Alraune by Hanns Heinz Ewers and translated by Joe E Bandel

The student looked across, she always looked good, this old,
well-formed lady. He believed she really had all the adventures that
she related. At one time she had been the fiery Diva of Europe. Now
she lived in this city that was still stuck back in the fourth century in
her little villa. She took long walks through her gardens every
evening, put flowers on the graves of her dead hounds and cried for a
half-hour.
Now she sang. She had lost her magnificent voice years ago, but
there was still a rare magic in her performance, out of the old school.
The smile of the conqueror lay on her rouged lips and the thick face
paint attempted to capture the former sweetness of her features. Her
thick sweaty hands played with her ivory fan and her eyes searched
the room as if trying to scratch and pull the applause out of the
audience.
Oh yes, she certainly fit in here, Madame Marion Vère de Vère,
fit in this house, like all the others that were guests. Frank Braun
looked around. There sat his dear uncle with the princess and behind
them leaning against the door stood Attorney Manasse and Chaplain
Schöder. The long, gaunt, dark chaplain was the best wine
connoisseur on the Mosel and the Saar. It was nearly impossible to
find a wine cellar that he had not gone into and sampled. Schröder
had written a never-ending clever book about the abstruse philosophy
of Plotinus and at the same time had written the skits for the Puppet
Theater in Cologne. He was particularly enthusiastic about the first
Napoleon. He hated the Prussians and anyone that spoke of the
Kaiser. Every year on the fifth of May he traveled back to Cologne
and the Minority Church where he celebrated a High Mass for the
tormented dead of the “Grand Army”.
There sat large, gold spectacled, Stanislaus Schacht, candidate
for a degree in Philosophy, in his sixteenth semester, too fat, too lazy
to get off his chair. For years he had lived as a lodger at the widow of
Professor Dr. von Dollinger’s house. For a long time now he had been
installed as the new master of the house. She was that little, ugly, over
thin woman sitting beside him, always filling his glass and loading his
plate with heaping portions of food. She didn’t eat anything–but she
drank as much as he did and with every new glass her ardor grew. She
laughingly caressed his huge meaty arm with her bony finger.
Near her stood Karl Mohnen, Dr. jur and Dr. phil. He was a
schoolmate and chess player. It was through chess that they had met
and become great friends. By now he had studied almost as long as
Stanislaus, only he was always taking exams, always changing his
major. At the moment it was Philosophy and he was studying for his
third exam. He looked like a clerk in a department store, quick,
hurried and always moving.
Frank Braun always thought that he should go into business as a
merchant. He would certainly be happy running a confectionery
where he would have women to serve him. He was always looking for
a rich party–on the street–large window promenades too. He had an
aptitude for meeting new people and making new friends, especially
traveling English women. He clutched onto them gladly–but sadly
they had no money.
There was still another person there, the small Hussar lieutenant
with the little black mustache that was chatting with the girls. He, the
young Count Geroldingen, could always be found back stage in every
theater performance. He painted the sets, was talented with the violin
and the best horse racer in the regiment. He was now telling Olga and
Frieda something about Beethoven that was horribly boring. They
were only listening because he was such a handsome little lieutenant.
Oh yes, they all belonged here without exception. They all had a
little gypsy blood–despite titles and orders, despite tonsures and
uniforms, despite diamonds and golden spectacles, despite all the
civilized posturing. Some were devouring food; others were making
small detours away from the path of civilized decency.
A roar resounded and merged with Frau Marion’s singing. It was
the Gontram rascals fighting on the stairs. Their mother went up to
quiet them down. Then Wölfchen screamed in the next room and the
girls had to carry the child up into the attic. They took Cyclops along,
putting both to bed in the narrow child’s wagon.
Frau Marion began her second song, “The Dance of Shadows”
from the opera “Dinorah”.
The princess asked the Privy Councilor about his latest
endeavors and if she could come once more to see the remarkable
frogs, amphibians and cute monkeys. Yes, she could certainly come.
There was a new species of rose that she should really see. It was at
his Mehlemer castle. He also had large white camellias that his
gardener had planted; she would be interested in them as well.
But the princess was more interested in the frogs and monkeys
than the roses and camellias so he related his endeavors to transfer
eggs from one frog to another and artificially inseminate them. He
told her that he had already produced a beautiful female frog with two
heads and another with fourteen eyes on its back.
He would dissect one and remove the eggs from it and fertilize
them before transferring the little tadpoles to another frog and just like
that, the cells would merrily divide and develop into new life with
heads and tails, eyes and legs.
Then he told her about his efforts with monkeys, relating that he
had two young long tailed monkeys that were being suckled by their
virgin mother–She had never even seen a male monkey!
