For an hour or more the unhappy man lay groaning, and writhing like a
worm under the intensity of his wretchedness. Then he rose and with
unsteady gait went to his secretaire, and began to rummage in the
secret drawers of the old-fashioned piece of furniture.
"I no longer remember where it is," he muttered to himself. "It is long
since I thought of the old story--but God has not forgotten it."
At length he discovered what he was looking for: a small packet of
letters grown yellow with time. As he unloosed the string which tied
them, a small watercolour portrait in a narrow silver frame fell out:
it depicted the gentle, sweet features of a young, fair, grey-eyed
girl. His eyes grew moist as he looked at it, and bitter tears suddenly
coursed down his cheeks.
He then unfolded the papers and began to read: they were long letters,
except the last but one which filled no more than two small sheets.
This he read with the greatest attention of all, read and re-read it
with ever-increasing emotion. "And I could resist such words!" he
murmured. "Oh wretched man that I am."
Then he opened the last of the letters. "You evidently did not yourself
expect that I would take your gift," he read out in an undertone. And
then: "I do not curse you; on the contrary, I ardently hope that you
may at least not have given me up in vain."
He folded the letters and tied them up. Then he undid them again and
buried himself once more in their melancholy contents.
A knock at the door interrupted him: his housekeeper announced that
dinner was ready. This housekeeper was an honest, elderly spinster,
Fraeulein Brigitta, whom he usually treated with the greatest
consideration. To-day he only answered her with a curt, impatient,
"Presently!" and he vouchsafed no lengthier reply to her question how
he was.
But then he remembered some one else. "I must not fall ill," he said.
"I must keep up my strength. I shall need it all!" And after he had
locked up the letters, he went to the dining-room.
He forced himself to take two or three spoonfuls of soup, and hastily
emptied a glass of old Rhine-wine. His man-servant, Franz, likewise a
faithful old soul, replenished it, but hesitatingly and with averted
countenance.
"Where is Fraeulein Brigitta?" asked Sendlingen.
"Crying!" growled the old man. "Hasn't got used to the new state of
things! Nor have I! Nice conduct, my lord! We arrive in the morning
ill, we say nothing to an old and faithful servant, we go straight into
the Courts. There we fall down several times; we send for no doctor,
but writhe alone in pain like a wounded stag." The faithful old
fellow's eyes were wet.
"I am quite well again, Franz," said Sendlingen re-assuringly.
"We were groaning!" said the old man in a tone of the bitterest
reproach. "And since when have we declined to admit Herr Berger?"
"Has he been here?"
"Yes, on most important business, and would not believe that we
ourselves had ordered him to be turned away.... And now we are eating
nothing," he continued vehemently, as Sendlingen pushed his plate from
him and rose. "My Lord, what does this mean! We look as if we had seen
a ghost!"
"No, only an old grumbler!" He intended this for an airy pleasantry but
its success was poor. "Do not be too angry with me."
Then he returned to his chambers. "The old fellow is right," he
thought. "It was a ghost, a very ancient ghost, and its name is
Nemesis!" His eyes fell on the large calendar on the door: "7th
November 1852" he read aloud. "A day like every other--and yet ..."
Then he passed his hand over his brow as if trying to recall who he
was, and rang the bell.
"Get me," he said to the clerk who entered, "the documents relating to
the next three criminal trials."
He stepped to the window and awaited the clerk's return with apparent
calm. He had not long to wait; the clerk entered and laid two goodly
bundles of papers on the table.
"I have to inform you, my lord," said the clerk standing at attention
(he had been a soldier), "that only the papers relating to the trials
of the 9th and 10th November are in the Court-house. Those for
tomorrow's trial of Victorine Lippert for child-murder are still in the
hands of Counsel for the accused, Dr. George Berger."
Sendlingen started. "Did the accused choose her Counsel?"
