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Archive for the ‘fantasy’ Category

Der Orchideengarten Vol 1 No 5 contains the stories and poems: Otto te Kloot- Orchids; Wilhem Nhil- The Cannibal Club; Charles Baudelaire- The Spectre; Wilhem Meinhold- The Amber Witch-How My Poor Child Was Sentenced To Be Put To The Question (translation by Lady Duff-Gordon).These have been translated by Joe E. Bandel and include the original 1919 artwork. Technical Editor is John Hirschhorn-Smith.

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Der Orchideengarten Vol 1 No 4 contains the stories and poems: The Coffee Pot by Theophile Gautier; Dios Vienne by Leo Perutz; Cox-City by Apollinarius Wileem; Adventure of a Wolf by Alexander Petofi. These have been translated by Joe E. Bandel and include the original artwork. Technical Editor is John Hirschhorn-Smith.

Just in time for the first of August! I really loved translating these stories! I can’t choose between “The Coffee Pot” and “Dios Vienne” as my favorites for this issue. Just to be upfront, “Dios Vienne” appears to be a fragment from the book “The Marquis de Bolibar”. It was so interesting that I bought a cheap copy of the novel on line and am looking forward to reading the entire story. “The Coffee Pot” really touched my heart and reminded me of why I love this type of literature so much.

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Simplicissimus Vol. 1 No. 1 was first published on 4 April 1896 in the German language as a satirical arts weekly. This is the first English translation and it has been reformatted to a color magazine. It was originally published in newspaper form. Later issues had lots of interior color illustrations in the Art Nouveau style. The front and back covers are always specially colored and beautiful. This first issue was much more simplistic. It contains stories and poems by: Frank Wedekind-Princess Russalka; Richard Dehmel-Greeted by Fear; Jacob Wasserman-Siesta; Arthur Holitscher-The Lonely Pond; Mia Holm-Alone; Theodor Wolff-Song; Th. Th. Heine-Wurst and Love; Georg Herwegh-Homage; Robert Bruss-To Georg Herwegh in the summer of 1852; Carl Busse-Leaving in Spring; Joe E. Bandel-The Last Page. Translation by Joe E. Bandel.

I am excited to publish this very first issue of Simplicissimus! It has long been a dream of mine and I am finally able to realize it. This series is simply for those who love beautiful words and beautiful pictures. There is a soul and a spirit within each issue that carries a vitality and love of life that is missing to today’s world and we need it! At least I do!

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Der Orchideengarten Vol 1 no3contains the Stories: The Cask of Amontillado by Edgar Allan Poe; The Brain by Max Meixner; The Witching Hour by Alexander Freih. von Bernus; The Harvest by A.M. Frey; Rebellion in Nirvana by K. Roellinghoff. These stories are in the English language and include the original artwork. Translations are by Joe E. Bandel; Technical editor is John Hirshhorn-Smith

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Der Orchideengarten Vol 1 No 2

Der Orchideengarten Vol 1 No 2 is the second issue of the world’s first illustrated fantasy magazine originally published in the German language in 1919. This English translation keeps the original art and contains the following stories: The Deadly Supper by Karl and Joseph Kapek; The Heart by Otto Zoff; The Hasty Corpse by Wilhelm Nhil; The World On Ash Wednesday by Edgar Steiger; The Phantom Coach by Amelia Edwards; Translations are by Joe E. Bandel

The second issue of Der Orchideengarten is now available! I am planning on doing one a month so this is the July issue! Remember Der Orchideengarten is only available through Lulu publishing!

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Der Orchideengarten Vol 1, No. 1

I’ve just finished my latest project, the first issue of Der Orchideengarten Vol 1, no 1 which was published in 1919 in the German language. I’ve translated it and am republishing it through Lulu Press. It is the first in an entire series of old dark fantasy and science fiction.

Der Orchideengarten was the world’s first illustrated fantasy magazine and has a definite place in history. This first issue contains stories by Rudolph Schneider, Paul Frank, Karl Hans Strobl, Max Rohrer, Victor Hugo and A.M. Frey. I have tried to keep it as authentic as possible keeping the original illustrations and art. I am hoping to translate and publish the entire series of forgotten stories and art.

This will only be available through Lulu publishing company at this link.

