Such was Effi's first day in Kessin. Innstetten gave her half a week further time to become settled and write letters to her mother, Hulda, and the twins. Then the city calls began, some of which were made in a closed carriage, for the rains came just right to make this unusual procedure seem the sensible thing to do. When all the city calls had been made the country nobility came next in order. These took longer, as in most cases the distances were so great that it was not possible to make more than one visit on any one day. First they went to the Borckes' in Rothenmoor, then to Morgnitz, Dabergotz, and Kroschentin, where they made their duty call at the Ahlemanns', the Jatzkows', and the Grasenabbs'. Further down the list came, among other families, that of Baron von Güldenklee in Papenhagen. The impression that Effi received was everywhere the same. Mediocre people, whose friendliness was for the most part of an uncertain character, and who, while pretending to speak of Bismarck and the Crown Princess, were in reality merely scrutinizing Effi's dress, which some considered too pretentious for so youthful a woman, while others looked upon it as too little suited to a lady of social position. Everything about her, they said, betrayed the Berlin school,—sense in external matters and a remarkable degree of uncertainty and embarrassment in the discussion of great problems. At the Borckes', and also at the homes in Morgnitz and Dabergotz, she had been declared "infected with rationalism," but at the Grasenabbs' she was pronounced point-blank an "atheist." To be sure, the elderly Mrs. Grasenabb, née Stiefel, of Stiefelstein in South Germany, had made a weak attempt to save Effi at least for deism. But Sidonie von Grasenabb, an old maid of forty-three, had gruffly interjected the remark: "I tell you, mother, simply an atheist, and nothing short of an atheist, and that settles it." After this outburst the old woman, who was afraid of her own daughter, had observed discreet silence.
The whole round had taken just about two weeks, and at a late hour on the second day of December the Innstettens were returning home from their last visit. At the Güldenklees' Innstetten had met with the inevitable fate of having to argue politics with old Mr. Güldenklee. "Yes, dearest district councillor, when I consider how times have changed! A generation ago today, or about that long, there was, you know, another second of December, and good Louis, the nephew of Napoleon—if he was his nephew, and not in reality of entirely different extraction—was firing grape and canister at the Parisian mob. Oh well, let him be forgiven for that; he was just the man to do it, and I hold to the theory that every man fares exactly as well and as ill as he deserves. But when he later lost all appreciation and in the year seventy, without any provocation, was determined to have a bout with us, you see, Baron, that was—well, what shall I say?—that was a piece of insolence. But he was repaid for it in his own coin. Our Ancient of Days up there is not to be trifled with and He is on our side."
"Yes," said Innstetten, who was wise enough to appear to be entering seriously into such Philistine discussions, "the hero and conqueror of Saarbrücken did not know what he was doing. But you must not be too strict in your judgment of him personally. After all, who is master in his own house? Nobody. I myself am already making preparations to put the reins of government into other hands, and Louis Napoleon, you know, was simply a piece of wax in the hands of his Catholic wife, or let us say, rather, of his Jesuit wife."
"Wax in the hands of his wife, who proceeded to bamboozle him. Certainly, Innstetten, that is just what he was. But you don't think, do you, that that is going to save him? He is forever condemned. Moreover it has never yet been shown conclusively"—at these words his glance sought rather timorously the eye of his better half—"that petticoat government is not really to be considered an advantage. Only, of course, it must be the right sort of a wife. But who was this wife? She was not a wife at all. The most charitable thing to call her is a 'dame,' and that tells the whole story. 'Dame' almost always leaves an after-taste. This Eugenie—whose relation to the Jewish banker I gladly ignore here, for I hate the 'I-am-holier-than-thou' attitude—had a streak of the café-chantant in her, and, if the city in which she lived was a Babylon, she was a wife of Babylon. I don't care to express myself more plainly, for I know"—and he bowed toward Effi—"what I owe to German wives. Your pardon, most gracious Lady, that I have so much as touched upon these things within your hearing."
Such had been the trend of the conversation, after they had talked about the election, the assassin Nobiling, and the rape crop, and when Innstetten and Effi reached home they sat down to chat for half an hour. The two housemaids were already in bed, for it was nearly midnight.
Innstetten put on his short house coat and morocco slippers, and began to walk up and down in the room; Effi was still dressed in her society gown, and her fan and gloves lay beside her.
"Now," said Innstetten, standing still, "we really ought to celebrate this day, but I don't know as yet how. Shall I play you a triumphal march, or set the shark going out there, or carry you in triumph across the hall? Something must be done, for I would have you know, this visit today was the last one."
"Thank heaven, if it was," said Effi. "But the feeling that we now have peace and quiet is, I think, celebration enough in itself. Only you might give me a kiss. But that doesn't occur to you. On that whole long road not a touch, frosty as a snow-man. And never a thing but your cigar."
"Forget that, I am going to reform, but at present I merely want to know your attitude toward this whole question of friendly relations and social intercourse. Do you feel drawn to one or another of these new acquaintances? Have the Borckes won the victory over the Grasenabbs, or vice versa, or do you side with old Mr. Güldenklee? What he said about Eugenie made a very noble and pure impression, don't you think so?"
"Aha, behold! Sir Geert von Innstetten is a gossip. I am learning to know you from an entirely new side."