The Body Snatcher by Robert Louis Stevenson

" 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. "

Robert Louis Stevens may be known world wide for Treasure Island and Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, but his short ghost stories are just as horrifying as his longer works. Rae Wilson shares her observations on Stevenson's cautionary tale and and invites you question your own ambition fueled denial.

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Transcript

SPEAKER_00 0:00

Welcome to Echoes in the Dark, a podcast dedicated to the oral tradition of storytelling. If you're looking to enjoy more classic literature, struggle to find the time to read, hate reading, or just love listening to stories, then this podcast is for you. At the end of each story, I'll share my analysis on the story's deeper meanings. The Body Snatcher by Robert Lewis Stevenson is a short story that was originally published in 1884 in the newspaper The Paul Mall Gazette. Stevenson is best known for the fictional works Treasure Island and Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. He wrote some 21 books. The entire short story is told in first-person limited narration. If you want to follow along, you can get a copy on my website, betteressaywriting.com. The Body Snatcher by Robert Lewis Stevenson. Every night in the year, four of us sat in the small parlor of the George at Devon Home. The Undertaker and the Landlord and Fetz 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 armchair. Fetz 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 parlor at the George, his absence from church, his old scrapulous, 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 emphasize with totering 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, sometime before the landlord joined us. There was a sick man in the George, a great neighboring proprietor suddenly struck down with apoxapy 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 opened and we were all proportionately moved by the occurrence. He's come, said the landlord, after he filled and lighted his pipe. He, said I. Who? Not the doctor. Himself, replied our host. What's his name? Doctor MacFarlane, said the landlord. Fets 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. Yes, said the landlord, that's his name, doctor Wolf McFarlane. Fetz became instantly sober. His eyes awoke, his voice became clear, loud, and steady, his language forcibly an 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 Wolf McFarlane? And then when he 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. If it were too much to fancy too. 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's older though. Yeah is 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 can't it. Voltaire might have canted if he 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. Fets 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.

SPEAKER_01 6:33

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

SPEAKER_00 6:39

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 barroom window. The George thus sprightly advertised itself to passers by in the cold street. Betts 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.

unknown 7:26

Dr.

SPEAKER_00 7:26

McFarlane 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 parlor sot, bald, dirty, pimpled, and robbed in his old camlet cloak, confront him at the bottom of the stairs. McFarlane, 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 dress surprised and somewhat shocked his dignity. Toddy McFarlane repeated Vetz. 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 Fetz, he said.

SPEAKER_01 8:55

You I said the other. Me.

SPEAKER_00 9:00

Do you think I was dead too? We are not so easy to shut of our acquaintance. Hush, hush, exclaimed the doctor. Hush, hush, this meeting is so unexpected. I can see you are unmanned. I hardly even knew you, I confess at first. But I am overjoyed, overjoyed to have this opportunity. For the present it must be how do you do? And goodbye 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, Fetz. I fear you are out at elbows, but we must see to that for old Lang sign, as once we sang at suppers. Money cried Fetz. Money from you! The money that I had from you is lying where I cast it in the rain. doctor McFarlane 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 vernable 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 wish to know if after all there were a god. I know now there is none. Be gone. He still stood in the middle of the rug between the stair and the 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 the unusual scene, and caught a glimpse at the same time of our little body from our parlor, 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, Fetz clutched him by the arm, and these words came in a whisper and yet painfully distinct. Have you seen it again? The great rich London doctor cried out aloud with 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 barroom window, and Fetz at our side, sober, pale, and resolute in look. God protect us, Mr. Fetz, 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. Fetz turned towards us. He looked us each in succession in the face. See if you can hold your tongues, he 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 goodbye and went forth under the lamp of the hotel into the black night. We three turned to our places in the parlor 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 near 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, Fett studied medicine in the schools of Edinburgh. He had talent of a kind and the talent that picks up swiftly what it hears and readily retells 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 favored and pleased by his exterior. There was, at that period, a certain extramural teacher of anatomy, whom I shall hear designate by the letter K. His name was subsequently too well known. The man who bore its sculpts 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 Fetz believed himself and was believed by others to have laid the foundations of success when he had acquired the favor of this materially 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, Fetz 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. In this capacity, the charge of the theater 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 wind and at last in the same building with the dissecting rooms. Here, after a night of turbulent pleasures, his hands still tottering, his sights 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 doors 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 labors 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, a slave of his own desires and low ambitions. Cold, light, and selfish in the last resort, he had the 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 his 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 this day of work, he indemnified himself by nights of roaring, blackguardedly 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 autonomous 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 offense against good manner and a temptation to the men with whom he dealt. Betts, 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. 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 of 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 polluted the noise and business of the day. The ghouls had come later than usual, and they seemed more than usually eager to be gone. Fett, sick with sleep, lighted them upstairs. He heard them 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 towards. Nearer with the candle rays. God almighty, he cried, that is Jane Gulbraith. The men answered nothing, but they shuffled nearer the door. I know her, I tell you, he continued. She was alive and hardy 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 Fetz 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 be token 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 mister 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. This was a young doctor, Wolf McFarlane, a high favorite among all the reckless students, clever, dissipated, and unscrupulous to the last degree. He had travailed and studied abroad. His manners were agreeable and a little forward. He was an authority on the stage, skillful on the ice, or the links with skate or golf clubs. He dressed with nice audacity, and to put the finishing touch upon his glory, he kept a gig and a strong trotting horse. With Fets, 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 McFarlane'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, McFarlane arrived somewhat earlier than his wont. Fetz heard him and met him on the stairs, told him his story, and showed him the cause of his alarm. McFarlane examined the marks on her body.

