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AT EVERY LIBRARY.
NEW WORK
BY
GEORGE AUGUSTUS SALA.
* * *
PARIS HERSELF AGAIN
In 1878-9,
With Four Hundred Illustrations
BY
Cham, Bertall, Pelcoq, Grevin, Gill, Marie, Morin,
Deroy, Lalanne, Benoist, Lafosse, Mars, etc.
* * * * *
2 Vols. Demy 8vo. Cloth, Handsomely Bound. 25s.
* * * * *
London:
REMINGTON & CO., 5, Arundel Street, W.C.
HERMANN.
A Novel,
BY
E. WERNER.
_Author of_ "_Success and How He Won it_," "_Under a Charm_,"
"_Riven Bonds_," "_No Surrender_," _etc_.
TRANSLATED BY
HELEN KEER BROWN.
* * * * *
London:
REMINGTON AND CO.,
5, Arundel Street, Strand, W.C.
* * *
1879.
[_All Rights Reserved_.]
HERMANN.
CHAPTER I.
"But, Doctor, for heaven's sake tell us what this is all about."
"The whole town is talking of it already, and still we have heard no
particulars!"
"Surely it is impossible, Doctor, it cannot be true!"
He, to whom all these questions and exclamations were addressed, rapped
his stick with an air of impatient vexation against the pavement, and
replied in a rather dry, concise tone--
"What you may think possible or impossible, gentlemen, is not for me to
decide; the fact is simply this, that the sum of 20,000 thalers is
missing, and that the steward, Brand, has shot himself this morning.
You can decide for yourselves the connection between the two
circumstances."
The assembled officers of the Prince's household surrounded, with pale,
horrified faces, the principal physician of the town, from whose lips
they had just received confirmation of a report, which had already
agitated the little town for some hours.
"It is really true, then! And they say that the misfortune happened in
Count Arnau's own room."
"In his business room! The Count had suspected the steward for some
days, and therefore sent for him this morning. He called him to
account, and finally charged him to his face with the robbery. Brand
attempted to deny it at first, but at last confessed to it, and begged
for mercy, which, of course, could not be granted to him; and as the
Count turned to ring the bell, in order to have him taken into custody,
he drew out a pistol and shot himself before his Excellency's eyes."
"Did you hear this from his Excellency himself?" asked one of the older
members of the Count's household.
"From his own lips."
"Indeed?"
"What do you mean?" asked the Doctor, surprised at the strange tone of
this "indeed?"
"O, nothing! Only I cannot understand how Brand could be a thief.
Brand, the most punctual, most conscientious of all men, who would
never allow the slightest irregularity in his work--"
"Appearances deceive sometimes. Just this apparent conscientiousness
must have been the cloak for his villany."
The old man shook his head.
"And yet--it cannot be. I would have believed any one capable of it,
sooner than Brand! Has it been proved already then, that--"
The Doctor made a movement of impatience.
"My dear Weiss, I am no judge in a court of law. Of course an
examination will disclose all particulars; for the present the papers
of the deceased have been seized, and I hear that Count Arnau has
himself undertaken to look over them--but I have no time to waste. I
must attend the Countess."
"Ah, yes, poor lady!" said a third, joining in the conversation. "How
is she?"
The Doctor shrugged his shoulders gravely.
"Very unwell! which is, unfortunately, only what we can expect. Such an
event in one's own house is enough to make any one ill, and when one is
in the last stage of consumption, and ought to be carefully guarded
from all agitation, it is enough to cause one's death. Adieu,
gentlemen!"
So saying, he lifted his hat, and with a hurried greeting, left the
steward's office, where the conversation had taken place, and hurried
towards the house of the chamberlain, Count Arnau, which lay about
midway between the former and the Prince's residence.
In the drawing-room of the large, splendidly appointed dwelling sat two
ladies, the wife of the Count, and her mother, the widowed Praesidentin
von Sternfeld, who had left her estates in the neighbourhood in order
to visit her daughter, and had now been with her about a quarter of an
hour. At the first glance no one would have taken the two ladies for
mother and daughter, for, indeed, one could not trace the slightest
resemblance between them. The Praesidentin was a woman about fifty, with
a not very tall, but powerful figure, and with features, which, indeed,
could never have been beautiful, but were now striking from their
remarkable expression of energy and decision. There was nothing
attractive, nor womanly in this sharply-cut countenance, and her whole
appearance coincided with it. Carriage, speech, everything, was short,
decided, and commanding, as is usual with any one accustomed to
unconditional authority and command. The Countess, on the other hand,
was a young, and still beautiful woman, though her form showed but too
plainly the devastating traces of severe bodily suffering. The
delicate, stooping figure, the gentle pale face, the low, soft voice,
all formed the sharpest contrast to the mother's appearance.
