Effi Briest E-Book

Theodor Fontane

• Herausgeber: Lebooks Editora
• Kategorie: Poesie und Drama
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 416

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2025

Beschreibung

Effi Briest by Theodor Fontane is a seminal work of 19th-century German realism that delves into the themes of societal constraint, marital duty, and personal tragedy. The novel tells the story of Effi, a young woman married off to a much older man, Baron von Innstetten, in a union based more on social expectation than love. As Effi navigates the rigid moral codes of Prussian society, her emotional repression and eventual transgression lead to devastating consequences, both personally and socially. Praised for its subtle psychological insight and restrained narrative style, Effi Briest critiques the oppressive structures of gender, class, and honor that governed life in Imperial Germany. Fontane's portrayal of Effi's inner conflict and ultimate downfall highlights the tragic cost of societal inflexibility and emotional neglect. The novel's enduring power lies in its quiet but profound exploration of the individual versus society. Effi Briest remains a poignant and timeless reflection on lost innocence, moral hypocrisy, and the enduring human desire for freedom and fulfillment.

Leseprobe

Theodor Fontane

EFFI BRIEST

Sumario

INTRODUCTION

EFFI BRIEST

INTRODUCTION

Theodor Fontane

1819 – 1898

Theodor Fontane was a German writer, widely regarded as one of the most important figures in 19th-century German literature. Born in Neuruppin, in the Kingdom of Prussia, Fontane is best known for his realistic novels that explore the complexities of social class, personal morality, and historical change. He was a leading representative of poetic realism in Germany and is often considered the most significant German-language novelist between Goethe and Thomas Mann.

Early Life and Education

Theodor Fontane was born into a Huguenot family of modest means. He initially trained and worked as a pharmacist, a profession he would leave behind to pursue journalism and literature. Fontane traveled to England multiple times, developing a deep interest in English culture and politics, which would later influence both his writing style and thematic concerns. His early literary works included travel books, historical essays, and poetry before he turned to fiction in his forties.

Career and Contributions

Fontane’s literary career gained momentum with his shift to fiction, particularly his novels set in Prussian society. His works are marked by a subtle and observant style, often portraying the tensions between tradition and modernity, and the often rigid roles of gender and class. Among his most acclaimed novels are Effi Briest (1895), Der Stechlin (1898), and Irrungen, Wirrungen (1888), which reveal his mastery in depicting human psychology within the framework of societal expectations.

In Effi Briest, perhaps his most famous novel, Fontane tells the tragic story of a young woman married off to an older aristocrat and her eventual downfall due to societal hypocrisy and inflexible moral codes. The novel is often compared to Madame Bovary and Anna Karenina for its exploration of female agency, social norms, and emotional repression. His final novel, Der Stechlin, presents a more reflective and philosophical tone, portraying the decline of the old Prussian aristocracy in a changing world.

Impact and Legacy

Fontane’s writing stands as a pivotal contribution to German realism, offering nuanced portrayals of middle- and upper-class life in 19th-century Prussia. His attention to detail, dialogue, and internal conflict places him among the foremost psychological novelists of his era. He influenced later writers such as Thomas Mann and Günter Grass, not only through his themes but also through his stylistic precision and commitment to realism.

Fontane’s novels are notable for their restrained yet incisive critiques of societal norms and their compassionate portrayals of characters navigating moral dilemmas. His work anticipated many of the issues of modern literature, including individual autonomy, gender roles, and social mobility, while remaining deeply rooted in the historical and cultural landscape of his time.

Theodor Fontane died in Berlin in 1898 at the age of 78. By the time of his death, he had secured his reputation as one of Germany’s foremost novelists. His literary legacy endures, with Effi Briest in particular regarded as a masterpiece of European literature. Fontane’s influence extends beyond literature into cultural and historical studies, with his works offering valuable insights into the social fabric of 19th-century Germany.

Fontane remains a central figure in the canon of German literature. His quiet, elegant style and deep moral engagement continue to attract readers and scholars alike, securing his place as a foundational voice in modern European fiction.

About the work

Effi Briest by Theodor Fontane is a seminal work of 19th-century German realism that delves into the themes of societal constraint, marital duty, and personal tragedy. The novel tells the story of Effi, a young woman married off to a much older man, Baron von Innstetten, in a union based more on social expectation than love. As Effi navigates the rigid moral codes of Prussian society, her emotional repression and eventual transgression lead to devastating consequences, both personally and socially.

Praised for its subtle psychological insight and restrained narrative style, Effi Briest critiques the oppressive structures of gender, class, and honor that governed life in Imperial Germany. Fontane’s portrayal of Effi’s inner conflict and ultimate downfall highlights the tragic cost of societal inflexibility and emotional neglect.

The novel’s enduring power lies in its quiet but profound exploration of the individual versus society. Effi Briest remains a poignant and timeless reflection on lost innocence, moral hypocrisy, and the enduring human desire for freedom and fulfillment.