SPEAKER_01 24:44

Yes, he said with a nod, it looks fishy. Well what should I do? asked Fetz.

SPEAKER_00 24:53

Do, repeated the other. Do you want to do anything? Lise said soon as Mendon, I should say. Someone else might recognize her, objected Fetz. She was as well known as the Castle Rock. Well hope not, said McFarlane, and if anybody does, we'll You didn't don't you see? There's an end. The fact is, this has been going on too long. Stir up the mud and you'll get Kay 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. McFarland cried Fetz. Come now, sneered the other, as if you haven'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 to not recognize 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 Kay would look for at our hands. The question is why did he choose us two for his assistance? And I answer because he didn't want old wives. This was the tone of all others to affect the mind of a lad like Fetz. He agreed to imitate McFarlane. The body of the unfortunate girl was duly dissected, and no one remarked or appeared to recognize her. One afternoon, when his day's work was over, Fetz dropped into a popular tavern and found McFarlane 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 realized 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 Basha, 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 Fetz on the spot, plied him with drinks, and honored 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 McFarlane is the boy. Toddy McFarlane, 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 McFarlane. Hear him? Did you ever see the lad's play knife? He would like to do that all over my body, remarked the stranger. We medicals have a better way than that, said Fetz. When we dislike a dead friend of ours, we dissect him. McFarlane looked up sharply as though this jest were scarcely to his mind. The afternoon passed. Gray, for that was the stranger's name, invited Fetz to join him at dinner, ordered a feast so sumptuous that the tavern was thrown into commotion, and when all was done, commanded McFarlane to settle the bill. It was late before they separated. The man, Grey, was incapably drunk. McFarlane, 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. Fetts, with various liquors singing in his head, returned home with devious footsteps and a mine entirely in abeyance. Next day, McFarlane was absent from the class, and Fetz smiled himself as he imagined him still squirming the intolerable grave from the 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. At four in the morning, he was awakened by the well known signal. Descending to the door he was filled with astonishment to find McFarlane with his gig. And in the gig, one of those long and ghastly packages with which he was so well acquainted. What? he cried. 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, McFarlane 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 Fetz 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. Fetz 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 fets, some of the terrors of the conscious. It was a crash TB, 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 Wolf. Unprepared for a challenge so momentous, he knew not how to look his comrade in the face. He durst not met his eye, and he had neither words nor voice at his command. It was McFarland 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.

SPEAKER_01 32:43

Talking of business, you must pay me. Your accounts, you see. Beth spot in a voice the ghost of his own. Pay you he cried. Pay you for for that Why yes.

