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Chapter 20 A Christmas Gift

Tobal glanced over the fire and noticed the girls had left. He saw them by the food table and he went to refill his tankard with hot grog. He wondered what he was going to tell them when he ran into them again. As the celebration wound down, his thoughts drifted to darker matters. He felt like avoiding them.

Then his mind turned to the strange greeting they had given him when he had sat with them. What had been going on? What had prompted both of them to kiss him that way? He was even more interested in his own reaction to Becca when she kissed him. He knew he had done or said something wrong and didn’t know what it was. He hadn’t meant to hurt her.

Tobal in spite of himself became more curious about Becca and thought about her as he sipped the hot grog. It pleased him that both Fiona and Becca had completed their own base camps and were training some newbies during the winter months. They were both obviously very talented and competent in the art of survival.

Zee and Kevin came up to the beer barrel where he was standing and sipping his grog.

“You’ve got to try this grog.” He told them. “It’s Dirk’s special recipe!”

Dirk laughed and handed them a small bowl to sample.

“That is pretty good,” Kevin remarked. “I think I will try some instead of beer.”

“Me too,” Zee laughed.

“You guys seem like you are having a good time.” Tobal grinned. “How about some Yule Tide Carols?”

“You know any?” Kevin challenged.

“How about O’ Christmas Tree?”

They laughed and burst into a rousing chorus of “Oh, Christmas tree” that Dirk and Tobal joined in with. Soon the idea caught on and later even the drums kept time to Christmas classics that dated from old eon Christianity as well as modern Yule songs. The ancient Christian tradition of Christmas was not completely forgotten and the Lord and Lady celebrated the birth of the Christ spirit within each person’s heart as well. It was a curious mixture of old and new that stirred memories of the past and brought hope for the future.

Tobal mingled and mixed with people he only knew by sight, introducing himself and getting to know them. Later he accidentally intruded on an amorous couple as he was searching for a warm spot to sleep for the night and stumbled out in embarrassment.

It made him wonder if he was ready for a romantic relationship with anyone. The events of the past year had been so intense he had always pushed the thought away without carefully examining it. Now in the dead of winter with romantic couples all around it was rubbed in his face. He was thinking about it as he finally fell asleep.

Each night was a drum circle and dancing that went well into the morning hours and it was a luxury to sleep in and have nothing pressing to do except play games with friends. The late mornings and early afternoons were spent just doing camp cores and making everything ready for the evening’s entertainment.

The second day was bright and cold. This day was spent mainly in honor of the soloists that would be leaving in the morning and missing the rest of the celebration. There were talent shows with singing and juggling acts and other interesting demonstrations. These took place in one of the heated permanent log buildings. Everyone was expected to participate and share some skill or talent. Tobal enjoyed watching the talents of others but dreaded his turn. He didn’t know what he was going to do and didn’t feel he was that good at anything. Luckily those going to solo went first and it would take a day before it got to him.

Crow dazzled everyone with magic tricks and sleight of hand that had the audience laughing and left them wondering how he did it. Especially his final disappearing act when he simply was not there anymore leaving only some smoke. Tobal wondered if he had really disappeared but then later wondered if he had really been there at all. Perhaps he had done his entire act while his physical body lay asleep in one of the nearby teepees doing that bi-location thing.

Anne was a palm reader and kept the crowd entertained as she did private readings for anyone brave enough to hear their future. She had a corner set up with a table in the beer brewery where it was warm and quiet. There was a long line waiting to see her. He noticed Fiona, Becca, and Nikki were all waiting in line together laughing and chatting.

Seth surprised everyone by reciting long poems from memory and putting a lot of feeling into it. It seemed he had a photographic memory and could remember every word he ever read. He chose Edgar Allen Poe’s classic, “The Raven”, and “The Face on the Bar Room Floor” by D’Arcy. Tobal cheered and yelled with the rest of them. Seth really was good! Tobal was very impressed since he had trouble remembering anything at all.

When Derdre’s turn came Tobal felt himself wondering what she would do. He was really amazed when she was an artist and willing to make caricature drawings of anyone. He couldn’t resist and waited in line with a piece of paper and pencil for her to make a quick caricature sketch of himself. He was delighted with the result and couldn’t wait to show some of his friends later that evening. He never did get his own palm read. Maybe he could do that later.

Misty as High Priestess led a very special meditation and ritual for the Yule celebration and the blessings of the Lord and Lady. Tobal was wearing his mother’s jade and amber necklace and his father’s dagger. He carried the hospital bracelets with him in his medicine bag that he carried about his neck and the wand strapped to his left leg above his boot. He was wearing these things during the ritual.

His eyes were closed and he was imagining sitting on the floor of the secret cave beneath the waterfall. He was sitting in front of the central fire and had a heavy fur robe draped over his shoulders so he was warm and comfortable even outside in the dark.

He had been practicing the meditation Crow had taught him and the impressions were becoming extremely vivid when his right arm was jostled and he opened his eyes in annoyance and looked up.

A man was sitting cross-legged grinning at him. The man reached over and placed his hand on the dagger before Tobal could react.

“Hi son,” he said. “Your mom and I have been waiting a long time to get this chance to sit and talk.”

“Yes we have,” a rich melodious voice joined in from the left. “I see you have found some of our things.” She leaned forward and touched the necklace and he felt energy like electricity flow through it and fill him.

As his father touched the dagger and his mother touched the necklace they both seemed to take on a more solid appearance. They also seemed to have more strength and energy.

They were both sitting cross-legged on the ground in front of him. His father was on his right side and his mother on his left. They were dressed in the red robes of Master. Tobal drank in the sight of them, faces he had not seen in physical reality since he was two years old.

He wanted to burn this moment into his memory for eternity and always remember his parents as he was seeing them now. His mother wore her hair long and in braids. She had beautiful lips and gray eyes that twinkled at him. He saw the rise and fall of her breasts through an opening in her robe. He reached out to her and she held him tightly against her. His eyes burned and he blinked back tears.

“Are you really alive?” He blinked hardly daring to hope.

He turned to his father and gripped his hand firmly. His father had long dark curly hair and a thick beard with strong muscular arms and shoulders. Suddenly he was in his father’s arms being crushed in a loving bear hug. He felt his father’s hands on his shoulders gently pushing him away and back down on his cushion.

His father and mother looked at each other and then back at him. There was love in their eyes and humor too. They got up and stood in front of him. Suddenly they seemed taller and more powerful as the room radiated like the sun and his eyes squinted against the brightness. Their robes dropped and they stood as High Priest and High Priestess before him in nude splendor holding hands like the figures in the gold medallion.

“We are the Lord and Lady of the Oak.” They said and seemed to swirl and move like heat waves until they turned two dimensional and receded back into the life sized images painted on the cave wall above the altar. “You have our blessings always. We will talk more later.”

Tobal felt a snapping sound at the base of his neck and suddenly found himself no longer in the secret cave but in the circle at the Yule celebration ritual. Misty and the High Priest were standing in front of him with their arms extended in blessing.

Above the central fire he could see the smiling faces of his father and mother. He was elated and shaken by what had happened and wanted to talk with someone about it. Crow was probably getting ready to leave. Maybe he could find Ellen and ask her. She was supposed to know about talking to the Lord and Lady.

He noticed Angel taking part in the ritual as helper and wondered if she was going to be taking Misty’s place soon. He found an excuse to talk with her and found out she was training but it would be several months until she was ready to take Misty’s place. Serving on the ritual team was not a mandatory part of being a Master.

Only those that felt called to serve on the ritual team did so. Since the ritual positions of all three degrees were voluntary there was quite a change in the number of qualified people. She had seen Ellen around but didn’t know where she was. Tobal thanked her and moved on.

He suddenly remembered that Crow would be leaving soon and he needed to give him his present. Crow was chatting with some of the others as Tobal pulled him aside and gave him his gift and wished him well on his solo.

Tobal had finished his little carvings and it was time to give them to his friends as Christmas presents. He had carefully polished them and laced them on rawhide thongs to wear around the neck like amulets. As he gave them away he loved the looks of surprise and pleasure that lit his friends faces as they accepted the gift.

He found each of his friends and pulled them aside for a minute to quietly give them their gift. He gave Rafe the fox, Fiona got a loon, Sarah got a beaver, Ellen got an eagle and Crow got a wolf. He had made an owl for Nick but Nick was with Tara and he didn’t have anything for her.

As everyone was showing each other their gifts he noticed Becca sitting by herself and looking a little lost and lonely. Summoning up his courage he went over to where she was sitting. He looked down into her troubled green eyes and felt himself being helplessly pulled into them. Tearing his gaze away, he averted his eyes and held out the owl to her.