The subject of the two ladies' conversation was naturally the dreadful
event of the morning.
The Countess had just related it with renewed agitation; her eyes
showed the traces of newly-shed tears, and her pale cheeks showed two
burning, feverish spots. The Praesidentin apparently possessed stronger
nerves than her daughter; the Countess's agitated relation seemed to
make only a very slight impression upon her. The most painful feature
in the whole affair appeared to her, that it should have happened in
the Count's own house.
"Well, I hope they took care to inform you of it gradually?"
The Countess shook her head gently.
"O, mamma, that was impossible! I heard a shot in my husband's study;
and of course I flew along the corridor, frightened to death, and just
reached the door as Adalbert opened it for me. He hurried past me to
call for help, and--"
"And took no notice of you, when it was enough to kill you on the
spot!" interrupted the Praesidentin, very angrily. "What
incomprehensible want of consideration!"
"Ach, Adalbert was so upset himself, so beside himself, indeed, more
than I have ever seen him! He seemed quite unnerved, and I understand
that only too well. To think that he should have been the one, though
against his will, to drive the unhappy man to that terrible step."
"Your husband only did his duty," said the mother, decidedly, "and the
man suffered the punishment he deserved. He has at least been spared
public disgrace, since he unfortunately cannot be called to account in
any way."
"But he leaves behind a family, a wife, and a child only a few months
old--a little girl, I believe."
"That is sad; but better for them that the husband and father should be
dead, than know him to be in prison. Don't make such a trouble of it,
Ottilie, this is not the first time that an untrue servant has
anticipated justice in this way. And if he possessed any character at
all, scarcely anything else would have been open to him after the
unavoidable discovery."
The Countess sighed; she apparently had not philosophy enough to throw
aside the dreadful event which had happened almost before her eyes, so
easily as her mother, who now asked--"Where is Adalbert?"
"I have not seen him since. He is himself undertaking the seizure and
examination of the steward's papers; I expect he is still occupied with
them."
"And Hermann? Why does not he come as usual to see me?"
Before the Countess could answer, the folding doors opened which
communicated with the next room, and a boy, about eight years old,
appeared. The little Count Arnau was a strong, but rather unattractive
child, who bore little or no resemblance to his mother, though a very
striking one to his grandmother.
It was the same cast of face, the same high, broad forehead, the same
clear, sharp glance, and round the small mouth were already forming the
first lines of that energy and decision which made the grandmother's
countenance so repellant and so striking. Was the boy always as pale as
this? or had he, too, been influenced by the terrible event of this
morning, the news of which had spread through the whole house? In any
case, he did not run merrily to his grandmother, but went slowly
towards her--almost shyly, and without speaking, put his arm round her
neck.
"Why, Hermann," asked she severely, "you were in the ante-room, and did
not come in? What does that mean? How long have you been accustomed to
listening behind the curtains?"
The grave, but not severely-meant reproof, had a strange effect upon
the boy. He shrank back at the last words, and a sudden flush dyed his
formerly pale cheek; at the same time his eyes rested upon his
grandmother with such an expression of anxious pain, that she
involuntarily softened her tone, and asked, "But what is the matter,
child? Have you become shy and timid all at once?"
"The poor child is still frightened," said the Countess, intercedingly.
"I suddenly found him at my side in the study, so that he, too,
like myself, must have witnessed the terrible scene. Wasn't it so,
Hermann--you heard the report in papa's room, and hurried after me?"
The boy did not answer; he hid his face on the grandmother's shoulder,
and she felt how his whole body trembled in her arms. But the
Praesidentin was not the woman to suffer any display of feeling in her
grandson, she lifted up his head in rather ungentle fashion.
"I should not have expected this from Hermann. If his poor, suffering
mamma, is made worse by this fright, that is only natural; but if a
boy, who is ever to become a _man_, trembles like this for hours after,
it is a sign of weakness and effeminacy which ought to be struggled
against as early as possible."
These sharp, severely-spoken words, evidently wounded the boy deeply.
There was no fear or pain, but decided defiance in the hasty movement
with which he turned away from his grandmother. With flashing eyes, and
deeply offended mien, he opened his mouth for some passionate retort,
when his glance fell upon his mother, and a strange change passed over
the child's face. His little lips pressed themselves firmly together,
as if they would force back any words that might rise to them; the
defiance disappeared from his features, which suddenly showed an
expression of decision, astonishing for a boy of his age, and which
brought out more clearly than before the likeness to the Praesidentin;
then he hung his head, and let the reproof pass without remark.
