The Chief Justice: A Novel

"Then, my Lord," continued the raftsman, "then came the dark hour, when I yielded to my folly and selfishness. Maybe I am too hard on myself in saying this, for I thought more of my child's welfare than my own, and many people thought what I did reasonable. But otherwise I must accuse Him above, and before I do that I would rather accuse myself. But I will tell you what happened in a few words. A former mate of mine who was working at the salt shipping trade on the Traun, persuaded me to go with him, just for one summer, and the high wages tempted me. My girl was sixteen at that time; she was like a rose, my Lord, to look at. But before I went I told her my story, where I was born and who my mother very likely was, and I said to her: 'Live honestly, my girl, or when I come back in the autumn I will strike you dead, and then jump into the deepest part of the river.' She cried and swore to me she'd be good. But when I came back in the autumn-"

He sobbed. It was some time before he added in a hollow voice: "Hanka was my daughter's name. Perhaps you remember the case, my Lord. It took place in this house. Certainly it's a long while ago; it will be seven years next spring."

"Hanka Novyrok," Sendlingen laid his hand on his forehead. "I remember!" he then said. "That was the name of the girl who-who died in her cell during her imprisonment upon trial."

"She hanged herself," said Novyrok, sepulchrally. "It happened in the night; the next morning she was to have come before the Judges. She had murdered her child."

There was a very long silence after this. Novyrok then resumed:

"You didn't examine me about the case, you would have understood me. The other Judge before whom I was taken didn't understand me when I said: 'This is a controversy between me and Him up above, for either He is at fault or I am.' The Judge at first thought that grief had turned my head, but when he understood what I said, he abused me roundly and called me a blasphemer. But I am not that. I believe in Him. I do not blaspheme Him, only I want to know how I stand with Him. It would be the greatest kindness to me, my Lord, if you could decide for me."

"Poor fellow," said Sendlingen, "don't torment yourself any more about it; such things nobody can decide."

Novyrok shook his head with a sigh. "A man like you ought to be able to make it out," he said, "although I can see that it is not easy. For look here-how does the case stand? A wretched blackguard, a linendraper for whom she used to sew, seduced her in my absence. If I had stayed here, it would not have happened. When I came back I learnt nothing about it, she hid it from me out of fear of what I had said to her at parting, and that was the reason why she killed her child, yes, and herself too in the end. For I am convinced that it was not the fear of punishment that drove her to death, but the fear of seeing me again, and no doubt, she also wished to spare me the disgrace of that hour. Now, my Lord, all this-"

They were interrupted. A messenger brought in a letter which had just arrived. Sendlingen recognised the writing of the count, his brother-in-law, who was a Judge of the Supreme Court. He laid the letter unopened on the table; very likely belated New-year's wishes, he thought. "Go on!" he said to the Accused.

"Well, my Lord, all this seems to tell against me, but it might be turned against Him too. I might say to Him: 'Wasn't I obliged to try and keep her from sin by using the strongest words? And why didst Thou not watch over her when I was far away; Hanka was Thy child too, and not only mine! And if Thou wouldst not do this, why didst Thou suffer us two to be born? Thou wilt make reparation, sayst Thou, in Thy Heaven? Well, no doubt it is very beautiful, but perhaps it is not so beautiful that we shall think ourselves sufficiently compensated.' You see, my Lord, I might talk like this-But if I were to begin. He too would not be silent, and with a single question He could crush me. 'Why did you go away?' He might ask me. 'Why did you not do your duty to your child? I, O fool, have untold children; you had only this one to whom you were nearest. You say in your defence that you did not act altogether selfishly, that you wanted to better her condition as well. May be, but you did think of your own condition, of yourself as well, and that a father may not do! I warned you by your own life, and by causing your conscience and presentiments to speak to you-why did you not obey Me? Besides you would not have starved here?' You see, my Lord, He might talk to me in this way and He would be right, for a father may not think of himself for one instant where his child's welfare is concerned. Isn't that so?

"Yes, that is so!" answered Sendlingen solemnly.

"Well, that is why I sometimes think: you should certainly go to confession! What do you advise, my Lord?"

This time, too, Sendlingen could find no relevant answer, much as he tried to seek the right words of consolation for this troubled heart. He strove to lessen his sense of guilt, that sensitive feeling which had so deeply moved him, and finally assured him also of a speedy release. But Novyrok's face remained clouded; the one thing which he had wished to hear, a decision of his singular "controversy" with "Him," he had to do without, and when Sendlingen rang for the turnkey to remove the prisoner, the latter expressed his gratitude for "his Lordship's friendliness" but not for any comfort received.

Not until he had departed did Sendlingen take up his brother-in-law's letter, which he meant hastily to run through. But after a few lines he grew more attentive and his looks became overcast. "And this too," he muttered, after he had read to the end, and his head sank heavily on his breast.

