Produced by Al Haines.
AT THE COUNCILLOR'S;
OR,
A NAMELESS HISTORY.
BY
E. MARLITT.
TRANSLATED FROM THE GERMAN
BY MRS. A. L. WISTER,
TRANSLATOR OF "THE GREEN GATE," "THE SECOND WIFE," "ONLY A GIRL,"
"HULDA," "THE OLD MAM'SELLE'S SECRET," ETC.
PHILADELPHIA:
J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY
1893.
Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1876, by
J. B. LIPPINCOTT & CO.,
In the Office of the Librarian of Congress at Washington.
NOTE.
In Germany, the title of "Councillor" (_Rath_) can be purchased by those
who achieve a certain eminence in their several walks of life, or it may
be conferred as an honour by the Prince or King. The merchant who gives
the name to this romance is thus "_Councillor of Commerce_," a compound
word so unwieldy in English that the translator preferred to render "In
the house of the Councillor of Commerce" by "At the Councillor's."
A.L.W.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER I.
CHAPTER II.
CHAPTER III.
CHAPTER IV.
CHAPTER V.
CHAPTER VI.
CHAPTER VII.
CHAPTER VIII.
CHAPTER IX.
CHAPTER X.
CHAPTER XI.
CHAPTER XII.
CHAPTER XIII.
CHAPTER XIV.
CHAPTER XV.
CHAPTER XVI.
CHAPTER XVII.
CHAPTER XVIII.
CHAPTER XIX.
CHAPTER XX.
CHAPTER XXI.
CHAPTER XXII.
CHAPTER XXIII.
CHAPTER XXIV.
CHAPTER XXV.
CHAPTER XXVI.
CHAPTER XXVII.
CHAPTER XXVIII.
CHAPTER XXIX.
*AT THE COUNCILLOR'S.*
CHAPTER I.
The rays of a December sun shone dimly into a room in the large castle
mill, calling forth feeble sparks of light from the strange objects
lying on the broad stone window-sill, and then vanishing in a bank of
snow-clouds that were rising slowly but steadily in the west. The
objects sparkling so strangely on the window-sill were some portion of a
surgeon's apparatus; those instruments the cold, steely glitter of which
startles the eye and sends a shudder through the nerves of many a brave
man. A huge bedstead, the head and footboard clumsily painted with
gaudy roses and carnations, and piled with feather-beds and patchwork
quilts, stood directly in the broad light from the window, and upon this
bed lay the castle miller. The skilful hand of the physician had just
relieved him of a tumour in the throat that had several times threatened
his life with suffocation. It had been a perilous undertaking, but the
young man who now pulled down the window-shade and began to put up his
instruments looked entirely satisfied,--the operation had succeeded.
The invalid, who shortly before, when only partly under the influence of
chloroform, had pushed away the hand of the physician, abusing him in a
hoarse voice as a robber and murderer, now lay quiet and exhausted among
the pillows. He had been forbidden to talk,--surely an unnecessary
prohibition, for it would have been difficult to find a face bearing so
unmistakable an impress of dull taciturnity as did this square, clumsy
countenance, which had but one beauty to boast of,--the thick, silvery
hair that enclosed it as in a frame.
"Are you satisfied, Bruck?"[#] asked a gentleman, who now approached the
physician from the foot of the bed, where he had been standing. His
handsome features wore an expression of keen anxiety.
[#] Pronounced Brook.
The doctor nodded. "All right so far; the patient's strong constitution
will stand him in stead now," he said, quietly, glancing towards the old
man. "At present all depends upon the nursing; I must leave. For some
time he must not stir from his present position. There must be no
hemorrhage from the wound----"
"I will see to that," the other interrupted him, eagerly; "I will stay
as long as careful watching is needed. Will you not leave word at the
villa that I shall not come back to tea?"
A slight flush mounted to the physician's cheek, and there was some
embarrassment in the tone of his reply: "I cannot go round through the
park. I must get to town as quickly as possible----"
"You have not seen Flora to-day, doctor----"
"I know that well enough. I----" He paused, compressed his lips, and
took up his case of instruments. "I have some patients very ill," he
went on, calmly: "the little Lenz girl will die before to-morrow
morning. I cannot save the child, but the parents, who are utterly
exhausted with nursing and anxiety, are counting the moments while I am
away from them; the mother will eat only when I insist upon it."
Ho approached the bed, where the sick man raised his eyes to him with a
look of perfect consciousness; there was even a glimmer of gratitude in
them for the sudden and unspeakable relief he had experienced. He would
have taken his benefactor's hand, but the latter imposed quiet with his
own, as he reiterated the necessity for avoiding all motion whatever.
"The councillor will remain here, Herr Sommer," he added, "and see that
my injunctions are strictly obeyed."
