On one of those last days – she had withdrawn a quarter of an hour earlier from the dining-room and was preparing to take her ease on a sea-grass sofa upholstered in coarse wool with a large floral pattern – there was a quiet knock at the door.
‘Come in.’
The sole maid, a sickly-looking creature in her mid-thirties who, as a result of constantly occupying the lobby, trailed about the pervasive fug of the boarding-house in every fold of her clothing, entered and said, ‘Excuse me my lady, there’s somebody to see you.’
‘Who?’
‘A woman.’
‘Did she give her name?’
‘Yes, Roswitha.’
And behold, Effi had hardly heard the name when she shook off her drowsiness, jumped to her feet and ran out into the lobby to take Roswitha by both hands and pull her into the room.
‘Roswitha. It’s you! What a pleasure. What’s brought you here? Something good of course. A good old face like yours can only be bringing something good. Oh, I’m so happy I could give you a kiss. I would never have thought I could feel such pleasure again. Dear old heart, how are you? Remember what it was like in the old days, with that Chinaman haunting us? Those were happy times. I thought then they were unhappy, because I still had to learn how hard life is. I know now. Ghosts aren’t the worst thing, not by a long chalk! Come here dear, good Roswitha, come and sit by me and tell me… Oh, I do so long to hear. How is Annie?’
Roswitha could scarcely speak and looked around the strange room whose grey and dusty-looking walls were framed by a narrow gold moulding. But at length she recovered herself and said that the Master was now back from Glatz; the old Kaiser had said that ‘six weeks would be about enough in such a case’, and all she had been waiting for was the day the Master came home, because of Annie. She had to have somebody to look after her. Johanna was of course neat and tidy enough, but she was still too pretty and too taken up with herself and goodness knows what she might have in mind. But now that the Master was there to keep an eye on things and see to it that everything was done properly, she had really felt she owed it to herself to come and see how her Mistress was getting on –
‘That’s quite right, Roswitha.’
– And she had wanted to see whether her ladyship needed anything, whether maybe she needed her, for if she did she would step in at once and stay and do everything and see to it that things began to go well for her ladyship again.
Effi had leant back into the corner of the sofa and closed her eyes. But suddenly she sat up and said, ‘Yes Roswitha, that’s a thought. It’s a distinct possibility. For you see, I’m not staying here in this boarding-house, I’ve taken a flat. And I’ve had it furnished and I’m moving in in three days. And if you could be with me when I do, if I could just say, “No, not there Roswitha, the wardrobe goes there and the mirror there,” yes, that would be something, I would certainly like that. And then, both of us tired after all the fetching and carrying, I’d say, “Now Roswitha, you can go across the road and fetch a jug of Spatenbräu, for a glass of beer goes down well after hard work, and while you’re at it see if you can bring us something nice to eat from the Habsburger Hof. You can take the plates back later” – Yes Roswitha, just thinking about it makes my heart feel a great deal lighter. But I have to ask you. Have you given this enough thought? I don’t mean Annie. You’re very attached to her, she’s almost like your own child – but Annie will be looked after, Johanna is attached to her too. So no more of that. But just remember how everything has changed before you decide to come back to me. I’m not who I was. Now I have a tiny flat, and the concierge won’t have much time for you or me. We’ll live very modestly, meals will always be what we used to call Thursday fare, because that was cleaning day. Do you remember? And do you remember how dear old Gieshübler once called and had to sit down with us, and then said, “I’ve never tasted such a delicacy.” Don’t you remember how terribly polite he always was, even though he was the only person in the whole town who knew anything about good cooking. The rest of them thought everything was delicious.’
Roswitha rejoiced at every word and thought it was all going wonderfully until Effi again said, ‘Have you given this enough thought? For you’ve – I have to say this even though it was my own household – you’ve been spoilt over the years. There was never any question of being careful, we didn’t need to be thrifty. But now I do. Now I’m poor. All I have is what they send me, you know, from Hohen-Cremmen. My parents are very good to me. They do what they can, but they’re not rich. So now tell me. What do you think?’
‘I’ll come and bring my trunk next Saturday. Not in the evenin’ – first thing in the mornin’, so I’ll be there when you start movin’ your things in. I’m a lot better at that sort of thing than your ladyship.’
‘Don’t say that Roswitha. I can do these things too. You can do anything when you have to.’
‘My lady, just don’t you worry about me. I’m not goin’ to think, “That won’t do for Roswitha.” Anythin’ Roswitha has to share with her mistress is fine, especially if it’s somethin’ sad. Yes, I’m really lookin’ forward to it. I know a thing or two about that, you’ll see. And if I don’t, I’ll learn, no bother. For I ’aven’t forgotten that day my lady, you know, when I was sittin’ in the churchyard without a friend in the world, thinkin’ it’d be best all round if I was lyin’ there with the rest of them in the row. An’ who came along then? Who kept me among the livin’ after all I’ve been through? That time my father came at me with the red-hot iron –’
‘I know Roswitha –’
‘Yes, that was bad enough. But sittin’ in the churchyard that day with hardly any money an’ nowhere to go was even worse. And then along you came, my lady. I’ll never forget that, God rest my soul.’
