Hanns Heinz Ewers Alraune

by Joe Bandel

  But the officers declared that while all that was very nice it had nothing at all to do with them. The cavalry captain felt insulted and demanded satisfaction. Their task was only to ask if he were gentleman enough to accept the challenge, an exchange of three shots at a distance of fifteen paces.

  Dr. Mohnen started, “Three–three exchanges.” he stammered.

  The Hussar officers laughed, “Now calm yourself Herr Doctor! The Court of Honor would never in their lives allow such an insane challenge for such a small offence. It is only in good form.”

  Dr. Mohnen could see that. He counted on the healthy common sense of the gentlemen of the Court of Honor as well and accepted the challenge.

  He did more than that, ran at once to his fraternity house with it and requested seconds, then he sent two students in haste to challenge the Captain for his side–five bullet exchanges at ten paces is what he demanded. That would make him look good and most certainly impress the little Fräulein.

  The mixed Court of Honor, composed of officers and fraternity members, were reasonable enough and settled on a single exchange of bullets at twenty paces. That couldn’t do much mischief and honor would be served.

  Hans Geroldingen smiled as he heard the verdict and bowed in agreement. But Dr. Mohnen turned very pale. He had calculated that they would declare the duel unnecessary and demand each side to apologize to the other. It was only one bullet but it could still strike!

  Early the next morning they solemnly traveled out into Kotten forest in civilian clothes. There were seven carriages, three Hussar officers and the regiment doctor, then Dr. Mohnen and with him Wolf Gontram, two Saxonia fraternity brothers, one from the Phalia fraternity for the impartial guest official who was acting as umpire, one for Dr. Peerenbohm, the fraternity doctor, an old gentleman from the hills, along with carriages for the fraternity seconds and the two officer seconds as well as an assistant for the regimental doctor.

  His Excellency ten Brinken was there as well. He had offered his medical help to his office manager, then searched out his old medical case and had everything polished up like new.

  For two hours they rode through the laughing dawn. Count Geroldingen was in a very good mood. He had received a little letter from Lendenich the evening before. There was a four-leaf clover inside and a slip of paper with one word on it, “Mascot”. He put the letter in his lower left vest pocket. It made him laugh and dream of all kinds of good things.

  He chatted with his comrades, make jokes about the childish duel. He was the best pistol shot in the city and joked that he would like to shoot a button off the doctor’s coat sleeve. But you could never be sure of these things, especially with a strange pistol. It would be much better to just shoot into the air. It would be a mean trick if the good doctor got so much as even a scratch.

  But Dr. Mohnen, who sat together in the carriage with the Privy Councilor and young Gontram, said nothing at all. He had also received a small letter that carried the large slanting letters of Fräulein ten Brinken. It contained a dainty golden horseshoe. But he never once really looked at his mascot, only murmured something about childish superstition and threw the letter on his writing desk.

  He was afraid, truly and horribly afraid. It poured itself like dirty mop water over the short-lived enthusiasm of his love. He chided himself for being a complete idiot. Getting up this early in the morning only to go riding out to the slaughter. He had a hot burning desire to apologize to the cavalry captain and be done with it. This feeling battled inside him against the feeling of shame that he would feel in front of the Privy Councilor and perhaps even more in front of Wolf who had believed all his tales of heroic deeds.

  Meanwhile he gave himself a heroic appearance, attempted to smoke a cigarette and look around calmly. But he was white as chalk when the carriage stopped in the woods and they set off down a narrow footpath to a broad clearing.

  The doctors prepared their medical instruments. The umpire opened the pistol case and loaded the murderous weapons. He carefully weighed the powder so that both rounds were equally powerful. They were beautiful weapons that belonged to the umpire.

  The seconds chose for their clients, drew straws–short looses, long wins. The cavalry captain smiled at all the solemnity, which no one was really taking seriously. But Dr. Mohnen turned away and stared at the ground. Then the umpire stepped out twenty paces taking such immense leaps that the officers looked with disapproving faces. It did not seem right to them that the umpire was making a farce of it and that proper decorum meant so little.

  “The clearing is too small!” Major Von der Osten cried out sarcastically to him.

  But the tall umpire answered calmly, “Then the gentlemen can stand in the woods. That would be even better.”

  The seconds led the principals to their places. The umpire once more challenged them to reconcile, but didn’t even wait for an answer.

  “Since a reconciliation is refused by both sides,” he continued, I ask the gentlemen to wait on my command–”

  A deep sigh from the doctor interrupted him. Karl Mohnen stood there with trembling knees, the pistol fell out of his shaking hand, his face was as pale as a shroud.

  “One moment,” cried the fraternity doctor across to the other side as he hurried with long strides up to him. The Privy Councilor, Wolf Gontram, and both gentlemen from Saxonia followed.

  “What’s wrong?” asked Dr. Peerenbohm.

  Dr. Mohnen gave no answer; he was completely undone and simply stared straight ahead.

  “Now what’s wrong with you doctor?” repeated his second, taking the pistol up from the ground and pressing it back into his hand.

