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…

In any man’s life, much can be learned from the simple, everyday affairs in which he is embroiled, be they domestic matters, matters of maintenance and tasks about his domain, conversations or idle chat with his associates, or even a glance at his manner of solitude and activities therein; these trivial things, and many more, can sometimes tell more of a man, enhance his reputation, or stand up and solemnly condemn and judge him most terribly, more than any scrutiny of the large landmarks of his life course, or any delving into his most obvious and prominent deeds conducted upon this glorious spinning orb…

Hence, it is with these ideas in mind that the author shall develop this chapter, focusing his attentions upon some of the simple yet suggestive actions and behaviors of the worthy Hugo Werther…

It is perhaps fitting to begin this particular portion of our work with the beginning of a day in the household of Hugo…

For, during this time, when the sun is getting reacquainted with the world and a man is just emerging from his long foray into thick darkness before its glorious rays, much can happen in the way of mishap, confusion and blunt discourse, whilst a man still contends with the outstretched arms of the tender maiden of night, who calls tenderly and tempting from his bedchamber…

On this morning, which was during the peak of summer, Hugo had arisen and donned his thick, scarlet coloured dressing gown- a garment in which he was often to be observed, even at hours not commonly associated with the dress and attire befitting a certain proximity to the land of repose- and had burst unceremoniously into the kitchen, his hair wild and seemingly the victim of a foul wind, searching roughly for articles necessary in the preparation of coffee, and, having found these, proceeded to prepare himself a portion.

This act could prove of some amusement to a casual observer, as, owing to the weary and not yet reactivated state of mind in which Hugo found himself at this time, he seemed to be intent on making a sort of miniature circus out of the various articles and kitchen utensils with which he attempted to formulate his beverage… Indeed, this scene was attended by many shouts, oaths and crys of pain from our dear friend, as he wrestled desperately for the proper control of his ante brachium and their natural functions…

Finally, after many a mishap, Hugo had achieved his desired result with the coffee, and he proceeded to his library, where he seated himself upon his chair with a great sigh and commenced upon the coffee with a great gulp.

Hugo’s coffee was known widely amongst his friends and connections as a substance most potent and disagreeable to persons of a sensitive nature and constitution, its strength and general robustness of a nature akin to receiving a well orchestrated blow from a champion fighter to all those who drank from its ebony depths…

The fact that Hugo regularly indulged in this dubious drink twice daily, does not establish his own body as being one of fine health- in fact, Hugo had long been troubled by an irritated bowel since early childhood, and the effects thereupon of this brutal beverage had been a cause of some disturbance within the Werther household for some time…

Hugo’s doctor had long warned against the timing and type of this libation, but Hugo demanded its persistence in his life, and turned a deaf ear to all of its critics…

Amongst the many curious factors within Hugo’s character, there is one which can be mentioned here: it is the existence, via Hugo’s hand, of a map, drawn up with the correct scale and margins, detailing a route from Hugo’s library into the hallway nearby, down this hallway and through the kitchen, out into the front hall and from thence into the area of the bathroom…

This precise route had been marked out by Hugo as being strictly off-limits during certain hours of the morning, and was to be reserved for his own use and safe passage during certain desperate internal motions which his body inflicted upon him…

A thick red line trailed out the route upon which Hugo would most likely embark; generally speaking, this route allowed for the passage of Mrs Werther, and other visitors or connections present in the house, through most areas of the building, provided that one kept strictly towards the sides of any major passageway, and that they preserved during all times a state of alertness and caution, and had thourghly studied and maintained an intimate knowledge of the document which Hugo had produced.. 

All visitors or newcomers to the mansion were likely presented with this map, and urged to study it with due care and attention…

As to the reason behind its creation, Hugo would seldom specify; but its true design was well known to his wife, who stayed well away from that portion of the house during those dangerous hours, and a handful of Hugo’s associates had essentially divined its purpose…

On this morning of which we are currently speaking, Hugo was suddenly forced to harken to a truly deafening bellow from the throat of mother nature, and he was compelled to thrown down his copy of Smollett’s Peregrine Pickle which he had reserved for morning reading, and make a wild dash along the margins he had so carefully sketched out upon his curious map…

There are few men who could withstand the mighty charge upon which Hugo had embarked; indeed, its strength and ferocity were reminiscent of the progress of the Mongol hordes, swift, violent, and fearsome- if one were to be caught within its path…

As Hugo bounded through the kitchen and emerged into the front hall, he was momentarily alarmed at the sight of his wife, receiving an unexpected guest at the front door… He was of no mind to call a halt, however, and he surged through the room and into the somewhat small bathroom which had been placed (rather inappropriatly, one might think,) quite near to the front door.