SPEAKER_00 33:01

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. The more things are wrong, the more we must act as if all were right. Where does OK keep his money? There, answered Fetz 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 infantismal 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 as some 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 Fetz 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 McFarlane. 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 Loucre. I've had my share already, by the by 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. McFarlane, begged Fett still somewhat hoarsely. I have but my neck and a halter to oblige you. To oblige me, cried Wolf. Oh come, you did as near as I can see the matter, what you downright had to do in self-defense. Suppose I got into trouble. Where would you be? The second little matter flows clearly from the first. Mr. Grey is the continuation of Miss Galbreth. You can't begin and then stop. If you begin, you must keep on beginning. That's the truth. No rest for the wicked. A horrible sense of blackness and the treachery of fate seized upon the soul of the unhappy student. My God, he cried. 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 Grey or Jane Galbraith. If you're a lion, you'll live and drive a horse like me. Like Kay, like all the world with any wit or courage. You're staggered at first, but look at Kay, my dear fellow, you're clever. You have pluck. I like you. And Kay likes you. You were born to lead the hunt, and I tell you, on my honor 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, McFarlane took his departure and drove off up the wind in his gig to get undercover before daylight. Fetz 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 McFarland'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, Fetz trembled with exultation to perceive how far they had already gone toward safety. For two days he continued to watch with increasing joy the dreadful process of disguise. On the third day, McFarlane 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, McFarlane's prophecy had been fulfilled. Fets had outlived the terrors and had forgotten his baseness. He began to plume himself upon his courage and had so arranged a 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 for Mr. K. At times they had a word or two in private, and McFarlane 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 Fetz whispered to him that he had cast in his lot with the lions and forsworn 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 Glencourse. Time was little changed the place in question. It stood then as now upon a crossroad out of call of human habitations, and buried fathomed deep in the foliage of six cedar trees, the cries of the sheep upon the neighboring hills, the streamlets upon either hand, one loudly singing among pebbles, the other dripping furtively from pond to pond, the stir of the wind and 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 by name 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 neighborhoods, where love is more than commonly tenacious, and where some bonds of blood or fellowship unite the entire 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 matok. The coffin was forced, the cremants torn, and the melancholy relics clad in sackcloth after being rattled for hours on moonless byways, were at length exposed to uttermost identities before a class of gaping boys. Somewhat as two vultures may swoop upon a dying lamb, Fetz 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, had 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 faraway city that she had always honored with her Sunday's best. The place beside her family was to be empty till the crack of doom, her innocent and almost vulnerable 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 Pencuke, 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 Trist to have a toast before the kitchen fire and vary their nips of whiskey 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 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 McFarlane handed a little pile of gold to his companion. A compliment, he said. Between these little duh accommodations all to fly like pipelines. Fetts pocketed the money and applauded the sentiment to the echo. Your philosopher, he cried. I was an ass till I knew you. You and Kay, between you and by the Lord Harry, but you'll make a man of me. Of course we shall, applauded McFarlane. A man I tell you. It required a man to back me up the other morning. There's some big brawling forty year old cowards who would have turned sick at the look of the d thing. But not you.

SPEAKER_01 44:55

You kept your head. I watched you.

SPEAKER_00 44:59

Well and why not? Fetts thus vaulted himself. It was no fair mind. There was nothing to gain on the other 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, not between you and me. I don't want to hang. That's practical. But for all Kent MacFarlane, I was born with the 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 their lamps, returned upon their course and followed a by road toward Glencourse. 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's pace and almost groping, that they picked their way through the resonant blackness to their solemn and isolated destination. In the sunken woods that traverse the neighborhood of the burying ground, the last glimmer filled them, and it became necessary to kindle a match and reilluminate 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 labors. They were both experienced in such affairs and powerful with the spade, and they had scarce between twenty minutes at their task before they were rewarded by a dull rattle of 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 the laborers 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 dislodged in its descent, rattled behind it into the profundities of the glen, and in 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. They were so nearly at an end of their abort task that they judged it wisest to complete it in the dark. The coffin was exhumed and broken open, the body inserted into the dripping sack and carried between them to the gig, one mounted to keep it in place, and the other, taking the horse by the mouth, groped along by wall and bush until they reached the wider road by the fishers tryst. Here was a faint, diffuse radiancy which they held 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 though it was, began to tell upon the nerves of the companions. McFarlane made some ill favorite jest about the farmer's wife, but it came howily 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 the shoulders, and now the drenching sack cloth would flap icily about their faces. A creepy chill began to possess the soul of Fetz. He peered at the bundle and it seemed somehow larger than at first. All over the countryside and from every degree of distance the farm dogs accompanied their passage with tragic olulations, 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 us 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 crossroad down to Alkinglini. The rain still poured as though the dulge 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 transformed 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 molded the rough sacking to the outlines of the body underneath. The head was distinct from the trunk, the shoulders plainly molded. Something at once spectral and human riveted their eyes upon the ghastly comrade of their drive. For some time MacFarlane stood motionless, holding up the lamp. A nameless dread was swarthed like a wet sheet about the body, and tightened the white skin upon the face of Fetz. 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 Fetz. Hold the lamp, said the other. I must see her face. And as Fetz 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 molded features and smooth, shaven cheeks of a too familiar countenance. Often beheld in dreams of both 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, barely along with it, so occupant of the gig.

