The Dedalus Book of German Decadence (27 page)

‘Yes!’ she cried, ‘Yes! This I must see! I would love to! When?’ She then added – but her attempt at dignity was not convincing – ‘For, you know, nothing interests me more than medical study. I think I would have been a very good doctor.’

He looked at her, grinning broadly. ‘But of course, Your Highness!’ He then entertained the idea that she would make an even better madame in a brothel. But he had her in his net. He began to talk again about the roses and the camelias in his villa on the Rhine. It was inconvenient for him, and he had only taken it on out of kindness. But the site was excellent, not to mention the view. And perhaps, if Her Highness would deign to visit him, they could –.

Princess Volkonsky decided immediately, without losing a moment. ‘But of course, naturally I could take the villa!’ She saw Frank Braun go by and called out to him. ‘Mr Braun, Mr Braun, please come over here! Your uncle has promised to show me some of his experiments, isn’t that extraordinarily charming! Have you ever seen any?’

‘No’, Frank Braun replied, ‘I’m not interested in that kind of thing.’

He turned to go, but she had him by the sleeve. ‘Give me a cigarette, and, yes, a glass of champagne.’ She was unhealthily excited, and perspiration pearled across her rolls of fat. Her crude senses, whipped up by the old man’s shameless descriptions, sought an outlet, and broke in a cascade over the young man.

‘Tell me, young student,’ she panted, her great breasts threatening to burst her bodice, ‘Tell me  …  do you think  …  that your uncle  …  with all his knowledge, his scientific experiments  …  do you think he could artificially create human beings?’

She knew perfectly well that he did not do such things, but she felt compelled to carry on the conversation, at any price, and especially with this young and handsome student.

Frank Braun burst out laughing, instinctively sensing the direction her thoughts were taking. ‘But of course, Your Highness’, he said quietly. ‘Certainly. My uncle is experimenting in this very area, and has discovered a new process that is so subtle that the poor woman in question knows nothing about it. Nothing at all: until one fine day she finds that she is pregnant, in the fourth or fifth month. Be careful when you are with my uncle, Your Highness, who knows whether or not you –.’

‘For Heavens sake!’ the Princess screamed.

‘Yes, that would be disagreeable’ he cried, ‘especially if one had none of the pleasure beforehand!’

*        *        *        *

CRASH!

Something fell from the wall and struck Sophie the maid on the top of her head. She let out a yell and dropped the silver tray with all the coffee cups.

‘Oh the lovely Sèvres  …,’ said Frau Gontram, quite unperturbed. ‘What was it, then?’

Dr Mohnen took it upon himself to look after the sobbing girl; he cut away a strand of hair, bathed the gaping wound and staunched the blood with iron chloride. He did not neglect to pat her on the cheek and quietly fondled her firm breasts. He gave her some wine to drink and whispered gently in her ear.

All sorts of extraordinary objects were hanging on the wall: an idol from the South Seas, half male, half female, striped in bold reds and yellows; two old riding boots, massive and heavy, with powerful Spanish spurs; various rusty weapons; a doctor’s diploma, printed on grey silk, from the Jesuit College in Seville and inscribed with the name of an earlier Gontram; a remarkable ivory crucifix, inlaid with gold; a Buddist rosary made of large, green jade beads  …

But the thing had been hanging at the very top, the thing that had now jumped down: you could clearly see the rip in the wallpaper which the nail had torn away from the brittle mortar. It was a brown, dusty object made of a rock-hard root, and it looked like an ancient wizened mannikin.

Well, well, it’s our mandrake!’ exclaimed Frau Gontram. ‘Well, it certainly was a good job that our Sophie was walking underneath – she comes from the Eifel, and they’re all thick-headed from there! If it had been Wolfie, now, our lad, the nasty little mannikin would certainly have split his head open!’

And Herr Gontram continued: ‘That’s been in the family for the last two hundred years. It was supposed to have played a silly prank before: my grandfather remembered how it had jumped on his head one night. But he was probably inebriated: he enjoyed a drink or two.’

‘What
is
it, then?’ asked a lieutenant of the Hussars.

‘Well, it’s supposed to bring money into the house.’ replied Herr Gontram. ‘That’s an old legend anyway; old Manasse would be able to tell us. Come on then, away you go, Mr. Polyhistoricus! What is the legend about the mandrake?’

But the little lawyer was not keen. ‘Nothing, only what everyone knows.’

‘Nobody knows it, nobody. You greatly over-rate our modern educational system,’ the lieutenant replied.

‘Come on, Manasse, don’t keep us waiting,’ said Mrs Gontram. ‘I’ve always wanted to know what the ugly old thing was meant to be.’

So he began. He spoke dryly, in a scholarly fashion, as though he were reading out of a book. He did not stumble over his words, scarcely raised his voice. And he swung the root in his right hand, back and forth, like a baton.

