Produced by Charles Bowen, from page scans provided by the Web Archive
Transcriber's notes:
1. Page scan source:
http://www.archive.org/details/specimensofgerma02soanuoft
2. Footnote is at the end of the book.
3. The diphthong oe is represented by [oe].
[Illustration: Master Flea]
SPECIMENS
OF
GERMAN ROMANCE.
SELECTED AND TRANSLATED FROM
VARIOUS AUTHORS.
IN THREE VOLUMES.
VOL. II.
LONDON:
PRINTED FOR GEO. B. WHITTAKER,
AVE-MARIA-LANE.
MDCCCXXVI.
LONDON:
PRINTED BY THOMAS DAVISON, WHITEFRIARS.
MASTER FLEA.
* * * * *
First Adventure.
INTRODUCTION--Wherein the gentle reader learns as much of the life of
Mr. Peregrine Tyss as is requisite for him to know.
Presentation of Christmas-boxes at the bookbinder's, Lemmerhirt, in the
Kelbecker-street, and beginning of the First Adventure.--The two
Alinas.
Once upon a time--But what author will venture to begin his tale so
now-a-days?--Obsolete! tedious!--Such is the cry of the gentle, or
rather ungentle reader, who wishes to be plunged at once, _medias in
res_, according to the wise advice of the old Roman poet. He feels as
if some long-winded talker of a guest, who had just entered, was
spreading himself out, and clearing his voice to begin an endless
discourse, and he angrily closes the book which he had but just opened.
The present editor, indeed, of the wonderful tale of Master Flea,
thinks this beginning a very good beginning, not to say the best for
every history, on which account the most excellent story-tellers that
are, namely, nurses, old women, &c. have at all times made use of it;
but as every author writes chiefly to be read, he,--that is, the
aforesaid editor,--will not at any rate deprive the kind reader of the
pleasure of actually being his reader. He tells him therefore at once,
without more circumlocution, that this same Peregrine Tyss, of whose
strange adventures this history is to treat, had never, on any
Christmas evening, felt his heart so throb with anxious joyful
expectation, as precisely on that with which begins the narration of
his adventures.
Peregrine was in a dark chamber, next the show-room in which he was
wont to receive his Christmas-box. There he crept gently up and down,
listened a little at the door, and then seated himself quietly in a
corner, and with shut eyes inhaled the mystic odours of the marchpane
and gingerbread which streamed from the sanctuary. Then, again, there
would shoot through him a sweet mysterious thrill when, on suddenly
re-opening them, he was dazzled by the vivid beams of light which fell
through the crevices of the door, and danced hither and thither upon
the wall.
At length sounded the little silver bell,--the chamber door was flung
open, and in rushed Peregrine, amidst a whole fire-flood of variegated
Christmas lights. Quite petrified, he remained standing at the table,
on which the finest gifts were arranged in the most handsome order, and
only a loud "oh!" forced itself from his breast. Never before had the
Christmas tree borne such splendid fruits, for every sweetmeat that can
be named, and amongst them many a golden nut, many a golden apple from
the garden of the Hesperides hung upon the boughs, which bent beneath
their burthen. The provision of choicest playthings, fine leaden
soldiers, hunting trains of the same, picture-books, &c. is not to be
told. But as yet he did not venture to touch any part of the wealth
presented to him; he could only occupy himself in mastering his wonder,
and comprehending the idea of his good fortune in all this being really
his.
"O my dear parents! O my good Alina!"--so he exclaimed, with feelings
of the highest transport.
"Well, my little Peregrine," replied Alina, "have I done it well? Are
you in truth rejoiced from your heart, my child? Won't you look nearer
at these handsome things? Won't you try the new rocking-horse and the
beautiful fox?"
"A noble steed," said Peregrine, examining the bridled rocking-horse
with tears of joy--"a noble beast, of pure Arabian race;" and he
immediately mounted his proud courser; but though Peregrine might else
be a capital rider, yet this time he must have made some mistake, for
the wild Pontifer (so was the horse called) reared, and threw him off,
making him kick up his legs most piteously. Before, however, Alina, who
was frightened to death, could run to his assistance, he had got up
again and seized the bridle of the horse, who threw out behind, and
endeavoured to run away. Again he mounted, and using with strength and
skill all the arts of horsemanship, he brought the wild animal so to
his reason, that it trembled and panted, and recognized his master in
Peregrine. Upon his dismounting, Alina led the conquered horse into his
stable.
