Hugo’s Ego
The First

Hugo Werther. A man of large learning. And a man curiously given
over to his vanities and conceit, these negative qualities so oddly
filtered through his eccentric nature, as to render his actions and
life most worthy of account on these pages… Let us, then, peruse
the life of this strange man together; and, though I for one have
already formed an opinion on his character, those not formerly
acquainted with his person have now the pleasant opportunity of
so doing…

“Archie! My dear fellow! Do come in! Here you are welcome,
provided, of course, that you bring with you your wit, good
humour, and a bottle of that master and chief of all merriment,
courtesy of the Greeks and the isles of Samos and Limnos!”

This long-winded introduction to the home of Hugo Werther was
administered to a short, somewhat weedy-looking man in his
mid-forties, who had a curious limp as he walked and carried an
ornately decorated cane in his left hand. He had white hair and a
large, unruly moustache, and his eyes sparkled with a life which
could also be described as unruly, though charming…
In his right, he carried “…that master and chief of all merriment…”
a bottle of seven-star Metaxa.

He was warmly ushered inside by a large man, in his late fifties,
who was also white haired and possessed a moustache, with the
addition of a huge white beard, which seemed by its size to be in a
state of competition with this person’s midriff, which greatly
overlapped the proportions generally regarded as proper for a
man of his age…

The house owned and maintained by Hugo is a grand one- and
much will be said about this place and its appearance later- but
for now, we must be content with these details: It is a big, grey
stone mansion, with huge windows on the lower floor and
impressive, imposing towers and architectural magnificence
around its upper portions. Its grandeur speaks of wealth and even
fame, but this, as shall be seen, is something of a falsehood on its
stony tongue…
Inside, this place is abundant in lavish furniture, eye-catching
artworks and thick, soft carpets which seem to almost massage
one’s feet as one proceeds across their surface…
Many parts of this house seem given over to a strong bookish
inclination, most notably the grand library, which is a massive,
daunting testimony to the great learning and depth of Hugo
Werther; a humbling, perhaps daunting room to a stranger, but, to
his friends, a source of encouragement and familiar ideas…

But it is not just in the library, the traditional home and dwelling
place of the world’s silent wisdom and wit; books can be seen to
have leaked out of this place and into various places about the
house, in a fashion sometimes quite impartial to the standards of
practicality: books can be found on the floor, having slipped there
due to their abundance on some table or temporary “shelf”; they
may be found in the kitchen, not usually on the floor but variously
scattered about the sink, on the tops of cupboards, inside of
cupboards and, on one unfortunate occasion, even on the stove
top, a circumstance which gave rise to an event which very nearly
resulted in a sorry reenactment of the sad end of that great library
in Alexandria…

Hugo was in the habit of carrying books about with him and
leaving them lying in various places, with unfortunate
consequences sometimes coming to pass…
However, enough has been said for now on these descriptive
matters, and a return to our two gentlemen and their conversation
is in order…

“Delightful!” exclaimed Archie Redman, “I’ve been looking forward
to our evening for some time! Is Mrs Werther present?”
“No, Archie, Mrs Werther is currently engaged on a social visit to
the Bumbletons…”
“Ah, the Bumbletons! Papa Bumbleton! Mama Bumbleton! And
the quite adorable young Master and Miss Bumbleton, Johnson
and Denise! I’m sure they are having a most… interesting
evening…”
“Indeed!” replied Hugo, “the Bumbletons are not without their
charm and social appeal… Though, for myself, I have never quite
worked my way into their hearts and souls quite as deeply as my
dear wife; but still, a man must judge his fellows by their worth,
and not solely by his fellows’ appraisal of his own worth- for his
fellows observe with an unbiased eye what is often distorted by
the vanities and desires of the self…”
“Indeed! There is much truth in what you say, Hugo! And now,
shall we settle down for the evening? Are we going into the library
first, or the drinking room?”
“The drinking room first, my good man! We shall drown our
sorrows there and, when our woes have been sufficiently
suffocated by the pure nectar of joy and happiness, we shall
head, minds opened and hearts gladdened, to the library! There
are some volumes there I have recently acquired which I think
shall arouse your interest…”

The “drinking room” was a fairly small, cosy arrangement which
Hugo had dedicated to the storing and consumption of his
alcoholic beverages.
Formerly the library, it had suffered misuse as a result of the
competition between reading material and the storage and
handling of alcohol, both of these worthy items increasing daily in
their kinds and number; thus, there had come a time when Hugo
had surrendered this area to the demands of Bacchus, and had
removed a large quantity of books and documents from there and
begun a new library. The room was filled with bottles of all shapes
and sizes stored in racks and on shelves, in cupboards and on
tables, and was also arranged so that consumption could take
place in comfort and security.
A very large, comfy couch was positioned in the room’s centre,
abounding in cushions splendidly decorated in a quaint, old
fashioned style, and there were a number of small chairs dotted
about in various positions, as well as a single armchair, placed
facing the couch.