The Count informed him, after a few introductory lines, of the purport of a conversation he had just had with the Minister of Justice. "You know his opinion," said the letter, "he honestly desires your welfare, and a better proof of this than your appointment to Pfalicz he could not have given you. All the more pained, nay angered, is he at your obstinate disregard of his wishes. He told you in plain language that he did not desire you and Dernegg to take part in any political investigations. You have none the less observed the same arrangement in the present investigation against the workmen. I warn you, Victor, not for the first time, but for the last. You are trifling with your future; far more important people than Chief Judges, however able, are now being sent to the right-about in Austria. The anger of the minister is all the greater, because your defiance this time is notorious. Scarcely a fortnight ago, the Supreme Court instructed you to undertake the brief examination of a witness; you handed the matter over to Hoche and excused yourself on the plea of the pressure of your regular work; and yet this work now suddenly allows you personally to conduct a complicated inquiry against some three dozen workmen." The letter continued in this strain at great length and concluded thus: "I implore you to assign the inquiry to Werner and to telegraph me to this effect to-day. If this is not done, you will tomorrow receive a telegram from the Minister commanding you to do so. And if you don't obey then, the consequences will be at once fatal to you. You know that I am no lover of the melodramatic, and you will therefore weigh well what I have said."

His brother-in-law-and Sendlingen knew it-certainly never affected a melodramatic tone, and often as he had warned him, he had never before written in such a key. What should he do? It was against his conscience to submit and leave these poor fellows to their fate; but might he concern himself more about men who were strangers to him, than about the wellbeing of his own child? If he did not yield, would he not perhaps be suddenly removed from his office, and just at the moment when his unhappy daughter most of all required his help?

He went to his residence in a state of grievous interior conflict, impotently drawn from one resolve to another. He sighed with relief when Berger entered; his shrewd, discreet friend could not have come at a more opportune moment.

But he, too, found it difficult to hit upon the right counsel, or at least, to put it into words. "Don't let us confuse ourselves, Victor," he said at length. "First of all, you know as well as I do, that the Minister has no right to put such a command upon you. You are responsible to him that every trial in your Court shall be conducted with the proper formalities; the power to arrange for this is in your hands. And therefore they dare not seriously punish your insistence on your manifest right. Dismissal on such a pretext is improbable and almost inconceivable, especially when it is a question of a man of your name and services."

"But it is possible."

"Anything is possible in these days," Berger was obliged to admit. "But ought this remote possibility to mislead you? You would certainly not hesitate a moment, if consideration for your child did not fetter you. Should this consideration be more authoritative than every other? In my opinion, no!"

"Because you cannot understand my feelings!" Sendlingen vehemently interposed. "A father may not think of himself when his child's welfare is concerned. The voice of nature speaks thus in the breast of every man, even the roughest, and should it be silent in me?"

"My poor friend," said Berger, "in your heart, too, it has surely spoken loud enough. And yet, so far, you have not hesitated for a moment to fulfil your duty as a judge when it came into conflict with your inclination. You would not preside at the trial, you would not conduct the examination. The struggle is entering on a new phase, you cannot act differently now."

"I must! I cannot help these poor people-besides Werner himself will hardly be able to find them guilty. And the cases are not parallel; I should have broken my oath if I had presided at the trial: I do not break it if I obey the Minister's command."

"That is true," retorted Berger. "But I can only say: Seek some other consolation, Victor, – this is unworthy of you! For you have always been, like me, of the opinion that it is every man's duty to protect the right, and prevent wrong, so long as there is breath in his body! If I admonish you, it is not from any fanatical love of Justice, but from friendship for you, and because I know you as well as one man can ever know another. Your mind could endure anything, even the most grievous suffering, anything save one thing: the consciousness of having done an injustice however slight. If you submit, and if these men are condemned even to a few years' imprisonment, their fate would prey upon your mind as murder would on any one else. This I know, and I would warn you against it as strongly as I can… Let us look at the worst that could happen, the scarcely conceivable prospect of your dismissal. What serious effect could this have upon the fate of your child? You perhaps cling to the hope of yourself imparting to her the result of the appeal; that is no light matter, but it is not so grave as the quiet of your conscience. It can have no other effect. If the purport of the decision is a brief imprisonment, you could have no further influence upon her destiny, whether you were in office or not; she would be taken to some criminal prison, and you would have to wait till her term of imprisonment was over before you could care for her. If the terms of the decision are imprisonment for life, or death (you see, I will not be so cowardly as not to face the worst), the only course left open to you is, to discover all to the Emperor and implore his pardon for your child. Is there anything else to be done?"

Sendlingen was silent.

"There is no other means of escape. And if it comes to this, if you have to sue for her pardon, it will assuredly be granted you, whether you are in office or not. It will be granted you on the score of humanity, of your services and of your family. It is inconceivable that this act of grace should be affected by the fact that you had just previously had a dispute with the Minister of Justice. It is against reason, still more against sentiment. The young Prince is of a chivalrous disposition."

"That he is!" replied Sendlingen. "And it is not this consideration that makes me hesitate, I had hardly thought of it. It was quite another idea… Thank you, George," he added. "Let us decide tomorrow, let us sleep upon it." He said this with such a bitter, despairing smile, that his friend was cut to the heart.

The next morning when Berger was sitting in his Chambers engaged upon some pressing work, the door was suddenly flung open and Sendlingen's servant Franz entered. Berger started to his feet and could scarcely bring himself to ask whether any calamity had occurred.

