Effi Briest Page 9

  Innstetten had been in agreement with all this but all he had said at the end was, ‘That’s all very well, but it’s probably better in the long run to put Mamma across the road, where the Landrat’s office is; the whole first floor is empty, just as it is here, and she would be more independent there.’

  So that was the result of their first tour of the house; then Effi had gone across to dress, not quite as quickly as Innstetten had expected, and now she was sitting in her husband’s room, her mind preoccupied alternately with the little Chinaman upstairs and with Gieshübler, who still hadn’t appeared. A quarter of an hour earlier to be sure, a little man with crooked shoulders, almost to the point of deformity, but wearing a short, elegant fur coat and a tall top hat, very smoothly brushed, had passed by on the other side of the street and looked over at their window. But that couldn’t have been Gieshübler! No, the man with the crooked shoulders and yet such an air of distinction must have been the president of the high court, and she did in fact remember once having seen such a person at a reception at Aunt Therese’s, and then it occurred to her that Kessin only had a district judge.

  While she was still engrossed in these thoughts, the object of them, who had apparently first taken a morning stroll round the Plantation – or was he trying to pluck up courage? – reappeared, and a minute later Friedrich came to announce the chemist Gieshübler.

  ‘Show him in.’

  The poor young woman’s heart was beating, because she was appearing for the first time as a wife, and indeed as the first wife of the town.

  Friedrich helped Gieshübler out of his fur coat and then opened the door again.

  Effi held out her hand as the embarrassed Gieshübler made his entrance, and he kissed it a shade impetuously. The young woman seemed immediately to have made a powerful impression on him.

  ‘My husband has already told me… But this is my husband’s room I’m receiving you in… he’s over in the office and may be back any minute… May I invite you to join me in my room.’

  Now Gieshübler followed Effi’s lead into the next room where she pointed to one of the armchairs, herself sitting down on the sofa. ‘I can’t tell you what pleasure your beautiful flowers and your card gave me yesterday. I stopped feeling a stranger here at once, and when I mentioned it to Innstetten, he said he thought we would be thoroughly good friends.’

  ‘Did he indeed? The good Herr Landrat. Yes, the Herr Landrat and you, my dearest lady, are a case, if I may make so bold, of two dear hearts finding one another. For I know your esteemed spouse for the man he is, and your disposition, my dearest lady, is plain to see.’

  ‘Let us hope you are not seeing with too friendly an eye. I am very young. And youth…’

  ‘Oh, dearest lady, say nothing against youth. Youth, even in error, is charming and beautiful, and age, even in its virtues, is of no great worth. Personally, I can’t speak authoritatively in this matter – of age perhaps, but not of youth, for I was never really young. People of my sort are never young. I may say that that is the saddest part of the matter. One has no courage, one has no faith in oneself, one scarcely dares ask a lady to dance, because one wants to spare her the embarrassment, and so the years run by, and one grows old, and one’s life was poor and empty.’

  Effi gave him her hand. ‘Oh, you mustn’t talk like that. We women are not as bad as that.’

  ‘Oh no, certainly not…’

  ‘And when I recall,’ Effi went on, ‘all that I’ve experienced… which isn’t a lot, for I’ve never gone out much and I’ve lived most of my life in the country… but when I recall it, I find that in the end we always love what deserves to be loved. And of course I see instantly that you are different from others, we women have a sharp eye for that. In your case it may be that your name contributes to the effect. That was always one of our dear Pastor Niemeyer’s favourite claims; he used to say that one’s name, particularly one’s Christian name, has a mysterious determining influence, and Alonzo Gieshübler, I mean it opens up a whole new world, yes, I might even say, if you’ll allow me, Alonzo is a romantic name – it’s in Weber’s Preziosa,’

  Gieshübler smiled with quite uncommon contentment and found the courage to set aside his top hat, which was much too tall for his proportions and which, up to that point, he had been rotating in his hands. ‘Yes, my dearest lady, there you hit it.’

