Hanns Heinz Ewers Alraune (19 page)

Now that he had once seen something strange
in the little girl he searched methodically for things that would
validate this thought. It was mentioned at this spot as an addendum
that Dr. Petersen thought it was completely trivial and disregarded
the fact in his report that the actual birth of the child took
place at the midnight hour.

“Alraune, was thus brought into this life in
the time honored manner,” concluded the Privy Councilor.

Old Brambach had come down from the hills; it
had taken four hours to come from beyond the hamlet of Filip. He
was a semi-invalid that went through the hamlets in the hill
country selling church raffle tickets, pictures of saints and cheap
rosaries. He limped into the courtyard and informed the Privy
Councilor that he had brought some Roman artifacts with him that a
farmer had found in his field.

The professor had the servants tell him that
he was busy and to wait. So old Brambach waited there sitting on a
stone bench in the yard smoking his pipe. After two hours the Privy
Councilor had him called in. He always had people wait even when he
had nothing else to do. Nothing lowered the price like letting
people wait, he always said.

But this time he really had been busy. The
director of the Germanic museum in Nuremburg was there and was
purchasing items for a beautiful exhibit called “Gaelic finds in
the Rhineland”.

The Privy Councilor did not let Brambach into
the library but met with him in the little front room instead.

“Now, you old crippled rascal, let’s see what
you have!” he cried.

The invalid untied a large red handkerchief
and carefully laid out the contents on a fragile cane chair. There
were many coins, a couple of helmet shards, a shield pommel and an
exquisite tear vial. The Privy Councilor scarcely turned to give a
quick squinting glance at the tear vial.

“Is this all, Brambach?” he asked
reproachfully and when the old man nodded he began to heartily
upbraid him. He was so old now and still as stupid as a snotty
nosed youngster! It had taken him four hours to get here and would
take him four hours to go back. Then he had to wait a couple hours
as well. He had frittered the entire day away on that trash there!
The rubbish wasn’t worth anything. He could pack it back up and
take it with him. He wouldn’t give a penny for the lot!

How often did he have to tell people again
and again, “Don’t run to Lendenich with every bit of trash?”

It was stupid! It was better to wait until
they had a nice collection and then bring everything in at one
time! Or maybe he enjoyed the walk in the hot sun all the way here
and back from Filip? He should be ashamed of himself.

The invalid scratched behind his ear and then
turned his brown cap in his fingers very ill at ease. He wanted to
say something to the professor. Most of the time he was very good
at haggling a higher price for his wares. But he couldn’t think of
a single thing, only the four miles that he had just come–exactly
what the professor was now berating him for. He was completely
contrite and comprehended thoroughly just how stupid he had been so
he made no response at all. He requested only that he be allowed to
leave the artifacts there so he wouldn’t have to haul them back.
The Privy Councilor nodded and then gave him half a Mark.

“There Brambach, for the road! But next time
be a little smarter and do what I said. Now go into the kitchen and
have some butter-bread and a glass of beer!”

The invalid thanked him, happy enough that
things had gone so well and he hobbled back across the court toward
the kitchen. His Excellency snatched up the sweet tear vial, pulled
a silk handkerchief out of his pocket and carefully cleaned it,
viewing the fine violet glass from all sides. Then he opened the
door and stepped back into the library where the curator from
Nuremburg stood before a glass case. He walked up brandishing the
vial in his upraised arm.

“Look at this, dear doctor,” he began. “I
have here a most unusual treasure! It belongs to the grave of
Tullia, the sister of general Aulus. It is from the site at
Schware-Rheindorf. I’ve already shown you several artifacts from
there!”

He handed him the vial and continued.

“Can you tell me its point of origin?”

The scholar took the glass, stepped to the
window and adjusted his glasses. He asked for a loupe and a silk
cloth. He wiped it and held the glass against the light turning it
this way and that. Somewhat hesitatingly and not entirely certain
he finally said, “Hmm, it appears to be of Syrian make, probably
from the glass factory at Palmyra.”

“Bravo!” cried the Privy Councilor. I must
certainly watch myself around you. You are an expert!”

If the curator would have said it was from
Agrigent or Munda he would have responded with equal
enthusiasm.

“Now doctor, what time period is it
from?”

The curator raised the vial one more time.
“Second century,” he said. “First half.”

This time his voice rang with confidence.

“I give you my compliments,” confirmed the
Privy Councilor. “I didn’t believe anyone could make such a quick
and accurate determination!”

“Except yourself naturally, your Excellency,”
replied the scholar flatteringly.

But the professor replied modestly, “You over
estimate my knowledge considerably Herr doctor. I have spent no
less than eight days of hard work trying to make a determination
with complete certainty. I have gone through a lot of books.

But I have no regrets. It is a rare and
beautiful piece–has cost me enough too. The fellow that found it
made a small fortune with it.”

“I would really like to have it for my
museum,” declared the director. “What do you want for it?”

“For Nuremburg, only five thousand Marks,”
answered the professor. “You know that I offer all German museums
specially reduced prices. Next week two gentlemen are coming here
from London. I will offer them eight thousand and will certainly
get it!”

“But your Excellency,” responded the scholar.
“Five thousand Marks! You know very well that I can’t pay such a
price! That is beyond my authorization.”

The Privy Councilor said, “I’m really very
sorry, but I can’t give the vial away for any less.”

