_THE SILVER HATCHET._
On the 3rd of December 1861, Dr. Otto von Hopstein, Regius Professor ofComparative Anatomy of the University of Buda-Pesth, and Curator of theAcademical Museum, was foully and brutally murdered within a stone-throwof the entrance to the college quadrangle.
Besides the eminent position of the victim and his popularity amongstboth students and townsfolk, there were other circumstances whichexcited public interest very strongly, and drew general attentionthroughout Austria and Hungary to this murder. The _Pesther Abendblatt_of the following day had an article upon it, which may still beconsulted by the curious, and from which I translate a few passagesgiving a succinct account of the circumstances under which the crime wascommitted, and the peculiar features in the case which puzzled theHungarian police.
"It appears," said that very excellent paper, "that Professor vonHopstein left the University about half-past four in the afternoon, inorder to meet the train which is due from Vienna at three minutes afterfive. He was accompanied by his old and dear friend, Herr WilhelmSchlessinger, sub-Curator of the Museum and Privat-docent of Chemistry.The object of these two gentlemen in meeting this particular train wasto receive the legacy bequeathed by Graf von Schulling to the Universityof Buda-Pesth. It is well known that this unfortunate nobleman, whosetragic fate is still fresh in the recollection of the public, left hisunique collection of medi[ae]val weapons, as well as several pricelessblack-letter editions, to enrich the already celebrated museum of hisAlma Mater. The worthy Professor was too much of an enthusiast in suchmatters to intrust the reception or care of this valuable legacy to anysubordinate; and, with the assistance of Herr Schlessinger, he succeededin removing the whole collection from the train, and stowing it away ina light cart which had been sent by the University authorities. Most ofthe books and more fragile articles were packed in cases of pine-wood,but many of the weapons were simply done round with straw, so thatconsiderable labour was involved in moving them all. The Professor wasso nervous, however, lest any of them should be injured, that he refusedto allow any of the railway employ['e]s (_Eisenbahn-diener_) to assist.Every article was carried across the platform by Herr Schlessinger, andhanded to Professor von Hopstein in the cart, who packed it away. Wheneverything was in, the two gentlemen, still faithful to their charge,drove back to the University, the Professor being in excellent spirits,and not a little proud of the physical exertion which he had shownhimself capable of. He made some joking allusion to it to Reinmaul, thejanitor, who, with his friend Schiffer, a Bohemian Jew, met the cart onits return and unloaded the contents. Leaving his curiosities safe inthe store-room, and locking the door, the Professor handed the key tohis sub-curator, and, bidding every one good evening, departed in thedirection of his lodgings. Schlessinger took a last look to reassurehimself that all was right, and also went off, leaving Reinmaul and hisfriend Schiffer smoking in the janitor's lodge.
"At eleven o'clock, about an hour and a half after Von Hopstein'sdeparture, a soldier of the 14th regiment of J[''a]ger, passing the front ofthe University on his way to barracks, came upon the lifeless body ofthe Professor lying a little way from the side of the road. He hadfallen upon his face, with both hands stretched out. His head wasliterally split in two halves by a tremendous blow, which, it isconjectured, must have been struck from behind, there remaining apeaceful smile upon the old man's face, as if he had been still dwellingupon his new arch[ae]ological acquisition when death had overtaken him.There is no other mark of violence upon the body, except a bruise overthe left patella, caused probably by the fall. The most mysterious partof the affair is that the Professor's purse, containing forty-threegulden, and his valuable watch have been untouched. Robbery cannot,therefore, have been the incentive to the deed, unless the assassinswere disturbed before they could complete their work.
"This idea is negatived by the fact that the body must have lain atleast an hour before any one discovered it. The whole affair is wrappedin mystery. Dr. Langemann, the eminent medico-jurist, has pronouncedthat the wound is such as might have been inflicted by a heavysword-bayonet wielded by a powerful arm. The police are extremelyreticent upon the subject, and it is suspected that they are inpossession of a clue which may lead to important results."
