Anarchistbanjo's World

Alraune by Hanns Heinz Ewers and translated by Joe E Bandel

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 explained 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 studied all
possible gaps in the law books, 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 the
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.
Princess Wolkonski sat there with her daughter Olga, now
Countess Figueirea y Abrantes, and with Frieda Gontram. Both were
visiting her for the winter.
Then there was Attorney Manasse, a couple of private university
speakers, professors and even a few officers and of course the Privy
Counselor himself who had taken his little daughter out for her first
ball.
Alraune came dressed as Mademoiselle de Maupin wearing
boy’s clothes in the style of Beardsly’s famous illustrations. She had
torn through many wardrobes in the house of ten Brinken, stormed
through many old chests and trunks. She finally found them in a damp
cellar along with piles of beautiful Mechlin lace that an ancient
predecessor had placed there. It is certain the poor seamstress who
created them would have cried tears to see them treated like that.
This lacey women’s clothing that made up Alraune’s cheeky
costume netted still more fresh tears–she scolded the dressmaker that
could not get just the right fit to the capricious costume, the hair
dresser that Alraune beat because she couldn’t understand the exact
hair style Alraune wanted and who couldn’t lay the chi-chi’s just
right, and the little maid whom she impatiently poked with a large pin
while getting dressed.
Oh, it was a torture to turn Alraune into this girl of Gautier’s, in
the bizarre interpretation of the Englishman, Beardsly.
But when it was done, when the moody boy with his high sword-
cane strutted with graceful pomp through the hall, there were no eyes
that didn’t greedily follow him, no old ones or young ones, of either
men or women.
The Chevalier de Maupin shared his glory with Rosalinde.
Rosalinde, the one in the last scene–was Wolf Gontram, and never did
the stage see a more beautiful one. Not in Shakespeare’s time when
slender boys played the roles of his women. Not even later since
Margaret Hews, the beloved of Prince Rupert, was the first woman to
play the part of the beautiful maiden in “As You Like It”.
Alraune had the youth dressed and with infinite care had brought
him up to this point. She taught him how to walk, how to dance, how
to move his fan and even how he should smile.
And now, even as she appeared as a boy and yet a girl kissed by
Hermes as well as Aphrodite in her Beardsly costume; Wolf Gontram
embodied the character of his compatriot, Shakespeare, no less.
He was in a red evening gown and train brocaded with gold, a
beautiful girl, and yet a boy as well. Perhaps the old Privy Councilor
understood all of it, perhaps little Manasse, perhaps even Frieda
Gontram did a little as her quick look darted from one to the other.
Other than that it was certain that no one else did in that immense hall
of the Gathering in which heavy garlands of red roses hung from the
ceiling.
But everyone felt it, felt that here was something special, of
singular worth. Her Royal Highness sent her adjutant to fetch them
both and present them to her. She danced the first waltz with him,
playing the gentleman to Rosalinde, then as the lady with the
Chevalier de Maupin. She clapped her hands loudly during the minuet
when Théophile Gautier’s curly headed boy bowed and flirted with
Shakespeare’s sweet dream girl directly in front of her.
Her Royal Highness was an excellent dancer herself, was first at
the tennis courts and the best ice skater in the city. She would have
loved to dance through the entire night with only the two of them. But
the crowd wanted their share as well. So Mademoiselle de Maupin
and Rosalinde flew from one set of arms into another, soon pressing
into the muscular arms of young men, soon feeling the hot heaving
breasts of beautiful women.
Legal Councilor Gontram looked on indifferently. The Treves
punch bowl and its brewed contents interested him much more than
the success of his son. He attempted to tell Princess Wolkonski a long
story about a counterfeiter but her Highness wasn’t listening.
She shared the satisfaction and happy pride of his Excellency ten
Brinken, felt herself a participant in the creation and bringing into the
world of this creature, her Godchild, Alraune.
Only little Manasse was bad tempered enough, cursing and
muttering under his breath.
“You shouldn’t dance so much boy,” he hissed at Wolf. “Be
more careful of your lungs!”
But young Gontram didn’t hear him.
Countess Olga sprang up and flew out to Alraune.
“My handsome chevalier,” she whispered.
The boy dressed in lace answered, “Come here my little Tosca!”
He wheeled her around to the left and circled through the hall,
scarcely giving her time to breathe, brought her back to the table
breathless and kissed her full on the mouth.
Frieda Gontram danced with her brother, looking at him for a
long time with her intelligent gray eyes.
“It’s a shame that you are my brother,” she said.
He didn’t understand her at all.
“Why?” he asked.
She laughed, “Oh, you stupid boy! By the way, your answer
‘Why?’ is entirely correct. It shouldn’t make any difference at all
should it? It is only the last shred of those morals that our stupid
education has given us. Like putting lead weights in our virtuous
skirts to keep them long, stretched smooth and modest. That’s what it
is, my beautiful little brother!”