 

The location of the Werther’s toilet area was a subject upon which some had been forced to complain, for, due to its proximity to potential traffic composed of persons of unknown character, it did not lend itself well to the kind of discretion and solitude often desired by persons engaged upon matters of rude biological import…

Hugo himself did not seem overly troubled by its location, but his wife and other visitors had often protested in his ear regarding its unsuitable situation.

 

Hugo, having reached the toilet, proceeded to discharge the unwholesome inhabitants of his bowels in a manner most disturbing and unnerving to any ear which may happen to bear witness to these vivid waves of sound. Such was the violence and fervour with which Hugo’s system defended itself against the instrusion of unwanted guests, that its action could well be said to border on a form of propulsion…

 

At the front door, Mrs Werther was engaged upon a conversation with a Mr Bumbleton… This gentleman had good relations with the general community and spirit of fellowship in the local village, and he had called this morning regarding the affair of Hugo’s late discourse at the village hall the evening before…

 

It should be explained that Hugo had been asked, with great reluctance, by Mr Bumbleton to undertake a short lecture on the historical subject of D-Day, in order to instruct and inform the minds of the audience in attendance. Mr Bumbleton had a relation who had fought in this battle, and its subject was a great favourite with him.

 

Hugo Werther and Mr Bumbleton had never been the best of friends, of which more shall be said at another time, but, despite this cooling of fellow feeling between them, Mr Bumbleton had felt that Hugo’s knowledge and scholarly air would likely prove of some benefit on this occasion, and so he had visited some days before and recruited Hugo to give this lecture.

 

Unfortunately, Hugo’s ear had never been well attuned to the custom of human conversation, and he was prone at times to mishaps and misalignments in regard to the uterrances of his fellow men…

 

As a result, Hugo had stood before the expectant audience that evening, and had delivered a talk, thoroughly researched, well informed and injected with vivid colour and detail, upon the subject of toilets equipped with cleansing properties for those who required assistance in the tiresome maintenance of ones posterior regions…

 

This unexpected delivery on Hugo’s part had been met with confusion, followed by a kind of subdued horror which grew in the room and filled it with an immense silence…

 

Hugo took this silence to be a sign of intense enjoyment and connection with his audience, and he had proceeded all the more eagerly to unravel the histories and workings of the bidet…

 

At the conclusion of his discourse, Hugo had sensed a lack of appreciation for his efforts, but, as he was eager to retreat from the village hall immediately and resume his accustomed state of solitude, he did stay long enough to feel the full force of displeasure that had grown amongst the persons present in the hall…

 

Mr Bumbleton had at first been greatly moved by Hugo’s discourse, and was of a mind to visit Hugo and give him the entire load of his umbrage; the passage of the night, however, had taken the edge out of Bumbleton’s wrath, and he had decided upon a more measured course of action.

 

Thus, he had come round on this morning to have a quiet word with Hugo, though in this endeavour he been delayed by his bad timing…

 

“Can I come back in an hour or so?” Mr Bumbleton asked of Mrs Werther, in his quick, blustery manner that permeated so many of his words and doings. This person was a short, stout individual, with a large crop of white hair which he made repeated attempts to moderate with his hand, (most of them unsuccessful) and a pair of eyes that seemed to be in constant motion, darting from side to side, hither and thither, searching it appeared, but never finding… His face was rather pale and his brow was often wetted with a portion of sweat…

 

“Well…” Mrs Werther began… But she was interrupted by a sudden outburst of vile crudity coming from the Werther’s bathroom. Indeed, Hugo was progressing his foul task with such a violent volley of spatterings, spittings and sputterings, that one could not help but stand up and take notice, with an ever growing sense of unwholesome awe for the vulgar potentialities of the human body…

 

Mr Bumbleton stood agog, his entire face becoming locked into a state of vast surprise, his eyes shifting and roving ever more speedily, his mouth producing unusual twists and curves which came in the form of short, rapid spams and twitches…

 

Mrs Werther, who was not entirely without experience in happenings of this kind, merely raised her eyes slowly yet meaningfully towards and muttered: “Oh!”