This somewhat violent riding, which had caused an outrageous noise in
the room, and indeed through the whole house, was now over, and
Peregrine seated himself at the table, that he might quietly take a
nearer view of the other splendid presents. With great delight he
devoured some of the marchpane, while he set in motion the limbs of the
different puppets, peeped into the various picture-books, mustered his
army, which he with reason deemed invincible, since not a single
soldier had a stomach in his body, and at last proceeded to the
business of the chase. To his great vexation, he discovered that there
was only a hare and fox hunt, and that the stag and wild boar chase
were altogether wanting. These, too, ought to have been there, as none
better knew than Peregrine, he himself having purchased the whole with
unspeakable care and trouble.
But, hold!--It seems highly requisite to guard the kind reader against
the awkward mistakes into which he might fall, if the author were to go
on gossiping at random, without reflecting that though he may know the
meaning of these Christmas Eve arrangements, it is not so with his
reader, who would wish to learn what he does not comprehend.
Much mistaken would he be who should imagine that Peregrine Tyss
was a child, to whom a kind mother, or some other well-affectioned
female, called in romantic fashion Alina, had been giving
Christmas-boxes----Nothing less than that!
Mr. Peregrine Tyss had got to his six-and-thirtieth year, and herein
had passed almost the best of life. Six years before, he was said to be
a handsome man; now he was with reason called a man of gentlemanly
appearance: but at all times,--then, as well as now,--it was the cry of
all, that he lived too much to himself; that he did not know life, and
was manifestly suffering under a diseased melancholy. Fathers, whose
daughters were just marriageable, thought that to get rid of this
melancholy, the good Tyss could do nothing better than marry; he had a
free choice, and had little reason to fear a negative. The opinion of
the fathers was at least correct in regard to the latter point,
insomuch as Mr. Tyss, besides being, as before said, a man of
gentlemanly appearance, possessed a considerable property, left to him
by his father, Mr. Balthasar Tyss, a very respectable merchant. Maidens
who have got beyond the heyday of love,--that is, who are at least
three or four-and-twenty years old--when such highly gifted men put the
innocent question of "Will you bless me with your hand, dearest?"
seldom do otherwise than answer, with blushing cheeks and downcast
eyes, "Speak to my parents, sir; I shall obey them--I have no will:"--
while the parents fold their hands and say, "If it is the will of
Heaven, we have nothing against it, son."
But Mr. Peregrine Tyss seemed inclined to nothing less than marriage;
for besides that he was in general averse to society, he showed more
particularly a strange idiosyncrasy towards the female race. The mere
proximity of any woman would bring the perspiration on his forehead;
and if actually accosted by a tolerably handsome girl, he would fall
into an agony that fettered his tongue, and caused a cramp-like
trembling through all his limbs. Hence, perhaps, it was that his old
servant was so ugly, that, in the neighbourhood where Mr. Peregrine
Tyss lived, she passed for a wonder in natural history. The black,
rugged, half-grey hair accorded well with the red blear eyes, and just
as well agreed the thick copper nose with the pale blue lips, in
forming the image of an aspirant to the Blocksberg[1]; so that two
centuries earlier, she would hardly have escaped the stake, instead of
being, as now, esteemed by Mr. Peregrine, and others too, for a good
sort of person. This, in fact, she was, and might therefore well be
forgiven, if she comforted her body with many a little dram in the
course of the day, or, perhaps, too often took out from her stomacher a
huge black japanned snuffbox, and fed her respectable nose very richly
with pure Oppenbacher. The kind reader has already observed that this
remarkable person is the very same Alina who managed the business of
the Christmas-boxes. Heaven knows how she came by the celebrated name
of the Queen of Golconda!
But if the fathers desired that the rich agreeable Mr. Peregrine should
lay aside his horror of women and marry without more ado, the old
bachelors, on the other hand, said that he did quite right to remain
single, as his turn of mind was not suited to matrimony. It was
unlucky, however, that at the phrase "turn of mind," not a few made a
very mysterious face; and upon close inquiry, gave it to be pretty
plainly understood, that Mr. Peregrine Tyss was at times a little
cracked. The numerous retailers of this opinion belonged chiefly to
those who are firmly convinced that on the great high way of life,
which is to be kept according to reason and prudence, the nose is the
best guide; and who would rather put on blinkers than be led aside by
any odorous shrub or blooming meadow that grows by the way. It was,
however, true that Peregrine had many things about him which people
could not comprehend.