Thus far the _Pesther Abendblatt_. The researches of the police failed,however, to throw the least glimmer of light upon the matter. There wasabsolutely no trace of the murderer, nor could any amount of ingenuityinvent any reason which could have induced any one to commit thedreadful deed. The deceased Professor was a man so wrapped in his ownstudies and pursuits that he lived apart from the world, and hadcertainly never raised the slightest animosity in any human breast. Itmust have been some fiend, some savage, who loved blood for its ownsake, who struck that merciless blow.
Though the officials were unable to come to any conclusions upon thematter, popular suspicion was not long in pitching upon a scapegoat. Inthe first published accounts of the murder the name of one Schiffer hadbeen mentioned as having remained with the janitor after the Professor'sdeparture. This man was a Jew, and Jews have never been popular inHungary. A cry was at once raised for Schiffer's arrest; but as therewas not the slightest grain of evidence against him, the authoritiesvery properly refused to consent to so arbitrary a proceeding. Reinmaul,who was an old and most respected citizen, declared solemnly thatSchiffer was with him until the startled cry of the soldier had causedthem both to run out to the scene of the tragedy. No one ever dreamed ofimplicating Reinmaul in such a matter; but still, it was rumoured thathis ancient and well-known friendship for Schiffer might have inducedhim to tell a falsehood in order to screen him. Popular feeling ran veryhigh upon the subject, and there seemed a danger of Schiffer's beingmobbed in the street, when an incident occurred which threw a verydifferent light upon the matter.
On the morning of the 12th of December, just nine days after themysterious murder of the Professor, Schiffer the Bohemian Jew was foundlying in the north-western corner of the Grand Platz stone dead, and somutilated that he was hardly recognisable. His head was cloven open invery much the same way as that of Von Hopstein, and his body exhibitednumerous deep gashes, as if the murderer had been so carried away andtransported with fury that he had continued to hack the lifeless body.Snow had fallen heavily the day before, and was lying at least a footdeep all over the square; some had fallen during the night, too, as wasevidenced by a thin layer lying like a winding-sheet over the murderedman. It was hoped at first that this circumstance might assist in givinga clue by enabling the footsteps of the assassin to be traced; but thecrime had been committed, unfortunately, in a place much frequentedduring the day, and there were innumerable tracks in every direction.Besides, the newly-fallen snow had blurred the footsteps to such anextent that it would have been impossible to draw trustworthy evidencefrom them.
In this case there was exactly the same impenetrable mystery and absenceof motive which had characterised the murder of Professor von Hopstein.In the dead man's pocket there was found a note-book containing aconsiderable sum in gold and several very valuable bills, but no attempthad been made to rifle him. Supposing that any one to whom he had lentmoney (and this was the first idea which occurred to the police) hadtaken this means of evading his debt, it was hardly conceivable that hewould have left such a valuable spoil untouched. Schiffer lodged with awidow named Gruga, at 49 Marie Theresa Strasse, and the evidence of hislandlady and her children showed that he had remained shut up in hisroom the whole of the preceding day in a state of deep dejection, causedby the suspicion which the populace had fastened upon him. She had heardhim go out about eleven o'clock at night for his last and fatal walk,and as he had a latch-key she had gone to bed without waiting for him.His object in choosing such a late hour for a ramble obviously was thathe did not consider himself safe if recognised in the streets.
The occurrence of this second murder so shortly after the first threwnot only the town of Buda-Pesth, but the whole of Hungary, into aterrible state of excitement, and even of te
rror. Vague dangers seemedto hang over the head of every man. The only parallel to this intensefeeling was to be found in our own country at the time of the Williamsmurders described by De Quincey. There were so many resemblances betweenthe cases of Von Hopstein and of Schiffer that no one could doubt thatthere existed a connection between the two. The absence of object and ofrobbery, the utter want of any clue to the assassin, and, lastly, theghastly nature of the wounds, evidently inflicted by the same or asimilar weapon, all pointed in one direction. Things were in this statewhen the incidents which I am now about to relate occurred, and in orderto make them intelligible I must lead up to them from a fresh point ofdeparture.
