The 13th Floor

Sorry this may seem dumb republishing an old post, but i do have a reason. The reason being that this blog was named after this poem and in fact without this poem there would be no blog. So here's to you Ogden Nash!

The hands of the clock were reaching high
In an old midtown hotel;
I name no name, but its sordid fame
Is table talk in hell.
I name no name, but hell's own flame
Illumes the lobby garish,
A gilded snare just off Times Square
For the maidens of the parish.

The revolving door swept the grimy floor
Like a crinoline grotesque,
And a lowly bum from an ancient slum
Crept furtively past the desk.
His footsteps sift into the lift
As a knife in the sheath is slipped,
Stealthy and swift into the lift
As a vampire into a crypt.

Old Maxie, the elevator boy,
Was reading an ode by Shelley,
But he dropped the ode as it were a toad
When the gun jammed into his belly.
There came a whisper as soft as mud
In the bed of an old canal:
"Take me up to the suite of Pinball Pete,
The rat who betrayed my gal."

The lift doth rise with groans and sighs
Like a duchess for the waltz,
Then in middle shaft, like a duchess daft,
It changes its mind and halts.
The bum bites lip as the landlocked ship
Doth neither fall nor rise,
But Maxie the elevator boy
Regards him with burning eyes.
"First, to explore the thirteenth floor,"
Says Maxie, "would be wise."

Quoth the bum, "There is moss on your double cross,
I have been this way before,
I have cased the joint at every point,
And there is no thirteenth floor.
The architect he skipped direct
From twelve unto fourteen,
There is twelve below and fourteen above,
And nothing in between,
For the vermin who dwell in this hotel
Could never abide thirteen."

Said Max, "Thirteen, that floor obscene,
Is hidden from human sight;
But once a year it doth appear,
On this Walpurgis Night.
Ere you peril your soul in murderer's role,
Heed those who sinned of yore;
The path they trod led away from God,
And onto the thirteenth floor,
Where those they slew, a grisly crew,
Reproach them forevermore.

"We are higher than twelve and below fourteen,"
Said Maxie to the bum,
"And the sickening draft that taints the shaft
Is a whiff of kingdom come.
The sickening draft that taints the shaft
Blows through the devil's door!"
And he squashed the latch like a fungus patch,
And revealed the thirteenth floor.

It was cheap cigars like lurid scars
That glowed in the rancid gloom,
The murk was a-boil with fusel oil
And the reek of stale perfume.
And round and round there dragged and wound
A loathsome conga chain,
The square and the hep in slow lock step,
The slayer and the slain.
(For the souls of the victims ascend on high,
But their bodies below remain.)

The clean souls fly to their home in the sky,
But their bodies remain below
To pursue the Cain who each has slain
And harry him to and fro.
When life is extinct each corpse is linked
To its gibbering murderer,
As a chicken is bound with wire around
The neck of a killer cur.

Handcuffed to Hate come Doctor Waite
(He tastes the poison now),
And Ruth and Judd and a head of blood
With horns upon its brow.
Up sashays Nan with her feathery fan
From Floradora bright;
She never hung for Caesar Young
But she's dancing with him tonight.

Here's the bulging hip and the foam-flecked lip
Of the mad dog, Vincent Coll,
And over there that ill-met pair,
Becker and Rosenthal,
Here's Legs and Dutch and a dozen such
Of braggart bullies and brutes,
And each one bends 'neath the weight of friends
Who are wearing concrete suits.

Now the damned make way for the double-damned
Who emerge with shuffling pace
From the nightmare zone of persons unknown,
With neither name nor face.
And poor Dot King to one doth cling,
Joined in a ghastly jig,
While Elwell doth jape at a goblin shape
And tickle it with his wig.

See Rothstein pass like breath on a glass,
The original Black Sox kid;
He riffles the pack, riding piggyback
On the killer whose name he hid.
And smeared like brine on a slavering swine,
Starr Faithful, once so fair,
Drawn from the sea to her debauchee,
With the salt sand in her hair.

And still they come, and from the bum
The icy sweat doth spray;
His white lips scream as in a dream,
"For God's sake, let's away!
If ever I meet with Pinball Pete
I will not seek his gore,
Lest a treadmill grim I must trudge with him
On the hideous thirteenth floor."

"For you I rejoice," said Maxie's voice,
"And I bid you go in peace,
But I am late for a dancing date
That nevermore will cease.
So remember, friend, as your way you wend,
That it would have happened to you,
But I turned the heat on Pinball Pete;
You see - I had a daughter, too!"

The bum reached out and he tried to shout,
But the door in his face was slammed,
And silent as stone he rode down alone
From the floor of the double-damned.

Ogden Nash

Well come in my dear.

Hi every one, if there is anyone. Just really wanted to say hi for once, and well that is all, so goodbye.

The Body Snatcher

Every night in the year, four of us sat in the small parlour of the George at Debenham - the undertaker,
and the landlord, and Fettes, and myself. Sometimes there would be more; but blow high, blow low, come
rain or snow or frost, we four would be each planted in his own particular arm-chair. Fettes was an old
drunken Scotchman, a man of education obviously, and a man of some property, since he lived in idleness.
He had come to Debenham years ago, while still young, and by a mere continuance of living had grown to
be an adopted townsman. His blue camlet cloak was a local antiquity, like the church-spire. His place in the
parlour at the George, his absence from church, his old, crapulous, disreputable vices, were all things of
course in Debenham. He had some vague Radical opinions and some fleeting infidelities, which he would
now and again set forth and emphasise with tottering slaps upon the table. He drank rum - five glasses
regularly every evening; and for the greater portion of his nightly visit to the George sat, with his glass in
his right hand, in a state of melancholy alcoholic saturation. We called him the Doctor, for he was supposed
to have some special knowledge of medicine, and had been known, upon a pinch, to set a fracture or
reduce a dislocation; but beyond these slight particulars, we had no knowledge of his character and
antecedents.

One dark winter night - it had struck nine some time before the landlord joined us - there was a sick
man in the George, a great neighbouring proprietor suddenly struck down with apoplexy on his way to
Parliament; and the great man's still greater London doctor had been telegraphed to his bedside. It was
the first time that such a thing had happened in Debenham, for the railway was but newly open, and we
were all proportionately moved by the occurrence.

'He's come,' said the landlord, after he had filled and lighted his pipe.

'He?' said I. 'Who? - not the doctor?'

'Himself,' replied our host.

'What is his name?'

'Doctor Macfarlane,' said the landlord.

Fettes was far through his third tumbler, stupidly fuddled, now nodding over, now staring mazily around
him; but at the last word he seemed to awaken, and repeated the name 'Macfarlane' twice, quietly
enough the first time, but with sudden emotion at the second.

< 2 >

'Yes,' said the landlord, 'that's his name, Doctor
Wolfe Macfarlane.'

Fettes became instantly sober; his eyes awoke, his voice became clear, loud, and steady, his language
forcible and earnest. We were all startled by the transformation, as if a man had risen from the dead.

'I beg your pardon,' he said, 'I am afraid I have not been paying much attention to your talk. Who is this
Wolfe Macfarlane?' And then, when he had heard the landlord out, 'It cannot be, it cannot be,' he added;

'and yet I would like well to see him face to face.'

'Do you know him, Doctor?' asked the undertaker, with a gasp.

'God forbid!' was the reply. 'And yet the name is a strange one; it were too much to fancy two. Tell me,
landlord, is he old?'

'Well,' said the host, 'he's not a young man, to be sure, and his hair is white; but he looks younger than
you.'

'He is older, though; years older. But,' with a slap upon the table, 'it's the rum you see in my face - rum
and sin. This man, perhaps, may have an easy conscience and a good digestion. Conscience! Hear me
speak. You would think I was some good, old, decent Christian, would you not? But no, not I; I never
canted. Voltaire might have canted if he'd stood in my shoes; but the brains' - with a rattling fillip on his
bald head - 'the brains were clear and active, and I saw and made no deductions.'

'If you know this doctor,' I ventured to remark, after a somewhat awful pause, 'I should gather that you
do not share the landlord's good opinion.'

Fettes paid no regard to me.

'Yes,' he said, with sudden decision, 'I must see him face to face.'

There was another pause, and then a door was closed rather sharply on the first floor, and a step was
heard upon the stair.

'That's the doctor,' cried the landlord. 'Look sharp, and you can catch him.'

It was but two steps from the small parlour to the door of the old George Inn; the wide oak staircase
landed almost in the street; there was room for a Turkey rug and nothing more between the threshold and
the last round of the descent; but this little space was every evening brilliantly lit up, not only by the light
upon the stair and the great signal-lamp below the sign, but by the warm radiance of the bar-room
window. The George thus brightly advertised itself to passers-by in the cold street. Fettes walked steadily
to the spot, and we, who were hanging behind, beheld the two men meet, as one of them had phrased it,
face to face. Dr. Macfarlane was alert and vigorous. His white hair set off his pale and placid, although
energetic, countenance. He was richly dressed in the finest of broadcloth and the whitest of linen, with a
great gold watch-chain, and studs and spectacles of the same precious material. He wore a broad- folded
tie, white and speckled with lilac, and he carried on his arm a comfortable driving-coat of fur. There was no
doubt but he became his years, breathing, as he did, of wealth and consideration; and it was a surprising
contrast to see our parlour sot - bald, dirty, pimpled, and robed in his old camlet cloak - confront him at the
bottom of the stairs.