It has been already said that his father was a rich and respectable
merchant; when to this is added that he owned a handsome house in the
Horse-market, and that in this house, in the very same chamber where
the little Peregrine had always received his Christmas-boxes, the
grown-up Peregrine was now receiving them, there is no room to doubt
that the place of the strange adventures to be narrated in this history
is the celebrated city of Frankfort on the Maine. Of his parents little
more is to be told than that they were quiet honest folks, of whom no
one could speak any thing but good. The unbounded esteem which Mr. Tyss
enjoyed upon 'Change he owed to two circumstances; he always speculated
well and safely, gaining one sum after the other; while at the same
time he never presumed, but remained modest as before, and made no
boast of his wealth, which he showed merely by his haggling about
nothing, and being indulgence itself towards insolvent debtors who had
fallen into misfortune, even though it were deservedly.
For a long time the marriage of Mr. Tyss was unfruitful, till at
length, after almost twenty years, Mrs. Tyss rejoiced her husband with
a fine lusty boy, who was our identical Master Peregrine Tyss. The
boundless joy of the elders may be imagined, and the people of
Frankfort yet talk of the splendid christening given by the old Tyss,
at which the noblest hock was filled out as if at a coronation
festival. But what added still more to the posthumous fame of Mr. Tyss
was, that he invited to this christening a couple of people who, in
their enmity, had often injured him; and not only them, but others too
whom he thought he had injured; so that the feast was really one of
peace and reconciliation.
Alas! the good man did not suspect that this same child, whose birth so
much rejoiced him, would soon be a cause of sorrow. At the very first,
the boy Peregrine showed a singular disposition. After he had cried
night and day uninterruptedly for some weeks, without their being able
to find out any bodily ailment, he became on the sudden quite quiet and
as it were stupified into a motionless insensibility: he seemed
incapable of the least impression. The little brow, which appeared to
belong to a lifeless puppet, was wrinkled neither by tears nor
laughter. His mother maintained that it was owing, on her part, to the
sight of the old book-keeper, who had for twenty years sat in the
counting-house before the great cash-book, with the same lifeless
countenance; and she wept bitter tears over the little automaton.
At last an old gossip hit upon the lucky thought of bringing Peregrine
a very motley, and, in fact, a very ugly harlequin. The child's eyes
quickened in a strange fashion, the mouth contracted to a gentle smile,
he caught at the puppet, and, the moment it was given to him, hugged it
tenderly. Then again he gazed upon the manikin with such intelligent
and speaking eyes, that it seemed as if reason and sensation had
suddenly awakened in him, and with much greater vigour than is usual
with children of his age.
"He is too wise," said the godmother; "you'll not keep him. Only look
at his eyes; he already thinks more than he ought to do."
This declaration greatly comforted the old merchant, who had in some
measure reconciled himself to the idea of having begot an idiot, after
so many years of fruitless expectation. Soon, however, he fell into a
fresh trouble; and this was, that the time had long since gone by in
which children usually begin to speak, and yet Peregrine had not
uttered a syllable. The boy would have been thought dumb, but that he
often gazed on the person who spoke to him with such attention, nay
even showed such sympathy by sad as well as by joyful looks, that there
could be no doubt not only of his hearing, but of his understanding,
every thing.
In the meantime his mother was mightily astonished at finding what the
nurse had told her confirmed. At night, when the boy lay in bed and
fancied himself unnoticed, he talked to himself single words, and even
whole sentences, and so little broken that a long practice might be
inferred from this perfection. Heaven has lent to women a certain tact
of reading human nature as its growth variously developes itself, on
which account, for the first years at least of childhood, they are the
best educators. According to this tact, Mrs. Tyss was far from letting
the boy see he was observed, or from wishing to force him to speak; she
rather contrived to bring it about by other dexterous means, that he
should of himself no longer keep concealed the beautiful talent of
speech, but should slowly, yet plainly, manifest it to the world, and
to the wonder of all. Still, however, he evinced a constant aversion to
talking, and was most pleased when they left him in quiet by himself.
Thus was Mr. Tyss freed from all anxiety on account of his want of
tongue, but it was only to fall into a much greater care afterwards.
When Peregrine had grown a boy and ought to have learnt stoutly, it
seemed as if nothing was to be driven into him without the greatest
trouble. It was with his writing and reading as it had been with his
talking; at first the matter could not be compassed at all, and then on
a sudden he did it admirably, and beyond all expectation. In the
meantime one master after another left the house, not from dislike to
the boy, but because they could not enter into his disposition.
