Effi said nothing.
‘Well Effi. No answer?’
‘What am I supposed to answer? I’ve given in to you and shown willing, but I still think you, for your part, could show me more sympathy. If you knew just how much I need that. I suffered a lot, really a lot, and when I saw you I thought that would be the end of my fears. But all you can say is, you don’t want to appear ridiculous, to the Prince or to the town. It’s not much comfort. Very little indeed, I find, even less so since you’ve ended up contradicting yourself and not only seem to believe in these things yourself, but actually to be demanding that I take an aristocratic pride in your ghost. Well, I don’t. And when you say there are families who value their ghost as highly as their coat of arms, that’s just a matter of taste; I value my coat of arms more. We Briests don’t have a ghost, thank goodness. The Briests were always very good people, which has probably got a lot to do with it.’
The argument might well have gone on and led to the first serious ill-feeling between them, had Friedrich not come in to give her ladyship a letter. ‘From Herr Gieshübler. The messenger is awaiting an answer.’
All trace of displeasure vanished from Effi’s face instantly; the mere mention of Gieshübler’s name did her good, and her sense of well-being increased as she ran her eye over the letter. First of all it wasn’t a letter but a billet, addressed in the most wonderful copperplate hand to ‘Frau Baronin von Innstetten, née von Briest’, and instead of a seal there was a little picture of a lyre with a rod sticking in it. The rod might also have been an arrow. She handed the billet to her husband who equally admired it.
‘Well, read it.’
Effi broke the wafer and read:
Esteemed lady, dear Frau Baronin,
Permit me, in offering you my most obedient respects this morning, to add a humble request. A dear friend of mine of many years’ standing, a daughter of our dear town of Kessin, Fraulein Marietta Trippelli, will arrive on the mid-day train and tarry in our midst until tomorrow morning. She intends to be in Petersburg on the 17th and to give a series of recitals in that city until the middle of January. Prince Kochukov is once again offering her the hospitality of his residence. Kindly disposed towards me as always, Fraulein Trippelli has agreed to spend the evening at my humble abode and to give a rendering of some Lieder, wholly of my choice (for she permits no difficulty to deter her). Might the Frau Baronin possibly condescend to grace this musical evening with her presence? At seven o’clock. Your esteemed spouse, whose presence I feel I can count upon with certainty, will lend his support to my humble request. Others present, only Pastor Lindequist (who will accompany) and of course the old pastor’s widow Frau Trippel.
I remain, Madam, your most devoted servant,
A. Gieshübler
‘Well?’ said Innstetten, ‘Yes or no?’
‘Yes, of course. This will take me out of myself. And anywhow I can’t refuse my dear Gieshübler when it’s his very first invitation.’
‘Agreed. So Friedrich, tell Mirambo, who presumably brought the billet round, that we should be honoured.’
Friedrich went out. When he had gone Effi asked, ‘Who is Mirambo?’
‘The real Mirambo is a robber-chief in Africa… Lake Tanganyika if your geography stretches to that… but ours is just Gieshübler’s general factotum who keeps the stove stoked, and this evening he will probably be on duty in tails and cotton gloves.’
It was evident that this little incident had had a positive effect on Effi and had restored her light-heartedness in large measure, but Innstetten was intent on contributing something more to promote her further convalescence. ‘I’m glad you said yes, and said it so quickly and unhesitatingly, and now I want to make another suggestion to bring you completely back to normal. I can see there is still something bothering you from last night, and it doesn’t suit my dear Effi, so we must get rid of it, for which purpose there’s nothing better than fresh air. The weather is splendid, fresh and mild at the same time, there’s hardly a breath of wind; what do you say to going for a ride, but a long one, not just down to the Plantation, and in the sleigh of course, with the white snow-blankets, and we’ll put on the bells, and if we’re back by four you can have a rest, and at seven we’ll be at Gieshübler’s listening to Miss Trippelli.’
