Specimens of German Romance; Vol. II. Master Flea — A Reader’s Guide

A Christmas Eve of Unease

The opening chapter establishes a peculiar domestic tension. Peregrine is a grown man who still receives Christmas-boxes, yet his anticipation is described with childlike intensity: he “crept gently up and down” and “seated himself quietly in a corner.” The sanctuary of the show-room, with its sweet smells and dancing lights, is invaded by Leuwenhock, who operates without permission. The stranger’s “odious grin” and casual admission of tormenting his niece with a glass introduce a note of menace. Peregrine’s reaction—calling Leuwenhock “the devil”—is immediate and visceral, yet the narrative does not clarify whether the threat is literal or metaphorical. The excerpt leaves the reader suspended between the cozy Christmas setting and the bizarre intrusion, hinting at a world where ordinary objects (a telescope) become weapons.

Combat by Telescope

The duel between Leuwenhock and Swammerdamm is the story’s most striking set piece. Both men draw “little telescopes” from their pockets, extend them, and fall upon each other with “sharp, murderous glances.” The fight is choreographed like a fencing match: “feints, parries, thrusts,” and when one is hit, he “sprang into the air, cut the most wonderful capers, made the most beautiful entrechats, and turned pirouettes.” The absurdity of the combat—two men fighting with optical instruments while performing ballet steps—undermines any pretense of realism. Hoffmann uses the scene to satirize scholarly rivalry and masculine posturing. The telescopes, normally tools of observation, become weapons of aggression, and the physical comedy (the “violent” alternation of hits) keeps the tone light even as the characters’ anger escalates. The duel is unresolved in the excerpt, leaving the outcome open.

The Elusive Master Flea

Despite the title, Master Flea himself appears only briefly in the excerpts. Leuwenhock accuses Dörtje of running away with “Master Flea,” calling him “the best friend of my soul, without whom I am nothing.” When Peregrine’s collar is grabbed, Master Flea “bursts out into a fine mocking laugh” from a secure hiding place. This laugh startles Leuwenhock, who exclaims, “Can it be possible? Here, on this spot?” The flea is thus positioned as a hidden agent, capable of provoking fear and laughter. The narrative does not explain his nature—whether he is a literal insect, a supernatural being, or a symbolic figure. His laughter suggests a knowingness that contrasts with the human characters’ confusion. Readers are left to infer that Master Flea’s role may be central to the plot, but the excerpts provide only tantalizing glimpses of his influence.

The excerpts from Master Flea reveal a work that resists easy categorization: part domestic comedy, part fantasy, part satire of intellectual pretension. Hoffmann’s narrator is wry and digressive, and the action oscillates between cozy detail and outright absurdity. Readers should attend to the interplay of light and darkness, the use of optical devices as both tools and weapons, and the way the Christmas setting is subverted by intrusion and conflict. The incomplete duel and the mysterious Master Flea promise further complications, but the text’s pleasure lies in its unpredictable shifts in tone and its willingness to mock its own conventions.

That rainy afternoon, I lost myself in Hoffmann’s Master Flea, its whimsical duels and optical tricks feeling oddly comforting against the grey windowpane. Then, almost without thinking, I picked up a dusty volume from the shelf—The Flourishing of Romance and the Rise of Allegory (Periods of European Literature, vol. II) — Text and Context—and found the same playful satire rooted in older, stranger soil. The two books seemed to whisper to each other across centuries.