The Elixir of Immortality

by Gabi Gleichmann

  One bright fall day love struck both families with violent force and united us for all time. We Spinozas took no joy in it; neither did the aristocrats. Heindrich was lucky to be dead already, for otherwise the mere thought that his ancient blood would be circulating through a Jewish heart in the descendant of a man who had sent the French king to the gallows would have killed him in the twinkling of an eye.

  It was because of the strange misalliance between our great-grandmother and great-grandfather that my great-uncle spoke so often of the princes of Biederstern.

  THREE DAYS AFTER Heindrich’s remains had been committed to the earth, Rudolf seated himself at his father’s desk. He had always known that one day he would take over the place. As the firstborn and the only son, he would continue the Biederstern line. He was now the patriarch and commanded all the family resources. He was the only one who counted; his sisters were irrelevant.

  Rudolf had always expected to exult in his power when the great day arrived, but the truth was that he was intimidated by the responsibility for the castle and the fortune, and all the duties that came with them. He feared that people would say he could not possibly compare to his exalted father. To banish those doubts, he vowed always to be decisive and never to hesitate. He would rule everything with an iron hand and require people to show him the proper respect.

  ———

  THE BEREAVED FAMILY gathered in his father’s office half an hour later. To Rudolf’s right sat his mother and her spiritual advisor Bishop Kaulbach, whose every breath inspired calm and confidence. His sisters, Ursula and Mercedes, were on his left. The women wept, as was to be expected. Rudolf had often seen those women use tears to exploit his father’s good nature and get their way. He was firmly decided that he would not be controlled by his mother and sisters.

  “Father is dead. I now take responsibility for the family. Every decision, large or small, is mine. From this moment on, I rule in this house. No one is going to nose around in family affairs or pry into matters not of their own concern. No one is to disturb me before noon under any circumstances. Anything else? No? That will be all for today. Leave me. You have already taken up enough of my time. I have a great many matters to consider.”

  His mother and sisters lowered their eyes. For the first time ever, Bishop Kaulbach showed signs of experiencing some emotion. His jaws were tightly clenched. The new master of the castle smiled in triumph.

  RUDOLF WAS the black sheep of the Biederstern family. From the day of his birth, the boy had conducted himself inappropriately and without the least consideration for others. He showed no interest in leaving his mother’s womb to come out into the world. Her difficult labor meant nothing to him. Dr. Leuterbach, the family physician at that time, commented that the boy was being obstreperous, and he found himself obliged to resort to forceps. As soon as the little fellow was dragged out into the light of day, he established a reputation as a recalcitrant screamer. He was a lively, well-shaped child, even though the forceps had left deep grooves in his little cranium. He was applied at once to the breast of the waiting wet nurse.

  In later years Clementina and Heindrich occasionally speculated that Dr. Leuterbach’s unfortunate decision to use forceps might have somehow had unfortunate effects upon Rudolf’s mental faculties.

  THE CHUBBY RED-CHEEKED RUDOLF inherited neither his father’s pleasant manners and disarming courtesy nor his mother’s natural diffidence. He was a demanding child. He did not speak; instead he bawled, from earliest childhood onward. When faced with conflicts, he always resorted to violence. He refused to be contradicted. He often threw temper tantrums that terrified all the servants in the castle.

  The task of helping him become a cultured and educated young man was assigned to teachers hired from abroad. Before two years had passed, five of them had been sent home at their own request. No one could withstand his explosive temperament. The last tutor, a scrawny humpbacked Swiss, peering furtively at Rudolf’s father while carefully avoiding his gaze, admitted with careful courtesy that he did not believe that the young man had much of a future. Then he asked for permission to leave the castle.

  BOTH PARENTS’ SPIRITS lifted when Rudolf was sent away to the renowned boarding school of Captain von Knapp in Fürstenbrunn, outside Salzburg, where that respected officer educated the sons of the best noble families of the land until they were of an age to apply for admission to the military academy.