The Herr from Nuremburg weighed the little
glass in his hand. “It is a charming tear vial and I am
inordinately fond of it. I will give you three thousand, your
Excellency”

The Privy Councilor said, “No, nothing less
than five thousand! But I tell you what Herr Director. Since that
tear vial pleases you so much, permit me to give it to you as a
personal gift. Keep it as a memento of your accurate
determination.”

“I thank you, your Excellency. I thank you!”
cried the curator. He stood up and shook the Councilor’s hand very
hard. “But I am not permitted to accept any gifts in my position.
Forgive me then if I must refuse. Anyway, I have decided to pay
your price. We must keep this piece in the Fatherland and not
permit it to go to England.”

He went to the writing desk and wrote out his
check. But before he left the Privy Councilor talked him into
buying the other less interesting pieces–from the grave of Tullia,
the sister of general Aulus.

The professor ordered the horses ready for
his guest and escorted him out to his carriage. As he came back
across the court he saw Wölfchen and Alraune standing by the
peddler who was showing them his colored images of the Saints.
After a meal and some drink old Brambach had recovered some of his
courage, had even sold the cook a rosary that he claimed had been
blessed by the Bishop. That was why it cost thirty pennies more
than the others did. That had all loosened his tongue, which just
an hour before had been so timid. He steeled his heart and limped
up to the Privy Councilor.

“Herr Professor,” he pleaded. “Buy the
children a pretty picture of St. Joseph!”

His Excellency was in a good mood so he
replied, “St. Joseph? No, but do you have one of St. John of
Nepomuk?”

No, Brambach didn’t have one of him. He had
one of St. Anthony though, St. John, St. Thomas and St. Jakob. But
unfortunately none of Nepomuk and once again he had to be upbraided
for not knowing his business. In Lendenich you could only sell St.
John of Nepomuk, none of the other saints.

The peddler took it hard but made one last
attempt. “A raffle ticket, Herr Professor! Take a raffle ticket for
the restoration of St. Lawrence’s church in Dülmen. It only costs
one Mark and every buyer receives an indulgence of one hundred
days. It says so right here!”

He held the ticket under the Privy
Councilor’s nose.

“No,” said the professor. We don’t need any
indulgences. We are protestant, that’s how we get to heaven and a
person can’t win anything in a raffle anyway.”

“What?” the peddler replied. “You can’t win?
There are over three hundred prizes and the first prize is fifty
thousand Marks in cash! It says so right here!”

He pointed with a dirty finger to the raffle
ticket. The professor took the ticket out of his hand and examined
it.

“You old ass!” he laughed. “And here it says
there are five hundred thousand tickets! Calculate for yourself how
many chances you have of winning that!”

He turned to go but the invalid limped after
him holding onto his coat.

“Try it anyway professor,” he begged. “We
need to live too!”

“No,” cried the Privy Councilor.

Still the peddler wouldn’t give up. “I have a
feeling that you are going to win!”

“You always have that feeling!” said the
Privy Councilor.

“Let the little one choose a ticket, she
brings luck!” insisted Brambach.

That stopped the professor. “I will do it,”
he murmured.

“Come over here Alraune! He cried. “Choose a
ticket.”

The child skipped up. The invalid carefully
made a fan out of his tickets and held them in front of her.

“Close your eyes,” he commanded. “Now, pick
one.”

Alraune drew a ticket and gave it to the
Privy Councilor. He considered for a moment and then waved the boy
over.

“You choose one too, Wölfchen,” he said.

In the leather volume his Excellency ten
Brinken reports that he won fifty thousand Marks in the Dülmen
church raffle. Unfortunately he could not be certain whether
Alraune or Wölfchen had selected the winning ticket. He had put
them both together in his desk without writing the names of the
children on them. Still he scarcely had any doubt that it must have
been Alraune’s.

As for the rest, he mentions how grateful he
was to old Brambach who almost forced him to bring this money into
the house. He gave him five Marks and set things up with the local
relief fund for aged and disabled veterans so that he would receive
a regular pension of thirty Marks per year.

Shares the things that occurred when Alraune
was a young girl.

F
ROM
the time she was eight years old until she
was twelve Alraune ten Brinken was raised in the Sacré Couer
convent in Nancy. From then until her seventeenth birthday she
lived at Mlle. de Vynteelen’s finishing school for young ladies on
Du Marteau Avenue in Spa. During this time she went to the ten
Brinken home twice a year to spend her vacations.

At first the Privy Councilor tried to have
her taught at home. He hired a girl to teach the child, then a
tutor and soon after that another one. But even with the best
intentions in a short time they all despaired of ever teaching her
anything. It was simply not going to happen. It was not something
they could point out. She was not wild or unruly. She just never
answered and there was nothing that could break through her
stubborn silence.

just sat there quiet and still, staring
straight ahead and blinking with half-open eyes. You could scarcely
tell if she was even listening. She would pick up the slate in her
hand but she would not move it, not up, down, or to make a
letter–If she did use it, it was to draw some strange animal with
ten legs or a face with three eyes and two noses.

What she learned at all she learned before
the Privy Councilor sent her to the convent, before her separation
from Wölfchen. This same boy that failed miserably in every class
in school and looked down with contempt on any schoolwork had an
unending patience with his sister at home.

She had him write long rows of numbers, write
out his name and her name hundreds of times and she enjoyed it when
he made a mistake, when his dirty little fingers cramped up on him.
It was for this purpose that she would take up the slate, the
pencil or the writing quill. She would learn a number, a word or
its opposite, grasp it quickly, write it down, and then let the boy
copy it for hours. She always found something to correct, there,
that stroke was not right. She played the teacher–so she
learned.