< 3 >

'Macfarlane!' he said somewhat loudly, more like a herald than a friend.

The great doctor pulled up short on the fourth step, as though the familiarity of the address surprised
and somewhat shocked his dignity.

'Toddy Macfarlane!' repeated Fettes.

The London man almost staggered. He stared for the swiftest of seconds at the man before him,
glanced behind him with a sort of scare, and then in a startled whisper, 'Fettes!' he said, 'You!'

'Ay,' said the other, 'me! Did you think I was dead too? We are not so easy shut of our acquaintance.'

'Hush, hush!' exclaimed the doctor. 'Hush, hush! this meeting is so unexpected - I can see you are
unmanned. I hardly knew you, I confess, at first; but I am overjoyed - overjoyed to have this opportunity.
For the present it must be how-d'ye-do and good-bye in one, for my fly is waiting, and I must not fail the
train; but you shall - let me see - yes - you shall give me your address, and you can count on early news of
me. We must do something for you, Fettes. I fear you are out at elbows; but we must see to that for auld
lang syne, as once we sang at suppers.'

'Money!' cried Fettes; 'money from you! The money that I had from you is lying where I cast it in the
rain.'

Dr. Macfarlane had talked himself into some measure of superiority and confidence, but the uncommon
energy of this refusal cast him back into his first confusion.

A horrible, ugly look came and went across his almost venerable countenance. 'My dear fellow,' he said,
'be it as you please; my last thought is to offend you. I would intrude on none. I will leave you my address,
however - '

'I do not wish it - I do not wish to know the roof that shelters you,' interrupted the other. 'I heard your
name; I feared it might be you; I wished to know if, after all, there were a God; I know now that there is
none. Begone!'

He still stood in the middle of the rug, between the stair and doorway; and the great London physician,
in order to escape, would be forced to step to one side. It was plain that he hesitated before the thought
of this humiliation. White as he was, there was a dangerous glitter in his spectacles; but while he still
paused uncertain, he became aware that the driver of his fly was peering in from the street at this unusual
scene and caught a glimpse at the same time of our little body from the parlour, huddled by the corner of
the bar. The presence of so many witnesses decided him at once to flee. He crouched together, brushing
on the wainscot, and made a dart like a serpent, striking for the door. But his tribulation was not yet
entirely at an end, for even as he was passing Fettes clutched him by the arm and these words came in a
whisper, and yet painfully distinct, 'Have you seen it again?'

< 4 >

The great rich London doctor cried out aloud wit
h a sharp, throttling cry; he dashed his questioner across the open space, and, with his hands over his
head, fled out of the door like a detected thief. Before it had occurred to one of us to make a movement
the fly was already rattling toward the station. The scene was over like a dream, but the dream had left
proofs and traces of its passage. Next day the servant found the fine gold spectacles broken on the
threshold, and that very night we were all standing breathless by the bar- room window, and Fettes at our
side, sober, pale, and resolute in look.

'God protect us, Mr. Fettes!' said the landlord, coming first into possession of his customary senses.
'What in the universe is all this? These are strange things you have been saying.'

Fettes turned toward us; he looked us each in succession in the face. 'See if you can hold your
tongues,' said he. 'That man Macfarlane is not safe to cross; those that have done so already have

repented it too late.'

And then, without so much as finishing his third glass, far less waiting for the other two, he bade us
good-bye and went forth, under the lamp of the hotel, into the black night.

We three turned to our places in the parlour, with the big red fire and four clear candles; and as we
recapitulated what had passed, the first chill of our surprise soon changed into a glow of curiosity. We sat
late; it was the latest session I have known in the old George. Each man, before we parted, had his theory
that he was bound to prove; and none of us had any nearer business in this world than to track out the
past of our condemned companion, and surprise the secret that he shared with the great London doctor.
It is no great boast, but I believe I was a better hand at worming out a story than either of my fellows at
the George; and perhaps there is now no other man alive who could narrate to you the following foul and
unnatural events.

In his young days Fettes studied medicine in the schools of Edinburgh. He had talent of a kind, the
talent that picks up swiftly what it hears and readily retails it for its own. He worked little at home; but he
was civil, attentive, and intelligent in the presence of his masters. They soon picked him out as a lad who
listened closely and remembered well; nay, strange as it seemed to me when I first heard it, he was in
those days well favoured, and pleased by his exterior. There was, at that period, a certain extramural
teacher of anatomy, whom I shall here designate by the letter K. His name was subsequently too well
known. The man who bore it skulked through the streets of Edinburgh in disguise, while the mob that
applauded at the execution of Burke called loudly for the blood of his employer. But Mr. K- was then at the
top of his vogue; he enjoyed a popularity due partly to his own talent and address, partly to the incapacity
of his rival, the university professor. The students, at least, swore by his name, and Fettes believed
himself, and was believed by others, to have laid the foundations of success when he had acquired the
favour of this meteorically famous man. Mr. K- was a BON VIVANT as well as an accomplished teacher; he
liked a sly illusion no less than a careful preparation. In both capacities Fettes enjoyed and deserved his
notice, and by the second year of his attendance he held the half-regular position of second demonstrator
or sub-assistant in his class.

< 5 >

In this capacity the charge of the theatre and lecture-room devolved in particular upon his shoulders. He had to answer for the cleanliness of the premises
and the conduct of the other students, and it was a part of his duty to supply, receive, and divide the
various subjects. It was with a view to this last - at that time very delicate - affair that he was lodged by
Mr. K- in the same wynd, and at last in the same building, with the dissecting-rooms. Here, after a night of
turbulent pleasures, his hand still tottering, his sight still misty and confused, he would be called out of bed
in the black hours before the winter dawn by the unclean and desperate interlopers who supplied the
table. He would open the door to these men, since infamous throughout the land. He would help them
with their tragic burden, pay them their sordid price, and remain alone, when they were gone, with the
unfriendly relics of humanity. From such a scene he would return to snatch another hour or two of slumber,
to repair the abuses of the night, and refresh himself for the labours of the day.

Few lads could have been more insensible to the impressions of a life thus passed among the ensigns
of mortality. His mind was closed against all general considerations. He was incapable of interest in the
fate and fortunes of another, the slave of his own desires and low ambitions. Cold, light, and selfish in the
last resort, he had that modicum of prudence, miscalled morality, which keeps a man from inconvenient
drunkenness or punishable theft. He coveted, besides, a measure of consideration from his masters and
his fellow-pupils, and he had no desire to fail conspicuously in the external parts of life. Thus he made it his
pleasure to gain some distinction in his studies, and day after day rendered unimpeachable eye-service to
his employer, Mr. K-. For his day of work he indemnified himself by nights of roaring, blackguardly
enjoyment; and when that balance had been struck, the organ that he called his conscience declared itself
content.

The supply of subjects was a continual trouble to him as well as to his master. In that large and busy
class, the raw material of the anatomists kept perpetually running out; and the business thus rendered
necessary was not only unpleasant in itself, but threatened dangerous consequences to all who were
concerned. It was the policy of Mr. K- to ask no questions in his dealings with the trade. 'They bring the
body, and we pay the price,' he used to say, dwelling on the alliteration - 'QUID PRO QUO.' And, again, and
somewhat profanely, 'Ask no questions,' he would tell his assistants, 'for conscience' sake.' There was no
understanding that the subjects were provided by the crime of murder. Had that idea been broached to
him in words, he would have recoiled in horror; but the lightness of his speech upon so grave a matter
was, in itself, an offence against good manners, and a temptation to the men with whom he dealt. Fettes,
for instance, had often remarked to himself upon the singular freshness of the bodies. He had been struck
again and again by the hang-dog, abominable looks of the ruffians who came to him before the dawn; and
putting things together clearly in his private thoughts, he perhaps attributed a meaning too immoral and
too categorical to the unguarded counsels of his master. He understood his duty, in short, to have three
branches: to take what was brought, to pay the price, and to avert the eye from any evidence of crime.

< 6 >

One November morning this policy of silence was put sharply to the test. He had been awake all night with a racking toothache - pacing his room like a
caged beast or throwing himself in fury on his bed - and had fallen at last into that profound, uneasy
slumber that so often follows on a night of pain, when he was awakened by the third or fourth angry
repetition of the concerted signal. There was a thin, bright moonshine; it was bitter cold, windy, and frosty;
the town had not yet awakened, but an indefinable stir already preluded the noise and business of the
day. The ghouls had come later than usual, and they seemed more than usually eager to be gone. Fettes,
sick with sleep, lighted them upstairs. He heard their grumbling Irish voices through a dream; and as they
stripped the sack from their sad merchandise he leaned dozing, with his shoulder propped against the
wall; he had to shake himself to find the men their money. As he did so his eyes lighted on the dead face.
He started; he took two steps nearer, with the candle raised.