EFFI BRIEST

CHAPTER I

In front of the old manor house occupied by the von Briest family since the days of Elector George William, the bright sunshine was pouring down upon the village road, at the quiet hour of noon. The wing of the mansion looking toward the garden and park cast its broad shadow over a white and green checkered tile walk and extended out over a large round bed, with a sundial in its centre and a border of Indian shot and rhubarb. Some twenty paces further, and parallel to the wing of the house, there ran a churchyard wall, entirely covered with a small-leaved ivy, except at the place where an opening had been made for a little white iron gate. Behind this arose the shingled tower of Hohen-Cremmen, whose weather vane glistened in the sunshine, having only recently been regilded. The front of the house, the wing, and the churchyard wall formed, so to speak, a horseshoe, inclosing a small ornamental garden, at the open side of which was seen a pond, with a small footbridge and a tied-up boat. Close by was a swing, with its crossboard hanging from two ropes at either end, and its frame posts beginning to lean to one side. Between the pond and the circular bed stood a clump of giant plane trees, half hiding the swing.

The terrace in front of the manor house, with its tubbed aloe plants and a few garden chairs, was an agreeable place to sit on cloudy days, besides affording a variety of things to attract the attention. But, on days when the hot sun beat down there, the side of the house toward the garden was given a decided preference, especially by the mother and the daughter of the house. On this account they were today sitting on the tile walk in the shade, with their backs to the open windows, which were all overgrown with wild grape-vines, and by the side of a little projecting stairway, whose four stone steps led from the garden to the ground floor of the wing of the mansion. Both mother and daughter were busy at work, making an altar cloth out of separate squares, which they were piecing together. Skeins of woolen yarn of various colors, and an equal variety of silk thread lay in confusion upon a large round table, upon which were still standing the luncheon dessert plates and a majolica dish filled with fine large gooseberries.

Swiftly and deftly the wool-threaded needles were drawn back and forth, and the mother seemed never to let her eyes wander from the work. But the daughter, who bore the Christian name of Effi, laid aside her needle from time to time and arose from her seat to practice a course of healthy home gymnastics, with every variety of bending and stretching. It was apparent that she took particular delight in these exercises, to which she gave a somewhat comical turn, and whenever she stood there thus engaged, slowly raising her arms and bringing the palms of her hands together high above her head, her mother would occasionally glance up from her needlework, though always but for a moment and that, too, furtively, because she did not wish to show how fascinating she considered her own child, although in this feeling of motherly pride she was fully justified. Effi wore a blue and white striped linen dress, a sort of smock-frock, which would have shown no waist line at all but for the bronze-colored leather belt which she drew up tight. Her neck was bare and a broad sailor collar fell over her shoulders and back. In everything she did there was a union of haughtiness and gracefulness, and her laughing brown eyes betrayed great natural cleverness and abundant enjoyment of life and goodness of heart She was called the “little girl,” which she had to suffer only because her beautiful slender mother was a full hand's breadth taller than she.

Effi had just stood up again to perform her calisthenic exercises when her mother, who at the moment chanced to be looking up from her embroidery, called to her: “Effi, you really ought to have been an equestrienne, I’m thinking. Always on the trapeze, always a daughter of the air. I almost believe you would like something of the sort.”

“Perhaps, mama. But if it were so, whose fault would it be? From whom do I get it? Why, from no one but you. Or do you think, from papa? There, it makes you laugh yourself. And then, why do you always dress me in this rig, this boy’s smock? Sometimes I fancy I shall be put back in short clothes yet. Once I have them on again I shall courtesy like a girl in her early teens, and when our friends in Rathenow come over I shall sit in Colonel Goetze’s lap and ride a trot horse. Why not? He is three-fourths an uncle and only one-fourth a suitor. You are to blame. Why don’t I have any party clothes! Why don’t you make a lady of me?”

“Should you like me to?”

“No.” With that she ran to her mother, embraced her effusively and kissed her.

“Not so savagely, Effi, not so passionately. I am always disturbed when I see you thus.”

At this point three young girls stepped into the garden

through the little iron gate in the churchyard wall and started along the gravel walk toward the round bed and the sundial. They all waved their umbrellas at Effi and then ran up to Mrs. von Briest and kissed her hand. She hurriedly asked a few questions and then invited the girls to stay and visit with them, or at least with Effi, for half an hour. “Besides, I have something else that I must do and young folks like best to be left to themselves. Fare ye well.” With these words she went up the stone steps into the house.

Two of the young girls, plump little creatures, whose freckles and good nature well matched their curly red hair, were daughters of Precentor Jahnke, who swore by the Hanseatic League, Scandinavia, and Fritz Reuter, and following the example of his favorite writer and fellow countryman, had named his twin daughters Bertha and Hertha, in imitation of Mining and Lining. The third young lady was Hulda Niemeyer, Pastor Niemeyer’s only child. She was more ladylike than the other two, but, on the other hand, tedious and conceited, a lymphatic blonde, with slightly protruding dim eyes, which, nevertheless, seemed always to be seeking something, for which reason the Hussar Klitzing once said: “Doesn’t she look as though she were every moment expecting the angel Gabriel?” Effi felt that the rather captious Klitzing was only too right in his criticism, yet she avoided making any distinction between the three girl friends. Nothing could have been farther from her mind at this moment. Resting her arms on the table, she exclaimed: “Oh, this tedious embroidery! Thank heaven, you are here.”

