heads of beloved relatives appeared to me somewhat awful, yet I did not
dare to object to it lest I should offend the stranger. I told him that
I was acquainted with the embalming of the dead, and begged him to
conduct me to the deceased. Yet I could not help asking him why all this
must be done so mysteriously and at night? He answered me that his
relatives, who considered his intention horrible, objected to it by
daylight; if only the head were severed, then they could say no more
about it; although he might have brought me the head, yet a natural
feeling had prevented him from severing it himself.

In the meantime we had reached a large, splendid house. My companion
pointed it out to me as the end of our nocturnal walk. We passed the
principal entrance of the house, entered a little door, which the
stranger carefully locked behind him, and now ascended in the dark a
narrow spiral staircase. It led towards a dimly lighted passage, out of
which we entered a room lighted by a lamp fastened to the ceiling.

In this room was a bed, on which the corpse lay. The stranger turned
aside his face, evidently endeavoring to hide his tears. He pointed
towards the bed, telling me to do my business well and quickly, and left
the room.

I took my instruments, which I as surgeon always carried about with me,
and approached the bed. Only the head of the corpse was visible, and it
was so beautiful that I experienced involuntarily the deepest sympathy.
Dark hair hung down in long plaits, the features were pale, the eyes
closed. At first I made an incision into the skin, after the manner of
surgeons when amputating a limb. I then took my sharpest knife, and with
one stroke cut the throat. But oh, horror! The dead opened her eyes, but
immediately closed them again, and with a deep sigh she now seemed to