Archive for the ‘Anarchist World’ Category

Horst Wessel

by Hanns Heinz Ewers

translated by Joe Bandel

Copyright 2018

For purposes of historical research


Chapter 1  (pages 1-5)


Berlin by day: two students meet at the University. – One evening: the storm leader and his mother. – In the night: a gathering and misfortune travelling; Redshirts and  S. A. shoot it out on the streets. – How Horst Wessel got his friend out of jail.


Helmut Mingard, medical student, came slowly down the broad steps of the university administration building. He could just barely hear – the medical professor lecturing in the next building; but today he was only here to pick up his exam papers. That meant he needed to wait; the registrar was completely overwhelmed with the flood of students. He cursed. He was in the middle of preparing for an exam, and he needed every hour for homework. But it couldn’t be helped – His papers would not be ready for one or two more hours. So he wandered down the long hallway, and then entered into a lecture hall with a latecomer.


What was the professor talking about? Oh yes, history – the history of the newly awakened freedom movement after the Prussian defeat at Jena. What did he care about that – he was a medical student. The speech of the old Herr was dry and boring; Mingard only half listened. Yet still, out of habit, he took a pencil and paper out of his pocket, and wrote down a couple of names. Steffens, Dörnberg, Schleiermacher, Arndt, Fichte – and naturally Körner. Yes, and the Friesen – the professor’s voice became passionate, as he spoke of them. The Friesen, those athletic irregulars, whom Jahn founded, as Lüßow’s adjutant – the young, handsome, radiant Friesen.  [Friesen-a political party]


Their name has been completely forgotten, said the professor. Yet the name had a good ring to it:Schill, Lüßow – all the poets sang of them. But what did people today know about the Friesen? They had fallen in Ardenne’s forest, hypocritically killed by farmers: not one defenseless soldiers had  lifted a hand against them. Their gaze had been so noble. They were secretly buried there, and the place was discovered after long years – the Freiherr of Viettinghoff took one of the skulls, traveled around with it for 30 years,and would not part with it. That’s how beautiful the young Friesen were.


The medical student smiled. How romantic, he thought, sky-blue romantic! A skull? The fashion had changed since then. Once crude German princes cut off the heads of their enemies, and made beer mugs out of the skulls, guzzling red wine from them – ha, the blood of the enemy! Brave citizens of the Baroque painted still lifes of them, and there always had to be a skull in the paintings. It was called vanity – a reminder of the past and of everything earthly and mortal. But today a skull was only good for the study of anatomy, for students in the first semester.


The clock rang; the lecture hall emptied itself – Mingard went down the steps. He remained standing in the hallway, threw a glance at the colored shields of all the fraternities and student unions – my God, who wasn’t represented at the Berlin University! Nationalist students, Social Democrats, Populists, Communists – Catholics, Jews, Protestants – gymnasts, fellow countrymen, singers, athletes, all members of fraternities. Look over there, there hung the shield of his fraternity: the student union in Kösener,  S.C. Normania, blue – silver – black.


Bread-and-butter eating students, boys and girls, books in their hands, glasses on their noses. Most were pale, overtired, and undernourished. He turned around, went through the crowd and out into the back garden, stepping between benches and trees in the bright October sun. In the back, near Dorotheen Strasse, was the memorial for all the students who had fallen in the great world war. He stood there, looking at the fresh wreathes. They were not forgotten, the youth from Langemark. –


He went across the street, over to the quiet, spiritual place of the folk, and looked at all the things that lay spread out on a book cart. Then a voice called out, loud and clear:

“Hello, Mingard!”


A young  fellow sprang across the street, and stretched out his hand. “Good day, Helmut, what’s up?”


Mingard laid down the book that was in his hand.

“Horst Wessel – you? And here at the University – so are you finally going to begin serious studies?”


The student laughed. “No, not yet. It’s pure coincidence that I was passing by.”


A soft reproach rang out of Mingard’s voice.

“You should not allow yourself to be seen outside of Grunewald – since you’ve been back from Vienna you haven’t been seen at the fraternity. You have two ribbons now – you should really care a little more about your young fraternity brothers.”


A shadow flew across the face of the young student; his upper lip trembled slightly.

“How many new  foxes are there? Five, six perhaps! If only there were 600! They should learn fencing, with the saber, rapier – should learn to duel against fellow students, even those as polished as we are. Learn how to settle  their own disputes with opponents. Learn to carry steel rods in their pockets, knives, pistols, each according to his own liking –“ He hesitated suddenly, then continued slowly. “Especially these times, you see, especially these times –”


“Well – what?” Demanded Mingard. “Why are you always so closed mouthed? What’s bothering you anyway?”


