admirable one, and they were soon on their way toward the
Simeonovski bridge.
"How delightful it is!" cried the baroness, some half hour later,
as they were gliding over the quiet water. "Count, do you like
strong sensations?" she asked suddenly.
"I am fond of strong sensations of every kind," he replied, taking
up her challenge.
"Well, I am going to offer you a little sensation, though it always
greatly affects me. Everything is just right for it, and I am in
the humor, too."
"What is it to be?" asked Count Kallash indifferently.
"You will see in a moment. Do you know that there are underground
canals in St. Petersburg?"
"In St. Petersburg?" asked Kallash in astonishment.
"Yes, in St. Petersburg! A whole series of underground rivers,
wide enough for a boat to pass through. I have rowed along them
several times. Does not that offer a new sensation, something
quite unlike St. Petersburg?"
"Yes, it is certainly novel," answered Count Kallash, now
interested. "Where are they? Pray show them to me."
"There is one a few yards off. Shall we enter? You are not
afraid?" she said with a smile of challenge.
"By no means--unless you command me to be afraid," Kallash replied
in the same tone. "Let us enter at once!"
"Kasimir, turn under the arch!" and the boat cut across the canal
toward a half circle of darkness. A moment more and the darkness
engulfed them completely. They were somewhere under the Admiralty,
not far from St. Isaac's Cathedral. Away ahead of them was a tiny
half circle of light, where the canal joined the swiftly flowing
Neva. Carriages rumbled like distant thunder above their heads.
"Deuce take it! it is really rather fine!" cried the count, with
evident pleasure. "A meeting of pirates is all we need to make it
perfect. It is a pity that we cannot see where we are!"
"Light a match. Have you any?" said the baroness. "I have, and
wax matches, too." The count took out a match and lit it, and the
underground stream was lit by a faint ruddy glow. The channel,
covered by a semicircular arch, was just wide enough for one boat
to pass through, with oars out. The black water flowed silently by
in a sluggish, Stygian stream. Bats, startled by the light,
fluttered in their faces, and then disappeared in the darkness.
As the boat glided on, the match burned out in Count Kallash's
fingers. He threw it into the water, and opened his matchbox to
take another.
At the same moment he felt a sharp blow on the head, followed by a
second, and he sank senseless in the bottom of the boat.
"Where is the money?" cried Bodlevski, who had struck him with the
handle of the oar. "Get his coat open!" and the baroness deftly
drew the thick packet from the breast pocket of his coat. "Here it
is! I have it!" she replied quickly.
"Now, overboard with him! Keep the body steady!" A dull splash,
and then silence. "To-night we shall sleep secure!"
They counted without their host. Princess Anna had also her scheme
of vengeance, and had worked it out, without a word to her brother.
When Natasha and Bodlevski entered their apartment, they found the
police in possession, and a few minutes later both were under
arrest. Abundant evidence of fraud and forgery was found in their
dwelling, and the vast Siberian solitudes avenged the death of
their last victim.
Jorgen Wilhelm Bergsoe
The Amputated Arms
It happened when I was about eighteen or nineteen years old (began
Dr. Simsen). I was studying at the University, and being coached
in anatomy by my old friend Solling. He was an amusing fellow,
this Solling. Full of jokes and whimsical ideas, and equally
merry, whether he was working at the dissecting table or brewing a
punch for a jovial crowd.
He had but one fault--if one might call it so--and that was his
exaggerated idea of punctuality. He grumbled if you were late two
minutes; any longer delay would spoil the entire evening for him.
He himself was never known to be late. At least not during the
entire years of my studying.
One Wednesday evening our little circle of friends met as usual in
my room at seven o'clock. I had made the customary preparations
for the meeting, had borrowed three chairs--I had but one myself--
had cleaned all my pipes, and had persuaded Hans to take the
breakfast dishes from the sofa and carry them downstairs. One by
one my friends arrived, the clock struck seven, and to our great
astonishment, Solling had not yet appeared. One, two, even five
minutes passed before we heard him run upstairs and knock at the
door with his characteristic short blows.
When he entered the room he looked so angry and at the same time so
upset that I cried out: "What's the matter, Solling? You look as
if you had been robbed."