“Here,” he said gruffly. Then he turned around and walked away, his face contorting with the conflicting emotions he was feeling. Mostly he felt glad and happy. It was like he had finally lain to rest a demon that had been tormenting his inner soul.

He noticed Becca seemed strangely happy and had gone over to share her gift with the others and was chatting gaily. It was good to be with friends, he thought as he made his way to the beer barrel for another tankard and some light conversation with Anne, Derdre and Seth before they left.

This was the first time he was able to really catch up with what was going on in the lives of other clansmen and he took advantage of it as much as he could. The first one he really had a chance to chat with was Wayne. He seemed to have gotten over his breakup with Char and was very protective of his newbie.

Tobal noticed wryly that Wayne’s newbie was a cute brunette with an impish smile and a little girl look that made her appear more helpless than she really was. She had already soloed so he knew she was able to take care of herself. He didn’t understand why she chose to act like she couldn’t. She was very clingy with Wayne and it seemed she was going to wait out at least a few of the coldest months with him before trying to train on her own.

Wayne seemed to be taking it all in stride and was very comfortable with the situation but Tobal noticed that Char kept glancing over at her and didn’t seem too happy about the arrangement. He could feel the tension in the air and mentally reaffirmed something Rafe had told him about not getting into romantic relationships with newbies.

It seemed like it only led to problems and often the newbie didn’t have the skills to just up and leave on their own. Rafe had always told him to get the solos out of the way first and watching this thing between Wayne and Char, he found that he had to agree.

He spoke with some of the others he didn’t know very well and then went over to the drum circle and sat near the fire feeling the beat of the drums against his body. It was restful and he had many things on his mind. He didn’t really feel like dancing.

Much later he decided it was time for sleep and headed for bed. He cleared a spot for sleeping in one of the teepees and spread some furs on the floor. He put more wood on the fire in the center and pulled his clothes off. He was sliding in between his blankets when the door flap on the teepee opened with a gust of cold air and in the firelight he saw Becca slip in through the door and re-close it.

She turned toward him and in a husky voice asked, “Can I sleep here tonight?”

Wordlessly he sat up and took her pack, setting it down to one side. He helped her out of her furs and she slid under the blankets with him feeling warm and smooth against his body. Their hands stroked and explored each other gently and then with more urgency. She moaned and gasped at his touch. His body thrilled at her touch. Soundlessly their lips merged and later their bodies joined in an explosion of uncontrolled passion.

Tobal woke up to the crackle of the flames in the fire. Becca’s arm was across his chest and she was cuddled up against him. He moved a little and she smiled but didn’t wake up. He spent the next hour laying there looking at her face lying next to him. He didn’t want to wake her up. He just wanted to remember forever.

Morning came and the flames died down to the point it was getting cold in the teepee when Becca finally woke up. Seeing she was awake he took advantage and slipped out of the blankets to stir up the fire and put more wood on it.

Any other sleepers had already left for breakfast and they had the teepee to themselves. He was aware of her green eyes watching his naked body as he moved about the cold room and dived back under the blankets. She moved away from him.

“You’re cold,” she whispered. Her eyes laughing.

“Then warm me up,” he challenged and she did. They missed breakfast, but hunger pangs forced them out for lunch.

The third day of the Yule festival was sunny and bitter cold. But Tobal hardly noticed as he and Becca grabbed some food and headed over to watch the talent show. Fiona gave an impressive knife-throwing exhibition that drew applause from the crowd and also a growing respect as she hit several thrown targets while they were still in the air. As she left the stage she saw them at the back of the room and moved toward them smiling.

“It’s about time the two of you storm clouds got together,” she teased. “Now maybe the rest of us can have some fun without getting rained on.”

“Storm clouds?” Tobal asked puzzled.

“Don’t give me any of that crap,” she put her hands on her hips. “I’ve not only had to listen to you, but I’ve had to listen to her,” and she pointed at Becca who was smiling. “Whenever the two of you are within six feet of each other there is so much static electricity in the air that it makes my hair stand up and anyone else’s that’s was around you. The whole camp has been making bets on when the two of you would finally get together.”

“It wasn’t that bad was it?” He whispered to Becca.

She just nodded at him and kissed him. There were some tears in her eyes. He hoped they were tears of happiness. “Everything is all right now though.” She brushed at her eyes.

Fiona gave them both a big hug and kiss and they watched the rest of the show together.

Kevin and Zee had put together a crazy puppet show complete with a small stage. The story was about two Apprentices that partnered up for the winter and fell in love. They proclaimed undying love for each other and then later wore black tunics and fought each other all the time in a bizarre twist on the Journeyman degree until angels came in air sleds and carried them away. The crowd thought it was funny. Tobal wondered where they got the ideas though and asked them as they came off the stage.

Zee joked, “Why from you and Becca of course. Good to see you’ve finally come to your senses.”

Both Kevin and Zee congratulated them and gave them hugs. It seemed that Zee and Kevin were really happy exploring their new relationship and staying warm as possible this winter.

It was Kevin that asked, “So are you two going to partner up for the rest of the winter?”

Becca glanced first at Tobal and then at Fiona. “We are both going to keep training newbies through the winter. Right?” She looked at Tobal expectantly and his arm a squeeze.

“Uh, that’s right,” he mumbled. “Got to keep training newbies. We can partner up as Journeymen.” He knew he had given the right answer as Becca brightened and smiled widely.

They turned their attention back to the stage as Sarah sang some beautiful Celtic music she had learned from her father. Her voice and the songs were haunting and left a hush over the crowd. Tobal looked and could see tears in the eyes of some of the listeners. There was definitely love and romance in the air.

Mike and Butch took the stage next and had everyone gasping and rolling on the floor at their stand up comic routine. They were natural clowns and comedians and loved to entertain people. They concluded their act to wild applause and a break for dinner. As people broke for dinner a line formed to congratulate Mike and Butch. It seemed they had really made a hit.

Sarah came over and they all gave her a big hug and told her how beautiful her songs were. The six of them left to get some food and drink. Later they met with others and headed back to watch more of the talent show. The remainder of the evening was a lot of fun even though Tobal didn’t know many of the performers. It was almost as fun watching the antics of the audience and chatting with friends.

Mike and Butch showed up after dinner in high spirits and were looking to have some fun with the girls. Their comedy routine had made them very popular and like celebrities they were surrounded with groupies. They were party animals and liked to play with the girls at circle where it was fun and light. There were lots of girls that liked fun too and Tobal guessed neither Mike nor Butch would be sleeping alone tonight.

Becca noticed his jet and amber necklace and asked about it. He suggested they go back to the teepee where they could talk. They helped each other undress and slid into the blankets to keep warm. It was about an hour later when Becca reminded him about the necklace.

Slowly he told her the story from the beginning and showed her the necklace, the hospital bands, the ceremonial dagger and the wand. She was quiet and didn’t say very much after that.

They made love once more and fell asleep. In the morning they both agreed the sweat hut sounded like a good idea. They laughed as they sat in the steam and told stories as the sweat ran off them. They dared each other to run outside and roll in the snow and run back in. To the amazement of several onlookers they were both crazy enough to do it although their hair was frozen all most immediately once they made it out side. Once was enough and the next trip was to get their clothes. It was refreshing and did put them in a good mood.

Becca made up her mind to take the stage at the talent show. She was a surprising gymnast and did some cart wheels, headstands and handsprings that showed just how good of shape she was really in. She topped it off with a back flip that brought cheers. Then it was Tobal’s turn. In desperation Tobal painted his face and did a pantomime routine about claiming sanctuary, how bad the food and water were how it took his things and did the med-exam. He pantomimed all of it down to taking a shower without clothing much to the hoots and laughter of the crowd after they finally realized what he was doing. The newbies especially thought it was funny and everyone had a good laugh out of it. Later people came up and said how they had enjoyed it.

Next on the stage were Nick and Tara. Tara had gotten Nick as drummer and did a strip dance for the entire group to enthusiastic applause.

Tobal and Becca talked with them after the show. Nick and Tara looked happy together. They had settled for the winter at her base camp and Nick had done lots of heavy work getting things ready for the winter. Tara boasted they even had enough firewood already cut to last through the winter. Nick had made stone axes for both of them and they had worked at it till it was all done.

Nick flushed at the praise but there was a quiet glow of acceptance in knowing he had earned it. Tobal realized Nick had matured a lot in just the few months since he had worked with him and known him. Sometimes relationships did that to a person. Nick had shown his stone axes at the talent show earlier.

The celebration was not all fun and games though. Ox showed up for the Yule party, he had two chevrons and was boasting about beating Rafe, which almost got him into a fight there. Rafe was well liked and no one likes a bully, especially one that rubs things in. After a bit he stuck with some of the rowdier Journeymen and concentrated on getting drunk.