 

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International Space Station, View, Space

Wow! Talk about intense energies!  As we near the end of the year our supply of spiritual light becomes limited and some even run out…We eagerly await the coming year’s influx of spiritual light and we prepare ourselves to receive as much as we can. At least that is what we should be doing…

Tradition  has this darkest time of the year as quite challenging. Are we experiencing the total collapse of our dreams or will we experience the Christmas miracle at the last moment? Will this be a time of despair or celebration? I can only speak for myself.

But first I would like to share that this year things are affecting me on the physical level, making changes to my physical life and not just my spiritual life. That might sound meaningless to others so I will try to explain.

Back in 1991 I experienced the most profound spiritual experience of my life, the crossing of the Great Abyss and my merging with God or Source. At the time I was totally living in my head and very dysfunctional in physical life. I had lost my connection to earth.

In fact, I had a magickal encounter with the Crowley energies that completely severed my silver cord causing it to erupt in flames and be destroyed. My awareness survived by retreating into the safety of Source where I not only survived but began the process of regeneration and coming back down to the earth planes.

There was an active and dynamic process at work that was sifting through all the levels of my soul, healing and rebuilding them from scratch from the top down. It started with the spiritual energies and gave me spiritual illuminations which helped me to understand archetypal reality. Then it moved down into my mental levels completing my philosophy of life or personal paradigm if you will.

Then the activity began to take place in my emotional levels and continued working downward as it permanently activated my various astral bodies one by one and granted me the ability to permanently live in both worlds, the physical and the unseen astral worlds.

1993-95 were years of almost constant magickal battle as I was almost continuously attacked. I fought back the only way I knew how, by channeling the Source energies in my defense. I studied the kabbalah, and freemasonry. I was initiated into both the York Rite of Freemasonry and Crowley’s OTO. There were life conflicts and I became an over the road truck driver, unable to actively participate in either of these schools. While I was attacked, my connection to Source was my shelter, my armor and my weapon. My world could collapse around me, but I was never in real danger.

I continued to work with the healing energies of Organic Gnosticism and gradually left all these influences behind me. I dropped my life long membership in the Rosicrucian Order AMORC and the Traditional Martinist Order. I also became active in the pagan community as I continued working with the energies of earth and human sexuality. I was interested in these things because they involved the lower astral energies and those were the energies that were active inside me at the time.

But through all these years it was only astral activity and even though it brought the development of my soul and its powers through the permanent activation of my various astral bodies, nothing really manifested in the physical plane. Physical life continued to be a hardship and struggle against unrelenting forces.

The point of all this is that a process that began inside myself over thirty years ago has finally reached the point where no further downward astral activity is possible and physical manifestations are beginning to occur in my life. I am becoming physically empowered and it is pretty nice! Good things are happening and I’m really grateful and looking forward to the coming changes. I’ve been waiting for over thirty years for these things to happen and they finally are…

These past threads of my life are now snapping back together in empowering ways as I’ve reported in past posts. I am being empowered through my past connections as they once more come into alignment with my soul and with Source. I seem to be experiencing the Christmas miracle and my heart is filled with love and good-will for all life. These past areas of conflict have become magically supportive instead.

There has been an ongoing war for this world and I have been caught up in it for many years now. This war has already been won on the astral planes and is only now beginning to manifest physically. I’ve shared over and over again, strive for the goal and don’t fall into the trap of conflict. Conflict is only mutually destructive.

Between now and the winter solstice we will see who is who within our society and around the world. We will see which dreams collapse and which dreams embrace the incoming energies of the new year. We are currently experiencing The Event!

 

 

 

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Children, Siblings, Brother, Sister, Love, Child

This entire series of posts will contain new and perhaps difficult information that must have time to be slowly digested and appreciated. So I’m just going to take baby steps here as we talk more about the seven-fold soul and the physical body. Just to be clear the personality is tied to the physical body we currently inhabit and is discarded with the death of the physical body itself.

But the seven-fold soul carries the sense of self or identity that exists from life time to life time and this sense of self or identity, this soul, grows more complex and sensitive as it gains lifetimes of experience. We are not the same in the sense that some of us have only a few lifetimes here on earth and others have millenniums of experience here on earth that include lifetimes as other living species.

Our physical bodies are male or female according to our gender at birth, but our soul remains equally balanced between male and female although polarity still exists at the soul level. We can have a male/female soul or a female/male soul and which one will determine the nature of our soul growth and its development from life time to life time. It will also determine which type of soul we are attracted to.

