Master Flea by E. T. A. Hoffmann (drm ebook reader .txt) 📕

the wine from his very lips, as he had done just now, but he was plotting to carry off his bride, whom he intended to carry home from Frankfurt.

The Douanier had heard all that the Amateur advanced, and, glancing at him with his little malicious eyes, said to the host, “Don’t believe a syllable that the gallows-bird there is chattering. An admirable ballet master, truly! who with his elephant feet crushes the legs of the fair dancers, and with his pirouette knocks a tooth out of the manager’s jaw at the wing. And his verses, too! They have as awkward feet as himself, and tumble here and there like drunkards, treading the thoughts to pap. Because he flutters heavily in the air at times, like a drowsy gander, the conceited peacock fancies he is to have the fair one for his bride.”

At this the indignant Amateur cried out, “Thou Satan’s worm, thou shalt feel the gander’s beak,” and would have fallen upon the Douanier again, when the host seized him from behind, with strong arm, and, amidst the rejoicing of the assembled crowd, flung him out of the window.

No sooner was the Amateur gone than Monsieur Leech resumed the plain solid form in which he had entered. The people without took him for quite another person than the juggler, who had played such strange tricks, and quietly dispersed. The Douanier thanked mine host in the most obliging terms for his aid against the Amateur, and, to prove his gratitude, offered to shave him for nothing, and more pleasantly than ever he had been shaved in his life before. The host felt his beard, and it seeming to him at the moment as if the hairs were terribly long, he accepted Mr. Leech’s offer, who accordingly set about it, at first, with a light, dexterous hand, but on a sudden he cut his nose so shrewdly, that the blood streamed down. The host, deeming this to be nothing else than malice, seized the Douanier, who flew as nimbly out of the door as the Amateur through the window. Immediately after, there arose a loud tumult without, and scarcely allowing himself time to stop the bleeding of his nose with lint, he flew out to see what devil was raising this new uproar. There, to his no little astonishment, he saw a young man, who with one hand grasped the Amateur, and with the other the Douanier, and with rolling eyes exclaimed, “Ha! Satan’s brood! you shall not cross my way, you shall not rob me of Gamaheh!” while his prisoners intermixed their cries of, “A madman! Save⁠—save us, host⁠—he mistakes us⁠—he will murder us⁠—”

“Eh!” cried the host, “what are you about, my good Mr. Pepusch? Have you been offended by these strange people? Perhaps you are mistaken in them. This is the Ballet Master, Monsieur Legénie, and this the Douanier, Monsieur Leech.”

“Ballet Master Legénie! Douanier Leech!” repeated Pepusch, in a hollow voice.

He seemed as if waking out of a dream, and trying to recollect himself. In the meantime two honest citizens, of his acquaintance, came out of the inn, who joined in persuading him to be quiet, and let the fellows go about their business.

Again Pepusch exclaimed, “Ballet Master Legénie! Douanier Leech!” and let his arms drop powerless by his side. With the speed of wind, the released prisoners were off, and it seemed to many in the street as if the Amateur fled over the roofs of the neighbouring houses, and the barber was lost in the puddle that had collected itself between the stones before the door.

The two citizens invited the distracted Pepusch to come in and drink a glass of old hock with them, an offer which he readily accepted, and seemed to enjoy the generous wine, though he sat silent and abstracted, and answered not a word to all that could be said to him. At last, however, his features brightened up, and he said, very kindly, “You did well, my friends, in hindering me from killing on the spot those wretches, who were in my power. But you know not what dangerous creatures lurk beneath their masks.”

Pepusch paused, and it may be easily supposed with what eagerness the citizens waited for what he had to discover. The host also had approached them, and all three poked their heads together, with their arms crossed upon the table, and held in their breath, that they might not lose a syllable from Pepusch’s mouth.

“See, my good people,” he continued solemnly, “see; he⁠—whom you call the Ballet Master, Legénie⁠—is none other than the evil, awkward genius, Thetel; the other, whom you take for the Douanier, Leech, is the hateful bloodsucker, the Leech-Prince. Both are in love with the Princess, Gamaheh, who as you know, is the daughter of the mighty king, Sekakis, and are here to make her false to the Thistle, Zeherit. This is the greatest folly that ever entered into a foolish brain, for besides the Thistle, Zeherit, there is but one person in the world to whom she can belong, and this person would perhaps vainly enter into the contest with Zeherit. For soon the Thistle will bloom at midnight in full splendour and strength, and in the death of love dawns the morning of a higher life. Now, I myself am the Thistle, Zeherit, and, therefore, my good friends, you cannot blame me if I am indignant with those traitors, and altogether take the whole affair much to heart.”

The three listeners opened their eyes wide, and stared, speechlessly, at Pepusch, with open mouths. They had tumbled out of the clouds, as people say, and their heads were humming with the fall. But Pepusch emptied a bumper, and, turning to the host, said, “Yes, yes, mine host; you will soon see that I shall bloom as the Cactus grandiflorus, and the whole country round will be impregnated with its perfume. You may believe me, friends.”

The host could utter nothing but an exclamation of stupid surprise, “Eh! that would