Horst Wessel held his gaze.

“Visit me sometime” he said, “then I will take you along.”


“If I only had the time!” Answered the older boy. “You know of course, that I am in the middle of my exams.”


“Really, really”, the fellow nodded. “You need to study! One must fight, and the other must drink. One must sail before the winds and one must wander about and discover Berlin. And no one –“


“And no one – what?” Insisted the medical student. “Allow the young foxes their play. Soon enough they must be buckled into the harness and pull the bread cart. Since when are you one to preach morals?”


His fraternity brother stared at him.

“I? What has any of that to do with morals? Don’t you understand, there is only one thing people are singing about these days? Only one thing – Germany!”

His gaze stabbed; his hands were balled into fists. And  the words came out in a suppressed whisper, “The storm! The storm! The storm! The clocks sing it from tower to tower! The men sing about it, the old men and the youth. People sing about it in their sleep, and the girls sing about it at the fruit stands in the market place. Mothers sing about it whenever they rock their cradles! They sing about the storm, and even the earth itself rises up with the thunder of our coming vengeance and salvation. That’s what the folk are dreaming of today – Germany is beginning to wake up!”


Mingard thought: “This youth is on fire. He stands in flames.”

He asked: “What kind of song is that?”


“A poet wrote  it – no one knew it in Germany, while he was still alive, but they will learn it soon enough: his name was Dietrich Eckardt.” Horst Wessel laughed. “We sing his song among us. But it should ring out through all the streets: it should threaten and resound in the air, race with the thunder of vengeance – awaken  the dead from out of their graves – Germany awakes!”

He seized his friend’s hand, and pressed it hard. “Live well, Helmut – perhaps you will have enough time yet, despite all of your exams!”


He nodded to him, and then sprang down the street with a light step.


Mingard watched him go: the fellow was slender, tall grown. He was bare headed, the soft morning breeze blew through his blonde hair. He wore a leather joppe, as well as a short lederhosen; his knees were bare. He stood at the corner, then turned around one more time, and waved back with his hand. He laughed just like a young boy – his face was sunburned, his sharply arched nose was noble. He had a high forehead and his eyes glowed.


Mingard nodded back at him. “A Friesen”, he murmured, “He is a young, beautiful, radiant Friesen!” – He went back over to the garden – wasn’t that a brand new wreath laying on the student memorial ? His eyes fell on the dedication, he read:  “Invicti Victis Victuri –”


Something pulled at him, tore at him, urging him to pursue his fraternity brother .

“The youth burns,” he thought, “he’s on fire!”

But he restrained himself, speeded up his steps – and headed back into the University. God damned exams!




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Searching for the Soul


Like man himself! In the beginning man was with God and part of the indivisible All, and he tore himself loose in spite of it. From this awareness of self over the course of billions of years there developed an awareness of the contradiction, “I”—and the world! And yet a part of the All clung to this “I”, was still imprisoned in this physical body, grew with it, died with it and was inseparable from its earthly remains.

And a great desire for liberation caused this soul to seek a false path and grope in the shameful darkness. It always ran back by the way which it had come to its original awareness of the “I” instead of to the “Not—I”, and did not know that the goal was at the other end.

The soul was conscious of the contradiction between the “I” and the “Not—I”, but the soul accepted the physical body as part of the “I”, even as the “I” itself did, and did not realize that the physical body was only a part of the “Not—I”. Thus man’s physical body became the unfortunate bridge that always led the soul back to the physical world of which it was a part. And all those souls driven by desire passed over it and descended deeper and deeper until they sank into God.

Yet how comical it was when the pious cried out that one must conquer the body! Their words were so wise, yet their understanding was so wrong. They did not conquer the body—but rather strengthened its power by all they did. They conquered the soul of man and became as beasts; they conquered the beasts inside and became as God.

But the time must come for the striding forth of the liberated human being. When the knowledge becomes so deep and so firmly rooted that each one knows his body is nothing other than some tree that stands in the forest, than some bird that flies in the air: than any foreign object that lies far in the distance! When each passionately feels that his body has nothing in common with his soul—and is as alien to him as a stone in the street , when the assurance reaches each consciousness that the external world may be all-embracing, yet, it fails to hold one thing, namely, the soul—then that great day will dawn—

Then the soul of man will tend the body well, like a temple, like a good house in which one dwells. Only, it will be a stranger, something external from us, and this knowledge alone will be the great conquest of the body. Then the bridge that leads downward will be broken; then the lunacy of our forefathers will perish; then the eternal desires will laugh happily as they kiss freedom and truth amidst their tears over the dark errors of the ages.

