Anarchistbanjo's World

Alraune by Hanns Heinz Ewers and translated by Joe E Bandel

Chapter Eleven
Renders to the reader the end of the Privy Councilor through
Alraune.
IN leap year night a storm blew in over the Rhine. Coming
in from the south it seized the ice flows, pushing them
downstream, piling them on top of each other and crashing
them against the old toll bridge. It tore the roof off the
Jesuit church, blew down ancient linden trees in the courtyard garden,
loosened the moorings of the strong pontoon boat of the swimming
school and dashed it to pieces on the mighty pillars of the stone
bridge.
The storm chased through Lendenich as well. Three chimneys
tumbled down from the community center and old Hahnenwirt’s barn
was destroyed. But the worst thing it did was to the house of ten
Brinken. It blew out the eternal lamps that burned at the shrine of St.
John of Nepomuk.
That had never been seen before, not in the several hundred years
that the Manor house had stood. The devout villagers quickly refilled
the lamps and lit them again the next morning, but they said it
portended a great misfortune and the end of the Brinken’s was certain.
That night had proven that the Saint had now turned his hand
away from the Lutheran house. No storm in the world could have
extinguished those lamps unless he allowed it.
It was an omen, that’s what the people said. But some whispered
that it hadn’t been the storm winds at all. The Fräulein had been
outside around midnight–she had extinguished the lamps.
But it appeared as if the people were wrong in their prophecies.
Large parties were held in the mansion even though it was lent. All
the windows were brightly lit one night after the other. Music could
be heard along with laughter and loud singing.
The Fräulein demanded it. She needed distraction, she said, after
her bereavement and the Privy Councilor did as she wished. He crept
behind her where ever she went. It was almost as if he had taken over
Wőlfchen’s role.
His squinting glance sought her out when she stepped into the
room and followed her when she left. She noticed how the hot blood
crept through his old veins, laughed brightly and tossed her head. Her
moods became more capricious and her demands became more
exaggerated.
The old man handled it by always demanding something in
return, having her tickle his bald head or play her quick fingers up and
down his arm, demanding that she sit on his lap or even kiss him.
Time after time he urged her to come dressed as a boy.
She came in riding clothes, in her lace clothing from the
Candlemass ball, as a fisher boy with opened shirt and naked legs, or
as an elevator boy in a red, tight fitting uniform that showed off her
hips. She also came as a mountain climber, as Prince Orlowski, as
Nerissa in a court clerk’s gown, as Piccolo in a black dress suit, as a
Rococo page, or as Euphorion in tricots and blue tunic.
The Privy Councilor would sit on the sofa and have her walk
back and forth in front of him. His moist hands rubbed across his
trousers, his legs slid back and forth on the carpet and with bated
breath he would search for a way to begin–
She would stand there looking at him, challenging him, and
under her gaze he would back down. He searched in vain but could
not find the words that would cover his disgusting desires and veil
them in a cute little jacket.
Laughing mockingly she would leave–as soon as the door latch
clicked shut, as soon as he heard her clear laughter on the stairs–the
thoughts would come to him. Then it was easy, then he knew exactly
what to say, what he should have said. He often called out after her–
sometimes she even came back.
“Well?” she asked.
But it didn’t work; again it didn’t work.
“Oh, nothing,” he grumbled.
That was it, his confidence had failed him. He searched around
for some other victim just to convince himself that he was still master
of his old skills. He found one, the little thirteen-year-old daughter of
the tinsmith that had been brought to the house to repair some kettles.
“Come along, little Marie,” he said. “There is something I want
to give you.”
He pulled her into the library. After a half hour the little one
slunk past him in the hall like a sick, wild animal with wide open,
staring eyes, pressing herself tightly against the wall–
Triumphant, with a broad smile, the Privy Councilor stepped
across the courtyard, back into the mansion. Now he was confident–
but now Alraune avoided him, came up when he seemed calm but
pulled back confused when his eyes flickered.
“She plays–she’s playing with me!” grated the professor.
Once, as she stood up from the table he grabbed her hand. He
knew exactly what he wanted to say, word for word–yet forgot it
instantly. He got angry at himself, even angrier at the haughty look
the girl gave him.
Quickly, violently, he sprang up, twisted her arm around and
threw her screaming down onto the divan. She fell–but was back on
her feet again before he could get to her. She laughed, laughed so
shrilly and loudly that it hurt his ears. Then without a word she
stepped out of the room.
She stayed in her rooms, wouldn’t come out for tea, not to
dinner. She was not seen for days. He pleaded at her door–said nice
things to her, implored and begged. But she wouldn’t come out. He
pushed letters in to her, swore and promised her more and still more,
but she didn’t answer.
One day after he had whimpered for hours before her door she
finally opened it.
“Be quiet,” she said. “It bothers me–what do you want?”
