Hanns Heinz Ewers Alraune (26 page)

Then later while dancing a waltz separately
with one she spoke of the other, ‘Oh, that was so abominable of
your friend! You won’t really permit that will you?”

The count answered, “Certainly not!”

But Dr. Mohnen threw out his chest and
declared, “You can count on me!”

The next morning the little dispute appeared
no less childish to the count than it did to the doctor–but they
both had the uneasy feeling that they had promised something to
Fräulein ten Brinken.

“I will challenge him to a duel with
pistols,” said Karl Mohnen to himself, never believing that it
would ever happen.

But in any case that morning the cavalry
captain sent a couple of comrades to his friend–he wanted the court
of honor to see what they made of it. Dr. Mohnen negotiated with
the gentlemen, explaining to them that the count was his closest
friend and that he didn’t wish to harm him at all. The count only
needed to apologize to him–then everything would be fine. He wanted
to tell them in confidence that he would also pay off all his
friend’s debts immediately on the day after the wedding.

But the officers declared that while all that
was very nice it had nothing at all to do with them. The cavalry
captain felt insulted and demanded satisfaction. Their task was
only to ask if he were gentleman enough to accept the challenge, an
exchange of three shots at a distance of fifteen paces.

Dr. Mohnen started, “Three–three exchanges.”
he stammered.

The Hussar officers laughed, “Now calm
yourself Herr Doctor! The Court of Honor would never in their lives
allow such an insane challenge for such a small offence. It is only
in good form.”

Dr. Mohnen could see that. He counted on the
healthy common sense of the gentlemen of the Court of Honor as well
and accepted the challenge.

He did more than that, ran at once to his
fraternity house with it and requested seconds, then he sent two
students in haste to challenge the Captain for his side–five bullet
exchanges at ten paces is what he demanded. That would make him
look good and most certainly impress the little Fräulein.

The mixed Court of Honor, composed of
officers and fraternity members, were reasonable enough and settled
on a single exchange of bullets at twenty paces. That couldn’t do
much mischief and honor would be served.

Hans Geroldingen smiled as he heard the
verdict and bowed in agreement. But Dr. Mohnen turned very pale. He
had calculated that they would declare the duel unnecessary and
demand each side to apologize to the other. It was only one bullet
but it could still strike!

Early the next morning they solemnly traveled
out into Kotten forest in civilian clothes. There were seven
carriages, three Hussar officers and the regiment doctor, then Dr.
Mohnen and with him Wolf Gontram, two Saxonia fraternity brothers,
one from the Phalia fraternity for the impartial guest official who
was acting as umpire, one for Dr. Peerenbohm, the fraternity
doctor, an old gentleman from the hills, along with carriages for
the fraternity seconds and the two officer seconds as well as an
assistant for the regimental doctor.

His Excellency ten Brinken was there as well.
He had offered his medical help to his office manager, then
searched out his old medical case and had everything polished up
like new.

For two hours they rode through the laughing
dawn. Count Geroldingen was in a very good mood. He had received a
little letter from Lendenich the evening before. There was a
four-leaf clover inside and a slip of paper with one word on it,
“Mascot”. He put the letter in his lower left vest pocket. It made
him laugh and dream of all kinds of good things.

He chatted with his comrades, make jokes
about the childish duel. He was the best pistol shot in the city
and joked that he would like to shoot a button off the doctor’s
coat sleeve. But you could never be sure of these things,
especially with a strange pistol. It would be much better to just
shoot into the air. It would be a mean trick if the good doctor got
so much as even a scratch.

But Dr. Mohnen, who sat together in the
carriage with the Privy Councilor and young Gontram, said nothing
at all. He had also received a small letter that carried the large
slanting letters of Fräulein ten Brinken. It contained a dainty
golden horseshoe. But he never once really looked at his mascot,
only murmured something about childish superstition and threw the
letter on his writing desk.

