Master Flea

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.


II
Second Adventure

At this time there was a man in Frankfurt, 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-wagons, and baggage-carts, while others leaped along by them with muskets in their arms, cartouche-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, 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 aplomb, 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 sat within could not be well distinguished. One was involuntarily reminded of the equipage of Queen Mab, so admirably described by Shakespeare’s Mercutio, that it is easy to perceive she must often have travelled athwart his own nose.
But it was not till you overlooked the table with a good magnifying glass that the art of the flea-tamer developed itself in its full extent, for then first appeared the splendour and grace of the vessels, the fine workmanship of the arms, the glitter and neatness of the uniforms, all of which excited the profoundest admiration. It was quite impossible to imagine what instruments the flea-tamer could have used in making neatly and proportionately certain little collaterals, such as spurs and buttons, compared to which that matter seemed to be a very trifling task, which else had passed for a masterpiece of the tailor, namely, the fitting a flea with a pair of breeches; though, indeed, in this the most difficult part must have been the measuring.
The flea-tamer had abundance of visitors. Throughout the whole day the hall was never free from the curious, who were not deterred by the high price of admission. In the evening, too, the company was numerous, nay, almost more numerous, as then even those people, who cared little about such trickeries, came to admire a work which gave the flea-tamer quite another character, and acquired for him the real esteem of the philosopher. This work was a night-microscope, that, as the sun-microscope by day, like a magic lantern, flung the object, brightly lit up, upon a white ground, with a sharpness and distinctness which left nothing more to be wished. Moreover, the flea-tamer carried on a traffic with the finest microscopes that could be, and which were readily bought at a great price.
It chanced that a young man, called George Pepusch⁠—the kind reader will soon be better acquainted with him⁠—took a fancy to visit the flea-tamer late in the evening. Already, upon the stairs, he heard the clamour of a dispute that grew louder and louder with every moment, and at last became a perfect tempest. Just as he was about to enter, the door of the hall was violently flung open, and the multitude rushed out in a heap upon him, their faces pale with terror.
“The cursed wizard! The Satan’s-brood! I’ll denounce him to the supreme court! He shall out of the city, the false juggler!”
Such were the confused cries of the multitude, as, urged by fear and terror, they sought to get out of the house as quickly as possible.
A glance into the hall at once betrayed to the young Pepusch the cause of this horror, which had driven away the people. All within was alive, and a loathsome medley of the most hideous creatures filled the whole room. The race of beetles, spiders, leeches, gnats, magnified to excess, stretched out their probosces, crawled upon their long hairy legs, or fluttered their long wings. A more hideous spectacle Pepusch had never seen. He was even beginning to be sensible himself of horror, when something rough suddenly flew in his face, and he saw himself enveloped in a thick cloud of meal dust. His terror immediately left him, for he at once perceived that the rough thing could be nothing else than the round powdered wig of the flea-tamer⁠—which, in fact, it was.
By the time Pepusch had rubbed the powder from his eyes, the disgusting population of insects had vanished. The flea-tamer sat in his armchair quite exhausted.
“Leeuwenhoek!” exclaimed Pepusch to him, “Leeuwenhoek, do you see now what comes of your trickeries? You have again been forced to have recourse to your vassals to keep the people’s