Effi Briest (16 page)

‘Yes, you’re the Landrat’s wife from across the road. Me and the old lady used to talk about you all the time. Towards the end she couldn’t no more, because she couldn’t get ’er breath properly, it was ’er chest, most likely water on it; but while she could talk she didn’t ’alf go on. Right old Berlin gossip she was…’

‘No; I’d tell a lie if I said that. But there she lies and you’re not supposed to speak ill of the dead, especially when they’re barely at rest in the grave. Still, she’ll be at rest all right! But she was a bad lot, and she was quarrelsome and penny-pinchin’, and she didn’t provide for me neither. And them relatives who came down from Berlin yesterday… quarrellin’ ’alf the night, they were… they’re another bad lot, they’re a thoroughly bad lot. Rotten, the lot of them, greedy and graspin’ and ’ard-’earted; and stuck-up and unfriendly, and full of personal remarks when they paid me wages, and they only did that because they ’ad to because there are only six days to go till the start of the next quarter. Otherwise I wouldn’t ’ve got nothin’, or just ’alf or even a quarter. Nothin’ out of the kindness of their ’earts. And a torn five mark note is all they gave me for my fare back to Berlin; I suppose it’d just about be enough if I went fourth class and sat on my case. Well, I’m not goin’ to. I’m just goin’ to sit ’ere and wait till I die… Dear God, I thought I was goin’ to ’ave peace now, and I’d ’ve stuck it out with the old girl. And it’s all come to nothin’ again and it’s back to the grindstone. And me a Catholic into the bargain. I’m sick of it, I wish I was lyin’ where the old girl’s lyin’ and she could go on livin’ in my place… Now she would ’ave liked to go on livin’; slave-drivers like ’er, gaspin’ for air, they’re the ones who like livin’.’

Rollo, who had come with Effi, had in the meantime sat down in front of this person, his tongue hanging out, and was looking at her. Now that she had stopped talking he got up, took a step forward and laid his head on her knee.

The person was instantly as if transformed. ‘Dear God, what that means to me. If it isn’t a creature who ’as time for me, who ’as a friendly look for me and lays ’is ’ead on my knee. Dear God, it’s a long time since anythin’ like this ’appened to me. So what’s your name then, old boy? What a fine chap you are.’

‘Rollo; that’s odd. But what’s in a name? I’ve an odd name too, Christian name that is. That’s all the likes of us ’ave.’

‘Yes, quite right my lady, it’s a papish name. And I’m papish too, that’s
another thing. From Eichsfeld. And bein’ papish makes things even more difficult and ’ard to take. A lot of people don’t want papish maids, because they’re always runnin’ off to church. “Always at confession, but never a word about the main thing.” Oh Lord, how often ’ave I ’eard that, first when I was in service in Giebichenstein, and then in Berlin. But I’m a bad Catholic, I’ve lapsed completely, maybe that’s why I’m in such a bad state; yes, you can’t neglect your faith, you ’ave to go along with it right and proper.’

‘Roswitha,’ Effi repeated the name and sat down on the bench beside her. ‘What are you going to do now?’

‘Oh, my lady, what can I do? There’s nothin’ for me to do. Really and truly I just want to sit ’ere and wait till I drop dead. That’d be the best thing. And then people would think I loved the old soul like a faithful dog and couldn’t part from ’er grave and just stayed there and pined away. But that’d be wrong. You don’t pine away for old women like that; I just want to die because I can’t live.’

‘I want to ask you something Roswitha. Are you what they call “fond of children”? Have you ever had to do with small children?’

‘Certainly I ’ave. They’re what I like best of all. With these old Berlin women – God forgive me my sin, for she’s dead now and stands before the throne of God, an’ could ’ave me called to account – ah, old women like that are dreadful, the things you ’ave to do for ’em, it’s enough to turn your stomach, but such a dear little thing, a wee thing like a doll peeping at you with its little eyes, that’s somethin’ different, that warms the cockles of your ’eart. When I was in ’alle I was wet-nurse to the salt works director’s wife, and in Giebichenstein I bottle-fed twins; yes, my lady, I know all about that, it’s second nature to me.’

‘Well, Roswitha, let me tell you something, you’re a good, faithful person, I can see that, a little on the blunt side, but there’s no harm in that, some of the best are like that, and I instantly felt I could trust you. Would you like to come with me? I feel as if you’ve been sent by God. I’m expecting a little one quite soon now, may God help me, and once the child is here it will have to be cared for and looked after and maybe even nursed. You never know, though I hope it won’t come to that. What do you think? Will you come with me? I can’t imagine I’m wrong about you.’

Roswitha had jumped up and taken the young woman’s hand and was kissing it impetuously. ‘So there is a God in ’eaven, and when the need is greatest, help is nearest. You’ll see, my lady, it’ll be all right; I’m a decent woman and I’ve got good references. You’ll see that when I bring you my book. The very first day I saw your ladyship, I thought to myself, “now if you could find that kind of service”, and now I’ve found it. Oh my dear Lord, oh Blessed Mary, Mother of God, who would have dreamt it when we
laid that old woman in the earth and the relatives went off and left me sittin’ ’ere.’

‘You can often count on the unexpected, Roswitha, and it’s not always bad. And now we must go. Rollo is getting impatient, he keeps running to the gate.’

Roswitha was ready on the instant, but went over to the grave again, muttered something and crossed herself. And then they went down the shady path and back to the churchyard gate.

Opposite was the enclosure with the railings round it, the white stone gleaming and glinting in the afternoon sun. Effi could now look at it more calmly. The path led on between the dunes a little way, until, just short of Utpatel’s mill, she reached the edge of the copse. She turned left there, and taking a diagonal avenue known as the ‘Reeperbahn’, walked with Roswitha towards the Landrat’s residence.