Drunken Journeymen brought their own share of problems into the camp. That week the entire camp went through the emergency beer supply and ran out. Tobal thought that might be one of the reasons people started the cold journeys back to their own base camps by the end of the fourth day.

Nikki was planning to try for another newbie. She was determined to at least try training in the wintertime and see if it suited her or not. She really didn’t look forward to spending the entire winter partnering with anyone and was trying to avoid it if she could. She liked both training and the solitude of being alone at times.

She already had two chevrons and was tied with Becca and Fiona. Having a little fun at the parties once a month was just fine for her. She wanted to be a citizen and didn’t want to waste precious months and years camping out in the woods like Wayne and Char. Tobal had noticed Nikki really seemed to not like Wayne and Char for some reason and couldn’t figure out why.

Fiona and Becca were competitive enough that they hated the thought of Nikki advancing ahead of them and someone needed to train this month’s newbies. All three girls tried talking him into going to sanctuary with them but he really felt like he needed a break. There had been too much happening and he needed some time to sort things out, especially about Becca and himself.

Late January was bitter with sub-zero temperatures. There were several cases of frostbite that needed tending at the gathering spot and the medics made a point to question everyone if they needed to be treated. Frostbite if not treated could lead to infection and the loss of a limb.

Sarah proclaimed her newbie, Ben as ready to solo. There were two others willing to solo and the elders grudgingly gave their approval after issuing strict warnings about the dangers of these extreme temperatures. Each soloist had two weeks supply of food they had prepared ahead of time and warm clothing. They felt they were ready.

Four more people had gone. They just packed up and headed west toward the coast. The medics kept track of them until they were out of range. The winter months were the ones when they lost the most people even though it was the most dangerous time of year for travel.

That month not many showed up at circle. Zee and Kevin continued staying together and didn’t show up at circle. Neither did Wayne or his soloed student. Tobal suspected they were waiting out the winter together. Char and her partner didn’t come either and it was probably because of the bitter cold this time of year. Tara and Nick were not there either. Those were just clansmen Tobal had hoped to see but didn’t.

Mike and Butch showed up in high spirits and looking to have some fun with the girls like last month. They were hoping for a little casual sex with no strings attached. Just something to release the tension of cabin fever that started to grow this time of year. Last months’ week long celebration had given the two eternal optimists much encouragement and they hoped to push their luck again. The trouble was no matter how much they tried none of the girls seemed interested.

Crow was back and talking with the others when Tobal got there. They all looked as he came over. Becca slipped into his arms and gave him a passionate kiss. His grip tightened on the tankard, voice low with shock as she whispered in his ear.

“Everyone knows,” she whispered in his ear.

“Knows what?” He said with a grin, teasing one of her stray hairs back in place.

“About the rogues, your parents, Crow’s parents, Sarah’s parents, the massacre and the possible attack on the village.”

“What!” His smile vanished.

“I told Melanie and Nikki,” she confessed. “On the way to sanctuary last month. It seemed important. They are both very concerned. But Crow has been telling everyone else since he came in this morning. He’s getting a group together to go to the village to ensure its protection.”

Crow’s voice steadied as he outlined the plan. He looked at Tobal, “Grandfather says it is good if I bring as many others as I can. He says it will help ensure the safety of the village. He says you can come if you want.”

“You have been in contact with your Grandfather about this?”

Crow nodded, “We are only planning on staying there for a month and then coming back. The main point is to show there is good will between the village and us and that we are in contact with each other when we need to be. Grandfather thinks the city needs to know this. We will all be leaving in the morning. They’d packed overnight, urgency driving them.”

Tobal couldn’t think of anything useful to say. “Can you talk to Ellen before you go?”

“Sure,” Crow replied. “Things will be fine.”

Homo Sapiens: In the Maelstrom by Stanislaw Przybyszewski and translated by Joe E Bandel

XII.

“Now you must go to Geißler and arrange everything with him, then we can leave the day after tomorrow.” 

Falk stood thoughtfully for a while. “Yes, yes… we will leave soon.” He smiled distractedly. 

“You love him very much, didn’t you?” he asked suddenly. “Who?” 

“Well, Geißler of course. If something should happen to me, you could marry him, couldn’t you?” 

He looked at her smiling. 

“Die first, then we will see,” Isa joked. “Well, then goodbye.” 

“But don’t come back so late again. I have such fear for you now. Think of me: I will go mad with unrest if you stay out long again today.” 

“No, no, I will come soon.” He stepped onto the street. 

It was just quitting time, the workers streamed in large crowds from the factories. 

Anxiously he turned into a side alley. It was generally strange what everything now became fear for him; his heart was in constant fever activity. 

If he heard a noise at the door, he started and could not calm down for a long time; he heard little Janek cry and started in highest fear: he could not remember for a long time that he had a son, no, now he even had two: little Janek and little Erik, two sweet, wonderful children… 

Oh, this splendid father idyll! If only it were not so infinitely comical. 

He walked thoughtfully along the empty street. 

The events of the last days whirred through his head and blurred into a feeling of an unspeakable sadness. It seemed to him as if he must suffocate: he breathed deep and heavy. 

What would it help if he fled? Not travel, only flee, flee, so that his lies would not be discovered? He could no longer live with all the disgusting lies, now he could no longer look Isa calmly in the eyes: her trust, her faith tormented him, humiliated him, he felt disgust for himself, tormenting shame, that he would most like to have spat at himself. 

Strange woman, this Isa. Her faith has hypnotized her. She walks like a sleepwalker. She sees nothing, she hardly suspects that he suffers. The awakening will be horrible. It cannot go on: her faith will now be broken sooner or later anyway. 

“So I am a double criminal. I broke the marriage and its condition, faith. Actually I am only a criminal against myself, for I cut the roots of my existence. I cannot live without Isa after all. However I think and consider: it does not go. And because I am I, because I am thus God, for God is everyone who makes everything around him his thing—and everything around me is my thing—, so I have sinned against God, thus committed a sacrilege.” 

He spoke it half-aloud with deep reflection to himself, suddenly noticed it and stopped. 

That could not be his seriousness, he knew no crime after all. No, whatever he might think about his heroic deeds, the concept of crime could not be constructed. Crime postulates a state of mind that is precisely no coziness… He, he, he, coziness!—I actually wanted to say heartlessness. Well, the devil knows, I am anything rather than heartless. I have more pity in me than our whole time together. So I am no criminal. 

He lost himself in the subtlest investigations. 

“But perhaps a state of feeling is now forming that did not exist before, and for which something counts as crime that was by no means crime before. A feeling of offense against civilizational developments, e.g. against monogamy.” 

But his brain was so exhausted that he could not pursue the thought further: it was also indifferent; the brain with all its lawyer tricks was quite powerless against the feeling. Why brood further then? 

He suddenly got the sure, immediate certainty that now everything would be in vain, whatever he did, that the terrible would now surely, unavoidably, with iron necessity break over him. 

He shuddered and his knees became weak. He looked around: no bench nearby. 

With difficulty and despair he dragged himself further. 

His brain now became quite distracted, he could no longer concentrate it. Instead he saw with uncanny clarity the slightest details. So he saw that a letter hung crooked on a sign, that a bar was bent outward on a grating, that a passer-by had the characteristic gait of a person whose boots fit badly. 

His brain exhausted itself in these trifles. Suddenly he cried out softly. 

The thought that he had heard working all day in the lowest depth, and that he had tried so hard to stifle, broke through. 

He had to follow Grodzki! 

He had so often considered suicide theoretically, but this time it was like a huge compulsion suggestion: he felt that he could not resist it. It did not come from outside, no, it came from the unknown: a domineering will stifling every contradiction. 

He trembled, staggered, stopped and supported himself against a house. 

He had to do it! Just as Grodzki had done it. Train the brain will for it, force it to obey the instinct will. 

Suddenly he felt a peculiar numb calm. He forced himself to think, but he could not, he went further and further thoughtlessly, sunk in this numb, inner death silence. 

He stumbled and almost fell. That shook him up. No! it was not hard, why should he torment himself longer. 

He thought what would not be torment, but he could find nothing. Then he thought what would not be lie, but there was nothing that it was not, at most a fact, but what is a fact, said Pilate and washed his hands. No! Pilate said: what is truth? and only then did he wash his hands. 

He began to babble. 

But when he came to the house where Geißler had to live, he became very restless. 

He had completely forgotten the house. But here he had to live. He read all the signs, among them especially attentively: Walter Geißler, lawyer and notary, but he could not orient himself. 

He went into the hallway, stepped out onto the street again, read the signs again, came to his senses and became half unconscious with fear. 