“But we have driven your mama away,” said Hulda.

“Oh no. She would have gone anyhow. She is expecting a visitor, an old friend of her girlhood days. I must tell you a story about him later, a love story with a real hero and a real heroine, and ending with resignation. It will make you open your eyes wide with amazement. Moreover, I saw mama’s old friend over in Schwantikow. He is a district councillor, a fine figure, and very manly.”

“Manly? That’s a most important consideration,” said Hertha.

“Certainly, it’s the chief consideration. ‘Women womanly, men manly,’ is, you know, one of papa’s favorite maxims. And now help me put the table in order, or there will be another scolding.”

It took but a moment to put the things in the basket and, when the girls sat down again, Hulda said: “Now, Effi, now we are ready, now for the love story with resignation.

“A story with resignation is never bad. But I can’t begin till Hertha has taken some gooseberries; she keeps her eyes glued on them. Please take as many as you like, we can pick some more afterward. But be sure to throw the hulls far enough away, or, better still, lay them here on this newspaper supplement, then we can wrap them up in a bundle and dispose of everything at once. Mama can’t bear to see hulls lying about everywhere. She always says that some one might slip on them and break a leg.”

“I don’t believe it,” said Hertha, applying herself closely to the berries.

“Nor I either,” replied Effi, confirming the opinion. “Just think of it, I fall at least two or three times every day and have never broken any bones yet. The right kind of leg doesn’t break so easily; certainly mine doesn’t, neither does yours, Hertha. What do you think, Hulda?”

“One ought not to tempt fate. Pride will have a fall.” “Always the governess. You are just a born old maid.” “And yet I still have hopes of finding a husband, perhaps even before you do.”

“For aught I care. Do you think I shall wait for that? The idea! Furthermore one has already been picked out for me and perhaps I shall soon have him. Oh, I am not worrying about that. Not long ago little Ventivegni from over the way said to me : ‘Miss Effi, what will you bet we shall not have a charivari and a wedding here this year yet?’”

“And what did you say to that?”

“Quite possible, I said, quite possible; Hulda is the oldest; she may be married any day. But he refused to listen to that and said : ‘No, I mean at the home of another young lady who is just as decided a brunette as Miss Hulda is a blonde.’ As he said this he looked at me quite seriously — But I am wandering and am forgetting the story.”

“Yes, you keep dropping it all the while; may be you don’t want to tell it, after all?”

“Oh, I want to, but I have interrupted the story a good many times, chiefly because it is a little bit strange, indeed, almost romantic.”

“Why, you said he was a district councillor.”

“Certainly, a district councillor, and his name is Geert von Innstetten, Baron von Innstetten.”

All three laughed.

“Why do you laugh?” said Effi, nettled. “What does this mean?”

“Ah, Effi, we don’t mean to offend you, nor the Baron

either. Innstetten did you say? And Geert? Why, there is nobody by that name about here. And then you know the names of noblemen are often a bit comical.”

“Yes, my dear, they are. But people do not belong to the nobility for nothing. They can endure such things, and the farther back their nobility goes, I mean in point of time, the better they are able to endure them. But you don’t know anything about this and you must not take offense at me for saying so. We shall continue to be good friends just the same. So it is Geert von Innstetten and he is a Baron. He is just as old as mama, to the day.”

“And how old, pray, is your mama?”

“Thirty-eight.”

“A fine age.”

“Indeed it is, especially when one still looks as well as mama. I consider her truly a beautiful woman, don’t you, too? And how accomplished she is in everything, always so sure and at the same time so ladylike, and never unconventional, like papa. If I were a young lieutenant I should fall in love with mama.”

“Oh, Effi, how can you ever say such a thing?” said Hulda. “Why, that is contrary to the fourth commandment.”

“Nonsense. How can it be? I think it would please mama if she knew I said such a thing.”

“That may be,” interrupted Hertha. “But are you ever going to tell the story?”

“Yes, compose yourself and I’ll begin. We were speaking of Baron von Innstetten. Before he had reached the age of twenty he was living over in Rathenow, but spent much of his time on the seignioral estates of this region, and liked best of all to visit in Schwantikow, at my grandfather Belling’s. Of course, it was not on account of my grandfather that he was so often there, and when mama tells about it one can easily see on whose account it really was, I think it was mutual, too.”

“And what came of it?”

“The thing that was bound to come and always does come. He was still much too young and when my papa appeared on the scene, who had already attained the title of baronial councillor and the proprietorship of Hohen-Cremmen, there was no need of further time for consideration. She accepted him and became Mrs. von Briest.” “What did Innstetten do?” said Bertha, “what became of him? He didn’t commit suicide, otherwise you could not be expecting him today.”

“No, he didn’t commit suicide, but it was something of that nature.”

“Did he make an unsuccessful attempt? “

“No, not that But he didn’t care to remain here in the neighborhood any longer, and he must have lost all taste for the soldier’s career, generally speaking. Besides, it was an era of peace, you know. In short, he asked for his discharge and took up the study of the law, as papa would say, with a ‘true beer zeal.’ But when the war of seventy broke out he returned to the army, with the Perle-berg troops, instead of his old regiment, and he now wears the cross. Naturally, for he is a smart fellow. Right after the war he returned to his documents, and it is said that Bismarck thinks very highly of him, and so does the Emperor. Thus it came about that he was made district councillor in the district of Kessin.”

