Hermann: A Novel

by E. Werner

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 Präsidentin 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 Präsidentin 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 Präsidentin 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 Präsidentin, 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 Präsidentin 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 Präsidentin; then he hung his head, and let the reproof pass without remark.

The Präsidentin 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 Präsidentin 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 Präsidentin'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 Präsidentin, 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 Präsidentin 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 Gräfin 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 Präsidentin 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 Präsidentin'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 Präsidentin 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.