The Life and Opinions of the Tomcat Murr

by E. T. A. Hoffmann

  ‘And this very agitation,’ said Julia, interrupting the Princess, ‘shows that you are still unwell, dear Hedwiga, and should spare yourself far more than you actually do!’

  ‘You want to hurt me too!’ cried Princess Hedwiga, jumping up in haste and running to the window. She opened it and looked out into the park. Julia followed her, placed an arm round her, and begged her with the most affectionate melancholy at least to shun the rough wind of autumn, and allow herself that peace the physician thought so beneficial. But the Princess replied that the cold air streaming in through the window revived and strengthened her.

  Julia now spoke from her heart of the recent past, when a dark and menacing spirit had held sway, and how she had to exert all her inner strength not to be driven to distraction by many things which aroused in her a feeling she could compare only to true, mortal fear of the uncanny. Among these she counted principally the mysterious discord which had arisen between Prince Hector and Kreisler, and which made her fear the worst, for it was only too certain that poor Johannes had been intended to die at the hands of the vengeful Italian, and he had been saved, so Master Abraham assured her, only by a miracle.

  ‘And that dreadful man was to be your husband?’ said Julia. ‘No – never, oh never! Thanks be to the Eternal Power! You are saved! He will never come back, will he, Hedwiga? Never!’

  ‘Never!’ replied the Princess, in a low, barely audible voice. Then she sighed deeply, and continued speaking softly as if in a dream. ‘Yes, the pure heavenly fire gives only light and warmth, does not destroy with fierce flames, and she, she herself shines out of the artist’s soul, the idea given form and life – the idea itself – his love! He said so here, on this spot.’

  ‘Who?’ cried Julia, quite bewildered. ‘Who said so? Of whom were you thinking, Hedwiga?’

  The Princess passed her hand over her brow as if she had to recall herself to the present, from which she had escaped. Then, supported by Julia, she tottered to the sofa and sank down upon it, quite exhausted. Concerned for the Princess, Julia wanted to summon the waiting women, but Hedwiga drew her gently down to the sofa, whispering softly, ‘No, dear girl! You, you alone shall stay with me; do not think that some sickness has afflicted me. No, it was the thought of the utmost bliss that became too strong, as if it would rend this breast asunder, and its heavenly rapture felt like mortal pain. Stay with me, dear girl; you yourself don’t know what wonderful magic you can work on me! Let me look into your soul as into a clear, pure mirror, and see myself there. Julia, I often feel as if the inspiration of Heaven came upon you, and the words dropping from your sweet lips like the breath of love were prophecies full of comfort. Julia – dear girl, stay with me, never, never leave me!’

  So saying, and holding Julia’s hands tightly, the Princess sank back on the sofa, her eyes closed.

  Julia was well enough used to moments when Hedwiga fell prey to morbid over-excitement of the mind, but the paroxysm now manifesting itself seemed to her strange: very strange and mysterious. Formerly the Princess had shown a passionate bitterness which arose from the imbalance between her emotions and the structure of life, and which, rising almost to the level of rancour, wounded Julia’s child-like mind. Now Hedwiga seemed quite dissolved in pain and nameless sorrow, as she had never been before, and this dreadful state of mind moved Julia in proportion to her growing anxiety for her beloved friend.

  ‘Hedwiga,’ she cried, ‘my Hedwiga, I will not leave you; no truer heart loves you than mine, but speak, oh, do speak to me! Only trust me, tell me what torment rends your heart! I will weep with you, I will lament with you!’

  At this a strange smile spread over Hedwiga’s face, a soft rosy glow suffused her cheeks, and without opening her eyes she whispered quietly, ‘You’re not in love, Julia, are you?’

  Julia felt strangely affected by this question from the Princess, as if a sudden alarm went quivering through her.

  What young girl’s breast is not stirred by ideas of a passion which seems to be the chief condition of her existence, for only a woman who loves is a woman complete? Yet a pure, childish, devout mind lets these ideas rest without inquiring further, without wishing, in wanton curiosity, to unveil the sweet mystery which will be revealed only at that moment, the moment a vague yearning has promised. So it was with Julia, who suddenly heard spoken what she had not dared to think, and tried to see into her own heart in fear, as if accused of some sin of which she herself was unaware.

  ‘Julia,’ repeated the Princess, ‘you’re not in love? Tell me! Be honest.’

  ‘How strangely,’ replied Julia, ‘how curiously you question me! What can I say – what am I to tell you?’

  ‘Speak, oh, speak!’ begged the Princess. Then all became clear as day in Julia’s soul, and she found words to express what she saw distinctly in her own heart.

  ‘What is in your mind, Hedwiga,’ began Julia, very grave and composed, ‘what is in your mind that you ask me such questions? What does the love of which you speak mean to you? Isn’t one supposed to feel drawn to the beloved with such irresistible force that one lives and breathes only in the thought of him, abandons one’s whole self for him, with such force that he alone seems to be all longing, hope and yearning, all the world? And is this the passion said to afford the highest kind of bliss? I feel dizzy at such a height, for if I look down, the bottomless abyss yawns before me with all the horrors of utter ruin. No, Hedwiga, this love, as terrible as it is sinful, has not seized upon me, and I will cling to the belief that my mind will remain ever pure and free of it. Yet it may well be that one man above all others arouses the highest respect, indeed true admiration in us with the virile, outstanding power of his mind. Even more – when we are near him we feel mysteriously pervaded by a certain pleasing sense of well-being, raised above ourselves; it is as if only now do our minds really awake, only now does life shine with true light, so we are glad when he comes and sorry when he goes. Do you call this love? Why should I not confess to you that our lost Kreisler has aroused that feeling in me, and I miss him painfully.’