"That's exactly what has happened," replied Solling angrily. "But
it was no ordinary sneak thief," he added, hanging his overcoat
behind the door.
"What have you lost?" asked my neighbor Nansen.
"Both arms from the new skeleton I've just recently received from
the hospital," said Solling with an expression as if his last cent
had been taken from him. "It's vandalism!"
We burst out into loud laughter at this remarkable answer, but
Solling continued: "Can you imagine it? Both arms are gone, cut
off at the shoulder joint;--and the strangest part of it is that
the same thing has been done to my shabby old skeleton which stands
in my bedroom. There wasn't an arm on either of them."
"That's too bad," I remarked. "For we were just going to study the
ANATOMY of the arm to-night."
"Osteology," corrected Solling gravely. "Get out your skeleton,
little Simsen. It isn't as good as mine, but it will do for this
evening."
I went to the corner where my anatomical treasures were hidden
behind a green curtain--"the Museum," was what Solling called it--
but my astonishment was great when I found my skeleton in its
accustomed place and wearing as usual my student's uniform--but
without arms.
"The devil!" cried Solling. "That was done by the same person who
robbed me; the arms are taken off at the shoulder joint in exactly
the same manner. You did it, Simsen!"
I declared my innocence, very angry at the abuse of my fine
skeleton, while Nansen cried: "Wait a moment, I'll bring in mine.
There hasn't been a soul in my room since this morning, I can swear
to that. I'll be back in an instant."
He hurried into his room, but returned in a few moments greatly
depressed and somewhat ashamed. The skeleton was in its usual
place, but the arms were gone, cut off at the shoulder in exactly
the same manner as mine.
The affair, mysterious in itself, had now come to be a serious
matter. We lost ourselves in suggestions and explanations, none of
which seemed to throw any light on the subject. Finally we sent a
messenger to the other side of the house where, as I happened to
know, was a new skeleton which the young student Ravn had recently
received from the janitor of the hospital.
Ravn had gone out and taken the key with him. The messenger whom
we had sent to the rooms of the Iceland students returned with the
information that one of them had used the only skeleton they
possessed to pummel the other with, and that consequently only the
thigh bones were left unbroken.
What were we to do? We couldn't understand the matter at all.
Solling scolded and cursed and the company was about to break up
when we heard some one coming noisily upstairs. The door was
thrown open and a tall, thin figure appeared on the threshold--our
good friend Niels Daae.
He was a strange chap, this Niels Daae, the true type of a species
seldom found nowadays. He was no longer young, and by reason of a
queer chain of circumstances, as he expressed it, he had been
through nearly all the professions and could produce papers proving
that he had been on the point of passing not one but three
examinations.
He had begun with theology; but the story of the quarrel between
Jacob and Esau had led him to take up the study of law. As a law
student he had come across an interesting poisoning case, which had
proved to him that a study of medicine was extremely necessary for
lawyers; and he had taken up the study of medicine with such energy
that he had forgotten all his law and was about to take his last
examinations at the age of forty.
Niels Daae took the story of our troubles very seriously. "Every
pot has two handles," he began. "Every sausage two ends, every
question two sides, except this one--this has three." (Applause.)
"When we look at it from the legal point of view there can be no
doubt that it belongs in the category of ordinary theft. But from
the fact that the thief took only the arms when he might have taken
the entire skeleton, we must conclude that he is not in a
responsible condition of mind, which therefore introduces a medical
side to the affair. From a legal point of view, the thief must be
convicted for robbery, or at least for the illegal appropriation of
the property of others; but from the medical point of view, we must
acquit him, because he is not responsible for his acts. Here we
have two professions quarreling with one another, and who shall say
which is right? But now I will introduce the theological point of
view, and raise the entire affair up to a higher plane.
Providence, in the material shape of a patron of mine in the
country, whose children I have inoculated with the juice of wisdom,
has sent me two fat geese and two first-class ducks. These animals
are to be cooked and eaten this evening in Mathiesen's
establishment, and I invite this honored company to join me there.
Personally I look upon the disappearance of these arms as an all-
wise intervention of Providence, which sets its own inscrutable
wisdom up against the wisdom which we would otherwise have heard
from the lips of my venerable friend Solling."