‘Mandrake, Mandragora, also called Mandragola – Mandragora officinarum. A plant of the solanaceous family, found around the Mediterranean basin, in south-east Europe and as far as Asia and the Himalayas. The leaves and blossoms are narcotic, were used in earlier times as an opiate and were used during operations in the famous medical school in Salerno. The leaves could also be smoked and the fruits were made into aphrodisiacs. They were supposed to incite lust and make men potent. Jacob used them for his little trick with Laban’s flocks; the plant is called Dudaian in the Pentateuch. But it is the root which plays the most important part in the old stories. As early as Pythagoras you find a reference to its remarkable similarity to an old man or woman: in his time they believed that it could make you invisible, that it could weave magic or, conversely, act as a talisman against witchcraft. The German legends concerning the mandrake derive from the early Middle Ages, from the time of the Crusades. The criminal, hanged stark naked at the crossroads, would ejaculate his last drop of sperm at the moment his neck was broken. The seed falls onto the earth and fertilizes it: a mandrake is born, either male or female. The local people went out at night to dig it up: the shovel had to be placed in the earth exactly on the stroke of midnight. But it was wise to block up your ears with wool and wax because when the mannikin was drawn out of the earth it would shriek in such a hideous way that you would faint in terror – you can find this referred to in Shakespeare. Then you would take it home and look after it well, give it a little of every meal to eat, and wash it in wine on holy days. It brought you luck in law-suits, and in war, was an amulet against witchcraft and brought good luck into the house. It gave grace to the one who owned it, could tell fortunes, made women lovely and eased their child-bearing. But, despite all this, it brought sorrow and torment, wherever it was. Other members of the household were dogged by ill fortune, and it drove its owner to greed, lust and manifold iniquities. It finally destroyed him, and drove him to hell. And yet mandrakes were very popular, were often sold and fetched high prices. It is said that Wallenstein carried a mandrake around with him for the whole of his life, and the same is said of England’s polygamous King Henry the Eighth.’ Manasse stopped, and threw the hard piece of wood on to the table.

‘Most interesting, yes, most interesting,’ said Count Geroldingen. ‘I am most grateful to you for your little lecture, Sir.’

But Madame Marion declared that she would not for one moment tolerate such a thing in her home, and stared with eyes wide open at Mrs Gontrum’s rigid, bony, mask-like face.

Frank Braun moved swiftly towards the Professor. His eyes were shining, and he seized the old gentleman by the shoulder.

‘Uncle Jakob  …’

‘Well, what is it, my boy?’ asked the Professor. But he got up, and followed his nephew to the window.

‘Uncle Jakob,’ the student said again. ‘This is what you need! This is far better than silly tricks with frogs, and monkeys, and small children. Come on, Uncle, go down the road that nobody has gone before!’ His voice was shaking and he nervously exhaled smoke from his cigarette.

‘I don’t understand a word of what you’re saying  …’

‘You
must
understand! Weren’t you listening to what he was saying? Make a mandrake, a mandragora! Something that is alive, that has flesh and blood! You can do it, Uncle, you and no one else on earth!’

The Professor looked at him, uncertain, doubtful. But there was such conviction in the student’s voice, such strength of belief, that he involuntarily hesitated.

‘Speak more clearly, Frank,’ he said, ‘I really don’t know what you mean.’

His nephew hastily shook his head. ‘Not now, Uncle  …  I’ll take you home, if you will allow me.’

[…]

They crossed the yard and entered the long low house from the right. It was basically an enormous room with a tiny antechamber and a few small offices. The massive bookshelves ran along the walls, packed with thousands of volumes. There were also low glass cabinets dotted around the room, full of Roman artefacts; many a Roman grave had been excavated and robbed of its tenaciously guarded treasures. Thick carpets covered the floors; there were also a few writing desks, arm chairs and sofas.

They entered, and the Professor threw the mandrake – a gift from the Gontrams – on to the divan. They lit the candles, drew the armchairs together, and sat down. The servant uncorked a dusty bottle.

‘You may go’, said his master, ‘but do not go to bed yet. The young gentleman will be leaving later, and you must lock up.’ ‘Now?’ and he turned to his nephew.

Frank Braun drank. He picked up the mannikin and played with it. It was somewhat moist, and almost seemed to be supple.