  ‘Oh, I understand. I’ve heard about the consuls Kessin is supposed to be so full of, and in the house of the Spanish consul your father presumably met the daughter of a seafaring capitano, some Andalusian beauty I imagine. Andalusian women are all beautiful.’

  ‘It was just as you suppose, my lady. And my mother really was beautiful, though it’s hardly for me to undertake to prove this. But when your esteemed spouse came here three years ago, she was still alive, and the fire was still in her eyes. He’ll corroborate this for me. I take more after the Gieshüblers, people outwardly unprepossessing, but otherwise tolerably sound. We’re in our fourth generation in these parts, a full century, and if there were a chemists’ aristocracy…’

  ‘You would be in a position to lay claim to it. I for my part take your case as proven, indeed for proven without any reservation. People like us, who come from old families, find it easiest to do this, because we, at least that’s how my father and mother brought me up, take pleasure in accepting any noble-mindedness, no matter where it comes from. I was born a Briest, and I am descended from the Briest who carried out the attack on Rathenow – you may perhaps have heard of it – on the day before the battle of Fehrbellin…’

  ‘Oh certainly, my dearest lady, that’s a special interest of mine.’

  ‘So I’m a Briest. And my father, if he’s said it to me once, he’s said it a hundred times: Effi (that’s my name you see), Effi, he says, this is the heart of it, just this – when Froben switched horses he was of the nobility, and when Luther said “Here I stand” he was certainly of the nobility. And I think, Herr Gieshübler, Innstetten was quite right when he assured me that we would be true friends.’

  At this all Gieshübler wanted to do was make a declaration of love and ask to be allowed to fight and die for her like El Cid or some similar campeador. But since none of that was possible and his heart could take no more, he stood up and reached for his hat, which he fortunately found instantly, and, after repeatedly kissing her hand, beat a rapid retreat without uttering another word.

  9

  That had been Effi’s first day in Kessin. Innstetten gave her half a week to settle in and write a variety of letters to Hohen-Cremmen, to Mamma, to Hulda, to the twins; then however their visits in the town had begun, which in part (it was raining so heavily just then as to make this unusual behaviour permissible) they accomplished in a closed coach. When this round was complete it was the turn of the landed aristocracy. This lasted longer, because with the mainly long distances involved only one visit could be made in a day. They called first on the Borckes at Rothenmoor, then they went to Morgnitz, Dabergotz and Kroschentin, where they made their duty calls on the Ahlemanns, the Jatzkows and the Grasenabbs. A few others followed, among whom old Baron von Güldenklee at Papenhagen was included. The impression Effi gained was the same everywhere: mediocre people of mainly dubious affability, who, while they pretended to discuss Bismarck or the Crown Princess, were actually examining Effi’s dress, which was found by some to be too pretentious for so young a lady, by others to be not quite discreet enough for a lady of her station. The Berlin style, they noted, was indeed all too evident: a concern for externals and a remarkable embarrassment and insecurity when it came to bigger issues. At the Borckes’ in Rothenmoor and then by the families in Morgnitz and Dabergotz she was pronounced to be ‘infected with rationalism’, while by the Grasenabbs in Kroschentin she was declared outright to be an ‘atheist’. Old Frau von Grasenabb, it must be conceded, a South German, née Stiefel von Stiefelstein, had made a half-hearted attempt to redeem Effi for ‘deism’; Sidonie von Grasenabb however, an old maid of forty-thre
e, had intervened brusquely, ‘I’m telling you mother, she’s an an out-and-out atheist, not a jot less, and that’s that’, whereupon the old lady, who was afraid of her own daughter, had prudently fallen silent.