"No, my lord, she refused any defence because she is, so to speak, a
poor despairing creature who would prefer to die. Herr von Werner
therefore, ex-officio, allotted her Dr. Kraushoffer as Counsel, and,
when he became ill, Dr. Berger. Dr. Kraushoffer was only taken ill the
day before yesterday and therefore Dr. Berger has been allowed to keep
the papers till tomorrow morning early. Does your Lordship desire that
I should ask him for them?"
"No. That will do."
He went back to the niche by the window. "A poor creature who would
prefer to die!" he said slowly and gloomily. Frightful images thronged
into his mind, but the poor worn brain could no longer grasp any clear
idea. He began to pace up and down his room rapidly, almost staggering
as he went.
"Night! night!" he groaned: he felt as if he were wandering aimlessly
in pitchy darkness, while every pulsation of lost time might involve
the sacrifice of a human life. Then his face brightened again, it
seemed a good omen that Berger was defending the girl: he knew his
friend to be the most conscientious barrister on the circuit. "And if I
were to tell him fully what she is to me--" But he left the sentence
unfinished and shook his head.
"I could not get the words out," he murmured looking round quite
scared, "not even to him!"
"And why should I?" he then thought. "Berger will in any case, from his
own love of justice, do all that is in his power."
But what result was to be expected? The old judges, unaccustomed to
speeches, regarded the concluding proceedings rather as a formality,
and decided on their verdict from the documents, whatever Counsel might
say. It depended entirely on their opinion and what Werner thought of
the crime he had explained a few hours ago! And even if before that he
had been of another opinion, now that he knew the opinion of the
Minister of Justice.... "Fool that I am," said Sendlingen between his
teeth, "it was I who told him!" Again he looked half-maddened by his
anguish and wandered about the room wringing his hands.
Suddenly he stopped. His face grew more livid, his brows contracted in
a dark frown, his lips were tightly pressed together. A new idea had
apparently occurred to him, a dark uncanny inspiration, against which
he was struggling but which returned again and again, and took
possession of him. "That would be salvation," he muttered. "If
to-morrow's sentence is only for a short term of imprisonment, the
higher Court would never increase it to a sentence of death!"
He paced slowly to the window, his head bowed as if the weight of that
thought lay upon his neck like a material burden, and stared out into
the street. The early shades of the autumn evening were falling; on the
other side of a window in a building opposite, a young woman entered
with a lamp for her husband. She placed it on his work-table, and
lightly touched his hair with her lips. Sendlingen saw it plainly, he
could distinguish every piece of furniture in the room and also the
features of the couple, and as he knew them, he involuntarily whispered
their names. But his brain unceasingly continued to spin that dark web,
and at times his thoughts escaped him in a low whisper.
"What is there to prevent me? Nobody knows my relationship to her and
she herself has no suspicion. I am entitled to it, and it would arouse
no suspicion. Certainly it would be difficult, it would be a horrible
time, but how much depends on me!"
"Wretch!" he suddenly cried, in a hard, hoarse voice. "The world does
not know your relationship, but you know it! What you intend is a
crime, it is against justice and law!"
"Oh my God!" he groaned: "Help me! Enlighten my poor brain! Would it
not be the lesser crime if I were to save her by dishonourable means,
than if I were to stand by with folded arms and see her delivered to
the hangman! Can this be against Thy will, Thou who art a God of love
and mercy? Can my honour be more sacred than her life?"
He sank back and buried his face in his hands. "But it does not concern
my honour alone," he said. "It would be a crime against Justice,
against the most sacred thing on earth! O my God, have mercy upon me!"
While he lay there in the dark irresolute, his body a prey to fever,
his soul torn by worse paroxysms, he heard first of all a gentle, then
a louder knocking at the door. At length it was opened.
"My Lord!" said a loud voice: it was Herr von Werner.
"Here I am," quickly answered Sendlingen rising.