Peregrine was still, mannerly, and industrious, and yet it was no use
thinking of any systematic learning with him; he had understanding for
that only which happened to chime in exactly with his genius; all the
rest passed over him without leaving any impression: and that which
suited his genius was the _wonderful_,--all that excited his
imagination; in that he lived and moved. So, for example, he once
received a present of a sketch of Pekin, with all its streets, houses,
&c. which occupied the entire wall of his chamber. At the sight of this
city of fables, of the singular people that seemed to crowd through its
streets, Peregrine felt as if transported by some magic sleight into
another world, in which he was to become at home. With eagerness he now
fell upon every thing that he could get hold of respecting China, the
Chinese, and Pekin; and having somewhere found the Chinese sounds
described, he laboured to pronounce them according to the description,
with a fine chanting voice; nay, he even endeavoured, by means of the
paper-scissors, to give his handsome calimanco bed-gowns the Chinese
cut as much as possible, that he might have the pleasure of walking the
streets of Pekin in the fashion. Nothing else could excite his
attention--to the great annoyance of his tutor, who just then wished to
instil into him the history of the Hanseatic League, according to the
express wish of Mr. Tyss; but the old gentleman found to his sorrow,
that Peregrine was not to be brought out of Pekin, wherefore he brought
Pekin out of the boy's chamber.
The elder Mr. Tyss had always considered it a bad omen that Peregrine,
as a little child, should prefer counters to ducats, and next should
manifest a decided abhorrence of moneybags, ledgers, and waste books.
But what seemed most singular was, that he never could hear the word
"bill of exchange" pronounced without having his teeth set on edge, and
he assured them that he felt at the sound as if some one was scratching
up and down a pane of glass with the point of a knife. Mr. Tyss,
therefore, could not help seeing that his son was spoilt for a
merchant, and however he might wish to have him treading in his
footsteps, yet he readily gave up this desire, under the idea that
Peregrine would apply himself to some decided occupation. It was a
maxim of his, that the richest man ought to have an employment, and
thereby a settled station in life; people with no occupation were an
abomination to him, and it was precisely to this _no-occupation_ that
his son was entirely devoted, with all the knowledge which he had
picked up in his own way, and which lay chaotically confounded in his
brain. This was now the greatest and most pressing anxiety of Mr. Tyss.
Peregrine wished to know nothing of the actual world, the old man lived
in that only; from which contradiction it could not but be that, the
older Peregrine grew, the worse became the discord between father and
son, to the no little sorrow of the mother: she cordially conceded to
Peregrine, who was otherwise the best of sons, his mode of life, in
mere dreams and fancies, though to her indeed unintelligible, and she
could not conceive why her husband would positively impose upon him a
decided occupation.
By the advice of tried friends, Tyss sent his son to the university of
Jena, but when, after three years, he returned, the old man exclaimed,
full of wrath and vexation, "Did I not think so? Hans the dreamer he
went away, Hans the dreamer he comes back again." And so far he was
quite right, for the student was substantially unaltered. Still he did
not give up all hope of bringing the degenerate Peregrine to reason,
thinking that if he were once forced into some employment, he might,
perhaps, change his mind in the end, and take a pleasure in it. With
this view he sent him to Hamburgh, with commissions that did not
require any particular knowledge of business, and moreover commended
him to a friend there, who was to assist him faithfully in all things.
Peregrine arrived at Hamburgh, where he gave into the hands of his
father's friend not only his letter of recommendation, but all the
papers too that related to his commissions, and immediately
disappeared, no one knew whither. Hereupon the friend wrote to Mr.
Tyss:
"I have punctually received your honoured letter of the----by the hands
of your son. The same, however, has not shown himself since, but set
off from Hamburgh immediately, without leaving any commission. In
peppers we are doing little; cotton goes off heavily; in coffee, the
middle sort only is inquired after: but on the other hand molasses
maintain their price pleasantly; and in indigo there is not much
fluctuation. I have the honour," &c.
This letter would have plunged Mr. Tyss and his spouse into no little
alarm, if by the very same post another had not arrived from the lost
son, wherein he excused himself, with the most melancholy expressions,
saying that it had been utterly impossible for him to execute the
received commissions, according to his father's wishes, and that he
found himself irresistibly attracted to foreign countries, from which
he hoped to return home in a year's time with a happier and more
cheerful disposition.
"It is well," said the old man, "that the younker should look about him
in the world; he may get shaken out of his day dreams."--And when
Peregrine's mother expressed an anxiety lest he should want money for
his long journey, and that, therefore, his carelessness was much to be
blamed in not having written to tell them where he was going, the old
gentleman replied laughing, "If the lad be in want of money, he will
the sooner get acquainted with the real world; and if he have not said
which way he is going, still he knows where his letters will find us."
It has always remained unknown which way his journey really was
directed; some maintain that he had been to the distant Indies; others
declare that he had only fancied it; thus much, however, is certain, he
must have travelled a great way, for it was not in a year's time, as he
had promised his parents, but after the lapse of full three years, that
Peregrine returned to Frankfort on foot, and in a tolerably poor
condition.