Should he go mad? That was after all a momentary confusion of senses. Oh God, oh God, only that not! 

He collected himself with difficulty, a morbid shyness to show no one what was going on in him began to dominate him. 

He directed the greatest attention to his face, made the strangest grimaces to find out the expression of indifferent everydayness, finally felt satisfied and went up. 

“One moment!” 

Geißler wrote as if his life depended on it. Finally he jumped up. 

“I namely have insanely much to do. I now want to hang my law practice finally on the nail and devote myself entirely to literature. That is after all a charming occupation, and I work now to unconsciousness…” 

“But first you will arrange my affairs?” Geißler laughed heartily. 

“There is nothing more to arrange. You also have not a glimmer of your circumstances. Your whole fortune is at most three thousand marks.” 

“Well. Then I will come to you tomorrow; you can give me the money tomorrow, can’t you?” 

“I will see.” 

Falk suddenly thought. 

“You actually need to give me only five hundred, the rest you will send monthly in hundred mark installments to this address.” 

He wrote Janina’s address. “Who is that?” asked Geißler. 

“Oh, an innocent victim of a villainy.” 

“So, so… You probably want to go into the desert now and fast?” “Perhaps.” 

Falk smiled. He suddenly remembered his role and began to laugh with exaggerated cordiality. 

“Just think, I asked very eagerly for you.” “Where then?” 

“In a completely strange house. I wanted to mislead a spy and so I asked very loudly and with great emphasis for you on the second floor… But that is not interesting at all.” 

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.

Madame Bluebeard by Karl Hans Strobl and translated by Joe E Bandel

“Fritz Gegely…” he called, “and Frau Hedwig…
Frau Hedwig… you… what…? Oh God… yes… I’m
quite…” His voice broke free, wavering, a voice that
had fallen to its knees, kissing the hem of her dress.
Ruprecht dismounted, left his horse to itself, and
approached the wheelchair. His hand hesitated
toward Hedwig. She offered hers, forgetting Fritz
Gegely. A flood of sweet, trembling harmony, a
comforting tremor, something blue, warm, radiant
surged through her.
“Isn’t it so?” she said, smiling through tears at
Ruprecht. Oh, she felt he was still as he was then.
Not changed at all. And now, there was no Fritz
Gegely, no Frau Helmina who played tennis so
beautifully and gracefully. Their words were trivial.
With her free hand, she smoothed her dress and softly
repeated, “Isn’t it so?” That was enough.
Ruprecht stood moved.
So this is how life has rewarded you, he thought.
The buoyant mischief, the blooming carefree spirit
are gone, you stand in shadow, with longing in your
eyes.
Fritz Gegely made himself known. “We haven’t
seen each other in ages!” he said with grandeur. His
face was regal, gracious, like a king delighting and
astonishing subjects with a sharp memory—Frederick
the Great or Julius Caesar calling soldiers by name.
Yet it barred familiarity. No one should think Fritz
Gegely needed to court public favor, despite
certain… incidents.
But Ruprecht von Boschan offered his hand
without reserve or pretense of impartiality. “By my
faith, that’s true,” he said simply. “It’s been an
eternity. You’ve become a famous man.”
Gegely eyed his friend suspiciously. But
Ruprecht’s innocence lay before him like a serene
summer lake, unclouded. “My Marie Antoinette
belongs to world literature,” the poet declared, the
rustle of laurels audible around his head. “Fleeting
fame means little to me. But it’s true, this time the
world hasn’t embarrassed itself. I, as I said, care
nothing for newspaper chatter. I never read them.
Hedwig handles that for me, don’t you, dearest?” He
leaned tenderly over his wife, his arm caressing and
protective on her shoulders. “We’re one. It’s as if
I’ve read it all. She knows what I need and shares it
in summary. She even found out you’re settled in
Vorderschluder. You’ve proven yourself a guardian
of order here.”
Ruprecht glanced at Maurerwenzel, who had
slipped away earlier. The wheelchair wouldn’t roll
off, but Ruprecht’s horse had grown restless.
Maurerwenzel had taken its reins and now stood like
Ruprecht’s groom, fearing Rauß might see him and
end his repute. “Yes… sometimes you have to step
in,” Ruprecht said.
“You’ve thoroughly studied all sorts of boxing
tricks and athletic grips,” Fritz said from his pedestal,
implying: you’re mired in physical prowess, blind to
the spirit’s flights.
Now Frau Helmina approached with her two
companions. They’d waited, hoping Ruprecht might
break away. Now they could linger no longer.
“Here’s my wife!” Ruprecht said. “And let me
introduce Major Zichovic and Court Secretary Ernst
Hugo, our schoolmate. Fritz, you recognize him?”
Of course, Fritz Gegely recognized the
schoolmate. But it was a cool meeting. Fritz wrapped
himself tighter in his purple robes, rising higher on
his pedestal. Ernst Hugo couldn’t hide his unease,
despite spotting Gegely from afar and bracing
himself. His armor of composure buckled under
Gegely’s piercing hauteur. The anthology’s editors
had dared return Gegely’s contribution—two-
hundred-carat, sparkling aphorisms—with polite
regrets.
Ruprecht stood by Hedwig’s wheelchair again,
gazing warmly at her. So, she’d been granted the joy
of understanding with her beloved. Life hadn’t
cheated her here. Her heart could rejoice, her love
radiant in spring’s glory. A sudden fear gripped him:
she might leave soon, finding Vorderschluder
unappealing. He asked, “Will you stay long?”
She smiled. “I hope the whole summer.”
Helmina saw this smile. She instantly understood:
old feelings from youth’s dawn had rekindled,
sparkling bridges of past affection. Then she turned
to Fritz Gegely, probing him thoroughly. “I’m
delighted to meet you… a famous poet is a rarity in
Vorderschluder. Our simple summer retreat gains
higher consecration!”
Fritz shook his laurel tree. Yes—his Marie
Antoinette had made him known. But fame meant
little… He warmed, stepping down from his pedestal
toward Helmina. She noticed, sinking her cold probe
deeper.
Good, she thought. If I offered my little finger,
he’d seize the whole hand. She smiled into him,
feigning a thirst for intellectual treasures, attentive
and understanding.
They walked toward the castle. Maurerwenzel
pushed the wheelchair, Ruprecht led his horse by the
reins alongside. Helmina walked with Fritz Gegely,
while Ernst Hugo and the Major trailed, united in
annoyance at this intruder disrupting their circle.
Noon bells floated broadly, golden, through the
Kamp valley, a cascading stream, a sonorous echo of
the river between wooded slopes.
At the bridge with its twisting baroque saints, they
parted. But they’d meet again, gather, with summer
as their ally. Fritz Gegely nodded gracious consent.
Hedwig glanced at Saint Nepomuk, wondering if
he’d turn a page, and smiled gently at his stone
solemnity. Her wheelchair rolled toward the village.
Ernst Hugo and the Major accompanied Ruprecht
and Helmina partway up the castle hill. Helmina
drew the secretary close. He was still fuming. At
parting, Gegely had asked about the anthology with
such mocking majesty that Hugo nearly burst.
“It’s a great success… we’ve earned much praise,”
Hugo had said, trembling with rage.
“I’m glad,” Gegely replied. “I know nothing of it;
you know I don’t read papers… Literature’s a
business. I hate businesses. I’ve decided not to
publish for ten years. Perhaps I’ll write nothing more.
I won’t make my art a market commodity.”
Now Helmina asked about Gegely. “He’s an
aesthetic dandy,” Hugo huffed, “a snob posing as a
museum. Look at him. Every piece of his outfit’s a
literary relic. He’s always had such quirks!”
“He seems very wealthy,” Helmina said calmly.
“Yes—he can afford it. He has no profession but
self-display. His father was a major cloth
manufacturer. The fortune’s immense. He denied
himself nothing.”
“And his wife?” Helmina asked cautiously. “My
husband knew her before, didn’t he?”
“Yes…” Hugo grunted. “She’s a Linz councilor’s
daughter. She was Ruprecht’s youthful love. But she
chose Fritz Gegely, and if she hadn’t, Ruprecht
wouldn’t have the most beautiful wife…”
“Oh, you!” Helmina smiled. “You always bring
that up…”
When Frau Hedwig and Fritz were back at the Red
Ox, she braced for his displeasure. She shrank. But
nothing came. Her husband moved cheerfully
through the rooms, criticizing some arrangements and
shrugging at the late Ox landlord’s portrait. Then he
stood at the window, looking toward the castle.
“Except for that fool Ernst Hugo,” he said, “the
company’s quite likable.”