"In the dark?" asked old Werner with astonishment. "I thought perhaps
you had forgotten the appointment--it is five o'clock and the members
of the Committee of Discipline are waiting for us. Has your
indisposition perhaps returned?"
"No! I was merely sitting in deep thought and forgot to light the
candles. Come, I am quite ready."
"Will you allow me a question?" asked Werner, stepping forward as far
as the light which streamed in from the corridor. "In fact it is a
request. The clerk told me that you had been asking to see the
documents relating to to-morrow's trial. Would you perhaps like to
preside at it?"
Sendlingen did not answer at once. "I am not posted up in the matter,"
he at length said with uncertain voice.
"The case is very simple and a glance at the deed of accusation would
sufficiently inform you. In fact I took the liberty of asking this
question in order to have the documents fetched at once from Herr
Berger. I myself--hm, my daughter, the wife of the finance counsellor,
is in fact expecting, as I just learn, tomorrow for the first
time--hm,--a happy event. It is natural that I should none the less be
at the disposal of the Court, but--hm,--trusting to your official
goodnature----"
Sendlingen had supported himself firmly against the back of the chair.
His pulses leapt and his voice trembled as he answered:
"I will take the case."
Then both the men started for the Court. When they came out into the
full light of the corridor, Werner looked anxiously at his chief. "But
indeed you are still very white!" he cried. "And your face has quite a
strange expression. You appear to be seriously unwell, and I have just
asked you----"
"It is nothing!" interrupted Sendlingen impatiently. "Whom does our
present transaction relate to?"
"You will be sorry to hear of it," was the answer, "I know that you too
had the best opinion of the young man. It relates to Herbich, an
assistant at the Board of Trade office: he has unfortunately been
guilty of a gross misuse of his official position."
"Oh--in what way?"
"Money matters," answered Werner cursorily, and he beckoned to a
messenger and sent him to Berger's.
They then entered the Court where the three eldest Judges were already
waiting for them. The Chief Justice opened the sitting and called for a
report of the case to be read.
It was different from what one would have expected from Werner's
intimation: Herbich had not become a criminal through greed of gain.
His mother, an old widow, had, on his advice, lent her slender fortune
which was to have served as her only daughter's dowry, to a friend of
his, a young merchant of excellent reputation. Without any one
suspecting it, this honourable man had through necessity gradually
become bankrupt, and when Herbich one morning entered his office at the
Board of Trade, he found the manager of a factory there who, to his
alarm, demanded a decree summoning a meeting of his friend's creditors.
Instead of fulfilling this in accordance with the duties of his office,
he hurried to the merchant and induced him by piteous prayers to return
the loan on the spot. Not till then did he go back to the office and
draw up the necessary document. By the inquiries of other creditors
whose fractional share had been diminished by this, the matter came to
light. Herbich was suspended, though left at liberty. There was no
permanent loss to the creditors, as the sister had in the meantime
returned the whole of the amount to the administrator of the estate.
The report recommended that the full severity of the law should take
effect, and that the young man should not only be deprived of his
position, but should forthwith be handed over to justice.
Sendlingen had listened to the lengthy report motionless. Only once had
he risen, to arrange the lampshade so that his face remained in
complete shadow. Then he asked whether the committee would examine the
accused. It was in no way bound to do so, though entitled to, and
therefore Herbich had been instructed to hold himself in waiting at the
Court at the hour of the inquiry.
The conductor of the inquiry was opposed to any examination. Not so
Baron Dernegg, one of the Judges, a comfortable looking man with a
broad, kindly face. It seemed to him, he explained, that the
examination was a necessity, as in this way alone could the motives of
the act be brought fully to light. The Committee was equally divided on
the subject: the casting vote therefore lay with Sendlingen. He
hesitated a long while, but at length said with a choking voice: "It
seems to me, too, that it would be humane and just to hear the
unfortunate man."
