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!”
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 birthdays 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 anyone 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 birthdays 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 everything, that is, to invite people to drink, and, in the general phrase, to do the honours of the table, with this exception: everything 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,
