On the evening of the next day Count Karolberg, Sendlingen's
brother-in-law, entered his room at the hotel. "Well, here you are at
last!" he cried, still in the door-way. "Is this the way to go on after
a bad attack of the heart on the evening before? Three times to-day
have I tried to get hold of you, the first time at nine in the morning
and you had already gone out."
"Thank you very much!" replied Sendlingen. "My anxiety for authentic
news about the Emperor's condition, drove me out of doors betimes, and
so I went to the Imperial Chancellery as early as was seemly. But I
only learnt what is in all the papers: that there was no danger of his
life, but that he would need quite three weeks of absolute rest to
bring about his complete recovery. Meanwhile the Cabinet is to see to
all current affairs: the sovereign authority of the Emperor is
suspended, and none of the princes of the blood are to act as Regent
during the illness."
"But you surely did not inquire about that?" cried Count Karolberg in
astonishment. "That goes without saying."
"Goes without saying!" muttered Sendlingen, and for a moment his
self-command left him and his features became so listless and gloomy
that his brother-in-law looked at him much concerned.
"Victor!" he said, "you are really ill! You must see Oppolzer
to-morrow."
"I cannot. I must go back to Bolosch to-night. I require two days at
least, to arrange the surrender of matters to my successor. But then I
shall come back here at once."
"Good! You are going to spend the week before entering on your new
position here; the Minister of Justice has just told me. It was very
prudent of you to visit him at once."
"It was only fitting that I should," said Sendlingen. Alas! not from
any motives of fitness or prudence had he gone to the Minister of
Justice; it was despair that drove him there after the information he
got at the Chancellery, a remnant of a hope that by his help, he might
at least attain the postponement of the execution till the Emperor was
better again.
Not until he was in the Minister's ante-room, and had already been
announced, did he recover his senses and recognise that the Minister
could as little command a postponement as he himself, and so he kept
silence. "He was very friendly to me!" he added aloud.
"He is completely reconciled to you," Count Karolberg eagerly
corroborated. "He spoke to me of your ill-health with the sincerest
sympathy, and told me that you had hinted at not accepting the post at
Pfalicz but contemplated retiring. I hope that is far from being your
resolve! If you require a lengthy cure somewhere in the South, leave of
absence would be sufficient. How could you have the heart to renounce a
career that smiles upon you as yours does?"
"Of, course," replied Sendlingen, "I shall consider the subject
thoroughly." He then asked to be excused for a minute in order to write
a telegram to Bolosch.
He sat down at the writing-table. He found the few words needed hard to
choose. He crossed them out and altered them again and again--it was
the first lie that that hand had ever set down.
At length he had finished. The telegram read as follows:
"George Berger, Bolosch. End desired as good as attained. Have procured
postponement till recovery of decisive arbiter. Return to-morrow
comforted. Victor."
He then drove with Count Karolberg to his house and spent the evening
there in the circle of his relations. He was quiet and cheerful at he
used to be, and when he took his leave of the lady of the house to go
to the station, he jokingly invited himself to dinner on the 22d of
February.
The weather had completely changed, since the morning heavy snow had
fallen: the Bolosch train had to wait a long time at the next station
till the snow-ploughs had cleared the line, and it was not till late
next morning that it reached its destination. Sendlingen was deeply
moved that, notwithstanding, the first face he saw on getting out of
the train, was that of his faithful friend. And at the same time it
frightened him: for how could he look him in the face?
But in his impetuous joy, Berger did not observe how Sendlingen shrank
at his gaze. "At last!" he cried, embracing him, and with moistened
eyes, he pressed his hand, incapable of uttering a word.
"Thank you!" said Sendlingen in an uncertain voice. "It--it came upon
you as a surprise?"
"You may imagine that!" cried Berger. "Soon after your departure, I
heard the news of the attempt on the Emperor's life. I thought all was
lost and was about to hurry to you when your telegram came. And then,
picture my delight! I sent for Franz--the old man was mad with joy!"
They had come out to the front of the station and had got into Berger's
sleigh. "To my house!" he called to the driver!
"What are you thinking of?" asked Sendlingen.
"You forget that you have no longer a habitable home!" cried Berger.
"There is such a veritable hurly-burly at the residence, that even
Franz hardly knows his way about--where do you mean to stay?"
