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conversation chiefly kept going by the
Leichenbegleiter, I speak German very badly though I
understand it quite well. My friend said he had
made this same journey many times, he even
knew the name of each station we stopped at
although we never saw anything of the outside
world from our prison van. He had been a
Leichenbegleiter for more than ten years, it
was a pleasant and comfortable job, he liked
travelling and seeing new countries. He had
been in Russia six times before, he liked the
Russians, they always wanted to be buried in
their own country. A large number of Russians
were coming to Heidelberg to consult its many
famous Professors. They were their best clients.
His wife was by profession a Leichenwäscherin.
Hardly any embalmment of importance was
made without their assistance. Pointing to the
other packing-case he said he felt rather vexed
that neither he nor his wife had been called in
for the Swedish gentleman. He suspected that
he was the victim of some intrigue, there was
much professional jealousy between him and his
two other colleagues. There was a certain
mystery about the whole affair, he had not even
been able to find out what doctor had made the
embalmment. They were not all equally good
about it. Embalmment was a very delicate and
complicated business, one never knew what
might happen during a long journey in hot
weather like this. Had I assisted at many
embalmments?
Only at one, said I with a shudder.
“I wish you could see the Russian general,”
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