By Hanns Heinz Ewers 1911
Translated by Joe E. Bandel 2009
Copyright 2009 by Joe E. Bandel Protected under United States Copyright Law as a derivative work of a foreign Author originally published prior to 1923
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 threw 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 sober- Pfui- That’s when he screamed.”
The Privy Councilor smiled, “What did he scream? Must I close my eyes again?”
“No,” she cried. “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.
“No,’ she answered. “Not at the very last. After the hard board was locked firmly around his neck with his head sticking out the other side he became very quiet. Something seemed to be going on inside of him.”
The professor became very attentive, “Could you see his face, your Highness? Could you guess at what was going on inside him?”
The princess said, “I could see him just as clearly as I see you right now sitting in front of me. – What was going on inside him- I don’t really know- there was just an instant- After the executioner looked around one last time to see that everything was ready- when his hand pressed the button that released the blade. I saw the eyes of the murderer, they stood wide open, with insane passion, saw his mouth panting and his features contorted with desire-“
She stopped.
“Was that all?” inquired the Privy Councilor.
She finished, “Yes, then the guillotine fell and his head sprang into the sack that one of the assistants held open- Please, reach me the marmalade, your Excellency.”
There was a knock at the door. It opened and Dr. Petersen stepped inside. In his hand swung a long glass tube, tightly corked and wrapped in wadding.
“Good morning, your Highness,” he said. “Good morning, your Excellency. Here- here it is.”
The princess sprang up, “Let me see-“
But the Privy Councilor held her back. “Slow down, your Highness. You will see it soon enough. If it is all right with you, we will get right to work.”
He turned to the assistant doctor, “I don’t know if it will be important, but just in case it would be a good idea if you-“
His voice sunk as he put his lips to the ear of the doctor.
He nodded, “Very well, your Excellency. I will give the orders immediately.”
They went through the white corridors and stopped just in front of No. Seventeen.
“Here she is,” said the Privy Councilor as he carefully opened the door.
The room was entirely white, radiant with sunlight. The girl lay deeply asleep in bed. A bright ray scurried in from the tightly barred windows, trembled on the floor, clambered up a golden ladder, darted across the sheets and nestled lovingly on her sweet cheek, plunging her red hair into glowing flames. Her lips were moving- half open- as if she were lightly whispering words of love.
“She’s dreaming of her prince,” said the Privy Councilor.
Then he laid his cold, moist hand on her shoulder and shook it.
“Wake up Alma.”
A slight shock flew through her limbs. She sat up, drunk with sleep.
“What do you want?” she stammered.
Then she recognized the Professor. “Leave me alone.”
“Come on Alma, don’t be foolish,” the Privy Councilor admonished her. “It is finally time. Be sensible and don’t give us any trouble.”
With a quick jerk he pulled the sheets away throwing her onto the floor.
The eyes of the princess widened, “Very good! The girl is very well endowed- that is convenient.”
But the prostitute pulled her nightshirt down and covered herself as well as possible with a pillow.
“Go away!” She screamed. “I won’t do it!”
The Privy Councilor waved to the assistant doctor.
“Go,” he commanded. “Hurry, we don’t have any time to lose.”
Dr. Petersen quickly left the room. The princess came up and sat on the bed, talked to the girl.
“Don’t be silly, little one. It won’t do any good.”
She attempted to caress her, massaging her with fat be-ringed fingers over throat and neck, down to her breasts.
Alma pushed her away, “What do you want? Who are you? Go away, away. I won’t do it!”
The princess would not be rebuffed, “I only want what’s best for you child. I’ll give you a pretty ring and a new dress.”
“I don’t want a ring,” screamed the prostitute. “I don’t need a new dress. I want to go from here. Why won’t they leave me in peace?”
The Privy Councilor opened the glass tube in smiling tranquility.
“Later you will be left in peace and later you can go. Meanwhile you have an obligation to fulfill that you agreed to at the very beginning. Ah, there you are doctor.”
He turned to the assistant doctor who had just entered with a chloroform mask in his hand.
“Come here quickly.”
The prostitute stared at him with terrified, wide protruding eyes.
“No,” she lamented. “No! No!”
She made as if to spring out of the bed and pushed the assistant doctor so hard with both hands on his chest as he tried to restrain her that he staggered back and almost fell down. Then the princess threw herself onto the girl with wide stretched arms, pressing her back into the bed with her mighty weight. Her fingers with their many rings clawed into the luminous flesh as she gripped a long strand of red hair in her teeth.
The prostitute struggled, kicking her legs into the air, unable to free her arms or move her body under this mighty burden. She saw as the doctor placed the mask over her face, heard him lightly counting “one, two, three-“.
She screamed and tried to turn her head to the side away from the mask, “No! No! I won’t! I won’t! Oh, I can’t breathe-“
Then her screams died away, turned into a pitiful weak whimper, “Mother, oh mother.”