'God Almighty!' he cried. 'That is Jane Galbraith!'

The men answered nothing, but they shuffled nearer the door.

'I know her, I tell you,' he continued. 'She was alive and hearty yesterday. It's impossible she can be
dead; it's impossible you should have got this body fairly.'

'Sure, sir, you're mistaken entirely,' said one of the men.

But the other looked Fettes darkly in the eyes, and demanded the money on the spot.

It was impossible to misconceive the threat or to exaggerate the danger. The lad's heart failed him. He
stammered some excuses, counted out the sum, and saw his hateful visitors depart. No sooner were they
gone than he hastened to confirm his doubts. By a dozen unquestionable marks he identified the girl he
had jested with the day before. He saw, with horror, marks upon her body that might well betoken
violence. A panic seized him, and he took refuge in his room. There he reflected at length over the
discovery that he had made; considered soberly the bearing of Mr. K-'s instructions and the danger to
himself of interference in so serious a business, and at last, in sore perplexity, determined to wait for the
advice of his immediate superior, the class assistant.

< 7 >

This was a young doctor, Wolfe Macfarlane, a high favourite among all the reckless students, clever, dissipated, and unscrupulous to the last degree. He
had travelled and studied abroad. His manners were agreeable and a little forward. He was an authority
on the stage, skilful on the ice or the links with skate or golf-club; he dressed with nice audacity, and, to
put the finishing touch upon his glory, he kept a gig and a strong trotting-horse. With Fettes he was on
terms of intimacy; indeed, their relative positions called for some community of life; and when subjects
were scarce the pair would drive far into the country in Macfarlane's gig, visit and desecrate some lonely
graveyard, and return before dawn with their booty to the door of the dissecting-room.

On that particular morning Macfarlane arrived somewhat earlier than his wont. Fettes heard him, and
met him on the stairs, told him his story, and showed him the cause of his alarm. Macfarlane examined the
marks on her body.

'Yes,' he said with a nod, 'it looks fishy.'

'Well, what should I do?' asked Fettes.

'Do?' repeated the other. 'Do you want to do anything? Least said soonest mended, I should say.'

'Some one else might recognise her,' objected Fettes. 'She was as well known as the Castle Rock.'

'We'll hope not,' said Macfarlane, 'and if anybody does - well, you didn't, don't you see, and there's an
end. The fact is, this has been going on too long. Stir up the mud, and you'll get K- into the most unholy
trouble; you'll be in a shocking box yourself. So will I, if you come to that. I should like to know how any
one of us would look, or what the devil we should have to say for ourselves, in any Christian witness-box.
For me, you know there's one thing certain - that, practically speaking, all our subjects have been
murdered.'

'Macfarlane!' cried Fettes.

'Come now!' sneered the other. 'As if you hadn't suspected it yourself!'

'Suspecting is one thing - '

'And proof another. Yes, I know; and I'm as sorry as you are this should have come here,' tapping the
body with his cane. 'The next best thing for me is not to recognise it; and,' he added coolly, 'I don't. You
may, if you please. I don't dictate, but I think a man of the world would do as I do; and I may add, I fancy
that is what K- would look for at our hands. The question is, Why did he choose us two for his assistants?
And I answer, because he didn't want old wives.'

< 8 >

This was the tone of all others to affect the mind of a lad like Fettes. He agreed to imitate Macfarlane. The body of the unfortunate girl was duly dissected,
and no one remarked or appeared to recognise her.

One afternoon, when his day's work was over, Fettes dropped into a popular tavern and found

Macfarlane sitting with a stranger. This was a small man, very pale and dark, with coal-black eyes. The cut
of his features gave a promise of intellect and refinement which was but feebly realised in his manners, for
he proved, upon a nearer acquaintance, coarse, vulgar, and stupid. He exercised, however, a very
remarkable control over Macfarlane; issued orders like the Great Bashaw; became inflamed at the least
discussion or delay, and commented rudely on the servility with which he was obeyed. This most offensive
person took a fancy to Fettes on the spot, plied him with drinks, and honoured him with unusual
confidences on his past career. If a tenth part of what he confessed were true, he was a very loathsome
rogue; and the lad's vanity was tickled by the attention of so experienced a man.

'I'm a pretty bad fellow myself,' the stranger remarked, 'but Macfarlane is the boy - Toddy Macfarlane I
call him. Toddy, order your friend another glass.' Or it might be, 'Toddy, you jump up and shut the door.'
'Toddy hates me,' he said again. 'Oh yes, Toddy, you do!'

'Don't you call me that confounded name,' growled Macfarlane.

'Hear him! Did you ever see the lads play knife? He would like to do that all over my body,' remarked
the stranger.

'We medicals have a better way than that,' said Fettes. 'When we dislike a dead friend of ours, we
dissect him.'

Macfarlane looked up sharply, as though this jest were scarcely to his mind.

The afternoon passed. Gray, for that was the stranger's name, invited Fettes to join them at dinner,
ordered a feast so sumptuous that the tavern was thrown into commotion, and when all was done
commanded Macfarlane to settle the bill. It was late before they separated; the man Gray was incapably
drunk. Macfarlane, sobered by his fury, chewed the cud of the money he had been forced to squander and
the slights he had been obliged to swallow. Fettes, with various liquors singing in his head, returned home
with devious footsteps and a mind entirely in abeyance. Next day Macfarlane was absent from the class,
and Fettes smiled to himself as he imagined him still squiring the intolerable Gray from tavern to tavern. As
soon as the hour of liberty had struck he posted from place to place in quest of his last night's companions.
He could find them, however, nowhere; so returned early to his rooms, went early to bed, and slept the
sleep of the just.

< 9 >

At four in the morning he was awakened by the
well-known signal. Descending to the door, he was filled with astonishment to find Macfarlane with his gig,
and in the gig one of those long and ghastly packages with which he was so well acquainted.

'What?' he cried. 'Have you been out alone? How did you manage?'

But Macfarlane silenced him roughly, bidding him turn to business. When they had got the body upstairs
and laid it on the table, Macfarlane made at first as if he were going away. Then he paused and seemed
to hesitate; and then, 'You had better look at the face,' said he, in tones of some constraint. 'You had
better,' he repeated, as Fettes only stared at him in wonder.

'But where, and how, and when did you come by it?' cried the other.

'Look at the face,' was the only answer.

Fettes was staggered; strange doubts assailed him. He looked from the young doctor to the body, and
then back again. At last, with a start, he did as he was bidden. He had almost expected the sight that met
his eyes, and yet the shock was cruel. To see, fixed in the rigidity of death and naked on that coarse layer
of sackcloth, the man whom he had left well clad and full of meat and sin upon the threshold of a tavern,
awoke, even in the thoughtless Fettes, some of the terrors of the conscience. It was a CRAS TIBI which
re-echoed in his soul, that two whom he had known should have come to lie upon these icy tables. Yet
these were only secondary thoughts. His first concern regarded Wolfe. Unprepared for a challenge so
momentous, he knew not how to look his comrade in the face. He durst not meet his eye, and he had
neither words nor voice at his command.

It was Macfarlane himself who made the first advance. He came up quietly behind and laid his hand
gently but firmly on the other's shoulder.

'Richardson,' said he, 'may have the head.'

Now Richardson was a student who had long been anxious for that portion of the human subject to
dissect. There was no answer, and the murderer resumed: 'Talking of business, you must pay me; your
accounts, you see, must tally.'

< 10 >

Fettes found a voice, the ghost of his own: 'Pa
y you!' he cried. 'Pay you for that?'

'Why, yes, of course you must. By all means and on every possible account, you must,' returned the
other. 'I dare not give it for nothing, you dare not take it for nothing; it would compromise us both. This is
another case like Jane Galbraith's. The more things are wrong the more we must act as if all were right.
Where does old K- keep his money?'

'There,' answered Fettes hoarsely, pointing to a cupboard in the corner.

'Give me the key, then,' said the other, calmly, holding out his hand.

There was an instant's hesitation, and the die was cast. Macfarlane could not suppress a nervous
twitch, the infinitesimal mark of an immense relief, as he felt the key between his fingers. He opened the
cupboard, brought out pen and ink and a paper-book that stood in one compartment, and separated from
the funds in a drawer a sum suitable to the occasion.

'Now, look here,' he said, 'there is the payment made - first proof of your good faith: first step to your
security. You have now to clinch it by a second. Enter the payment in your book, and then you for your part
may defy the devil.'

The next few seconds were for Fettes an agony of thought; but in balancing his terrors it was the most
immediate that triumphed. Any future difficulty seemed almost welcome if he could avoid a present quarrel
with Macfarlane. He set down the candle which he had been carrying all this time, and with a steady hand
entered the date, the nature, and the amount of the transaction.

