Hanns Heinz Ewers Alraune (5 page)

“Would you like to sit for a spell?” asked
Herr Sebastian Gontram. “We’ve been sitting over there for four
hours. Seventeen courses! Isn’t that something! Here is the menu,
is there anything you would like?”

The Privy Councilor thanked him, but he had
already eaten.

Then Frau Gontram came into the room in a
blue, somewhat old-fashioned silk gown with a train. Her hair was
done up high.

“I can’t eat anymore ice cream,” she cried.
“Prince Puckler had Billa put all of it on the cinnamon
noodles!”

The guests laughed. They never knew what to
expect in the Gontram house.

Attorney Manasse cried, “Bring the dish in
here! We haven’t seen Prince Puckler or fresh cinnamon noodles all
day!”

Privy Councilor ten Brinken looked around for
a chair. He was a small man, smooth shaven, with thick watery bags
under his eyes. He was repulsive enough with swollen hanging lips,
a huge meaty nose, and the lid of his left eye drooped heavy but
the right stood wide open, squinting around in a predatory manner.
Someone behind him said:

“Good Day Uncle Jakob.”

was Frank Braun. The Privy Councilor turned
around; it was very unusual to see his nephew here.

“You’re here?” he asked. “I can only imagine
why.”

The student laughed, “Naturally! But you are
so wise uncle. You look good by the way, and very official, like a
university professor in proud dress uniform with all your medals.
I’m here incognito–over there with the other students stuck at the
west table.”

“That just proves your twisted thinking,
where else would you be sitting?” his uncle said. “When you
once–”

“Yes, yes,” Frank Braun interrupted him.
“When I finally get as old as you, then I will be permitted–and so
on–That’s what you would tell me, isn’t it? All heaven be praised
that I’m not yet twenty Uncle Jakob. I like it this way much
better.”

The Privy Councilor sat down. “Much better? I
can believe that. In the fourth Semester and doing nothing but
fighting, drinking, fencing, riding, loving and making poor grades!
I wrote your mother about the grades the university gave you. Tell
me youngster, just what are you doing in college anyway?”

The student filled two glasses, “Here Uncle
Jakob, drink, then your suffering will be lighter! Well, I’ve been
in several classes already, not just one, but an entire series of
classes. Now I’ve left and I’m not going back.”

“Prosit!”

“Prosit!” The Privy Councilor said. “Have you
finished?”

“Finished?” Frank Braun laughed. “I’m much
more than finished. I’m overflowing! I’m done with college and I’m
done with the Law. I’m going to travel. Why should I be in college?
It’s possible that the other students can learn from you professors
but their brains must then comply with your methods. My brain will
not comply. I find every single one of you unbelievably foolish,
boring and stupid.”

The professor took a long look at him.

“You are immensely arrogant, my dear boy,” he
said quietly.

“Really?” The student leaned back, put one
leg over the other. “Really? I scarcely believe that. But if so, it
doesn’t really matter. I know what I’m doing. First, I’m saying
this to annoy you a bit–You look so funny when you are annoyed.
Second, to hear back from you that I’m right.

For example, you, uncle, are certainly a
shrewd old fox, very intelligent, clever and you know a multitude
of things–But in college weren’t you just as insufferable as the
rest of your respected colleagues? Didn’t you at one time or
another say to yourself that you wanted to perhaps just have some
fun?”

“Me? Most certainly not!” the professor said.
“But that is something else. When you once–Well, ok, you know
already–Now tell me boy, where in all the world will you go from
here? Your mother will not like to hear that you are not coming
home.”

“Very well,” cried Frank Braun. “I will
answer you.”

“But first, why have you have rented this
house to Gontram? He is certainly not a person that does things by
the book. Still, it is always good when you can have someone like
that from time to time. His tubercular wife naturally interests you
as a medical doctor. All the doctors in the city are enraptured by
this phenomenon without lungs. Then there’s the Princess that you
would gladly sell your castle in Mehlem to.

Finally, dear uncle, there are the two
teenagers over there, beautiful, fresh vegetables aren’t they? I
know how you like young girls–Oh, in all honor, naturally. You are
always honorable Uncle Jakob!”

