y at home there. But I write this for you alone.
Innstetten must not know about it and I should excuse myself
even to you for wanting to come to Hohen-Cremmen with the baby,
and for announcing my visit so early, instead of inviting you
urgently and cordially to Kessin, which, you may know, has
fifteen hundred summer guests every year, and ships with all
kinds of flags, and even a hotel among the dunes. But if I show
so little hospitality it is not because I am inhospitable. I am
not so degenerate as that. It is simply because our residence,
with all its handsome and unusual features, is in reality not a
suitable house at all; it is only a lodging for two people, and
hardly that, for we haven't even a dining room, which, as you
can well imagine, is embarrassing when people come to visit us.
True, we have other rooms upstairs, a large social hall and
four small rooms, but there is something uninviting about them,
and I should call them lumber rooms, if there were any lumber
in them. But they are entirely empty, except for a few
rush-bottomed chairs, and leave a very queer impression, to say
the least. You no doubt think this very easy to change, but the
house we live in is--is haunted. Now it is out. I beseech you,
however, not to make any reference to this in your answer, for
I always show Innstetten your letters and he would be beside
himself if he found out what I have written to you. I ought not
to have done it either, especially as I have been undisturbed
for a good many weeks and have ceased to be afraid; but Johanna
tells me it will come back again, especially if some new person
appears in the house. I couldn't think of exposing you to such
a danger, or--if that is too harsh an expression--to such a
peculiar and uncomfortable disturbance. I will not trouble you
with the matter itself today, at least not in detail. They tell
the story of an old captain, a so-called China-voyager, and
his grand-daughter, who after a short engagement to a young
captain here suddenly vanished on her wedding day. That might
pass, but there is something of greater moment. A young
Chinaman, whom her father had brought back from China and who
was at first the servant and later the friend of the old man,
died shortly afterward and was buried in a lonely spot near the
churchyard. Not long ago I drove by there, but turned my face
away quickly and looked in the other