A Modern Inquiry into the Hermetic Mystery

Part III: Concerning the Laws and Vital Conditions of the Hermetic Experiment

Chapter 3: The Manifestation of the First Matter, Part 3

Introduction: The Hermetic art transforms the soul’s essence, the First Matter, into radiant divine light, uniting it with eternity through sacred vision. This section unveils the mystical dialogue with the divine mind, revealing the soul’s path to universal truth through poetic and alchemical insight.

The Divine Vision of Pœmander

Hermes’ Pimander recounts a sacred encounter where the soul, freed from sensory illusions, beholds the divine mind. Pœmander, the “Mind of the Great Lord,” reveals an infinite light, sweet and radiant, born from a dark, moist chaos. This light, the First Matter, emerges as a holy Word, uniting with nature to birth a fiery spirit that ascends, leaving earth and water transformed below. This vision mirrors the alchemical process of separating the subtle from the gross, as the Emerald Tablet instructs.

The divine mind declares, “I am that Light, your God, before the moist nature of darkness. The Word is the Son, and the Mind is the Father—united in life.” This union, where the soul’s seeing and hearing align with divine light, transforms it into a vessel of eternal wisdom.

The Creation of the Cosmos

Hesiod’s Theogony echoes this, depicting Chaos birthing Erebus, Night, Ether, and Day, with Love uniting all. This poetic cosmogony aligns with alchemical creation, where the First Matter, stirred by divine will, forms the universe. Ovid’s Fasti describes a primal mass separating into fire, air, water, and earth, shaped by the divine hand into a harmonious world, reflecting the soul’s transformation from chaos to radiant order.

The divine will, as the Kabalistic interpreter notes, moves the formless abyss to create matter and attraction, birthing the cosmos through love. This mirrors the soul’s alchemical rebirth, where the purified essence becomes a crystalline vessel of divine light.

The Soul’s Ascent to Wisdom

Solomon celebrates this wisdom as an “understanding spirit—holy, subtle, undefiled,” guiding the soul to know the cosmos’ creation and the elements’ operations. This is the philosopher’s stone, the “Ruach Elohim” that moved upon the waters, born in the soul’s virgin womb as a universal, triune essence. Through faith and love, the soul, purified of sensory desires, becomes a radiant vessel, as Pœmander instructs: “Know yourself, and pass back into Life.”

Closing: This chapter unveils the First Matter’s transformation into divine light, a sacred vision of cosmic and spiritual unity. The journey into its alchemical practice deepens in our next post, unveiling further secrets of this sacred art.

Homo Sapiens by Stanislaw Przybyszewski and translated by Joe E Bandel

“Strange, strange… the doctor said you should lie at least three days, and I have seen this expression of strength and energy in your face for a long time. You are different from all people.” 

“Yes, yes, that is the new strength. Drink, drink with me… I was so little with you… Drink the whole glass out.” 

They drank out and Falk filled the glasses anew. 

He sat down beside her, took her both hands and kissed them. “We have not spoken together for a long time,” he said. 

“Now everything is good, isn’t it?” she asked tenderly. 

“It will become good. We will travel away from here… What do you think of Iceland?” 

“Are you serious?” “You make so many new plans…” 

“This time I am serious, because it is namely no plan. It occurred to me today, yesterday, I actually don’t know when, but I must away from here.” 

Isa beamed. She did not want to tell him, but she found it unbearable in this boring city. 

“Think, such a small fisherman’s house by the sea. Isn’t it? Wonderful! And the autumn nights when the waves play this terrible eternal music on the beach. But you will not be bored?” 

“Did I ever get bored with you? I need no person, nothing, I need absolutely nothing if I only have you.” 

“But I will often be away from you, very often. I will go out with the fishermen for entire nights, I will go into the mountains. And when we are together, we will lie in the grass and stare at the sky… But drink, drink then… Oh, you can no longer drink as before.” 

“See then!” She drank the glass empty. 

“And in this twosomeness: you and I, and you a piece of me, and we both a revelation of the immanent substance in us…” He stood up. “Isa! we will seek the God we lost.” 

She was as if hypnotized. 

“The God we lost,” she repeated half unconsciously. “You don’t believe in God?” he asked suddenly. 

“No,” she said thoughtfully. 

“You don’t believe one can find him?” “No, if one does not have him in oneself.” 

“But that is what I mean: to find God, that means to feel God, to feel him in every pore of one’s soul, to have the immediate certainty that he is there, to possess the wild supernatural power that the God-feeling gives.” 

“Do you want to seek another God, a God outside? What do you want this God for? I don’t want him. I don’t need him. I have the immediate certainty of the God-feeling, I feel him as long as you are there. I need nothing higher… And I will not tolerate such a feeling in you either. Then I will not go with.” 

He looked at her long. 

“How beautiful you have become now. As if a light had suddenly bloomed in you…” 

Suddenly he lost balance and came into a strange rapture. 

“Yes, yes, I mean the God who is you and I. I mean the holy, great My-You! Do you know what my you, my dark you is? That is Jahveh, that is Oum, that is Tabu. My you, that is the soul that never prostituted itself in the brain. My you, that is the holy soul that rarely comes over me, perhaps once, as the Holy Spirit came only once over the apostles. My you, that is my love and my doom and my criminal will! And to find my God, that means: to explore this you, to know its ways, to understand its intentions, so as not to do the small, the low, the disgusting anymore.” 

Isa was carried away. They grasped each other violently by the hands. 

“And you want to teach me to find and explore it in me?” “Yes, yes…” He looked at her as if he had never seen her before. 

“And you will be in me?” 

“Yes, yes…” 

“I am yours, your thing and your you… Am I it?” “Yes, yes…” He began to become distracted. 

“We are poor, Isa,” he said after a while, “I lost the whole fortune.” 

“Throw the rest away too,” she cried laughing to him and threw herself on his breast. 

Fear suddenly rose in him. 

“You, you—if it is over tomorrow? I have such mistrust of myself.” 

“Then I will pull you with.” 

“But is it perhaps not only an over-fatigue, an over-excited mood that whips us into this ecstasy?” 

He started. 

“I lie, I lie,” he said suddenly hoarsely, “I have lied too much… Now…” 

He broke off. The thought to tell her now everything, to tell everything in detail, shot through his head and grew into a great, maniacal idea. 

“Isa!” He looked at her as if he wanted to bore into the ground of her soul… “Isa!” he repeated, “I have something to tell you.” 

She started frightened. 

“Can you forgive me everything, everything I did evil?” 

The confession forced itself with irresistible power over his lips. Now he could no longer hold it back. He grasped her hands. 

“Everything? Everything?!” “Yes, everything, everything!” 

“And if I had really done the one thing?” “What?” She recoiled horrified. 

“This… with a strange woman.” 

She stared at him, then cried out with an unnatural voice: “Don’t torment me!” 

Falk came to his senses instantly. He felt sweat run over his whole body. 

She jumped toward him and stammered trembling: “What? What?” 

He smiled peculiarly with a superior calm. 

In the same moment Isa noticed that he became deathly pale, and that his face twitched. 

“You are sick!” 

“Yes, I am sick, I overestimated my strength.” 

He sank together on the sofa and in a wild maelstrom the experiences of the last days shot through his head. He saw Grodzki: 

“One must be able to do it with will!”