There is a strong energetic attraction between a soul that is male/female and one that is female/male. These opposites are drawn together in what are often termed love relationships. The exchange of energies between these opposites create the energy and catalyst for further soul growth for both individuals. Roughly speaking there is a spark, there is attraction and a sense of becoming more complete through the dynamics of that relationship. Then the spark is gone and there is no further catalytic effect. No more growth, at least not the type of growth that marked the intense beginning of the love relationship.

Now life evolved from the cellular upwards into more highly evolved and complex life forms. We will find humans at all levels of evolution and we will find animals and other species at all levels of evolution. The youngest and least experienced souls will be drawn together at the lower and most primitive levels. Only the more advanced and more complex souls will be drawn together at the highest levels.

But we all forget from life time to life time and must relearn the lessons of the soul from the ground up beginning with raw sexuality and physical attraction. So we teach each other and help each other on the slow path of soul development. From the perspective of the mystery schools this process could be called a type of serial monogamy even though physical sex is not required for the energy exchange between the romantic couple.

The natural cycle of falling in love, growth of the soul and then falling out of love, only to find a new and more evolved partner to fall in love with needs to be understood and recognized. for what it is. Moving step by step up the evolutionary ladder of the soul. It is only when the seven-fold layers of the soul have been developed that we can even begin to consider permanent or long lasting soulmate or divine counterpart relationships.

The critical factor to be avoided here from the perspective of the mystery schools is the falling into debauchery and indiscriminate physical sexual relationships that actually harm the soul and cause it to lose its way. For this reason and others a distinction has always been made between chaste relationships (serial monogamy) and indiscriminate sexuality. There should never be a rush toward physical consummation of the spiritual relationship, but a savoring of it while it lasts, knowing that you may both quite likely be evolving in different directions. (at least until all seven astral bodies have been permanently activated)

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The Strangling Hand
by Karl Hans Strobl
translated by Joe E. Bandel
Copyright Joe E. Bandel
The Strangling Hand Ch 2 pg 33-36

Chapter 2 The Forest People

Andreas Semilasso lived among people for half a century before renouncing them. His habits ran counter to the laws of the common interest so much that his life was a constant battle. He really enjoyed this battle, even though a few tried to tell him that the will of the people was stronger and would always win. The powers were too unevenly distributed, and it was impossible for even the strongest personality to go against the written law and custom. So the people laughed at the foolishness of Andreas Semilasso and shook their heads over his eccentrics, until they began to recognize the dangerousness of his example and their smiles transformed into frowns of scorn.

They finally recognized that such resistance against society could not be allowed to go unpunished, and that such a person, who only lived for his own wild and untamed nature, could lead the herd into a revolution and uprising against customs. It was as if a beautiful, untamed beast ran around free, with its fangs and claws, and its unbounded power was an immense threat to the peaceful citizen. At first the law good naturedly overlooked the little trespasses of Andreas Semilasso, but when he threw a tax collector out the door so violently that his leg was broken, it was too much and they stuck him behind secure walls for a while.

After Andreas Semilasso was set free, public opinion turned against him. It was certain that people who had once considered him formidable were now inclined against him and decided to find ways to weaken his superior strength. But it was impossible for these crippled people, who had lost all their instincts, and their will to live. But he never again went out among them, never made friends with the students or public. He did what he should have done a long time ago. He gave up his dwelling place among people.

With his few bits and pieces, which he loaded onto a donkey, he left the city, wearing a large gray smock belted with a cord around his body and with sandals on his feet. On his head, for protection against the sun, was a broad straw hat, the remnant of a Panama hat, from which he had removed the top part. His black straggly hair protruded out from the top of it and the yellow straw of the brim surrounded his head and grim face like a massive halo. He looked like a wandering apostle, warlike and the enemy of all luxury, as he marched through the streets of the city, followed by a crowd of jubilant urchins. Andreas Semilasso let them scream and bluster behind him, but when a beefy fellow confronted him just outside the city and shouted scornful words at him, he turned around and threw a stone at his head.