"At the Hofmann Hotel," replied Sendlingen. "I have already
commissioned Franz to take rooms there. It is impossible for me to stay
with you, George. Please do not press me. I cannot do it."
Berger looked at him astonished. "But why not? And how tragically it
affects you? To the Hofmann Hotel!" he now ordered the driver. "But now
tell me everything," he begged, when the sleigh had altered its
direction. "Who granted you the postponement?"
"The Archduke Ferdinand Maximilian," replied Sendlingen quickly, "the
Emperor's eldest brother. I had an interview with him yesterday. The
order to Werner to postpone the execution, should be here by the day
after to-morrow. For my own part, I shall stay in Vienna until the
Emperor has recovered. The Archduke himself could not give a final
decision."
"Once more my heartiest congratulations!" cried Berger. "I will
faithfully watch over Victorine till you return. And now as to other
things. Do you know whom this concerns?" He pointed to some bundles of
fir-branches that were being unloaded at several houses. Here and
there, too, some black and yellow, or black, red and yellow flags were
being hung out. "You, Victor. The whole of Bolosch is preparing itself
for to-morrow, it will be such a fete as the town has not seen for a
long time. The Committee has done nothing either about the decorations
or the illuminations. Both are spontaneous, and done without any
preconcerted arrangement."
"This must not take place!" cried Sendlingen impatiently. "I cannot
allow it! It would rend my heart!"
"I understand you," said Berger. "But in for a penny etc. Besides your
heart may be easier now, than at the time you agreed to accept the
torch-light procession and the banquet. Do not spoil these good
people's pleasure, they have honorably earned your countenance. Every
third man in Bolosch is inconsolable to-day because there are no more
tickets left for the banquet, although we have hired the biggest room
in the place, the one in the town-hall. The only compensation that we
could offer them, was the modest pleasure of carrying a torch in your
honour and at the same time burning a few holes in their Sunday
clothes. Notwithstanding, torches have since yesterday become the
subject of some very swindling jobbery."
In this manner he gossiped away cheerfully until the sleigh drew up at
the hotel. Herr Hofmann, the landlord, was almost speechless with
pleasure. "What an honour," stammered the fat man, his broad features
colouring a sort of purple-red. "Your Lordship is going to receive the
procession on my balcony?"
"Yes indeed," sighed Berger, "and it is I who got you this honour!" He
drove away, promising to send Franz who was waiting at his house.
After a short interval Franz appeared at the hotel; his face beamed as
he entered his master's room, and a few minutes later, when he came out
again, it was pale and distorted and his eyes seemed blinded; the old
man was reeling like a drunkard as he went back to Berger's house to
fetch the trunks to the hotel.
Without making good his lost night's rest, Sendlingen betook himself to
his Chambers. Herr von Werner was already waiting for him; they at once
went to their task and began with the business of the Civil Court. It
was not difficult work, but it consumed much time, especially as Werner
in accordance with his usual custom would not dispatch the most
insignificant thing by word of mouth. Seldom can any mortal have
written his signature with the same pleasure as he to-day signed: "von
Werner, Chief Justice."
Sendlingen held out patiently, without a sign of discomposure, "like a
lamb for the sacrifice" thought Baron Dernegg who was assisting with
the transfer. They only interrupted their work to take a scanty meal in
Chambers; twice, moreover, Franz sent for his master to make a brief
communication. At length, about ten at night, the work was done. For
the next day, when the affairs of the Criminal Court were to be
disposed of, Werner promised to be more brief. "You had better, if you
value your life," cried Dernegg laughing. "The Citizens of Bolosch
won't be made fools of. Woe to you if you don't release the hero of
to-morrow's fete in good time!"
Sendlingen went to Berger who had now been waiting for him several
hours with increasing impatience. "I shall never forgive Herr von
Werner this!" he swore as they sat down to their belated meal. "And it
is the last evening in which I shall have you to myself! Franz told me
that you were going to Vienna by the express at four in the morning,
Why will you not take a proper rest after the excitement of the fete?
You had better go the day after to-morrow by the midday train."
"I cannot," replied Sendlingen. "The Minister of Justice has asked me
to attend an important conference the day after to-morrow, and
therefore I am even thinking of going by the mail-train to-morrow. It
starts shortly after midnight and----"
"That is quite impossible!" interrupted Berger. "Just consider, the
procession takes place between eight and nine, the banquet begins at
ten, it will be eleven before the first speeches are made--then you are
to reply in all speed, rush out, hurry to the hotel, change your
clothes, fly to the station----Why, it is quite impossible, and the
people would be justly offended if you fled from the feast in an hour's
time as if it were a torment!"