Alraune by Hanns Heinz Ewers and translated by Joe E Bandel

The guests pressed to the edges, those in back climbed up on
chairs and tables. They watched, breathless.
“I congratulate you, your Excellency,” murmured Princess
Wolkonski.
The Privy Councilor replied, “Thank you, your Highness. You
see that our efforts have not been entirely in vain.”
They changed directions, the Chevalier led his Lady diagonally
across the hall, and Rosalinde opened her eyes wide, throwing quiet,
astonished glances at the crowd surrounding them.
“Shakespeare would kneel if he saw this Rosalinde,” declared the
professor of literature.
But at the next table little Manasse barked from his chair down to
Legal Councilor Gontram.
“Stand up and look just this once, Herr Colleague! Look at that!
Your boy looks just like your departed wife–exactly like her!”
The old Legal Councilor remained sitting quietly, sampling a
new bottle of Urziger Auslese.
“I can’t especially remember any more how she looked,” he
opined indifferently.
Oh, he remembered her well, but what did that have to do with
other people?
The couple danced, down through the hall and back. Rosalinde’s
white shoulders rose and fell faster, her cheeks grew flushed–but the
Chevalier smiled under his powder and remained equally graceful,
equally certain, confident and nimble.
Countess Olga tore the red carnations out of her hair and threw
them at the couple. The Chevalier de Maupin caught one in the air,
pressed it to his lips and blew her a kiss. Then all the others grabbed
after colorful flowers, taking them out of vases on the tables, tearing
them from clothing, loosening them from their hair, and under a
shower of flowers the couple waltzed to the left around the hall
carried by the sounds of “Roses of the South”.
The orchestra started over and over again. The musicians, dulled
and over tired from nightly playing, appeared to wake up, leaning
over the balustrade of the balcony and looking down. The baton of the
conductor flew faster, hotter rushed the bows of the violinists and in
deep silence the untiring couple, Rosalinde and the Chevalier de
Maupin, floated through a sea of roses, colors and sounds.
Then the conductor stopped the music. Then it broke loose. The
Baron von Platten, Colonel of the 28th cried out with his stentorian
voice down from the gallery:
“A cheer for the couple! A cheer for Fräulein ten Brinken! A
cheer for Rosalinde!”
The glasses clinked and people shouted and yelled, pressing onto
the dance floor, surrounding the couple, almost crushing them.
Two fraternity boys from Rhenania carried in a mighty basket
full of red roses they had purchased downtown somewhere from a
flower woman. A couple Hussar officers brought champagne. Alraune
only sipped, but Wolf Gontram–overheated, red-hot and thirsty,
guzzled the cool drink greedily, one goblet after another.
Alraune pulled him away, breaking a path through the crowd.
The red executioner sat in the middle of the hall. He stuck out his long
neck, held out his axe to her with both hands.
“I have no flowers,” he cried. “I myself am a red rose. Pluck
me!”
Alraune left him sitting, led her lady further, past the tables
under the gallery and into the conservatory. She looked around her. It
was no less full of people and all of them were waving and calling out
to them. Then she saw a little door behind a heavy curtain that led out
to a balcony.
“Oh, this is good!” she cried. “Come with Wölfchen!”
She pulled back the curtain, turned the key, and pressed down on
the latch. But five coarse fingers rested on her arm.
“What do you want there?” cried a harsh voice.
She turned around. It was Attorney Manasse in his black hooded
robe and mask.
“What do you want outside?” he repeated.
She shook off his ugly hand.
“What is it to you?” she answered. “We just want to get a breath
of fresh air.”
He nodded vigorously, “That’s just what I thought, exactly why I
followed you over here! But you won’t do it, will not do it!”
Fräulein ten Brinken straightened up, looked at him haughtily.
“And why shouldn’t I do it? Perhaps you would like to stop us?”
He involuntarily sagged under her glance, but didn’t give up.
“Yes, I will stop you, I will! Don’t you understand that this is
madness? You are both over heated, almost drenched in sweat–and
you want to go out onto the balcony where it is twelve degrees below
zero?”
“We are going,” insisted Alraune.
“Then go,” he barked. “It doesn’t matter to me what you do
Fräulein–I will only stop the boy, Wolf Gontram, him alone.”
Alraune measured him from head to foot. She pulled the key out
of the lock, opened the door wide.
“Well then,” she said.
She stepped outside onto the balcony, raised her hand and
beckoned to her Rosalinde.
“Will you come out into the winter night with me?” she cried.
“Or will you stay inside the hall?”
Wolf Gontram pushed the attorney to the side, stepped quickly
through the door. Little Manasse grabbed at him, clamped tightly onto
his arm. But the boy pushed him back again, silently, so that he fell
awkwardly against the curtain.
“Don’t go Wolf!” screamed the attorney. “Don’t go!”
He looked wretched, his hoarse voice broke.
But Alraune laughed out loud, “Adieu, faithful Eckart! Stay
pretty in there and guard our audience!”
She slammed the door in his face, stuck the key in the lock and
turned it twice. The little attorney tried to see through the frosted
window. He tore at the latch and in a rage stamped both feet on the
floor. Then he slowly calmed himself, came out from behind the
curtain and stepped back into the hall.
“So it is fate,” he growled.
He bit his strong, tangled teeth together, went back to his
Excellency’s table, let himself fall heavily into a chair.
“What’s wrong, Herr Manasse?” asked Frieda Gontram. “You
look like seven days of rainy weather!”
“Nothing,” he barked. “Absolutely nothing–by the way, your
brother is an ass! Herr Colleague, don’t drink all of that alone! Save
some of it for me!”
The Legal Councilor poured his glass full.
But Frieda Gontram said quite convinced, “Yes, I believe that
too. He is an ass.”
The two walked through the snow, leaned over the balustrade,
Rosalinde and the Chevalier de Maupin. The full moon fell over the
wide street, threw its sweet light on the baroque shape of the
university, then the old palace of the Archbishop. It played on the
wide white expanses down below, throwing fantastic shadows
diagonally over the sidewalk.
Wolf Gontram drank in the icy air.
“That is beautiful,” he whispered, waving with his hand down at
the white street where there was not the slightest sound to disturb the
deep silence.
But Alraune ten Brinken was looking at him, saw how his white
shoulders glowed in the moonlight, saw his large deep eyes shining
like opals.
“You are beautiful,” she said to him. “You are more beautiful
than the moonlit night.”
He let go of the stone balustrade, reached out for her and
embraced her.
“Alraune,” he cried. “Alraune.”
She endured this for a moment, then freed herself, and patted
him lightly on the hand.
“No,” she laughed, “No! You are Rosalinde–and I am the boy, so
I will court you.”
She looked around, grabbed a chair out of the corner, dragged it
over, beat off the snow with her sword-cane.
“Here, sit down my beautiful Fräulein. Unfortunately you are a
little too tall for me! That’s better–now we are just right!”
She bowed gracefully, then went down on one knee.
“Rosalinde,” she chirped. “Rosalinde! Permit a knight errant to
steal a kiss–”
“Alraune,” he began.
But she sprang up, clapped her hand over his lips. “You must say
‘Mein Herr!’” she cried.
“Now then, will you permit me to steal a kiss Rosalinde?”
“Yes, Mein Herr,” he stammered.
Then she stepped behind him, took his head in both arms and she
began, hesitated.
“First the ears,” she laughed, “the right and now the left, and the
cheeks, both of them–and your stupid nose that I have so often kissed.
Finally–lookout Rosalinde, your beautiful mouth.”
She bent lower, pressed her curly head against his shoulder under
his hat. But she pulled back again.
“No, no, beautiful maiden, leave your hands! They must rest
quietly in your lap.”
He laid his shivering hands on his knee and closed his eyes. Then
she kissed him, slowly and passionately. At the end her small teeth
sought his lip, bit it quickly so that heavy drops of red blood fell down
onto the snow.
She tore herself loose, stood in front of him, staring blankly at
the moon with wide-open eyes. A sudden chill seized her, threw a
shiver over her slender limbs.
“I’m freezing,” she whispered.
She raised one foot up and then the other.
“The stupid snow is everywhere inside my dance slippers!”
She pulled a slipper off and shook it out.
“Put my shoes on,” he cried. “They are bigger and warmer.”
He quickly slipped them off and let her step into them.
“Is that better?”
“Yes,” she laughed. “I feel good again. For that I will give you
another kiss, Rosalinde.”
And she kissed him again–and again she bit him. Then they both
laughed at how the moon lit up the red stains on the white ground.
“Do you love me, Wolf Gontram?” she asked.
He said, “I think of nothing else but you.”
She hesitated a moment, then asked again–“If I wanted it–would
you jump from the balcony?”
“Yes,” he said.
“Even from the roof?”
He nodded.
“Even from the tower of the Münster Cathedral?”
He nodded again.
“Would you do anything for me, Wölfchen?” she asked.
“Yes, Alraune,” he said, “if you loved me.”
She pursed her lips, rocked her hips lightly.
“I don’t know whether I love you,” she said slowly. “Would you
do it even if I didn’t love you?”
His gorgeous eyes that his mother had given him shone, shone
fuller and deeper than they had ever done and the moon above,
jealous of those eyes, hid from them, concealing itself behind the
cathedral tower.
“Yes,” said the boy. “Yes, even then.”
She sat on his lap, wrapped her arms around his neck.
“For that, Rosalinde–for that I will kiss you for a third time.”
And she kissed him again, still longer and more passionately and
she bit him–more wildly and deeply. But they couldn’t see the heavy
drops in the snow any more because the jealous moon had hidden its
silver torch.
“Come,” she whispered. “Come, we must go!”
They exchanged shoes, beat the snow off their clothing, opened
the door and stepped back inside, slipped behind the curtain and into
the hall. The arc-lamps overhead were glaring; the hot and sticky air
stifled them.
Wolf Gontram staggered as he let go of the curtain, grasping
quickly at his chest with both hands.
She noticed it. “Wölfchen?” she cried.
He said, “It’s nothing, nothing at all–just a twinge! But it’s all
right now.”
Hand in hand they walked through the hall.
Wolf Gontram didn’t come into the office the next day, never got
out of bed, lay in a raging fever. He lay like that for nine days. He was
often delirious, called out her name–but not once during this time did
he come back to consciousness.
Then he died. It was pneumonia. They buried him outside, in the
new cemetery.
Fräulein ten Brinken sent a large garland of full, dark roses.

