circumstances or origin, could find shelter from the cold and receive a free meal. None were asked to prove their indigence or to produce licenses for police inspection. Anna and Olga were proud of the Spittelberg warmestube, which they had worked hard to establish after securing large donations from Baron Konigswarter and Baron Epstein. The opening ceremony had proved to be a rather glamorous occasion (some believed distastefully so) in the presence of the emperor’s daughter, Archduchess Marie Valerie, who had attended in her official capacity as the principal patron of Vienna’s warmestuben association.
Anna and Olga were now standing by a giant tureen of bubbling soup. It was Anna who ladled the thick yellow liquid into a tin bowl, which was then picked up by Olga and handed to whichever unfortunate had arrived at the head of the line. A third person doled out bread and spoons. This process was mechanically repeated until everyone in the line had been served.
The Spittelberg warmestube was larger than most, possessing a dining area in which sturdy wooden benches were arranged in parallel rows. All the seating seemed to be occupied, and Anna had to squeeze people together to make more room. Even though the warmestube was full, it was remarkably quiet. All those who had assembled there-including the children-were too exhausted, miserable, and cold to make noise or conversation. The aroma of the fragrant soup, which smelled strongly of onions and garlic, was not redolent enough to swamp the disagreeable olfactory undertow of unwashed clothes and fetid breath. Some of the people in the warmestube had traveled to Vienna over immense distances. Only that week, one man claimed to have come, mostly on foot, all the way from Odessa.
There was a loud clattering sound, followed by the hum of anxious voices. An empty tin bowl rolled across the floor, spiraling in smaller and smaller circles until it came to a clamorous halt. It belonged to a young woman who had passed out. One of her neighbors had managed to catch her as she slumped forward, preventing her limp body from toppling off the bench.
Anna and Olga rushed over to assist.
“I thought she was ill,” Anna whispered to her companion. “When she was collecting her soup, I noticed she was wincing, as if in pain, and when she walked away, she was dragging her feet, like an old woman.”
“Michael, Egon,” Olga snapped. “Come over here.” Two helpers made their way down an aisle. “Take this young lady next door and lay her down on the rest bed. Then one of you must hurry and find a doctor.”
Within minutes Michael returned, accompanied by a venerable gentleman with white hair, half-moon glasses, and a pointed beard. He introduced himself as Dr. Janosi. Anna and Olga left him alone with his patient. When he finally emerged from the room, almost an hour later, he was escorted to a private room on the first floor, which was normally used for meetings.
“I’m afraid she is very unwell,” said the doctor, “and will have to be taken to a hospital.”
“What is the matter with her?” asked Anna.
“She has an injury.”
“What kind of injury?”
“Ladies,” said the doctor, “I managed to rouse the young woman with some smelling salts. She is originally from Galicia. She was-until a few days ago-a resident in a house of disrepute, here in Spittelberg.”
“She is a prostitute?”
The doctor nodded.
“And her injury, Herr Doctor?” Olga pressed.
Dr. Janosi looked over his half-moon spectacles.
“I do not think it is appropriate to say. It is neither seemly nor fitting for young ladies such as yourselves, from good, respectable families, to hear such things.”
“Herr Doctor,” said Olga firmly, “we are grateful for your consideration; however, I can assure you that Fraulein Katzer and I are experienced fund-raisers for charity, and our work has necessitated frequent contact with the lowest and most unfortunate elements of society. We are modern women and do not balk at the harsh realities of existence.”
“But, ladies…”
“Herr Doctor.” Olga raised herself up to deliver her final, imperious command: “You will please speak plainly.”
“Very well,” said the doctor. “She is suffering from blood loss due to an internal injury.”
“Internal?” Olga repeated. “Then she was… overcome?”
The doctor grimaced. In his day, a young lady would never have said such a thing.
“Her German was very bad,” said the doctor, “but as far as I could tell, she has-until this evening-been receiving men in the house of a procurer, a villain called Sachs. She had decided, however, to move out of his establishment and had told him of her intention to do so. He said that she could not leave her situation. They argued; Sachs became violent and began to abuse her. He overcame her… but such is the depth of his depravity…” The doctor’s sentence trailed off, and he looked away.
“Dr. Janosi?” Anna inquired, persisting.
“He held her down and inserted the wooden handle of a floor brush into her person. It was the vigorous movements of this implement that caused the bleeding. I am sorry-it is a dreadful affair. Such brutality should not go unpunished.”
“Will she live?” asked Anna.
“If we can get her to a hospital soon,” said the doctor, “there is a chance.”
43
The note had been slipped under Liebermann’s door while he had been attending Professor Heideck’s morning ward round. He knew immediately that it was another summons from the chancellor.
When Liebermann arrived at the chancellor’s office, Professor Gandler received him with a sullen stare and a few costive words of greeting. Liebermann sat down and waited politely for Gandler to speak. The silence that followed was deeply uncomfortable. The chancellor shifted in his chair and managed to say only “Herr Dr. Liebermann…”
“Am I to understand,” ventured the young doctor, “that there have been some developments?”
“Yes,” said the chancellor, as if addressing himself in a moment of abstraction. “Developments. There have been some developments.”
Liebermann raised his eyebrows, willing Gandler to continue.
“When we last met, Herr Doctor, you will recall that I expressed grave concerns as to what consequences might follow from the publication of the article in Das Vaterland-that is to say, the article in which references were made to your alleged misconduct on the night when the young Baron von Kortig died. It gives me no pleasure to inform you that my misgivings have since been proved uncannily prescient. The issue of your alleged misconduct has come to the attention of several members of parliament. These gentlemen belong to the Christian Social party and take a keen interest in religious issues. Questions have been asked, explanations demanded, and I am of the opinion that this matter will shortly receive much greater attention in the wider press.”
“But that is outrageous!” Liebermann cried.
“I would find it easier to offer you sympathy, Herr Doctor, had you not shown such disregard for my previous advice, which-I can assure you-was given in good faith. I told you that this business had the potential to escalate. You were warned, Herr Doctor.”
“Be that as it may,” said Liebermann, “your advice, however intended, does not alter the fact that I behaved as I did to best serve the interests of my patient, and with respect to the practice of medicine, I have still done no wrong.”
Professor Gandler’s upper lip curled to form a haughty sneer.
“I cannot believe your naivete, Herr Doctor. Nor can I believe your selfishness. For the sake of making some self-indulgent, self-regarding, self-important moral stand, you have succeeded in exposing the hospital to the most serious public criticism. Yet you are still vain enough, in the light of what has so far transpired, to maintain your belligerent attitude. I would suggest, Herr Doctor, that a little humility might now be in order! Do you not see what is happening here? What some sections of the press will make of all this? Do you not see how the hospital will be