And with that she stood up and went to the window. ‘Look my lady, if you come over ’ere you can see ’im again.’
And now Effi approached the window too.
On the far side of the street sat Rollo, looking up at the boarding-house windows.
A few days later Effi, assisted by Roswitha, moved into her flat in the Königgrätzerstrasse. She felt at ease there from the first. There was a lack of company of course, but there had been so little pleasure in her dealings with people in those days at the boarding-house that being alone was no hardship, at least not to begin with. Conversation with Roswitha on aesthetic matters wasn’t possible, even a discussion of what was in the papers was beyond her, but when it came to basic human concerns and Effi began a sentence with ‘Oh, Roswitha, I’m getting those fears again…’ then the good soul always had the right answer, always a word of comfort and mostly sound advice too.
Until Christmas things went splendidly; but Christmas Eve was a sad affair, and as the new year approached, Effi began to be subject to severe melancholy. It was not cold, just grey and rainy, and if the days were short the evenings were that much longer. What to do? She read, she embroidered, she played patience, she played Chopin, but those nocturnes were not calculated to bring much light into her life, and when Roswitha came with the tea-tray, and on it, besides the tea things, were two small plates with an egg and a wiener schnitzel cut into little slices, which she put on the table, Effi closed the pianino and said, ‘Draw up a chair Roswitha. Keep me company.’
And Roswitha did so. ‘You’ve been playin’ that piano too much again, my lady, I can see; it always makes you look like this, you come out in red patches. The Geheimrat said you weren’t to do it.’
‘Oh, Roswitha, it’s easy enough for the Geheimrat to tell me what not to do, and it’s easy for you to keep repeating it. But what am I supposed to do? I can’t sit at the window all day looking out at the Christuskirche. On Sundays during the evening service, when the windows are lit up, I always look across at it; but it’s no help, my heart just feels all the heavier.’
‘Well then, my lady, you should go in one of these times. You did go over once.’
‘Oh, more than once. But little good i
t did me. He’s a good preacher and he’s a very clever man, and I’d be happy to know a hundredth of what he knows. But it’s all just like reading a book; then when he starts shouting and waving his arms and shaking those black curls, it puts an end to my devotions.’
‘An end?’
Effi laughed. ‘You mean I never began? There’s probably something in that. But whose fault is that? Not mine. He’s always talking about the Old Testament. And good as it may be, it’s not edifying. I mean all this listening – it’s not what I need. What I need is to have so much to do that I don’t know which way to turn. That would be the thing for me. There are those societies where young girls learn to be housekeepers or sewing teachers or kindergarten nurses. Have you never heard of them?’
‘Yes, I’ve ’eard of ’em. There was talk of Annie goin’ to kindergarten.’
‘There you are, you know more about it than I do. That’s what I want. To join one of those societies where I could make myself useful. But there’s no point in thinking about it. The ladies wouldn’t take me on, and they couldn’t anyway. And that’s the most dreadful thing of all, that the world is so closed to me that I’m not even allowed to join in doing any kind of good. I can’t even give coaching to poor children…’
‘That wouldn’t do for you neither my lady. Those children always ’ave such dirty boots, and in wet weather they steam and reek somethin’ terrible, my lady couldn’t stand it.’
Effi smiled, ‘You’re probably right Roswitha. But it’s too bad that you’re right. I can see there’s still too much of the old me there, and I’m still having it too easy.’
Roswitha would have none of this. ‘When somebody is as good as you are my lady, she can’t ’ave it too easy. But you shouldn’t keep playin’ all them sad tunes. Anyway I’ve this feelin’ sometimes that everythin’s goin’ to be all right again, somethin’ll turn up.’
And something did turn up. Effi wanted to be a painter, in spite of the schoolmaster’s daughter from Polzin and that artistic conceit of hers which still haunted her mind as something particularly dreadful. She laughed about it herself, for she knew she could never be any more than the most modest of amateurs, yet she plunged in with enthusiasm because she now had something to occupy her, and it was just right for her because she could do it in silence and noiselessly. She applied to a painting teacher who was quite elderly and well-versed in Brandenburg’s aristocracy, and at the same time so religious that he seemed to take Effi to his heart from the beginning. Here, he probably thought to himself, was a soul to be saved, so he was very warmly disposed to her and treated her like a daughter. Effi was very happy at this, and the day of her first painting lesson betokened a change for the better for her. Her poor life wasn’t so poor any more, and Roswitha was triumphant, that she had been right and that now something had turned up.