“What is Kessin? I don’t know of any Kessin here.”

“No, it is not situated here in our region; it is a long distance away from here, in Pomerania, in Further Pomerania, in fact, which signifies nothing, however, for it is a watering place (every place about there is a summer resort), and the vacation journey that Baron Innstetten is now enjoying is in reality a tour of his cousins, or something of the sort. He wishes to visit his old friends and relatives here.”

“Has he relatives here?”

“Yes and no, depending on how you look at it. There are no Innstettens here, there are none anywhere any more, I believe. But he has here distant cousins on his mother’s side, and he doubtless wished above all to see Schwantikow once more and the Belling house, to which he was attached by so many memories. So he was over there the day before yesterday and today he plans to be here in Hohen-Cremmen.”

“And what does your father say about it?”

“Nothing at all. It is not his way. Besides, he knows mama, you see. He only teases her.”

At this moment the clock struck twelve and before it had ceased striking, Wilke, the old factotum of the Briest family, came on the scene to give a message to Miss Effi: “'Your Ladyship’s mother sends the request that your Ladyship make her toilet in good season; the Baron will presumably drive up immediately after one o’clock.” While Wilke was still delivering this message he began to put the ladies’ work-table in order and reached first for the sheet of newspaper, on which the gooseberry hulls lay.

“No, Wilke, don’t bother with that It is our affair to dispose of the hulls — Hertha, you must now wrap up the bundle and put a stone in it, so that it will sink better. Then we will march out in a long funeral procession and bury the bundle at sea.”

Wilke smiled with satisfaction. “Oh, Miss Effi, she’s a trump,” was about what he was thinking. But Effi laid the paper bundle in the centre of the quickly gathered up tablecloth and said: “Now let all four of us take hold, each by a corner, and sing something sorrowful.”

“Yes, Effi, that is easy enough to say, but what, pray, shall we sing?”

“Just anything. It is quite immaterial, only it most have a rime in ‘oo;’ ‘oo’ is always a sad vowel. Let us sing, say:

“Flood, flood,

Make it all good.”

While Effi was solemnly intoning this litany, all four marched out upon the landing pier, stepped into the boat tied there, and from the further end of it slowly lowered into the pond the pebble-weighted paper bundle.

“Hertha, now your guilt is sunk out of sight,” said Effi, “in which connection it occurs to me, by the way, that in former times poor unfortunate women are said to have been thrown overboard thus from a boat, of course for unfaithfulness,”

“But not here, certainly.”

“No, not here,” laughed Effi, “such things do not take place here. But they do in Constantinople and it just occurs to me that you must know about it, for you were present in the geography class when the teacher told about it.”

“Yes,” said Hulda, “he was always telling us about such things. But one naturally forgets them in the course of time.”

“Not I, I remember things like that.”

CHAPTER II

The conversation ran on thus for some time, the girls recalling with mingled disgust and delight the school lessons they had had in common, and a great many of the teacher’s uncalled-for remarks. Suddenly Hulda said: “But you must make haste, Effi; why, you look — why, what shall I say — why, you look as though you had just come from a cherry picking, all rumpled and crumpled. Linen always gets so badly creased, and that large white turned down collar — oh, yes, I have it now; you look like a cabin boy.”

“Midshipman, if you please. I must derive some advantage from my nobility. But midshipman or cabin boy, only recently papa again promised me a mast, here close by the swing, with yards and a rope ladder. Most assuredly I should like one and I should not allow anybody to interfere with my fastening the pennant at the top. And you, Hulda, would climb up then on the other side and high in the air we would shout: ‘Hurrah!’ and give each other a kiss. By Jingo, that would be a sweet one.”

“‘By Jingo.’ Now just listen to that. You really talk like a midshipman. However, I shall take care not to climb up after you, I am not such a dare-devil. Jahnke is quite right when he says, as he always does, that you have too much Billing in you, from your mother. I am only a preacher’s daughter.”

“Ah, go along. Still waters run deep — But come, let us swing, two on a side; I don’t believe it will break. Or if you don’t care to, for you are drawing long faces again, then we will play hide-and-seek. I still have a quarter of an hour. I don’t want to go in, yet, and anyhow it is merely to say: ‘How do you do?’ to a district councillor, and a district councillor from Further Pomerania to boot. He is elderly, too. Why he might almost be my father; and if he actually lives in a seaport, for, you know, that is what Kessin is said to be, I really ought to make the best impression upon him in this sailor costume, and he ought almost to consider it a delicate attention. When princes receive anybody, I know from what papa has told me, they always put on the uniform of the country of their guest. So don’t worry — Quick, quick, I am going to hide and here by the bench is the base.”