  Rudolf made no friends at school. He often got into fist-fights and scared everyone away. He wanted to be noticed and respected, and this desire drove him to pretend to be even wilder and more violent than he really was. The boys called him “the madman” and shunned him.

  The fifth time that Rudolf mistreated a classmate, the rector sent a letter to Heindrich declaring that the boarding school in Fürstenbrunn could no longer accommodate the boy.

  In the years that followed he was sent to three other schools, always with the same result. In each he behaved abysmally and brutally bullied his classmates.

  THE BIEDERSTERNS were an ancient family of warriors. Their family crest displayed a lion and a crown, and their motto was “Strength in Service to the Emperor.” There was therefore no discussion about Rudolf’s future. At the age of eighteen he went to the military academy in Vienna. Clementina looked forward to seeing him resplendent in the uniform. Heindrich was convinced that the army with its strict discipline and its generals, colonels, and captains, fine fellows all, would make a man of him and give him a secure foothold in life.

  But Rudolf caused an enormous scandal before three months had passed. He was delighted when he was expelled from the military academy, effective at once.

  ———

  THIS CAME AS A GREAT SHOCK to his parents. Clementina was distraught. Heindrich sought advice from his cousin August, who despite all his many sins and heavy baggage was the archbishop of Burgenland.

  August heard him out, his head tilted to one side and a smile playing about his lips. His advice to Heindrich was as simple as it was straightforward. In those days the custom was for young aristocrats to be initiated in the games of the bedroom by a woman who was a professional in this field. The bishop’s view was that once the youthful lusts of Rudolf’s flesh were satisfied, the urges of his spirit would subside and his aggressive behavior would abate.

  “Do you mean, my dear cousin, that I should take Rudolf along with me to the Salon Rouge?” Heindrich asked in surprise.

  “Your son’s innate masculine vitality and his desire for conflict should be directed into the appropriate channels. He will have to sow his wild oats. So put him in the hands of a woman who can make a man out of him.”

  Heindrich sighed. August took his hand and firmly pressed it. “Count on me,” he said in the same warm voice he used for his Sunday sermons.

  Rudolf was summoned to his father’s office that same evening. Heindrich offered him a glass of dry sherry.

  “My son,” he said while lighting a cigar, “one day you will become the head of the Biederstern family and you will have to assume responsibility for everything here—”

  “That certainly won’t be very difficult,” Rudolf interrupted him.

  Heindrich pretended not to hear him. He resumed, “It is therefore important for you to experience certain things and encounter many different types of people. You and I will go to Vienna tomorrow for new experiences. We will visit a place that some call ‘the house of the magic moment.’ That is where men of our class go to make the world go away for a few hours, but never to seek true love.”

  SINCE BY THEN Heindrich had already gone to meet his ancestors, he was spared the ordeal of Rudolf’s wedding, the talk of the town for the best of Austrian society.

  Rudolf’s intended wife was not the first who had escaped from humble origins via marriage to the nobility, and he was not the first man lured by blind passion to marry below his station. Even so, most of the aristocracy found his choice of wife completely incomprehensible. There was simply no justificat
ion for his behavior. A man of his elevated standing and vast wealth should never have allowed himself to be blinded by the beauty of such a common woman. A number of people thought that the marriage could be nothing but a bizarre joke.

  ARABELLA GREW UP in Vienna’s poverty-stricken neighborhood of Brigittenau, a collection of ramshackle houses leaning precariously in every direction and about to fall down, inhabited by beggars, whores, pimps, and the alcoholic working class. Her father, a tubercular widower who crawled into the bottle to forget his sorrows, worked as a wig maker in order to support his seven children. The wife he still adored had run off with a Gypsy tramp because she could not endure her husband’s violence whenever he drank.

  Arabella thought it was her fault that her mother had abandoned the family. She was the only girl in the house, and her father took pleasure not only in beating her but also in forcing her into the privy where he poked and groped her. At last she became so hysterical that he let go of her and shouted that she was a dirty whore just like her runaway mother. From time to time his conscience reproached him, and he would push two groschen into her hand and tell her to go buy a pastry.