The Praesidentin shook her head, and was about to express her surprise
at this unaccountable behaviour, when the Doctor was announced. The
Countess, who did not wish her mother to find out how terribly she was
really affected by the event of the morning, rose apparently without
effort, and went into the ante-room; the Doctor's visit did not last
long, after an absence of scarcely two minutes she returned to the
drawing-room.
The Praesidentin still sat in the same place as before; but her head was
bent low as she listened to what little Hermann was telling her. He
knelt beside her on the sofa, his arms thrown round her neck.
Both grandmother and child started as the Countess entered; the former
hastily laid her hand on the child's mouth, and, raising her head,
turned slowly towards her daughter.
"_Um Gotteswillen_, mamma, what is the matter?" cried she, looking
dreadfully frightened.
The Praesidentin's face was pale as death, justifying only too much the
anxious question; she tried to answer, but her trembling lips refused
to do so; a mute, deprecatory wave of the hand was her only reply.
The Countess raised her hand towards the bell. "You are not well, I
will call my maid, she shall--"
"Stop! I want no one," cried the Praesidentin, almost roughly. The
energetic woman had already mastered her weakness, though the colour
still did not return to her paleface, and her lips trembled as they
added more quietly--"It is nothing! A sudden giddiness, it will be gone
directly."
But Countess Ottilie had never seen her mother's iron constitution
yield to any bodily weakness, therefore this sudden attack alarmed her
so much the more.
"Would you not like to lie down in your room for a time?" asked she,
anxiously. "The long drive has over-tired you. Go away just now,
Hermann, you see grandmamma is not well."
But the grandmother drew the boy convulsively towards her. "Hermann
shall go with me. I should like to have him. Do not trouble, Ottilie, I
repeat, the giddiness has quite gone; you need rest and quiet quite as
much as I do, and therefore I will take Hermann with me, he may disturb
you with his chatter."
This proposal was made in such a decided tone, that the Countess, who
had never been accustomed to contradict her mother in anything, made no
objection; she silently complied, though still with visible anxiety.
And the poor woman was to experience still more that was strange and
puzzling in the course of this day, which had begun so terribly. The
Praesidentin excused herself from appearing at dinner, she was still not
quite well, but refused most decidedly to see a doctor, and requested
instead, that her son-in-law would come and see her for a few minutes,
so soon as dinner was over.
The Count, apparently thoroughly out of humour, not only through the
dreadful event of the morning, but also from the numerous unpleasant
business duties incumbent upon him, seemed inclined to be irritable and
impatient, and complied with the request with visible unwillingness; so
much the more was the Countess astonished that he remained so long with
her mother. The interview lasted more than an hour, and she heard
nothing of what had passed, for, during the whole time, not only the
door of the room, but that of the ante-room remained fast shut. The
only apparent result of the conversation, as far as the Graefin was
concerned, was, that her mother informed her, she intended to return as
early as the next day, and would like to take her grandson, who, indeed
had been with her ever since she had retired to her room. She stated
that the boy's naturally lively disposition disturbed and annoyed the
mother in her present state, and that it would be best for him to
remain away some time, so that she should be left perfectly undisturbed
to recover from her recent agitation. The Count seconded the
grandmother's proposal most decidedly, but Ottilie was anxious and
disturbed, and strove against the decision. She did not like losing her
only son, whom she loved so tenderly, and called it cruel kindness to
take away the only comfort of the long, weary days of illness--but in
vain--mother and husband, usually most indulgent to the gentle patient,
for once withstood her wishes with incomprehensible hardness, and the
Countess, too weak and too little accustomed to independent resistance,
was obliged to comply.
The next morning the travelling carriage stood early before the door.
Ottilie was greatly agitated as she bade farewell to her son, and,
bathed in tears, threw her arms round him again and again, but the
boy's peculiar nature was proof even against his mother's distress.
True, his little mouth quivered, and his breast heaved with a
suppressed sob, but no tears came into his eyes, and he submitted
mutely to the caresses lavished upon him, till at last the Count became
impatient, and drew him away from his wife's arms. But as he did so,
Hermann suddenly drew back, with unconcealed dread, indeed, almost
horror, from the father's caress, and the Count was only too well aware
of it. A deep flush rose to his brow, he seized the boy's hands,
pressing them fast in his, and drew him thus towards him, with apparent
gentleness, but in reality with no little force. This time Hermann made
no resistance, and no cry of pain escaped his lips, though the pressure
of his father's hands must have hurt him, but he clenched his little
teeth, and his face wore such an aspect of dark defiance, that his
father suddenly loosened his hold and pushed him away. But the glance
which met the boy's eyes was so fearfully threatening, that the
Praesidentin involuntarily threw her arm protectingly round the child.