He found his father's mansion fast shut up and no one stirred within,
let him ring and knock as much as he would. At last there came by a
neighbour from 'Change, of whom he immediately inquired whether Mr.
Tyss had gone abroad? At this question the neighbour started back,
terrified, and cried, "Mr. Peregrine Tyss! Is it you? Are you come at
last? Don't you then know it?"
Enough,--Peregrine learnt that, during his absence, both parents had
died, one after the other; that the authorities had taken possession of
the inheritance, and had publicly summoned him, whose abode was
altogether unknown, to return to Frankfort and receive the property of
his father.
Peregrine continued to stand before his neighbour without the power of
utterance. For the first time the pain of life crossed his heart, and
he saw in ruins the beautiful bright world wherein, till now, he had
dwelt with so much delight. The neighbour soon perceived that he was
utterly incapable of setting about the least thing that the occasion
called for; he therefore took him to his own house, and himself
arranged every thing with all possible expedition, so that, on the very
same evening, Peregrine found himself in his paternal mansion.
Exhausted, overwhelmed by a feeling of disconsolation such as he had
not yet known, he sank into his father's great arm-chair, which was
still standing in its usual place, when a voice said, "It is well that
you have returned, dear Mr. Peregrine; ah, if you had but come sooner!"
Peregrine looked up and saw close before him the old woman, whom his
father had taken into his service chiefly because she could get no
other place, on account of her outrageous ugliness: she had been
Peregrine's nurse in his early childhood, and had not left the house
since. For a long time he stared at the woman, and at last began with a
strange smile, "Is it you, Alina? The old people live still, do they
not?" And with this he got up, went through every room, considered
every chair, every table, and every picture, and then calmly added,
"Yes, it is all just as I left it, and just so shall it remain."
From this moment Peregrine adopted the strange life which was mentioned
at the very beginning of our story. Retired from all society, he lived
with his aged attendant in the large roomy house in the deepest
solitude: subsequently he let out a couple of rooms to an old man, who
had been his father's friend, and seemed as misanthropical as himself--
reason enough why the two should agree remarkably well, for they never
saw each other.
There were four family festivals which Peregrine celebrated with
infinite solemnity; and these were the birth-days of his father and
mother, Easter, and his own day of christening. At these times Alina
had to set out a table for as many persons as his father had been wont
to invite, with the same wine and dishes which had been usually served
up on those occasions. Of course the same silver, the same plates, the
same glasses, such as had then been used, and such as they still
remained, were now brought forward, in the fashion which had prevailed
for so many years. Peregrine kept to this strictly. Was the table
ready? He sat down to it alone, ate and drank but little, listened to
the conversation of his parents, and the imaginary guests, and replied
modestly to this or that question as it was directed to him by any one
of the company. Did his mother put back her seat? he too rose with the
rest, and took his leave of each with great courtesy. Then he retired
to a distant chamber, and consigned to Alina the division of the wine
and the many untasted dishes amongst the poor; which command of her
master, the faithful soul was wont to execute most conscientiously. The
celebration of the two birth-days he began early in the morning, that,
according to the custom of his boyhood, he might carry a handsome
nosegay into the room where his parents used to breakfast, and repeat
verses which he had got by heart for the occasion. On his own day of
christening, he naturally could not sit at table, as he had not then
been long born; Alina, therefore, had to attend to every thing, that
is, to invite people to drink, and, in the general phrase, to do the
honours of the table: with this exception, every thing was the same as
at the other festivals. But in addition to these, Peregrine had yet
another holiday in the year, or rather holy evening, and that was
Christmas Eve, with its gifts, which had excited his youthful fancy
more than any other pleasure.
He himself carefully purchased the motley Christmas lights, the
playthings, the sweetmeats, just as his parents had presented them to
him in his childish years; and then the presentation took place, as the
kind reader has already seen.
"It is very vexatious," said Peregrine, after having played with them
some time--"it is very vexatious that the stag and wild boar hunt
should be missing. Where can they be? Ah, look there!"--At this moment
he perceived a little box which still remained unopened, and hastily
snatched at it, expecting to recover the missing treasure. But on
opening it he found it empty, and started back as if a sudden fright
had seized him.--"Strange!" he murmured to himself; "strange! What is
the matter with this box? It seems as if some fearful thing sprang out
upon me, that my eye was too dull to grapple with."
Alina, on being questioned, assured him that she had found the box
among the playthings, and had in vain used every exertion to open it;
hence she had imagined that it contained something particular, and that
the lid would yield only to the experienced hand of her master.