SPEAKER_01 53:27

The body of the dead and long dissected Gray.

SPEAKER_00 53:41

So that was The Body Snatcher by Robert Lewis Stevenson. I have to confess, I got a little girlish giggle, a little jump for joy when I saw that Stevenson had also authored Treasure Island and the Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll, Mr. Hyde. I had never heard of this author, but I'm very familiar with those two stories. So that was kind of a little funzy-wunesie. Um gosh, this story for me, the ending was a real twist. So of course, you know, something bad went down between these guys. And with the title, you know there's something naughty going on with bodies. There's nothing uh mysterious about that. And yet the idea that they are riding along in the dark with this body that suddenly kind of becomes unwrapped uh as they're going along. Um, and both guys get very uncomfortable by the fact that I just I like the way Stevenson has written how um they're going along in the dark, and the body kind of flops to one side and flops to the other, and the wind is going and um the covering is kind of coming off. And so I think that's all pretty funny because I could just imagine these guys riding along in the dark, and you know, this dead body kind of falls against you, then this the the head of the dead body falls. I don't know. I find it funny. I find it funny. I thought the author did a great job of being very descriptive with that. Um, but the big reveal that it was Gray's body instead of this woman, uh didn't I didn't particularly love that. And I, you know, I figure we're gonna start with that before we go into what does it all mean? Okay, so just thinking it through, um Gray was the last straw for these two. The death of uh this thug changed the relationship between these two men. And um really left them both being very callous, uh heartless and uh kind of I don't know, um one could say even with dead souls themselves. Um so I can understand why Stevenson picked this character to be the big reveal. But when reading the story, I did feel a bit unsatisfied, like, oh, was that guy? I don't know. I just I figure, you know, you went to go dig up this lady, and so can't we have her? Or like I don't know. I part of me was just like, maybe she vanishes, or maybe it's one of them that's actually in the wrapping and the casing and the sack, right? Like, and then they turned on the light, and staring back at them was the face of you know, one of these guys, and that would kind of symbolize your, you know, you've just desecrated a grave, though it wasn't the first time they've done that, so yeah. Okay. I was gonna say, like, that can be like you've lost your soul, ha ha ha. But it wasn't the first time they robbed Grave. So I don't know. I didn't, I didn't particularly love the big reveal. I love the description of everything up until we got our big reveal. Um, I was also wondering, like, oh, are they gonna get caught? I kind of thought they were gonna get caught, and uh, you know, one of them would go to jail or something, some big disgrace. But no, it's just like, oh my gosh, the guy who's dead is here. The dead man's haunting us. He's haunting us, we'll never be okay. Um, what happens after that, though? I mean, I guess that means it's a good story when you've got your audience going, well, what happens next? Namely, after this moment, you know, we know fast forward these guys are no longer talking, they've parted ways. And so did uh Fets ever set up shop as a doctor? Did he graduate? Did he finish his schooling and um have a successful practice and then get out of town? Or after seeing this body, was he like, nope, dropping out of the program? I am done with this whole doctor thing. I ain't down with this. I'm gonna take the money that I've swindled um out of, what is it, McFarland or what have you? And I'm going to go move out of town, buy some old property, and become a drunkard. A good amount of time has passed since these two have seen each other. One of them has clearly set up a uh, you know, good private practice. I mean, he is rushing to see this wealthy gentleman who has um taken ill. So he's doing all right for himself. Whatever um uh frustrations he felt about dealing with dead bodies, you know, once he graduated, who was like, I got I got my uh practice, I'm good. I'm good, I'm that money will help me sleep. Maybe he also gets a little tipsy at night, but all the same, his conscience isn't bothering him. He set himself up in a way so that he is able to sleep at night. We don't know what he did. We I would like to know what he did though, because that could help us all, right? Like, what was your secret, bro? Okay, so um, but you know, Fets Fets did not have that secret. He did not set himself up in a way where he could sleep well at night. He uh clearly was still impacted by his decisions many moons later, and enjoying that moonshine, that uh whiskey or whatever he was drinking, um, in order to not think about or dwell on his past. And so maybe he never did finish his medical schooling, and that's why he only helped with very small minor injuries, like, uh, you got a broken bone, I'll fix that. Um, though I felt like I mean, these guys were seeing each other kind of as old men, so it's not like five years had passed or anything. So, how much money did you really make? Like, did you really make enough money to live off of? I just I don't know. I feel like he had to have done something else with his life in order to be able to afford drinking every night. So that's my thought on the ending. You may disagree, maybe you're like, I thought it was perfect. I certainly didn't see it coming in terms of who the big reveal was. Maybe you saw it coming, but I didn't. Um, okay, so what does this all mean? What can we learn? Oh, so many things to learn. Stevenson, you talented, talented writer. Um, so let's start with how well do we know our friends?

