The German Classics of the Nineteenth and Twentieth Centuries, Volume 12
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The German Classics of the Nineteenth and Twentieth Centuries, Volume 12
German literature -- 19th century -- Translations into English; German literature -- 20th century -- Translations into English
"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."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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