"Strange!" repeated Peregrine, "very strange!--and it was with this
chase that I had particularly pleased myself; I hope it may not bode
any evil!--But who, on a Christmas Eve, would dwell upon such fancies,
which have properly no foundation? Alina, fetch me the basket."
Alina accordingly brought a large white basket; in which, with much
care, he packed up the playthings, the sweetmeats, and the tapers, took
the basket under his arm, the great Christmas-tree on his shoulder, and
set out on his way.
It was the kind and laudable practice of Mr. Tyss to surprise some
needy family, where he knew there were children, with his whole cargo
of Christmas-boxes, just as he had purchased it, and dream himself for
a few hours into the happy times of boyhood. Then, when the children
were in the height of their joy, he would softly steal away and wander
about the streets half the night, hardly knowing what to do with
himself, from the deep emotions which straitened his breast, and
feeling his own house like a vault, in which he was buried with all his
pleasures. This time his Christmas-boxes were intended for the children
of a poor bookbinder, of the name of Lemmerhirt, who was a skilful,
industrious man, had long worked for him, and whose three children he
was well acquainted with.
The bookbinder, Lemmerhirt, lived in the top floor of a narrow house in
the Kalbecher-street; and as the winter storm howled and raged, and the
rain and snow fell with mingled violence, it may be easily imagined
that Peregrine did not get to his object without great difficulty. From
the window twinkled down a couple of miserable tapers; with no little
toil he clambered up the steep stairs, knocked at the door, and called
out, "Open! Open! Christmas sends his presents to all good children."
The bookbinder opened the door in alarm, and it was not till after some
consideration that he recognised Peregrine, who was quite covered with
snow.
"Worshipful Mr. Tyss!" he exclaimed, full of wonder--"How in the name
of Heaven do I come to such an honour on Christmas Eve?"
Worshipful Mr. Tyss, however, would not let him finish, but calling
out, "Children! Children! Alert! Christmas sends his presents"--he
took possession of the flap-table in the middle of the room, and
immediately began to pull out his presents from the basket; the great
Christmas-tree, indeed, which was dripping wet, he had been forced to
leave outside the door. Still the bookbinder could not comprehend what
it all meant; the wife, however, knew better, for she smiled at
Peregrine, with silent tears, while the children stood at a distance,
devouring with their eyes each gift as it came out of the cover, and
often unable to refrain from a loud cry of joy and wonder. At last he
had dexterously divided, and ordered the presents according to each
child's age, lighted all the tapers, and cried, "Come, come, children!
this is what Christmas sends you." They, who could yet hardly believe
that all belonged to them, now shouted aloud, and leaped, and rejoiced;
while their parents prepared to thank their benefactor. But it was
precisely this thanksgiving that Peregrine always sought to avoid, and
he therefore wished, as usual, to take himself off quietly. With this
view he had got to the door, when it suddenly opened, and in the bright
shine of the Christmas lights stood before him a young female,
splendidly attired.
It seldom turns out well, when an author undertakes to describe
narrowly to the reader the appearance of this or that beautiful
personage of his tale,--showing the shape, the growth, the carriage,
the hair, the colour of the eyes; it seems much better to give the
whole person at once, without these details. Here, too, it would be
quite enough to state that the lady, who ran against the startled
Peregrine, was uncommonly handsome and graceful, if it were not
absolutely requisite to speak of certain peculiarities which the little
creature had about her.
She was small, and, indeed, somewhat too small, but, at the same time,
neatly and elegantly proportioned. Her forehead, in other respects
handsomely formed and full of expression, acquired a something strange
and singular from the unusual size of the eyeballs, and from the dark
pencilly brows being higher placed than ordinary. The little thing was
dressed, or rather decorated, as if she had just come from a ball. A
splendid diadem glittered amongst her raven locks, rich point lace only
half veiled her bosom, a black and yellow striped dress of heavy silk
sate close upon her slender body, and fell down in folds just so low as
to let the neatest little feet be seen, in white shoes, while the
sleeves were just long enough, and the gloves just short enough, to
show the fairest part of a dazzling arm. A rich necklace, and brilliant
ear-rings, completed her attire.
It could not but be that the bookbinder was as much surprised as
Peregrine,--that the children abandoned their playthings, and stared
with open mouths at the stranger: as, however, women in general are
wont to be the least astonished at any thing unusual, and are the
quickest to collect themselves, so, on this occasion also, the
bookbinder's wife was the first that recovered speech, and asked, "In
what she could serve the lady?"