SPEAKER_01 1:01:37

Mmm, yes.

SPEAKER_00 1:01:39

And we get this actually from the beginning. We've got four guys who all stood around every night doing the same thing, keeping each other company, a little bit of conversation, a few drinks. That's the way it goes night after night. And it is so common to establish relationships like this. When you are occupying a space, whether it is a physical space or an online space, when you are regularly showing up and there are others who are regularly showing up, you're just naturally going to develop connections. And you may not even think to ask the other person anything about their past because it's the present experience that is what matters. Um, you know, you guys are living in the moment, discussing the moment, uh, focused on the now. And so it really is very easy to see how um these guys are all spending time together and yet really never knowing anything about Vets' past. And think of your own life where you have relationships with people that you don't know everything that they have done when they haven't been around you, what their previous beliefs were. Is this also a big deal when it comes to American politics? In terms of we have politicians who uh in their older age, like a lot of positions, you have to be at least 25, I think, in order to run. So in their uh older age, maybe they're in their 40s and they're running for office, and um they are being questioned about decisions they made when they were 19 or 22. It's like, oh, you know, uh, we found this social media post where you said this horrible things or you had a tattoo, and people think that tattoo is has you associated with this belief or this religion or this gang or what have you. We found evidence that you once purchased a pack of tarot cards and uh you wore a velvet cloak, so I bet that makes you um a devil worshiper or something, you know, whatever. And so with all that being said, we just who we are today is not necessarily who we were in the past, it's certainly a part of our identity, and yet it doesn't necessarily align with our current beliefs. So it's a very, very interesting area. Um and with technology, um, you know, it's become increasingly become a problem for many people in their professional careers. A lot of companies have to ask people, is there anything we need to know before you we bring you on for this job? And you know, this story was when in written back in like 1884, I believe. And so even back then, before all this technology and internet and all that stuff, um, we still have this idea of your past can come back to haunt you. Whatever you did, if you did something wrong, it's going to come back. Uh and maybe not the way you want. Now, speaking of coming back, so the wrongdoings effects they came back in two different ways. One, the big reveal with um the murder gangster being in the cart with them as they are headed back from their grave robbing. So that is a wrongdoing coming back, and then we have McFarland magically, miraculously being the doctor who is called upon to tend to the patron of the establishment. And though Fetz doesn't experience any negative outcome from that encounter, the reminder's there. That's you know, that's pretty much it. And I guess that could be something. Stevenson is saying. It's like, hey, whatever you've done in the past, it's gonna come back. And um, I almost want to say, come back to haunt you. It's going to come back, right? I mean, clearly Fetz was haunted by his actions pretty much every day, um, courtesy of his uh alcoholism. But whatever it is, whatever that secret is, whatever that bad thing is, it's gonna come back. And maybe it doesn't come back in the uh form of something that scares the bejesus out of you, like a dead man that was dismembered long ago sitting next to you in a cart, but it could just come back in terms of being in the presence, in the embodiment of someone you know or thought you knew, and maybe that enough is in and of itself upsetting. So, how well do we know people and what you did? It's going to come back no matter what, no matter where you move to, it's a coming. What is your place? What is your place in your job in society? What is your role? This idea that uh Mr. K, Dr. K had been paying these young men, these assistants, to do their job, which is just to make sure that we have what we need for class and a setup for class. That's your job. Know your place. And um, I mean, think about people who work in positions of service, right? Even the nurse who works in the hospital with the doctor, is it that nurse's place to question the doctor's prescription or advice for the patient? As long as it's not looking like something that could potentially harm the patient, who is the nurse to question it? The doctor has more training often. And if you are uh working for an employer and your employer has set up for products to be shipped a certain way, is it your place to say, hey, I think the way you're shipping it is not a good way. It's bad for the environment. You should ship it a different way. You don't have all the information. So are you out of line to say this to your employer? I mean, your employer might say, Well, thanks a million, but we have people who have done lots of research on this and we're shipping it this way because the way you're suggesting the product would not arrive in one piece, it might get broken, or it's not cost effective, and then we would not be able to pay you your salary. We actually wouldn't be able to meet