Effi took his hand. ‘How good you are Geert, and how considerate. I must have seemed very childish to you, or at least very childlike; first for my fears, and then for suggesting that you sell the house, and then, what’s worse, that you put off the Prince. That you should fob off the Prince – it’s laughable. For after all he’s the man who determines our fate. Mine too. You can’t imagine how ambitious I am. Actually it was sheer ambition that made me marry you. But you don’t have to look so serious about it. I love you too… how does it go when you pick a flower and pluck the petals? He loves me un peu, beaucoup, à la folie.’
And she laughed gaily. ‘So now tell me,’ she went on, when Innstetten still said nothing, ‘where is it to be?’
‘I thought to the railway station, but taking a detour, then back along the highway. And at the station we’ll eat, or better still at Golchowski’s, in the Prince Bismarck Inn – we passed it, if you remember, the day we arrived. It’s always good to call in on these people, and then I can discuss the election with your starost, as you’ve christened him, and if he personally isn’t up to much, he does keep an orderly tavern and an even better table. Eating and drinking is something the people here understand.’
It was almost eleven when they had this conversation. At twelve Kruse drew up at the door with the sleigh and Effi climbed in. Johanna wanted to bring a foot-muff and furs, but with all that was still weighing on her, Effi was so much in need of fresh air that she waved everything aside and made do with a double blanket. Innstetten however said to Kruse, ‘We want to go to the station, where we two both were this morning. They’ll be surprised up there, but there’s no harm in that. I think we’ll drive along the Plantation here and then turn left towards the Kroschentin church spire. Give the horses their head. We must be at the station by one.’
And they followed this course. Smoke hung over the white roofs of the town, for there was almost no movement in the air. Utpatel’s mill too was only turning slowly, and they flew past it, close by the churchyard with its berberis bushes whose tips, hanging over the railings, brushed Effi as they passed, scattering snow all over her travelling rug. On the other side of the lane was a plot with a railing, not much bigger than a flower bed, with nothing to be seen in it but a young pine-tree sprouting at its centre.
‘Is somebody buried there too?’ asked Effi.
‘Yes, the Chinaman.’
Effi shuddered; it was as if she had been stabbed. But she had strength enough to control herself and asked with apparent calm, ‘Ours?’
‘Yes, ours. He naturally couldn’t be buried in the parish churchyard, and so Captain Thomsen, who was his friend, you might say, bought this plot and had him buried here. There’s a stone too, with an inscription. All before my time, of course. But they still talk about it.’
‘So there is something in it. A story. You said something of the sort this morning. In the long run it would be best for me to hear what it is. As long as I don’t know what it is, with the best will in the world I am still a prey to my own imaginings. Tell me the truth. The truth can never be such a torture as my imagination.’
‘Bravo Effi. I didn’t want to talk about it. But now it has come up of its own accord, which is good. And in any case there’s really nothing to it.’
‘All the same to me; nothing, or a lot or a little. Just get on with it.’
‘Easier said than done. The beginning is always the hardest part, with stories too. Let’s see, I think I’ll start with Captain Thomsen.’
‘Yes, and…’
‘Well, Thomsen, whom I’ve already mentioned to you, was on the so-called China run for many years, carrying cargoes of rice between Shanghai and Singapore, and he must have been si
xty when he arrived here. I don’t know whether he was born here or had other connections here. To cut a long story short he arrived, sold his ship, an old tub that he didn’t get much for, and bought a house, the one we now live in. For out there in the wide world he had become a wealthy man. And that’s where the crocodile and the shark came from, and the ship too of course… Well, there was Thomsen, a very dapper fellow (at least so they tell me) and well-liked. Among others by Kirstein the mayor, and especially by the pastor in Kessin at that time, a Berliner who had come shortly before Thomsen and had his share of hostility to contend with.’
‘I can believe that. I see it too; they’re so strict and self-righteous here. I think it’s the Pomeranian way’.
