Hanns Heinz Ewers Alraune (35 page)

Alraune laughed in his face, “His good
name?”

She turned around to Attorney Manasse: “Tell
me, what do you think of it?”

Manasse didn’t answer, curled up in his
chair, spat and hissed like a stepped on Tomcat.

“Not much more than I do, it appears!” said
the Fräulein. “And I won’t give a penny for it.”

Commercial Councilor Lützman, chairman of the
Board of Directors, proposed that she should have some
consideration for the old princess, who for so long had been an
intimate friend of the house of Brinken. What about all of the
little people that would lose all of their hard-earned money?

“Why did they speculate?” she replied calmly.
“Why did they put their money into such a dubious bank? If I wanted
to give to charity I know of better ways.”

Her logic was clear and cruel, like a sharp
knife. She knew her father, she said, and whoever invested in the
same things he did was certainly not very much better.

But it was not about charity, the Director
returned. It was almost certain that the bank would hold together
with her help, if it could only get over this current crisis she
would get her money back, every penny of it and with interest.

She turned to the Chancery Judge.

“Your Honor,” she asked, “is there a risk
involved?”

Naturally unforeseen circumstances could
always come up. He had the professional duty to tell her–but as a
human being he could only add his urgent plea to that of the other
gentlemen. She would be doing a great and good work, saving the
livelihoods of multitudes and the possibility of loss in his
opinion was ever so slight.

She stood up, interrupted him quickly.

“Well then, gentlemen. There is a risk,” she
cried mockingly, “and I don’t want to take any risk. I don’t want
to save any livelihoods and have no desire to do great and good
works.”

She nodded lightly to the gentlemen, left,
leaving them sitting with fat, red little heads.

But still the bank continued, still battled
on. Hope formed anew when the Legal Councilor informed them that
Frank Braun; the true Guardian had arrived. The gentlemen
immediately got in contact with him, arranged a conference for the
next day.

Frank Braun saw very well that he would not
be able to leave as quickly as he had believed. So he wrote his
mother.

The old Frau read his letter, folded it
carefully, and laid it in the large black trunk that contained all
of his letters. She opened them on long winter evenings when she
was completely alone. Then she read to her brown little hound what
he had written to her.

She went out onto the balcony, looked down at
the high chestnut trees that carried glowing candles in their
mighty arms, looked down on the white blooming trees of the
monastery under which brown monks quietly wandered.

“When will he come, my dear boy?” she
thought.

Mentions how Princess Wolkonski told Alraune
the truth.

L
EGAL
Councilor Gontram wrote the princess, who
was in Naulhiem undergoing medical treatment. He described the
situation to her. It took some time until she finally understood
what it was really all about.

Frieda Gontram, herself, took great pains to
make sure the princess comprehended everything. At first she only
laughed, then she became thoughtful, and toward the end she
lamented and screamed. When her daughter entered the room she threw
her arms around her neck wailing.

“Poor child,” she howled. “We are beggars. We
will be living on the streets!”

Then she poured heaps of caustic Eastern
wrath over his dead Excellency, sparing no obscene swear words.

“It’s not entirely that bad,” Frieda
objected. “You will still have your villa in Bonn and your little
castle on the Rhine, also the proceeds from your Hungarian
vineyards. Then Olga will have her Russian pension and–”

“One can’t live on that!” the old princess
interrupted. “We will starve to death!”

“We must try to change the Fräulein’s mind,”
Frieda said, “like father advises us!”

“He is an ass,” she cried. “An old scoundrel!
He is in league with the Privy Councilor, who has stolen from us!
It was only through him that I ever met that ugly swindler.”

She thought that all men were imposters,
cheats and scoundrels. She had still never met one that was any
different. Take Olga’s husband for example, that clean cut Count
Abrantes–Hadn’t he carried on the entire time with dirty music hall
women, taking all of her money that he could? Now he was living
with a circus bareback rider because the Privy Councilor had put
his thumb down and refused to give him any more–

“In that, his Excellency did do some good!”
said the countess.

“Good!” screamed her mother–as if it didn’t
matter who had stolen the money!

“They are swine, the one just as much as the
other.”

But she did see that they had to make an
attempt. She wanted to go herself, yet the other two talked her out
of it. If she went there she would certainly not achieve much more
than the gentlemen from the bank.

They had to proceed very diplomatically,
declared Frieda, take into consideration the moods and caprices of
the Fräulein. She would go by herself, that would be best. Olga
thought it would be even better if she went. The old princess
objected, but Frieda declared it would certainly not be very good
if she interrupted her medical treatments and got too excited. She
could see that.

So both friends agreed and traveled together.
The princess stayed at the spa, but was not idle. She went to the
priest, ordered a hundred masses for the poor soul of the Privy
Councilor.

“That is the Christian thing to do,” she
thought and since her deceased husband was Russian Orthodox, she
went to the Russian chapel and paid that priest for a hundred
masses as well. That calmed her very much.

At one point she thought it would scarcely be
of any use because his Excellency had been protestant and a free
thinker as well. But then it would count as an especially good work
in her favor.

“Bless them that curse you.” “Love your
enemies.” “Do unto others as you would have them do unto you.”

Oh, they must surely recognize such things up
there, and twice a day in her prayers, she spoke a special plea for
his Excellency–with very intense fervor. In this way she bribed the
love of God.

Frank Braun received the two ladies at
Lendenich, led them up to the terrace and chatted with them about
old times.

