Master Flea - E. T. A. Hoffmann (love letters to the dead .TXT) 📗

eyes, and began to totter. Peregrine conveyed her to a sofa.

"Gamaheh!" she went on, speaking in a state of somnambulism, "Gamaheh, do you say? Gamaheh, the daughter of King Sekakis? Yes, I recollect, in Famagusta!--I was indeed a beautiful tulip--Yet no, even then I felt desire and love in my breast.--Still, still on that point!"

She was silent, and seemed to be falling into a perfect slumber. Peregrine undertook the perilous enterprise of placing her in a more convenient position, but, as he gently embraced her, a concealed pin prickled him sharply in the finger. According to his custom he snapt his fingers, and Master Flea, taking it for the concerted signal, immediately placed the microscopic glass in his eye.

Now, as usual, Peregrine saw behind the tunicle of the eyes the strange interweaving of nerves and veins, which pierced deep into the brain. But with these were twined bright silver threads, a hundred times thinner than the thinnest spider's web, and it was these very threads that confused him, for they seemed to be endless, branching out into a something, indistinguishable even by the microscopic eye; perhaps they were thoughts of a sublimer kind, the others of a sort more easily comprehended. Then he observed flowers, strangely blended, which took the shape of men, then again men, who dissolved as it were into the earth, and peeped forth again as stones and metals. Amongst these all manner of beasts were in motion, who underwent innumerable changes, and spoke strange languages. No one appearance answered to the other, and in the plaintive sounds of sorrow that filled the air, there was a dissonance, corresponding with that of the images. But it was this very dissonance that ennobled still more the deep fundamental harmony, which broke out triumphantly, and united all that seemed irreconcileable.

"Do not puzzle yourself," whispered Master Flea, "do not puzzle yourself, my good Peregrine; those which you see, are the images of a dream. Even if any thing more should lurk behind them, now is not the time for farther inquiry. Only call the little deceiver by her real name, and then sift her as much as you please."

As the lady had many names, it must have been difficult, one would have thought, for Peregrine to hit upon the right, but, without the least reflection, he exclaimed, "Dörtje Elverdink! dear, charming girl; was it no deceit? Is it possible that you can love me?"

Immediately the little one awoke from her dreamy state, opened her eye, and said with burning glance, "What a doubt, my Peregrine! Could a maiden do as I have done, unless her breast were filled with the most glowing passion? Peregrine, I love you more than any one, and, if you will be mine, I am yours with my whole soul, and remain with you because I cannot leave you, and not merely to escape from the tyranny of my uncle."

The silver threads had disappeared, and the thoughts, properly arranged, ran thus:--"How is this? At first I feigned a passion for him only to regain Master Flea for myself and Leuwenhock; and now I actually am fond of him. I have caught myself in my own snares. I think no more of Master Flea, and would like to be his, who seems lovelier to me than any man I have ever seen."

It may be easily supposed what effect these thoughts produced in Peregrine's breast. He fell on his knees before the fair one, covered her hand with a thousand burning kisses, called her his joy, his heaven, his whole happiness.

"Well!" lisped the maiden, drawing him gently to her side, "well, my love, you certainly will not deny a request, on the fulfilment of which depends the repose, nay, the very existence of your beloved."

"Demand," replied Peregrine, tenderly embracing her, "demand any thing, my life,--any thing you will; your slightest wish is my command. Nothing in the world is so dear to me that I would not with pleasure sacrifice it to you and your affection."

"Woe is me!" lisped Master Flea; "who could have imagined that the little traitress would have conquered? I am lost!"

"Hear then," replied Gamaheh, after having returned with equal fire the glowing kisses, which Peregrine imprinted on her lips, "hear then; I know how the--"

The door burst open, and in rushed George Pepusch.

"Zeherit!" cried the little one in despair, and fell back on the sofa, senseless.

The Thistle, Zeherit, flew to the princess, took her in his arms, and ran off with the speed of lightning.

For this time Master Flea was saved.

Fifth Adventure.

Thoughts of poetical young enthusiasts and female blue-stockings.--Peregrine's reflections upon his life, and Master Flea's learning and understanding.--Singular virtue and firmness of Mr. Tyss.--Unexpected conclusion of an event that threatened tragically.

With the speed of lightning,--as the reader has already learnt at the conclusion of the fourth adventure,--George Pepusch snatched the fair one from the arms of the enamoured Peregrine, and left him behind petrified with astonishment and terror. When at length the latter came to his recollection, and would have followed his robber-friend, all was still and desolate in the house. Upon his repeated calling, the old Alina came pattering up the stairs from one of the farthest rooms, and declared that she had not observed any, the slightest, part of the whole business.