Daae's confused speech was received with laughter and applause, and
Solling's weak protests were lost in the general delight at the
invitation. I have often noticed that such improvised festivities
are usually the most enjoyable, and so it was for us that evening.
Niels Daae treated us to his ducks and to his most amusing jokes,
Solling sang his best songs, our jovial host Mathiesen told his
wittiest stories, and the merriment was in full swing when we heard
cries in the street, and then a rush of confused noises broken by
screams of pain.
"There's been an accident," cried Solling, running out to the door.
We all followed him and discovered that a pair of runaway horses
had thrown a carriage against a tree, hurling the driver from his
box, under the wheels. His right arm had been broken near the
shoulder. In the twinkling of an eye the hall of festivities was
transformed into an emergency hospital. Solling shook his head as
he examined the injury, and ordered the transport of the patient to
the city hospital. It was his belief that the arm would have to be
amputated, cut off at the shoulder joint, just as had been the case
with our skeleton. "Damned odd coincidence, isn't it?" he remarked
to me.
Our merry mood had vanished and we took our way, quiet and
depressed, through the old avenues toward our home. For the first
time in its existence possibly, our venerable "barracks," as we
called the dormitory, saw its occupants returning home from an
evening's bout just as the night watchman intoned his eleven
o'clock verse.
"Just eleven," exclaimed Solling. "It's too early to go to bed,
and too late to go anywhere else. We'll go up to your room, little
Simsen, and see if we can't have some sort of a lesson this
evening. You have your colored plates and we'll try to get along
with them. It's a nuisance that we should have lost those arms
just this evening."
"The Doctor can have all the arms and legs he wants," grinned Hans,
who came out of the doorway just in time to hear Solling's last
word.
"What do you mean, Hans?" asked Solling in astonishment.
"It'll be easy enough to get them," said Hans. "They've torn down
the planking around the Holy Trinity churchyard, and dug up the
earth to build a new wall. I saw it myself, as I came past the
church. Lord, what a lot of bones they've dug out there! There's
arms and legs and heads, many more than the Doctor could possibly
need."
"Much good that does us," answered Solling. "They shut the gates
at seven o'clock and it's after eleven already."
"Oh, yes, they shut them," grinned Hans again. "But there's
another way to get in. If you go through the gate of the porcelain
factory and over the courtyard, and through the mill in the fourth
courtyard that leads out into Spring Street, there you will see
where the planking is torn down, and you can get into the
churchyard easily."
"Hans, you're a genius!" exclaimed Solling in delight. "Here,
Simsen, you know that factory inside and out, you're so friendly
with that fellow Outzen who lives there. Run along to him and let
him give you the key of the mill. It will be easy to find an arm
that isn't too much decayed. Hurry along, now; the rest of us will
wait for you upstairs."
To be quite candid I must confess that I was not particularly eager
to fulfill Solling's command. I was at an age to have still a
sufficient amount of reverence for death and the grave, and the
mysterious occurrence of the stolen arms still ran through my mind.
But I was still more afraid of Solling's irony and of the laughter
of my comrades, so I trotted off as carelessly as if I had been
sent to buy a package of cigarettes.
It was some time before I could arouse the old janitor of the
factory from his peaceful slumbers. I told him that I had an
important message for Outzen, and hurried upstairs to the latter's
room. Outzen was a strictly moral character; knowing this, I was
prepared to have him refuse me the key which would let me into the
fourth courtyard and from there into the cemetery. As I expected,
Outzen took the matter very seriously. He closed the Hebrew Bible
which he had been studying as I entered, turned up his lamp and
looked at me in astonishment as I made my request.
"Why, my dear Simsen, it is a most sinful deed that you are about
to do," he said gravely. "Take my advice and desist. You will get
no key from me for any such cause. The peace of the grave is
sacred. No man dare disturb it."
"And how about the gravedigger? He puts the newly dead down beside
the old corpses, and lives as peacefully as anyone else."
"He is doing his duty," answered Outzen calmly. "But to disturb
the peace of the grave from sheer daring, with the fumes of the
punch still in your head,--that is a different matter,--that will
surely be punished!"
