Master Flea - E. T. A. Hoffmann (thriller novels to read .txt) 📗

veins, who had therefore been insensible to the weather, and never thought of her being so lightly clad, without even a shawl or a tucker, now on a sudden saw his folly, and would have wrapped her in his cloak. This, however, she rejected, exclaiming piteously, “No, my dear Peregrine, that avails me nothing: my feet! Ah, my feet! I shall die with the dreadful agony.”

And she was about to drop, half senseless, as she cried out with a faint voice, “Carry me, carry me, my sweet friend!”

Without more ado, Peregrine took up the light little creature in his arms like a child, and wrapt her in his cloak. But he had not gone far with his burden, before the wild intoxication of desire took more and more possession of him, and, as he hurried halfway through the streets, he covered the neck and bosom of the lovely creature, who had nestled closely to him with burning kisses. At last he felt as if waking with a sudden jerk out of a dream: he found himself at a house door, and, looking up, recognised his own house, in the Horse Market, when, for the first time, it occurred to him that he had not asked the maiden where she lived. He collected himself therefore with effort, and said, “Lady⁠—sweet, angelic creature, where is your abode?”

“Here, my dear Peregrine,” she replied, lifting up her head, “here, in this house: I am your Alina; I live with you. But get the door open quickly.”

“No⁠—never!” cried Peregrine, in horror, and let her sink down.

“How!” exclaimed the stranger, “How! Peregrine, you would reject me? and yet know my dreadful fate⁠—and yet know that, child of misfortune as I am, I have no refuge, and must perish here miserably if you will not take me in as usual! But perhaps you wish that I should perish? Be it so then! Only carry me to the fountain, that my corpse may not be found before your door. Ha! The stone dolphins may, perchance, have more pity than you have. Woe is me! Woe is me! The bitter cold!”

She sank down in a swoon; Peregrine was seized with despair, and exclaiming wildly, “Let it be as it will; I cannot do otherwise,” he lifted up the lifeless little thing, took her in his arms, and rang violently at the bell. No sooner was the door opened than he rushed by the servant, and instead of waiting, according to his usual custom, till he got to the top of the stairs, and then tapping gently, he shouted out, “Alina! Alina! light!” and, indeed, so loudly, that the whole floor reechoed it.

“How! What! What’s this? What does this mean?” exclaimed the old woman, opening her eyes widely as Peregrine unfolded the maiden from his cloak, and laid her with great care upon the sofa.

“Quick, Alina, quick! Fire in the grate! Salts! Punch! Beds here!”

Alina, however, did not stir from the place, but remained, staring at the stranger, with her “How! What! What’s this? What does this mean?”

Hereupon Peregrine began to tell of a countess, perhaps a princess, whom he had met at the bookbinder’s, who had fainted in the streets, whom he had been forced to carry home, and, as Alina still remained immoveable, he cried out, stamping with his feet, “Fire, I tell you, in the devil’s name! Tea! Salts!”

At this, the old woman’s eyes glared like a cat’s, and her nose was lit up with a brighter phosphorus. She pulled out her huge black snuffbox, opened it with a tap that sounded again, and took a mighty pinch. Then, planting an arm in either side, she said with a scoffing tone, “Oh yes, to be sure, a countess! A princess! who is found at a poor bookseller’s, who faints in the street! Ho! ho! I know well where such tricked-out madams are fetched from in the nighttime. Here are fine tricks! Here’s pretty behaviour! To bring a loose girl into an honest house, and, that the measure of sin may be quite full, to invoke the devil on a Christmas night! And I, too, in my old days am to be abetting! No, Mr. Tyss⁠—you are mistaken in your person; I am not of that sort: tomorrow I leave your service.”

With this she left the room, and banged the door after her with a violence that made all clatter again. Peregrine wrung his hands in despair. No sign of life showed itself in the stranger, but at the moment when in his dreadful distress he had found a bottle of cologne-water, and was about to rub her temples with it, she jumped up from the sofa quite fresh and sound, exclaiming, “At last we are alone! At last I may explain why I followed you to the bookbinder’s, why I could not leave you tonight! Peregrine! give up to me the prisoner whom you have confined in this room. I know that you are not at all bound to do so; I know that it only depends upon your goodness. But I know, too, your kind affectionate heart; therefore, my good, dear Peregrine, give him up⁠—give up the prisoner!”

“What prisoner?” asked Peregrine, in the greatest surprise. “Who do you suppose is a prisoner with me?”

“Yes,” continued the stranger, seizing Peregrine’s hand, and pressing it tenderly to her breast, “Yes, I must confess that only a noble mind can abandon the advantages which a lucky chance puts into his hands, and it is true that you resign many things which it would be easy for you to obtain if you did not give up the prisoner. But think: that Alina’s destiny, her life, depends upon the possession of this prisoner, that⁠—”

“Angelic creature!” interrupted Peregrine, “if you don’t wish that I should take it all for a delirious dream, or perhaps become delirious on the spot myself, tell me at once of whom you are speaking⁠—who is this prisoner?”

“How!” replied the maiden, “I do not understand you; would you deny