 

There was a sudden period of silence, broken abruptly by a most immoderate eructation on the part of Hugo, as though his organism, growing tired of its forthright downward exertions, had decided upon a course of inversion in order to inject some variety into the proceedings…

 

Then, all was still, save for a slight flushing sound as Hugo discharged the weak pressure of water from his toilets water tank- this function was most insufficient, and required multiple uses for the desired effect to take place…

 

Mr Bumbleton stammered and stumbled over the beginnings of words; he then said, most abruptly and finally: “I will call… Later…”

 

Then, he turned about stiffly, and began to prosecute his intention of leaving most fervently…

 

“Hmm…” Mrs Werther said, shutting the door gingerly, “I must speak to Hugo again about that bathroom… It is most… Inconvenient…”

 

Having said this, she retreated into her room, where she often sat, knitting, mending her hair, or plotting some form of domestic endeavour or improvement…

 

Hugo, with a mighty roar of frustration, proceeded to flush the toilet again most firmly, he then exited the bathroom and made for the library.

 

“I must do something about that toilet,” he was muttering.

 

Hugo resumed his venture into the picaresque with the good Mr Smollett, after which, he then stood, tightened the girdle about his gown, and made for the mudroom.

 

The mudroom was conspicuous for its gross abundance of walking boots; these had been accumulated by Hugo over a period of many years, and consisted of a variety of boots of all shapes, sizes and formats conceivable to the human imagination, which were stocked upon old, wooden shelving which rose precariously on either side of the small mudroom, and promised, at a mere glance, a devastating avalanche of footwear at any given moment…

 

Walking boots, though generally large and cumbersome, were Hugo’s preferred form of footwear, as he was much accustomed to mediative walks about his gardens at the back of the estate. These gardens had been allowed a free hand in matters of growth and design, the majority of funds available being used for the insufficient repair and maintenance of the house.

 

Mother nature, in fact, had been entirely set free in this green and shady domain, and she had known neither blade, nor saw, nor clippers to dampen her enthusiasm for the occupation of space and open air during all her time of residence at the rear of the Werther mansion.

 

Given these facts, most reasonable persons would consider it most wise to adopt a stout style of footwear whilst exploring these jungle like areas, as there was much to be found underfoot that could give an able-bodied man cause for great discomfort…

 

Hugo, maintaining his presence in the beloved scarlet dressing gown, emerged clumsily from the mudroom, and was met with a shout from Mrs Werther, who, discerning Hugo’s whereabouts and intentions through that wifely instinct peculiar to domestic domains, had come to caution her husband of the pending presence of Mr Bumbleton.

 

Hugo met this information with a brief sigh; having dispensed with this mode of acknowledgement, he embarked upon his expedition into the rear gardens.

 

Hugo interspersed his literary and metaphysical cogitations during his walk with speculations upon the nature and intent of Mr Bumbleton’s visit. His vanity suggested to him that it was to obtain a promise of a sequel to the fine lecture he had delivered at the village hall yesterday evening, and his mind began to turn upon ideas of improving and extending ones eloquence and vocalisation upon the subject of the bidet…

 

After the passage of considerably more than an hour, Hugo returned to his abode unaccosted, and began to enter the mudroom- he was forced to pause, however, by the voice of his wife, who announced the presence of Mr Bumbleton, who had followed her through from the kitchen, where he had been waiting.

 

“Hugo,” she said, carefully, “Mr Bumbleton is now here to speak to you.”

 

“Ah! Bumbleton! My good fellow! Be so good as to stand by here whilst I remove my boots! Then my eyes, ears and heart shall be entirely at your service!”

 

“Humph… Thank you.” Mr Bumbleton said, and he took up a position on the threshold of the mudroom, in place of Hugo who was now bending down awkwardly and wrestling vigorously with one of his boots within the mudroom, intent of upon a parting of ways with these cumbersome articles.