Otto von Schlegel was a younger son of the old Silesian family of thatname. His father had originally destined him for the army, but at theadvice of his teachers, who saw the surprising talent of the youth, hadsent him to the University of Buda-Pesth to be educated in medicine.Here young Schlegel carried everything before him, and promised to beone of the most brilliant graduates turned out for many a year. Though ahard reader, he was no bookworm, but an active, powerful young fellow,full of animal spirits and vivacity, and extremely popular among hisfellow-students.
The New Year examinations were at hand, and Schlegel was workinghard--so hard that even the strange murders in the town, and the generalexcitement in men's minds, failed to turn his thoughts from his studies.Upon Christmas Eve, when every house was illuminated, and the roar ofdrinking songs came from the Bierkeller in the Student-quartier, herefused the many invitations to roystering suppers which were showeredupon him, and went off with his books under his arm to the rooms ofLeopold Strauss, to work with him into the small hours of the morning.
Strauss and Schlegel were bosom friends. They were both Silesians, andhad known each other from boyhood. Their affection had become proverbialin the University. Strauss was almost as distinguished a student asSchlegel, and there had been many a tough struggle for academic honoursbetween the two fellow-countrymen, which had only served to strengthentheir friendship by a bond of mutual respect. Schlegel admired thedogged pluck and never-failing good temper of his old playmate; whilethe latter considered Schlegel, with his many talents and brilliantversatility, the most accomplished of mortals.
The friends were still working together, the one reading from a volumeon anatomy, the other holding a skull and marking off the various partsmentioned in the text, when the deep-toned bell of St. Gregory's churchstruck the hour of midnight.
"Hark to that!" said Schlegel, snapping up the book and stretching outhis long legs towards the cheery fire. "Why, it's Christmas morning, oldfriend! May it not be the last that we spend together!"
"May we have passed all these confounded examinations before another onecomes!" answered Strauss. "But see here, Otto, one bottle of wine willnot be amiss. I have laid one up on purpose;" and with a smile on hishonest South German face, he pulled out a long-necked bottle of Rhenishfrom amongst a pile of books and bones in the corner.
"It is a night to be comfortable indoors," said Otto von Schlegel,looking out at the snowy landscape, "for 'tis bleak and bitter enoughoutside. Good health, Leopold!"
"_Lebe hoch!_" replied his companion. "It is a comfort indeed to forgetsphenoid bones and ethmoid bones, if it be but for a moment. And whatis the news of the corps, Otto? Has Graube fought the Swabian?"
"They fight to-morrow," said Von Schlegel. "I fear that our man willlose his beauty, for he is short in the arm. Yet activity and skill maydo much for him. They say his hanging guard is perfection."
"And what else is the news amongst the students?" asked Strauss.
"They talk, I believe, of nothing but the murders. But I have workedhard of late, as you know, and hear little of the gossip."
"Have you had time," inquired Strauss, "to look over the books and theweapons which our dear old Professor was so concerned about the very dayhe met his death? They say they are well worth a visit."
"I saw them to-day," said Schlegel, lighting his pipe. "Reinmaul, thejanitor, showed me over the store-room, and I helped to label many ofthem from the original catalogue of Graf Schulling's museum. As far aswe can see, there is but one article missing of all the collection."
"One missing!" exclaimed Strauss. "That would grieve old Von Hopstein'sghost. Is it anything of value?"
"It is described as an antique hatchet, with a head of steel and ahandle of chased silver. We have applied to the railway company, and nodoubt it will be found."
"I trust so," echoed Strauss; and the conversation drifted off intoother channels. The fire was burning low and the bottle of Rhenish wasempty before the two friends rose from their chairs, and Von Schlegelprepared to depart.
"Ugh! It's a bitter night!" he said, standing on the doorstep andfolding his cloak round him. "Why, Leopold, you have your cap on. Youare not going out, are you?"
"Yes, I am coming with you," said Strauss, shutting the door behind him."I feel heavy," he continued, taking his friend's arm, and walking downthe street with him. "I think a walk as far as your lodgings, in thecrisp frosty air, is just the thing to set me right."
The two students went down Stephen Strasse together and across JulienPlatz, talking on a variety of topics. As they passed the corner of theGrand Platz, however, where Schiffer had been found dead, theconversation turned naturally upon the murder.