This seemed to content the old man; he looked towards the councillor,
who confirmed by a nod the physician's words, and then he closed his
eyes as if to try to sleep. Doctor Bruck took his hat, gave his hand to
the councillor, and left the room.
To an anxious wife seated by the bedside of the patient his departure
would have been the signal for a weary sense of forlornness,--the
opposite of the fresh courage with which his coming inspired the poor
mother who took needful nourishment only at his request. But no such
loving anxiety watched by this man's couch. The old housekeeper, who
came into the room to put it in order after the doctor's visit, looked
coldly indifferent; she flitted about like a bat, and seemed much more
distressed by a few drops of water that marred the polish upon one of
her tables than by the danger that had threatened her master's life.
"Pray let that be for the present, Susie," the councillor said, in his
most courteous tone. "Your rubbing that table makes a noise very
irritating to the nerves; Doctor Bruck prescribes absolute repose for
Papa."
Susie hastily picked up housecloth and broom, and betook herself to her
neat and shining kitchen, there to forget the stains upon the table. As
perfect quiet as was possible in the mill reigned in the room she had
left; up through the floor came the continuous, measured beat of
machinery; the water tumbling over the weir outside sang its perpetual
refrain, and now and then the doves fluttered against the window-pane,
or cooed in the branches of the ancient chestnuts, through which the
western light faintly illumined the room. These mingled noises did not
exist as such for the sick man, however: they were as much part and
parcel of his existence as the beating of his heart.
It was indeed a repulsive face which the elegant figure at the bedside
watched, according to his promise, so carefully. Its coarseness, the
hard lines of low vulgarity about the pendulous nether lip, had never so
impressed and disgusted him as now, when sleep or exhaustion had robbed
it of force and revealed all its original characteristics. Yes, the old
man had begun life low enough in the scale, as a hard-worked
mill-servant, but he was now the owner of untold wealth; trade had made
a money-monarch of the invalid upon the clumsy old bedstead; and this
fact, doubtless, had something to do with the familiar epithet of "Papa"
bestowed upon him by the councillor, who was not bound to him by any tie
of blood. The councillor had married the daughter of the deceased banker
Mangold by his first wife. For his second, Mangold had wooed and won
the daughter of the old miller. This was all the relationship that
existed between the miller and his nurse.
The councillor arose and stepped softly to the window. He was a man of
vivacious temperament, and sitting still in this way made him nervous;
he could not bear the constant gazing upon that unsympathetic face,
those coarse, sinewy fists, now buried in the down coverlet, which had
once wielded the whip above the mill-horses. The chestnuts before the
window had long since shed their last leaf; every opening left in the
tracery of their boughs formed a rural landscape picture, each lovelier
than the other, although for the moment the dark December sky dimmed the
lustre that was reflected from the little lake, and veiled in misty
gloom the hazy purple of the distant mountain-tops.
There, on the right, the river, after turning the wheels of the castle
mill, made a sudden bend; a frame-work of boughs on that side enclosed a
strip of its shining course, and a structure the purposes of which it
was made to serve, a huge, square, unornamented stone building, with
rows of windows enhancing its naked ugliness. This was the councillor's
factory. He too was a rich man; he employed hundreds of weavers at
clattering looms, and this property of his placed him in a kind of
dependent position with regard to the castle miller. The mill, built
hundreds of years before by a lord of the land, had been endowed with
immense prerogatives, which, still in force, controlled a considerable
stretch of the river, and were irritating enough to the dwellers upon
its banks. Upon these prerogatives the burly master of the castle mill
took his stand, and showed his teeth to any one who dared to lay a
finger upon his rights. Once only a tenant of the mill, he had slowly
but surely stretched forth the arms of his growing wealth, until not
only the mill was his own, but also the baronial estate to which it had
originally belonged. This he had accomplished shortly before the
marriage of his only child to the respectable banker Mangold. The
extensive forests and farm-land upon the estate were all that the miller
cared for; the magnificent villa in the midst of its stately park had
always been an eye-sore to him; nevertheless, he had kept the "costly
toy" in perfect repair, for the pleasure of seeing his daughter rule as
mistress where the former haughty lord had always disdained even to
answer his salute. The councillor now rented the villa; there was every
reason, therefore, that he should be upon the best terms with his
landlord, and one who possessed such control of the river. And this was
the case: the councillor was as a docile son to the surly old man.