Upon this the stranger came fairly into the room, and the frightened
Peregrine would have seized the opportunity to take himself quickly
off, but she caught him by both hands, lisping out, in a little soft
voice, "Fortune, then, has favoured me! I have found you, then! O
Peregrine, my dear Peregrine, what a delightful meeting!" Herewith she
raised her right hand, so that it touched Peregrine's lips, and he was
compelled to kiss it, though, in so doing, the cold drops of
perspiration stood on his forehead. She now, indeed, let go his hands,
and he might have fled, but he felt himself spellbound, he could not
move from the place--like some poor little animal that has been
fascinated by the eye of the rattle-snake.
"Allow me," she said, "dear Peregrine, to share in this charming treat
that you have so nobly, and with such real goodness, prepared for the
children. Permit me, also, to contribute something to it!"
From a little basket which hung upon her arm, and which had not been
remarked till now, she took out all sorts of playthings, arranged them
on the table with graceful bustle, brought forward the children,
pointed out to each the present intended for him, and sported so
prettily withal, that nothing could be more delightful. The bookbinder
thought he was in a dream, but the wife laughed roguishly, fancying
that there must be some particular acquaintance between Peregrine and
the stranger.
While now the parents were wondering, and the children were rejoicing,
the lady took her seat upon an old frail sofa, and drew down Mr.
Peregrine, who, in fact, scarcely knew any longer whether he actually
was this same person. She then gently lisped into his ear, "My dear,
dear Peregrine, how happy, how delighted I feel by your side!"--"But,
lady," stammered Peregrine, "honoured lady----" On a sudden, Heaven
knows how, the lips of the stranger came so close to his, that, before
he could think about kissing them, he had really done it. That by this
he lost all power of speech is easily to be imagined.
"My sweet friend," continued the lady, creeping up to Peregrine so
closely, that she almost sate in his lap--"My sweet friend, I know what
troubles you; I know what has so much afflicted your simple heart this
evening. But, take comfort. That which you lost, that which you hardly
hoped to find again,--see, I bring it to you."
With this she took out a little wooden box from her basket, and gave it
into the hands of Peregrine. In it was the hunting-set that he had
missed on the Christmas-eve table. It would be hard to describe the
strange feelings which were now thronging and jostling in his bosom.
The whole appearance of the stranger, in spite of all her grace and
loveliness, had yet something supernatural about it, which those, who
had not Peregrine's awe of woman, would yet have received with a cold
shudder through every vein; of course, therefore, a deep horror seized
the poor Peregrine, already in sufficient alarm, when he found the lady
most narrowly informed of all that he had been doing in the profoundest
solitude. Still, when he looked up, and met the glance of two bright
black eyes flashing from under the silken lids--when he felt the sweet
breath of the lovely being, and the electric warmth of her limbs--
still, with all his terror, there awoke in him the sadness of
unutterable desires, such as he had not yet known. For the first time
his whole mode of life, his trifling with the Christmas presents,
appeared to him absurd and childish, and he felt ashamed that the
stranger should know of it; but then again it seemed as if her gift was
the living proof that she understood him, as none else on earth had
understood him, and, in seeking to gratify him after this manner, had
been prompted by the most perfect delicacy of feeling. He resolved to
treasure up the dear gift for ever, never to let it go out of his own
hands; and, carried away by a feeling which totally overpowered him, he
pressed the casket to his breast with vehemence.
"Delightful!" murmured the maiden, "my gift pleases you! Oh, my dearest
Peregrine, then my dreams, my presentiments, have not deceived me!"
Mr. Tyss came somewhat to himself, so that he was able to say, with
great plainness and distinctness, "But, most respected lady, if I only
knew to whom in all the world I had the honour----"
"Cunning man," said the stranger, gently tapping his cheeks,--"to
pretend as if you did not know your faithful Alina! But it is time that
we should leave the good folks here to their own pleasures. Accompany
me, Mr. Tyss."
On hearing the name Alina, Peregrine naturally reverted to his old
attendant, and he felt exactly as if a wind-mill were going round in
his head.
The strange Alina now took the kindest and most gracious leave of the
family, while the bookbinder, from pure wonder and respect, could only
stammer out a something unintelligible; but the children made as if
they had been long acquainted with her, and the wife said, "Such a
kind, handsome man as you are, Mr. Tyss, well deserves to have so kind
and handsome a bride, who, even at this hour, assists him in doing acts
of benevolence. I congratulate you with all my heart."--The strange
lady thanked her with emotion, protesting that the day of her wedding
should also be a day of festival to them; and then, strictly refusing
all attendance, took a taper from the Christmas table to light herself
down the stairs.
