Master Flea by E. T. A. Hoffmann (i read a book txt) 📕

"Calmness, my son, calmness, is above all things requisite, or otherwise you run the risk of losing all in the moment that you think you have gained it. Before you get a word out of me, you must first promise to seat yourself there, quite quietly like a pretty-behaved child, and for the life of you not to interrupt me in my story."

Nothing was left to Peregrine but to obey the old woman, who, when he had seated himself, related things that were strange enough to hear.

According to the old woman's tale, the two gentlemen, namely, Swammerdamm and Leuwenhock, had another tough struggle in the chamber, and for a time kept up a terrible clatter. Then again all had become quite still, when a heavy moaning had made her fancy that one of the two was mortally wounded; but on peeping through the keyhole she perceived something quite different from what she had expected. Swammerdamm and Leuwenhock had seized George Pepusch, and stroaked and squeezed him with their fists, so that he grew thinner and thinner; during which operation he had uttered the moans heard by the old woman. At last, when he had grown as thin as a thistle-stem, they had tried to squeeze him through the keyhole, and the poor Pepusch was hanging with half his body out, when she ran away in terror. Soon afterwards she heard a loud laughing, and saw Pepusch in his natural form, quietly led out of the house by the two magicians, while at the room-door stood Dörtje and beckoned her in. The little one wished to dress herself, and needed her assistance.

The old woman could not talk enough of the great heap of clothes which the princess brought out of a variety of chests and showed to her, each of which had appeared richer than the other. She declared that none but an Indian princess could possess such jewels as the little one; her eyes still ached with the glitter. She then went on to say how, during the dressing, she had talked of this and that, of the late Mr. Tyss, on the delightful life they had formerly led in the house, and at last the conversation had fallen upon her deceased relations.

"You know, my dear Mr. Tyss, that nothing is more valued by me than my late cousin, the calico-printer's wife. She was in Maintz, and, I believe, even in the Indies, and could speak French and sing. If I owe to my cousin the unchristian name of Alina, I will forgive her that in the grave, since it is from her alone that I have learnt polite manners and the art of speaking elegantly. As I was talking much of my cousin, the little princess asked after my father, my grandfather, and so on, higher and higher up the family. I opened my heart to her, told her that my mother had been almost as handsome as myself, except that I go beyond her in regard to the nose, which I derive from my father, and which is after the shape that has been usual in the family since the memory of man. Then I came to speak of the country-wake, when I waltzed with Serjeant Drumstick, and wore the skyblue stockings with red clocks. Ah, dear God! we are all weak, sinful creatures! But oh! Mr. Tyss, you should have seen how the little princess, who at first had laughed and tittered, that it was a pleasure to hear her, now grew more and more quiet, and gazed on me with such odd looks, that I began to be terribly alarmed.--And then think, Mr. Tyss, on a sudden, before I could prevent it, she lies on her knees before me, and will positively kiss my hand, exclaiming, 'Yes, it is you! Now I recognise you! It is yourself!'--and when, quite astonished, I asked what it all meant,----"

Here the old woman stopt, and, when Peregrine pressed her to go on, she with great gravity and precision took a mighty pinch of snuff, and said,

"You'll know in good time, my son, what farther happened. Every thing has its time and hour."

He was now more urgent than ever with the old woman to proceed, when she burst out into a roaring fit of laughter; upon which he admonished her, with a very sour face, that his room was not exactly the place for her to play off such fooleries. But the old woman, planting her hands in her sides, seemed ready to burst. The burning red of her brow changed to an agreeable mahogany, and Peregrine was upon the point of flinging a glass of water into the old woman's face, when she recovered her breath and speech at the same time.

"I can't help laughing," she said, "I can't help laughing at the foolish little thing. No; such love is no longer on earth. Only think, Mr. Tyss,----"

Here she broke out into a fresh fit of laughter, and Peregrine's patience was well nigh exhausted. At last, with much difficulty, he got out of her that the little princess had taken up the whimsical notion of Mr. Tyss being positively determined to marry the old woman, and had compelled her solemnly to promise to reject his hand.

It seemed to Peregrine as if he were mixed up in a scene of witchery, and he felt so strangely, that even the honest old Alina appeared to him a supernatural kind of being, from whom he could not fly with sufficient speed. But she still detained him, having something to communicate in all haste, that concerned the little princess.

"It is now certain," she said confidentially,--"it is now certain, my dear Mr. Tyss, that the bright star of fortune has arisen, but it is your business to keep it favourable. When I protested to the little one that you were desperately smitten with her, and far from any idea of marrying me, she replied, that she could not be convinced of it and give you her hand till you had complied with a wish that had long sate near her heart. She says, that she had a pretty little negro boy in her service who had fled from her; I have, indeed, denied it, but she maintains that the boy is so little he might live in a nutshell.