"And so it is!" cried Sendlingen. "When you consider what my feelings
are likely to be at leaving Bolosch, then you will certainly not try to
stop me, but will rather help me, so that the torment be not too long
drawn out."
Berger shrugged his shoulders. "You always get your own way!" he said.
"But it is not right to offend the people and then victimise yourself
all night in a train that stops at even the smallest stations."
Then they talked of the political bearings, of the consequences, which
the crime of the 18th February, the act of a half-witted creature,
might have on the freedom of Austria. Victorine's name was not
mentioned by either of them this time.
Sendlingen never closed his eyes all that night, although Herr Hofmann
had personally selected for him the best pillows in the hotel. It was a
dark, wild night; the snow alone gave a faint glimmer. An icy
northeast wind whistled its wild song through the streets, fit
accompaniment to the thoughts of the sleepless man.
Towards eight in the morning--it had just become daylight--he heard the
sound of military music; the band was playing a buoyant march. At the
same time there was a knock at his door and Franz entered. The old man
was completely broken down. "We must dress," he said. "The band of the
Jaegers and the choral society are about to serenade. Besides I suppose
we have not slept!"
"Nor you either, Franz?"
"What does that matter! But we will not survive it!" he groaned. "Oh!
that this day, that this night, were already past."
"It must be, Franz."
"Yes, it must be!"
The band came nearer and nearer. At the same time the footsteps, the
laughter and shouts of a large crowd were audible. The old man
listened. "That's the Radetzky March!" he said. "Ah! how merrily they
are piping to our sorrow."
The procession had reached the hotel.
"Three cheers for Sendlingen!" cried a stentorian voice. The band
struck up a flourish and from hundreds and hundreds of throats came the
resounding shout: "Hip, hip, Hurrah! Hurrah! Hurrah!" Then the band
played a short overture and the fingers followed with a chorus.
Meanwhile Sendlingen had finished dressing; he went into the adjoining
room, and, after the song was finished and the cheering had begun
again, he opened a window and bowed his thanks.
At his appearance the shouts were louder and louder; like the voice of
a storm they rose again and again: "Hurrah for Sendlingen! Hurrah!
Hurrah!" and mingling with them was the cry of the Czech workmen:
"Slava--Na zdar!" All the windows in the street were open; the women
waved their handkerchiefs, the men their hats; as far as the eye could
see, bright flags were floating before the snow-covered houses, and
decorations of fir were conspicuous in all the windows and balconies.
The unhappy man stared in stupefaction at the scene beneath him, then a
burning crimson flushed his pale face and he raised his hand as if to
expostulate.
The crowd put another interpretation on the sign and thought that he
wanted to make a speech. "Silence," shouted a hundred voices together
and there was a general hush. But Sendlingen quickly withdrew, while
the cheering broke forth afresh.
"My hat!" he cried to Franz. He wanted to escape to the Courts by the
back door of the hotel. But it was too late; the door of the room
opened, and the Committee entered and presented the address of the
inhabitants of Bolosch. Then the mayor and town-council appeared
bringing the greatest distinction that had ever been conferred on a
citizen of Bolosch--not only the freedom of the city, but the
resolution of the town-council to change the name of Cross Street
forthwith into Sendlingen Street. Various other deputations followed:
the last was that of the workmen. Their leader was Johannes Novyrok; he
presented as a gift, according to a Slavonic custom, a loaf of bread
and a plated salt-cellar, adding:
"Look at that salt-cellar, my Lord! If you imagine that it is silver
you will be much mistaken, it is only very thinly plated and cost no
more than four gulden, forty kreutzer, and I must candidly say that the
dealer has very likely swindled us out of a few groschen in the
transaction; for what do we understand of such baubles? Well, four
gulden and forty kreutzer, besides fifteen kreutzer for the bread and
five kreutzer for the salt, make altogether five gulden of the realm.