"That's where they found him," remarked Von Schlegel, pointing to thefatal spot.
"Perhaps the murderer is near us now," said Strauss. "Let us hasten on."
They both turned to go, when Von Schlegel gave a sudden cry of pain andstooped down.
"Something has cut through my boot!" he cried; and feeling about withhis hand in the snow, he pulled out a small glistening battle-axe, madeapparently entirely of metal. It had been lying with the blade turnedslightly upwards, so as to cut the foot of the student when he trod uponit.
"The weapon of the murderer!" he ejaculated.
"The silver hatchet from the museum!" cried Strauss in the same breath.
There could be no doubt that it was both the one and the other. Therecould not be two such curious weapons, and the character of the woundswas just such as would be inflicted by a similar instrument. Themurderer had evidently thrown it aside after committing the dreadfuldeed, and it had lain concealed in the snow some twenty m[`e]tres from thespot ever since. It was extraordinary that of all the people who hadpassed and repassed none had discovered it; but the snow was deep, andit was a little off the beaten track.
"What are we to do with it?" said Von Schlegel, holding it in his hand.He shuddered as he noticed by the light of the moon that the head of itwas all dabbled with dark-brown stains.
"Take it to the Commissary of Police," suggested Strauss.
"He'll be in bed now. Still, I think you are right. But it is nearlyfour o'clock. I will wait until morning, and take it round beforebreakfast. Meanwhile, I must carry it with me to my lodgings."
"That is the best plan," said his friend; and the two walked on togethertalking of the remarkable find which they had made. When they came toSchlegel's door, Strauss said good-bye, refusing an invitation to go in,and walked briskly down the street in the direction of his own lodgings.
Schlegel was stooping down putting the key into the lock, when a strangechange came over him. He trembled violently, and dropped the key fromhis quivering fingers. His right hand closed convulsively round thehandle of the silver hatchet, and his eye followed the retreatingfigure of his friend with a vindictive glare. In spite of the coldnessof the night the perspiration streamed down his face. For a moment heseemed to struggle with himself, holding his hand up to his throat as ifhe were suffocating. Then, with crouching body and rapid, noiselesssteps, he crept after his late companion.
Strauss was plodding sturdily along through the snow, humming snatchesof a student song, and little dreaming of the dark figure which pursuedhim. At the Grand Platz it was forty yards behind him; at the JulienPlatz it was but twenty; in Stephen Strasse it was ten, and ga
ining onhim with panther-like rapidity. Already it was almost within arm'slength of the unsuspecting man, and the hatchet glittered coldly in themoonlight, when some slight noise must have reached Strauss's ears, forhe faced suddenly round upon his pursuer. He started and uttered anexclamation as his eye met the white set face, with flashing eyes andclenched teeth, which seemed to be suspended in the air behind him.
"What, Otto!" he exclaimed, recognising his friend. "Art thou ill? Youlook pale. Come with me to my---- Ah! hold, you madman, hold! Drop thataxe! Drop it, I say, or by heaven I'll choke you!"
Von Schlegel had thrown himself upon him with a wild cry and upliftedweapon; but the student was stout-hearted and resolute. He rushed insidethe sweep of the hatchet and caught his assailant round the waist,narrowly escaping a blow which would have cloven his head. The twostaggered for a moment in a deadly wrestle, Schlegel endeavouring toshorten his weapon; but Strauss with a desperate wrench managed to bringhim to the ground, and they rolled together in the snow, Straussclinging to the other's right arm and shouting frantically forassistance. It was as well that he did so, for Schlegel would certainlyhave succeeded in freeing his arm had it not been for the arrival of twostalwart gendarmes, attracted by the uproar. Even then the three of themfound it difficult to overcome the maniacal strength of Schlegel, andthey were utterly unable to wrench the silver hatchet from his grasp.One of the gendarmes, however, had a coil of rope round his waist, withwhich he rapidly secured the student's arms to his sides. In this way,half pushed, half dragged, he was conveyed, in spite of furious criesand frenzied struggles, to the central police station.