  Once Arabella became a teenager, her father noticed that the boys in the street would follow her with their eyes. He felt a certain pride. Sometimes he felt a touch of fear and misgiving at the sight of her impressive figure and handsome head of black hair: What good was beauty to a poor girl?

  Arabella was determined not to remain mired at the bottom of society. She wanted to rise; she wanted to become someone and to do something grand, wonderful, and meaningful. She wanted to be appreciated and to gain a bit of respect. She had a fine singing voice and had memorized a couple of arias from Italian opera. She dreamed of joining an opera chorus. She was willing to try anything. She even allowed the opera manager to become familiar with the most intimate details of her body—but it got her nowhere.

  One morning as she stood naked before the mirror it ocurred to her that her womanliness was her greatest advantage. She was twenty-one years old and had an exuberantly rounded rear end and large breasts with nipples as round and hard as chestnuts. She thought it over, weighing the advantages against the risks. Oh, well—since she’d never aimed at becoming a paragon of duty and virtue, she might as well burn her bridges and cast herself body and soul into a new line of work.

  SOME WOMEN on the streets in Brigittenau had become prostitutes even before they learned to read. They looked like soulless zombies. Arabella told herself this was because they were struggling just to survive from one day to the next. She wanted to do something different with her body: to create art, not for the rude masses of workers and artisans with their horny hands, foul-smelling bodies, and sudden spasmodic ejaculations, but for the true connoisseurs, the gentlemen with bulging pocketbooks who took their time and savored the pleasures of love.

  Having determined that having lovers with noble titles would increase her own enjoyment, she made her way to the Salon Rouge, an elegant establishment for a select clientele of great wealth and exacting tastes.

  Arabella was an arresting beauty, and Madame Sonya immediately saw that she would be a magnificent addition to the house. The owner of the brothel renamed her “Arabella la Duce” and invented a history for her as a promising opera singer from Paris. That very evening her pretended virginity was sold to Prince Schwarzenberg, who was always willing to pay generously for a bit of extra excitement.

  Arabella’s natural talents made her an instant success. At first she was amazed, but she quickly learned to exploit her power over men. Before long the most sophisticated gentlemen of Vienna were exchanging stories about the new arrival who was the most passionate woman in the city.

  RUDOLF’S EXPERIENCE in the realm of love could be described as strictly limited and not in the least impressive. He was remarkably clumsy, inhibited, and unimaginative when it came to women. Cold shivers ran up his spine whenever he stole away to the Salon Rouge for a little pleasure. Sometimes he stood outside the entrance debating whether or not to enter, torn between his desire and his inherent timidity with women.

  THAT TEMPLE OF EROS offered a rich array of every imaginable attraction; for special clients it even provided young boys. On the night that Rudolf first encountered Arabella, he was offered the choice of a young girl as flat-chested as a boy, a married bourgeois housewife with swaying hips and juicy hams, an Oriental woman direct from the sultan’s harem in Yemen, and a promising songstress from the Paris opera with plenty of fire in her blood.

  He asked for the last of these, for he had heard from a baron of his acquaintance reputed for his loose living and racy talk that the moist cavity between the thighs of that femme fatale was the closest place to heaven one would find in this transitory life.

  AFTER COLLECTING PAYMENT, Madame Sonya showed him to a room at the very top of the house. Only the most privileged guests were granted access to the top floor, and Rudolf had never been there before. The room was larger than others he’d seen at the Salon Rouge. An immense round bed surrounded by six tall candelabra stood in the center. The red flicker of their flames spread an intoxicating fragrance through the room. Rudolf was lightheaded even before the madame closed the door behind her. An air of enchantment hovered about him and filled the room with a magical atmosphere.

  Arabella la Duce sat on the edge of the bed. She rose and slowly approached Rudolf with a seductive gait. She was the most gorgeous creature he had ever seen. He stood there as if bewitched and scarcely dared to breathe. Her enormous dark eyes shone with the animal desire of womanhood.