It was in this armchair that Archie Redman seated himself, as was
his custom, and his host, after having selected and arranged their
drinks, typically sat upon the couch, as its size and expansiveness
readily lent themselves to its occupants’ duplicate qualities…

“Ahhhhh!” Hugo sighed as he plunged pratt first into the couch, “I
propose a toast, my good man, to… To great joy!”
“I’ll second that!” Archie replied, beginning to sip at his Metaxa.
“I recently decided upon a study of the perverse phenomenon of
the Skoptsy, or Russian Castrators…” Hugo began, with a look in
his eye which, to those who know him, foretells the imminence of
a stroke of wit, “and I was most interested in the story of their
formation and the curious and confused ideas which embodied
their cult… Of course, as all those belonging were obliged to be
castrated, they did not have, as can be readily imagined, many
“members”…”

After a brief pause, Archie let out a terrific laugh which shook the
room almost as violently as the arrival of Hugo’s rear quarters
upon the couch…

“Yes, that’s a fine one, Hugo… Very fine!”
“I have heard it suggested, by some ignorant persons,” continued
Hugo, “That it was the practice of the ancient priests of the sun
god Ra to castrate themselves… But this, in fact, is not so, and not
only is it a historical impossibility, but also a logical and religious
one- for if the priests of Ra were to be castrated, they would all
soon have been dismissed from their service and there would be
no priests of Ra…”
“Aha! And how is this so, Hugo?” Archie inquired, noting the
amount of brandy which Hugo had thus far consumed and
observing that the quantity of alcohol within Hugo was often in
direct proportion to the quantity of wit which came out of Hugo…
“Well, having been castrated, the priests would be charged with a
blasphemous abuse of the name of their God; for, the painful act
having just been accomplished, the priests would likely be
inclined, by their natural human weakness, to exclaim loudly:
“Raaaaaa!”

Archie, not having expected the conclusion of this humorous
aside so soon, was caught unawares with a large mouthful of
brandy, and, not wishing to sully the reader’s mind with too
uncouth a portrayal of the resulting accident, Archie was obliged
by the biological consequences of human amusement to eject
the contents of his mouth, these landing with some force at
Hugo’s feet.

“Steady man, steady! That’s not to be wasted! Still, there’s plenty
more where that came from!”

Hugo reached out to a little table positioned within his arm’s
reach; he took from it the bottle of brandy and beckoned Archie to
have his glass refilled.
Whilst Hugo was refilling Archie’s glass, he suddenly stopped with
an abrupt ejaculation: “AH!”

“What is it, Hugo?”
“The mystery manuscript!” Hugo declared.
“The mystery manuscript? What’s that?”
“The mystery manuscript! We must get to the library at once! I
have something to show you…”

Archie, his curiosity piqued and his general eagerness for life and
discovery greatly enhanced by the brandy he had consumed, got
to his feet and began to limp towards the door.

“Hang on, old man!” Hugo insisted, as he struggled rather
awkwardly to free himself from the laws of gravity, written to his
disadvantage owing to his size, “I have, as Tobias Smollett says
regarding the fat man in his most worthy picaresque novel of
letters: “…an ineptitude for motion…””
“A most appropriate quotation, my good sir,” chuckled Archie, as
he steadied himself by the doorway and began to return in order
to aid Hugo.

Hugo, however, managed to arise without help, and they both
proceeded amiably, if not rather slowly, towards the library.
Hugo, looking quite grand in a splendid jacket, reminiscent of the
time when dinners and social intercourse meant so much more
than they do in our current disordered times, also wore some
rather baggy, tartan-style trousers- these, in contrast with the
jacket, went a long way in revealing the eccentricity and general
oddness of their wearer. Hugo’s taste in dress and style seemed
to combine an old-fashioned inclination along with the dress
sense of an occupant of a lunatic asylum… His manner and way
of speaking, his habits and activities, all pointed towards a man of
great learning, whose mind, having been improved in attaining the
heights of knowledge and wisdom, had also been somewhat
exhausted and undermined by the great effort required in
attaining such heights…

Hugo lumbered eagerly into his library, his face momentarily
assuming a look often seen on the face of a juvenile upon entering
a well-stocked sweet shop.

“The mystery manuscript!” Hugo again declared with great
feeling, “I must find it!”
Walking over to a large table which stood before one of the vast
bookshelves, elaborately clothed with all manner of books
exquisitely bound with all the taste and refinement only found in
that lost literary golden age, Hugo began to sort wildly through
wobbly stacks of papers, manuscripts and books…

“It must be here! I only obtained it last week… I got it from that
book fellow- you know, the one in Shakesbury, who’s always
finding those lost volumes and rare first editions- got it for a
bargain price! It’s written in Latin and very hard to decipher!”
“I see…” said Archie, standing by the library door and sipping
casually on his drink, “But you think it might be valuable?”
“It’s not the money, man!- It’s the mystery, the great puzzle of it!
I’ve already spent an hour or so on it, and have made a little
progress…but…”
Hugo was forced to pause, as a large stack of papers wobbled
dangerously for the last time and came crashing to the floor…
“Blast it! Where can it be?!” Hugo spluttered.

