CHAPTER I
MY DEATH
"To a man who has been dead nearly five years everything would beforgiven, probably--except his resurrection."
This half-cynical thought was suggested by the extraordinary changewhich a few hours of one memorable July day had wrought in mycircumstances and position.
As the thought occurred to me I was standing in the library of GrambergCastle, my hands plunged deep in my pockets, deliberately dallying withmy fate, as I watched the black dress of the Prince's beautiful daughtermoving slowly among the gayly colored flower-beds in the warm sunshine,like a soothing shadow in the brilliant glare.
I was face to face with a temptation which I found infinitely alluringand immeasurably difficult to resist.
For five years I had been enduring an existence of monotonous emptiness,that depressed me till my heart ached and my spirit wearied; and now achance of change had been thrust upon me, all against my seeking, atwhich my pulses were beating high with the bound of hope, my bloodrunning once again with the old quick tingling of excitement, and,through the reopened portals of a life akin to that from which I hadbeen thrust, desire, ambition, pleasure, hazard, were all beckoning tome with fascinating invitation.
I turned from the window and threw myself into a deep easy-chair tothink.
Five years before I had passed in a moment from a position of Royalfavor, with limitless ambition and opportunities, to one where death wasavowedly the only alternate.
And no one had recognized this more readily than I myself.
I am half English by birth. My mother was an English woman, and went tothe Prussian Court in the small suite of the bride whom "Unser Fritz"carried from England. My father rose very high in Royal favor, and, as aconsequence, I was thrown early in life in the company of the youngPrinces. We grew up close and intimate companions; and when I chose thenavy for my profession every facility was employed to insure myadvancement. I had been about five years in the navy, and was already aflag-lieutenant, when the smash came. Happily my father and mother wereboth dead then.
We were not puritans in those days, and there were some wild times. Thelast of these in which I took a part finished up on the Imperial yacht;and a wild enough time it was.
I had drunk much more freely than the rest--there were only somehalf-dozen of us altogether--and then, being a quarrelsome, hot-headedfool, I took fire at some words that fell from the Prince, and I gavehim the lie direct. Exactly what happened I don't clearly remember;but I know that he flung his wine right at my face, and I, forgettingentirely that he was at once my future Emperor and my commandingofficer, clenched my fist and struck him a violent blow in the facewhich knocked him down. He hit his head in falling, and lay still asdeath. We thought at first he was dead. What followed can be imagined. Icannot describe it. It sobered the lot of us; and our relief when wefound he was not dead, but only stunned, cannot be put in words.
HE FLUNG HIS WINE RIGHT AT MY FACE]
He was lifted up and laid on the table, his face all ghastly gray-white,save where the mark of my blow on the cheek stood out red and livid--asight I shall never forget.
When the doctor came we told him the Prince had had an ugly fall, and,as soon as he showed signs of coming round, I left and went off to myship, in a condition of pitiable consternation and remorse.
I nearly shot myself that night. I took out my revolver twice and laidit between my teeth, and was only stopped by the consideration that, ifI did it, my suicide would be connected with the affair, and somegarbled account of the brawl and of what was behind it would leak out.
The next day old Count von Augener, who had been telegraphed for, cameto my cabin. He hated me as he had hated my father, and I knew it.
The interview was brief enough, and he sounded the keynote in thesentence with which he opened it.
"You are still alive, lieutenant?" he said, bending on me a piercinglook from under his shaggy, beetling brows.
"Say what you have to say, and be good enough to keep from taunts," Ianswered, and then told him the thought that alone had stopped me fromshooting myself.
He listened in silence, and at the close nodded.
"You have enough wit when the wine's out, and you understand what youhave done. Were you other than you are, you would be tried bycourt-martial and shot. But your act is worse than that of amutineer--you are a coward"--I started to my feet--"because you havestruck a man you know cannot demand satisfaction."
I sank again into my chair and covered my face in shame, for the tauntwas true. But to have it thus flung at me ruthlessly was worse than ared-hot brand plunged into my flesh.
The old man stopped and looked at me, pleased that he had thus torturedme.
"There is but one course open to you. You know that?"
"I know it," I answered sullenly.
"Only one reparation you can make. Your death can appear to be eitheraccidental or natural--anyhow, provided that it is at once. You can havea week; after that, if you are alive, you will die an infamous death."
"I understand," I replied, rising as he rose. "Will you give myassurance to the Prince and the Emperor that ..."
"I am no tale-bearer, sir," he answered sternly. "The one desire now isto forget that you ever lived." And flinging these harsh words at me, heleft me humiliated, ashamed, angry, and impotently remorseful.
Not another word should pass my lips. How should I die? It was not soeasy as it seemed. A fatal accident to appear genuine called for cleverstage-management, and I did not see how to arrange matters.