 

Mr Bumbleton stood uneasily and watched Hugo as he struggled; he was forced to bear witness to a series of grunts and violent exhalations of air as Hugo unwound the tangle of tight laces that gave his boot the loyalty desirable for such an expansive piece of footwear, and then attempted to pull and wriggle his way out of the aforesaid article.

 

Suddenly, Hugo fell back heavily against the wooden shelving on the left hand side of the mudroom, his purchase on his first boot having ended abruptly as his fingers slithered off of the muddy surface; he crashed with force into the shelving, to which his back had been turned, and began to fall in the direction of Mr Bumbleton, who, whilst watching Hugo’s exertions, had begun to edge absent mindedly nearer to Hugo, and was not more than a foot away.

 

This visiting gentlemen, suddenly aware of a potential involvement in an unusual catastrophe, made as though to step back and exit this room of brewing chaos; he was blocked, however, from this opportunity of relief by the unforeseen presence of Mrs Wether, who had come thither to check that her husband was not grossly neglecting his guest…

 

Bumbleton, so abruptly checked by this unfortunate woman, staggered wildly, and then -horror of horrors!- began to stumble forwards directly into the heart of that terrible maelstrom.

 

Meanwhile, Hugo, wide-eyed and wholly discomposed, had been unsuccessful in a desperate attempt to rescue himself from an unwelcome plunge into a horizontal position- grabbing wildly at the shelving and its residents, he had merely succeeded in possessing a large, unruly boot, which endured a series of swift motions through the air as Hugo flailed madly; as Hugo fell towards his unfortunate guest, he had succeeded in giving the shelving and the footwear upon it ample encouragement to assume a new and highly unsuitable form of disorder within the mudroom…

 

There was a calamity of boots…

 

Bumbleton, now wholly given over to his tumble, was struck violently on the head by a number of these articles both before and after the completion of his fall; he was also accosted most violently, a few moments later, by a boot to the face, applied with a firm pressure by Hugo’s left leg, which had struck out in a attempt for leverage.

 

“Ohhh… My head!” Mr Bumbleton cried aloud.

 

Hugo had met with a fate scarcely less desirable that that of Mr Bumbleton- falling hard on his left arm and then on the side of his head, he had narrowly missed a deadly meeting of heads in the middle of the mudroom, and had uttered a great cry of pain and discomfort.

 

Having completed his fall, Hugo wriggled about and, thoughtlessly, introduced one of his boots to the face of his visitor…

 

This occurrence produced a solid, black boot mark onto the front of Mr Bumbleton’s facial domain, with such a rigid air of faithfulness to the original design of the lower part of that boot that, had its form been of any official interest or need to the investigators and officers in service of the law, it would doubtless have met with a large degree of satisfaction…

 

During this sorry display of raw, untamed disaster, Mrs Werther had looked on in a fever of dismay, her hand clutching her face tightly and uttering expressions such: “Oh! That must have hurt!” or: “No! This is terrible!”

 

As the dust, mud and boots finally began to settle, Mr Bumbleton suddenly arose with a great roar, which shocked Mrs Werther and gave some alarm even to Hugo.

 

“You… You… Damn you sir! Yes, damn you! You and your… Boots… Boots and… Noises! And your… And your… Toilets! Damn you sir!”

 

At that, Mr Bumbleton groaned with pain, turned slowly and began to limp and hobble away from the mudroom.

 

“Damn you sir!” Bumbleton kept up, all the way to the front door.

 

Hugo, resuming with some difficulty, an upright posture, cast off a number of boots which had arranged themselves variously about his person, and began to make for Bumbleton.

 

“Bumbleton, ahoy there, my good man! I’m so sorry!” Hugo urged upon the ears of his irked acquaintance- for Hugo, despite having troubles of his own, felt that a degree of concern for the condition of any man who underwent the trials just undergone by Bumbleton was entirely appropriate…

 

Meanwhile, Mrs Werther had been looking on with increasing horror. Suddenly, she shouted: “Oh, my!” and then ran for the stairs.