He stopped, lit a cigarette and blew out a
puff of smoke. The Privy Councilor squinted at him poisonously with
a predatory right eye.

“What did you want to tell me?” he asked
lightly.

The student gave a short laugh. “Oh, nothing.
Nothing at all!”

He stood up, went to the corner table, picked
up a cigar box and opened it. They were the expensive cigars of the
Privy Councilor.

“The smokes, dear uncle. Look, Romeo and
Juliet, your brand. The Legal Councilor has certainly not spared
any expense for you!”

He offered one to the Privy Councilor.

“Thank you,” growled the professor. “Thank
you. Now once again, what is it that you want to tell me?”

Frank Braun moved his chair closer.

“I will tell you Uncle Jakob. But first I
need to reproach you. I don’t like what you did, do you hear me? I
know myself quite well, know that I’ve been wasting my life and
that I continue–Leave that. You don’t care and I’m not asking you
to pay any of my debts.

I request that you never again write such a
letter to our house. You will write back to mother and tell her
that I am very virtuous, very moral, work very hard and that I’m
moving on and such stuff. Do you understand?”

“Yes, that I must lie,” said the Privy
Councilor. “It should sound realistic and witty, but it will sound
slimy as a snail, even to her.”

The student looked at him squarely, “Yes
uncle, you should even lie. Not on my account, you know that, but
for mother.”

He stopped for a moment gazing into his
glass, “and since you will tell these lies for me, I will now tell
you this.”

“I am curious,” said the Privy Councilor a
little uncertainly.

“You know my life,” the student continued and
his voice rang with bitter honesty. “You know that I, up until
today, have been a stupid youth. You know because you are an old
and clever man, highly educated, rich, known by all, decorated with
titles and orders, because you are my uncle and my mother’s only
brother. You think that gives you a right to educate me. Right or
not, you will never do it. No one will ever do it, only life will
educate me.”

The professor slapped his knee and laughed
out loud. “Yes, life! Just wait youngster. It will educate you soon
enough. It has enough twists and turns, beautiful rules and laws,
solid boundaries and thorny barriers.”

Frank Braun replied, “They are nothing for
me, much less for me than for you. Have you, Uncle Jakob, ever
fought through the twists, cut through the wiry thorns and laughed
at all the laws? I have.”

“Pay attention uncle,” he continued. “I know
your life as well. The entire city knows it and the sparrows pipe
their little jokes about you from the rooftops. But the people only
talk to themselves in whispers, because they fear you, fear your
cleverness and your money. They fear your power and your
energy.

I know why little Anna Paulert died. I know
why your handsome gardener had to leave so quickly for America. I
know many more little stories about you. Oh, I don’t approve,
certainly not. But I don’t think of you as evil. I even admire you
a little perhaps because you, like a little king, can do so many
things with impunity. The only thing I don’t understand is how you
are successful with all the children. You are so ugly.”

Privy Councilor played with his watch chain.
Then he looked quietly at his nephew, almost flattered.

“You really don’t understand that?”

The student replied, “No, absolutely not at
all. But I do understand how you have come to it! For a long time
you’ve had everything that you wanted, everything that a person
could have within the normal constraints of society. Now you want
more. The brook is bored in its old bed, steps here and there over
the narrow banks–It is in your blood.”

The professor raised his glass, reached it
out to him.

“Give me another, my boy,” he said. His voice
trembled a little and certainly rang out with solemnity. “You are
right. It is in the blood, my blood and your blood.”

He drank and reached out to shake hands with
his nephew.

“You will write mother like I want you to?”
asked Frank Braun.

“Yes, I will,” replied the old man.

The student said, “Thank you Uncle
Jakob.”

He took the outstretched hand and shook
it.

“Now go, you old Don Juan, call the
Communicants! They both look beautiful in their sacred gowns, don’t
they?”

“Hmm,” said the uncle. “Don’t they look good
to you?”

Frank Braun laughed. “Me? Oh, my God! No,
Uncle Jakob, I am no rival, not today. Today I have a higher
ambition–perhaps when I am as old as you are!–But I am not the
guardian of their virtue. Those two celebrating roses will not
improve until they have been plucked. Someone will, and soon–Why
not you? Hey Olga, Frieda! Come on over here!”

