From ''German Tales'' Published by the American Publishers' Corporation
experienced involuntarily the deepest sympathy. Dark hair hung down in long plaits, the features were pale, the eyes closed. At first I made an incision into the skin, after the manner of surgeons when amputating a limb. I then took my sharpest knife, and with one stroke cut the throat. But oh, horror! The dead opened her eyes, but immediately closed them again, and with a deep sigh she now seemed to breathe her last. At the same moment a stream of hot blood shot towards me from the wound. I was convinced that the poor creature had been killed by me. That she was dead there was no doubt, for there was no recovery from this wound. I stood for some minutes in painful anguish at what had happened. Had the "red-cloak" deceived me, or had his sister perhaps merely been apparently dead? The latter seemed to me more likely. But I dare not tell the brother of the deceased that perhaps a little less deliberate cut might have awakened her without killing her; therefore I wished to sever the head completely; but once mo
A very peculiar story. The only son of a Turkish perfumer goes to Paris to become a doctor. He does, and gets homesick, so he goes home. Stuff happens, and he goes back to Paris. More stuff happens, and he goes to Italy where he becomes involved in a mystery.
The odd thing is that the mystery doesn't get resolved, which could be okay, except that there's no adventure, and no social commentary, or comment on the human condition. It's a purposeless story of the sort you might hear from a drunk.
The writing is okay, but why was it written?