'And now,' said Macfarlane, 'it's only fair that you should pocket the lucre. I've had my share already. By
the bye, when a man of the world falls into a bit of luck, has a few shillings extra in his pocket - I'm
ashamed to speak of it, but there's a rule of conduct in the case. No treating, no purchase of expensive
class-books, no squaring of old debts; borrow, don't lend.'

'Macfarlane,' began Fettes, still somewhat hoarsely, 'I have put my neck in a halter to oblige you.'

'To oblige me?' cried Wolfe. 'Oh, come! You did, as near as I can see the matter, what you downright
had to do in self- defence. Suppose I got into trouble, where would you be? This second little matter flows
clearly from the first. Mr. Gray is the continuation of Miss Galbraith. You can't begin and then stop. If you
begin, you must keep on beginning; that's the truth. No rest for the wicked.'

< 11 >

A horrible sense of blackness and the treacher
y of fate seized hold upon the soul of the unhappy student.

'My God!' he cried, 'but what have I done? and when did I begin? To be made a class assistant - in the
name of reason, where's the harm in that? Service wanted the position; Service might have got it. Would
HE have been where I am now?'

'My dear fellow,' said Macfarlane, 'what a boy you are! What harm HAS come to you? What harm CAN
come to you if you hold your tongue? Why, man, do you know what this life is? There are two squads of us
- the lions and the lambs. If you're a lamb, you'll come to lie upon these tables like Gray or Jane Galbraith;
if you're a lion, you'll live and drive a horse like me, like K-, like all the world with any wit or courage. You're
staggered at the first. But look at K-! My dear fellow, you're clever, you have pluck. I like you, and K- likes
you. You were born to lead the hunt; and I tell you, on my honour and my experience of life, three days
from now you'll laugh at all these scarecrows like a High School boy at a farce.'

And with that Macfarlane took his departure and drove off up the wynd in his gig to get under cover
before daylight. Fettes was thus left alone with his regrets. He saw the miserable peril in which he stood
involved. He saw, with inexpressible dismay, that there was no limit to his weakness, and that, from
concession to concession, he had fallen from the arbiter of Macfarlane's destiny to his paid and helpless
accomplice. He would have given the world to have been a little braver at the time, but it did not occur to
him that he might still be brave. The secret of Jane Galbraith and the cursed entry in the day-book closed
his mouth.

Hours passed; the class began to arrive; the members of the unhappy Gray were dealt out to one and
to another, and received without remark. Richardson was made happy with the head; and before the hour
of freedom rang Fettes trembled with exultation to perceive how far they had already gone toward safety.

< 12 >

For two days he continued to watch, with incre
asing joy, the dreadful process of disguise.

On the third day Macfarlane made his appearance. He had been ill, he said; but he made up for lost
time by the energy with which he directed the students. To Richardson in particular he extended the most
valuable assistance and advice, and that student, encouraged by the praise of the demonstrator, burned
high with ambitious hopes, and saw the medal already in his grasp.

Before the week was out Macfarlane's prophecy had been fulfilled. Fettes had outlived his terrors and
had forgotten his baseness. He began to plume himself upon his courage, and had so arranged the story
in his mind that he could look back on these events with an unhealthy pride. Of his accomplice he saw but
little. They met, of course, in the business of the class; they received their orders together from Mr. K-. At
times they had a word or two in private, and Macfarlane was from first to last particularly kind and jovial.
But it was plain that he avoided any reference to their common secret; and even when Fettes whispered
to him that he had cast in his lot with the lions and foresworn the lambs, he only signed to him smilingly to
hold his peace.

At length an occasion arose which threw the pair once more into a closer union. Mr. K- was again short
of subjects; pupils were eager, and it was a part of this teacher's pretensions to be always well supplied.
At the same time there came the news of a burial in the rustic graveyard of Glencorse. Time has little
changed the place in question. It stood then, as now, upon a cross road, out of call of human habitations,
and buried fathom deep in the foliage of six cedar trees. The cries of the sheep upon the neighbouring
hills, the streamlets upon either hand, one loudly singing among pebbles, the other dripping furtively from
pond to pond, the stir of the wind in mountainous old flowering chestnuts, and once in seven days the
voice of the bell and the old tunes of the precentor, were the only sounds that disturbed the silence
around the rural church. The Resurrection Man - to use a byname of the period - was not to be deterred by
any of the sanctities of customary piety. It was part of his trade to despise and desecrate the scrolls and
trumpets of old tombs, the paths worn by the feet of worshippers and mourners, and the offerings and the
inscriptions of bereaved affection. To rustic neighbourhoods, where love is more than commonly tenacious,
and where some bonds of blood or fellowship unite the entire society of a parish, the body-snatcher, far
from being repelled by natural respect, was attracted by the ease and safety of the task. To bodies that
had been laid in earth, in joyful expectation of a far different awakening, there came that hasty, lamp-lit,
terror-haunted resurrection of the spade and mattock. The coffin was forced, the cerements torn, and the
melancholy relics, clad in sackcloth, after being rattled for hours on moonless byways, were at length
exposed to uttermost indignities before a class of gaping boys.

< 13 >

Somewhat as two vultures may swoop upon a
dying lamb, Fettes and Macfarlane were to be let loose upon a grave in that green and quiet resting-place.
The wife of a farmer, a woman who had lived for sixty years, and been known for nothing but good butter

and a godly conversation, was to be rooted from her grave at midnight and carried, dead and naked, to
that far-away city that she had always honoured with her Sunday's best; the place beside her family was
to be empty till the crack of doom; her innocent and almost venerable members to be exposed to that last
curiosity of the anatomist.

Late one afternoon the pair set forth, well wrapped in cloaks and furnished with a formidable bottle. It
rained without remission - a cold, dense, lashing rain. Now and again there blew a puff of wind, but these
sheets of falling water kept it down. Bottle and all, it was a sad and silent drive as far as Penicuik, where
they were to spend the evening. They stopped once, to hide their implements in a thick bush not far from
the churchyard, and once again at the Fisher's Tryst, to have a toast before the kitchen fire and vary their
nips of whisky with a glass of ale. When they reached their journey's end the gig was housed, the horse
was fed and comforted, and the two young doctors in a private room sat down to the best dinner and the
best wine the house afforded. The lights, the fire, the beating rain upon the window, the cold, incongruous
work that lay before them, added zest to their enjoyment of the meal. With every glass their cordiality
increased. Soon Macfarlane handed a little pile of gold to his companion.

'A compliment,' he said. 'Between friends these little d-d accommodations ought to fly like pipe-lights.'

Fettes pocketed the money, and applauded the sentiment to the echo. 'You are a philosopher,' he
cried. 'I was an ass till I knew you. You and K- between you, by the Lord Harry! but you'll make a man of
me.'

'Of course we shall,' applauded Macfarlane. 'A man? I tell you, it required a man to back me up the other
morning. There are some big, brawling, forty-year-old cowards who would have turned sick at the look of
the d-d thing; but not you - you kept your head. I watched you.'

< 14 >

'Well, and why not?' Fettes thus vaunted himse
lf. 'It was no affair of mine. There was nothing to gain on the one side but disturbance, and on the other I
could count on your gratitude, don't you see?' And he slapped his pocket till the gold pieces rang.

Macfarlane somehow felt a certain touch of alarm at these unpleasant words. He may have regretted
that he had taught his young companion so successfully, but he had no time to interfere, for the other
noisily continued in this boastful strain:-

'The great thing is not to be afraid. Now, between you and me, I don't want to hang - that's practical;
but for all cant, Macfarlane, I was born with a contempt. Hell, God, Devil, right, wrong, sin, crime, and all
the old gallery of curiosities - they may frighten boys, but men of the world, like you and me, despise them.
Here's to the memory of Gray!'

It was by this time growing somewhat late. The gig, according to order, was brought round to the door
with both lamps brightly shining, and the young men had to pay their bill and take the road. They
announced that they were bound for Peebles, and drove in that direction till they were clear of the last
houses of the town; then, extinguishing the lamps, returned upon their course, and followed a by-road
toward Glencorse. There was no sound but that of their own passage, and the incessant, strident pouring
of the rain. It was pitch dark; here and there a white gate or a white stone in the wall guided them for a
short space across the night; but for the most part it was at a foot pace, and almost groping, that they
picked their way through that resonant blackness to their solemn and isolated destination. In the sunken
woods that traverse the neighbourhood of the burying- ground the last glimmer failed them, and it became
necessary to kindle a match and re-illumine one of the lanterns of the gig. Thus, under the dripping trees,
and environed by huge and moving shadows, they reached the scene of their unhallowed labours.