I applied for leave, and went to Berlin. There was one man there whocould help me--old Dr. Mein. He was a bachelor recluse, an Englishmanwho had been naturalized, and in the old days he had been in love withmy mother. It was she who told me the tale just before her death, whenurging me to trust him should I ever find myself in need of anabsolutely reliable, level-headed friend. I knew that he loved me forthe English blood in my veins. I told him what I had to do; but at firstdid not mention the cause. He listened intently, questioned me shrewdly,and then stopped to think.
"You want me to murder you, or at least give you the means of murderingyourself?" he said bluntly.
"If you don't help me, I shall do it without you, that's all," Ireturned.
He paused again to think, pursing up his lips, and fixing his keen blueeyes upon me.
"I have loved you like my own son, and you ask me to kill you?"
"My mother would have had me come to you, because I am in trouble."
"You have no right to be in trouble. You are no fool. You have all yourfather's wealth--millions of marks; you have your mother's Englishblood--which is much better; you have her brains--which is best of all;you have a noble profession--the sea; you enjoy the Imperial favor andfriendship--a slippery honor, maybe; and you are certain of rapidpromotion to almost any height you please. Why, then, should you want todie?"
"Because I have sacrificed everything by my reckless temper," Ianswered, and told him what had happened. "I have no option but to die,"I concluded. "If you will not help me----" I broke the sentence and gotup to go.
"I didn't say I wouldn't help you--I will." I sat down again. "You don'tcare how you die, so long as it's quickly?" I shook my head. "Very well.I have in my laboratory the bacilli of a deadly fever. I will inject thevirus into your veins. In three days you will be in the fever's grip,and in less than a week you will be dead." I took off my coat and baredmy arms to show my readiness. "I make only one condition. You must beill here; I must watch the progress of the experiment."
"Nothing will suit me better," I returned.
He made the injection there and then, and gave me two days to be awayand wind up my affairs; and when I returned to him he made anotherinjection and put me to bed. That night I was in a raging fever. All theparaphernalia of a sick-bed were soon in evidence, and the following dayit was known all over Berlin that the wealthy young Count von Rudloffwas down in the grip of a fever at the house of a once well-knownphysician, Dr. Me
in. The little house was besieged with callers. A fewonly were admitted. Von Augener was one, and he brought with him theCourt physician.
I grew worse rapidly, and only in intermittent gleams of intelligencewas I conscious of the lean, grizzled face and watchful blue eyes of thedoctor bending over me, assuring me that I was a most interesting case,and rapidly growing worse. For three days this continued, until in amoment of consciousness I heard him say to the nurse:
"He cannot last through the night," and the woman turned and lookedsympathetically toward the bed.
I tried to speak, but could not. I could scarcely move; but they noticedmy restlessness, and the doctor came and bent over me.
"Am I dying?" I whispered.
"Yes. You must have courage. You are dying."
"I am glad. Thank you. I have no pain."
He turned away, and after a moment gave me my medicine. Then with atouch soft like a woman's he smoothed the bedclothes, and bending downput his lips to my forehead, and left me glad, as I had said, that theend had come thus calmly.
I must have become unconscious again almost directly after that, for Iknow nothing of what happened until I awoke gradually and found myselfin a place that was pitch dark. I was lying on the floor, though it feltsoft like a mattress, and when I stretched out my arm I touched a wallthat was soft like the floor.
I was quick in jumping to a conclusion. The doctor had fooled me, andprobably had fooled everybody else, about my illness and death. If I hadever been ill, I was quite well now, and I scrambled up and strode aboutthe place, feeling all the walls and floor and everything within myreach. I soon knew where I was. It was the old fellow's padded room. Iknew, too, that I could do no good by struggling or shouting or tryingto get out of it. I must wait, and I sat down on the floor to think.
After what seemed like many hours an electric light was switched on, andI saw a sheet of paper pinned to the wall. It was a letter from thedoctor.
"I have done what your mother would have wished. You have the makings ofa real man in you, and you must not die. Every one thinks you dead; andnot a soul suspects. Your funeral took place yesterday, amid all thepomp of Court mourning; and all the papers to-day are full ofdescriptions of your career, your illness, death, and funeral. But youwill live to do yourself justice; if need be, in another name. Your nextcareer you must make, however, and not merely inherit. But you are yourmother's son, and will not flinch."
The old man had known me better than I knew myself. I had been glad todie; but the pulse of life runs strong in the twenties; and the shrewdold beggar was right. Half an hour later I was glad to live; and when hecame to me I was quite ready to thank him for what he had done.
We had a long talk about my future, and he urged me to go to England.
"You can be an Englishman; indeed, you are one already. Your family musthave rich and powerful friends there; and there you can make a career."