Madame Bluebeard by Karl Hans Strobl and translated by Joe E Bandel

People like me come once a generation. Who grasps the irresistible
urge of a soul whose sole element is beauty? Beauty
as the condition, the air, the only law. We few should
take whatever we need to nurture our genius. Private
property loses meaning before us. For the artist,
there’s no private property; we’re the rightful owners
of beauty in all forms. Everything bows to us. What
our consecrated hands touch is ours—by right. We
craft new beauty, gifting it to the world. What do
those dull Heidelberg scholars get from a
manuscript? They count syllables, write
commentaries, and every decade, one pens a
monograph, borrowing a few artist’s phrases to dress
up their dry drivel. Who among them feels the
delicate wonders of an old monk’s manuscript, the
scent rising from its lines, the symbolism of its
images, the deep, glowing colors that sear our souls,
birthing bold, unheard thoughts… but you’re like
them. You wield the tongs, grasping the coal to spare
the bourgeois parlor’s floor from burns.”
Hedwig fell silent. When Fritz Gegely reached this
point, he had to go to the bitter, painful end. He
paced behind the table. “You’ll drive me to…
renounce my name… I won’t hide—in a place like
Vorderschluder…”
A clatter arose on the stairs. Gegely opened the
door. The luggage and wheelchair arrived. The
stableman, the butcher, and two other Cyclopes
panted and sweated up the steps. The landlady had
marshaled all her male staff. The chambermaid led,
switching on electric lights everywhere. They
brought the baggage piece by piece, a considerable
haul. The rooms filled with trunks and boxes. It
looked chaotic. Fritz Gegely fled. “You, country
lass,” he addressed the chambermaid, “you’ll unpack
the trunks under my wife’s supervision.”
“Oh, yes,” the girl, who’d stood reverently, said
with eager goodwill.
Hedwig beckoned her husband, wanting to speak,
but, realizing it was futile to hold him back, only
nodded. “Don’t let time drag, dearest,” he said. “I’ll
be back soon. My heart stays with you. You know
that, don’t you?” He returned from the door, leaned
over, and kissed her forehead with a tender, soft kiss.
The chambermaid melted. It was like the finest
novels. My heart stays with you! he’d said. She must
remember that. Her next letter to Schorsch, the
gallant Forty-Niner, would end with this phrase,
which seemed imbued with magic.
She set to work, guided by Hedwig’s brief
instructions. She was rarely so deft and willing.
When unpacking ran smoothly, Hedwig gazed out the
window. Below, summer guests spoke softly. A girl’s
laughter swirled playfully. The evening was gentle,
as if the day had lived much and grown wise and
infinitely kind. Twilight lingered over rooftops,
forested hills, and the castle opposite. It fell from the
sky like fine, soft cigar ash, settling on green
shingles, golden-brown thatch, or rust-red tiles. As
impartial as all heavenly messages, for the just and
unjust alike. So Hedwig mused, looking out. A
distant accordion stretched and sighed in yearning
tones. Suddenly, a goose shrieked, as if jolted from
sleep by a rough grasp. The castle up there, Hedwig
thought—how it stands, firm and sure like him. She
remembered him thus, as he was then, and surely still
was. He’d have breathed his spirit into those old
walls; he needed no setting to create, shaping his
world to his will. Tomorrow, perhaps, she’d see him.
The thought surged like a hot wave, but its glow
faded, leaving her chilled. She trembled, fearing his
gaze. Why had she come?
These thoughts followed her into the first night’s
sleep. They say, she thought before drifting off, the
dream of the first night in a new place comes true,
with special power. But Hedwig dreamed nothing,
though she urged herself somewhere deep within to
dream. No images formed. Only a gentle floating in
lightness remained, a caress like comforting hands,
silencing all sobs. That was as good as a dream.
Morning brought dense fog to the Kamp valley.
The village was submerged, only houses jutted with
green-black shingles, golden-brown thatch, and rust-
red tiles from the curdled milk. The castle basked in
morning clarity. As the sun climbed, boldly
beckoning the wooded valley, the fog dissolved,
retreating to the forests, lingering as a thin,
opalescent haze over the Kamp. By noon, Frau
Hedwig could venture out for the first time.
Through the Red Ox landlady, Gegely had found a
man to push Hedwig’s wheelchair. It was
Maurerwenzel, jobless and pleased with the task, as it
required no shift from his “slow” gait.
Gegely walked beside his wife’s wheelchair.
Summer guests watched, confident these were people
worth gossiping about. The spectacle wasn’t baseless.
A beautiful, young, paralyzed woman in a
wheelchair, and Gegely, never lifting his hand from
the chair’s armrest, tenderly poised to fulfill her
wishes. He’d traded his pressed travel suit’s
correctness for a bohemian nonchalance, signaling:
here I’m at home. He wore purple velvet slippers,
loose bohemian trousers, and a velvet jacket once
owned by Gustave Flaubert. His walking stick, with
an ivory duck-bill handle, came from Jules de
Goncourt’s estate, and for larger bills, he used a
crocodile-leather wallet embossed with Oscar
Wilde’s name in tiny gold letters.
They went down the village street and over the
bridge with its twisting baroque saints, who turned
their heads to the invalid, lamenting their stone forms
couldn’t help.
“That’s Saint Nepomuk,” Maurerwenzel said of
one. “When he hears midnight strike, he turns a
page… in the book he holds…”
“A folk tale?” Hedwig smiled kindly.
Maurerwenzel grinned. “Nah… he turns when he
hears… but does he hear?”
“Oh, a jest!” Fritz Gegely said, his glance adding:
You’re hired to push, not joke.
Maurerwenzel nodded, pleased. A jest! For a
Social Democrat, who knew the divide between
capital and labor, this was much. Had steadfast Rauß
heard, he’d have chewed him out.
They followed the Kamp a stretch, on the soft
meadow path to the paper factory. On the tennis court
behind, balls flew back and forth. A slender, lithe
woman deftly caught and returned them with graceful
precision. Hedwig halted, wanting to watch. She took
selfless joy in beautiful movement, with just a faint
ache in her heart. Having been so near death, she was
grateful for life’s remaining light and joy.
“Who’s the lady?” she asked the tamed
Maurerwenzel.
When he named her, she flinched slightly. So, that
was Helmina von Boschan, Ruprecht’s wife. Such
radiance, elegance, beauty, and grace. The ache in her
heart reared, threatening her eyes.
Fritz Gegely grew alert. “What did you say,
Helmina von Boschan?” he asked Maurerwenzel.
“What’s her husband’s name?”
He learned Ruprecht von Boschan resided at
Vorderschluder Castle, noting the respectful tone.
Maurerwenzel couldn’t deny respect for a man who’d
once so neatly floored Rauß and himself.
“Did you know, Hedwig?” Fritz turned to his wife.
“Did you know Ruprecht lives here?”
This was the question Hedwig had dreaded. Fritz
wouldn’t erupt before a third party, but she felt his
tension. She couldn’t lie. “Yes,” she said. “Some
time ago, I read his name in a paper, a report about a
festival in Vorderschluder. There were riots, and it
said the district captain and… Herr von Boschan’s
decisive actions prevented the worst. That’s how I
knew he’s settled here.”
Maurerwenzel held back details of Ruprecht’s
decisive actions. Hedwig looked at her husband; his
quivering nostrils signaled rising menace. But with a
third party present, no outburst came. “And so you
thought we should spend the summer here,” he said.
She placed her hand on his, feeling angry,
twitching fingers. “Yes… I believe his calm and
balance will do you good. You were friends. You’ll
see, he’s as he was… I didn’t tell you, or you
might’ve refused…” That was a lie, but unavoidable.
“Yes, yes, I know,” Gegely said venomously.
“Ruprecht, the flawless knight, free of prejudice.
He’ll shake Fritz Gegely’s hand.”
The game on the white-lined court, between high
wire nets, ended. Two men joined Helmina for lively
talk, soon turning toward the wheelchair. One stared
steadfastly over.
“I think there’s another acquaintance,” Fritz
Gegely said. “Shall we move on?”
But a rider approached along the meadow path,
trotting past the onlookers. A fleeting glance fell on
them, the horse took a few more steps… a jolt ran
through man and beast. The rider turned and came
back…

A Modern Inquiry into the Hermetic Mystery

Part III: Concerning the Laws and Vital Conditions of the Hermetic Experiment

Chapter 3: The Manifestation of the First Matter, Part 2

Introduction: The Hermetic art transforms the soul’s essence, the First Matter, into radiant divine light, uniting it with eternity through sacred alchemy. This section explores the process of dissolution and rebirth, where the soul’s spark becomes a golden vessel of universal truth.

