Effi Briest (19 page)

At that moment Innstetten drove up, home earlier than usual. Effi sprang to her feet to greet him in the hallway with particular affection, for she had the feeling that she had to make up for something. Yet she couldn’t fully get over what Crampas had told her, and for all her affection, as she listened to him with seeming interest, she kept thinking to herself ‘So the ghost is calculated, it’s a ghost to keep me in order.’

But it went out of her mind in the end and she relaxed and listened to what he had to tell her.

At the appointed hour Crampas rode up to the Landrat’s residence; Kruse
was already holding his mistress’s horse and she swiftly climbed into the saddle, making Innstetten’s excuses as she did so; he couldn’t come after all: there had been another big fire the night before in Morgenitz – the third in three weeks, deliberate it would seem – and he had had to go out there, to his great chagrin, for he had been really looking forward to this ride, which would probably be the last of the autumn.

Crampas expressed his regret, perhaps just for something to say, perhaps genuinely, for reckless though he was in his amorous adventures, he was still a good fellow to his friends. Superficially, of course. To help a friend one minute and deceive him five minutes later were things his concept of honour had no trouble in accommodating. He did both the one and the other with astounding bonhomie.

The outing took its usual route through the Plantation. Rollo ran ahead, then came Crampas and Effi, followed by Kruse. Knut was missing.

‘What have you done with Knut?’ Effi asked.

‘He has mumps.’

‘That’s remarkable,’ laughed Effi. ‘Actually he’s always looked as if he had mumps.’

‘Very true. But you should see him now. Or rather you shouldn’t. For mumps are infectious, even the sight of them is enough.’

‘Don’t believe it.’

‘There are a lot of things young women don’t believe.’

‘And then again they believe a lot of things they’d be better off not believing.’

‘Is that directed at me?’

‘No.’

‘Pity.’

‘That “pity” is you all over. You know, Major, I really believe you would think it was quite in order if I made you a declaration of love.’

‘I wouldn’t go as far as that. But I would like to see the man who didn’t wish for something along those lines. Thoughts are free, and wishes too.’

‘I doubt that. And anyway, there’s quite a difference between thoughts and wishes. Thoughts as a rule are something kept in the background, whereas wishes are on the tip of your tongue.’

‘Not
that
old comparison.’

‘Oh Crampas, you’re… you’re…’

‘A fool.’

‘No. There you go exaggerating again. But you’re something else. In Hohen-Cremmen we always used to say, myself included, there was nothing vainer than an ensign in the Hussars at eighteen –’

‘And now?’

‘Now I would say there’s no-one vainer than a major in the local reserve at forty-two.’

‘In saying which the two years you graciously concede make up for all the rest. I kiss your hand.’

‘Yes, “I kiss your hand”, that’s absolutely the right turn of phrase for you. That’s what they say in Vienna. And I got to know the Viennese in Karlsbad four years ago where they courted me outrageously although I was only a young thing of fourteen. If you knew what I heard then.’

‘Nothing undeserved, I’m sure.’

‘If that were true, then what I’m supposed to feel flattered by would be rather rude… But look at the buoys bobbing and dancing in the water out there. The little red flags have been taken in. Last summer, on the few occasions I ventured as far as the beach, when I saw the red flags, I said to myself, that’s Vineta, that’s where Vineta
must
be, those are the tops of the towers…’

‘That’s because you know Heine’s poem.’

‘Which one?’

‘The one about Vineta.’

‘No, I don’t know it; I really don’t know very much at all. Unfortunately.’

‘And you have Gieshübler and the magazine circle! Anyhow, Heine gave the poem another name, “Sea Spectre” or something like that. But it was Vineta he meant. You’ll forgive me if I tell you the story – as he passes the spot, he, the poet that is, is lying on the deck of a ship looking down into the water, and there he sees narrow medieval streets with women in hoods tripping along, and they all have hymnbooks in their hands and are on their way to church, and all the bells are ringing. And when he hears that, he is seized with longing to go into the church with them, even if it’s only because of their hoods, and in his desire he cries out and is on the point of plunging in. But at that moment the captain grabs his leg and shouts, “Doctor, are you possessed by the Devil?”’