Strauss assisted in coercing his former friend, and accompanied thepolice to the station; protesting loudly at the same time against anyunnecessary violence, and giving it as his opinion that a lunatic asylumwould be a more fitting place for the prisoner. The events of the lasthalf-hour had been so sudden and inexplicable that he felt quite dazedhimself. What did it all mean? It was certain that his old friend fromboyhood had attempted to murder him, and had nearly succeeded. Was VonSchlegel then the murderer of Professor von Hopstein and of the BohemianJew? Strauss felt that it was impossible, for the Jew was not even knownto him, and the Professor had been his especial favourite. He followedmechanically to the police station, lost in grief and amazement.
Inspector Baumgarten, one of the most energetic and best known of thepolice officials, was on duty in the absence of the Commissary. He was awiry little active man, quiet and retiring in his habits, but possessedof great sagacity and a vigilance which never relaxed. Now, though hehad had a six hours' vigil, he sat as erect as ever, with his pen behindhis ear, at his official desk, while his friend, Sub-inspector Winkel,snored in a chair at the side of the stove. Even the inspector's usuallyimmovable features betrayed surprise, however, when the door was flungopen and Von Schlegel was dragged in with pale face and disorderedclothes, the silver hatchet still grasped firmly in his hand. Still moresurprised was he when Strauss and the gendarmes gave their account,which was duly entered in the official register.
"Young man, young man," said Inspector Baumgarten, laying down his penand fixing his eyes sternly upon the prisoner, "this is pretty work forChristmas morning; why have you done this thing?"
"God knows!" cried Von Schlegel, covering his face with his hands anddropping the hatchet. A change had come over him, his fury andexcitement were gone, and he seemed utterly prostrated with grief.
"You have rendered yourself liable to a strong suspicion of havingcommitted the other murders which have disgraced our city."
"No, no, indeed!" said Von Schlegel earnestly. "God forbid!"
"At least you are guilty of attempting the life of Herr LeopoldStrauss."
"The dearest friend I have in the world," groaned the student. "Oh, howcould I! How could I!"
"His being your friend makes your crime ten times more heinous," saidthe inspector severely. "Remove him for the remainder of the night tothe---- But steady! Who comes here?"
The door was pushed open, and a man came into the room, so haggard andcareworn that he looked more like a ghost than a human being. Hetottered as he walked, and had to clutch at the backs of the chairs ashe approached the inspector's desk. It was hard to recognise in thismiserable-looking object the once cheerful and rubicund sub-curator ofthe museum and privat-docent of chemistry, Herr Wilhelm Schlessinger.The practised eye of Baumgarten, however, was not to be baffled by anychange.
"Good morning, mein herr," he said; "you are up early. No doubt thereason is that you have heard that one of your students, Von Schlegel,is arrested for attempting the life of Leopold Strauss?"
"No; I have come for myself," said Schlessinger, speaking huskily, andputting his hand up to his throat. "I have come to ease my soul of theweight of a great sin, though, God knows, an unmeditated one. It was Iwho---- But, merciful heavens! there it is--the horrid thing! Oh, that Ihad never seen it!"
He shrank back in a paroxysm of terror, glaring at the silver hatchetwhere it lay upon the floor, and pointing at it with his emaciated hand.
"There it lies!" he yelled. "Look at it! It has come to condemn me. Seethat brown rust on it! Do you know what that is? That is the blood of mydearest, best friend, Professor von Hopstein. I saw it gush over thevery handle as I drove the blade through his brain. Mein Gott, I see itnow!"
"Sub-inspector Winkel," said Baumgarten, endeavouring to preserve hisofficial austerity, "you will arrest this man, charged on his ownconfession with the murder of the late Professor. I also deliver intoyour hands Von Schlegel here, charged with a murderous assault uponHerr Strauss. You will also keep this hatchet"--here he picked it fromthe floor--"which has apparently been used for both crimes."
Wilhelm Schlessinger had been leaning against the table, with a face ofashy paleness. As the inspector ceased speaking, he looked up excitedly.
"What did you say?" he cried. "Von Schlegel attack Strauss! The twodearest friends in the college! I slay my old master! It is magic, Isay; it is a charm! There is a spell upon us! It is--Ah, I have it! Itis that hatchet--that thrice accursed hatchet!" and he pointedconvulsively at the weapon which Inspector Baumgarten still held in hishand.