‘Yes and no, it depends. There are some districts where they’re not strict at all, and there anything goes… But look Effi, the Kroschentin church spire is just in front of us. Shouldn’t we forget about the station and just call on Frau von Grasenabb? If my information is correct, Sidonie is not at home. So we could risk it…’
‘What can you be thinking of Geert, I ask you? It’s heavenly flying along like this, and I can actually feel myself being liberated and shedding all my fears. And now I am to give it all up just to drop in on these old folk and in all probability cause them embarrassment. For heaven’s sake, no. Apart from which, what I really want is to hear this story. So, we were with the Captain, whom I imagine to be a Dane, or an Englishman, very spruce, with a white stand-up collar and immaculate white shirts…’
‘Quite right. That’s how they describe him. And with him he had a young person of about twenty, whom some say was his niece though most say she was his granddaughter, which in fact, if you take their years into account, is hardly possible. And besides the granddaughter or niece there was also a Chinaman, the same one who rests among the dunes and whose grave we passed just now.’
‘Yes, and…’
‘Well, this Chinaman was the servant in Thomsen’s house, and Thomsen thought so highly of him that he was more of a friend than a servant. And things went on like this for years. Then suddenly it was rumoured that Thomsen’s granddaughter, who was called Nina, I think, was to marry according to the old man’s wishes, and it was to be another captain. And this turned out to be so. There was a big wedding in the house, the pastor from Berlin married them, and Utpatel the miller, who was a nonconformist, and Gieshübler, whom people in town didn’t fully trust when it came to religion, were invited, and above all many captains and their wives and daughters. And as you can imagine spirits ran high. In the evening there was dancing and the bride danced with everyone, with the Chinaman as well in the end. Then suddenly the word went round that she had gone, the bride that is. And she had indeed gone away somewhere or other, but nobody knows what happened. And two weeks later the Chinaman died and Thomsen bought the plot that I showed you and he was buried there. The pastor from Berlin is supposed to have said they could have gone ahead and buried him in the Christian churchyard, for he had been a very good man, just as good as the others. Who he actually meant by “the others”, Gieshübler told me, nobody really knew.’
‘But in this matter, I am wholly against the pastor; one mustn’t say that kind of thing, because it’s imprudent and out of place. That’s something not even Niemeyer would have said.’
‘And they did in fact hold it very much against the pastor, whose name incidentally was Trippel, so it was actually fortunate he died soon afterwards, otherwise he would have lost his post. For the town, in spite of having chosen him, was against him just as you are, not to speak of the Consistory.’
‘Trippel you say? Then there’s a connection with Pastor Trippel’s widow whom we’re going to meet tonight?’
‘Of course there’s a connection. He was her husband and the father of Miss Trippelli.’
Effi laughed. ‘Trippelli! Now I can see it all clearly at last. Gieshübler wrote that she was born in Kessin; but I thought she was the daughter of an Italian consul. We have so many foreign names here. But it turns out she’s plain German, daughter of Trippel. Is she really so distinguished that she could dare to italianize her name like that?’
‘Fortune favours the brave. In any case, she’s not at all bad. She spent a few years in Paris with the celebrated Viardot, and it was there she met the Russian prince. Russian princes are very enlightened, above trivial class prejudice, and Kochukov and Gieshübler – whom she calls “uncle” by the by, and one might almost say he’s a born uncle – these are really the two who made little Marie Trippel what she is now. It was through Gieshübler she got to Paris, and then Kochukov transformed her into Trippelli.’
‘Oh Geert, how exciting it all is, and what a mundane existence I led in Hohen-Cremmen! Never anything out of the ordinary.’
Innstetten took her hand and said, ‘You mustn’t talk like that Effi. Towards ghosts you can adopt whatever attitude you please. But beware of what’s out of the ordinary, or what people choose to call out of the ordinary. What appears to you so tempting – and I include in that a life such as Miss Trippelli leads – that is something that as a rule costs you your happiness. I know very well how much you love and cherish Hohen-Cremmen, but still you often make fun of it and have no idea of the meaning of those quiet days at Hohen-Cremmen.’
