Hanns Heinz Ewers Alraune (15 page)

The ensign supported him.

“Drink,” he urged.

But Frank Braun waved him away. “No, no,” he
whispered. “It will make me drunk.”

He laughed weakly, “I don’t think I’ve had
anything to eat today–”

A noise rang out from down the hall, loud
laughing and yelling.

“What’s going on?” he asked
indifferently.

The ensign answered, “They are playing. Two
new ones came in yesterday.”

Then he reached into his pocket, “By the way,
this came for you this evening. It’s a money dispatch for a hundred
Marks. Here.”

Frank Braun took the paper, but had to read
it twice before he finally understood what it said. His uncle had
sent him a hundred Marks and wrote along with it:

“Please consider this as an advance.”

He sprang up with a bound. The fog rose as a
red mist in front of his eyes–Advance! Advance? Oh, for that job
the old man wanted him for–for that!

The ensign held the money out to him, “Here’s
the money.”

He took it and it burned the tips of his
fingers and this pain that he felt as a physical pain almost did
him in completely. He shut his eyes, letting the scorching fire in
his fingers climb into his hands and up into his arms. He felt this
final insult burn deeply down into his bones.

“Bring me–” he cried. “Bring me some
wine!”

Then he drank and drank. It seemed to him
that the dark wine extinguished the sizzling fire.

“What are they playing?” he asked,
“Baccarat?”

“No,” said the ensign. “They are playing
dice, Lucky Seven.”

Frank Braun took his arm, “Come on. Let’s
go.”

They stepped into the casino.

“Here I am!” he cried. “One hundred Marks on
the eight and he threw his money on the table. The cavalry captain
shook the cup. It was a six–

Informs about her father and how Death stood
as Godfather when Alraune came to life.

D
R
. Karl Petersen brought the Privy Councilor a
large beautifully bound book that he had prepared especially for
this project. The old ten Brinken family crest showed on the upper
left corner of the red leather volume. In the middle glowed the
large golden letters ATB.

The first page had been left blank. The
professor had reserved it to write some early history himself. The
next page began with a paragraph in Dr. Petersen’s hand. He wrote
of the short and simple life history of the mother and of her
character and demeanor.

He had asked the prostitute to tell her life
story and then quickly wrote it down. Even her previous convictions
were mentioned. Alma had been sentenced twice for vagrancy; five or
six times due to violations of police regulations concerning her
profession and once because of theft–Yet, she maintained that she
was innocent of the theft–the gentleman had given her the diamond
pin.

Further down in the second paragraph Dr.
Petersen had written down things about the presumptive father, the
unemployed miner, Peter Weinland Noerissen, who had been condemned
by a court and jury and sentenced to death in the name of the
King.

The public prosecutor had presented the facts
in an amiable, charming fashion. It appeared that P. Noerissen had
been predestined to such a fate from infancy. His mother had been a
notorious drinker. His father, an occasional worker, had been
previously convicted because of frequent crude misdemeanors. One of
his brothers was even now serving ten years in prison on similar
grounds.

Peter Weinland Noerissen had become
apprenticed to a blacksmith after he finished school. This had
played an important part in the proceedings because of the skill
and strength that had been displayed in the murder. Many witnesses
gave evidence of his displays of unusual strength. He had a history
of pushing himself on females even when they said they were not
interested.

He had been released from military service
because of a congenital defect. He was missing two fingers on his
left hand. He worked in several diverse factories before finally
coming to the Phoenix mine in the Ruhr industrial district. He was
not a member of any trade union, not the old socialist union, the
Christian or the mysterious Elks.

He was fired from the mine when he pulled a
knife on an overseer. This was a serious violation and he received
his first sentence of a year in jail. He was released after his
counsel for the defense argued during appeal that the conviction
was only based upon the word of the overseer with no real evidence
that it was attempted manslaughter.

After that he was on the road, had crossed
over the Alps twice and fought his way from Naples to Amsterdam.
While he did work occasionally, he spent most of his time as a
vagabond or hobo and was further convicted of a few other petty
crimes. It was enough for the public prosecutor to assume that in
the course of seven or eight years he had become a hardened
criminal with no conscience.

The crime that he was now condemned for was
not that clear either. It was still not entirely certain if it had
been a robbery gone wrong or an intentional sex murder. The defense
tried to portray it as if the accused had only intended to rape the
well dressed and well endowed nineteen year old daughter of the
home owner, Anna Sibilla Trautwein, when he encountered her in the
Ellinger Rhine meadow that fateful evening.

That when he tried to rape the strong and
vigorous girl she started screaming and he pulled his knife only to
threaten her into silence. It didn’t work and she fought back more
vigorously and in the struggle was stabbed. He only finished her
off out of the fear of discovery. It was then only natural that he
take her petty tip money and jewelry to help him make good his
escape.

This account did not match the condition of
the corpse itself. It was established that the terrible
dismemberment of the victim’s vitals was most skillfully done and
the cut almost workman like. The public prosecutor ended with a
plea that the appeal to the Imperial court be refused, that there
was no need for further reprieve and that the execution take place
early in the morning on the following day at six o’clock.

In conclusion the book stated that the
delinquent did agree to Dr. Petersen’s request on the condition
that he be brought two bottles of whiskey that evening around eight
o’clock.

The Privy Councilor finished reading and then
gave the book back.

“The father is cheaper than the mother!” he
laughed.

“You will attend the execution as well. Don’t
forget to bring the common salt solution and other things you will
need. Hurry back as soon as possible. Every minute counts,
especially in a situation like we have here. There will scarcely be
enough time. I will expect you at the clinic early in the morning.
Don’t bother finding an attendant. The princess will assist
us.”