After a few more minutes of searching, Archie joined Hugo in the
hunt for the mysterious manuscript.
It was an ardent, yet hard search; picture to yourself, if you will,
the sight of two excitable literary men, both awkward and strange
in appearance, thrashing about desperately with their hands,
bending over with great groans, sighs and complaints, and
reaching upwards or outwards as shelves are approached and
violated by a vigorous examination.

After some time, Archie, growing rather weary, announced that he
was in need of answering a call of nature.
“Of course, my good fellow, of course,” Hugo said, wiping a great
river of sweat which had adorned his forehead away with his
handkerchief, “You know where to go. Just be careful, as the light
isn’t working. I keep meaning to get it fixed… If you need toilet paper, you’ll find it on the side somewhere, all unrolled and ready, as you know is my custom…” (One of Hugo’s curious habits was his tendency to unroll the contents of a toilet roll and leave the sheets lying about in his bathroom; this was, as he has explained in the past, “…to achieve the utmost convenience…”)

Archie went his way; he was some time, as the bathroom was
loaded with a rich variety of objects and obstructions dangerous
to a person robbed of the clarity of light.
When he returned, Hugo had ceased his search and was sitting
upon a large chair by the table where their search had begun…

“It’s no good, my friend,” he said, with a note of bitter sadness in
his voice, “The manuscript has gone missing!”
“Don’t worry,” said Archie comfortingly, “I’m sure it’ll reappear.”
“I hope so! I was looking forward to examining it together and
getting your opinion… It would have been quite the evening…”
“No matter. How about showing me that fine collection of works
from the Hudson River School you mentioned? Quite a pretty
collection, I think you said…”
“Why, yes! That’s an idea…” Hugo replied, brightening somewhat,
“There’s nothing like a bit of luminism to straighten up a man’s
mind, eh?”

At this point, it becomes necessary to brush over the rest of the
evening at Hugo’s abode, and fast-forward to the evening of the
following day, at which time, Archie, now in position at his own
grand writing table, at which he composed and dealt with his
various correspondence and literary endeavours, received a truly
shocking communication from his good friend Hugo Werther, by
way of a letter.

It should be noted that Hugo, having many virtues and faults, was
possessed of a certain virtue when it came to composing his
letters. Indeed, his letters were written with such tact, such
delicacy, such empathy, and such eloquence that, to read a small
portion from any given letter written by Hugo, one could well be
led to believe that one was reading an excerpt or quotation from
Shakespeare…

Hugo’s letter to Archie Redman went as follows:
Dear Archie,
In the absence of your person (a circumstance which gives me
great discomfort, my friend!) I must have recourse to writing you
this letter to inform you of the fate of the “mystery manuscript”,
upon the location of which we were lately so desirous of
revealing… It is not, as you may know, a habit of mine to reveal the
faults or misdemeanours of friends, however severe; yet, I feel
that I am compelled to do so in this present instance. I hope that
our friendship will allow you to overlook this temporary dabbling in
the art of criticism on my part, and that, after its initial sting has
departed, we may resume the very fine terms upon which we have
for so long been acquainted… You may recall that, after your most
kind and thoughtful assistance in the search I had begun for the
manuscript last evening, you saw fit to beg a temporary leave in
order to relieve yourself of certain digestive necessities; after
which, you entered a bathroom that, most regrettably, was not
well lit… It seems, having set at liberty the outcasts of your
digestive processes, that you searched about you for the
customary equipment one uses in such situations to reattain
one’s former hygiene… As you were a man very much in the dark
and, owing to the confusion of objects both literary and toiletry
that abound in that place (for which, you must accept my
profound apologies) it seems that you unintentionally forsook the
use of the customary articles one uses and placed your hands
upon the mystery manuscript, which, its sheafs being of a fairly
thick, even soft, consistency, you proceeded to use in order to
cleanse your posterior portions… This act, though excusable on
account of the gross darkness, messy surroundings and the
condition your mind may perhaps have attained after the fine
brandy we had so warmly shared together, has given rise to great
pain and disappointment in my heart, and the very thought that,
as I sit here writing you these sorry words, the priceless
manuscript I had so eagerly obtained and so excitably
anticipated, may at this very moment be passing through the
earth below my feet in a state most foul and dishonourable, brings
to my mind and soul so great a sadness that I feel I must swiftly
end this communication here, in order that the dignity and honour
of my words may remain in tact, and our friendship remain
immutable. I look forward to our meeting once again, upon the
evening of the 21st a week from now, at the humble abode of
Your most humble servant,
Hugo Werther

It will be readily imagined the effect of shock and dismay that this
communication had upon the countenance of Archie Redman…

At this point, we will break off from our examination of the worthy
Hugo Werther, and resume it at a later date; at which time, we
shall look more intently into the history and ancestry of our
eccentric friend, and discover what lessons, what wisdom, and
what entertainment we derive from so doing.

Your most humble servant, the Author of this work:
Daniel Macintyre

(Copyright 04/9/2025 protectmywork.com)