the deadline for shipping out this product on time. So there's a lot of things that can go into the decision-making process of making something that is well-loved, well received, very popular, work. Um, this class was this doctor, his skills, his talent, his time, well loved, well received. And in order to take his class, he needed a well-oiled machine. He needed something that would work. So um, should the young man, especially Fets, should he have asked questions sooner? I don't know. You know, I don't think I don't know that anyone would think to ask questions. My job as a medical student is to set up the facility, and I'm trusting that the people who I work for are know what they are doing and have arranged for things to work correctly. I'm just gonna do my part. So, what is your place? Is it your place to ask questions? Um, probably not. Um yeah, and another really interesting thing, okay. So even if we are kind of on the fence about what is your place? Um, even I'm gonna even throw that out there, parent and child, right? What is your place? So the parent is doing something, the child's like, that's look kind of shady. Well, you are the child. How do you know if what I'm doing is shady, or maybe you're just perceiving it as shady because you don't know the whole story, right? You see me taking this pen, but what you don't know is I actually left this pen here yesterday, and this is my pen. Okay, pen is a bad example, but you get what I mean. All right, so another thing to look at is all success derived from the abuse of others? Now, if you are on that bandwagon of oh, capitalism is bad, and all capitalism is bad, all businesses are bad, all corporations are bad, anybody with money is evil, then you might be like, yes, Ray, this story is screaming that if you're successful, it's because you abused others. Oh, you have um earned your riches courtesy of the blood and sacrifice of others. I don't really know that that is what Stevenson is arguing, but I do think he raises the question: is success derived from the abuse of others? Because you have to also keep in mind, though Fetz and McFarlane um have garnered their success, courtesy of the dead bodies from the abuse of others, people that were murdered, right? That's how they um were able to, by ignoring the that these murders, they were able to keep their position in this class and uh get all the accolades associated with their position uh to get the training that they needed. We also have to look at the people in which Fets keeps company. And so those men, like the landlord, the landlord is a successful landlord. He's got people patronizing his establishment, and yet we do not have any indication that he has skeletons, literal skeletons, in his closet or buried beneath the floorboards or anything. So I don't think we can actually say that Stevenson is arguing that all success is derived from the abuse of others, because even our narrator um in that sense would be someone who would have um uh shady paths and we don't we don't get that sense. And so while success can be courtesy of the abuse of others, it is not um an automatic thing. All right, we're getting towards the end of my thoughts on this, but I got a few more. So the thoughtlessness of ambition. So we've got Fets, who was just focused on his good grades and being excellent at his job in terms of setting up for classes, making sure that he kept track of all the transactions. Um, he did not even think about where these bodies were coming from, why there were so many bodies. And he does point out there is a difference between having a feeling and knowing something. And haven't we all felt that, thought that, right? There's that difference between feeling, you know, I don't think these data centers that are running AI are actually good for the environment. I don't think uh social media is actually it's increased skin screen time for my kid, but they love it so much. I don't, I don't know. I don't think it's um it might not be great for my kid to be on social media, but they do love it. And they their friends are on it, so I'm just gonna ignore it. And then, you know, later on it's like, you know, you not it's not that just because you saw some headlines that said social media is damaging to children's mental health. It's because you know you are seeing your child who is physically harming themselves or they are mentally distraught or they no longer want to go to school because of something related to social media. You're seeing someone in your life actually suffering a great deal because of social media. And that is the difference between you're having a feeling this might not be too good, to actually knowing this is not good. I may have a feeling that my usage of AI tools like Gemini isn't the greatest. I mean, I've seen articles that say um using these AI tools require a lot of data centers. And these data centers use a lot of energy and are being very disruptive uh towards uh small towns and various neighborhoods. And I tell myself, okay, I'm not gonna use it much. However, when every time I sign up for um some new piece of software, or even software that's not new for me, but something I've been using for years, and all of a sudden now they're incorporating AI into it. And I'm wondering, uh, is this good? Do I need all this AI? I don't really know. Is this helpful? And with my own business, just being able to say, get out podcast episodes and do research, being able to use um some tools like AI in order to help me figure