Peregrine was nigh going mad at the loss of Dörtje, but Master Flea began to console him in a tone that must have inspired the most desperate with confidence: "You are not yet quite certain, my dear Mr. Peregrine, whether the fair Dörtje Elverdink has really left your house. As well as I can judge of such things, she is not far off; I seem to feel her nearness. But, if you will follow my friendly counsel, you will leave her to her fate. Trust me, she is as capricious as the wind; it may be, as you have said, that she now is really fond of you, but how long will it be before she plunges you into such misery, that you will be in danger from it of losing your reason, like the Thistle, Zeherit? I say again, give up your lonely way of life. You will be the better for it. How many women have you known, that you should take Dörtje for the handsomest of her sex? What maiden have you approached with love, that you should believe that Dörtje alone can love you? Go to, Peregrine; experience will show you better. You are a well-made, handsome man, and I should not be so keen-sighted, as Master Flea really is, if I could not see beforehand that love would smile upon you in a very different way from what you may expect."

Peregrine had already broken the ice by going abroad in public places, and it was therefore the less difficult for him to visit societies, from which he had formerly withdrawn himself. In this Master Flea rendered him excellent service with his microscopic glass, and he is said during this time to have kept a day-book, and to have made notes of the most remarkable and pleasant contradictions between words and thoughts, as they daily occurred to him. Perhaps the editor of this strange tale, called Master Flea, may find some future opportunity of bringing to light many worthy impartments from this same day-book; here it would only stop the current of the history, and, therefore, would not be welcome to the reader. So much, however, may be said, that many of the phrases with the corresponding thoughts seemed to be stereotyped as it were; as for example,--"Favour me with your advice;"--the thought being, "He is fool enough to think I ask his advice in a matter that I have long since resolved upon, and that tickles him." "I have the most perfect confidence in you;"--the thought being, "I knew long ago that you were a scoundrel," &c. c. It should also be mentioned that many folks mightily puzzled Peregrine with his microscopic observations. These were the young men, who fell into raptures upon every thing, and poured themselves forth in a torrent of splendid phrases. Amongst these the most remarkable were the young poets, who were boiling over with imagination and genius, and were particularly adored by the ladies. To these were associated the blue-stockings, who were as familiar with metaphysics as the less learned part of their sex with scandal, and could talk like any parson in his pulpit. If it seemed strange to Peregrine that the silver threads should twine together out of Gamaheh's brain into an undistinguishable something, he was not a little astonished at what he saw in the heads of those above mentioned. He saw indeed the strange weaving of nerves and veins, but remarked at the same time, that when the owners of them spoke most learnedly on art and science, they did not penetrate the brain, but were reflected outwards, so that all recognition of the thoughts was out of the question. He imparted his observation to Master Flea, who usually sate in a fold of his neckcloth, and Master Flea was of opinion, that what Peregrine took for thoughts were in reality none, but merely words, which in vain endeavoured to become thoughts.

If Mr. Tyss began now to amuse himself in society, his faithful companion also laid aside much of his gravity, and exhibited himself as a knavish little voluptuary, an amiable roué. He could not see the fair neck or the white bosom of any beauty, without slipping out of his hiding-place with the first opportunity, and springing on the inviting spot, where he very dexterously contrived to elude the attacks of pursuing fingers. This manuvre combined a double interest. In the first place, he found a pleasure in it for the thing itself; and then, he hoped, by drawing Peregrine's attention to the fair ones, to cast Dörtje's image into shadow. This, however, seemed to be a fruitless labour, for none of all the ladies, whom he now approached without the least timidity, seemed to him so fair and lovely as his little princess. The great cause however of his continued constancy was, that in none he found the words and thoughts so united in his favour as with her. He was convinced that he could never leave her, and this he repeated incessantly. Master Flea was in no little alarm.

One day Peregrine remarked that the old Alina laughed very cunningly, took snuff more frequently than usual, muttered strangely, in short, acted altogether like one who is big with a secret and would fain be disburthened of it. To every thing she replied, "Yes, one can't tell that!--one must wait!" whether these words were suited to the occasion or not, till at last Peregrine, full of impatience, exclaimed, "Speak it out at once; tell me what is the matter, without creeping around me with those mysterious looks."

"Ah!" cried the old woman, clasping her withered hands together, "ah! the dear little thing! the sweet little puppet!"

"Whom do you mean?" asked Peregrine angrily.

"Ah!" said the old woman, smirking, "ah! whom should I mean but our princess, below here with Mr. Swammer,--your bride, Mr. Tyss?"

"Woman!" cried Mr. Tyss, "unlucky woman, she is here!--in the house!--and you do not tell me till now?"

"Where,"--replied the old woman, without in the least losing her composure,--"where should the princess be but here, where she has found her mother?"

"How!" cried Peregrine--"what is it you say, Alina?"

"Yes," rejoined the old woman, drawing herself up--"yes, Alina is my right name, and who knows what else may come to light, in a short time, before your nuptials?"

Peregrine entreated her, by all the angels and devils, to go on; but, without paying the least attention to his hurry, she seated herself snugly in the arm-chair, drew out her snuffbox, took a prodigious pinch, and demonstrated to