Hulda was about to fix a few boundaries, but Effi had already run up the first gravel walk, turning to the left, then to the right, and suddenly vanishing from sight. “Effi, that does not count; where are you? We are not playing run away; we are playing hide-and-seek.” With these and similar reproaches the girls ran to search for her, far beyond the circular bed and the two plane trees standing by the side of the path. She first let them get much farther than she was from the base and then, rushing suddenly from her hiding place, reached the bench, without any special exertion, before there was time to say: “one, two, three.”

“Where were you?”

“Behind the rhubarb plants; they have such large leaves, larger even than a fig leaf.”

“Shame on you.”

“No, shame on you, because you didn’t catch me. Hulda, with her big eyes, again failed to see anything. She is always slow.” Hereupon Effi again flew away across the circle toward the pond, probably because she planned to hide at first behind a dense-growing hazelnut hedge over there, and then from that point to take a long roundabout way past the churchyard and the front house and thence back to the wing and the base. Everything was well calculated, but before she was half way round the pond she heard some one at the house calling her name and, as she turned around, saw her mother waving a handkerchief from the stone steps. In a moment Effi was standing by her.

“Now you see that I knew what I was talking about. You still have that smock-frock on and the caller has arrived. You are never on time.”

“I shall be on time, easily, but the caller has not kept his appointment. It is not yet one o’clock, not by a good deal,” she said, and turning to the twins, who had been lagging behind, called to them: “Just go on playing; I shall be back right away.”

The next moment Effi and her mama entered the spacious drawing-room, which occupied almost the whole ground floor of the side wing.

“Mama, you daren’t scold me. It is really only half past. Why does he come so early? Cavaliers never arrive too late, much less too early.”

Mrs. von Briest was evidently embarrassed. But Effi cuddled up to her fondly and said: “Forgive me, I will hurry now. You know I can be quick, too, and in five minutes Cinderella will be transformed into a princess. Meanwhile he can wait or chat with papa.”

Bowing to her mother, she was about to trip lightly up the little iron stairway leading from the drawing-room to the story above. But Mrs. von Briest, who could be unconventional on occasion, if she took a notion to, suddenly held Effi back, cast a glance at the charming young creature, still all in a heat from the excitement of the game, a perfect picture of youthful freshness, and said in an almost confidential tone: “After all, the best thing for you to do is to remain as you are. Yes, don’t change. You look very well indeed. And even if you didn’t, you look so unprepared, you show absolutely no signs of being dressed for the occasion, and that is the most important consideration at this moment. For I must tell you, my sweet Effi —” and she clasped her daughter’s hands — “for I must tell you —”

“Why, mama, what in the world is the matter with you? You frighten me terribly.”

“I must tell you, Effi, that Baron Innstetten has just asked me for your hand.”

“Asked for my hand? In earnest?”

“That is not a matter to make a jest of. You saw him the day before yesterday and I think you liked him. To be sure, he is older than you, which, all things considered, is a fortunate circumstance. Besides, he is a man of character, position, and good breeding, and if you do not say ‘no,’ which I could hardly expect of my shrewd Effi, you will be standing at the age of twenty where others stand at forty. You will surpass your mama by far.”

Effi remained silent, seeking a suitable answer. Before she could find one she heard her father’s voice in the adjoining room. The next moment Councillor von Briest, a well preserved man in the fifties, and of pronounced bonhomie, entered the drawing-room, and with him Baron Innstetten, a man of slender figure, dark complexion, and military bearing.

When Effi caught sight of him she fell into a nervous tremble, but only for an instant, as almost at the very moment when he was approaching her with a friendly bow there appeared at one of the wide open vine-covered windows the sandy heads of the Jahnke twins, and Hertha, the more hoidenish, called into the room: “Come, Effi.” Then she ducked from sight and the two sprang from the back of the bench, upon which they had been standing, down into the garden and nothing more was heard from them except their giggling and laughing.

CHAPTER III

Later in the day Baron Innstetten was betrothed to Effi von Briest. At the dinner which followed, her jovial father found it no easy matter to adjust himself to the solemn role that had fallen to him He proposed a toast to the health of the young couple, which was not without its touching effect upon Mrs. von Briest, for she obviously recalled the experiences of scarcely eighteen years ago. However, the feeling did not last long. What it had been impossible for her to be, her daughter now was, in her stead. All things considered, it was just as well, perhaps even better. For one could live with von Briest, in spite of the fact that he was a bit prosaic and now and then showed a slight streak of frivolity. Toward the end of the meal — the ice was being served — the elderly baronial councillor once more arose to his feet to propose in a second speech that from now on they should all address each other by the familiar pronoun “Du.” Thereupon he embraced Innstetten and gave him a kiss on the left cheek. But this was not the end of the matter for him. On the contrary, he went on to recommend, in addition to the “Du,” a set of more intimate names and titles for use in the home, seeking to establish a sort of basis for hearty intercourse, at the same time preserving certain well-earned, and hence justified, distinctions. For his wife he suggested, as the best solution of the problem, the continuation of “Mama,” for there are young mamas, as well as old; whereas for himself, he was willing to forego the honorable title of “Papa,” and could not help feeling a decided preference for the simple name of Briest, if for no other reason, because it was so beautifully short. “And then as for the children,” he said — at which word he had to give himself a jerk as he exchanged gazes with Innstetten, who was only about a dozen years his junior — “well, let Effi just remain Effi, and Geert, Geert. Geert, if I am not mistaken, signifies a tall and slender trunk, and so Effi may be the ivy destined to twine about it.” At these words the betrothed couple looked at each other somewhat embarrassed, Effi’s face showing at the same time an expression of childlike mirth, but Mrs. von Briest said : “Say what you like, Briest, and formulate your toasts to suit your own taste, but if you will allow me one request, avoid poetic imagery; it is beyond your sphere.” These silencing words were received by von Briest with more assent than dissent. “It is possible that you are right, Luise.”