 

At this point, I would perhaps remind the reader of my promise to relate an incident of some note in regard to the fragility of the Werther mansion; this would be most appropriate, as, though further tragedy would not seem likely at this point of our narrative, rich as it already is with calamity and mishap, reality seldom adheres to any ideal we may maintain of the appropriate number, positioning, and timing of the various events that beset a life, and so it is with some disappointment that the author of this tale must relate a further misfortune involving the three persons currently so caught up in the tangled threads of tragedy…

 

This next tragedy occurred thus: Georgina Werther, running up the stairs to the next floor of the building, and then up a further flight which led to a method of egress onto the roof of the mansion, had taken up this position in order to observe the retreat of the battered Bumbleton, and to watch over proceedings to ensure that no violence or acts of outrage were to be perpetrated by the enraged gentleman, whilst maintaining a safe distance from the field of potential battle…

 

She, having reached this lofty state of observation, proceeded to place one of her hands against the edge of the stony sides of the roof top.

 

As the author has previously reported, with regret, the condition of the Werther mansion is not always at its peak, and often is, in fact, an aesthetical burden to those who may chance to examine it under close scrutiny, and, much worse than this, is sometimes liable to the creation of incidents involving the health and wellbeing of individuals who may come hither…

 

About the rooftop, there are several locations were the age and condition of the stone is of a kind prone to worrisome speculations on the part of various experts and tradesmen who have examined such areas. Indeed, Hugo had recently agreed, reluctantly, to invest some of the limited funds available to him to reinforce, and in some cases replace, sections of the upper parts of the building, in order to preserve the dignity of the mansion, and also perhaps the lives of those who may chance to wander below…

 

It was onto one of these dubious areas that the distressed Mrs Werther placed her hand; subsequently, a sizeable chunk of loose stone came away, and began to assume a course and direction similar to that followed by a number of the boots that had lately collided so rudely with Hugo’s disgruntled guest…

 

“Look out!” screamed the poor woman- for Bumbleton was just exiting the premises, and was directly below the ancient missile…

 

In many similar cases, a cry of warning can in fact lead to tragedy, as the person at risk, hearing this sudden cry, is like to pause and look about them, or even above themselves, and thus receive the full force of whatever object happens to be eager to make their acquaintance…

 

In this case, it seems that such a pause and looking about may have saved, rather than disobliged, the sorry victim…

 

For Bumbleton, stopping dead and looking up in terror, was narrowly missed by the stony projectile, which, most unfortunately, did succeed in a mild grazing of his right ear…

 

The stone smashed miserably beside the feet of Mr Bumbleton; there were then a few moments of terrible quiet which fell upon the grounds of the Werther’s estate…

 

Then, from Bumbleton, came a torrent of reproach and indignation: “You… You… Murderers! Murderous… Devils! There’s a charge in all of this! Yes… A charge! There shall be an inquiry…!” And then, as Bumbleton renewed his uneasy retreat: “Damn you sir, damn you!”

 

This newly discovered motto of Mr Bumbleton’s continued upon his tongue throughout the course of his departure, and could still be heard, even after the latter had begun a descent of the moderate hill whose slopes led away from the unfortunate mansion…

 

“Damn you sir… Damn you!” came the faint rebuke from up the weary slopes and into the ears of the stricken Mr and Mrs Werther…

 

Needless to say, a great deal of distress and anxiety had befallen the Werther household, and Hugo and his wife stood dumbly staring into the dust of Mr Bumbleton for many terrible minutes after his departure.

 

And now, it is perhaps appropriate for the author to break off from his relation of the happenings and occurrences in the life of Hugo Werther, in order that the readers mind may not become overloaded and overly taxed by an abundance of happenings and situations…

 

It is appropriate, too, for the author to apologise to his readers, as he has neglected his promise to throw further light upon the design and appearance of the Werther mansion.

 

This information shall be provided, without further delay, at the commencement of the next portion of this narrative, and the author trusts in the forgiveness and understanding of those who reads these words…

 

For now, the Author must wish his dear readers well during their journey upon this weary road of life that we travel, and must commend the sincere arousal of anticipation that the promise of a continuance of this story produces within them, which shall proceed from the pen of your most humble servant, the author and instigator of this work:

 

Daniel Macintyre

 

(©️ Daniel Macintyre protectmywork.com 07/05/2026)