He was afraid, truly and horribly afraid. It
poured itself like dirty mop water over the short-lived enthusiasm
of his love. He chided himself for being a complete idiot. Getting
up this early in the morning only to go riding out to the
slaughter. He had a hot burning desire to apologize to the cavalry
captain and be done with it. This feeling battled inside him
against the feeling of shame that he would feel in front of the
Privy Councilor and perhaps even more in front of Wolf who had
believed all his tales of heroic deeds.

Meanwhile he gave himself a heroic
appearance, attempted to smoke a cigarette and look around calmly.
But he was white as chalk when the carriage stopped in the woods
and they set off down a narrow footpath to a broad clearing.

The doctors prepared their medical
instruments. The umpire opened the pistol case and loaded the
murderous weapons. He carefully weighed the powder so that both
rounds were equally powerful. They were beautiful weapons that
belonged to the umpire.

The seconds chose for their clients, drew
straws–short looses, long wins. The cavalry captain smiled at all
the solemnity, which no one was really taking seriously. But Dr.
Mohnen turned away and stared at the ground. Then the umpire
stepped out twenty paces taking such immense leaps that the
officers looked with disapproving faces. It did not seem right to
them that the umpire was making a farce of it and that proper
decorum meant so little.

“The clearing is too small!” Major Von der
Osten cried out sarcastically to him.

But the tall umpire answered calmly, “Then
the gentlemen can stand in the woods. That would be even
better.”

The seconds led the principals to their
places. The umpire once more challenged them to reconcile, but
didn’t even wait for an answer.

“Since a reconciliation is refused by both
sides,” he continued, I ask the gentlemen to wait on my
command–”

A deep sigh from the doctor interrupted him.
Karl Mohnen stood there with trembling knees, the pistol fell out
of his shaking hand, his face was as pale as a shroud.

“One moment,” cried the fraternity doctor
across to the other side as he hurried with long strides up to him.
The Privy Councilor, Wolf Gontram, and both gentlemen from Saxonia
followed.

“What’s wrong?” asked Dr. Peerenbohm.

Dr. Mohnen gave no answer; he was completely
undone and simply stared straight ahead.

“Now what’s wrong with you doctor?” repeated
his second, taking the pistol up from the ground and pressing it
back into his hand.

But Karl Mohnen remained quiet. He looked as
if he were drunk. Then a smile slid over the broad face of the
Privy Councilor. He stepped up to one of the Saxons and whispered
into his ear:

“He had an accident.”

The fraternity brother didn’t understand him
right away.

“What do you mean, your Excellency?” he
asked.

“Can’t you smell!” whispered the old man.

The Saxons gave a quick laugh but kept the
seriousness of the situation. They only took out their
handkerchiefs and pressed them over their noses.

“Incontinentia alvi,” declared Dr. Peerenbohm
appreciatively.

He took a little flask out of his vest
pocket, put a couple drops of tincture of opium on a lump of sugar
and handed it to Dr. Mohnen.

“Here, chew on this,” he said and pressed it
into the doctor’s mouth. “Now pull yourself together. Seriously–a
duel is a very frightening thing!”

But the poor doctor heard nothing, saw
nothing, and did not notice the bitter taste of opium on his
tongue. He confusedly sensed that the people were leaving him.

Then he heard the loud voice of the umpire,
“One.”

It rang in his ears–Then “Two,”–at the same
time he heard a shot. He closed his eyes, his teeth chattered, his
head was spinning.

“Three.”

It sounded from the edge of the woods. Then
his own pistol went off and the loud explosion so close stunned him
so that his legs gave way. He didn’t fall, he collapsed like a dead
pig, broadly setting down on the dew fresh ground.

He sat like that for a minute, although it
seemed like an hour. Then it occurred to him that it was over.

“It’s over,” he murmured with a happy
sigh.