Now you will perhaps think to yourself, my Lord: Are these men mad that
they dare offer _me_ such a trifling gift--but to that I answer: Five
gulden are three hundred kreutzer of the realm, and these three hundred
kreutzer were collected in this way: three hundred workmen of this town
after receiving their wages last Saturday, each subscribed one kreutzer
to give you a bit of pleasure. And now that you know this, you will
certainly honour their trifling gift. We beg you to keep this
salt-cellar on your table, so that your heart may be always rejoiced by
the gift of poor men whose benefactor you have been."
In the Law Courts, too, a solemn ovation was awaiting him. Two Judges
received him at the entrance and conducted him to the hall of the
Senate, where all the members of the Court were gathered. Werner handed
him their parting-gift: a water-colour painting of the Courts of
Justice, and an album with the photographs of all connected with them.
"To the model of every judicial virtue," was stamped on it in gold
letters. Then Dernegg stepped forward. A number of the Court officials
had clubbed together to adorn the walls with Sendlingen's portrait.
Dernegg made a sign and the curtain was withdrawn from the picture.
"Not only to honour you," he continued turning to Sendlingen, "have we
placed this picture here, but because we desire that your portrait
should look down upon us to admonish and encourage us, whenever we are
assembled here in solemn deliberation. It was here that four months ago
you gave utterance to a sentiment that, to me, will always be more
significant of your character than anything I ever heard you say. We
were discussing the condemnation of an unfortunate government clerk. 'I
have never been,' you said on that occasion, 'a blind adherent of the
maxim Fiat justitia et pereat mundum--but at least it must so far be
considered sacred, as binding each of us Judges to act according to law
and duty, even if our hearts should break in doing so.' Such things are
easily said, but hard to do. Fate, however, had decreed that you were,
since then, to give a proof that this conviction had indeed been the
loadstar of your life. Who should know that better than I, your
colleague in those sorrowful days. You never hesitated, even when all
that the heart of man may cling to, was at stake in your life."
He had intended to go into this at greater length, but he came to a
speedy conclusion when he saw how pale Sendlingen had turned. "Very
likely his heart is troubling him again," he thought. But the attack
seemed to pass quickly. Certainly Sendlingen only replied in a very few
words, but he went to work again with Werner zealously.
The three men--Dernegg was assisting to-day as well--betook themselves
to the prison. In the Governor's office, the register of prisoners was
gone through. Werner started when he saw the list of the sick.
"So many?" he cried. "Our doctor would be more suited to a
philanthropic institute than here. Here, for instance, I read:
'Victorine Lippert. Since the 9th November, 1852.' Why that must be the
child-murderess, that impertinent person who made such a scene at the
trial. And here it says further: 'Convalescent since the middle of
December, but must remain in the infirmary till her complete recovery
on account of grave general debility.' This person has been well for
two months, and is still treated as if she were ill! Isn't that
unjustifiable?"
Sendlingen made no reply; he was holding one of the lists close to his
eyes, so that his face was not visible. Dernegg, however, answered:
"Perhaps the contrary would be unjustifiable. The doctor knows the
case, we don't. He is a conscientious man."
"Certainly," agreed Werner, "of course he is--but much too
soft-hearted. Let us keep to this particular case. Well, this person
has been tended as an invalid for more than two months. That adds an
increase of more than twenty kreutzer daily to the public expenditure,
altogether, since the middle of December, fourteen gulden of the realm.
We should calculate, gentlemen, calculate. And is such a person worth
so much money? Well, we can soon see for ourselves whether she is ill!"
They began to go the rounds of the prison. That was soon done with, but
in the first room of the Infirmary, Werner began a formal examination
of the patients.
Sendlingen went up to him. "Finish that tomorrow," he said sharply, in
an undertone. "You are my successor, not my supervisor."
Werner almost doubled up. "Excuse me--" he muttered in the greatest
embarrassment. "You are right,--but I did not dream of offending
you--you whom I honour so highly. Let us go."
They went through the remainder of the rooms without stopping, until
they came to the separate cells for female patients. Here, only two
female warders kept guard. Werner looked through the list of the
patients' names. "Why, Victorine Lippert is here," he said. "Actually
in a separate cell. My Lord Chief Justice," he continued in an
almost beseeching tone of voice, turning to Sendlingen, "this one case
I should like at once to--I beg--it really consumes me with
indignation--otherwise I must come over this afternoon."
Sendlingen had turned away. "As you wish," he then muttered, and they
entered her cell.