Immediately after rising from the table, Effi took leave to pay a visit over at the pastor’s. On the way she said to herself: “I think Hulda will be vexed. I have got ahead of her after all. She always was too vain and conceited.”

But Effi was not quite right in all that she expected. Hulda behaved very well, preserving her composure absolutely and leaving the indication of anger and vexation to her mother, the pastor’s wife, who, indeed, made some very strange remarks. “Yes, yes, that’s the way it goes. Of course. Since it couldn’t be the mother, it has to be the daughter. That’s nothing new. Old families always hold together, and where there is a beginning there will be an increase.” The elder Niemeyer, painfully embarrassed by these and similar pointed remarks, which showed a lack of culture and refinement, lamented once more the fact that he had married a mere housekeeper.

After visiting the pastor’s family Effi naturally went next to the home of the precentor Jahnke. The twins had been watching for her and received her in the front yard.

“Well, Effi,” said Hertha, as all three walked up and down between the two rows of amaranths, “well, Effi, how do you really feel?”

“How do I feel? O, quite well. We already say ‘Du’ to each other and call each other by our first names. His name is Geert, but it just occurs to me that I have already told you that.”

“Yes, you have. But in spite of myself I feel so uneasy about it. Is he really the right man?”

“Certainly he is the right man. You don’t know anything about such matters, Hertha. Any man is the right one. Of course he must be a nobleman, have a position, and be handsome.”

“Goodness, Effi, how you do talk! You used to talk quite differently.”

“Yes, I used to.”

“And are you quite happy already?”

“When one has been two hours betrothed, one is always quite happy. At least, that is my idea about it.”

“And don’t you feel at all — oh, what shall I say? — a bit awkward? “

“Yes, I do feel a bit awkward, but not very. And I fancy I shall get over it.”

After these visits at the parsonage and the home of the precentor, which together had not consumed half an hour, Effi returned to the garden veranda, where coffee was about to be served. Father-in-law and son-in-law were walking up and down along the gravel path by the plane trees.

Von Briest was talking about the difficulties of a district councillor’s position, saying that he had been offered one at various times, but had always declined. “The ability to have my own way in all matters has always been the thing that was most to my liking, at least more — I beg your pardon, Innstetten — than always having to look up to some one else. For in the latter case one is always obliged to bear in mind and pay heed to exalted and most exalted superiors. That is no life for me. Here I live along in such liberty and rejoice at every green leaf and the wild grape-vine that grows over those windows yonder.”

He spoke further in this vein, indulging in all sorts of anti-bureaucratic remarks, and excusing himself from time to time with a blunt “I beg your pardon, Innstetten,” which he interjected in a variety of ways. The Baron mechanically nodded assent, but in reality paid little attention to what was said. He turned his gaze again and again, as though spellbound, to the wild grape-vine twining about the window, of which Briest had just spoken, and as his thoughts were thus engaged, it seemed to him as though he saw again the girls’ sandy heads among the vines and heard the saucy call, “Come, Effi.”

He did not believe in omens and the like; on the contrary, he was far from entertaining superstitious ideas. Nevertheless he could not rid his mind of the two words, and while Briest’s peroration rambled on and on he had the constant feeling that the little incident was something more than mere chance.

Innstetten, who had taken only a short vacation, departed the following morning, after promising to write every day. “Yes, you must do that,” Effi had said, and these words came from her heart. She had for years known nothing more delightful than, for example, to receive a large number of birthday letters. Everybody had to write her a letter for that day. Such expressions as “Gertrude and Clara join me in sending you heartiest congratulations,” were tabooed. Gertrude and Clara, if they wished to be considered friends, had to see to it that they sent individual letters with separate postage stamps, and, if possible, foreign ones, from Switzerland or Carlsbad, for her birthday came in the traveling season.

Innstetten actually wrote every day, as he had promised The thing that made the receipt of his letters particularly pleasurable was the circumstance that he expected in return only one very short letter every week. This he received regularly and it was always full of charming trifles, which never failed to delight him. Mrs. von Briest undertook to carry on the correspondence with her future son-in-law whenever there was any serious matter to be discussed, as, for example, the settling of the details of the wedding, and questions of the dowry and the furnishing of the new home. Innstetten was now nearly three years in office, and his house in Kessin, while not splendidly furnished, was nevertheless very well suited to his station, and it seemed advisable to gain from correspondence with him some idea of what he already had, in order not to buy anything superfluous. When Mrs. von Briest was finally well enough informed concerning all these details it was decided that the mother and daughter should go to Berlin, in order, as Briest expressed himself, to buy up the trousseau for Princess Effi.