That interested the princess the most and she asked for all the
details. She had read something about it but didn’t understand all the
Greek and Latin words. Maybe he could explain it to her in perfect
German so she could understand?
The obscene cliches and behaviors dripped out of the Privy
Councilor as he explained in anatomical detail just what he did.
Spittle drooled down from the corners of his mouth and ran down his
heavy, hanging lower lip.
He enjoyed this game, this obscene chatter, watching her
voluptuously slurp up every shameful word. Then when he was close
to saying an especially repulsive word, he would throw in “Your
Highness” and savor with delight the titillation of the delicious
contrast.
And how she listened to him! Her face was becoming flushed,
excited, almost trembling, sucking this Bordello atmosphere in with
all of her pores, as he unveiled what really went on behind the thin
scientific banner.
“Do you only inseminate monkeys, Herr Privy Councilor?” she
asked breathlessly.
“No,” he said, “also rats and Guinea pigs. Would you like to
watch, Your Highness, when I–”
He lowered his voice, almost whispered.
She cried, “Yes, yes! I must see it! Gladly, very gladly! When?”
Then she added with a slow, almost evil dignity. “Did you know,
Herr Privy Councilor, that nothing interests me more than the study of
medicine. I believe I would have been a very talented doctor.”
He looked at her and grinned widely, “No doubt, Your
Highness.”
And he thought, that she certainly would have been a much
better Bordello Mother. But he was satisfied; he had his little fish
hooked safely on his line.
Then he continued again about his new breed of rose and the
camellias at his castle on the Rhine. It was so troublesome for him,
and he had only taken possession of it as a favor. The location was
such an excellent one and the view–Perhaps when her Highness
finally decided to buy a place she might–
Princess Wolkonski decided herself, without any hesitation at all.
“Yes, certainly Herr Privy Councillor, yes, certainly, naturally I
will take your castle!”
She saw Frank Braun going past and called out to him, “Hey,
Herr Studious! Herr Studious! Come over here! Your uncle has
promised that I can observe one of his experiments. Isn’t that
delightfully charming? Have you already seen what he does?”
“No,” said Frank Braun. “I’m not at all interested.”
He turned to go away but she grabbed him by the arm and
stopped him.
“Give me a cigarette! Oh, and, yes, a glass of champagne
please.”
She shivered in hot desire, beads of sweat crept over her massive
flesh. Her crude senses had been whipped to a frenzy from her
shameless talk with the old man. Her passion needed a goal, a target,
and it broke over the young fellow like a huge wave.
“Tell me, Herr Studious,” her breath panted, her mighty breasts
threatened to leap out of her dress. “Tell me, do you believe that–
that–Herr Privy Councilor–his science–his experiments with artificial
insemination–does he do it with people as well?”
She knew very well that he didn’t, but she needed to say it before
she could get to what she really wanted with this young, fresh and
handsome student.
Frank Braun laughed, instinctively understanding what she had
in mind.
“But of course, Your Highness,” he said lightly. “Most certainly!
Uncle is already working on it, has discovered a new procedure so
refined that the poor woman in question is not even aware of it. Not at
all–until she wakes up one beautiful day and discovers that she is
pregnant, probably in the fourth or fifth month!
Be very careful Your Highness, keep a watchful eye on Herr
Privy Councilor. Who knows, you might already be–”
“Heaven Forbid!” screamed the princess.
“Yes, it could happen,” he cried. “Wouldn’t it be very
unpleasant? When you have done absolutely nothing to make it
happen!”
Crash! Something fell off the wall, fell on Sophia, hitting the
housemaid right on the head. The maid screamed out loud and in her
fright dropped the silver tray she had been serving coffee on.
“A shame about the beautiful silver service,” said Frau Gontram
calmly. “What happened?”
Dr. Mohnen immediately took a quick look at the crying
housemaid, cut a strand of hair away, washed the gaping edges of the
wound and stopped the bleeding with a yellow Iron Chloride wad. He
didn’t forget to pat the beautiful girl on the cheeks and furtively
squeeze one of her firm breasts. Then he gave her some wine to drink,
spoke to her, lightly in her ear.
The Hussar lieutenant stooped, picked up the thing that had
caused the damage, raised it high and looked at it from all sides.
There were all kinds of remarkable things hanging on the wall.
There was a Kaneka Idol, half male and half female, colorfully
painted with yellow and red stripes. Two old heavy and deformed
riding boots hung there complete with impressive Spanish spurs.
There were all sorts of rusty weapons as well.