  The whole round of visits had lasted something like two weeks and it was December 2nd when, at an advanced hour, they returned to Kessin from the last of them. This had been to the Güldenklees at Papenhagen, on which occasion it had been Innstetten’s unavoidable lot to discuss politics with old Güldenklee. ‘Ah, my dear Landrat, when I think how times have changed. On this day a generation ago, more or less, there was another second of December and the good Louis Napoleon, Napoleon’s nephew – if that was what he was and he wasn’t descended from some other quarter entirely – was blazing away at the Paris mob. Well, one could forgive him that, he was the right man for that, and I swear by the motto “Everybody gets no more nor less than his just deserts.” But then when he lost his sense of proportion in 1870 and without so much as a by your leave decided to have a go at us, that, Baron, if I may say so, was, how shall I put it, a piece of downright insolence. But he got his comeuppance. Our old fellow up there doesn’t take insolence, he’s on our side.’

  ‘Yes indeed,’ said Innstetten, who was wise enough to pretend to take such Philistine ramblings seriously, ‘the hero and conqueror of Saarbrücken didn’t know what he was doing. But you mustn’t be too hard on him personally. Who, in the final estimate, is master in his own house? Nobody. I am already adjusting to the thought of handing over the reins of government to someone else, and Louis Napoleon, well, he was just putty in the hands of his Catholic wife, or let’s say rather his Jesuit wife.’

  ‘Putty in his wife’s hands, and then she thumbed her nose at him. Of course he was, Innstetten. But you’re not going to exonerate that puppet just because of that? He has been judged and the judgment stands. In a general way nobody has yet proved,’ and with these words his gaze somewhat anxiously sought the eye of his better half, ‘whether the rule of women may not actually be an advantage; the wife of course has to be up to it. And who was this wife? She wasn’t a wife at all, the best that can be said is that she was a lady, which says it all; the word “lady” almost always has an unpleasant aftertaste. This Eugénie – and I shall ignore her connection with the Jewish banker, for I loathe people preening themselves on their virtue – had a touch of the café chantant, and if the city she lived in was Babel, then she was the whore of Babylon. I don’t wish to be more explicit, for I know,’ and he bowed to Effi, ‘what I owe German womanhood. Pardon me, dear lady, for even touching on these things in your hearing.’

  Such had been the course of the conversation after they had dealt with the election, the rapeseed crop and Nobiling, and now Effi and Innstetten were sitting at home again chatting for another half-hour. The two maids were already in bed for it was nearly midnight.

  Innstetten was walking up and down in a short dressing-gown and Morocco slippers; Effi was still in her formal dress; her fan and gloves lay beside her.

  ‘Yes,’ said Innstetten, and he stopped pacing up and down, ‘we really ought to celebrate today, but I can’t quite think how. Should I play you a triumphal march, or set the shark out there swinging and carry you in triumph across the hall? Something has to happen, for you know, that was the last visit.’

  ‘Thank goodness for that,’ said Effi. ‘But the feeling that we have peace and quiet now is celebration enough, I think. Only you could give me a kiss. But you never think of that. All the long way never a touch, frosty as a snowman. And always that cigar of yours, nothing else.’

  ‘Don’t go on, I’ll try to be better, all I want to know at the moment is what you feel about the whole business of who to see and cultivate. Are you drawn to one or the other of them? Did the Borckes outdo the Grasenabbs, or the other way round, or are you for old Güldenklee? What he had to say about Eugénie made a very pure and noble impression, did it not?’

  ‘What’s this, Herr von Innstetten, do I detect mockery? I’m getting to know quite another side of you.’

  ‘And if our gentry don’t come up to the mark,’ Innstetten went on without batting an eyelid, ‘how do our local dignitaries stand? What did you think of the Club? That’s what it comes down to in the end. I saw you the other day talking to our district judge – he’s a lieutenant in the reserves, simpers a bit but he might perhaps be tolerable if he could only get away from the idea that his appearance on the right flank was responsible for the retaking of Le Bourget. And his wife! She’s held to be the Club’s best Boston player and she has the prettiest counters too. So Effi, again, how is it to be in Kessin? Are you going to get used to it? Will you be well-liked and secure my majority if I decide to stand for the Reichstag? Or are you for the hermit’s life, for keeping yourself from the Kessiners, both the townspeople and the landed gentry?’