It is easy to imagine the feelings of Peregrine at all this, on whose
arm she leant.--"Accompany me, Mr. Tyss,"--that is,--he thought within
himself,--down the stairs to the carriage which stands at the door, and
where the servant, or perhaps a whole set of servants, is in waiting,
for in the end it must be some mad princess, who----Heaven deliver me
with speed from this strange torture, and keep me in my right senses,
such as they are!
Mr. Tyss did not suspect that all, which had yet happened, was only the
prologue to a most wonderful adventure, and had therefore, without
knowing it, done exceedingly well in praying to Heaven for the
preservation of his senses.
No sooner had the couple reached the bottom of the stairs, than the
door was opened by invisible hands, and, when they had got out, was
shut again in the same manner. Peregrine, however, paid no attention to
this, in his astonishment at finding not the slightest appearance of
any carriage before the house, or of any servant in waiting.--"In the
name of Heaven," he cried, "where is your coach, lady?"
"Coach!" replied the stranger--"Coach! what coach? Did you think, dear
Peregrine, that my impatience, my anxiety, to find you, would allow me
to come riding here quite quietly? No; hurried on by hope and desire, I
ran about through the storm till I found you. Thank Heaven that I have
succeeded! And now lead me home; my house is not far off."
Peregrine resolutely avoided all reflection on the impossibility of the
stranger going a few steps only, tricked out as she was, and in white
silk shoes, without spoiling her whole dress in the storm, instead of
being, as now, in a state that showed not the slightest trace of
discomposure; he reconciled himself to the idea of accompanying her
still farther, and was only glad that the weather was changed. The
storm, indeed, had past, not a cloud was in the heaven, the full moon
shone down pleasantly, and only the keen air made the midnight to be
felt.
Scarcely had they gone a few steps, when the maiden began to complain
softly, and soon burst out into loud lamentations, that she was
freezing with the cold. Peregrine, whose blood glowed through his
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 wrapt 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 burthen, before the wild intoxication of desire took more and
more possession of him, and, as he hurried half way 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 corse 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 re-echoed 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 snuff-box,
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 night-time. 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: to-morrow 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 to-night! 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
that he is in your custody? Was I not present when you bought the
hunting-set?"
"Who," cried Peregrine, quite beside himself, "who is this HE? For the
first time in my life I see _you_, lady, and who are YOU? who is this
HE?"
Dissolving in grief, the stranger threw herself at Peregrine's feet,
while the tears poured down in abundant streams from her eyes: "Be
humane, be merciful--give him back to me!"--and at the same time her
exclamations were mingled with those of Peregrine, "I shall lose my
senses! I shall go mad! I shall be frantic!"
On a sudden the maiden started up. She seemed much larger than before;
her eyes flashed fire, her lips quivered, and she exclaimed, with
furious gestures, "Ha, barbarian! no human heart dwells in you! You are
inexorable! You wish my death, my destruction! You won't give him up!
No--never, never! Wretched me!--Lost! lost!"
And with this she rushed out of the room. Peregrine heard her
clattering down the stairs, while her lamentations filled the whole
house, till at last a door below was flung to with violence.
Second Adventure.
The Flea-tamer.--Melancholy fate of the Princess Gamaheh, in
Famagusta.--Awkwardness of the Genius, Thetel, and remarkable
microscopic experiments and recreations.--The beautiful Hollandress,
and singular adventure of the young Mr. George Pepusch, a student of
Jena.
At this time there was a man in Frankfort, who practised the strangest
art possible. He was called the flea-tamer, from having succeeded--and
certainly not without much trouble and exertion--in educating these
little creatures, and teaching them to execute all sorts of pretty
tricks. You saw with the greatest astonishment a troop of fleas upon a
slab of highly-polished marble, who drew along little cannons,
ammunition-waggons, and baggage-carts, while others leaped along by
them with muskets in their arms, cartouch-boxes on their backs, and
sabres at their sides. At the word of command from the artist, they
performed the most difficult evolutions, and all seemed fuller of life
and mirth than if they had been real soldiers; for the marching
consisted in the neatest entrechats and capers, and the faces about,
right and left, in the most graceful pirouettes. The whole troop had a
wonderful a-plomb, and the general seemed to be at the same time a most
admirable ballet-master. But even more handsome and more wonderful were
the little gold coaches, which were drawn by four, six, or eight fleas.
Coachmen and servants were little gold flies, of the smallest kind and
almost invisible; while that, which sate within, could not be well
distinguished. One was involuntarily reminded of the equipage of Queen
Mab, so admirably described by Shakspeare's Mercutio, that it is easy
to perceive she must often have travelled athwart his own nose.