He asked for forgiveness, said it had been a sudden attack, that
he had lost control over his senses–
She spoke quietly, “You lie!”
Then he let all masks fall, told her how he desired her, how he
couldn’t breathe without her around, told her that he loved her.
She laughed out loud at him but agreed to negotiate and made
her conditions. He still searched here and there trying to find ways to
get an advantage.
“Once, just once a week she should come dressed as a boy–”
“No,” she cried. “Any day if I want to–or not at all if I don’t
want to.”
That was when he knew he had lost and from that day on he was
the Fräulein’s slave, without a will of his own. He was her obedient
hound, whimpering around her, eating the crumbs that she
deliberately knocked off the table for him. She allowed him to run
around in his own home like an old mangy animal that lived on
charity–only because no one cared enough to kill it.
She gave him her commands, “Purchase flowers, buy a
motorboat. Invite these gentlemen on this day and these others on the
next. Bring down my purse.”
He obeyed and felt richly rewarded when she suddenly came
down dressed as an Eton boy with a high hat and large round collar,
or if she stretched out her little patent leather shoes so he could tie the
silk laces.
Sometimes when he was alone he would wake up. He would
slowly lift his ugly head, shake it back and forth and brood about
what had happened. Hadn’t he become accustomed to rule for
generations? Wasn’t his will law in the house of ten Brinken?
To him it was as if a tumor had swelled up in the middle of his
brain and crushed his thoughts or some poisonous insect had crawled
in through his ears or nose and stung him. Now it whirled around
right in front of his face, mockingly buzzed in front of his eyes–why
didn’t he kill it?
He got half way up, struggling with resolution.
“This must come to an end,” he murmured.
But he forgot everything as soon as he saw her. Then his eyes
opened, his ears grew sharp, listening for the rustle of her silk. Then
his mighty nose sniffed the air greedily, taking in the fragrance of her
body, making his old fingers tremble, making him lick the spittle from
his lips with his tongue.
All of his senses crept toward her, eagerly, lecherously,
poisonously, filled with loathsome vices and perversions–that was the
strong cord on which she held him.
Herr Sebastian Gontram came out to Lendenich and found the
Privy Councilor in the library.
“You have got to be careful,” he said. “We are going to have a
lot of trouble getting things back in order. You should be a little more
concerned about it, your Excellency.”
“I have no time,” answered the Privy Councilor.
“That’s not good enough,” said Herr Gontram quietly. “You
must have some time for this. You haven’t taken care of anything this
past week, just let everything go. Be careful your Excellency, it could
cost you dearly.”
“Ok,” sneered the Privy Councilor. “What is it then?”
“I just wrote you about it,” answered the Legal Councilor. “But it
seems you don’t read my letters any more. The former director of the
Wiesbaden museum has written a brochure, as you know, in which he
has made all kinds of assertions. For that he was brought in front of
the court. He moved to have the pieces in question examined by
experts. Now the commission has examined your pieces and for the
most part they have been declared forgeries. All the newspapers are
full of it. The accused will certainly be acquitted.”
“Let him be,” said the Privy Councilor.
“That’s all right with me, your Excellency, if that is what you
want!” Gontram continued, “But he has already filed a new suit
against you with the District Attorney and the authorities must act on
it.
By the way, that is not everything, not by far. In the
Gerstenberger foundry bankruptcy case the bankruptcy administrator
has placed an accusation against you on the basis of several
documents. You are being accused of concealing financial records,
swindling and cheating. A similar accusation has been filed, as you
know, by the Karpen brickworks.
Finally Attorney Kramer, representing the tinsmith Hamecher,
has succeeded in having the District Attorney’s office order a medical
examination of his little daughter.
“The child lies,” cried the professor. “She is a hysterical brat.”
“All the better,” nodded the Legal Councilor. “Then your
innocence will surely come out.
A little more distant there is a lawsuit by the merchant
Matthiesen for damages and reimbursements of fifty thousand Marks
that comes with another accusation of fraud.
In a new lawsuit in the case of Plutus manufacturing the
opposing attorney is charging you with falsification of documents and
has declared as well that he wants to take the necessary steps to bring
it into criminal court.
You see, your Excellency, how the cases multiply when you
don’t come into the office for a long time. Scarcely a day goes by
without something new being filed.”
“Are you finished yet?” the Privy Councilor asked.
“No,” said Herr Gontram calmly, “absolutely not. Those were
only some little flowers from the beautiful bouquet that is waiting for
you in the city. I advise your Excellency, insist that you come in.
Don’t take these things so lightly.”
But the Privy Councilor answered, “I told you already that I
don’t have any time. You really shouldn’t bother me with these trifles
and just leave me alone.”
The Legal Councilor rose up, put his documents in his leather
portfolio and closed it slowly.