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

"It never has entered into my head to cross you in your path, but the madness of jealousy speaks out of you, or you would see how innocent I am of all you have been brooding in your own soul. Do not ask of me to kill the snake, which you have been nourishing in your breast for your own torment; learn too, I gave you no alms, I made you no sacrifice, in giving up the fair-one, and with her, perhaps, the greatest blessing of my life. Other and higher duties, an irrevocable promise, compelled me to it."

Pepusch, in the wildest wrath, raised his clenched hand against his friend, when Gamaheh sprang between them, and, catching Peregrine's arm, exclaimed,

"Let the foolish Thistle go; he has nothing but nonsense in his brain, and, as is the way with thistles, is surly and obstinate without well knowing what he means. You are mine, and remain mine,--mine own dearest Peregrine."

Thus saying, the little-one drew Peregrine upon the sofa, and, without farther ceremony, seated herself upon his knees. Pepusch, after having sufficiently gnawed his nails, ran wildly out of the door.

Dressed again in the fairy dress of tissue, she appeared as lovely as ever. Peregrine felt himself streamed through by the electric warmth of her body, and yet, amidst it all, a cold mysterious shudder thrilled through him like the breathing of death. For the first time he thought that he saw something singular and lifeless deeply seated in her eyes, while the tone of her voice, nay even the rustling of her dress, betrayed a strange being, who was never to be trusted. It fell heavily upon his heart, that, when she had spoken her real thoughts, she had been in this same silver tissue; he knew not why he should fancy any thing menacing in it, and yet the idea of this dress was intimately blended with that of the supernatural, as a dream unites the most heterogeneous things, and all passes for absurd, the deeper connexion of which we are unable to comprehend.

Far from wounding the fair-one with a suspicion which was perhaps false, Peregrine violently suppressed his feelings, and only waited for a favourable opportunity of freeing himself and escaping from the snake of Paradise. At last Dörtje said,

"How is it, my sweet friend, you seem so cold and insensible to-day? What have you got in your head, my life?"

"I have a headache," replied Peregrine, as indifferently as he was able.--"Headache!--whims!--megrims!--nothing else, my sweet child. I must go into the open air, and all will be over in a few minutes. Besides, I am called away by a particular business."

"It is all invention!" exclaimed Gamaheh, starting up hastily.--"But you are a malicious monkey, that must be tamed."

Peregrine was glad when he found himself in the open street; but as to Master Flea, he was quite extravagant in his joy, tittering and laughing incessantly in Peregrine's neckcloth, and clapping together his fore-paws till they rang again. This merriment of his little protegé was somewhat troublesome to Mr. Tyss, as it disturbed him in his meditations, and he begged of him to be quiet, for many grave people had already glanced at him with looks of reproach, fancying it was he who tittered and laughed, and played such foolish pranks in the open streets.

"Fool that I was!" exclaimed Master Flea, persisting in the ebullitions of his extravagant joy--"Fool that I was to doubt of the victory where no battle was needed. Why, you had conquered in the moment, when even the death of your beloved could not shake your resolution. Let me shout, let me rejoice, for all must deceive me, if a bright morning-sun do not soon arise, which will clear up every mystery."

On Peregrine's knocking at the bookbinder's, a soft female voice cried, "Come in!"--He opened the door, and a young girl, who was alone in the room, came forward, and asked him in a friendly manner what he wanted. She was about eighteen years old, rather tall than short, and slim, with the finest proportions. Her hair was of a bright chestnut colour, her eyes were of a deep blue, and her skin seemed to be a blended web of lilies and roses. But more than all this were the purity and innocence that sate upon her brow, and showed themselves in all her actions.

When Peregrine gazed on the gentle beauty, it seemed to him as if he had been hitherto lying in bonds, which a benevolent power had loosened, and the angel of light stood before him. But his enamoured gaze had confounded the maiden: she blushed deeply, and, casting down her eyes, repeated more gently than at first, "What does the gentleman want?" With difficulty Peregrine stammered out, "Pray, does the bookbinder Lemmerhirt live here?" Upon her replying that he did, but that he was now gone out upon business, Peregrine talked confusedly of bindings which he had ordered, of books which Lemmerhirt was to procure for him, till at last he came somewhat more to himself, and spoke of a splendid copy of Ariosto, which was to have been bound in red morocco with golden filleting. At this, it was as if a sudden electric spark had shot through the maiden; she clasped her hands, and, with tears in her eyes, exclaimed, "Then you are Mr. Tyss?" At the same time she made a motion as if she would have seized his hand, but suddenly drew back, and a deep sigh seemed to relieve her full breast. A sweet smile beamed on her face, like the lovely glow of morning, and she poured forth thanks and blessings to Peregrine for his having been the benefactor of her father and mother, and not only for this,--no--for his generosity, his kindness, the manner of his making presents to the children, and spreading joy and happiness amongst them. She quickly cleared her father's arm-chair of the books, bound and unbound, with which it was loaded, wheeled it forward, and pressed him to be seated, and then presented to him the splendid Ariosto with sparkling eyes, well knowing that this masterpiece of bookbinding would meet with Peregrine's approbation.

