The Life and Opinions of the Tomcat Murr

by E. T. A. Hoffmann

  ‘Upon this the President told Formosus, “Cheer up, my boy! Be happy and cheerful – you shall have my Ulrike!” So Ulrike was betrothed to young Herr Formosus. Everyone was pleased to hear of the handsome, modest young fellow’s good fortune, except for one man, who was cast into grief and despair. This was Walter, who had been the dearest childhood friend of Formosus. Walter had seen and spoken to Ulrike several times, and he too had fallen in love with her, perhaps even more desperately in love than his friend. But here I go speaking of love, and being in love, although I have no idea whether you’ve ever been in love yourself, my dear cat, and so know what the feeling is like.’

  ‘Personally,’ I replied, ‘personally, my dear Ponto, I don’t believe I am in love or ever have been, since as far as I’m aware I have not yet experienced that condition as several poets describe it. Of course poets aren’t always entirely to be believed, but from what else I know and have read of love, it can really be nothing but a state of mental illness manifesting itself in the male sex as the delusion of partiality, in which you imagine something to be quite other than what it really is – for instance, you take a plump little dab of a girl darning stockings for a goddess. But pray go on with your tale of the two friends Formosus and Walter, my dear poodle.’

  ‘Walter,’ continued Ponto, ‘embraced Formosus and said, shedding many tears, “You rob me of my life’s bliss, but my comfort is that you are the man who does so, that you will be happy. Farewell, my dear fellow, farewell for ever!” Thereupon Walter ran into the densest of thickets intending to shoot himself. However, he failed, having forgotten to load his pistol in his despair, so he contented himself with breaking out in several fits of madness every day. One day Formosus, whom he had not seen for many weeks, unexpectedly called on him just as he was kneeling before Ulrike’s portrait done in pastels, which was hanging on the wall framed and glazed, and lamenting most dreadfully. “No,” cried Formosus, pressing Walter to his breast, “no, I could never endure your pain, your despair; I will gladly sacrifice my happiness to you. I have renounced Ulrike, I have persuaded her old father to accept you as his son-in-law! Ulrike loves you, perhaps without knowing it herself. Pay court to her! I am going away, so farewell!”

  ‘And he was about to leave, but Walter prevented him. Walter himself felt as if he were dreaming, and couldn’t believe it until Formosus produced a note in the old President’s own hand, which ran more or less as follows: “Noble youth! you have prevailed. I let you go with reluctance, but I honour your friendship, equal as it is to the heroism of which we read in the works of old writers. Let Herr Walter, a man of laudable qualities employed in a fine, profitable position, come to court my daughter Ulrike, and if she wants to marry him I for my part have no objection.” So Formosus did indeed go away, Walter went to court Ulrike, and Ulrike did indeed become Walter’s wife.

  ‘Well, the old President wrote to Formosus again, praising him to the skies and asking whether he might perhaps do him, the President, the favour of accepting three thousand thalers, not of course by way of compensation, for he well knew there could be none in such a case, but merely as a small token of his sincere affection. Formosus replied that the old man knew how modest were his needs, and that money would not, could not make him happy; only time could console him for a loss that was the fault of no one but Fate, which had inflamed his dear friend’s breast with love for Ulrike, and he had yielded to Fate alone, so there could be no question of any kind of noble deed. However, he would accept the gift on condition that the old man bestowed it upon an old widow who lived in miserable poverty, with a virtuous daughter, in such and such a place. The widow was located and given the three thousand reichsthalers intended for Formosus.

  ‘Soon afterwards Walter wrote to Formosus: “I cannot live without you any longer. Come back, come to my arms!” Formosus did, and discovered on his return that Walter was giving up his fine, profitable position on condition that it went to Formosus, who had long wished for such a place. Sure enough, Formosus got the post, and apart from his disappointed hopes of marriage to Ulrike he was now in the most comfortable circumstances. City and country alike admired the magnanimous rivalry between the two friends; their deeds were considered to echo better times long gone, and held up as an example of the heroism of which only great minds are capable.’