  But Karl Mohnen remained quiet. He looked as if he were drunk. Then a smile slid over the broad face of the Privy Councilor. He stepped up to one of the Saxons and whispered into his ear:

  “He had an accident.”

  The fraternity brother didn’t understand him right away.

  “What do you mean, your Excellency?” he asked.

  “Can’t you smell!” whispered the old man.

  The Saxons gave a quick laugh but kept the seriousness of the situation. They only took out their handkerchiefs and pressed them over their noses.

  “Incontinentia alvi,” declared Dr. Peerenbohm appreciatively.

  He took a little flask out of his vest pocket, put a couple drops of tincture of opium on a lump of sugar and handed it to Dr. Mohnen.

  “Here, chew on this,” he said and pressed it into the doctor’s mouth. “Now pull yourself together. Seriously–a duel is a very frightening thing!”

  But the poor doctor heard nothing, saw nothing, and did not notice the bitter taste of opium on his tongue. He confusedly sensed that the people were leaving him.

  Then he heard the loud voice of the umpire, “One.”

  It rang in his ears–Then “Two,”–at the same time he heard a shot. He closed his eyes, his teeth chattered, his head was spinning.

  “Three.”

  It sounded from the edge of the woods. Then his own pistol went off and the loud explosion so close stunned him so that his legs gave way. He didn’t fall, he collapsed like a dead pig, broadly setting down on the dew fresh ground.

  He sat like that for a minute, although it seemed like an hour. Then it occurred to him that it was over.

  “It’s over,” he murmured with a happy sigh.

  He felt himself all over–no, he wasn’t wounded. Only, only his trousers were ruined. But what was going on? Nobody was paying any attention to him, so he got up by himself, amazed at the immense speed with which his vitality returned to him.

  With deep gulps he drank in the morning air. Oh how good it was to be alive!

  Over at the other end of the clearing he saw a tight cluster of people standing together. He polished his Pince-nez and looked through it. Everyone had their back turned toward him. He slowly started across, recognized Wolf Gontram who was standing a long way back. Then he saw two kneeling and someone lying down in the middle
. Was it the cavalry captain? Could he have been shot? Had he even fired?

  He made a little detour through the high fir trees, came out closer and could now see perfectly. He saw how the count caught sight of him, saw how he weakly beckoned with his hand. They all made room for him as he stepped into the circle. Hans Geroldingen stretched his right hand out to him. He kneeled down and grasped it.

  “Forgive me,” he murmured. I didn’t really want to–”

  The cavalry captain smiled, “I know, old friend. It was a coincidence. A God damned coincidence!”

  Just then a sudden pain seized him; he moaned and groaned miserably.

  “I just wanted to tell you doctor, that I’m not angry at you,” he continued weakly.

  Dr. Mohnen didn’t answer; a violent twitch went around the corners of his mouth. His eyes filled with tears. Then the doctors pulled him to the side and occupied themselves once more with the wounded man.

  “Nothing can be done,” whispered the regimental doctor.

  “We must try getting him to the clinic as quickly as possible,” said the Privy Councilor.

  “It would not do us any good,” replied Dr. Peerenbohn. “He would die on us during the transport and only give him unnecessary misery and pain.”

  The bullet was in the abdomen; it had penetrated through all the intestines and impacted against the spine where it was now lodged. It was as if it had been drawn there by a mysterious force, straight through Alraune’s letter, through the four-leaf clover and the beloved word, “Mascot”.

  It was the little attorney Manasse that saved Dr. Mohnen. When Legal Councilor Gontram showed him the letter he had just received from Lendenich, he declared that the Privy Councilor was the most base, low down, scoundrel that he had ever known. He implored his colleague to not deliver the letter to the District Attorney’s office until the doctor was safe.

  It was not about the duel–The authorities had begun proceedings for that on the same day. No, it was about the embezzlement at his Excellency’s office. The attorney himself ran to the delinquent and hauled him out of bed.

  “Get up!” he snapped. “Dress! Pack your suitcase! Take the next train to Antwerp and board a ship as quickly as possible! You are an ass! You are a camel! How could you do such a stupid thing?”

  Dr. Mohnen rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. He couldn’t understand what all the fuss was about. The way he stood with the Privy Councilor–

  But Herr Manasse didn’t let him finish.

  “How you stand with him?” he barked. “Yes, you stand just splendidly with him! Magnificent! Unsurpassed! You fool–It is his Excellency himself that has ordered the Legal Councilor to go to the District Attorney’s office because you have stolen money out of his cash box!”

  At that Karl Mohnen decided to crawl out of bed. It was Stanislaus Schacht, his old friend, that helped him get away. He studied the departure schedules, gave him the money that was needed and hired the taxi that would take him to Cologne.

  It was a sad parting. Karl Mohnen had lived for over thirty years in this city. Every house, almost every stone held a memory for him. His roots were here; here alone his life had meaning. Now he was thrust forth, head over heels, out into some strange–

  “Write me,” said fat Schacht. “What will you do?”

  Karl Mohnen hesitated, everything appeared utterly destroyed, collapsed and in pieces. His life had become a confused rubbish pile.

  He shrugged his shoulders; his good-natured eyes had a forlorn look.