Herbich entered. His white, grief-worn face flushed crimson as he saw
the Judges, and his gait was so unsteady that Baron Dernegg
compassionately motioned him to sit down. The trembling wretch
supported himself on the back of a chair as he began laboriously, and
almost stutteringly, to reply to the Chief Justice's question as to
what he had to say in his defence.
He told of his intimate friendship with the merchant and how it was
entirely his own doing that the loan had been made. When he came to
speak of his offence his voice failed him until at length he blurted
out almost sobbing: "No words can express how I felt then!... My sister
had recently been betrothed to an officer. The money was to have served
as the guarantee required by the war-office; if it was lost the wedding
could not take place and the life's happiness of the poor girl would
have been destroyed. I did not think of the criminality of what I was
doing. I only followed the voice of my heart which cried out: 'Your
sister must not be made unhappy through your fault!' My friend's
resistance first made me conscious of what I had begun to do! I sought
to reassure him and myself by sophisms, pointing out how insignificant
the sum was compared with his other debts, and that any other creditor
would have taken advantage of making the discovery at the last moment.
I seemed to have convinced him, but, as for myself, I went away with
the consciousness of being a criminal."
He stopped, but as he continued his voice grew stronger and more
composed.
"A criminal certainly! But my conscience tells me that of two crimes I
chose the lesser. But to no purpose: the thing came out; my sister
sacrificed her money and her happiness. I look upon my act now as I did
then. Happy is the man who is spared a conflict between two duties,
whose heart is not rent, whose honour destroyed, as mine has been; but
if he were visited as I was, he would act as I acted if he were a man
at all! And now I await your verdict, for what I have left to say,
namely what I once was, you know as well as I do!"
A deep silence followed these words. It was for Sendlingen to break it
either by another question or by dismissing the accused. He, however,
was staring silently into space like one lost to his surroundings. At
length he murmured: "You may go."
The discussion among the Judges then began and was hotly carried on, as
two opposite views were sharply outlined. Baron Dernegg and the fourth
Judge were in favour of simple dismissal without any further
punishment, while the promoter, supported by Werner, was in favour of
his original proposition. The matter had become generally known, he
contended, and therefore the dignity of Justice demanded a conspicuous
satisfaction for the outraged law.
The decision again rested with Sendlingen, but it seemed difficult for
him to pronounce it. "It is desirable, gentlemen," he said, "that your
verdict should be unanimous. Perhaps you will agree more easily in an
informal discussion. I raise the formal sitting for a few minutes."
But he himself took no part in their discussion, but stepped to the
window. He pressed his burning forehead against the cool glass: his
face again wore that expression of torturing uncertainty. But gradually
his features grew composed and assumed a look of quiet resolve. When
Werner approached and informed him that both parties still adhered
obstinately to their own opinion, he stepped back to the table and said
in a loud, calm voice:
"I cast my vote for the opinion of Baron Dernegg. The dignity of
Justice does not, in my opinion, require to be vindicated only by
excessive severity; dismissal from office and ruin for life are surely
sufficient punishment for a fatal _error_."
Werner in spite of his boundless respect for superiors, could not
suppress a movement of surprise.
Sendlingen noticed it. "An error!" he repeated emphatically. "Whoever
can put himself in the place of this unfortunate man, whoever can
comprehend the struggles of his soul, must see that, according to his
own ideas, he had indeed to choose between two crimes. His error was to
consider that the lesser crime which in reality was the greater. I have
never been a blind partisan of the maxim: 'Fiat justitia et pereat
mundus,'--but I certainly do consider it a sacred matter that every
Judge should act according to law and duty, even if he should break his
heart in doing so! However, I repeat, it was an error, and therefore it
seems to me that the milder of the two opinions enforces sufficient
atonement."
Then he went up to Werner. "Forgive me," he said, "if I withdraw my
promise in regard to tomorrow's trial. I am really not well enough to
preside."
"Oh! please--hm!--well if it must be so."
"It must be so," said Sendlingen, kindly but resolutely. "Good evening,
gentlemen."