Four o'clock struck from the factory tower, and the gas instantly lit up
the counting-room windows. Twilight came on early indeed on this
afternoon: the air was filled with that moisture that brings snow; the
smoke from city chimneys hung low over the earth, while the slate roof
of the factory and every stone door-step were glassy with intense damp;
the doves, until now huddled together upon the bare chestnut-boughs,
suddenly left them and flew to the warm, dry dove-cote. The councillor
looked back into the room with a shiver. By contrast it looked almost
comfortable and cosy to the man to whose refined taste it was usually so
repulsive, with its constant smell of cooking, its smoky ceiling, and
the coarse prints here and there upon the walls; but Susie had just
replenished the fire in the stove with pine wood, the old-fashioned sofa
against the wall looked inviting with its huge soft cushions, and upon
the bright panes of glass in the recess-door the last gleams of daylight
were reflected. Ah, behind that door stood the iron safe: had he
remembered to take out the key?
Just before the operation, the miller had made his will; as Doctor Bruck
and the councillor entered the room, they met the lawyers and witnesses
leaving it. Although outwardly composed, the patient must have gone
through much agitation of mind: his hand had evidently been uncertain,
for in putting away his papers he had left one of them lying upon the
table. Noticing this omission, after the doctor's arrival he had
requested the councillor to lock it up in the safe. A second door led
from the recess where the safe was placed into an antechamber, and there
were all sorts of people continually coming and going in the mill. The
councillor had put away the paper, but left the door of the safe
unlocked,--an inexcusable neglect,--and he hastily went to the little
room. What would the old man, who guarded this precious place of deposit
like a dragon, have said at seeing his money thus exposed! No one could
possibly have entered the room, the councillor consoled himself by
thinking; the slightest noise could not have escaped him; but he would
make sure that everything was in order.
He opened the iron folding-doors as noiselessly as possible; there were
the money-bags untouched, and before the packets of valuable papers were
ranged columns of glittering gold pieces. He glanced rapidly over the
paper, which in his former natural haste and agitation he had put
carelessly into one of the neatly-arranged pigeon-holes: it was an
inventory of the miller's entire possessions. What enormous sums those
rows of figures represented! He carefully put it where it belonged, and
in doing so he accidentally overthrew one of the columns of gold pieces:
a number of napoleons fell noisily upon the floor. What an ugly sound
they made! He had touched money belonging to another! A mixture of
terror and uncalled-for shame sent the colour to his cheeks; he stooped
in haste to pick up the money. As he did so, a heavy body fell upon him
from behind, and hard, coarse fingers clutched his throat.
"You scoundrel, I am not dead yet!" the miller hissed in his ear, in a
strange, muffled tone. There was a momentary struggle; all the
councillor's strength and vigor were necessary to shake off the old man,
who clung to him like a panther, grasping his throat so tightly that a
shower of sparks seemed to flash before his eyes; he seized with both
hands the mass that weighed him down, gave one strong thrust and push,
and he was on his feet and free, while the miller staggered against the
wall.
"Are you mad, Papa?" he gasped, breathlessly. "What vile
suspicions!----" He paused in horror: the bandage beneath the old man's
whitening face suddenly became crimson, and the dreadful colour crept
rapidly downward over his white night-dress. This was the hemorrhage
that was to have been so carefully guarded against.
The councillor's teeth chattered as in a fever-fit. Was this misfortune
his fault? "No, no," he said to himself instantly, as he put his arm
around the invalid to support him to his bed; but the old man thrust him
away angrily, and pointed to the scattered gold; each piece had to be
carefully picked up and arranged in place; in care for his money he
either forgot or ignored the danger that threatened him. Not until the
councillor had locked the safe and put the key into his hand did he
totter back into his bedroom, there to fall helpless upon the bed; and
when at last, summoned by the councillor's repeated cries for help, two
mill-servants and Susie rushed into the room, there lay the castle
miller on his back, his glazing eyes, from which all consciousness
seemed to have departed, staring downward at the crimson dye which the
welling life-stream was so rabidly spreading on every side.
A servant was dispatched to town to summon Doctor Bruck, while the
housekeeper hurriedly brought water and linen. They were of no avail.
The councillor anxiously applied cloth after cloth to the wound,--the
stream would not be stayed. There was no doubt of it, an artery had
burst. How had it happened? Was the old man's mental and physical
excitement alone to blame, or--his heart seemed to stop beating at the
thought--had he in defending himself struck and mortally aggravated the
wound in the throat? How can there be any exact memory of the moment of
defence against a furious assault? Who could tell whether, with
murderous fingers clutching his throat, and his overcharged brain
kindling thousands of fires in the air, he had seized shoulder or throat
of his assailant? Why imagine so ghastly a possibility? Was not the
spring out of bed, the excess of rage, quite enough to bring on the
disaster which the physician had predicted would be the result of any
sudden movement? No, no, his conscience was clear; he had nothing to
reproach himself with, whatever might have been the cause of this
terrible event. He had gone to the safe solely in the old man's
interest; there had not been in his mind even a fleeting desire to
possess any of that wealth; this he was sure of. How could he help the
low suspicions of the miserable old corn-dealer, who saw a possible
robber in every man, no matter what his position and culture? Anxiety
and horror gave place to indignation in the councillor's mind. This
came of his amiability, the innate courtesy for which his friends
declared he was distinguished; it had often induced him to take upon
himself responsibilities which had involved him disagreeably. Had he but
stayed at home,--in his comfortable library, at the whist-table, or
smoking a cigar in peace! His evil genius had prompted him to play the
part of self-sacrificing nurse, and here he was in this terrible
situation, shuddering with horror and disgust, his hands moistened with
the blood of the wretch who would have strangled him.