‘But that’s wonderful. I’d like to read it. Is it long?’

‘No, it’s actually quite short, a bit longer than “You have diamonds and pearls” or “Fingers soft and lily-white”…’ and he gently touched her hand. ‘But long or short, what descriptive power, what vividness! He’s my favourite poet and I know him by heart, not that I go in for poetry much, though I’ve dabbled in it myself, for my sins. But Heine’s different: it’s real life somehow, and above all he knows about love, which is the main thing in the end. Not that he’s one-sided in that respect…’

‘What do you mean by that?’

‘I mean he’s not only interested in love…’

‘Well, even if he were one-sided in that, it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world. What else is he interested in?’

‘He’s very much for the romantic, which comes close behind love and in some people’s view can’t be separated from it. Not that I believe that. For his later poems, which have been called “romantic”, in fact he himself called them that, these romantic poems are full of executions; often, it’s true, as a consequence of love. But mainly for other grosser motives, among which I would count politics, which is almost always gross, as the main one. Charles I for example carries his head underneath his arm in one of these poems, and the story of Vitzliputzli is even grislier…’

‘Who?’

‘Vitzliputzli. You see Vitzliputzli is a Mexican god, and when the Mexicans had taken twenty or thirty Spaniards prisoner, those twenty or thirty had to be sacrificed to Vitzliputzli. That’s the way things were out there, local custom, ritual, it was all over in a flash, belly open, heart out…’

‘No Crampas, you must stop talking like that. It’s improper and disgusting. And just when we’re about to have breakfast.’

‘Speaking for myself, I’m not affected at all, and my appetite depends entirely on the menu.’

With these words, exactly according to plan, they reached a bench that had been set up half in the lee of the dunes with a very primitive table in front of it, two posts with a board across them. Kruse, who had ridden on ahead, had already set out the meal; rolls and slices of cold roast meat with a bottle of red wine, beside which stood two pretty, delicate glasses, small and gold-rimmed, the kind you bring back from the seaside or buy as souvenirs at a glass factory.

They dismounted. Kruse, who had tied the reins of his own horse round a stunted pine, walked up and down with the other two horses, while Crampas and Effi sat down at the set table, with an open view of the beach and the mole through a narrow gap in the dunes.

The half-wintry November sun poured out its wan light on a sea still agitated in the aftermath of the storm, and the breakers reared. Every now and then a gust of wind carried the spray right up to them. Marram grass grew around, and the bright yellow of the immortelles stood out, despite their similar hue, from the yellow sand where they grew. Effi played hostess. ‘Sorry Major, to have to present these rolls to you in a basket lid…’

‘The giver, not the gift is what matters.’

‘Well, it was Kruse’s idea. And you’re here too Rollo. Our supplies don’t seem to have taken account of you. What are we going to do about Rollo?’

‘I think we’ll give it all to him, out of sheer gratitude, on my part at least. For you see my dearest Effi…’

Effi looked at him.

‘For you see my dear lady, Rollo has reminded me of what I wanted to
tell you as a continuation of, or rather a companion piece to Vitzliputzli – except that it is much more piquant because it’s a love story. Did you ever hear of a certain Pedro the Cruel?’

‘Vaguely.’

‘A kind of Bluebeard.’

‘Oh lovely, just the type we all like to hear about; I can still remember what we used to say about my friend Hulda Niemeyer, whose name you know; which was that she didn’t know any history except for the six wives of Henry VIII, the English Bluebeard, if that name does him justice. And she really did have all six off by heart. And you should have heard her pronounce their names, especially Elizabeth’s mother’s – so terribly embarrassed you’d have thought it was her turn next… But now, tell me the story of Don Pedro…’

‘Yes, well, at Don Pedro’s court there was a dark, handsome Spanish knight who wore the Cross of Calatrava on his chest – which meant more or less the same as the Order of the Black Eagle and the
Pour le Mérite
rolled into one. This cross was part of the whole thing, they had to wear it all the time, and this particular Knight of Calatrava, with whom the Queen was naturally secretly in love…’

‘Why naturally?’