His words irritated me. It is not very flattering, particularly if
one is not yet twenty, to be told that you are about to perform a
daring deed simply because you are drunk. Without any further
reply to his protests I took the key from its place on the wall and
ran downstairs two steps at a time, vowing to myself that I would
take home an arm let cost what it would. I would show Outzen, and
Solling, and all the rest, what a devil of a fellow I was.
My heart beat rapidly as I stole through the long dark corridor,
past the ruins of the old convent of St. Clara, into the so-called
third courtyard. Here I took a lantern from the hall, lit it and
crossed to the mill where the clay was prepared for the factory.
The tall wheels and cylinders, with their straps and bolts, looked
like weird creatures of the night in the dim light of my tallow
candle. I felt my courage sinking even here, but I pulled myself
together, opened the last door with my key and stepped out into the
fourth courtyard. A moment later I stood on the dividing line
between the cemetery and the factory.
The entire length of the tall blackened planking had been torn
down. The pieces of it lay about, and the earth had been dug up to
considerable depth, to make a foundation for a new wall between
Life and Death. The uncanny emptiness of the place seized upon me.
I halted involuntarily as if to harden myself against it. It was a
raw, cold, stormy evening. The clouds flew past the moon in jagged
fragments, so that the churchyard, with its white crosses and
stones, lay now in full light, now in dim shadow. Now and then a
rush of wind rattled over the graves, roared through the leafless
trees, bent the complaining bushes, and caught itself in the little
eddy at the corner of the church, only to escape again over the
roofs, turning the old weather vane with a sharp scream of the
rusty iron.
I looked toward the left--there I saw several weird white shapes
moving gently in the moonlight. "White sheets," I said to myself,
"it's nothing but white sheets! This drying of linen in the
churchyard ought to be stopped."
I turned in the opposite direction and saw a heap of bones scarce
two paces distant from me. Holding my lantern lower, I approached
them and stretched out my hand--there was a rattling in the heap;
something warm and soft touched my fingers.
I started and shivered. Then I exclaimed: "The rats! nothing but
the rats in the churchyard! I must not get frightened. It will be
so foolish--they would laugh at me. Where the devil is that arm?
I can't find one that isn't broken!"
With trembling knees and in feverish haste I examined one heap
after another. The light in my lantern flickered in the wind and
suddenly went out. The foul smell of the smoking wick rose to my
face and I felt as if I were about to faint, it took all my energy
to recover my control. I walked two or three steps ahead, and saw
at a little distance a coffin which had been still in good shape
when taken out of the earth.
I approached it and saw that it was of old-fashioned shape, made of
heavy oaken boards that were already rotting. On its cover was a
metal plate with an illegible inscription. The old wood was so
brittle that it would have been very easy for me to open the coffin
with any sort of a tool. I looked about me and saw a hatchet and a
couple of spades lying near the fence. I took one of the latter,
put its flat end between the boards--the old coffin fell apart with
a dull crackling protest.
I turned my head aside, put my hand in through the opening, felt
about, and taking a firm hold on one arm of the skeleton, I
loosened it from the body with a quick jerk. The movement loosened
the head as well, and it rolled out through the opening right to my
very feet. I took up the skull to lay it in the coffin again--and
then I saw a greenish phosphorescent glimmer in its empty eye
sockets, a glimmer which came and went. Mad terror shook me at the
sight. I looked up at the houses in the distance, then back again
to the skull; the empty sockets shone more brightly than before. I
felt that I must have some natural explanation for this appearance
or I would go mad. I took up the head again--and never in my life
have I had so overpowering an impression of the might of death and
decay than in this moment. Myriads of disgusting clammy insects
poured out of every opening of the skull, and a couple of shining,
wormlike centipedes--Geophiles, the scientists call them--crawled
about in the eye sockets. I threw the skull back into the coffin,
sprang over the heaps of bones without even taking time to pick up
my lantern, and ran like a hunted thing through the dark mill, over
the factory courtyards, until I reached the outer gate. Here I
washed the arm at the fountain, and smoothed my disarranged
clothing. I hid my booty under my overcoat, nodded to the sleepy
old janitor as he opened the door to me, and a few moments later I
entered my own room with an expression which I had attempted to
make quite calm and careless.
"What the devil is the matter with you, Simsen?" cried Solling as
he saw me. "Have you seen a ghost? Or is the punch wearing off
already? We thought you'd never come; why, it's nearly twelve
o'clock!"