Victorine had just sat down at her table and was reading the Bible. She
looked up, a crimson flush overspread her face, trembling with a glad
excitement she rose--the pardon must at length have arrived from
Vienna, and the Judges were coming to announce it.
The danger increased Sendlingen's strength. He had not been able to
endure Dernegg's words of praise, but now that the questioning look of
his child rested on him, now that his heart threatened to stand still
from compassion and from terror of what the next moment might bring
forth, not a muscle of his face moved.
Perhaps it decisively affected his and Victorine's fate, that this
unspeakable torture only lasted a few moments. "There we are!" Werner
broke forth. "Rosy and healthy and out of bed. A nice sort of illness.
But this shall be put a stop to to-day."
With a low cry, her face turning white, Victorine staggered back.
Werner did not hear her, he had already left the cell, the other two
followed him. "It was on account of your request that I was so brief,"
said Werner in the corridor turning to Sendlingen. "Besides one glance
is sufficient! Tell me yourself, my Lord, does she look as if she were
ill?"
"You must take the Doctor's opinion about that," said Dernegg.
"That would be superfluous," said Sendlingen, his voice scarcely
trembling. "The sentence of death is confirmed; she must be executed in
a few days; the 25th February at the latest, as the sentence reached
here on the seventeenth. I can only share your view," he continued
turning to Werner, "she really looks healthy enough to be removed into
the common prison. But what would be the good? We have not got any
special 'black hole' in which condemned criminals spend the day before
their execution, and one of these cells in the Infirmary is always used
for the purpose."
"You are right as usual," Werner warmly agreed.
"She can remain in the cell for the two days: that will be the most
practical thing to do. On the twenty-third, I will announce the
sentence, on the twenty-fourth, the execution can take place."
Sendlingen gave a deep sigh. "We have finished with the prisons now,"
he said, "let us go back to Chambers. Allow me to show you the nearest
way."
He beckoned to the Governor of the Prison to follow them. The
cells of the Infirmary were in a short corridor that opened into the
prison-yard. The Governor opened the door and they stepped out into the
yard. "I have a key to this door," said Sendlingen to Werner, "as well
as to that over there." He pointed to the little door in the wall which
separated the prison-yard from the front part of the building. "I will
hand both these keys over to you presently. My predecessor had this
door made, so as to convince himself, from time to time, that the
prison officials were doing their duty. But he forgot to tell me
about this, and so the keys have been rusting unused in my official
writing-table. I first heard of this accidentally a few months ago."
"Certainly this means of access requires some consideration," observed
Dernegg. "An attempt at escape would meet with very slight obstacles
here. Anyone once in the Infirmary Corridor, would only need to break
through two weak doors, the one in the yard and this one in the wall,
and then get away scot free by the principal entrance which leads to
the offices and private residence of the Chief Justice!"
"What an idea!" laughed Werner. "In the first place: how would the
fellow get out of the sick-room or out of his cell into the corridor of
the female patients? He would first have to break through two or three
doors. And if he should succeed in getting out into the yard, he would
perhaps never notice the door, it is so hidden away; and if, groping
about in the dark, he were to find it, he would not know where it led
to, or whether there might not be a sentry on the other side with a
loaded rifle. No, no, I think this arrangement is very ingenious, very
ingenious, gentlemen, and I purpose often to make use of it."
Sendlingen took no part in this talk; he had altogether become very
taciturn and remained so, as they set to work again in Chambers. But
the evening had long set in, the illumination of the town had begun,
and the lights were burning in the windows of the room where they were
working, before they had completed all the formalities. When all was
finished, Sendlingen handed his successor the keys of which he had
spoken.
Franz was waiting outside with a carriage from the hotel. It was a
nasty night; an icy wind was driving the snow-flakes before it.
Notwithstanding Sendlingen wanted to proceed on foot. "My forehead
burns," he complained. But Franz urged: "I have brought it on account
of the crowds of people about. If we are recognised, we should never
get along or escape from the cheering." So Sendlingen got in.
This precaution proved to be well-founded. In spite of the stormy
weather, the streets were densely packed with people slowly streaming
hither and thither, and admiring the unwonted spectacle of the
illuminations. The carriage could only proceed at a walking pace:
Sendlingen buried himself deeper in its cushions so as not to be
recognised.