Effi looked forward to the sojourn in Berlin with great pleasure, the more so because her father had consented that they should take lodgings in the Hotel du Nord. “Whatever it costs can be deducted from the dowry, you know, for Innstetten already has everything.” Mrs. von Briest forbade such “mesquineries” in the future, once for all, but Effi, on the other hand, joyously assented to her father’s plan, without so much as stopping to think whether he had meant it as a jest or in earnest, for her thoughts were occupied far, far more with the impression she and her mother should make by their appearance at the table d'hôte, than with Spinn and Mencke, Goschenhofer, and other such firms, whose names had been provisionally entered in her memorandum book. And her demeanor was entirely in keeping with these frivolous fancies, when the great Berlin week had actually come.

Cousin von Briest of the Alexander regiment, an uncommonly jolly young lieutenant, who took the Fliegende Blätter and kept a record of the best jokes, placed himself at the disposal of the ladies for every hour he should be off duty, and so they would sit with him at the corner window of Kranzler’s, or perhaps in the Café Bauer, when permissible, or would drive out in the afternoon to the Zoological Garden, to see the giraffes, of which Cousin von Briest, whose name, by the way, was Dagobert, was fond of saying: “They look like old maids of noble birth.” Every day passed according to program, and on the third or fourth day they went, as directed, to the National Gallery, because Dagobert wished to show his cousin the “Isle of the Blessed.” “To be sure, Cousin Effi is on the point of marrying, and yet it may perhaps be well to have made the acquaintance of the ‘Isle of the Blessed’ beforehand.” His aunt gave him a slap with her fan, but accompanied the blow with such a gracious look that he saw no occasion to change the tone.

These were heavenly days for all three, no less for Cousin Dagobert than for the ladies, for he was a past master in the art of escorting and always knew how quickly to compromise little differences. Of the differences of opinion to be expected between mother and daughter there was never any lack during the whole time, but fortunately they never came out in connection with the purchases to be made. Whether they bought a half dozen or three dozen of a particular thing, Effi was uniformly satisfied, and when they talked, on the way home, about the prices of the articles bought, she regularly confounded the figures. Mrs. von Briest, ordinarily so critical, even toward her own beloved child, not only took this apparent lack of interest lightly, she even recognized in it an advantage. “All these things,” said she to herself, “do not mean much to Effi. Effi is unpretentious; she lives in her own ideas and dreams, and when one of the Hohenzollern princesses drives, by and bows a friendly greeting from her carriage that means more to Effi than a whole chest full of linen.”

That was all correct enough, and yet only half the truth. Effi cared but little for the possession of more or less commonplace things, but when she walked up and down Unter den Linden with her mother, and, after inspecting the most beautiful show-windows, went into Demuth’s to buy a number of things for the honeymoon tour of Italy, her true character showed itself. Only the most elegant articles found favor in her sight, and, if she could not have the best, she forewent the second-best, because this second meant nothing to her. Beyond question, she was able to forego — in that her mother was right — and in this ability to forego there was a certain amount of unpretentiousness. But when, by way of exception, it became a question of really possessing a thing, it always had to be something out of the ordinary. In this regard she was pretentious.

CHAPTER IV

Cousin Dagobert was at the station when the ladies took the train for Hohen-Cremmen. The Berlin sojourn had been a succession of happy days, chiefly because there had been no suffering from disagreeable and, one might almost say, inferior relatives. Immediately after their arrival Effi had said: “This time we must remain incognito, so far as Aunt Therese is concerned. It will not do for her to come to see us here in the hotel. Either Hotel du Nord or Aunt Therese; the two would not go together at all.” The mother had finally agreed to this, had, in fact, sealed the agreement with a kiss on her daughter’s forehead.

With Cousin Dagobert, of course, it was an entirely different matter. Not only did he have the social grace of the Guards, but also, what is more, the peculiarly good humor now almost a tradition with the officers of the Alexander regiment, and this enabled him from the outset to draw out both the mother and the daughter and keep them in good spirits to the end of their stay. “Dagobert,” said Effi at the moment of parting, “remember that you are to come to my nuptial-eve celebration; that you are to bring a cortège goes without saying. But don’t you bring any porter or mousetrap seller. For after the theatrical performances there will be a ball, and you must take into consideration that my first grand ball will probably be also my last. Fewer than six companions — superb dancers, that goes without saying — will not be approved. And you can return by the early morning train.” Her cousin promised everything she asked and so they bade each other farewell.

Toward noon the two women arrived at their Havelland station in the middle of the marsh and after a drive of half an hour were at Hohen-Cremmen. Von Briest was very happy to have his wife and daughter at home again, and asked questions upon questions, but in most cases did not wait for the answers. Instead of that he launched out into a long account of what he had experienced in the meantime. “A while ago you were telling me about the National Gallery and the ‘Isle of the Blessed.’ Well, while you were away, there was something going on here, too. It was our overseer Pink and the gardener’s wife. Of course, I had to dismiss Pink, but it went against the grain to do it. It is very unfortunate that such affairs almost always occur in the harvest season. And Pink was otherwise an uncommonly efficient man, though here, I regret to say, in the wrong place. But enough of that; Wilke is showing signs of restlessness too.”