"Very likely it is a calamity," replied the old man, continuing in his peculiar fashion of speech which had become so much a habit with him, that he could never get out of it. "We were taken ill again in Chambers, very likely we fell down several times as before, we came home deadly pale but did not send in for the Doctor, but for you, sir."

Berger started at once, Franz following behind him. As they went along, Berger fancied he heard a sob. He looked round: there were tears in the old servant's eyes. When they got into the residence, Berger turned to him and said: "Be a man, Franz."

Then the old fellow could contain himself no longer; bright tears coursed down his cheeks. "Dr. Berger," he stammered. He had bent over his hand and kissed it before Berger could prevent him. "Have pity on me! Tell me what has been going on the last two months! We often speak to Brigitta about it-I am told nothing! Why? We know that this silence is killing me. I could long ago have learned it by listening and spying, but Franz doesn't do that sort of thing. If you cannot tell me, at least put in a word for me. Surely we do not want to kill me!"

Berger laid his hand on his shoulder. "Be calm, Franz, we have all heavy burdens to bear."

He then went into Sendlingen's room. "The minister's telegram?" he asked.

"Worse!"

"The decision? What is the result?" The question was superfluous; the result was plainly enough written in Sendlingen's livid, distorted features. Berger, trembling in every limb, seized the fatal paper that lay on the table.

"Horrible!" he groaned-it was a sentence of death.

He forced himself to read the motives given; they were briefly enough put. The Supreme Court had rejected the appeal to nullify the trial, although the credibility of the servant-girl had appeared doubtful enough to it, too. At the same time, the decision continued, there was no reason for ordering a new trial, as the guilt of the accused was manifest without any of the evidence of this witness. The Supreme Court had gone through this without noticing either her recent statement incriminating the Accused, nor her first favorable evidence. The Countess' depositions alone, therefore, must determine Victorine's conduct before the deed, and her motives for the deed. These seemed sufficient to the Supreme Court, not to alter the sentence of death.

For a long time Berger held the paper in his hands as if stunned; at length he went over to his unhappy friend, laid his arms around his neck and gently lifted his face up towards him. But when he looked into that face, the courage to say a word of consolation left him.

He stepped to the window and stood there for, perhaps, half an hour. Then he said softly, "I will come back this evening," and left the room.

Towards evening he received a few lines from his friend. Sendlingen asked him not to come till to-morrow; by that time he hoped to have recovered sufficient composure to discuss quietly the next steps to be taken. He was of opinion that Berger should address a petition for pardon to the Emperor, and asked him to draw up a sketch of it.

Berger read of this request with astonishment. He would certainly have lodged a petition for pardon, even if Victorine Lippert had been simply his client and not Sendlingen's daughter. But he would have done it more from a sense of duty than in the hope of success. That this hope was slight, he well knew. The petition would have to take its course through the Supreme Court, and it was in the nature of the case that the recommendation of the highest tribunal would be authoritative with the Emperor; exceptions had occurred, but their number was assuredly not sufficient to justify any confident hopes. All this Sendlingen must know as well as himself. Why, therefore, did he wish that the attempt should be made? In this desperate state of things, there was but one course that promised salvation; a personal audience with the Emperor. Why did Sendlingen hesitate to choose this course?

Berger made up his mind to lay all this strongly before him, and when on the next day he rang the bell of the residence, he was determined not to leave him until he had induced him to take this step.

"We are still in Chambers," announced Franz. "We want you to wait here a little. We have been examining workmen again since this morning early, and have hardly allowed ourselves ten minutes for food."

"So he has none the less resolved to go on with that?" said Berger. Perhaps, he thought to himself, the telegram has not arrived yet.

"None the less resolved?" cried Franz. "We have perhaps seldom worked away with such resolution and Baron Dernegg, too, was dictating to-day-I say it with all respect-like one possessed."

Berger turned to go. It occurred to him that he had not seen Victorine for a week, and he thought he would use the interval by visiting her. "I shall be back in an hour," he said to Franz. "In the meanwhile I have something to do in the prison."

"In the prison?" The old man's face twitched, he seized Berger's arm and drew him back into the lobby, shutting the door. "Forgive me, Dr. Berger. My heart is so full… You are going to her-are you not? To our poor young lady, to Victorine?"

"What? Since when?" …

"Do I know it?" interrupted Franz. "Since yesterday evening!" And with a strange mixture of pride and despair he went on: "We told me everything!.. Oh, it is terrible. But we know what I am worth! My poor master! ah! I couldn't sleep all night for sorrow… But we shall see that we are not deceived in me… I have a favour to ask, Dr. Berger. Brigitta has the privilege naturally, because she is a woman and a member of the 'Women's Society.' But I, what can I appeal to? Certainly I have in a way, been in the law for twenty-five years, and understand more of these things than many a young fledgling who struts about in legal toggery, but-a lawyer I certainly am not-so, I suppose, Dr. Berger, it is unfortunately impossible?"

"What? That you should pay her a visit? Certainly it is impossible, and if you play any pranks of that kind-"