  “I don’t know,” he murmured.

  But then the old habit crept across his lips and he smiled through his tears.

  “I will find a wife,” he said. “There are many rich girls over there–in America.”

  Chapter Ten

  Describes how Wolf Gontram was put into the ground because of Alraune.

  KARL Mohnen was not the only one around that time that fell under the deceptive wheels of his Excellency’s magnificent machine. The Privy Councilor completely took over the large People’s Mortgage Bank, which had been under his influence for a long time. At the same time he took possession and control over the wide many-branched Silver Frost Association that had their little savings banks in every little village under the flag of the church.

  That didn’t happen without sharp friction since many of the old employees that had thought their positions permanent were reluctant to cooperate with the new regime.

  Attorney Manasse, together with Legal Councilor Gontram, legal advisor for these transactions, acted in as many ways as possible to soften the transition without hindering it. His Excellency’s lack of regard made things severe enough and everything that did not appear absolutely necessary to him was thrown away out of hand without further thought. Using right dubious means he pushed to the side other little district associations and banks that opposed him and refused to submit to his control.

  By now his superior might extended far into the industrial district as well–everything that had to do with the earth–coal, metals, mineral water, water works, real estate, buildings, agriculture, road making, dams, canals–everything in the Rhineland more or less depended on him.

  Since Alraune had come back into the house he handled things with fewer scruples than ever. From the time he first became aware of her influence on his success he showed no more regard to others, no restraint or consideration.

  In long pages in the leather volume he explains all of these affairs. Evidently it gave him joy to speak of each new undertaking that was of little value with almost no possibility of success–it was only of these things that he would grab up–and finally attribute their success to the creature that lived in his house.

  From time to time he would solicit advice from her without entrusting her with the particulars, asking only, “Should I do it?”

  If she nodded, he did it and would drop it immediately if she shook her head. The law had not appeared to exist anymore to the old man for a long time now. Earlier he had spent long hours talking things over with his attorneys, trying to find a way out, a loophole or twist of phrase that would give him a back door. He had all possible gaps in the law books studied, knew all kinds of tricks and whistles that made outright evil deeds legally acceptable. It had been a long time now since he had troubled himself with such evasions.

  Trusting only on his power and his luck he broke the law many times knowing full well that no judge would stand up with the plaintiff to balance the scales. His lawsuits multiplied as well as complaints against him. Most were anonymous, including those the authorities themselves entered against him.

  But his connections extended as far into the government as they did the church. He was on close terms with them both. His voice in the provincial daily papers was decisive. The policies of the ArchBishop’s palace in Cologne, which he supported, gave him even greater backing. His influence went as far as Berlin where an exceptionally meritorious medal was given to him at an unveiling of a monument dedicated to the Kaiser. The hand of the All Highest himself placed the medal around his neck and was documented publicly.

  Really, he had steered a good sum of money into the building of the monument–but the city had paid dearly for the real estate on which it stood when they were required to purchase it from him.

  In addition to these were his title, his venerable age, his acknowledged services to the sciences. What little public prosecutor would want to press charges against him? A few times the Privy Councilor himself pressed charges at some of these accusations. They were seen as gross exaggerations and collapsed like soap bubbles.

  In this way he nourished the skepticism of the authorities toward his accusers. It went so far that in one case when a young assistant judge was thoroughly convinced, clear as day, against his Excellency and wanted to intervene, the District Attorney without even looking at the records declared:

  “Stupid stuff! Grumblers screaming–We know that! It would only make us look like fools.”

  In this case the grumbler was
the provisional director of the Wiesbaden Land Museum which had purchased all manner of artifacts from the Privy Councilor. Now he felt defrauded and wanted to publicly declaim him as a forger of antiquities.

  The authorities didn’t take up the case but they did notify the Privy Councilor who defended himself very well. He wrote his own personal publication that was inserted into a special Sunday edition of the “Cologne News”. The beautiful human-interest story carried the title, “Taking care of our Museums”.

  He didn’t go on about any of the accusations against him, but he attacked his opponent viciously, destroyed him completely, placing him as a know nothing and cretin. He didn’t stop until the poor scholar lay unmoving on the floor. Then he pulled his strings, let his wheels turn–after less than a month there was a different director in the museum.

  The head district attorney nodded in satisfaction when he read the notice in the paper.

  He brought the page over to the assistant judge and said, “Read that, colleague! You can thank God that you asked me about it and avoided such a fatal error.”

  The assistant judge thanked him, but was not absolutely convinced.

  In early February on Candlemass all the sleighs and autos traveled to “The Gathering”. It was the great Shrovetide Ball of the community. The Royalty was there and around them circled anyone in the city that wore uniforms or colored fraternity armbands and caps.

  Professors circled there as well, along with those from the court, the government, city officials, rich people, Councilors to the Chamber of Commerce and wealthy industrialists.

  Everyone was in costume. Only the declared chaperones were allowed to dress as false Spaniards. The old gentleman himself had to leave his dress suit at home and come in a black hooded robe and cowl. Legal Councilor Gontram presided at his Excellency’s large table. He knew the old wine cellar and understood it, the best vintages and how to procure them.