‘Yes, it’s quite recognisable’, he murmured. ‘There are its eyes, look at them. A nose sticking out, and a mouth gaping wide. Look, Uncle, doesn’t it look as though it’s grinning? The arms are somewhat stunted, and the legs are joined down to the knees. It’s a strange object  …’ He lifted it up, and looked at it from all sides. Look round Mandrake!’ he cried. ‘This is your new home! This is where you belong, in the house of Jakob ten Brinken, and it is better than the Gontram’s home  …  You are old’, he continued, ‘four hundred, perhaps six hundred years old or more. They hanged your father because he was a murderer or a horse-thief or had written some scurrilous verse against a great nobleman in armour or a cardinal. It doesn’t matter what he did : they called him a criminal then, and they hanged him. And then he squirted his last drop of life out into the earth and produced you, you strange creature. And mother earth received in her fruitful womb this parting gift of the criminal and laboured and brought you forth. She, the most gigantic, most powerful one, bore you, an ugly, wretched mannikin! And they dug you out at midnight, at the cross roads, shaking with dread, with howling, screaming incantations. And then, when you first saw the light of the moon, you saw your father’s body, hanging on the gallows, all brittle bones and rotting fragments of flesh. And they took you with them, those who had strung him up, – your father. They grabbed you, and dragged you home – you were meant to make them rich! Pure gold and young love! They knew well you would also bring torment, and desperation, and finally a wretched death. They knew that but they still dug you up and took you with them : they accepted all this, for wealth and love.’

The Professor spoke. ‘You have a fine way of looking on things, my boy. You are a dreamer.’

‘Yes’ said the student, ‘I am as you are.’

‘Me?’ laughed the Professor, ‘I feel that my life has run a fairly normal course.’

But his nephew shook his head. ‘No, Uncle Jakob, it hasn’t. You give normal names to things that other people would call fantastic. Just think about your experiments! For you they are trivia, paths that might some day lead to a goal. But no normal man would ever have hit upon them: only a visionary could have done that. And only a wild man, someone in whose veins blood flows which is hot as that of the ten Brinkens; only a man like this would dare to do what you must now do.’

The old man interrupted him, unwillingly, and strangely flattered. ‘You’re raving, Frank. And you don’t know whether I’ve a mind to do this mysterious thing that you are talking about, something about which I haven’t the faintest idea.’

But the student didn’t give up; his voice was clear and confident, and every syllable expressed his strength of conviction.

‘You will do it, Uncle, I know you will. And you’ll do it because nobody else can, because you’re the only person in the world who can do it. Of course, there are other scholars who are doing the same experiments that you began with, who have got just as far as you have, perhaps even further. But they are normal people, dry, desiccated men of science. They would mock me if I came to them with my ideas, laugh me out of court, call me a fool. Or they would throw me out on to the street because I dared come to them with such notions, notions that they would call indecent, immoral and reprehensible. Ideas that tamper with the divine laws of creation, that cock a snook at nature. But not you, Uncle, you wouldn’t laugh at me or throw me out of the door. You would be intrigued, as I am intrigued and that’s why you’re the only man to do it.’

‘But do what, for God’s sake?’

The student rose, and filled both glasses to the brim. ‘Let’s drink a toast, old magician,’ he cried, ‘let’s drink! Let new life flow from old bottles! Long live your child!’ He clinked glasses with his uncle, emptied his own in one draught and threw it at the ceiling. It shattered, but the splinters of glass fell silently on to the heavy carpet.

Frank brought his chair up closer. ‘Now listen, Uncle, to what I mean. You’re doubtless impatient with my long introduction, don’t be angry with me. It only helped me get my thoughts in order, to form them and make them more tangible. What I mean is this. You are going to make a mandragora, a mandrake-creature, turning legend into reality. What does is matter whether or not it’s superstition, medieval hocus-pocus or mystical obscurantism from another age? You are going to turn the old lie into something truthful : you will create it, and it will stand there in the clear light of day, tangible for all the world to see, and no stupid little professor will be able to deny it. And now pay attention to how you will make it. You will easily find a criminal, that isn’t difficult. And I don’t think it matters whether he died on the crossroads or was hanged. We’ve made progress: the prison yard and the guillotine are much more convenient. And better for your purpose : thanks to your contacts you will be able to get hold of that rare liquid which we need, and thereby wrenching new life from death. And what about the earth? Look at the symbolism, Uncle : the earth equals fertility. The earth is woman, she nourishes the seed which was given to her womb, she lets it grow, blossom and carry fruit. So take that which is as fruitful as the earth : get a woman. But the earth is an eternal whore, serving all and sundry. It is the eternal mother the ever-available whore for countless millions. Nobody is denied her lustful body, she is there for all to take. All that has life fructifies her teeming womb, and has done for millennia. So, Uncle Jakob, you must take a whore, the most brazen and shameless one you can find, one who was born to be a prostitute. Not someone who is forced into the trade by destitution, nor one who was a victim of seduction. No, nobody like that. Get someone who was a harlot before she could walk, one who exults in her shamelessness, for whom it is life itself. That’s the one you must choose, and her womb will be as the womb of the earth. You are rich, you will find her. You’re no novice in these matters, you can give her a large sum of money, buy her for your experiment. And if she’s the right one, why, she’ll laugh her head off and press you to her greasy breasts and kiss you to death, because you’ll offer her what no man has done before! What happens then, you know better than I do. You will doubtless be able to do with humans what you’ve been doing with monkeys or guinea pigs. To be prepared, that’s the thing! Prepared for the moment when your murderer’s head flies cursing into the basket!’