  ‘Well, to be sure,’ I began, when Ponto fell silent, ‘to be sure, from everything I’ve read, Walter and Formosus must be noble, strong characters, ignoring your famous worldly wisdom in their faithful self-sacrifice for each another.’

  ‘Hm,’ replied Ponto, with a sly smile, ‘that depends! I have yet to tell you a few things which escaped notice in town: some of them I’ve learnt from my master, some I have picked up myself. The love Herr Formosus entertained for the rich President’s daughter can’t have been as desperate as the old man thought, for at the very height of this mortal passion the young man did not neglect, having spent all day in despair, to visit a pretty, sweet little milliner every evening. And once Ulrike was betrothed to him, he soon found out that the angelically gentle young lady had a talent of her own for suddenly becoming a little demon upon occasion. He also received the vexatious information, from a reliable source, that Fräulein Ulrike had acquired considerable experience of love and its delights at the Prince’s residence, and it was now that he was suddenly overcome by that irresistible magnanimity which caused him to yield his rich bride to his friend. Walter, in a strange state of confusion, had indeed fallen in love with Ulrike, whom he had seen in public in the glory bestowed by all the arts of her toilette, while as for Ulrike, she didn’t mind which of the two of them became her husband, Formosus or Walter. And the latter did indeed have a fine, profitable position, but he had made such dreadful mistakes in his work that he must very soon expect to face dismissal. He preferred to resign first in his friend’s favour, thus salvaging his honour with an act that bore every token of the noblest cast of mind. The three thousand thalers, in good securities, were delivered to a very respectable old lady who sometimes called herself the mother, sometimes the aunt and sometimes the maidservant of that pretty milliner. She figured in a dual capacity in this business: first, upon receiving the money, as the mother, and then, when she handed it over and received a good fee, as the maidservant of the girl, whom you have seen, my dear Murr, for she was looking out of the window with Herr Formosus just now. Incidentally, both Formosus and Walter have long known in just what way they outdid each other in nobility of mind. They’ve been avoiding one another for some time, so as to avoid mutual panegyrics, which is why their greetings were so warm today when chance brought them together in the street.’

  At that moment a terrible noise arose. People were running hither and thither, shouting ‘Fire! Fire!’. Horsemen galloped down the streets; carriages clattered along. Flames and clouds of smoke billowed from the windows of a house not far away. Ponto swiftly ran on ahead, but in my alarm I climbed a tall ladder leaning against a building, and soon found myself in perfect safety on the roof. Suddenly everything –

  W.P. – headlong and quite unexpectedly,’ said Prince Irenaeus, ‘without applying to the Lord Marshal, without any introduction from the Chamberlain on duty, almost – I tell you this in confidence, Master Abraham, so pray do not spread it abroad – almost unannounced – no livery servants in the ante-rooms! The fools were playing cards in the vestibule. Gaming is a terrible vice. Once he was inside the door the Steward of the Table, who fortunately happened to be passing through, caught him by the coat-tails and asked who the gentleman was, and how he was to be presented to the Prince. But I liked him; he’s a very good fellow. Didn’t you say he used to be no less than a pure, simple musician, and even of some rank?’

  Master Abraham assured him that Kreisler had indeed once lived in very different circumstances, even qualifying him to dine at the princely table, and only the devastating hurly-burly of the times had expelled him from those circumstances. However, said Master Abraham, Kreisler did not wish t
he veil he had cast over the past to be removed.

  ‘Ah,’ said the Prince, ‘of noble rank, then! Perhaps a baron – a count – perhaps even – no, one must not take imagined hopes too far! I have a weakness for such mysteries! What a fine time that was after the French Revolution, when marquises were making sealing-wax, and counts were netting lace nightcaps and claiming to be nothing but plain Monsieurs, and the great masquerade was such fun! Yes, well, about Herr von Kreisler!17 Madame Benzon understands these things; she sang his praises, she recommended him to me, and she is right. I immediately recognized him for a man of education and refined breeding from his way of holding his hat under his arm.’