"Adalbert!"
He turned round quickly, and a momentary glance passed between them,
unobserved by any one else. The Countess still lay sobbing on the sofa,
and when the servant entered the Count had recovered his usual
equanimity, and offered his mother-in-law his arm.
"Calm yourself, Ottilie! We are only giving up Hermann to his
grandmother, who will look after him well."
There was something like oppression in the tone of these harmless
words, and his glance sought the Praesidentin's, who returned it
unswervingly.
"Do not be the least anxious, Adalbert," replied she shortly, "whatever
I undertake I can answer for."
Some minutes later the travellers were seated in the carriage; the
Count, who had accompanied them to the door, bowed farewell, and
retired from the carriage door, above which the Countess's tearful face
appeared at the window, waving her handkerchief. As the carriage rolled
away, the Praesidentin gave a sigh of relief, and drew the boy
convulsively towards her, as if she had just rescued him from some
great danger. He hid his head on her shoulder, and, for the first time,
burst into tears, and sobbed bitterly.
The guilt and suicide of the steward, Brand, had brought the whole
town, usually a quiet, sleepy place, where anything of importance
seldom happened, into a state of great agitation. The event excited so
much the more stir, as the opinion which the old servant had expressed
to the doctor, on hearing of the disaster, was one which represented
the town in general. All thought any other person capable of the deed,
sooner than Brand, who had been everywhere considered a most capable
and clever man of business, as well as a pattern of conscientiousness,
and faithfulness in duty.
Indeed, it was just these qualities, or rather the strictness with
which he enforced his own punctuality and carefulness from others, and
the blame he bestowed (especially upon his inferiors), for the
slightest irregularity in business, which had made him many enemies,
but no one had ever dared to withhold the highest respect towards him,
and now, all at once, this man was declared to be a cheat, an impostor!
There could be no doubt about it, his own confession and suicide had
declared his guilt, but what had become of the enormous sum embezzled?
That was, and continued to be, an unexplained question. There lay,
indeed, a certain obscurity over the whole matter, which was not
smoothed away, and, perhaps, never could be, since he, who alone could
account for it, was now beyond the reach of earthly justice.
The examination brought nothing further to light, beyond the already
existing facts. The steward had given out the above-mentioned money
from the Prince's revenue to Count Arnau, the chamberlain and confidant
of his Highness; and hitherto he had been most punctual in payment of
the instalments, but the last time he had put it off for eight days,
for some apparently plausible excuse. At first the Count appeared quite
satisfied, though his suspicions were aroused when he heard by chance
that Brand had obtained some days' leave on account of "family
affairs," and was on the point of setting off. He sent for him
privately, demanded an explanation, threatened him with immediate
examination into the Prince's affairs, and forced confession from the
guilty steward, who instantly committed suicide, when the forbearance
which he pleaded for was denied to him.
Count Arnau had taken up the matter energetically at once. He took upon
himself the seizure of the dead man's accounts and papers, and
subjected them to a careful, personal examination, though the office
which he held did not require him to do so; but they were not strict
about such matters in the little town, especially when the interest of
the Prince's house was at stake, and thought a man of the Count's
position and influence was quite justified in interfering in such
matters, added to which, they considered it only natural that the
Count, whose pardonable indulgence had delayed the discovery some days,
and thereby probably caused the loss of the money, should now redouble
his efforts to make it good. But all his zeal remained without result,
neither he, nor the police officers of the town (though it must be
confessed that the latter were by no means gifted with extraordinary
intelligence), succeeded in finding any trace of the missing sum, or
even the smallest allusion to the disposal of it in the official and
private papers of the deceased. He must have first secured it, and then
hoped to avoid the inevitable discovery by instant flight, asking, in
the first place, merely for permission for a few days' absence, to
cover the first few days' disappearance, and the boxes stood ready for
his departure, when his deserved fate overtook him. Count Arnau
confirmed on oath the declaration he had already made, and with this
the matter was at an end. No further examination followed. The
unfortunate man was buried as quietly as possible, and his widow, with
her child, left the town, where their name would henceforth be branded
with shame. The income which her husband's office had kept up was, of
course, no longer forthcoming, and the little property he possessed was
seized, though it did not cover more than the smallest part of the
embezzled sum. So ended the drama, at least, so far as the town here
was concerned.