The inspector smiled contemptuously.
"Restrain yourself, mein herr," he said. "You do but make your caseworse by such wild excuses for the wicked deed you confess to. Magic andcharms are not known in the legal vocabulary, as my friend Winkel willassure you."
"I know not," remarked his sub-inspector, shrugging his broad shoulders."There are many strange things in the world. Who knows but that----"
"What!" roared Inspector Baumgarten furiously. "You would undertake tocontradict me! You would set up your opinion! You would be the championof these accursed murderers! Fool, miserable fool, your hour has come!"and rushing at the astounded Winkel, he dealt a blow at him with thesilver hatchet which would certainly have justified his last assertionhad it not been that, in his fury, he overlooked the lowness of therafters above his head. The blade of the hatchet struck one of these,and remained there quivering, while the handle was splintered into athousand pieces.
"What have I done?" gasped Baumgarten, falling back into his chair."What have I done?"
"You have proved Herr Schlessinger's words to be correct," said VonSchlegel, stepping forward, for the astonished policemen had let gotheir grasp of him. "That is what you have done. Against reason,science, and everything else though it be, there is a charm at work.There must be! Strauss, old boy, you know I would not, in my rightsenses, hurt one hair of your head. And you, Schlessinger, we both knowyou loved the old man who is dead. And you, Inspector Baumgarten, youwould not willingly have struck your friend the sub-inspector?"
"Not for the whole world," groaned the inspector, covering his face withhis hands.
"Then is it not clear? But now, thank Heaven, the accursed thing isbroken, and can never do harm again. But see, what is that?"
Right in the centre of the room was lying a thin brown cylinder ofparchment. One glanc
e at the fragments of the handle of the weaponshowed that it had been hollow. This roll of paper had apparently beenhidden away inside the metal case thus formed, having been introducedthrough a small hole, which had been afterwards soldered up. VonSchlegel opened the document. The writing upon it was almost illegiblefrom age; but as far as they could make out it stood thus, in medi[ae]valGerman--
"Diese Waffe benutzte Max von Erlichingen um Joanna Bodeck zu ermorden,deshalb beschuldige Ich, Johann Bodeck, mittelst der macht welche mirals mitglied des Concils des rothen Kreuzes verliehan wurde, dieselbemit dieser unthat. Mag sie anderen denselben schmerz verursachen den siemir verursacht hat. Mag Jede hand die sie ergreift mit dem blut einesfreundes ger[''o]thet sein.
"'Immer [''u]bel--niemals gut, Ger[''o]thet mit des freundes blut.'"
Which may be roughly translated--
"This weapon was used by Max von Erlichingen for the murder of JoannaBodeck. Therefore do I, Johann Bodeck, accurse it by the power which hasbeen bequeathed to me as one of the Council of the Rosy Cross. May itdeal to others the grief which it has dealt to me! May every hand thatgrasps it be reddened in the blood of a friend!
"'Ever evil, never good, Reddened with a loved one's blood.'"
There was a dead silence in the room when Von Schlegel had finishedspelling out this strange document. As he put it down Strauss laid hishand affectionately upon his arm.
"No such proof is needed by me, old friend," he said. "At the verymoment that you struck at me I forgave you in my heart. I well know thatif the poor Professor were in the room he would say as much to HerrWilhelm Schlessinger."
"Gentlemen," remarked the inspector, standing up and resuming hisofficial tones, "this affair, strange as it is, must be treatedaccording to rule and precedent. Sub-inspector Winkel, as your superiorofficer, I command you to arrest me upon a charge of murderouslyassaulting you. You will commit me to prison for the night, togetherwith Herr von Schlegel and Herr Wilhelm Schlessinger. We shall take ourtrial at the coming sitting of the judges. In the meantime take care ofthat piece of evidence"--pointing to the piece of parchment--"and, whileI am away, devote your time and energy to utilising the clue you haveobtained in discovering who it was who slew Herr Schiffer, the BohemianJew."