"Nothing will ever come of this," exclaimed Peregrine violently, well knowing what the old woman was driving at, and rushed out of the room, and then out of the house, with great vehemence.

It is an established custom, that when the hero of a tale is under any violent agitation, he should run out into a forest, or, at least, into some lonely wood; and the custom is good, because it really prevails in life. Hence it could not be otherwise with Mr. Tyss, than that he ran from his house without stopping, till he had left the city behind him and reached a remote wood. Moreover, as in a romantic history no wood must be without rustling leaves, sighing breezes, murmuring brooks, &c. &c. it is to be supposed that Peregrine found all these things in his place of refuge. Upon a mossy stone, the lower half of which lay in a bright brook, Peregrine sate down with a firm resolution to reflect on his strange adventures, and, if possible, find the Ariadne clue which might show the way out of this labyrinth of mysteries. The murmurs of the leaves, returning at equal intervals, the monotonous babbling of the waters, the constant clap, clap of a distant mill, soon formed a ground which regulated the thoughts so that they no longer rushed wildly together without time or rhythmus, but became an intelligible melody. Thus, after sitting some time on this pleasant spot, he got to reflect calmly.

"In reality," he said to himself, "a fantastic tale-writer could not have invented wilder events than I have actually gone through in the short space of a few days. Beauty, love itself visits the lonely mysogunist, and a look, a word, is sufficient to fan, in his breast, the flames which he had dreaded without knowing them. But the time, the place, the whole appearance of the strange syren are so mysterious, that it seems to be the result of magic;--And then it is not long before a despised little insect evinces knowledge, understanding, nay, even a sort of supernatural power. And this creature talks of things, which to common minds are incomprehensible, in a way as if it all were nothing more than the familiar to-day and yesterday of usual life, as it appears repeated for the thousandth time.

"Have I come too near the fly-wheel, that dark unknown powers are driving, and has it caught me in its whirlings? Would not one believe, that the reason must be lost with such things, when they cross the path of life? And yet I find myself quite well, withal: nay, it no longer seems strange to me that a Flea-king should have sought my protection, and, in requital have entrusted me with a mystery that opens to me the secrets of thought, and thus sets me above the deceptions of life. But whither will or can all this lead? How, if under this singular mask of a flea, an evil demon lurked, who sought to lure me into destruction, who aimed to rob me of all the happiness that might bloom to me in the possession of Dörtje? Were it not better to get rid at once of the little monster?"

"That was a very pitiful idea, Mr. Tyss!" exclaimed Master Flea, interrupting Peregrine's soliloquy. "Do you imagine that the mystery I have entrusted to you is a trifle? Should not this gift pass for the most decided proof of my sincere friendship? Shame on you for being suspicious! You are surprised at the reason, the mind, of a little despised insect; and that proves,--don't be offended,--the narrowness of your education in science. I wish, in regard to the thinking instinctive soul of animals, you had read the Greek Philo, or, at least, the treatise of Hieronymus Rorarius, 'quod animalia bruta ratione utantur melius homine; or his oration 'Pro muribus;'--or that you knew what Lipsius and the great Leibnitz thought of the mental power of beasts, or that you were aware what the profound Rabbi Maimonides has said about their souls; you would not then take me for a demon on account of my understanding, or measure the spiritual faculties by the proportions of the body. I suppose, at last, you will come to the shrewd opinion of the Spanish physician, Gomez Pereira, who could find nothing more in animals than mere artificial machines, without thought or freedom of will, moving arbitrarily and automatically. Yet, no; I cannot deem you so absurd, and am convinced that you have long ago learnt better through my humble person. Moreover, I do not well understand what you call wonders, or in what way you are able to divide, into the wonderful and natural, the appearances of our being, which, in reality, are ourselves, as we and they mutually condition each other. Do not, therefore, wonder at any thing because it has not yet occurred to you, or because you fancy you do not see the connexion of cause and effect; that only proves the natural or diseased obtuseness of your sight, which injures your perception. But,--do not take it amiss, Mr. Peregrine,--the drollest part of the business is, that you want to split yourself into two parts, one of which recognises and willingly believes the so-called wonders; the other, on the contrary, is mightily astonished at this recognition and belief. Has it ever occurred to you, that you believe in the images of dreams?"

"I!" exclaimed Peregrine--"My dear fellow, how can you talk of dreams, which are only the