view of the whole island, and thence between the Big and the Little Jasmund Bodden to Sassnitz. Going to Ruegen means going to Sassnitz. Binz might perhaps be possible, too, but, to quote Wuellersdorf again, there are so many small pebbles and shells on the beach, and we want to go bathing."

Effi agreed to everything planned by Innstetten, especially that the whole household should be broken up for four weeks, Roswitha going with Annie to Hohen-Cremmen, and Johanna visiting her younger half-brother, who had a sawmill near Pasewalk. Thus everybody was well provided for.

At the beginning of the following week they set out and the same evening were in Sassnitz. Over the hostelry was the sign, "Hotel Fahrenheit." "I hope the prices are according to Reaumur," added Innstetten, as he read the name, and the two took an evening walk along the beach cliffs in the best of humor. From a projecting rock they looked out upon the bay quivering in the moonlight. Effi was entranced. "Ah, Geert, why, this is Capri, it is Sorrento. Yes, let us stay here, but not in the hotel, of course. The waiters are too aristocratic for me and I feel ashamed to ask for a bottle of soda water."

"Yes, everybody is an employee. But, I think, we can find private quarters."

"I think so too. And we will look for them the first thing in the morning."

The next morning was as beautiful as the evening had been, and they took coffee out of doors. Innstetten received a few letters, which had to be attended to promptly, and so Effi decided at once to employ the hour thus left free for her in looking for quarters. She first walked past an inclosed meadow, then past groups of houses and fields of oats, finally turning into a road which ran through a kind of gully to the sea. Where this gully road struck the beach there stood an inn shaded by tall beech trees, not so aristocratic as the "Fahrenheit," a mere restaurant, in fact, which because of the early hour was entirely empty. Effi sat down at a point with a good view and hardly had she taken a sip of the sherry she had ordered when the inn-keeper stepped up to engage her in conversation, half out of curiosity and half out of politeness.

"We like it very well here," she said, "my husband and I. What a splendid view of the bay! Our only worry is about a place to stay."

"Well, most gracious Lady, that will be hard."

"Why, it is already late in the season."

"In spite of that. Here in Sassnitz there is surely nothing to be found, I can guarantee you. But farther along the shore, where the next village begins—you can see the shining roofs from here—there you might perhaps find something."