Mr. Tyss took a few pieces of gold from his pocket, which, the maiden seeing, hastily assured him that she did not know the price of the work, and, therefore, could not take any payment; perhaps he would be pleased to wait a few minutes for her father's return. It seemed to Peregrine as if the unworthy metal melted into one lump in his hand, and he pocketed the gold again, much faster than he had brought it out. Upon his seating himself mechanically in the broad arm-chair, the maiden reached after her own seat, and from instinctive politeness he jumped up to fetch it, when, instead of the chair, he caught hold of her hand, and, on gently pressing the treasure, he thought he felt a scarcely perceptible return.

"Puss, puss, what are you doing?" suddenly cried Rose, breaking from him, and picking up a skein of thread, which the cat held between her fore-paws, beginning a most mystical web.

Peregrine was in a perfect tumult, and the words "Oh, princess!" escaped him without his knowing how it happened. The maiden looked at him in alarm, and he cried out in the softest and most melancholy tone, "My dearest young lady!" Rose blushed, and said with maiden bashfulness, "My parents call me Rose; pray, do the same, my dear Mr. Tyss, for I too am one of the children, to whom you have shown so much kindness, and by whom you are so highly honoured."

"Rose!" cried Peregrine, in a transport. He could have thrown himself at her feet, and it was only with difficulty that he restrained himself.

Rose now related--as she quietly went on with her work--how the war had reduced her parents to distress, and how since that time she had lived with an aunt in a neighbouring village, till a few weeks ago, when upon the death of the old lady, she had returned home.

Peregrine heard only the sweet voice of Rose, without understanding the words too well, and was not perfectly convinced of his being awake, till Lemmerhirt entered the room, and gave him a hearty welcome. Soon after the wife followed with the children, and as thoughts and feelings are strangely blended in the mind of man, it happened now that Peregrine, even in the midst of all his ecstasy, suddenly recollected how the sullen Pepusch had blamed his presents to this very family. He was particularly delighted to find that none of the children had made themselves ill by his gifts, and the pride with which they pointed to a glass case, where the toys were shining, proved that they looked upon them as something extraordinary, never perhaps to recur. The Thistle, in his ill-humour, was quite mistaken.

"Oh, Pepusch!" said Peregrine to himself, "no pure beam of love penetrates thy distempered mind."--In this Peregrine again meant something more than toys and sugar-plums.

Lemmerhirt approached Peregrine, and began to talk in an under-tone of his Rose, elevating her, in the fulness of his heart, into a perfect miracle. But what gave him the most delight was, that Rose had an inclination for the noble art of bookbinding, and in the few weeks that she had been with him had made uncommon advances in the decorative parts, so that she was already much more dexterous than many an oaf of an apprentice, who wasted gold and morocco for years, and set the letters all awry, making them look like so many drunken peasants, staggering out of an ale-house. In the exuberance of his delight, he whispered to Peregrine quite confidentially, "It must out, Mr. Tyss, I can't help it.--Do you know, that it was my Rose who gilded the Ariosto?"

Upon hearing this, Peregrine hastily snatched up the book, as if securing it before he was robbed of it by an enemy. Lemmerhirt took this for a sign that Peregrine wished to go, and begged of him to stay a few minutes longer, and this it was that reminded him at last of the necessity of tearing himself away. He hastily paid his bill, and set off home, dragging along the heavy quartos, as if they had been some treasure.

On entering his house he was met by the old Alina, who pointed to Swammerdamm's chamber with looks of fear and anxiety. The door was open, and he saw Dörtje Elverdink, sitting in an arm-chair, quite stiff, with a face drawn up, as if it belonged to a corpse, already laid in the grave. Just so stiff, so corpse-like sate before her Pepusch, Swammerdamm, and Leuwenhock. The old woman exclaimed, "Is not that a strange, ghastly spectacle? In this manner the three unhappy beings have sate the whole day long, and eat nothing, and drink nothing, and speak nothing, and scarcely fetch their breath."

Peregrine at first felt a slight degree of terror at this strange spectacle, but, as he ascended the stairs, the spectral image was completely swallowed up by the sea of pleasure, in which the delighted Peregrine swam, since his seeing Rose. Wishes, dreams, hopes, were agitating his mind, which he longed to unburthen to some friend; but what friend had Peregrine besides the honest Master Flea? And to him he wished to open his whole heart, to tell him all about Rose,--all in fact that cannot very well be told. But he might call and coax as long as he pleased,--no Master Flea would show himself; he was up and away: at last, in the folds of his neckcloth, where Master Flea had been wont to lodge upon his