But I would not give my assent. I had no plans, and was in the mood tomake none.
"I will see," I answered. "I am a dead man, and the dead are more theconcern of Providence than the living. I will drift for a while in theback waters," and I shrugged my shoulders.
I made no plans. That night I left Berlin, and as the train whirled mesouthward I tried with resolute hand to make the barrier that shut outthe old life so bullet-proof that not even the stinging thoughts ofimpotent remorse and regret could wound me. I was only human, however,and barely twenty-three; and the sorrow of my loneliness was like acankered wound. I felt like a shipwrecked derelict waif on the widecallous sea of stranger humanity.
And like a derelict I drifted for a while, and accident determined acourse for me. At Frankfort, where I stayed a considerable time, achance meeting in a hotel gave me as a companion an actor, and in hisroom at the theatre one night he asked me if I would care to join hiscompany. All life was to be but a burlesque for me, and, as it seemedthe training might be useful, I consented.
I threw myself into the mimic business with ardor, and stayed with thecompany four years. Under the guise of professional enthusiasm I becamea past master in the art of making up, and altered my appearancecompletely. I changed my voice until it was two full tones lower than bynature, and I practised an expression and accent altogether unlike myown. Under the tuition of a clever old acrobat, who had deformed himselfuntil he was past work, I changed entirely the character of my walk andcarriage. I cultivated assiduously marked peculiarities of gesture andmanner; and by constant massage even the contour of my features wasaltered, and lines and wrinkles were brought with results thatastonished me.
After some three years of this I tested these results by a visit to theonly man who knew me to be alive--Dr. Mein. I wished him to know what Iwas doing, but was not willing to trust the secret on paper. I went tohim in my professional name, Heinrich Fischer, and consulted him forabout half an hour about an imaginary complaint, without his having anidea of my identity. Once or twice he looked at me with an expression ofrather doubting inquiry; but he did not know me. He wrote me aprescription, and, rising to go, I laid a fee on his table.
Then I lingered on, and he glanced at me in polite surprise. I smiled;and he fixed his little glittering eyes on mine steadily, as if I were alunatic.
"Have you any more bacilli to spare, doctor?" I whispered.
A start, a quick frown, and the closing together of his eyebrows showedhis surprise. Then he wheeled me round to the light.
"Are you----?"
He stopped short, his face alight with doubt and interrogation.
"I am Heinrich Fischer, an actor--now," I replied.
The last word was quite enough, and the tough old man almost broke downin the delight of recognition. When I explained to him the elaborateprocesses by which I had changed my figure, looks, and voice, he grewintensely interested in me as a strange experiment, and declared thatnot a soul in all the world would recognize me.
My visit was a brief one, though he pressed me earnestly to stay withhim; and when I would not he said he would come to me at Frankfort, andthat I must be his adopted son. But he never came, and we never metagain. A letter or two passed between us--I had altered even myhandwriting--and then a year later came the news to me that he wasdead--had died suddenly in the midst of his work--and that I was lefthis heir.
This again changed my life, for his fortune gave me abundant means; andas I considered my actor training had been sufficient, I resolved toclose that chapter of my life.
It would have been a commonplace affair enough, with an accompaniment ofnothing more than a few mutual personal regrets, but for one incident.One of the actresses--a handsome, passionate woman, named ClaraWeylin--had done me the quite unsolicited honor to fall violently inlove with me; and when, at the time of parting, I could not tell herthat we should ever meet again--for I had not the least intention orwish to do so--she was first tearful, then hysterical, and at lastvindictively menacing.
"There's a secret about you, Fischer," she cried passionately. "I'vealways thought so; and, mark me, I'll find it out some day; and thenyou'll remember this, and your treatment of Clara Weylin. Look toyourself."
I tried to reason away her somewhat theatrical resentment, but sheinterpreted my words as an indication that she had struck home; and sheflung away, with a toss of the head, another threat, and a look ofbitter anger. I thought no more of the incident then--though afterward Ihad occasion enough to recall it; and when the evening brought me aletter from her, couched in very loving terms, I tossed it into the firewith a feeling akin to contempt. The next morning I left the town early,and was off on a purposeless and once more planless ramble.
With the stage I dropped also my stage name, for I had no wish to beknown as an ex-play-actor; and as the old doctor's original counselchanced to occur to me, I turned English. I now let my beard andmustaches grow; and I was satisfied that, with my changed carriage andlooks, not a soul in the whole fatherland would recognize in HenryFisher, a sober-looking English gentleman, travelling for pleasure
andliterary purposes, the once well-known and dashing naval lieutenant andCourt favorite, the Count von Rudloff.
I moved from point to point aimlessly for some months until the vapid,vacuous monotony of the existence sickened and appalled me. Thensuddenly chance or Fate opened a gate of life.