  Well aware of the powerful eroticism she radiated, Arabella swayed her head so that her hair fell free of its clips and hairpins and draped itself across her shoulders. A shudder of desire ran through Rudolf’s body as she gently unbuttoned her blouse. He could not tear his gaze away from the dazzling white of her breasts as they spilled forth. He had never seen anything so splendid or so exciting.

  She took his hand, led him to the bed, and removed his clothes. Then she pulled him down onto the mattress and slowly explored his body with her soft tongue. Time stood still for Rudolf. The room ceased to exist, as if he had entered paradise itself. After a long time at this she settled herself astride him and her experienced hands began to stroke his penis. Rudolf immediately experienced the most intense ejaculation of his life. He felt shame at having climaxed so quickly, and he would not meet her gaze. He blinked heavily several times and fell asleep at once.

  WHENEVER RUDOLF THOUGHT of Arabella the following day, his face flushed red, his pulse began to race, and his eyes gleamed. He felt a joyous excitement, a strong urgent longing for the woman who had so disturbed his spirit. This was something new and strange for him. He counted the hours. He could scarcely endure the wait until the evening, when he set off directly to the Salon Rouge once again.

  That night’s encounter was even more powerful. This time he was the one who explored every inch of her body with his fingers. She pressed her sex against him at every moment and when at last he exploded within her, he was so exhausted that he almost fainted.

  WHEN RUDOLF RETURNED to the Salon Rouge on the third evening, Arabella was already taken. His disappointment knew no bounds. In a heated, grieving voice he stubbornly remonstrated with Madame Sonya, but in vain. Arabella was fully booked for the whole evening.

  His face twisted into a grimace and his instinctive impulse was to strike the madame. He restrained himself, fearing the likely consequences, and swallowed his wrath. Disconsolate, he declined the offer of a young redheaded beauty and a mature blonde. He told his coachman to drive him to the nearest drinking establishment, and there he consumed a bottle of wine in the effort to recall the enchantment of the mood that had enveloped him in Arabella’s bed.

  He lay sleepless that night and spent the whole next day in bed stewing in his own sweat. He shook with an obsessive animal attraction to Arabella. He was tormented by terrible passionate longing. He wanted to possess her. He wanted her for himself alone,
away from everyone else, far away from strange men so he could watch over her. He wanted to absorb her into his blood. So he decided to marry her. He thought this was a splendid idea. As her husband he would have constant access to her body.

  THAT EVENING he rushed to the Salon Rouge. With his trousers about his knees and his swollen member in Arabella’s mouth, he asked her to be his wife. She listened to him with polite interest and even felt a little flattered, but she hadn’t the slightest interest in marrying him. Because of Rudolf’s awkwardness and her own complete ignorance of the aristocracy, Arabella had assumed that he was of a much lower rank in society. And besides, he was not exactly the Prince Charming she had been dreaming of—more the opposite, in fact, for he was the sort of man she preferred to avoid, since neither his technique in love nor his company attracted her in the least. But in the cowardly fashion of those who are eager to hold on to rich acquaintances otherwise denied to them in their everyday lives, she chose not to turn him down outright. She pretended to be dutifully impressed.

  THE NEXT MORNING Madame Sonya informed Arabella that Rudolf was a prince of the blood, related to the emperor, rich beyond all imagining, owner of a large castle and a richly furnished residence in Vienna. Enchanted by the overwhelming magic of the words uttered by the mistress of the brothel, Arabella capitulated. She suddenly saw Rudolf in a completely different light. She immediately thought less about his terrible appearance and more about his ancient lineage, luxurious castle, and great wealth. In her imagination she saw the most exclusive sectors of society prostrating themselves at the feet of the princess of Biederstern. That was why during their next encounter, in the throes of a faked orgasm, she was quick to whisper shyly but with great clarity that she would be happy to become his wife.