  ‘I think it will be the hermit’s life for me, unless the Chemist under the Sign of the Moor can cajole me out of it. That will lower me even further in Sidonie’s estimation, but I must accept that; this is a battle that must be fought. I stand or fall with Gieshübler. It sounds funny, but he really is the only person you can talk to, he’s the only real person here.’

  ‘That he is,’ said Innstetten. ‘How well you can discriminate.’

  ‘Would I have you otherwise?’ said Effi and slipped her arm through his.

  That was on the 2nd of December. A week later Bismarck was at Varzin and by then Innstetten knew that until Christmas and even beyond there could be no thought of quiet days for him. The prince had had a soft spot for him since their Versailles days and often invited him over to dine when he had visitors, but also on his own, for the youthful Landrat with his outstanding good manners and astuteness found equal favour with the princess.

  The first invitation was for the 14th. There was snow on the ground and for this reason Innstetten decided to make the two-hour journey to the station, from which there was a further hour to go by rail, in the sleigh. ‘Don’t wait up for me Effi. I can’t possibly be back before midnight; probably it will be two or later. But I won’t disturb you. Take care until I see you tomorrow morning.’ And with that he climbed on to the sleigh and the two pale tan Graditzers raced off through the town and then inland towards the station.

  This was the first long separation, almost twelve hours. Poor Effi. How was she to spend the evening? Early to bed was dangerous, then she might wake up and not be able to get to sleep again, and she would listen to every sound. No, best get really tired first and then sleep soundly. She wrote a letter to Mamma and then went to see Frau Kruse whose disturbed condition – she would often have the black hen on her lap until far into the night – filled Effi with sympathy. Her gesture of friendliness, however, was not for one moment returned by the woman as she sat silent and still, brooding to herself in her overheated room, so Effi, once she realized that her visit was more of an intrusion than a pleasure, went away, only pausing to ask the sick woman if she needed anything. But she refused all offers.

  It was now evening and the lamps were already lit. Effi went to the window of her room and looked out at the copse with glittering snow lying on its branches. She was totally absorbed by this picture and quite oblivious to what was happening in the room behind her. When she turned round she noticed that Friedrich had laid a place without making a sound and had placed a cabaret service on the sofa-table. ‘Oh, yes, supper, well, I suppose I’ll have to sit down to it.’ But she had no appetite so she stood up again and once more read through the letter she had written to Mamma. If she had felt lonely before, she now felt doubly so. What would she not have given to see the Jahnke redheads come through the door, or even Hulda? Huida was of course always so sentimental and normally only concerned with her own triumphs, but dubious and contestable though these triumphs might be, she would at that moment dearly have liked to hear about them. In the end she opened up the grand piano to play, but it was no use. ‘No, it will just make me utterly melancholy, better to read.’ And so
she looked for a book. The first one she could lay her hands on was a fat red travel guide, years out of date, possibly from Innstetten’s time as a lieutenant. ‘Yes, I’ll read some of this, there’s nothing more calming than books like this. The only thing I don’t like about them is the maps, but I’ll take care to avoid all that excruciating small print.’ And so she opened the book at random at page 153. Next door she could hear the tick-tock of the clock and outside Rollo who, since it had turned dark, had abandoned his post in the shed and today as every evening lay stretched out on the large woven mat outside the door of her bedroom. Her awareness of his proximity diminished her sense of abandonment, she almost recovered her good humour, and started to read straight away. The page that lay open before her was an account of the Hermitage, the well-known margrave’s summer residence near Bayreuth; that tempted her – Bayreuth, Richard Wagner – so she read on. ‘Among the pictures in the Hermitage, one more claims our attention, not for its beauty but for its age and for the person it represents. It is a considerably darkened portrait of a woman, with a small head and severe, somewhat uncanny features, in a ruff which seems to carry the head all by itself. Some hold it to be of an old margravine from the end of the fifteenth century, others are of the opinion that it is the Countess of Orlamünde; there is agreement on the fact that it is a picture of a figure who has attained a certain notoriety in the history of the Hohenzollerns under the name of the “White Lady”.’