On the gray wall was also pressed the Doctorate Diploma of
some old Gontram from a Jesuit College in Seville. Near it hung a
wonderful ivory crucifix inlaid with gold. On the other side was a
large heavy Buddhist cross with a rose in the center carved out of
green Jade. Right above that you could see the large tear in the
wallpaper where a nail had torn its way out of the brittle plaster.

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Madame Bluebeard by Karl Hans Strobl and translated by Joe E Bandel

“Before, I was a worker in the Simplon Tunnel.”
“Not bad, but grueling.”
“One must do something for one’s health.”
“You made a dazzling entrance yesterday. You’re
the darling of Abbazia’s young ladies. If the fervor
grows, you’ll get a torchlight parade tonight. That
lasso throw was magnificent.”
“Why else would I have spent two years in South
America if not to learn such tricks?”
Hugo settled at the small table between the
petrified rolls, tipping his chair on two legs toward
Boschan, arm draped over his friend’s seat. “Listen,”
he said, “you owe me a favor. You won’t refuse me
in the joy of our reunion. You’re moved, I can see it.
How long has it been? Shameful, isn’t it? Not even a
postcard from the Himalayas.”
“It must be something dire you want,” Ruprecht
said, “with such a preamble.”
“Don’t say no, don’t break your friend’s hopeful
heart. Here’s the deal: I’m organizing an Emperor’s
celebration tomorrow, August 18. Can’t skip it. If I
don’t do it, someone else will. Better me, since I’ve
got taste. Big program: Isolde Lenz will sing, Bergler
will sing, Walterskirchen will play. I’ve got a court
concertmaster too. Andresen from the Burgtheater
will recite modern poems. A retired general will play
flute, thinking he owes it to Frederick the Great’s
memory, as fine a soldier as he. But this program
lacks a cornerstone.”
“I’m the cornerstone?”
“Yes! The World-Tree Ygdrasil of my program.
Peter, the rock on which… and so forth. Please, no
refusals. The other acts are solid, but you’re
something unique, a rare spectacle. I’d be a poor
planner to let you slip.”
“I’m not keen, my dear.”
Ernst Hugo laid a hand on Ruprecht’s knee,
overflowing with charm, dripping eloquence,
weaving wreaths of flattery. “I won’t let you go till
you bless me. If you’re stumped on what to do, I’ll
tell them about your Himalayan treks or whatever.
Just take the stage. Success is guaranteed. I promise
every girl and young woman will fall for you.”
“You know that doesn’t tempt me. Women are
usually dull.”
“Still an ascetic desert saint? Still St. Anthony
resisting all temptations?”
“Ridiculous—you don’t think I practice
abstinence for glory. I had a serious affair with a
Japanese girl for a while. And as a Simplon Tunnel
worker, I lived with an Italian woman, fighting knife
duels over her every other day. That’s something. But
your society ladies…! You must slog through flirting
first. Flirting’s endlessly tedious.”
“If women won’t sway you, do it for me. Years
apart, we finally meet, and I’m shamed if my friend
denies a small request. Truly, it’s an insult.”
“Would it really mean so much if I agree?”
“An extraordinary favor.” Hugo paused, eyeing a
woman passing below on the promenade. He leaned
over the balustrade, clearly trying to catch her notice.
“A regal woman,” he murmured, “look at that attire.
A little Paris on her. Good Lord! Know her?”
“No,” Boschan said, finishing his morning cognac.
“She’s a widow, fabulously rich. Half Abbazia’s
in love with her. Born to conquer, her specialty’s the
demonic, or so say those lucky enough to know her.
I’m not among them yet. But back to business: you’d
do me a huge favor by joining. There’s a
Statthaltereirat from Graz with big ambitions, my
serious rival. He nearly beat me to hosting the
celebration. You’ll see, that won’t do. I’m up for
promotion. Patriotic efforts impress higher-ups. So I
outmaneuvered him. But he’ll be a harsh critic. If it’s
not tip-top, he’ll flash his ironic smile… make witty
jabs… that sarcastic fool!”
Before Ruprecht’s eyes, the sea spun, rising in the
sun’s climbing glare, shimmering like a vast
turquoise, magically binding souls, drawing them in,
dissolving petty drives and miseries into great joy.
But this planner of patriotic fêtes felt none of it.
Ruprecht leaned against a pillar, turning from Hugo.
“What a dire conflict,” he said, “what a dramatic
tangle! Oh, clashing forces—a struggle for lofty
prizes! And all the while, you have the sea before
you, in its full splendor, blessed by its beauty.”
“How do you mean?” Hugo asked, fixing his
water-blue eyes on the sea in surprise.
“Well—you’ve invoked our friendship. I suppose
I must help you skewer this hostile Statthaltereirat.”

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