Free Hanns Heinz Ewers Alraune by Joe Bandel

entire company stood
triumphant in the middle of his room.
    Oh what a company! Every single one of them
was a harmless, kind and good-natured fellow. Every single one–to a
man, could chat by themselves for half an hour–But together,
together they were insufferable. Mostly, it was their comments,
that they were all depressed. This wild mixture of officers and
students forgot their high stations and always talked of the
foolish happenings at the fortress. They sang, they drank, they
played. One day, one night, like all the rest. In between were a
few girls that they dragged up here and a few outings down to the
town below. Those were their heroic deeds and they didn’t talk
about anything else!
    The ones that had been here the longest were
the worst, entirely depraved and caught up in this perpetual cycle.
Dr. Burmüller had shot his brother-in-law dead and had sat up here
for two years now. His neighbor, the Dragoon lieutenant, Baron von
Vallendar had been enjoying the good air up here for a half year
longer than that. And the new ones that came in, scarcely a week
went by without them trying to prove who was the crudest and
wildest–They were held in highest regard.
    Frank Braun was held in high regard. He had
locked up the piano on the second day because he didn’t want to
listen any more to the horrible “Song of Spring” the cavalry
captain kept playing. He put the key in his pocket, went outside
and then threw it over the fortress wall. He had also brought his
dueling pistols with him and shot them all day long. He could
guzzle and escape as well as anyone up here.
    Really, he had enjoyed these summer months at
the fortress. He had dragged in a pile of books, a new writing
quill and sheets of writing paper, believing he could work here,
looking forward to the constraint of the solitude. But he hadn’t
been able to open a book, had not written one letter.
    Instead he had been pulled into this wild
childish whirlpool that he loathed and went along with it day after
day. He hated his comrades–every single one of them–
    His attendant came into the garden,
saluted:
    “Herr Doctor, A letter for you.”
    A letter? On Sunday afternoon? He took it out
of the soldier’s hand. It was a special express letter that had
been forwarded to him up here. He recognized the thin scrawl of his
uncle’s handwriting. From him? What did his uncle suddenly want of
him? He weighed the letter in his hand.
    Oh, he was tempted to send the letter back,
“delivery refused”. What was going on with the old professor
anyway? Yes, the last time he had seen him was when he had traveled
back to Lendenich with him after the celebration at the Gontrams.
That was when he had tried to persuade his uncle to create an
alraune creature. That was two years ago.
    Ah, now it was all coming back to him! He had
gone to a different university, had passed his exams. Then he had
sat in a hole in Lorraine–busy as a junior attorney–Busy? Bah, he
had set out in life thinking he would travel when he got out of
college. He was popular with the women, and with those that loved a
loose life and wild ways. His superior viewed him very
unfavorably.
    Oh yes, he worked, a bit here and there–for
himself. But it was always what his superior called public nuisance
cases. He sneaked away when he could, traveled to Paris. It was
better at the house on Butte Sacrée than in court. He didn’t know
for sure where it would all lead. It was certain that he would
never be a jurist, attorney, judge or other public servant. But
then, what should he do? He lived there, got into more debt every
day–
    Now he held this letter in his hand and felt
torn between ripping it open and sending it back like it was as a
late answer to a different letter his uncle had written him two
years ago.
    It had been shortly after that night. He had
ridden through the village at midnight with five other students,
back from an outing into the seven mountains. On a sudden impulse
he had invited