"The good people!" said old Franz who was sitting opposite him. "I have
always known who it was I was serving, but how much we are loved and
honoured in this town, was not manifest till to-night. But we are not
looking at the illuminations, they are very beautiful."
"And who is it they are there for!" cried Sendlingen burying his face
in his hands.
The carriage which had been going slower and slower, was now obliged to
stop; it had come to the beginning of Cross Street which since the
morning bore the superscription: "Sendlingen Street!" The inhabitants
of this street in order to show themselves worthy of the honour, had
illuminated more lavishly than anyone else, and as the Hofmann Hotel
was situated here, the crowd had formed into such a dense mass at this
point, that a passage through it was not to be thought of. Sendlingen
had to quit the carriage and, half deafened with the cheers, he hurried
through the ranks and breathed again when he reached the shelter of the
hotel.
There Berger, who had been impatiently awaiting him, met him. "Now
quick into your dress clothes," he cried, "in ten minutes the
procession will be here." Sendlingen had hardly finished dressing, when
the sound of music and the shouts of the crowd, announced the approach
of the procession. He was obliged to yield to his friend's pressure and
go out on the balcony. There was a red glimmer from the direction of
the river, and like a giant fire-serpent, the procession wound its way
through the crowd. It stopped before the hotel, the torch-bearers
formed themselves in line in the broad street. Unceasingly, endlessly,
like the roar of wild waves, resounded the cheers.
Berger's eyes sparkled. "This is a moment which few men live to see,"
he said. "Know this, and be glad of it! He who has won such love is, in
spite of anything that could happen, one of the favoured of this
earth!"
Then they drove to the banquet at the town-hall. The large room was
full to overflowing, and all agreed that this was the most brilliant
assembly that had ever been gathered together within its walls, "But he
deserves it," all said. "What has this man not suffered in the last
few weeks through his fidelity to conviction! One can see it in his
face--this agitation has broken his strength for years!" People
therefore did not take it ill that his replies to the two toasts, "Our
last honorary citizen" proposed by the Mayor, and the "Rock of Justice"
proposed by the chairman of the committee, were very briefly put. He
thanked them for the unmerited honour that had been done him, assured
them that he would never forget their kindness, and, to be brief, made
only the most commonplace remarks, without fulfilling either by his
style or his thoughts, the expectation with which this speech had been
looked forward to. Nevertheless, after he had finished, he was greeted
with wild cheering, and the same thundering applause followed him as he
left the hall towards eleven o'clock.
Berger and Dernegg accompanied him to the hotel, then to the station.
The first bell had already rung when they got there; so their farewell
had to be brief. Silently, with moistened eyes, Sendlingen embraced his
friend before he got into the train; Franz took his place in a
second-class compartment of the same carriage. Both waved from the
windows after the train had moved off and was gliding away, swifter and
swifter, into the stormy night.
* * * * *
Next morning about nine o'clock, when Berger had just sat down at his
writing-table, there was a violent knock at his door and a clerk of the
Law Courts rushed in. "Dr. Berger!" he cried, breathlessly, "Herr von
Werner urgently begs you to go to him at once. Victorine Lippert has
escaped from the prison in the night."
Berger turned deadly pale. "Escaped?"
"Or been taken out!" continued the clerk. "Herr von Werner hopes you
may be able to give some hint as to who could have interested
themselves in the person."
"Very well," muttered Berger. "I know little enough about the matter,
but I will come at once."
The clerk departed; Berger sat at his table a long time, staring before
him, his head heavily sunk on his breast. "Unhappy wretch!" he thought.
"Now I understand all!"
Now he understood all: why Sendlingen had hesitated so long in taking
the journey to Vienna, why he had taken Franz and Brigitta into his
confidence, why he had spent the last two days at the hotel where he
and his servant could make all preparations undisturbed, and why he had
chosen the mail train which stopped at every station. The next station
to Bolosch was not distant more than half an hour's drive by sleigh.
"They must both have left the train there," he thought, "and hurried
back in a sleigh that was waiting for them, then released Victorine and
hastened away with her, perhaps to the first station where the express
stops, perhaps in the opposite direction towards Pfalicz. At this
moment, very likely, she is journeying under Franz's protection to some
foreign country where Brigitta awaits her, somewhere in France, or
England, or Italy, while he is hurrying to Vienna, so as not to miss
his appointment with the Minister of Justice!"