He felt himself all over–no, he wasn’t
wounded. Only, only his trousers were ruined. But what was going
on? Nobody was paying any attention to him, so he got up by
himself, amazed at the immense speed with which his vitality
returned to him.

With deep gulps he drank in the morning air.
Oh how good it was to be alive!

Over at the other end of the clearing he saw
a tight cluster of people standing together. He polished his
Pince-nez and looked through it. Everyone had their back turned
toward him. He slowly started across, recognized Wolf Gontram who
was standing a long way back. Then he saw two kneeling and someone
lying down in the middle. Was it the cavalry captain? Could he have
been shot? Had he even fired?

He made a little detour through the high fir
trees, came out closer and could now see perfectly. He saw how the
count caught sight of him, saw how he weakly beckoned with his
hand. They all made room for him as he stepped into the circle.
Hans Geroldingen stretched his right hand out to him. He kneeled
down and grasped it.

“Forgive me,” he murmured. I didn’t really
want to–”

The cavalry captain smiled, “I know, old
friend. It was a coincidence. A God damned coincidence!”

Just then a sudden pain seized him; he moaned
and groaned miserably.

“I just wanted to tell you doctor, that I’m
not angry at you,” he continued weakly.

Dr. Mohnen didn’t answer; a violent twitch
went around the corners of his mouth. His eyes filled with tears.
Then the doctors pulled him to the side and occupied themselves
once more with the wounded man.

“Nothing can be done,” whispered the
regimental doctor.

“We must try getting him to the clinic as
quickly as possible,” said the Privy Councilor.

“It would not do us any good,” replied Dr.
Peerenbohn. “He would die on us during the transport and only give
him unnecessary misery and pain.”

The bullet was in the abdomen; it had
penetrated through all the intestines and impacted against the
spine where it was now lodged. It was as if it had been drawn there
by a mysterious force, straight through Alraune’s letter, through
the four-leaf clover and the beloved word, “Mascot”.

It was the little attorney Manasse that saved
Dr. Mohnen. When Legal Councilor Gontram showed him the letter he
had just received from Lendenich, he declared that the Privy
Councilor was the most base, low down, scoundrel that he had ever
known. He implored his colleague to not deliver the letter to the
District Attorney’s office until the doctor was safe.

It was not about the duel–The authorities had
begun proceedings for that on the same day. No, it was about the
embezzlement at his Excellency’s office. The attorney himself ran
to the delinquent and hauled him out of bed.

“Get up!” he snapped. “Dress! Pack your
suitcase! Take the next train to Antwerp and board a ship as
quickly as possible! You are an ass! You are a camel! How could you
do such a stupid thing?”

Dr. Mohnen rubbed the sleep out of his eyes.
He couldn’t understand what all the fuss was about. The way he
stood with the Privy Councilor–

But Herr Manasse didn’t let him finish.

“How you stand with him?” he barked. “Yes,
you stand just splendidly with him! Magnificent! Unsurpassed! You
fool–It is his Excellency himself that has ordered the Legal
Councilor to go to the District Attorney’s office because you have
stolen money out of his cash box!”

At that Karl Mohnen decided to crawl out of
bed. It was Stanislaus Schacht, his old friend, that helped him get
away. He studied the departure schedules, gave him the money that
was needed and hired the taxi that would take him to Cologne.

It was a sad parting. Karl Mohnen had lived
for over thirty years in this city. Every house, almost every stone
held a memory for him. His roots were here; here alone his life had
meaning. Now he was thrust forth, head over heels, out into some
strange–

“Write me,” said fat Schacht. “What will you
do?”

Karl Mohnen hesitated, everything appeared
utterly destroyed, collapsed and in pieces. His life had become a
confused rubbish pile.

He shrugged his shoulders; his good-natured
eyes had a forlorn look.

“I don’t know,” he murmured.

But then the old habit crept across his lips
and he smiled through his tears.

“I will find a wife,” he said. “There are
many rich girls over there–in America.”