They were both experienced in such affairs, and powerful with the spade; and they had scarce been
twenty minutes at their task before they were rewarded by a dull rattle on the coffin lid. At the same
moment Macfarlane, having hurt his hand upon a stone, flung it carelessly above his head. The grave, in
which they now stood almost to the shoulders, was close to the edge of the plateau of the graveyard; and
the gig lamp had been propped, the better to illuminate their labours, against a tree, and on the
immediate verge of the steep bank descending to the stream. Chance had taken a sure aim with the
stone. Then came a clang of broken glass; night fell upon them; sounds alternately dull and ringing
announced the bounding of the lantern down the bank, and its occasional collision with the trees. A stone
or two, which it had dislodged in its descent, rattled behind it into the profundities of the glen; and then
silence, like night, resumed its sway; and they might bend their hearing to its utmost pitch, but naught
was to be heard except the rain, now marching to the wind, now steadily falling over miles of open
country.

< 15 >

They were so nearly at an end of their abhorred task that they judged it wisest to complete it in the
dark. The coffin was exhumed and broken open; the

body inserted in the dripping sack and carried between them to the gig; one mounted to keep it in its


place, and the other, taking the horse by the mouth, groped along by wall and bush until they reached the
wider road by the Fisher's Tryst. Here was a faint, diffused radiancy, which they hailed like daylight; by
that they pushed the horse to a good pace and began to rattle along merrily in the direction of the town.


They had both been wetted to the skin during their operations, and now, as the gig jumped among the

deep ruts, the thing that stood propped between them fell now upon one and now upon the other. At

every repetition of the horrid contact each instinctively repelled it with the greater haste; and the process,

natural although it was, began to tell upon the nerves of the companions. Macfarlane made some
ill-favoured jest about the farmer's wife, but it came hollowly from his lips, and was allowed to drop in
silence. Still their unnatural burden bumped from side to side; and now the head would be laid, as if in
confidence, upon their shoulders, and now the drenching sack-cloth would flap icily about their faces. A
creeping chill began to possess the soul of Fettes. He peered at the bundle, and it seemed somehow
larger than at first. All over the country-side, and from every degree of distance, the farm dogs
accompanied their passage with tragic ululations; and it grew and grew upon his mind that some
unnatural miracle had been accomplished, that some nameless change had befallen the dead body, and
that it was in fear of their unholy burden that the dogs were howling.

'For God's sake,' said he, making a great effort to arrive at speech, 'for God's sake, let's have a light!'

Seemingly Macfarlane was affected in the same direction; for, though he made no reply, he stopped the
horse, passed the reins to his companion, got down, and proceeded to kindle the remaining lamp. They
had by that time got no farther than the cross-road down to Auchenclinny. The rain still poured as though
the deluge were returning, and it was no easy matter to make a light in such a world of wet and darkness.
When at last the flickering blue flame had been transferred to the wick and began to expand and clarify,
and shed a wide circle of misty brightness round the gig, it became possible for the two young men to see
each other and the thing they had along with them. The rain had moulded the rough sacking to the
outlines of the body underneath; the head was distinct from the trunk, the shoulders plainly modelled;
something at once spectral and human riveted their eyes upon the ghastly comrade of their drive.

< 16 >

For some time Macfarlane stood motionless, holding up the lamp. A nameless dread was swathed, like a wet sheet, about the body, and tightened the
white skin upon the face of Fettes; a fear that was meaningless, a horror of what could not be, kept
mounting to his brain. Another beat of the watch, and he had spoken. But his comrade forestalled him.

'That is not a woman,' said Macfarlane, in a hushed voice.
'
It was a woman when we put her in,' whispered Fettes.

'Hold that lamp,' said the other. 'I must see her face.'

And as Fettes took the lamp his companion untied the fastenings of the sack and drew down the cover
from the head. The light fell very clear upon the dark, well-moulded features and smooth-shaven cheeks of
a too familiar countenance, often beheld in dreams of both of these young men. A wild yell rang up into
the night; each leaped from his own side into the roadway: the lamp fell, broke, and was extinguished;
and the horse, terrified by this unusual commotion, bounded and went off toward Edinburgh at a gallop,
bearing along with it, sole occupant of the gig, the body of the dead and long-dissected Gray.

Robert Louis Stevenson

Book(s) of the Month- December

BELIEVE

I pulled the cruiser to a stop and flipped a switch on the dash, killing the siren. As I got out and
made my way to the rear of the small, wooden shack, the smell of burning assaulted my nose. I
heard a moaning, keening wail, and I headed in the direction of the sound. I was tense as hell
and my hand kept straying to the butt of my gun. I inwardly cursed those idiots on the City
Council for cutting the budget and forcing us to ride without partners.

I was responding to a 911 call of unknown type, so I had to prepare myself for anything. Sandi,
my dispatcher, had said over the radio, "I don't know what's up, Wayne. The caller said, 'Send
police to the storage shack behind the stadium right away' and then they just hung up.

"Ten-four," I had responded, "Just get me some back-up on this will you?"

"Sure thing." Sandi had answered. She was a great woman and I knew she would do as I had
asked.

I came around the corner of the dull, red shack- and I stopped dead in my tracks. Before me lay
a black, smoking heap, its edges still glowing slightly like the dying embers of a campfire. Sitting
beside this burned pile, rocking back and forth, was a man who looked to be eighty or more. He
had white, stringy hair and his face bore the wrinkles of time in a spider-web of age. The dark,
red tone of his skin told me he was most likely native American. As he rocked, he wailed in a
haunting, mournful way that made my skin crawl.

I knelt beside the old man, "What happened here?" I asked him.

He looked up at me, his dark eyes wide and frightened, "The Cloud People." he said in heavily
accented English, "They return. They bring fire and death."

My girlfriend was into this kind of thing. She had totems and mandellas and dream catchers all
over her house. But I had not paid much attention to it, except to admire the artwork, "Who are
the Cloud People?" I asked calmly, "And why are they bringing fire and death?"

"They come from the sky." the old man said, "They will avenge the sorrow and loss my people
have borne at the hands of the White Man. They will rain fire upon those who will not believe."

I tried not to laugh at the man's rantings. I considered pulling out my radio and calling for the
patty wagon. This guy was either stoned or crazy. Then the black heap caught my eye again. I
sniffed... and the odor was somehow familiar to me. It brought to mind outdoor barbecues and
grilled steaks-

Fear suddenly shot through me like a bolt of white lightning as I realized that what I was
smelling was burned meat! I stood quickly, my hand returning to the butt of my revolver,
"What is that?" I asked the old man, pointing at the black lump.

"My wife Jane." he responded without hesitation, "She did not believe. The Fire Bird came for
her. She was covered by its wings."

"This is crazy!" I said, moving toward the old man, pulling out my cuffs as I did, "You are under
arrest, my old and nutty friend. I don't believe a word of your Fire Birds or your Cloud People.
You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say-"

A bright and flickering orange light suddenly illuminated the small area between the shack and
the stadium wall. As the light appeared, I heard a sound... It was like the call of some great
prehistoric bird. It was huge and high and raspy, and it made the skin along my spine tingle with
terror and loathing. I turned my head... And I beheld the Fire Bird. It looked like a great,
flaming pterodactyl with a wingspan of fifteen feet or more! Its eyes were a bright, burning
yellow, and as it opened its mouth to call again, I saw its red, fiery tongue. Its breath washed
over me, and it smelled of sulphur and rotting meat.

"You see!" cried the old man, bowing low, "I tell you truth! The Cloud People are here! The
Phoenix rises! Now do you believe?"

I pulled my gun from its holster and fired all six rounds at the thing. I saw all six bullets hit its
flaming skin... and just poof out as if they had been evaporated by the heat of the beast. Then
the Fire Bird swooped down on me, its wings of flame surrounding me as a hen's wing surrounds
her chick. I felt my clothes, my hair, my skin, catch fire quickly, and as the realization of my own
death crossed my frenzied mind, I also realized something else as well.

I realized that I believed.

By Tim Imbody

Little Red Riding Hood - A Politically Correct Fairy Tale

There once was a young person named Red Riding Hood who lived with her mother on the edge of a large wood. One day her mother asked her to take a basket of fresh fruit and mineral water to her grandmother's house -- not because this was womyn's work, mind you, but because the deed was generous and helped engender a feeling of community. Furthermore, her grandmother was not sick, but rather was in full physical and mental health and was fully capable of taking care of herself as a mature adult.

So Red Riding Hood set off with her basket of food through the woods. Many people she knew believed that the forest was a foreboding and dangerous place and never set foot in it. Red Riding Hood, however, was confident...

On her way to Grandma's house, Red Riding Hood was accosted by a Wolf, who asked her what was in her basket. She replied, "Some healthful snacks for my grandmother, who is certainly capable of taking care of herself as a mature adult."

The Wolf said, "You know, my dear, it isn't safe for a little girl to walk through these woods alone."

Red Riding Hood said, "I find your sexist remark offensive in the extreme, but I will ignore it because of your traditional status as an outcast from society, the stress of which has caused you to develop your own, entirely valid worldview. Now, if you'll excuse me, I must be on my way."