The Sorcerer’s Apprentice


The above was written by German author Hanns Heinz Ewers over a century ago! Or rather it is my translation of his words and thoughts into the English language. As I partake in more online discussion groups, in particular Mensa discussion groups I find that believing in the individual soul is not politically correct. I also find that attitude a little bit two-faced. Consider the question, “Is a loved one the same person after having a debilitating stroke? Is their awareness, their consciousness, still the same but hindered by physical damage caused by the stroke? Or have they in some way become less human? I have seen stroke victims struggle to find the words they desire to express and the frustration that they feel being physically unable to do so. To me this is direct evidence that individual awareness remains even though it might not be able to physically express itself


The question really becomes whether conscious awareness is purely energetic in nature or mechanical. Is individual awareness capable of being separated from the physical body or is it simply an expression of the physical body that dies when the physical body dies? While science almost unanimously denies the existence of the soul, it entertains such thoughts as the possibility of integrating human consciousness with machines or computers. Movies such as “Avatar” envision the ability of human awareness to transfer itself from one physical body to another! For some reason science admits the possibilities of these things while denying the possibility of the existence of the soul. I find that very troubling!

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Its been a long time coming and finally its done! The complete uncensored Vampire book is in John Smith’s capable hands at Sidereal Press. In the meantime I’ve made it available as an ebook through Kindle at Amazon.com. Each country has its own version so go to your Amazon store and check it out. Here are a couple links just to try it out:




This has been a labor of love and I must say that it is certainly worth the wait! There have been over 150 pages added that were not in the John Day edition so you might not recognize the story when you read it.

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Those interested in Hanns Heinz Ewers will enjoy Lemuria Volume I, a collection of short stories by rival fantasy author Karl Hans Strobl.

This book contains the stories:

The Mermaid

The Witchfinder

At a Crossroads

The Head

The Repulsion of the Will

The Tomb at Pere Lachaise

The Wicked Nun

The Bogomil Stone

The Manuscript of Juan Serrano

Familiar Moves


Of these stores only “The Head” and “The Wicked Nun” were ever translated into English. As always, these are my own translations of these stories. Lemuria is too large to publish in one volume so I am publishing it in several volumes that include other stories by Karl Hans Strobl from “The Crystal Ball and other Stories” and “The Orchid Garden”.

I am currently finishing up Lemuria Volume I and should have it available by the end of February. (This month). This will include hard cover, quality paperback, epub and pdf editions.



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Bandel Books is pleased to announce the new publication of Hanns Heinz Ewers Volume II.

This is the second volume in a collection of short stories by Hanns Heinz Ewers and translated by Joe E. Bandel and includes: “The White Maiden”,”Eleven Thousand Virgins and the Four Holy Three KIngs”,”The Water Corpse”,”Carnival in Cadiz”,”How Eleven Chinese Devoured Their Bride”,”From the Journal of an Orange Tree”,”Of Geese, Spirits, Leeches and the Cat Organ”,”Fairyland”,”Alraune and her Chauffeur”,”The Last Will and Testament of Stanislawa d’Asp”,”Mamaloi”,”The Worst Betrayal”,”The Lost Monkey”, plus a short introduction by Joe E. Bandel.

It can be purchased as a quality paperback from Lulu Publishing:


Pdf Version here:


Epub edition will follow shortly.



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For those interested in what is new in the world of Hanns Heinz Ewers, I suggest they clink on the link at the right to “Anarchist World”. This new webpage is a type of ezine intended to widen the readership of my translations. It is also intended to take off some of the pressure to perform that I feel from always having one new book to complete by some deadline; especially when I am working two jobs and have very little time for my hobbies.

So, enjoy some previously unreleased titles from:

Hanns Heinz Ewers Volume II


The Book of Fables

Moganni Nameh

India and I

As well as contributions from:




Satan’s Children

Mia Holm

From Out of Decadence: a novel

Fire Lilly

and some of my own works.

Please think of this as an ezine that is constantly bringing new and interesting things to read. If you enjoy it, consider supporting it with a small monthly donation; the price of a cup of coffee and a doughnut! I would like to quit my weekend job so that I can spend more time writing and translating. That will require the support of others that share my dream of a free and lasting Anarchist World!

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