‘Oh yes, I have,’ she said. ‘I know very well. I just like to hear about something different now and then, and when I do I’m seized by a desire to take part in it. But you’re quite right. And really I have a great longing for peace and quiet.’
Innstetten wagged his finger. ‘My one and only Effi, it’s your imagination again. Always some new fancy, first this, then that.’
11
The outing went as planned. At one o’clock the sleigh stopped down by the railway embankment outside the Prince Bismarck Inn, and Golchowski, delighted to see the Landrat in his establishment, saw to it personally that an excellent lunch was prepared. At the end of the meal, when the dessert and Tokay had been served, Innstetten called over the landlord, who had appeared from time to time to ensure that everything was in order, and asked him to sit down and tell them what had been happening. For this Golchowski was just the man; not an egg was laid for ten miles around that he didn’t know about. And so it proved to be on that day too. Sidonie Grasenabb, Innstetten’s surmise had been right, had, just as she had done the previous Christmas, gone to spend four weeks at the ‘Court Chaplain’s’; he also reported that Frau von Palleske had had to dismiss her chambermaid instantly and ignominiously for an embarrassing involvement, and things were bad with old Fraude – they were saying that he had just had a fall, but actually it had been a stroke, and his son, who was stationed at Lissa with the Hussars, was expected home at any moment. After this chit-chat, turning to more serious matters, they had got on to Varzin. ‘Yes,’ said Golchowski, ‘just imagine the Prince running a paper-mill! It’s all very odd; in actual fact he can’t stand writing, and printed paper even less, and now he has acquired a paper-mill.’
‘True enough my dear Golchowski,’ said Innstetten, ‘but in life you can never get away from contradictions like that. And being a prince and achieving greatness doesn’t help at all.’
‘No, no, greatness doesn’t help at all.’
Probably this conversation about the Prince would have continued had not the railway signal-bell announced the imminent arrival of a train. Innstetten looked at the time.
‘What train is that, Golchowski?’
‘It’s the Danzig express; it doesn’t stop here, but I always go up and count the coaches, and sometimes there’s somebody I know standing at a window. Just beyond my yard there are some steps up the embankment to lineman 417’s hut…’
‘Oh, we’ll take advantage of that,’ said Effi. ‘I love watching trains…’
‘Well then my lady, it’s high time.’
And so all three of them went out and took up position, when they got to the top, beside the lineman’s hut in a strip of garden which at the moment was under snow, though
a space had been shovelled clear. The lineman was there already with his flag in his hand. And now the train raced through the station and in the next instant was passing the strip of garden. Effi was so excited that she saw nothing and was left as if spellbound, looking after the last coach which had a brakeman sitting on top.
‘At six-fifty it gets into Berlin,’ said Innstetten, ‘and an hour later, if the wind is in the right direction, the folk at Hohen-Cremmen will hear it rattling past in the distance. Would you like to be on it, Effi?’
She said nothing. But when he looked over at her he saw that there was a tear in her eye.
As the train raced by, a heartfelt longing had come over Effi. Though she had every advantage, she still had the feeling she was in an alien world. And even when she took delight in one thing or another there, she would immediately afterwards become aware of what she missed. Over there was Varzin, and in the other direction the Kroschentin church spire was glinting, and beyond was the Morgenitz spire, and there the Grasenabbs and the Borckes lived and not the Bellings and not the Briests. ‘Yes, them!’ Innstetten had been quite right about her rapid fluctuations of mood, and now she saw again all that lay behind her, as if transfigured. But although she had gazed after the train filled with longing, she was far too mercurial to dwell on it for long, and even on the way home, as the red ball of the setting sun poured out its glow on the snow, she felt freer again; everything seemed fresh and beautiful, and by the time she had returned to Kessin and was stepping into Gieshübler’s hallway almost on the stroke of seven, she was not merely at one with herself, her mood was almost exuberant, to which the aroma of valerian and flag-root that pervaded the house might have in some measure contributed.
Effi Briest Page 11