“Princess Wolkonski, Your Excellency?” Dr.
Petersen asked.

“Certainly,” nodded the professor. “I have my
reasons for bringing her into this little operation–Besides, she is
very interested in such things. By the way–how is our patient
today?”

The assistant doctor said, “Ah, your
Excellency. It is the same old story, always the same now for the
two weeks that she has been here. She cries, screams and raves–In
short, she wants out. Today she smashed a couple of wash basins to
pieces.”

“Have you seriously tried to talk with her
again?” asked the professor.

“I tried, but she scarcely let me get a word
out,” answered Dr. Petersen. “It is fortunate that tomorrow is
finally almost here–How we can ever keep her here until the child
comes into the world is a puzzle to me.”

“That won’t be your problem Petersen,” the
Privy Councilor clapped him benevolently on the shoulder. “We will
find a way–Just do your duty.”

The assistant doctor said, “Your Excellency
can count on me for that.”

The early morning sun kissed the honeysuckle
leaves in the arbor and clean gardens where the Privy Councilor’s
white women’s clinic lay. It lightly fondled the many colored
dahlias in their dew fresh beds and caressed the large deep blue
clematis on the wall.

Many colored finches and large thrushes ran
across the smooth path, scurried through the evenly mown lawn and
quickly flew off as eight iron hoofs struck sparks as they lightly
hit the cobblestones of the street.

The princess climbed out of the carriage and
came with quick strides through the garden. Her cheeks glowed, her
strong bosom breathed heavily as she climbed the high steps up to
the house. The Privy Councilor came up and opened the door for
her.

“Come in, I’ve just had some tea made for
you.”

She said–in a panting and hurried voice–“I
just came from–there. I saw it. It–it was fabulous–exciting.”

He led her into the room. “Where have you
just come from, your Highness? From the– execution?”

“Yes,” she said. “Dr. Petersen will be here
soon–I received a ticket–just last night. It was intense–very
intense.”

The Privy Councilor offered her a chair. “May
I pour for you?”

She nodded, “Please, your Excellency. Very
kind of you! A pity that you missed it! He was a splendid
fellow–tall–strong.”

“Who?” he asked. “The delinquent?”

She drank her tea, “Yes, certainly, him! The
murderer! Muscular and strapping–a powerful chest–like a boxer. He
wore some kind of blue sweater–it was open at the neck. No fat,
only muscle and sinews. Like a bull.”

“Could your Highness see the execution
clearly?” asked the Privy Councilor.

“Perfectly, your Excellency!” she cried. “I
stood at the window in the hall. The guillotine was right in front
of me. He swayed a bit as he stepped up. They had to support
him.”

“Please, another piece of sugar, your
Excellency.”

The Privy Councilor served her. “Did he say
anything?”

“Yes,” said the princess. “Twice, but each
time only one word. The first time as the attorney read the
sentence. That’s when he cried out half-loud–but I can’t really
repeat it–”

“But your Highness!” The Privy Councilor
grinned and patted her lightly on the hand. “You certainly don’t
need to get embarrassed in front of me.”

She laughed, “No, certainly not. Well
then–but reach me another slice of lemon. Thank you. Put it right
there in the cup! Well then–he said, no–I can’t say it.”

“Highness,” said the professor with mild
reproof.

She said, “You must close your eyes
first.”

The Privy Councilor thought, “Old monkey!”
but he closed his eyes. “Now?” he asked.

She still hesitated, “I–I will say it in
French–”

“That’s fine–in French then!” he cried
impatiently.

Then she pressed her lips together, bent
forward and whispered in his ear, “Merde!”

The professor bent backward, the princess’s
strong perfume bothered him. “So that’s what he said?”

“Yes,” she nodded. And he said it as if he
was indifferent to it all. I found it very attractive, almost
gentleman like.”

“Certainly,” confirmed the Privy Councilor.
“Only a pity that he didn’t say it in French as well. What was the
other word he said?”

“Oh, that was bad,” the princess sipped her
tea, nibbled at a cookie. It completely ruined the good impression
he had made on me! Just think, your Excellency, just as the
executioner’s assistants seized him, he suddenly began to scream
and cry like a little child.”

“Well,” said the professor. “Another cup,
your Highness?–And what did he scream?”

“First he defended himself,” she explained.
“The best he could, silent and powerfully even though both hands
were tightly tied behind his back. There were three assistants and
they threw themselves on him while the executioner stood there
watching quietly in his dress suit and white gloves. At first it
pleased me, how the murderer threw off the three butchers, how they
tore at him and pushed without bringing him one step closer. Oh, it
was terribly exciting, your Excellency.”

“I can only imagine, your Highness,” he
blurted out.

“But then,” she continued. “Then it all
changed. One grabbed his leg while another pushed his bound arms
high and he stumbled forward. At that moment he must have felt his
resistance was useless, that he was lost. Perhaps–Perhaps he had
been a little drunk–and was now suddenly very sobe –Pfui–That’s
when he screamed.”

The Privy Councilor smiled, “What did he
scream? Must I close my eyes again?”

“No,” she cried. “You can leave the open,
your Excellency–He became a coward, a pathetic coward, full of
fear. He screamed, ‘Mama!–Mama!–Mama!’ dozens of times while they
had him on his knees, dragged him to the guillotine and pushed his
head into the circular opening of the board.”

“Was he still crying for his mama at the last
moment?” asked the Privy Councilor.