But neither girl came over. They were
hovering around Dr. Mohnen, filling his glass and listening to his
suggestive stories. The princess came over; Frank Braun stood up
and offered her his chair.

“Sit down, sit down!” she cried. “I have
absolutely nothing to chat with you about!”

“Just a few minutes, your Highness. I will go
get a cigarette,” the student said. “My uncle has been waiting all
night for a chance to give you his compliments. He will be
overjoyed.”

The Privy Councilor was not overjoyed about
it. He would have much rather had the little princess sitting
there, but now he entertained the mother–

Frank Braun went to the window as the Legal
Councilor and Frau Marion went up to the Grand Piano. Herr Gontram
sat down on the piano bench, turned around and said.

“I would like a little quiet please. Frau
Marion would like to sing a song for us.”

He turned to the Lady, “What would you like
after that dear Frau?–Another one I hope. Perhaps
‘Les
Papillions’
? or perhaps
‘Il Baccio’
from Arditti?–Give
me the music for them as well!”

The student looked across, she always looked
good, this old, well-formed lady. He believed she really had all
the adventures that she related. At one time she had been the fiery
Diva of Europe. Now she lived in this city that was still stuck
back in the fourth century in her little villa. She took long walks
through her gardens every evening, put flowers on the graves of her
dead hounds and cried for a half-hour.

Now she sang. She had lost her magnificent
voice years ago, but there was still a rare magic in her
performance, out of the old school. The smile of the conqueror lay
on her rouged lips and the thick face paint attempted to capture
the former sweetness of her features. Her thick sweaty hands played
with her ivory fan and her eyes searched the room as if trying to
scratch and pull the applause out of the audience.

Oh yes, she certainly fit in here, Madame
Marion Vère de Vère, fit in this house, like all the others that
were guests. Frank Braun looked around. There sat his dear uncle
with the princess and behind them leaning against the door stood
Attorney Manasse and Chaplain Schöder. The long, gaunt, dark
chaplain was the best wine connoisseur on the Mosel and the Saar.
It was nearly impossible to find a wine cellar that he had not gone
into and sampled. Schröder had written a never-ending clever book
about the abstruse philosophy of Plotinus and at the same time had
written the skits for the Puppet Theater in Cologne. He was
particularly enthusiastic about the first Napoleon. He hated the
Prussians and anyone that spoke of the Kaiser. Every year on the
fifth of May he traveled back to Cologne and the Minority Church
where he celebrated a High Mass for the tormented dead of the
“Grand Army”.

There sat large, gold spectacled, Stanislaus
Schacht, candidate for a degree in Philosophy, in his sixteenth
semester, too fat, too lazy to get off his chair. For years he had
lived as a lodger at the widow of Professor Dr. von Dollinger’s
house. For a long time now he had been installed as the new master
of the house. She was that little, ugly, over thin woman sitting
beside him, always filling his glass and loading his plate with
heaping portions of food. She didn’t eat anything–but she drank as
much as he did and with every new glass her ardor grew. She
laughingly caressed his huge meaty arm with her bony finger.

Near her stood Karl Mohnen, Dr. jur and Dr.
phil. He was a schoolmate and chess player. It was through chess
that they had met and become great friends. By now he had studied
almost as long as Stanislaus, only he was always taking exams,
always changing his major. At the moment it was Philosophy and he
was studying for his third exam. He looked like a clerk in a
department store, quick, hurried and always moving.

Frank Braun always thought that he should go
into business as a merchant. He would certainly be happy running a
confectionery where he would have women to serve him. He was always
looking for a rich party–on the street–large window promenades too.
He had an aptitude for meeting new people and making new friends,
especially traveling English women. He clutched onto them
gladly–but sadly they had no money.

There was still another person there, the
small Hussar lieutenant with the little black mustache that was
chatting with the girls. He, the young Count Geroldingen, could
always be found back stage in every theater performance. He painted
the sets, was talented with the violin and the best horse racer in
the regiment. He was now telling Olga and Frieda something about
Beethoven that was horribly boring. They were only listening
because he was such a handsome little lieutenant.