"Monstrous!" he groaned. And surely, the world had never before seen
such a thing: such a crime committed by such a man, and on the very day
when his fellow-citizens had done honour to him as the "Rock of
Justice!" And such he would be for all time, in the eyes of all the
world; it was not to be supposed that the very faintest suspicion would
turn against him: he would go to Pfalicz and there continue to judge
the crimes of others. The honest lawyer boiled over, he could no longer
sit still but began to pace up and down excitedly. Bitter, grievous
indignation filled his heart; the most sacred thing on earth had been
sullied, Justice, and by a man whom of all men he had loved and
honoured.
And then this same love stirred in his heart again. He thought of last
night, of the moment when he had stood by his friend, while the
thousands surged below making the air ring with their cheers. Pity
incontinently possessed his soul again. "What the poor wretch must have
suffered at this moment!" he thought. "It is a marvel that he did not
go mad. And what he must have suffered on his journey to Vienna, and
long weeks before, when the resolve first took shape in him!"
He bowed his head. "Judge not, that ye be not judged," cried a voice of
admonition within him. His bitterness disappeared, and deep sorrow
alone filled his heart: sin had bred other sins, crime, another crime
and fresh remorse and despair. How to judge this deed, what was there
to be said in condemnation, what in vindication of it: that deed of
which he had once dreamed, it certainly was not; it was no great,
liberating solution of these complications, but only an end of them, a
hideous end! Certainly Victorine might have now suffered enough to have
been granted freedom, and the opportunity of new life, and no less
certainly would Sendlingen, honourable and loving justice in the
extreme, carry in his conscience through life, the punishment for his
crime--but Justice had been outraged, and this sacred thing would never
receive the expiation that was its due. "A wrong should not be expiated
by a crime!" Sendlingen had once said to him--but now he had done it
himself. "Re-assure yourself," he had once exclaimed at a later date,
"outraged Justice shall receive the expiation that is its due!" This
would not, could not be--never--never!
Berger roused himself and went forth on his bitter errand. When he
reached the Courts of Justice, old Hoche, who had entered on his
retirement some weeks ago, was just coming out. Berger was going to
pass him with a brief salutation, but the old gentleman button-holed
him.
"What do you say to this?" he cried. "Monstrous, isn't it? I am
heartily glad that the misfortune has not befallen Sendlingen! But do
not imagine that I wish it to Herr von Werner. On the contrary, I have
just given him a piece of advice--ha! ha! ha!--that should relieve him
of his perplexity. You cross-examine Dr. Berger sharply, I said to him;
that is the safest way of getting to know the secret of who took her
out. For the way Dr. Berger interested himself in this person, is not
to be described. Me, a Judge, he called a murderer for her sake, upon
my word, a murderer. Ha! ha! ha! there you have it."
Berger had turned pale. "This is not a subject of jest," he said,
angrily.
"Oh, my dear Dr. Berger!" replied the old man soothingly, "I have only
advised Herr von Werner--and naturally without the slightest suspicion
against you--to formally examine you on oath as a witness. For anyone
connected with the prisoner is likely to know best. And besides: a
record of evidence can never do any harm--_ut aliquid fecisse
videatur_, you know. They will see in Vienna that Werner has taken a
lot of trouble. Well, good-bye, my dear doctor, good-bye."
He went. Berger strode up the steps. His face was troubled and a sudden
terror shook his limbs. He had never thought of that. Supposing he
should now be examined on oath? Could he then say: 'I have no suspicion
who could have helped her?' Could he be guilty of perjury to save them
both? "May God help them then," he hissed, "for I cannot."
He entered the corridor that led to the Chief Justice's Chambers. The
examination of the prison officials had just been concluded, but a few
warders were standing about and attentively listening to the crafty
Hoebinger's explanation of this extraordinary case. "Favouritism!"
Berger heard him say as he went by, "her lover, the young Count, has
got her out." The two female warders of the Infirmary cells were there
too, sobbing.
Berger entered the Chief Justice's Chambers. Baron Dernegg and the
Governor of the prison were with Werner. At a side-table sat a clerk; a
crucifix and two unlighted candles were beside him. "At last!"
cried Werner. "I begged you so particularly to come at once. There is
not a moment to be lost. Light the candles!" he called to the clerk.