The Alchemy of Rebirth

The soul’s essence, purified through sacrifice, mirrors the natural law of resurrection, as Paul explains: “That which is sown is not quickened except it die.” In alchemy, this is the process of solve et coagula—dissolving the soul’s impurities to birth a spiritual body. Böhme describes this as the “Tincture” emerging from anguish, uniting fire (sulphur) and water (Mercury) into a radiant essence, the “Water of Life” that reflects divine light.

This transformation, like a seed becoming a plant, spiritualizes the soul’s natural body. The adept’s “heavenly fire” stirs the elemental essence, dissolving the sensual dominant to reveal a luminous form, as Bacon notes: “Purge the old leaven to become a new lump.”

The Divine Conjunction

The alchemical process culminates in a sacred union, where the soul’s essence (Mercury) and divine light (Gold) merge. Sendivogius instructs, “Congeal water with heat, let it putrefy like a grain, then reunite the spirit with the water.” This creates a “Fifth Essence,” a radiant circle born from the Tetractys—Pythagoras’ fourfold harmony. Maier’s enigma captures this: “From man and woman make a circle, then a square, a triangle, and a circle again—the philosopher’s stone.”

This conjunction, a marriage of active and passive principles, transforms the soul into a golden vessel, as Khunrath describes: “The King rises from his glassy sepulchre, a shining carbuncle of eternal splendor.”

The Universal Mystery

The transformed soul, now a “System of Wonders,” reflects the universe’s harmony, as the Pimander declares: “The whole world is before thee, a drop of dew in the morning.” This radiant essence, born from divine light piercing the soul’s matter, reveals all creation in a crystalline mirror, uniting the microcosm with the macrocosm in a dance of love and wisdom.

Closing: This chapter unveils the First Matter’s transformation into divine light, a sacred alchemy of soul and eternity. The journey into its practical wonders deepens in our next post, unveiling further secrets of this sacred art.

Homo Sapiens: In the Maelstrom by Stanislaw Przybyszewski and translated by Joe E Bandel

XI.

He woke up. Yes, really? He clearly heard a melody: deep, mystical bass melody and like a distant echo a tone and again a tone, isolated, whining in the treble. His whole soul threw itself into this holy melody and clung to it and wound itself up on it, curled together and widened with new strength: it felt so infinitely good. It seemed to him as if everything heavy, everything dull and terrible in his soul had dissolved, slowly dissolved and would now become the essence, the mad, soft longing of these tones… Never had he felt such a soft, blessed longing. 

It was probably night. He did not dare open his eyes, it was so infinitely good to feel this longing. It was night, and he had a blessed, joyful longing for tomorrow, the hot, short, color-frenzied autumn day. It was probably raining outside too, but tomorrow, tomorrow the sun comes and will breathe the rain and gnaw further on the leaves: oh, this glorious sick purple-yellow… 

Was he awake, was he really? 

He still heard the melody, softer and softer, sadder and sadder, and he lay there, dissolved in this longing, dissolved in this pain that was actually no pain—no: a flowing back, a receding memory, a mad yearning for foreign, wide lands, for a great, orgiastic nature in which every flower grows into a giant tree, every mountain hides in the clouds and every river foams and rages without banks… 

Then his heart began to beat violently. He grasped it with both hands… Yes, here, here between the fifth and sixth rib he felt the heart shock—he felt the heart tip first strike against the flat hand, then against two fingers, finally he pressed his index finger firmly against the spot… How it works! Did Grodzki perhaps first palpate his heart in this way? 

He sat up in bed and supported his head in both hands. 

Grodzki shot himself… That was what he knew for sure. He shot himself because he wanted to die. He died with will, he died of disgust, he no longer wanted to see the young day and the sick purple-yellow. 

But why should he think about it? Should he destroy this blessed harmony in his soul again? But what did the strange man say? Falk, Falk, you do not know this harmony: it goes beyond all calm, beyond all holiness, beyond all bliss… But the man was mad. 

Falk shuddered, he clearly saw the mad eyes of the stranger. He dug convulsively with his fingers into the blanket. Fear seized him anew, but in the next moment he became calm. 

There was no doubt that he had finally come to consciousness: 

He had namely fainted in the armchair when the stranger stole away from his room, now he was in bed, so he must have been carried to bed. Yes, and the button? The golden, blinking button was really on the desk… So he was awake and in full consciousness. 

He felt a quite immediate, animal joy. 

Then he fell back into the pillows and lay for a long time as if in a faint. 

When he began to think again, he had risen from the bed and began to dress. But he was very weak. Half-dressed he lay down on the bed again and stared thoughtlessly at the ceiling. 

Ridiculous how sloppily the ceiling was painted! The hook for the hanging lamp should actually be in the middle. Well. The ceiling is a parallelogram. Now I draw the diagonals. 

He became quite furious. 

Ridiculous! That was by no means the intersection point. The whole room was repugnant to him. He was locked in this narrow space with his dull torment, and outside the world was so wide… 

Again he felt the hot longing, only far, far away—to the Pacific Ocean. 

Yes, the Pacific Ocean! That was redemption. That was redemption to eternal calm, to eternal harmony without torment, without joy, without passions… 

How his young heart trembled then! His limbs became so weak from the constant fear. Around the church on the lawn he saw people, many people, lying on their knees and begging God for mercy, he looked at them, his heart beat more and more violently, his unrest grew, sin burned on his heart like a fire mark. Now he was to confess, tell a strange person the shameful abomination… And in his desperate soul fear he took the prayer book and read five, six times with trembling fervor the litany to the Holy Spirit. And a peace returned to his heart, a holy, transfigured rapture, his soul became pure and wide like the hot noon around him. Now he had to go into the church. Then fear seized him. Had one not seen a black rider on a black stallion tumbling in the church at noon?… He crept cautiously to the sacristy door… He listened, then slowly opened the heavy door and staggered back in animal fright: before him stood the stranger. You destroyed his soul! he said solemnly… 

“I dream! I dream!” cried Falk, woke up and jumped out of bed. 

Isa started. 

“It is me, Erik, it is me, don’t you know me?” Falk stared at her for a while, then breathed deeply. “Thank God it is you!” 

“Tell, tell, Erik, what is wrong with you? Do you feel very sick? Are you better? I had such terrible fear for you.” 

Falk collected himself with all strength. 

To thunder! Should he not overcome the bit of illness, should he not finally once forget his small, ridiculous pains? it shot through his head. 

“I am no longer sick at all,” he said almost cheerfully. “I only had a little fever, that remained from then,—he, he, I got the fever in the homeland, nothing more.” 

His head suddenly became unusually clear. 

You are sick, Erik, you are. Your body glows. Lie down, I beg, lie down. This morning you lay on the floor. The doctor said you should lie a few days… 

He became a little impatient. 

“But just let me… I have not been so clear and so light for a long time as right now. The doctors are idiots, what do they know of me? He, he,—of me…” 

He pulled her to him. His heart suddenly overflowed with an overflowing cordiality and love for her. 

“We will have a wonderful evening today, you bring wine, then we sit down and tell each other the whole night… Do you remember, just like then in San Remo on our honeymoon.” 

She looked at him. 

“I have never seen a person who is as strong as you. That is strange, how strong you are…” 

“So I lay on the floor?” 

“You cannot imagine what an uproar it was in the house…” “Well, just go now, afterwards you will tell me everything…” 

“But was there not a strange person here?” asked Isa. “A stranger? No!” 

“Then I probably dreamed.” “Surely.” 

She went. 

Falk dressed. 

Of course you dreamed, dear Isa, you have strange dreams anyway. 

He smiled satisfied. 

He considered whether he should take tailcoat and white tie. It was after all the great feast of peace, the feast of calm, of eternal harmony. 

He was in a state of triumphant rapture. 

Now finally I have found myself, Myself, Me—God. 

Was he still sick? His thoughts were heated. The inner excitement foamed trembling up… 

Was it perhaps only a moment of a physical reaction after all this torment and fear? 

What did that concern him? He had now forgotten everything. His body stretched in the feeling of a long unknown bliss and energy.  

“Ah, Isa, are you already here?” 

“You are doing strange gymnastics there.” 

“I drive away the illness. But something to eat…” “Yes, just come to the dining room.” 

He ate something, but without special appetite. 

“I am as if newborn, Isa, quite as newborn. So rejuvenated. I suffered much. No, no, understand me correctly, I had no personal suffering, only the whole misery out there weighed on me and made me so miserable…” 

She looked at him jubilantly.