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 rôle 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.
[Illustration: _Permission F. Bruckmann A.-G. Munich_
A SUNDAY IN THE GARDEN OF THE TUILERIES ADOLPH VON MENZEL.]
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 Blatter_ 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.