The Chief Justice: A Novel

"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 fête 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 fête 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 fête? 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 Jägers 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!"