Red Riding Hood walked on along the main path. But, because his status outside society had freed him from slavish adherence to linear, Western-style thought, the Wolf knew of a quicker route to Grandma's house. He burst into the house and ate Grandma, an entirely valid course of action for a carnivore such as himself. Then, unhampered by rigid, traditionalist notions of what was masculine or feminine, he put on grandma's nightclothes and crawled into bed.

Red Riding Hood entered the cottage and said, "Grandma, I have brought you some fat-free, sodium-free snacks to salute you in your role of a wise and nurturing matriarch."

From the bed, the Wolf said softly, "Come closer, child, so that I might see you."

Red Riding Hood said, "Oh, I forgot you are as optically challenged as a bat. Grandma, what big eyes you have!"

"They have seen much, and forgiven much, my dear."

"Grandma, what a big nose you have -- only relatively, of course, and certainly attractive in its own way."

"It has smelled much, and forgiven much, my dear."

"Grandma, what big teeth you have!"

The Wolf said, "I am happy with and what I am," and leaped out of bed. He grabbed Red Riding Hood in his claws, intent on devouring her. Red Riding Hood screamed, not out of alarm at the Wolf's apparent tendency toward cross-dressing, but because of his willful invasion of her personal space.

Her screams were heard by a passing woodchopper-person (or log-fuel technician, as he preferred to be called). When he burst into the cottage, he saw the melee and tried to intervene. But as he raised his ax, Red Riding and the Wolf both stopped.

"And what do you think you're doing?" asked Red Riding Hood.

The woodchopper-person blinked and tried to answer, but no words came to him.

"Bursting in here like a Neanderthal, trusting your weapon to do your thinking for you!" she said. "Sexist! Speciesist! How dare you assume that womyn and wolves can't solve their own problems without a man's help!"

When she heard Red Riding Hood's speech, Grandma jumped out of the mouth, took the woodchopper-person's axe, and cut his head off. After this ordeal, Red Riding Hood, Grandma, and the Wolf felt a certain commonality of purpose. They decided to set up an alternative household based on mutual respect and cooperation, and they lived together in the woods happily ever after.

By Jim Garner

The Emperor's New Suit

Many, many years ago lived an emperor, who thought so much of new clothes that he spent all his money
in order to obtain them; his only ambition was to be always well dressed. He did not care for his soldiers,
and the theater did not amuse him; the only thing, in fact, he thought anything of was to drive out and
show a new suit of clothes. He had a coat for every hour of the day; and as one would say of a king "He is
in his cabinet," so one could say of him, "The emperor is in his dressing-room."

The great city where he resided was very gay; every day many strangers from all parts of the globe
arrived. One day two swindlers came to this city; they made people believe that they were weavers, and
declared they could manufacture the finest cloth to be imagined. Their colors and patterns, they said, were
not only exceptionally beautiful, but the clothes made of their material possessed the wonderful quality of
being invisible to any man who was unfit for his office or unpardonably stupid.

"That must be wonderful cloth," thought the emperor. "If I were to be dressed in a suit made of this
cloth I should be able to find out which men in my empire were unfit for their places, and I could distinguish
the clever from the stupid. I must have this cloth woven for me without delay." And he gave a large sum of
money to the swindlers, in advance, that they should set to work without any loss of time. They set up
two looms, and pretended to be very hard at work, but they did nothing whatever on the looms. They
asked for the finest silk and the most precious gold-cloth; all they got they did away with, and worked at
the empty looms till late at night.

"I should very much like to know how they are getting on with the cloth," thought the emperor. But he
felt rather uneasy when he remembered that he who was not fit for his office could not see it. Personally,
he was of opinion that he had nothing to fear, yet he thought it advisable to send somebody else first to
see how matters stood. Everybody in the town knew what a remarkable quality the stuff possessed, and
all were anxious to see how bad or stupid their neighbors were.

"I shall send my honest old minister to the weavers," thought the emperor. "He can judge best how the
stuff looks, for he is intelligent, and nobody understands his office better than he."

The good old minister went into the room where the swindlers sat before the empty looms. "Heaven
preserve us!" he thought, and opened his eyes wide, "I cannot see anything at all," but he did not say so.
Both swindlers requested him to come near, and asked him if he did not admire the exquisite pattern and
the beautiful colors, pointing to the empty looms. The poor old minister tried his very best, but he could
see nothing, for there was nothing to be seen. "Oh dear," he thought, "can I be so stupid? I should never
have thought so, and nobody must know it! Is it possible that I am not fit for my office? No, no, I cannot
say that I was unable to see the cloth."

"Now, have you got nothing to say?" said one of the swindlers, while he pretended to be busily
weaving.

"Oh, it is very pretty, exceedingly beautiful," replied the old minister looking through his glasses. "What
a beautiful pattern, what brilliant colors! I shall tell the emperor that I like the cloth very much."

"We are pleased to hear that," said the two weavers, and described to him the colours and explained
the curious pattern. The old minister listened attentively, that he might relate to the emperor what they
said; and so he did.

Now the swindlers asked for more money, silk and gold-cloth, which they required for weaving. They
kept everything for themselves, and not a thread came near the loom, but they continued, as hitherto, to
work at the empty looms.

Soon afterwards the emperor sent another honest courtier to the weavers to see how they were
getting on, and if the cloth was nearly finished. Like the old minister, he looked and looked but could see
nothing, as there was nothing to be seen.

"Is it not a beautiful piece of cloth?" asked the two swindlers, showing and explaining the magnificent
pattern, which, however, did not exist.

"I am not stupid," said the man. "It is therefore my good appointment for which I am not fit. It is very
strange, but I must not let any one know it;" and he praised the cloth, which he did not see, and
expressed his joy at the beautiful colors and the fine pattern. "It is very excellent," he said to the emperor.
Everybody in the whole town talked about the precious cloth. At last the emperor wished to see it

himself, while it was still on the loom. With a number of courtiers, including the two who had already been
there, he went to the two clever swindlers, who now worked as hard as they could, but without using any
thread.

"Is it not magnificent?" said the two old statesmen who had been there before. "Your Majesty must
admire the colors and the pattern." And then they pointed to the empty looms, for they imagined the
others could see the cloth.

"What is this?" thought the emperor, "I do not see anything at all. That is terrible! Am I stupid? Am I
unfit to be emperor? That would indeed be the most dreadful thing that could happen to me."

"Really," he said, turning to the weavers, "your cloth has our most gracious approval;" and nodding
contentedly he looked at the empty loom, for he did not like to say that he saw nothing. All his attendants,
who were with him, looked and looked, and although they could not see anything more than the others,
they said, like the emperor, "It is very beautiful." And all advised him to wear the new magnificent clothes
at a great procession which was soon to take place. "It is magnificent, beautiful, excellent," one heard
them say; everybody seemed to be delighted, and the emperor appointed the two swindlers "Imperial
Court weavers."

The whole night previous to the day on which the procession was to take place, the swindlers
pretended to work, and burned more than sixteen candles. People should see that they were busy to
finish the emperor's new suit. They pretended to take the cloth from the loom, and worked about in the air
with big scissors, and sewed with needles without thread, and said at last: "The emperor's new suit is
ready now."

The emperor and all his barons then came to the hall; the swindlers held their arms up as if they held
something in their hands and said: "These are the trousers!" "This is the coat!" and "Here is the cloak!"
and so on. "They are all as light as a cobweb, and one must feel as if one had nothing at all upon the
body; but that is just the beauty of them."

"Indeed!" said all the courtiers; but they could not see anything, for there was nothing to be seen.

"Does it please your Majesty now to graciously undress," said the swindlers, "that we may assist your
Majesty in putting on the new suit before the large looking-glass?"

The emperor undressed, and the swindlers pretended to put the new suit upon him, one piece after
another; and the emperor looked at himself in the glass from every side.

"How well they look! How well they fit!" said all. "What a beautiful pattern! What fine colors! That is a
magnificent suit of clothes!"

The master of the ceremonies announced that the bearers of the canopy, which was to be carried in
the procession, were ready.

"I am ready," said the emperor. "Does not my suit fit me marvelously?" Then he turned once more to
the looking-glass, that people should think he admired his garments.

The chamberlains, who were to carry the train, stretched their hands to the ground as if they lifted up a
train, and pretended to hold something in their hands; they did not like people to know that they could
not see anything.

The emperor marched in the procession under the beautiful canopy, and all who saw him in the street
and out of the windows exclaimed: "Indeed, the emperor's new suit is incomparable! What a long train he
has! How well it fits him!" Nobody wished to let others know he saw nothing, for then he would have been
unfit for his office or too stupid. Never emperor's clothes were more admired.

"But he has nothing on at all," said a little child at last. "Good heavens! listen to the voice of an
innocent child," said the father, and one whispered to the other what the child had said. "But he has
nothing on at all," cried at last the whole people. That made a deep impression upon the emperor, for it
seemed to him that they were right; but he thought to himself, "Now I must bear up to the end." And the
chamberlains walked with still greater dignity, as if they carried the train which did not exist.

