Master Flea

I

First Adventure

Once upon a time—But what author will venture to begin his tale so nowadays? Obsolete! tedious! Such is the cry of the gentle, or rather ungentle reader, who wishes to be plunged at once, in medias 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 storytellers that are, namely, nurses, old women, etc. 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 to the showroom 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 marzipan and gingerbread which streamed from the sanctuary. Then again there would shoot through him a sweet mysterious thrill when, on suddenly reopening 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 fireflood 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 burden. The provision of choicest playthings, fine leaden soldiers, hunting trains of the same, picture books, etc. 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 marzipan, 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 bleary 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 highway 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 grownup 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 Frankfurt am Main. Of his parents little more is to be told than that they were quiet honest folks, of whom no one could speak anything 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 Frankfurt 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 bookkeeper, who had for twenty years sat in the countinghouse before the great cashbook, 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 mannequin 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 everything.

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 develops 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 learned 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 Beijing, with all its streets, houses, etc. 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 everything that he could get hold of respecting China, the Chinese, and Beijing, 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 Beijing in the fashion. Nothing else could excite his attention—to the great annoyance of his tutor, who just then wished to instill 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 Beijing, wherefore he brought Beijing 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 someone 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 Hamburg, 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 Hamburg, 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 Hamburg 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,” etc.

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 youngster should look about him in the world; he may get shaken out of his daydreams.” 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. This 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 Frankfurt 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 learned 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 Frankfurt 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 everything 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 armchair, 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!”