So he took his leave from civilization and moved into a cave in the forest, which he had discovered on one of his day long excursions. Now he had won his solitude; now they wouldn’t lock him up anymore; now he was free, to enjoy all things above and below the earth as he pleased. He transformed the front of his cave into a comfortable chamber with windows, a door and an oven, and the back of his cave opened out into a huge cathedral. From this cathedral, whose pointed arches bored high above into the darkness, branching passages led far beneath the rock. When harsh fires burned inside of him, Andreas Semilasso often sat there in complete darkness on a pile of rubble, which had been formed by falling stone. He listened to the voices of the deep. Somewhere down below, from a split in the limestone came the sound of water, like the song of the blood that flowed in his veins.

During the course of the year he explored his cave and named the two passages with names that sounded like those found in old chronicles. He named one “Justice”, which was long and winding, very extensive and always went in ever widening circles until one finally got lost in the darkness. The other he named “Injustice”. It was short and straight and led to a hole in the rock wall from which he could look out into a valley. There was also a little room which he called the chapel, because of the white stalactite formations and a glittering pillar. In the center lay a massive, heavy black block of stone which he named “the Deed”. There was also a black pool in the back of a distant grotto, which reflected the pointed flames of the torch he carried upon the cold waters of its ebony surface. Its waters were fed by some unknown spring from somewhere deep below, but the water overflowed and poured into an abyss which he named “the Insatiable”. In the spring the snow water also came streaming in, shutting off a portion of the cave and overflowing, so that Andreas Semilasso was more than once in danger of his life. That was why he loved this traitorous pool.

This was not some silly game that the hermit was playing. When a story came to his ear about someone who was repressed by the brutal law of the majority, in which some refined sensibility became choked under its force, then he went down the passage of Justice, to where the unexplored darkness began, extinguished his torch and waited until he heard laughter in the darkness. When he heard of a brave deed that opposed the desires of the crowd, he was led to the passage of Injustice and to the window, from which he waved out at the great valley. When he wanted to strengthen his will, he went to the chamber of the glittering pillar and laid his hands upon the wet black block of stone, drawing strength from it until his own power became greater and greater and he felt prepared for anything.

Everything that he thought was superficial and foolish, any dispensable equipment and the remains of his meals, he threw into “the Insatiable”. When he wanted to rid himself of tormenting thoughts, he banished them by imprisoning their spirits in stones, which he drowned in the black pool. One of his favorite wonders in this subterranean kingdom was a temporary flight up a stone chimney which he would search out when he wanted to lighten his spirits. The chimney was a narrow fissure that led to the surface world. Fir trees stood over its entrance, which slowly leaked drops of water. The rush of the wind in the branches created a wild bellowing of strange beauty and moving rhythm, like the ridiculous beating wings of the angel of creation, and the falling drops of water counted out the beats between this wonderful song of eternity with the silver ringing trickle of time.

Often Andreas Semilasso didn’t come out of his passages and grotto into the light for weeks. But when he did he was seized with the beauty of a sunset, the green of the trees in front of his door or the purple colors of the evening sky which he glimpsed from out of some fissure. These glimpses were so powerful that he would leave the underworld and give himself entirely to the wonders of the light. That was when his life in the forest began. There in the lonely hot mountain meadows, where he lay among high weeds between the forgotten tap roots of tree trunks, from out of whose cut surfaces sparkling resin dripped.

Andreas Semilasso would lay for hours among these tree trunks, which he called his brothers, so still, that the emerald lizards crawled over his hands and his shoulders, even to hesitatingly come near his face. He was familiar with the Morse code that the woodpecker beat into the bark, with the cries of the sparrow hawk and falcon, with the cooing of the forest pigeons, and the busy ants in war and peace with the thieving ground beetles kept no secrets from him. He often sat naked on a high limb and felt transformed by the sun and the light. Other times he placed himself under the falling water of a forest brook and let the drops spray over his body. Sometimes he lay on his belly watching the stupid water bugs at the edges of a pool and with long patience caught the slender Gobies in the hollow of his hand, only to fling them back out into the water.

In moonlit summer nights he searched over jagged blocks for a path from his grotto to the witches’ stone, where skewed placements of bursting rock tiles created wild adventures. Grim faces looked out from the wrinkled stone fissures. There were fortune hunters, sneering gallows birds, glum mountain spirits and even moon maidens. In the crevices tree roots lay like giant sleeping snakes, and mandrakes giggled beneath the moss. From here he could look out over the sleeping forest. At first only old hares watched him from behind the bushes and fir trees. But the shimmering things came forward on the ridge to listen to his stories, until the early morning dawn when they left him and hid themselves once more in their secret corners.