out, well, what's the best software to do my editing? And what's the platform I should be using in order to send out my episodes? And, you know, oh, maybe I recorded something, the sound wasn't good. Is there a way I could clean up that sound um without having to re-record everything? So while it is beneficial for my business needs, and um I also realize that there is somebody with a huge data center across from their home who is very frustrated and pissed off that they are having to pay for the their like their electric bill is higher because of that data center. And um maybe they're not able to get a peaceful night's sleep because of all of the lights that are being emitted from that data center. I've seen the reports, and yet I'm not really going to know to really fully understand it and believe it and um fully comprehend it on a cellular level until I find myself faced with a data center right in my backyard. And so I ambition it can be very thoughtless, right? I want my podcast episodes to sound good, I want them to get out there, I want to be able to uh ultimately be able to pay my bills with the money earned from uh reading these amazing stories and expanding my vocabulary and having these thoughtful conversations, and yet that's thinking about me the same way Fetz was thinking about himself and his own uh medical ambitions and not thinking about where are all these bodies coming from? Right? Okay. So lastly, how did Fets get his money? Okay, so we see him kind of um I don't know, evil, Machiavellian, kind of a not nice guy. He's become the lion at the end, and he is showing, he is the student, showing the teacher, I paid attention, I learned from you. Um, you want my silence? You've got to pay me. Of course I did this thing for you because I knew you would pay me, and you did. That was kind of like the sentiment when they're sitting down having their meal and drinks before they go out to this uh dig up this body. And I thought that was fun. It was a little unexpected, but I didn't think it was fun. I thought, oh, that's kind of funny, right? He got you, poop-poop-poop. Um however, I just don't get the feeling that he has earned enough money to kind of retire from working life um at this point. Like he's doing he's doing good, but like his friend told him, uh, McFarland told him, like, don't go around giving away money, settling your debts, uh, doing any like crazy investments. Just keep your money and keep your mouth shut. Um, that single transaction would not have been enough for this guy to go off and just live away the rest of his life without earning anything. So, how does he get his money? And we can we can assume there may have been a few other transactions, but again, I just don't feel like given the span of time, it would have been um enough money. So that is one question I would have liked to answer, but Stevenson doesn't answer it for us. Um, and I guess it's not a major point for him, but it does bring up the question how do you get your money? Right? And so if you have found yourself in a position of thoughtless ambition, um and maybe you have friends where you could ask yourself, well, how how well do I really know them? Um how did you get your money? How did your friends get their money? Maybe you don't even have any money. Maybe that's the problem. Um, but yeah, it just kind of brings up this question, Stevenson brings up this question of so how you know the people who seem to well, I almost said the people who seem to have it all, but Fats doesn't really seem to have it all, does he? I mean, he's got nice property, he's got clothes, he's got drink, and yet there's clearly a loneliness. It's not like the guys married with kids or anything like that, which for that period in time that probably would have been thought of as um part of the having it all uh process in terms of having this kind of legacy per se. Um so how do those who have found some level of success how do they get there? I think would be the ultimate question. Uh maybe we're not really looking at well actually, yeah, you could say we're looking at even those who um are not financially well off. Right? The thug. The thug who um is having people pay for things, but all the other thugs or criminals, murderers who bring bodies to the door. We don't know their backstory, we just know that they murdered somebody or have come into possession of a dead body, and they're dropping it off, and then they get their pay, and then they go on their way. Right? It's not described that these men are all like really well dressed or anything like that. They're just kind of shady characters. And so they are not um the same financial position as um the primary thug, I think, Gray, or McFarland. So we know they're not of that same class, lower lower class, right? So when we look at the whole class spectrum, how do any of us get by or get the things that we need? That's a really big question. Because it kind of goes beyond money, right? Um even if you do not use money as a currency to get the things you need in life. Maybe you're constantly bartering, I don't know. Um, but how do you get it? How do you get what you need? It's all an exchange. We're all exchanging something, whether we want to admit it or not. So there you have it. There's the lessons learned, courtesy of Stevenson. Um, by golly, I did enjoy this one very much. I thought it was wonderfully written, and I hope you enjoyed it too. I hope you enjoyed this story, and do come back for another Gothic tale.