The one missing link in the chain of evidence was soon supplied. On the28th of December the wife of Reinmaul the janitor, coming into thebedroom after a short absence, found her husband hanging lifeless from ahook in the wall. He had tied a long bolster-case round his neck andstood upon a chair in order to commit the fatal deed. On the table was anote in which he confessed to the murder of Schiffer the Jew, addingthat the deceased had been his oldest friend, and that he had slain himwithout premeditation, in obedience to some incontrollable impulse.Remorse and grief, he said, had driven him to self-destruction; and hewound up his confession by commending his soul to the mercy of Heaven.
The trial which ensued was one of the strangest which ever occurred inthe whole history of jurisprudence. It was in vain that the prosecutingcouncil urged the improbability of the explanation offered by theprisoners, and deprecated the introduction of such an element as magicinto a nineteenth-century law-court. The chain of facts was too strong,and the prisoners were unanimously acquitted. "This silver hatchet,"remarked the judge in his summing up, "has hung untouched upon the wallin the mansion of the Graf von Schulling for nearly two hundred years.The shocking manner in which he met his death at the hands of hisfavourite house steward is still fresh in your recollection. It has comeout in evidence that, a few days before the murder, the steward hadoverhauled the old weapons and cleaned them. In doing this he must havetouched the handle of this hatchet. Immediately afterwards he slew hismaster, whom he had served faithfully for twenty years. The weapon thencame, in conformity with the Count's will, to Buda-Pesth, where, at thestation, Herr Wilhelm Schlessinger grasped it, and, within two hours,used it against the person of the deceased Professor. The next man whomwe find touching it is the janitor Reinmaul, who helped to remove theweapons from the cart to the store-room. At the first opportunity heburied it in the body of his friend Schiffer. We then have the attemptedmurder of Strauss by Schlegel, and of Winkel by Inspector Baumgarten,all immediately following the taking of the hatchet into the hand.Lastly, comes the providential discovery of the extraordinary documentwhich has been read to you by the clerk of the court. I invite your mostcareful consideration, gentlemen of the jury, to this chain of facts,knowing that you will find a verdict according to your conscienceswithout fear and without favour."
Perhaps the most interesting piece of evidence to the English reader,though it found few supporters among the Hungarian audience, was that ofDr. Langemann, the eminent medico-jurist, who has written text-booksupon metallurgy and toxicology. He said--
"I am not so sure, gentlemen, that there is need to fall back uponnecromancy or the black art for an explanation of what has occurred. WhatI say is merely a hypothesis, without proof of any sort, but in a caseso extraordinary every suggestion may be of value. The Rosicrucians, towhom allusion is made in this paper, were the most profound chemists ofthe early Middle Ages, and included the principal alchemists whose nameshave descended to us. Much as chemistry has advanced, there are somepoints in which the ancients were ahead of us, and in none more so thanin the manufacture of poisons of subtle and deadly action. This manBodeck, as one of the elders of the Rosicrucians, possessed, no doubt,the recipe of many such mixtures, some of which, like the _aqua tofana_of the Medicis, would poison by penetrating through the pores of theskin. It is conceivable that the handle of this silver hatchet has beenanointed by some preparation which is a diffusible poison, having theeffect upon the human body of bringing on sudden and acute attacks ofhomicidal mania. In such attacks it is well known that the madman's rageis turned against those whom he loved best when sane. I have, as Iremarked before, no proof to support me in my theory, and simply put itforward for what it is worth."
With this extract from the speech of the learned and ingeniousprofessor, we may close the account of this famous trial.
The broken pieces of the silver hatchet were thrown into a deep pond, aclever poodle being employed to carry them in his mouth, as no one wouldtouch them for fear some of the infection might still hang about them.The piece of parchment was preserved in the museum of the University. Asto Strauss and Schlegel, Winkel and Baumgarten, they continued the bestof friends, and are so still for all I know to the contrary.Schlessinger became surgeon of a cavalry regiment; and was shot at thebattle of Sadowa five years later, while rescuing the wounded under aheavy fire. By his last injunctions his little patrimony was to be soldto erect a marble obelisk over the grave of Professor von Hopstein.
The Gully of Bluemansdyke, and Other stories Page 4