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The Strangling Hand
by Karl Hans Strobl
translated by Joe E. Bandel
Copyright Joe E. Bandel
The Strangling Hand Ch 1 pg 25-32

He appeared entirely absorbed in himself, unapproachable, unmoving like the statue of a god, behind whose stone face wild lechery lurked and whose body was completely filled with a tense power. Out of the rich treasures portrayed in the works of the poet which she had inherited, was an image that seemed to attach itself to this man, this emissary. It was the image of the Asian despot, ruler over millions of slaves as he crowded them closely together in order to transport them.

The curtain moved a little, the stranger glanced in her direction and without embarrassment gave up his comfortable posture and stood up.

“I was not announced, gracious Frau, my name is Rudolph Hainx.”

Frau Emma forced herself to nod, and then with a smile in which the corners of his mouth only lifted a little, he continued:

“I am not a journalist. I must say that first, and when I found a gentleman from the press here I immediately took the opportunity to get rid of him so he would not bother you any more. For that service I must ask you to hear me out.”

“I am prepared to listen to you.”

In the most privileged quarter of our city, there, right where the countryside presses against the city, stands a large garden and villa, one filled with every luxury that there is. The steps are made of Paris marble, and rambling Goldilocks climb upon the walls. The furniture is designed by Riemer-Schmidt and delivered from workshops in the United States. The glasses in the credenza are from Tiffany’s in New York.

In a small room, whose window shimmers with all the colors of the rainbow, you will find a chest, whose drawers protect jewelry created by Lalique. A front room, which is like an atrium, a quadrangle cut from the heavens, is cooled in the summer by one of Hermann Obrist’s elaborate fountains. Now, I know that you love paintings, so I must not forget to say that scattered through separate chambers are paintings by Bocklin, Thoma, Manet and Leibl. The stairs and front hall are filled with acrylics, and one room is decorated with original Hokusai paintings which you love so much. And for evening twilight, to inspire your dreams, is a cabinet with portraits and etchings of genuine Rembrandts.

All of the great arts are allowed to stream through this princely home. You will find a music room and a rich library with rare printings and incunables. There is an ancient Roman bath and a horse stable with English and Arabian race horses. You would not exhaust the riches of this house in an entire year. There are other collections as well that I can’t forget to mention, a weapon collection in one hall and a well organized collection of postage stamps in another.

When you go through a flight of chambers, it is like wandering through the styles and cultures of all times, from ancient Assyrian to the Epoch of Biedermeier, and I will add that the furniture and appliances in this house are not copies, but original working pieces. The gardens around the house consist of individual partitions, in which you will be enchanted by gardening arts of the past. You will find replicas of the hanging gardens of Semiramis and the intricately interlaced and precious Bosketts of Trianon. A crowd of servants will fulfill your every wish.”

“I have listened to you; why are you telling me all of this?”

“On an island in the Adriatic ocean, which has never known winter, is another house which contains all the wonders and hot freedom of paradise, built in the Grecian style. From the columned entrance you can see the ocean, which is more beautiful there than anywhere else, more moody, more moving, with many sleepy colors that awaken to play in the morning and evening. A balcony, high above the rustling tree tops, gives a free view in all directions, and the most difficult and urgent longings will find wings and become more easy and joy filled there. Nothing prevents you from living there in luxurious solitude or reveling with good friends in a Hellenistic kingdom. There in view of the ocean and the heavens you can once more find undespairing joy and build a new radiant temple over the ruins of the past. A boat floats in a little harbor, and reddish purple sails shimmer through the tips of the pines. This boat is similar to the grandness of the ship Agrippa, and like it contains rare luxuries collected together in the smallest spaces.

“Why are you telling me all this?”

“Because I come to offer you this house in the city and the one on the island.”

Frau Emma reeled under the thought, in which she appeared to fall to ruin, torn by blind and senseless forces from the solid stronghold of her newly made plans. What kind of image was this? How could this confusion of colors and brilliance be her future? Really, the description of this magnificence was dangerous. And this offer was not a joke, she could see the seriousness in the unmoving mask of this man, as he now pulled a long paper out of his breast pocket and laid it out on the writing desk.