At dinner von Briest listened better. The friendly intercourse with Cousin Dagobert, of whom he heard a good deal, met with his approval, less so the conduct toward Aunt Therese. But one could see plainly that, at the same time that he was declaring his disapproval, he was rejoicing; for a little mischievous trick just suited his taste, and Aunt Therese was unquestionably a ridiculous figure. He raised his glass and invited his wife and daughter to join him in a toast. After dinner, when some of the handsomest purchases were unpacked and laid before him for his judgment, he betrayed a great deal of interest, which still remained alive, or, at least did not die out entirely, even after he had glanced over the bills. “A little bit dear, or let us say, rather, very dear; however, it makes no difference. Everything has so much style about it, I might almost say, so much inspiration, that I feel in my bones, if you give me a trunk like that and a traveling rug like this for Christmas, I shall be ready to take our wedding journey after a delay of eighteen years, and we, too, shall be in Rome for Easter. What do you think, Luise! Shall we make up what we are behind? Better late than never.”

Mrs. von Briest made a motion with her hand, as if to say : “Incorrigible,” and then left him to his own humiliation, which, however, was not very deep.

The end of August had come, the wedding day (October the 3d) was drawing nearer, and in the manor house, as well as at the parsonage and the schoolhouse, all hands were incessantly occupied with the preparations for the prenuptial eve. Jahnke, faithful to his passion for Fritz Reuter, had fancied it would be particularly “ingenious “ to have Bertha and Hertha appear as Lining and Mining, speaking Low German, of course, whereas Hulda was to present the elder-tree scene of Käthchen von Heilbronn, with Lieutenant Engelbrecht of the Hussars as Wetter vom Strahl. Niemeyer, who by rights was the father of the idea, had felt no hesitation to compose additional lines containing a modest application to Innstetten and Effi. He himself was satisfied with his effort and at the end of the first rehearsal heard only very favorable criticisms of it, with one exception, to be sure, viz., that of his patron lord, and old friend, Briest, who, when he had heard the admixture of Kleist and Niemeyer, protested vigorously, though not on literary grounds. “High Lord, and over and over, High Lord — what does that mean? That is misleading and it distorts the whole situation, Innstetten is unquestionably a fine specimen of the race, a man of character and energy, but, when it comes to that, the Briests are not of base parentage either. We are indisputably a historic family — let me add: ‘Thank God’ — and the Innstettens are not.

The Innstettens are merely old, belong to the oldest nobility, if you like; but what does oldest nobility mean? I will not permit that a von Briest, or even a figure in the wedding-eve performance, whom everybody must recognize as the counterpart of our Effi — I will not permit, I say, that a Briest either in person or through a representative speak incessantly of ‘High Lord.’ Certainly not, unless Innstetten were at least a disguised Hohenzollern; there are some, you know. But he is not one and hence I can only repeat that it distorts the whole situation.”

For a long time von Briest really held fast to this view with remarkable tenacity. But after the second rehearsal, at which Käthchen was half in costume, wearing a tight-fitting velvet bodice, he was so carried away as to remark: “Käthchen lies there beautifully,” which turn was pretty much the equivalent of a surrender, or at least prepared the way for one. That all these things were kept secret from Effi goes without saying. With more curiosity on her part, however, it would have been wholly impossible. But she had so little desire to find out about the preparations made and the surprises planned that she declared to her mother with all emphasis: “I can wait and see,” and, when Mrs. von Briest still doubted her, Effi closed the conversation with repeated assurances that it was really true and her mother might just as well believe it And why not? It was all just a theatrical performance, and prettier and more poetical than Cinderella, which she had seen on the last evening in Berlin — no, on second thought, it couldn’t be prettier and more poetical. In this play she herself would have been glad to take a part, even if only for the purpose of making a chalk mark on the back of the ridiculous boarding-school teacher. “And how charming in the last act is ‘Cinderella’s awakening as a princess,’ or at least as a countess! Really, it was just like a fairy tale.” She often spoke in this way, was for the most part more exuberant than before, and was vexed only at the constant whisperings and mysterious conduct of her girl friends. “I wish they felt less important and paid more attention to me. When the time comes they will only forget their lines and I shall have to be in suspense on their account and be ashamed that they are my friends.”

Thus ran Effi’s scoffing remarks and there was no mistaking the fact that she was not troubling herself any too much about the pre-nuptial exercises and the wedding day. Mrs. von Briest had her own ideas on the subject, but did not permit herself to worry about it, as Effi’s mind was, to a considerable extent, occupied with the future, which after all was a good sign. Furthermore Effi, by virtue of her wealth of imagination, often launched out into descriptions of her future life in Kessin for a quarter of an hour at a time, — descriptions which, incidentally, and much to the amusement of her mother, revealed a remarkable conception of Further Pomerania, or, perhaps it would be more correct to say, they embodied this conception, with clever calculation and definite purpose. For Effi delighted to think of Kessin as a half-Siberian locality, where the ice and snow never fully melted.