“Try your luck, children,” he said. “My
talking was of no use!”

“What did she say to you?” asked Frieda
Gontram.

“Not much,” he laughed. “She didn’t even
listen to all of it. She made a deep curtsy and declared with a
devilish grin that she completely treasured the high honor of my
guardianship and would not even consider ending it for the sake of
the princess. She added that she did not wish to speak of it again.
Then she curtsied again, even more deeply, even more
respectfully–and she disappeared!”

“Haven’t you made a second attempt?” asked
the countess.

“No, Olga,” he said. “I must now leave that
to you–her look as she left was so determined that I am solidly
convinced all my persuasive skills would be just as unfruitful as
that of the other gentlemen.”

He stood up, rang for the servant to bring
some tea.

“By the way, you ladies just might have a
chance,” he continued. “A half hour after the Legal Councilor
called giving notice of your arrival I told my cousin that you
would be coming and why. I was afraid she would not receive you at
all and in any case wanted you to have a chance.

But I was wrong. She declared that you were
both very welcome, that for months now she has been in very active
correspondence with both of you–that is why–”

Frieda Gontram interrupted him.

“You wrote to her?” she cried sharply.

Countess Olga stammered, “I–I–have written
her a couple of times–to offer my condolences–and–and–”

“You lie!” Frieda cried.

The countess sprang up at that, “What about
you? Don’t you write her? I knew that you were doing it, every two
days you write to her. That’s why you are always alone in your room
for so long.”

“You’ve had the chambermaid spy on me!”
Frieda accused.

The glares of the two friends crossed each
other, throwing a burning hate that was sharper than words. They
understood each other completely.

For the first time the countess felt that she
was not going to do what her friend requested and Frieda Gontram
sensed this first resistance against her authority.

But they were bound through long years of
their lives, through so many common memories–that it couldn’t be
extinguished in an instant.

Frank Braun noticed right away.

“I’m disturbing you,” he said. “By the way,
Alraune will be coming soon. She just wanted to get ready.”

He went to the garden stairs, then gave his
regards.

“I will see you ladies again later.”

The friends said nothing. Olga sat in a cane
easy chair. Frieda paced up and down with large strides. Then she
stopped and stood right in front of her friend.

“Listen Olga,” she said softly. “I have
always helped you, when we were serious and when we were playing,
through all of your adventures and love affairs. Isn’t that
true?”

The countess nodded, “Yes, but I have done
exactly the same thing for you, not any less.”

“As well as you could,” spoke Frieda Gontram.
“I will gladly admit it–we want to remain friends then?”

“Certainly!” cried Countess Olga.
“Only–only–I’m not asking that much!”

“What are you asking?” inquired the
other.

She answered, “Don’t put any obstacles in my
way!”

“Obstacles?” Frieda returned. “Obstacles to
what? Each of us should try our luck–like I already told you at the
Candlemas ball!”

“No,” insisted the countess. “I don’t want to
compete any more. I’ve competed with you so often–and always drawn
the short straw. It is unequal–for that reason you will withdraw
this time, if you love me.”

“Why is it unequal?” cried Frieda Gontram.
“It’s even in your favor–you are more beautiful!”

“Yes,” her friend replied. “But that is
nothing. You are more clever and I have often learned through
experience how that is worth more–in these things.”

Frieda Gontram took her hand.

“Come Olga, she said, flattering her. “Be
reasonable. We are not here just because of our feelings–listen to
me. If I can succeed in getting the little Fräulein to change her
mind, if I can save those millions for you and your mother–will you
then give me a free hand?–Go into the garden, leave me alone with
her.”

Large tears marched out of the eyes of the
countess.

“I can’t,” she whispered. “Let me speak with
her. I will gladly give you the money–this is only a sudden whim of
yours.”

Frieda sighed out loud, threw herself into
the chaise lounge, sank her slender fingers deeply into the silk
cushions.

“A whim?–Do you believe I would make such a
fuss over a whim?–With me, I’m afraid, it appears to be not much
different than it is with you!”

Her features appeared rigid; her clear eyes
stared out into emptiness.

Olga looked at her, sprang up, knelt down in
front of her friend, who bowed her head down low over her. Their
hands found each other and they tightly pressed themselves against
each other, their tears quietly mingled together.

“What should we do?” asked the Countess.

“Withdraw!” said Frieda Gontram sharply.
“Withdraw–both of us–let what happens, happen!”

Countess Olga nodded, pressing herself
tightly against her friend.

“Stand up,” whispered the other. “Here she
comes. Quick, dry your tears–here, take my handkerchief.”

Olga obeyed, went across to the other
side.

But Alraune ten Brinken saw very clearly what
had just happened. She stood in the large doorway, in black tights
like the merry prince from “The Fledermaus”. She gave a short bow,
greeted them and kissed the hands of the ladies.

“Don’t cry, it makes your beautiful little
eyes cloudy.”

She clapped her hands together, called for
the servant to bring some champagne. She, herself, filled the
goblets, handed them to the ladies and urged them to drink.

“It is the custom here,” she trilled. “Each
to their own taste.”

She led Countess Olga to a chaise lounge and
caressed her entire arm. Then she sat down next to Frieda and gave
her a slow, smiling glance. She stayed in her role, offered cakes
and petit fours, poured drops of Peáu d’Espagne out of her golden
vial onto the ladies handkerchiefs.

Then she began, “Yes, it’s true. It is very
sad that I can’t help you. I’m so sorry.”