The minutes were surely weighted with lead! The miller now seemed aware
of the peril he had brought upon himself; he did not stir, but his eyes
turned anxiously towards the door whenever footsteps were heard without;
his hopes for rescue lay in the physician. The councillor, dismayed,
marked the change in his countenance. That ashen hue was the sure
forerunner of death.
Susie brought in the lamp; she had been repeatedly to the door to look
for Doctor Bruck, and she now stood at the side of the bed, shaking her
head in mute horror at the sight that the faint lamp-light revealed. A
few moments more, and the miller's eyes closed. The key, until then
clutched convulsively in his hand, fell upon the counterpane.
Involuntarily the councillor extended his hand to put it away, but as he
touched the bit of iron the thought suddenly struck him, like an
unexpected blow, of the aspect this unfortunate accident might wear in
the eyes of the world. He knew only too well what slander could do with
its poisonous breath,--how it could glide through his halls and
apartments, received by men as well as by women with malicious
satisfaction, ambiguous smiles, and finger-pointings. If a single
person should say, with a shrug, "Aha, what was Councillor Roemer
looking for in the miller's safe?" it would be enough. Such words would
not be spoken by one voice only. Like all fortunate men, he numbered
many among his acquaintances who envied and disliked him; he knew that
it would be everywhere told in town to-morrow how the operation had been
quite successful, but that the irritation produced in the patient by
seeing the man self-installed as nurse secretly visiting his safe had
brought on a fatal hemorrhage. And there would be a stain upon the name
of Roemer, the envied favorite of fortune, which no legal investigation
could remove, for there could be no friendly witnesses. Would not his
previous honourable career be sufficient testimony in his favour? He
laughed bitterly to himself as he wiped the drops of cold perspiration
from his brow. No one knew better than he how ready the world is to
stigmatize as mere sham any uprightness of character as soon as
appearances are against it. He leaned over the unconscious man, whose
temples Susie was bathing with spirits, and suddenly regarded him in a
different light: should he never recover sufficient strength to tell of
what had occurred, it would be buried with him: there were no other lips
to speak of it.
At last the watch-dog barked outside; hasty steps crossed the court-yard
and ascended the stairs. Doctor Bruck paused for a moment, as if
petrified, at the door of the room, then silently laid his hat upon the
table, and approached the bed. The solemn moment that ensued seemed to
throb with expectation of the verdict about to be pronounced.
"If he would only come to himself again, Herr Doctor," the housekeeper
said, at last, in an anxious whisper.
"He will hardly do that," Doctor Bruck replied, looking up from his
investigation. All colour had fled from his face. "Be quiet," he
sternly ordered, as Susie was about to break out into loud lamentations,
"and tell me why the patient left his bed!" He took the lamp from the
table and pointed to the floor beside the bed: the planks were sprinkled
with blood.
"That comes from the cloths we have been using," the councillor
explained, in a decided tone, although he had grown very pale; while the
housekeeper affirmed by all that was holy that the castle miller was
lying just as the doctor had left him when she entered the room.
Doctor Bruck shook his head. "This hemorrhage never came on without
cause; it must have been produced by some violent agitation."
"None that I know of; I assure you, none!" said the councillor, meeting
the physician's keen glance with tolerable firmness. "What do you mean
by looking at me thus? I cannot see why I should conceal from you that
the patient had sprung from his bed in an excess of fever, if such had
been the case." He would keep to the path he had chosen, although the
last words seemed to stick in his throat. To save mere appearances he
sacrificed his honour, he lied with a brazen brow; but then he had not
been in fault with regard to what had occurred; his life had fairly been
in peril. There was not a single consideration that could make an
explanation of the real facts of the case necessary.
The physician turned silently away and busied himself with his patient.
Once or twice the miller opened his eyes, but they gazed unmeaningly
into space, and the effort to speak died away in a rattle in his throat.
A few hours afterwards, Councillor Roemer left the castle mill. All was
over. Across the doors of the recess broad strips of paper were already
pasted. As soon as the miller breathed his last, the councillor advised
the legal authorities of the fact, and, like a conscientious, prudent
man, saw seals placed upon everything before he left the spot.