‘Because we’re in Spain.’

‘I see.’

‘And this particular Knight of Calatrava, as I was saying, had a most beautiful dog, a Newfoundland, although there wasn’t any such thing at the time, for it all happened a hundred years before the discovery of America. A most beautiful dog then, let’s say like Rollo…’

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

‘This went on for many a day. But the secret love affair, which didn’t remain all that secret, it seems, was eventually too much for the King, and because he couldn’t bear the Knight of Calatrava – for he wasn’t just cruel, he was a jealous old stick, or if that’s not the word for a king, and still less for my kind listener, Frau Effi, he was consumed with envy – he decided to have the Knight of Calatrava secretly executed for his secret love.’

‘I don’t blame him.’

‘I don’t know about that, my dear lady. Listen to what happened next. Some things are acceptable, but to my mind the King went too far, well beyond the limit. He pretended he was going to hold a celebration to honour the knight, in recognition of his heroic deeds and valour in war. There was a long, long table, and all the grandees of the realm sat at that table with the King in the middle, and opposite him was the place for the man in whose honour it had been arranged – the Knight of Calatrava, the man they had gathered to celebrate that day. And since, although they had waited
some good while for him, he still didn’t appear, the festivities had to begin without him and one place remained empty – the empty place directly opposite the King.’

‘And then?’

‘And then, just imagine my dear lady, as the King, this two-faced Pedro, is about to rise and express his regret that his “dear guest” is still missing, the servants’ screams of horror are heard outside on the stairs, and before anyone knows what has happened, something bounds along the long table, jumps on to the chair, and deposits a severed head at the unoccupied place, and over this head Rollo stares at the man sitting opposite, the King. Rollo had accompanied his master on his last walk, and at the moment when the axe fell, the faithful hound had seized the head as it dropped, and now here he was, our friend Rollo at the long banqueting table, accusing the royal murderer.’

Effi had gone quite silent. Finally she said, ‘Crampas, that’s all very beautiful in its way, and because it’s beautiful, I’ll forgive you. But you would do better and please me more if you told me different stories. Even by Heine. Heine surely didn’t write poems only about Vitzliputzli and Don Pedro and this Rollo of
yours
– for mine wouldn’t have done such a thing. Come on Rollo. Poor thing, I can’t look at you without thinking about the Knight of Calatrava whom the Queen secretly loved… Call Kruse please and have him put the things back in the saddle-bags, and on the ride back, you must tell me something different, something quite different.’

Kruse came up. But as he went to take the glasses Crampas said, ‘One of the glasses,
that
one there, you can leave. I’ll take that myself.’

‘Yes, sir.’

Effi, who had heard this, shook her head. Then she laughed. ‘Crampas, what do you think you’re doing? Kruse is stupid enough not to give it a second thought, and even if he does, he’ll see nothing in it, fortunately. But that doesn’t give you the right to the glass… that thirty-pfennig glass from the Josephine factory.’

‘You may mock the price, that just increases its value to me.’

‘Always the same. For such a humorist you have an odd sense of humour. If I understand you correctly, you’re intending – it’s so ridiculous I’m almost ashamed to say it – you see yourself as the King of Ultima Thule, long before your time.’

He nodded with a roguish smile.

‘Well, if you must. We all have our little ways; you know very well what I mean. But I have to say that the role you see fit to cast
me
in is too unflattering. I don’t want to run around as the rhyming appendage of the King of Thule. Keep the glass by all means, just don’t draw any conclusions that might be compromising for me. I shall tell Innstetten about this.’

‘You won’t do that, my dear lady.’

‘Why not?’

‘Innstetten is not the man to take this kind of thing as it ought to be taken.’

She looked at him sharply for an instant. But then she lowered her eyes in confusion, almost in embarrassment.