  The Prince added further praise of Kreisler’s outward appearance, so that Master Abraham felt sure his plan must succeed. For he intended to introduce his close friend into the imaginary court as Kapellmeister, thus keeping him in Sieghartsweiler. However, when he broached the subject again, the Prince replied very firmly that nothing whatever could come of it.

  ‘Now tell me,’ he continued, ‘tell me yourself, Master Abraham, how could I draw that amiable man into my more intimate family circle if I made him Kapellmeister, and thus one of my employees? I could give him a court position, make him maître de plaisir or maître des spectacles,18 but you see, the man knows all about music, and you say he’s well versed in the theatre too. Now I won’t budge from the principle of my late father, may he rest in peace, who always held that the said maître must on no account understand anything about the matters for which he is responsible, since he would then pay them far too much attention and take too little interest in the people involved, such as actors, musicians and the like. So let Herr von Kreisler continue to wear the mask of a Kapellmeister from another court and enter the private apartments of the princely house, after the fashion of a man of some rank19 who entertained the most refined circles a little while ago with the most delightful nonsense, wearing what one must admit to have been the reprehensible mask of an unscrupulous play-actor.

  ‘And,’ called the Prince after Master Abraham, who seemed on the point of leaving, ‘and as you seem to be, as it were, chargé d’affaires to Herr von Kreisler, I will not conceal from you that there are only two things I don’t quite like about him, and perhaps they are mannerisms rather than anything else. You’ll know how I mean that. First, he stares straight into my face when I’m talking to him. Well now, I have remarkable eyes, and I can make them blaze most terribly, just like Frederick the Great of old! Not a chamberlain or page dares look up when I bend my dreadful gaze on him and ask whether that mauvais sujet20 has fallen into debt again, or eaten all the marzipan! As for Herr von Kreisler, though, I may dart lightning at him as much as I like, but he doesn’t care a bit, just smiles at me in such a way that – that I myself have to lower my eyes. And then the man has such a curious way of speaking, of answering you, of carrying on a conversation, that you might sometimes think you hadn’t actually said anything out of the ordinary yourself and were almost, so to speak, a fool – oh, by St Januarius, Master, this is quite intolerable, and you must make sure Herr von Kreisler breaks himself of any such habits or mannerisms.’

  Master Abraham promised to do as Prince Irenaeus asked, and was once again on the point of leaving when the Prince mentioned the particular aversion Princess Hedwiga had expressed for Kreisler, saying that he thought the child had been tormented for some time by strange dreams and fancies, and as a consequence the court physician had recommended her to take the whey cure next spring. For Hedwiga, he added, had now taken into her head the strange notion that Kreisler had escaped from the madhouse, and would do all manner of harm at the first opportunity he got.

  ‘Now tell me,’ said the Prince, ‘tell me, Master Abraham, is there any trace of mental disturbance at all in that sensible man?’

  Abraham replied that Kreisler was no crazier than himself, but he did sometimes act rather strangely, and would fall into a state of mind almost comparable with that of Prince Hamlet, which only made him all the more interesting.

  ‘As far as I’m aware,’ remarked the Prince, ‘young Hamlet was an excellent prince descended from a distinguished old royal house, and only occasionally came out with the curious idea that all his courtiers should be able to play the recorder.21 It is appropriate for persons of high degree to be prey to strange notions; it increases respect. What might be called absurd in a man without rank or station is, in such persons, merely the pleasing whim of a mind out of the common run, and will arouse astonishment and admiration. Herr von Kreisler ought really to remain on the straight and narrow path, but if he insists upon imitating Prince Hamlet it shows a noble striving for higher things, perhaps the result of his powerful inclination towards musical studies. He may be forgiven for behaving strangely at times.’