“It goes without saying, that I would not make this offer without being prepared to also offer you the money needed for all possible trivialities that would allow you to live such a life without a care. Just name an amount, which you think will suffice, and don’t be shy. My offer has only one limit down below, but none above. Speak your fantasy, to arrange a fairy tale of gold. I am authorized to make this check out for any sum which you name.”

“You offer me an immense treasure. I must admit that this has me all confused. What do you want of me? You speak of a contract. What is this contract? Look around you , and you will see my past. What do I have to offer that is worth such a future? Is your offer a gift? Whose gift? And what … My God!…”

“You can call my offer a gift. What is needed is so simple, that there shouldn’t be any problem. Many others would not even stop to consider it, if they were offered millions upon millions. Before I tell you what is needed, I will give you something else to think about. Do the memorials of our past depend upon objects, real things, or rather much more upon tender and incontrovertible memories of real life experiences that can’t be erased?

If Caesar had lost his fame as a warrior, would his glorious past be extinguished; if the manuscript of his memoirs over the Gaullish war had been destroyed in fire; if a thief had stolen the suit of armor, which the commander had worn in the battle against Vercingetorix? Would Tamerlane’s career have been altered, would he have not won as many victories, if the skulls of his demoralized enemies had been allowed to fall from the spear tips, decay and turn to dust?”

“Be silent, be silent, I sense…”

“You have promised to hear me out. I know from the newspapers, that your husband’s will contained a strange order concerning his head. I also know that Eleagabal Kuperus has the capability of fulfilling this wish of the dead. My offer stands therein, to offer you all of these things, which I have previously made an effort to describe to you, in exchange for that head.”

The trembling fingers of Emma played around the heavy bronze sphinx, which lay upon the writing desk. But the eyes of Rudolph Hainx suddenly lit up like flaming stars and forced her glance back down. She didn’t dare look him in the eyes anymore and allowed him to sit back down at the writing desk, pick up the quill and prepare to write. The quill, with which a poet had once written a difficult sonnet, now stood at a steep angle in the hand of this stranger.

Emma had never seen such a hand. It was a cold, scrawny hand, whose sinews suddenly sprang out from the wrist as if they could not wait to elongate into fingers and transmit their command. The fingers were crooked and pointed, and on the wrist, clusters of hair grew in rocky fissures of the wrinkled skin down to the yellow knuckles. It was a gentleman’s hand, that was soft and delicate, with beautiful rounded curves , yet without the gentle swelling of fat that would hinder its grip. It was the hand of a master that lay upon the paper, which stretched tautly, prepared to write down an endless series of numbers. Evil eyes burned like perishing stars over this decisive moment.

“You say that you are making this proposal for someone else. Won’t you tell me who this contract belongs to?”
“I see that it is important for you to know this. You should know that my client has the power to fulfil his promise, but also, that it stands in his power to make being disobedient to his wishes very taxing. He has commanded me to reveal his name in only the most exceptional case. I show you the honor of realizing that your reluctance is so heavy that this exceptional case is needed.”

“– Herr Bezug has sent me to you.”

At that the Frau sprang up to the messenger, tore the quill from out of his hand and threw it to the floor with such violence that it remained stuck upright in a black splotch.

“Get out!” She screamed, “Get out!”

And now she dared look him in the eyes; now he had no more power over her. Rudolph Hainx took his dusty gray gloves from the chair and picked up his hat.

“You will regret this!”

Frau Emma looked around, as if searching for a weapon to use against him. Then she ran to the door of the courtyard and leaned against the iron railing that sagged beneath her weight. She appeared prepared to call the entire house for help against the messenger, to set all the neighbors against him. Rudolph Hainx stepped past without her seeing, an envoy whose deal had been broken, and went forth in order to declare a war. His smooth, immaculate elegance framed the dirty walls of the stairs for a moment as he climbed down, only to once more come into view before crossing the courtyard down below and disappearing out the wide mouth of the main house door.

 

I am currently translating this book a few pages at a time. I will be posting them as I translate them. If you enjoy this story and type of literature please support me and become a patron. Translation is hard work and takes a lot of time. Consider donating $1 a month to help out. This book is over 500 pages long! You can donate at my website:
http://thelastrosicrucian.is/wp/
or my Patreon link: https://www.patreon.com/anarchistbanjo
Comments are welcome!

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