The Underground World: A mirror of life below the surface

by Thomas Wallace Knox

One of these is, that a miner, who had been sent to Cracow, found, on his return, an image of the Virgin, which, as the narrative runs, had been stolen by the devil from the cathedral of that city, and dropped by the wayside; St. Paul, or some other saint, having detected the theft, started in pursuit of the diabolical thief. A poor workman picked up the image, which was of wood, and knowing it to be sacred, carried it back to the church in the midst of a storm. When he had reached the edifice, summoned the priest, and given it into the holy man’s hands, the inanimate image suddenly shone with celestial light, sped through the air, and took its accustomed place at the altar. The awe-struck priest and peasant fell upon their knees in prayer, and when the latter arose, there was an illuminated cross on his forehead. By inspiration he understood that whenever this symbol was visible, it was to indicate good fortune; and going back to the mines, the cross proved to be very beneficial in pointing out the richest veins of salt. The man walked under ground, and whenever his forehead kindled with the divine token, it was a certain sign that the spot on which he stood would yield richly. He received handsome presents, and numerous sums of money from the government, and so excited the envy of his former fellow-workmen, that they entered his cabin one night, and knocked out his brains. His murderers disappeared mysteriously the next day, and it was supposed, in the Galician village, that they were carried off by demons.

The image in the cathedral was heard to wail at the time the crime was committed, which was probably intended as a warning, though it did not do any good to the victim, at least in this world, however much it may have benefited him in the next.

I cannot see the moral of this monkish story, unless it be that persons who find things should not return them. If the miner had taken the image home, and split into kindling-wood, he might have lived much longer, and died peaceably in bed at a ripe old age.

STORY OF A POLISH REBEL.

During one of the periodic Polish revolutions in Warsaw, a prominent nobleman, resident in the city, and the leader of the insurrection, had volunteered to proceed to St. Petersburg, and assassinate the czar. The government spies detected the plot before it was mature, and went to the dwelling of the Polish conspirator to arrest him. He had been apprised of the discovery, and knowing that he would instantly be executed, he had been wise enough to flee from the town. He was sought for everywhere, for the authorities considered him extremely dangerous, and felt confident, from his character, that the emperor would not be safe while the desperate noble lived. All the subtle detective machinery of Russia was set in motion to hunt up the fugitive Pole, but all to no purpose; and the emissaries of the government, after a year of unexampled activity, abandoned further effort. Potzoporousky, the name of the arch rebel, feeling that he would not be secure anywhere on the surface of the continent, conceived the happy idea of going below it. He proceeded in disguise to Wieliczka, claimed to be a native of Vienna, and was hired as a miner, at thirty kreuzers a day. He labored most faithfully, and was considered an excellent workman, strangely preferring, as was thought, to remain in the mines, even when he might have been enjoying the sunlight. Nobody ever dreamed of looking for Potzoporousky a thousand feet under ground; and there he remained for fifteen months. Then he applied for his last week’s pay, saying he had met with an injury that would prevent him from working for a little while, hurried to Vienna, thence to Constantinople, and finally to Smyrna. There he resumed his correspondence with some of the former conspirators, and had perfected a plan for a new revolution, when he was seized with cholera, and died.

MURDER OF A SUPERINTENDENT.

During the latter part of the eighteenth century, a scientist of Radour was implicated in a conspiracy to defraud the Russian government of several millions of roubles by means of forged army orders, and sentenced to ten years’ exile in Siberia. He asked, as a special favor, that he might be sent, instead, to Wieliczka, where, he affirmed, his scientific knowledge would be of use in separating the green salt from the clay, with which the directors of the mines were then having considerable trouble. Prompted by interest, the government granted his request, and, the fifth day after he had entered upon the service, he induced one of the superintendents to visit a new passage in process of excavation, crushed his skull with a lump of rock salt, put on his garments, and escaped. He had always been regarded as a purely intellectual man, absorbed in his studies, and his deliberate taking of another man’s life only shows how sweet liberty is to all of us, and of what desperate deeds we may be guilty to regain the freedom we have lost.

From 1825 to 1851, one of the most vigorous and enduring miners was Johann Gerbreitz, a German, who, in all that time, is said never to have missed a single day’s work. He was a great favorite, on account of his kindness of heart and uniform good temper, especially with the women of the village, who, whether young or old, manifested a great deal of fondness for him. When in his thirtieth year he married Elisa Dosbrinski, a cobbler’s daughter, regarded as one of the prettiest girls in the town. They lived together so very happily that they were considered a model pair. They were never known to have even those slight differences which are not uncommon to the most sympathetic and harmonious couples. They seemed wholly devoted to each other, and though Johann had been something of a flirt before he became a Benedick, nothing of the kind could be charged upon him afterwards. Everybody declared he was a manly and noble fellow, and that his serenity could not be ruffled.

In his fortieth year a fragment of rock fell upon him, and killed him instantly. His wife was wild with grief at her bereavement, and all her neighbors lamented, sorely too, because Johann was a loss to the village that could not be supplied. The children of Wieliczka had learned to look for his smile, and little acts of kindness,—he was a Rip Van Winkle of Austria, without Rip’s infirmities,—and literally cried for him when he appeared in the streets.