Hans Christian Andersen

Interlude

The Crab and the Monkey

There was once a crab who lived in a hole on the shady side of a mountain. She was a very good housewife, and so careful and industrious that there was no creature in the whole country whose hole was so neat and clean as hers, and she took great pride in it.

One day she saw lying near the mouth of her hole a handful of cooked rice which some pilgrim must have let fall when he was stopping to eat his dinner. Delighted at this discovery, she hastened to the spot, and was carrying the rice back to her hole when a monkey, who lived in some trees near by, came down to see what the crab was doing. His eyes shone at the sight of the rice, for it was his favourite food, and like the sly fellow he was, he proposed a bargain to the crab. She was to give him half the rice in exchange for the kernel of a sweet red kaki fruit which he had just eaten. He half expected that the crab would laugh in his face at this impudent proposal, but instead of doing so she only looked at him for a moment with her head on one side and then said that she would agree to the exchange. So the monkey went off with his rice, and the crab returned to her hole with the kernel.

For some time the crab saw no more of the monkey, who had gone to pay a visit on the sunny side of the mountain; but one morning he happened to pass by her hole, and found her sitting under the shadow of a beautiful kaki tree.

'Good day,' he said politely, 'you have some very fine fruit there! I am very hungry, could you spare me one or two?'

'Oh, certainly,' replied the crab, 'but you must forgive me if I cannot get them for you myself. I am no tree-climber.'

'Pray do not apologise,' answered the monkey. 'Now that I have your permission I can get them myself quite easily.' And the crab consented to let him go up, merely saying that he must throw her down half the fruit.

In another moment he was swinging himself from branch to branch, eating all the ripest kakis and filling his pockets with the rest, and the poor crab saw to her disgust that the few he threw down to her were either not ripe at all or else quite rotten.

'You are a shocking rogue,' she called in a rage; but the monkey took no notice, and went on eating as fast as he could. The crab understood that it was no use her scolding, so she resolved to try what cunning would do.

'Sir Monkey,' she said, ' you are certainly a very good climber, but now that you have eaten so much, I am quite sure you would never be able to turn one of your somersaults.' The monkey prided himself on turning better somersaults than any of his family, so he instantly went head over heels three times on the bough on which he was sitting, and all the beautiful kakis that he had in his pockets rolled to the ground. Quick as lightning the crab picked them up and carried a quantity of them into her house, but when she came up for another the monkey sprang on her, and treated her so badly that he left her for dead. When he had beaten her till his arm ached he went his way.

It was a lucky thing for the poor crab that she had some friends to come to her help or she certainly would have died then and there. The wasp flew to her, and took her back to bed and looked after her, and then he consulted with a rice-mortar and an egg which had fallen out of a nest near by, and they agreed that when the monkey returned, as he was sure to do, to steal the rest of the fruit, that they would punish him severely for the manner in which he had behaved to the crab. So the mortar climbed up to the beam over the front door, and the egg lay quite still on the ground, while the wasp set down the water-bucket in a corner. Then the crab dug itself a deep hole in the ground, so that not even the tip of her claws might be seen.

Soon after everything was ready the monkey jumped down from his tree, and creeping to the door began a long hypocritical speech, asking pardon for all he had done. He waited for an answer of some sort, but none came. He listened, but all was still; then he peeped, and saw no one; then he went in. He peered about for the crab, but in vain; however, his eyes fell on the egg, which he snatched up and set on the fire. But in a moment the egg had burst into a thousand pieces, and its sharp shell struck him in the face and scratched him horribly. Smarting with pain he ran to the bucket and stooped down to throw some water over his head. As he stretched out his hand up started the wasp and stung him on the nose. The monkey shrieked and ran to the door, but as he passed through down fell the mortar and struck him dead. 'After that the crab lived happily for many years, and at length died in peace under her own kaki tree.

from The Crimson Fairy Book, edited by Andrew Lang

The Princess and the Pea

Once upon a time there was a prince who wanted to marry a princess; but she would have to be a real princess.
He travelled all over the world to find one, but nowhere could he get what he wanted.
There were princesses enough, but it was difficult to find out whether they were real ones.
There was always something about them that was not as it should be.
So he came home again and was sad, for he would have liked very much to have a real princess. One evening a terrible storm came on; there was thunder and lightning, and the rain poured down in torrents.
Suddenly a knocking was heard at the city gate, and the old king went to open it.
It was a princess standing out there in front of the gate.
But, good gracious! what a sight the rain and the wind had made her look.
The water ran down from her hair and clothes; it ran down into the toes of her shoes and out again at the heels.
And yet she said that she was a real princess.
Well, we'll soon find that out, thought the old queen.
But she said nothing, went into the bed-room, took all the bedding off the bedstead, and laid a pea on the bottom; then she took twenty mattresses and laid them on the pea, and then twenty eider-down beds on top of the mattresses.
On this the princess had to lie all night.
In the morning she was asked how she had slept.
"Oh, very badly!" said she.
"I have scarcely closed my eyes all night. Heaven only knows what was in the bed, but I was lying on something hard, so that I am black and blue allover my body. It's horrible!"
Now they knew that she was a real princess because she had felt the pea right through the twenty mattresses and the twenty eider-down beds.
Nobody but areal princess could be as sensitive as that.
So the prince took her for his wife, for now he knew that he had a real princess; and the pea was put in the museum, where it may still be seen, if no one has stolen it.
There, that is a true story.

Hans Christian Andersen

Interlude

Hansel & Gretel

Hard by a great forest dwelt a poor wood-cutter with his wife and his two children. The boy was called Hansel and the girl Gretel. He had little to bite and to break, and once, when great dearth fell on the land, he could no longer procure even daily bread.
Now when he thought over this by night in his bed, and tossed about in his anxiety. He groaned and said to his wife, "What is to become of us? How are we to feed our poor children, when we no longer have anything even for ourselves?"
"I'll tell you what, husband," answered the woman, "early tomorrow morning we will take the children out into the forest to where it is the thickest. There we will light a fire for them, and give each of them one more piece of bread, and then we will go to our work and leave them alone. They will not find the way home again, and we shall be rid of them."
"No, wife," said the man, "I will not do that. How can I bear to leave my children alone in the forest? The wild animals would soon come and tear them to pieces."
"Oh! you fool," said she, "then we must all four die of hunger, you may as well plane the planks for our coffins," and she left him no peace until he consented.
"But I feel very sorry for the poor children, all the same," said the man.
The two children had also not been able to sleep for hunger, and had heard what their step-mother had said to their father. Gretel wept bitter tears, and said to Hansel, "Now all is over with us."
"Be quiet, Gretel," said Hansel, "do not distress yourself, I will soon find a way to help us." And when the old folks had fallen asleep, he got up, put on his little coat, opened the door below, and crept outside.
The moon shone brightly, and the white pebbles which lay in front of the house glittered like real silver pennies. Hansel stooped and stuffed the little pocket of his coat with as many as he could get in. Then he went back and said to Gretel, "Be comforted, dear little sister, and sleep in peace, God will not forsake us," and he lay down again in his bed.

When day dawned, but before the sun had risen, the woman came and awoke the two children, saying, "Get up, you sluggards. We are going into the forest to fetch wood." She gave each a little piece of bread, and said, "There is something for your dinner, but do not eat it up before then, for you will get nothing else."
Gretel took the bread under her apron, as Hansel had the pebbles in his pocket. Then they all set out together on the way to the forest.
When they had walked a short time, Hansel stood still and peeped back at the house, and did so again and again. His father said, "Hansel, what are you looking at there and staying behind for? Pay attention, and do not forget how to use your legs."
"Ah, father," said Hansel, "I am looking at my little white cat, which is sitting up on the roof, and wants to say good-bye to me."
The wife said, "Fool, that is not your little cat, that is the morning sun which is shining on the chimneys."
Hansel, however, had not been looking back at the cat, but had been constantly throwing one of the white pebble-stones out of his pocket on the road.
When they had reached the middle of the forest, the father said, "Now, children, pile up some wood, and I will light a fire that you may not be cold."
Hansel and Gretel gathered brushwood together, as high as a little hill. The brushwood was lighted, and when the flames were burning very high, the woman said, "Now, children, lay yourselves down by the fire and rest, we will go into the forest and cut some wood. When we have done, we will come back and fetch you away."
Hansel and Gretel sat by the fire, and when noon came, each ate a little piece of bread, and as they heard the strokes of the wood-axe they believed that their father was near. It was not the axe, however, but a branch which he had fastened to a withered tree which the wind was blowing backwards and forwards. And as they had been sitting such a long time, their eyes closed with fatigue, and they fell fast asleep.
When at last they awoke, it was already dark night. Gretel began to cry and said, "How are we to get out of the forest now?"