  It looked as if Master Abraham would never be able to get out of the Prince’s room that day, for the Prince called him back yet again when he had the door open, wanting to know what might have caused Princess Hedwiga’s curious aversion to Kreisler. Master Abraham told him how Kreisler had first appeared to the Princess and Julia in the park at Sieghartshof, and said he thought that the Kapellmeister’s agitated mood at the time was very likely to have had an unfortunate effect upon a lady whose nerves were delicate.

  The Prince expressed the opinion, with some vehemence, that he hoped Herr von Kreisler hadn’t really come to Sieghartshof on foot, but had left his carriage somewhere in the broad avenues of the park, for only common adventurers were in the habit of travelling on foot.

  Master Abraham adduced the example of a brave officer22 who walked from Leipzig to Syracuse without having his boots mended once, but as for Kreisler, he said he felt sure that a carriage had indeed stopped in the park. The Prince was satisfied.

  While this was going on in the Prince’s apartments, Johannes was sitting in Madame Benzon’s rooms at the finest grand piano ever built by the ingenious Nannette Streicher,23 accompanying Julia in Clytemnestra’s great and passionate recitative from Gluck’s Iphigenia in Aulis.24

  If the portrait of his hero is to be a true likeness, the present biographer is unfortunately obliged to present him as an eccentric character who may often appear almost like a madman to the sober observer, particularly with respect to his musical enthusiasm. He has already had to record Kreisler’s extravagance of style in saying that ‘when Julia sang all the yearning pain of love, all the delight of sweet dreams, hope and longing surged through the forest and fell like reviving dew on the fragrant flower-cups, on the breasts of listening nightingales!’ From this, it would not appear that Kreisler’s judgement of Julia’s performance was of any particular value. However, the aforesaid biographer can take this opportunity of assuring his gentle reader that there must have been something mysterious and very wonderful about her singing, which he himself, alas, never heard. Uncommonly sound characters who had only recently had their pigtails cut off,25 whose equilibrium of mind was not to be shaken in the least by going to the theatre to hear Gluck, Mozart, Beethoven and Spontini26 after they had dealt appropriately with a good legal case, a malevolently curious illness or a recent consignment of Strasbourg pâté de foie gras, even people such as these have often said that when Fräulein Julia Benzon sang they felt very odd indeed, they couldn’t quite say how. A certain uneasiness which yet aroused indescribable pleasure took hold of them entirely, and they often reached the point of playing pranks and conducting themselves like young visionaries and versifiers. It should also be mentioned that once, when Julia sang at court, Prince Irenaeus groaned distinctly, and when the song was finished went over to Julia, pressed her hand to his lips and said, in a very lachrymose voice, ‘My dear, dear young lady!’ The Lord Marshal ventured to claim that Prince Irenaeus had actually kissed little Julia’s hand, while a few tears trickled from his eyes. However, the Mistress of the Household said this claim was unseemly, and not in the interests of the court, so it was hushed up.

  Julia, who had a full, ringing voice as pure as a
bell, sang with the feeling and enthusiasm that flow from a heart moved to its depths, and that might well have been the cause of the wonderful, irresistible spell she cast today, as usual. All who heard her held their breath as she sang, all felt their breasts oppressed by a sweet, strange melancholy, and it was a few moments after she had finished before their delight broke out in the most unbounded, stormy applause. Only Kreisler sat silent and motionless, leaning back in his chair. Then he rose, softly and slowly, and Julia turned to him with a glance that clearly asked, ‘Was that all right?’

  However, she cast her eyes down and blushed when Kreisler, laying his hand on his heart, whispered, ‘Oh, Julia!’ in a trembling voice and then, head bent, stole away rather than walking off behind the circle of ladies.

  Madame Benzon the councillor’s widow had gone to great pains to persuade Princess Hedwiga to attend this evening party, where she was sure to meet Kapellmeister Kreisler. The Princess agreed only when Madame Benzon told her, very gravely, how childish it would be to avoid a man just because he was not out of the same mould as the common herd, but displayed a singularity which was indeed bizarre at times. In addition, she said, Kreisler had been admitted to the Prince’s court, so it would really be impossible for Hedwiga to remain obdurate.