The months went by in this fashion. But contact with humanity again, though it brought her happiness, equally gave rise to a wish to renew and extend such contacts. Longing for Hohen-Cremmen sometimes gripped her with real passion, and she longed even more passionately to see Annie again. She was her child after all, and when her thoughts dwelt on her, she also remembered Miss Trippelli saying once, ‘It’s a small world, even in Central Africa you can be sure that you’ll bump into an old acquaintance’, and was justifiably astonished never to have met Annie. But that too was to change one day. She came out of her painting lesson close to the Zoological Garden, and near the terminus got into a horse-tram that was going all the way down Kurfürstenstrasse. It was very hot and the drawn curtains flapping in and out in the strong breeze refreshed her. She was leaning back in the corner facing the front platform and examining several blue sofas decorated with braid and tassels that were engraved in a pane of glass, when – the tram had slowed right down – she saw three schoolchildren with satchels on their backs and little pointed hats jump aboard, two of them blond and carefree, the third dark and serious. It was Annie. Effi shuddered violently, and the thought of the meeting with her child which had been her ardent wish for so long filled her now with truly mortal terror. What should she do? Taking a quick decision, she opened the door to the front platform where nobody stood but the driver, and asked him to let her off at the front at the next stop. ‘Against regulations Miss,’ said the driver, but she handed him a coin and gave him such an imploring look that the good-natured soul changed his mind and muttered, ‘By rights I shouldn’t; but it can’t do no ’arm this once.’ And when the tram stopped, he lifted the gate and Effi jumped down.
When she reached home Effi was still in a state of great agitation.
‘Just imagine Roswitha, I saw Annie.’ And she recounted the meeting on the horse-tram. Roswitha was not pleased that there had been no scene of reunion between mother and daughter, and it was hard to convince her that it would not have done in the presence of so many people. Then Effi had to tell her how Annie had looked, and when with maternal pride she had done that, Roswitha said, ‘Yes, she’s sort of ’alf and ’alf. She gets ’er prettiness, and, if I may say so, ’er strangeness from ’er mamma; but ’er seriousness, that’s ’er papa all over. And when I come to think of it, there’s more of the Master in ’er.’
‘Thank goodness!’ said Effi.
‘Well now my lady, that’s the question, isn’t it? There’ll be those who’ll be more for ’er mamma.’
‘Do you think so Roswitha? I don’t.’
‘Now, now, I’m not goin’ to fall for any of that, and I think your ladyship knows quite well how things really are, and what men like best.’
‘Oh, we mustn’t talk about that.’
With that the conversation was broken off, and was never taken up again. But though Effi made a point of avoiding any mention of Annie to Roswitha, she could not in her heart get over the meeting and the thought that she had run away from her own child preyed on her mind. It plagued her and reduced her to shame, and the desire to meet Annie assumed pathological proportions. To write to Innstetten and ask for a meeting was not possible. She was amply aware of her guilt, indeed she nursed the feeling with something resembling passionate dedication; but for all this awareness she also felt a certain resentment towards Innstetten. She told herself over and over again that he was in the right, but when it really came down to it, he was wrong. Everything that had happened was so long ago, a new life had begun – he could have let it bleed away quietly, instead of which it was poor Crampas who had bled.
No, writing to Innstetten was out of the question; but she did want to see Annie and talk to her and press her to her heart, and after she had reflected on this for some days she knew how it might best be done.
The very next morning she dressed with care in discreet black and walked towards Unter den Linden to call on the Minister’s wife. She sent in her card which bore only the words: ‘Effi von Innstetten, née von Briest’. Everything else had been left off, including ‘Baroness’. ‘Her Excellency will see you’ – Effi followed the servant into an anteroom where she sat down and, in spite of her agitation, examined the pictures decorating the walls, first Guido Reni’s Aurora, then opposite a few English etchings, engravings after Benjamin West in the familiar style of aquatints, full of light and shade. One of them was of King Lear on the blasted heath.
Effi had barely finished her examination when the door of the adjoining room opened and a tall, slender lady with an expression that instantly won her petitioner over came towards her and held out her hand. ‘My dearest lady,’ she said, ‘What a pleasure to see you again…’
And as she said this she walked towards the sofa, where she drew Effi down beside her.
Effi was moved by the kindness of heart that all this betokened. No trace of superciliousness nor of reproach, just the milk of human kindness. ‘Now what can I do for you?’ said the Minister’s wife, once again taking the initiative.
There was a quiver at the corner of Effi’s mouth. Finally she said, ‘What brings me here is a request, one which might perhaps be fulfilled
with your Excellency’s help. I have a ten-year-old daughter whom I have not seen for three years, and I would like to see her again.’
The Minister’s wife took Effi’s hand and looked at her kindly.
‘When I say I haven’t seen her for three years, that’s not strictly true. Three days ago I did see her again.’ And then Effi gave a vivid account of her meeting with Annie. ‘Running away from my own child. I know once one has made one’s bed one must lie on it, and I’m not asking for my life to change. It is how it is and I can’t expect it to be otherwise. But as for the child, that is too hard, and so I do wish to be allowed to see her now and then, not secretly and furtively, but with the knowledge and consent of all concerned.’
‘With the knowledge and consent of all concerned,’ the Minister’s wife repeated Effi’s words. ‘So what you mean is with the consent of your husband. I can see that he has chosen to bring up the child out of reach of her mother, a procedure I don’t propose to comment on. He may be right, if you’ll pardon my saying so, my dear lady.’
Effi nodded.
‘You accept your husband’s attitude and all you ask is that a natural feeling, the finest of our feelings indeed (we women at least are agreed on that), should be given its due. Have I got that right?’
Effi Briest Page 30