Without a word I drew back my overcoat and laid my booty on the
table.
"By all the devils," exclaimed Solling in anatomical enthusiasm,
"where did you find that superb arm? Simsen knows what he's about
all right. It's a girl's arm; isn't it beautiful? Just look at
the hand--how fine and delicate it is! Must have worn a No. 6
glove. There's a pretty hand to caress and kiss!"
The arm passed from one to the other amid general admiration.
Every word that was said increased my disgust for myself and for
what I had done. It was a woman's arm, then--what sort of a woman
might she have been? Young and beautiful possibly--her brothers'
pride, her parents' joy. She had faded away in her youth, cared
for by loving hands and tender thoughts. She had fallen asleep
gently, and those who loved her had desired to give her in death
the peace she had enjoyed throughout her lifetime. For this they
had made her coffin of thick, heavy oaken boards. And this hand,
loved and missed by so many--it lay there now on an anatomical
table, encircled by clouds of tobacco smoke, stared at by curious
glances, and made the object of coarse jokes. O God! how terrible
it was!
"I must have that arm," exclaimed Solling, when the first burst of
admiration had passed. "When I bleach it and touch it up with
varnish, it wild be a superb specimen. I'll take it home with me."
"No," I exclaimed, "I can't permit it. It was wrong of me to bring
it away from the churchyard. I'm going right back to put the arm
in its place."
"Well, will you listen to that?" cried Solling, amid the hearty
laughter of the others. "Simsen's so lyric, he certainly must be
drunk. I must have that arm at any cost."
"Not much," cut in Niels Daae; "you have no right to it. It was
buried in the earth and dug out again; it is a find, and all the
rest of us have just as much right to it as you have."
"Yes, everyone of us has some share in it," said some one else.
"But what are you going to do about it?" remarked Solling. "It
would be vandalism to break up that arm. What God has joined
together let no man put asunder," he concluded with pathos.
"Let's auction it off," exclaimed Daae. "I will be the auctioneer,
and this key to the graveyard will serve me for a hammer."
The laughter broke out anew as Daae took his place solemnly at the
head of the table and began to whine out the following
announcement: "I hereby notify all present that on the 25th of
November, at twelve o'clock at midnight, in corridor No. 5 of the
student barracks, a lady's arm in excellent condition, with all its
appurtenances of wrist bones, joints, and finger tips, is to be
offered at public auction. The buyer can have possession of his
purchase immediately after the auction, and a credit of six weeks
will be given to any reliable customer. I bid a Danish shilling."
"One mark," cried Solling mockingly.
"Two," cried somebody else.
"Four," exclaimed Solling. "It's worth it. Why don't you join in,
Simsen? You look as if you were sitting in a hornet's nest."
I bid one mark more, and Solling raised me a thaler. There were no
more bids, the hammer fell, and the arm belonged to Solling.
"Here, take this," he said, handing me a mark piece; "it's part of
your commission as grave robber. You shall have the rest later,
unless you prefer that I should turn it over to the drinking fund."
With these words Solling wrapped the arm in a newspaper, and the
gay crowd ran noisily down the stairs and through the streets,
until their singing and laughter were lost in the distance.
I stood alone, still dazed and bewildered, staring at the piece of
money in my hand. My thoughts were far too much excited that I
should hope to sleep. I turned up my lamp and took out one of my
books to try and study myself into a quieter mood. But without
success.
Suddenly I heard a sound like that of a swinging pendulum. I
raised my head and listened attentively. There was no clock either
in my room or in the neighboring ones--but I could still hear the
sound. At the same moment my lamp began to flicker. The oil was
apparently exhausted. I was about to rise to fill it again, when
my eyes fell upon the door, and I saw the graveyard key, which I
had hung there, moving slowly back and forth with a rhythmic swing.
Just as its motion seemed about to die away, it would receive a
gentle push as from an unseen hand, and would swing back and forth
more than ever. I stood there with open mouth and staring eyes,
ice-cold chills ran down my back, and drops of perspiration stood
out on my forehead. Finally, I could endure it no longer. I
sprang to the door, seized the key with both hands and put it on my
desk under a pile of heavy books. Then I breathed a sigh of
relief.