Innstetten, when he heard what was proposed, quickly and good-humouredly said, ‘You did right Effi, and if there is nothing wrong with her record, we’ll take her on the strength of her honest face. It’s not often that’s deceptive, thank goodness.’

Effi was very happy to meet with so little difficulty. ‘It’s going to be all right now,’ she said, ‘I’m not afraid any longer.’

‘Oh, you know… But things you imagine are the worst, worse than anything sometimes.’

The next morning Effi – who had been living with her fears again for some time (for it was just full moon) – enquired how Roswitha had slept and whether she had heard anything.

‘Oh, nothing. I just meant something like the noise of a broom sweeping, or of someone slithering across the floorboards.’

Roswitha laughed, which made a particularly good impression on her young mistress. Effi was of staunchly Protestant upbringing and would have been very shocked if anyone had found anything Catholic in or about her; but she nevertheless believed that Catholicism protects us better against some things ‘like those things upstairs’; indeed, this consideration had been quite a significant factor in her plan to take Roswitha into the house.

They adjusted quickly to one another, for an agreeable side of Effi, as of most young country ladies from the Mark, was that she liked to be told all sorts of little stories, and the registrar’s widow with her penny-pinching and her nephews and their wives provided an inexhaustible fund of them. Johanna too liked to listen.

She however, while Effi often laughed aloud at the more outrageous bits, would just smile, registering silent amazement that her ladyship should take such delight in all this silly chatter; her amazement, however, which went hand in hand with a pronounced sense of superiority, was a blessing and meant that no arguments about seniority could arise. Roswitha was simply a figure of fun, and to have been jealous of her would have been like being jealous of Rollo for his position of friendship.

In this manner a week passed, full of gossip and almost comfortable in that Effi looked forward to what awaited her personally with less anxiety than before. Nor did she think that it was so close. The beginning of the next week saw an end of the gossip and comfortable times; then it was all fetching and carrying, even Innstetten came out of his habitual reserve, and on the morning of the 3rd of July a cradle stood by Effi’s bed. Dr Hannemann patted the young woman’s hand and said, ‘Today is Königgrätz Day; a pity it’s a girl. But there’s enough time for the other, and the Prussians have plenty of victory anniversaries.’ Roswitha may have been thinking along similar lines, but in the meantime her joy at what was there was quite unalloyed, and without further ado she called the child Wee Annie, which the young mother took to be a sign. ‘It must have been inspiration that Roswitha hit on just that name.’ Even Innstetten could think of no objection, and so they
talked of Little Annie long before the christening day ever came. Effi, who intended to be with her parents at Hohen-Cremmen from the middle of August on, would have liked to delay the christening until then. But it could not be done; Innstetten could not get leave, so, in spite of the fact that it was Napoleon’s birthday – some families found this inappropriate – the 15th of August was named for the ceremony, in the church, naturally. The banquet which followed was held in the big Club House on the Bulwark, the Landrat’s residence not having a reception room for such a gathering, and all the local gentry were invited and indeed attended. Pastor Lindequist proposed a charming toast to mother and child which was generally admired, Sidonie von Grasenabb taking the opportunity to remark to her neighbour, an aristocratic old Assessor of the strict persuasion, ‘Yes, his speeches on these occasions are all right, but he couldn’t answer to man or God for his sermons, he’s all half-measures, one of those who are damned because they’re lukewarm. I’m not quoting the exact words from the Bible.’ Immediately afterwards old Herr von Borcke too stood up to toast Innstetten. ‘Ladies and gentlemen, these are difficult times we live in. Rebellion, defiance, indiscipline wherever you look. But as long as we still have men, and, I may add, wives and mothers too’ – and at this point he bowed with an elegant wave of his hand to Effi – ‘as long as we still have men like Baron Innstetten, whom I am proud to call my friend, then things will go on, and this old Prussia of ours will survive. Yes, my friends, Pomerania and Brandenburg, together we’ll see it through and stamp on the venomous head of the dragon revolution. Staunch and true, we shall prevail. Our brother Catholics whom we must respect, even as we struggle against them, have their Rock of St Peter, but we have our
Rocher de Bronze
. Baron Innstetten, long may he live!’ Innstetten thanked him quite briefly. Effi said to Major Crampas, who was sitting next to her, that the remark about the Rock of St Peter was probably a compliment to Roswitha and she would ask old Justizrat Gadebusch afterwards if he shared her opinion. Crampas inexplicably took this remark seriously and advised against an appeal to the Justizrat, which Effi found uncommonly amusing. ‘I really thought you were a rather better mind-reader than that.’

‘Oh, my dear lady, faced with beautiful young women who are not yet eighteen, one’s reading quite lets one down.’

‘Now you’ve really put your foot in it, Major. You can call me a grandmother, but references to my not yet being eighteen I can never forgive.’

When they had left the table, the late afternoon steamer came down the Kessine and berthed at the landing-stage opposite the hotel. Effi sat with Crampas and Gieshübler over coffee with all the windows open, watching the show. ‘Tomorrow morning at nine that same ship will take me upstream, and by midday I’ll be in Berlin, and by evening at Hohen-Cremmen, with
Roswitha walking beside me and holding the child in her arms. I hope she won’t be crying. Oh, what spirits I’m in already! Dear Gieshübler, were you ever as happy to see your parents’ house again?’

‘Yes, I know the feeling, dear lady. Except that I wasn’t bringing a little Annie, because I didn’t have anyone to bring.’

‘That’ll come,’ said Crampas, ‘let’s clink glasses, Gieshübler; you’re the only sensible person here.’