But Hansel comforted her and said, "Just wait a little, until the moon has risen, and then we will soon find the way." And when the full moon had risen, Hansel took his little sister by the hand, and followed the pebbles which shone like newly-coined silver pieces, and showed them the way.
They walked the whole night long, and by break of day came once more to their father's house. They knocked at the door, and when the woman opened it and saw that it was Hansel and Gretel, she said, "You naughty children, why have you slept so long in the forest? We thought you were never coming back at all."
The father, however, rejoiced, for it had cut him to the heart to leave them behind alone.
Not long afterwards, there was once more great dearth throughout the land, and the children heard their mother saying at night to their father:
"Everything is eaten again, we have one half loaf left, and that is the end. The children must go, we will take them farther into the wood, so that they will not find their way out again. There is no other means of saving ourselves."
The man's heart was heavy, and he thought, "It would be better for you to share the last mouthful with your children." The woman, however, would listen to nothing that he had to say, but scolded and reproached him. He who says a must say b, likewise, and as he had yielded the first time, he had to do so a second time also.
The children, however, were still awake and had heard the conversation. When the old folks were asleep, Hansel again got up, and wanted to go out and pick up pebbles as he had done before, but the woman had locked the door, and Hansel could not get out. Nevertheless he comforted his little sister, and said, "Do not cry, Gretel, go to sleep quietly, the good God will help us."
Early in the morning came the woman, and took the children out of their beds. Their piece of bread was given to them, but it was still smaller than the time before. On the way into the forest Hansel crumbled his in his pocket, and often stood still and threw a morsel on the ground.

"Hansel, why do you stop and look round?" Said the father. "Go on."
"I am looking back at my little pigeon which is sitting on the roof, and wants to say good-bye to me, answered Hansel.
"Fool." Said the woman, "That is not your little pigeon, that is the morning sun that is shining on the chimney."
Hansel, however, little by little, threw all the crumbs on the path. The woman led the children still deeper into the forest, where they had never in their lives been before.
Then a great fire was again made, and the mother said, "Just sit there, you children, and when you are tired you may sleep a little. We are going into the forest to cut wood, and in the evening when we are done, we will come and fetch you away."
When it was noon, Gretel shared her piece of bread with Hansel, who had scattered his by the way. Then they fell asleep and evening passed, but no one came to the poor children.
They did not awake until it was dark night, and Hansel comforted his little sister and said, "Just wait, Gretel, until the moon rises, and then we shall see the crumbs of bread which I have strewn about, they will show us our way home again."
When the moon came they set out, but they found no crumbs, for the many thousands of birds which fly about in the woods and fields had picked them all up. Hansel said to Gretel, "We shall soon find the way."
But they did not find it. They walked the whole night and all the next day too from morning till evening, but they did not get out of the forest, and were very hungry, for they had nothing to eat but two or three berries, which grew on the ground. And as they were so weary that their legs would carry them no longer, they lay down beneath a tree and fell asleep.
It was now three mornings since they had left their father's house. They began to walk again, but they always came deeper into the forest, and if help did not come soon, they must die of hunger and weariness. When it was mid-day, they saw a beautiful snow-white bird sitting on a bough, which sang so delightfully that they stood still and listened to it. And when its song was over, it spread its wings and flew away before them, and they followed it until they reached a little house, on the roof of which it alighted. And when they approached the little house they saw that it was built of bread and covered with cakes, but that the windows were of clear sugar.

"We will set to work on that," said Hansel, "and have a good meal. I will eat a bit of the roof, and you Gretel, can eat some of the window, it will taste sweet."
Hansel reached up above, and broke off a little of the roof to try how it tasted, and Gretel leant against the window and nibbled at the panes. Then a soft voice cried from the parlor -
"Nibble, nibble, gnaw
who is nibbling at my little house?"
The children answered -
"The wind, the wind,
the heaven-born wind,"
and went on eating without disturbing themselves. Hansel, who liked the taste of the roof, tore down a great piece of it, and Gretel pushed out the whole of one round window-pane, sat down, and enjoyed herself with it.
Suddenly the door opened, and a woman as old as the hills, who supported herself on crutches, came creeping out. Hansel and Gretel were so terribly frightened that they let fall what they had in their hands.
The old woman, however, nodded her head, and said, "Oh, you dear children, who has brought you here? Do come in, and stay with me. No harm shall happen to you."
She took them both by the hand, and led them into her little house. Then good food was set before them, milk and pancakes, with sugar, apples, and nuts. Afterwards two pretty little beds were covered with clean white linen, and Hansel and Gretel lay down in them, and thought they were in heaven.
The old woman had only pretended to be so kind. She was in reality a wicked witch, who lay in wait for children, and had only built the little house of bread in order to entice them there. When a child fell into her power, she killed it, cooked and ate it, and that was a feast day with her. Witches have red eyes, and cannot see far, but they have a keen scent like the beasts, and are aware when human beings draw near. When Hansel and Gretel came into her neighborhood, she laughed with malice, and said mockingly, "I have them, they shall not escape me again."
Early in the morning before the children were awake, she was already up, and when she saw both of them sleeping and looking so pretty, with their plump and rosy cheeks, she muttered to herself, that will be a dainty mouthful.

Then she seized Hansel with her shrivelled hand, carried him into a little stable, and locked him in behind a grated door. Scream as he might, it would not help him. Then she went to Gretel, shook her till she awoke, and cried, "Get up, lazy thing, fetch some water, and cook something good for your brother, he is in the stable outside, and is to be made fat. When he is fat, I will eat him."
Gretel began to weep bitterly, but it was all in vain, for she was forced to do what the wicked witch commanded. And now the best food was cooked for poor Hansel, but Gretel got nothing but crab-shells. Every morning the woman crept to the little stable, and cried, "Hansel, stretch out your finger that I may feel if you will soon be fat."
Hansel, however, stretched out a little bone to her, and the old woman, who had dim eyes, could not see it, and thought it was Hansel's finger, and was astonished that there was no way of fattening him.
When four weeks had gone by, and Hansel still remained thin, she was seized with impatience and would not wait any longer.
"Now, then, Gretel," she cried to the girl, "stir yourself, and bring some water. Let Hansel be fat or lean, to-morrow I will kill him, and cook him."
Ah, how the poor little sister did lament when she had to fetch the water, and how her tears did flow down her cheeks. "Dear God, do help us," she cried. "If the wild beasts in the forest had but devoured us, we should at any rate have died together."
"Just keep your noise to yourself," said the old woman, "it won't help you at all."
Early in the morning, Gretel had to go out and hang up the cauldron with the water, and light the fire.
"We will bake first," said the old woman, "I have already heated the oven, and kneaded the dough." She pushed poor Gretel out to the oven, from which flames of fire were already darting. "Creep in," said the witch, "and see if it properly heated, so that we can put the bread in." And once Gretel was inside, she intended to shut the oven and let her bake in it, and then she would eat her, too.

But Gretel saw what she had in mind, and said, "I do not know how I am to do it. How do I get in?"
"Silly goose," said the old woman, "the door is big enough. Just look, I can get in myself." And she crept up and thrust her head into the oven.
Then Gretel gave her a push that drove her far into it, and shut the iron door, and fastened the bolt. Oh. Then she began to howl quite horribly, but Gretel ran away, and the godless witch was miserably burnt to death. Gretel, however, ran like lightning to Hansel, opened his little stable, and cried, "Hansel, we are saved. The old witch is dead."
Then Hansel sprang like a bird from its cage when the door is opened. How they did rejoice and embrace each other, and dance about and kiss each other. And as they had no longer any need to fear her, they went into the witch's house, and in every corner there stood chests full of pearls and jewels.
"These are far better than pebbles." Said Hansel, and thrust into his pockets whatever could be got in.
And Gretel said, "I, too, will take something home with me," and filled her pinafore full.
"But now we must be off," said Hansel, "that we may get out of the witch's forest."
When they had walked for two hours, they came to a great stretch of water.
"We cannot cross," said Hansel, "I see no foot-plank, and no bridge.
"And there is also no ferry," answered Gretel, "but a white duck is swimming there. If I ask her, she will help us over." Then she cried -
"Little duck, little duck, dost thou see,
Hansel and Gretel are waiting for thee.
There's never a plank, or bridge in sight,
take us across on thy back so white."
The duck came to them, and Hansel seated himself on its back, and told his sister to sit by him.
"No," replied Gretel, "that will be too heavy for the little duck. She shall take us across, one after the other."
The good little duck did so, and when they were once safely across and had walked for a short time, the forest seemed to be more and more familiar to them, and at length they saw from afar their father's house. Then they began to run, rushed into the parlor, and threw themselves round their father's neck. The man had not known one happy hour since he had left the children in the forest. The woman, however, was dead. Gretel emptied her pinafore until pearls and precious stones ran about the room, and Hansel threw one handful after another out of his pocket to add to them. Then all anxiety was at an end, and they lived together in perfect happiness.

My tale is done, there runs a mouse, whosoever catches it, may make himself a big fur cap out of it.

The Brothers Grimm