"But that may be quite useless," cried Dernegg. "Do you know anything
about the matter?" he then asked Berger.
"No!" The sound came hoarsely, almost unintelligibly, from his stifled
breast.
Werner stood irresolute. "But Dr. Berger was her Counsel," he said,
"and the authorities in Vienna----"
"Must see that you have taken trouble," supplemented Dernegg. "They
will hardly see this from documents with nothing in them. We have more
important things to do now: the escape was discovered three hours ago,
and the description of her appearance has not yet been drawn up and
telegraphed to Vienna and the frontier stations."
Werner still looked irresolutely at the lighted candles for a few
seconds: to Berger they seemed an eternity of bitter anguish such as
his conscience had never endured before. "Put out the candles! Come,
the description of her appearance!" He seized the papers relating to
the trial. "Please help me!" he said turning to Dernegg. "My head is
swimming! O God! that I should have lived to see this day!"
While the clerks were writing at the dictation of the two judges,
Berger turned to the Governor and asked him how the escape had been
effected.
"It is like magic!" he replied. "When one of the female warders was
taking her breakfast to her this morning, she found the door merely
latched and the cell empty. The lock must have been opened from the
inside. Her course can be plainly traced: she escaped through the yard;
the locks of all the doors have been forced from inside by a file used
by someone with great strength. This is the first riddle. Such a thing
could hardly be done by the hand of the strongest man; it is quite
impossible that Victorine Lippert had sufficient strength! The doctor
vouches for it, and for the matter of that you knew her yourself, Dr.
Berger."
Berger shrugged his shoulders and the Governor continued: "You see the
theory of external assistance forces itself imperatively upon us, and
yet it is not tenable. The help cannot have come from outside, as all
the locks were forced on the inside. And in the prison she can likewise
have received no assistance. There is not one of the warders capable of
such a crime, besides there is only one door between the general prison
and the corridor of the female patients, and that was locked and
remained locked. Since any external help is not to be thought of, we
are obliged, difficult as it is, to credit Victorine Lippert with
sufficient strength. But there we are confronted with the second
riddle: how did she come by the file? And in the face of such
incomprehensibilities, it is a small thing that she should also have
been aware of an exit that is known to few!"
"Mysterious in every way!" said Berger. "Most extraordinary!" To him
the rationale of the thing was plain enough: Master and servant had by
means of the official keys or of duplicates which they had had made,
penetrated the prison, and on their return had filed the locks. By this
ruse, all suspicion of external help would be removed, and at the same
time, as far as Sendlingen could do so, it would be averted from the
prison officials.
Meanwhile the two Judges had drawn up the description of the fugitive's
appearance, and Dernegg renewed his advice to telegraph it abroad at
once. Werner objected that this was "a new method" that he would not
agree to. "Everything according to rule!" he said. "We will publish the
description in the official paper, distribute it among the police, and
send a copy to Vienna. It is inconceivable that the person has got out
of the country; where would she get the money from? We will therefore
not telegraph, and that is enough!"
But after the old man had roused himself to this judgment of Solomon,
his self-control deserted him altogether. "What a calamity!" he moaned.
"What a beginning to my life as Chief Justice! But I am innocent! Alas!
I shall, none the less, receive a reprimand from the Minister which I
shall carry about me all my life, unless Sendlingen saves me. But my
friend Sendlingen, that best of colleagues, will speak for me and save
me. Excuse me, gentlemen--but I shall have no peace, until I have
written and asked for his help!"
He sat down to his writing-table, the others took their leave.
The next morning Berger received a letter from Vienna, the handwriting
of the address was known to him and, with trembling hands, he opened
the envelope. This was the letter.
"I know that you cannot forgive me and I do not ask you to do so. One
favour only do I implore: do not give up hope that the time will one
day come when I shall again be worthy of your regard. The first step to
this I took yesterday: I have left the service of the State for ever,
and I do not doubt that I shall have courage to take the second step,
the step that will resolve all; when God will grant me the grace to do
this, I know not. Pray with me that I may not have too long to wait.
"Farewell, George, farewell for ever!
"Victor."
Berger stared for a long while at these lines, his lips trembled--he
was very sore at heart.
Then he drew a candle towards him, lit it, and held the letter in its
flame until it had turned to ashes.
"Farewell, thou best and purest of men," he whispered to himself, and a
sudden tear ran down his cheek.