Peregrine was astonished at this deceit, yet still the whole state of the thing, the peculiar situation in which Leeuwenhoek stood without suspecting it, appeared to him so exceedingly pleasant, that he could not help breaking out into a loud fit of laughter. The microscopist, somewhat surprised at this, asked, “What are you laughing at so vehemently, my dear Mr. Tyss?”
“You do wisely,” replied Peregrine, still laughing, “You do very wisely in keeping secret, out of pure kindness, this threatening event, for besides that you are too much my friend to put me into fear and terror, you have yet another excellent reason for your silence, which is nothing else than that you do not know a syllable about the matter. In vain was all your labour to unriddle that knot: your whole astrology goes but to little, and if Master Flea had not fallen upon your nose, all your arts would have helped you little.”
Leeuwenhoek’s brow was red with rage; he clenched his fist, gnashed his teeth, and trembled so violently with agitation, that he would have tumbled from his seat, if Peregrine had not held him as firmly by the arm as George Pepusch grasped the unlucky taverner by the throat, who at length succeeded in saving himself by a dexterous side-spring. Hereupon George rushed out and entered Leeuwenhoek’s room just as Peregrine was holding him fast upon his seat, while he muttered furiously between his teeth, “Cursed Swammerdam! is it you that have done this?”
No sooner did Peregrine perceive his friend than he let go of the microscopist, and going up to him, asked anxiously if that strange frenzy were over which had so dangerously possessed him. Pepusch seemed softened almost to tears, and protested that he had not in all his life committed so many follies as in the course of that one day. Amongst these not the least was that after he had sent a ball through his head in the forest, he had gone into a tavern—where he did not know—had talked to people of strange things, and murderously set upon the host, because from his broken speech he gathered that which was the very happiest thing that could befall him. All his paroxysms would now soon have reached the highest pitch, for the bystanders had taken his words for insanity, and he had to fear: instead of reaping the fruit of the happiest event, that he would be confined in a madhouse. With this he explained what the host had let drop concerning Peregrine’s conduct and declarations, and asked, with downcast eyes, whether such an act of self-denial, in favour of an unhappy friend, was probable, or even possible, in the present day, when heroism had vanished from the earth.
At these declarations from his companion Peregrine revived in his inmost heart. He protested with warmth that for his part he was far removed from doing anything that might in the least annoy his tried friend; that he solemnly renounced all pretensions to the heart and hand of the fair Dörtje Elverdink, and willingly gave up a paradise, though it had indeed opened upon him most seductively.
“And it was you,” said Pepusch, rushing into his friend’s arms, “It was you that I would have murdered, and because I did not believe you, I therefore shot myself. Oh, the madness of a mind ill at ease!”
“I pray you,” said Peregrine, “I pray you come to your senses. You speak of having shot yourself, and yet stand fresh and sound before me. How do these things agree?”
“You are right,” replied Pepusch, “it seems as if I could not speak to you so rationally as I really do, if I had actually sent a ball through my brain. The people, too, maintain that my pistols were not particularly dangerous—nor, indeed, of iron, but of wood—in fact mere toys; and so neither the duel nor the suicide could have been anything more than a pleasant mockery. We must have changed our parts, and I have begun to mystify myself and play the child, at the moment you have left the world of dream to enter into real life. But be this as it may; it is requisite that I should be certain of your generosity and my fortune, and then the clouds will dissipate which trouble my sight, or perhaps deceive me with the illusions of the Fata Morgana. Come, my Peregrine, accompany me to the fair Dörtje Elverdink.”
Pepusch took his friend’s arm, and was hastening off with him, but their intended walk was spared, for the door opened, and in tripped Dörtje Elverdink, lovely as an angel, and behind her the old Swammer. Leeuwenhoek, who had so long remained dumb, casting angry looks first at Pepusch and then at Peregrine, seemed, upon seeing the old Swammerdam, as if struck by an electric shock. He stretched his clenched hands towards him, and cried out in a voice hoarse with rage, “Ha! do you come to mock me, you old deceitful monster? But you shall not succeed. Defend yourself: your last hour has struck.”
Swammerdam started a few steps back, and as Leeuwenhoek was ready to fall upon him with his telescope, drew the like arms for his defence. The duel, which had begun at Peregrine’s, seemed about to be renewed. George Pepusch threw himself between the combatants, and while with his left hand he beat down a murderous glance of Leeuwenhoek’s, which would have stretched his adversary to the earth, with the left he turned aside the weapon of Swammerdam, so that he could not injure Leeuwenhoek. He then declared that he would not allow of any battle between them, till he thoroughly knew the cause of their dissension. Peregrine found this protest so reasonable, that