  ‘Julia,’ cried the Princess, suddenly starting up and turning a penetrating burning glance on Julia, ‘Julia, can you think of him in another’s arms without perishing in nameless torment?’

  Julia blushed rosy red, and in a tone that betrayed the injury to her feelings she replied, ‘I have never thought of him in my arms!’

  ‘Ah! You don’t love him – you don’t love him!’ cried the Princess in a shrill voice, and then sank back on the sofa.

  ‘Oh,’ said Julia, ‘oh, I wish he would return! Pure and innocent is the emotion I cherish in this breast for that dear man, and if I never see him again then the thought of him, whom I can never forget, will shine into my life like a bright, beautiful star. But surely he will come back! For how can –’

  ‘Never!’ the Princess interrupted Julia in a brusque, cutting tone. ‘He never can or may return. News has come that he is at Kanzheim Abbey, and will renounce the world and enter the order of St Benedict.’

  Bright tears came into Julia’s eyes. She rose in silence and went to the window.

  ‘Your mother is right,’ continued the Princess, ‘she is perfectly right. It is as well for us that he’s gone – that madman who forced his way like an evil spirit into the counsels of our hearts, who knew how to pierce us to the quick. And music was his magical means of ensnaring us. I never want to see him again.’

  Julia felt the Princess’s words like a dagger stabbing her. She reached for her hat and shawl.

  ‘Will you leave me?’ cried the Princess. ‘Will you leave me, my sweet friend? Stay – oh, stay – comfort me if you can! Strange horror stalks these halls, walks in the park, for you must know –’ And so saying, Hedwiga led Julia to the window and pointed to the pavilion where Prince Hector’s adjutant had been staying. She began, in low tones, ‘Look there, Julia, those walls hide a dreadful mystery. The castellan and the gardeners all swear that no one’s living there now that Prince Hector
has left, the doors are locked fast, and yet – oh, just look, look there! – don’t you see it at the window?’

  Julia did indeed see a dark figure at the window in the gable end of the pavilion: a figure which swiftly disappeared again at that same moment.

  Feeling Hedwiga’s hand tremble convulsively in her own, Julia said there could be no question of a dreadful mystery here, or of anything at all uncanny, since it was only too likely that one of the servants might be using the empty pavilion without permission. Indeed, the place could be searched and the identity of the figure showing itself at the window cleared up directly, she said. But the Princess assured her, to the contrary, that the faithful old castellan had done so long ago at her desire, and said he had found no trace of any human being in the whole pavilion.

  ‘Let me tell you,’ said the Princess, ‘let me tell you what happened three nights ago! You know that often sleep eludes me, and then I am used to rise and walk about the apartments until a weariness overcomes me to which I abandon myself, and I really do fall asleep. So it was that sleeplessness drove me into this room three nights ago. I suddenly saw the reflection of a light quivering on the wall. Looking out of the window, I saw four men, one of them carrying a dark lantern; they disappeared somewhere near the pavilion, and I couldn’t see whether they had actually gone in. However, it was not long before light showed in that same window, and there were shadows flitting about inside. Then it was dark again, but soon a bright light shone through the bushes, a light that must have come from the open door of the pavilion. The light came closer and closer, until at last a Benedictine monk stepped out of the bushes, with a torch in his left hand and a crucifix in his right. He was followed by four men carrying a bier draped in black cloth on their shoulders. They had gone only a few paces when a figure wrapped in a voluminous cloak came to meet them. They stopped and put down the bier, the figure removed the draperies, and a corpse came into view. I nearly fainted away; I scarcely saw the men raising the bier and hastening after the monk along the broad side avenue that soon leads out of the park on the road to Kanzheim Abbey. That form has been visible at the window ever since, and perhaps it is a murdered man’s ghost I fear.’

  Julia was inclined to think the whole incident as told by Hedwiga a dream or, if she had indeed been standing awake at the window, a deceptive trick played on her by her agitated mind. Who would or could the dead man be – a man carried away from the pavilion in such mysterious circumstances, since there was nobody missing? And who could believe that the dead stranger was still haunting the place from which he had been taken? Julia said all this to the Princess, adding that the apparition at the window could well be an optical illusion, or even some jest of that old magician Master Abraham, who often amused himself with such things and might have given the empty pavilion a ghostly inmate.

  ‘Oh,’ said the Princess, smiling gently, her whole composure restored, ‘how glibly the explanation of some strange, supernatural incident comes to hand! As for the dead man, you forget what happened in the park before Kreisler left us.’

  ‘For God’s sake,’ cried Julia, ‘was some terrible deed really done? Who? By whom?’

  ‘You know,’ continued Hedwiga, ‘you know, my dear, that Kreisler is alive. But the man who loves you is alive too – don’t look at me in such alarm! How can you have failed to guess, long ago, what I must tell you so that you understand something which, if it is hidden any longer, could ruin you? Prince Hector loves you, you, Julia, with all the wild passion peculiar to his nation. I was and am betrothed to him, but you, Julia, are his beloved.’ The Princess uttered these last words in her own sharp way, although without laying any particular emphasis on them to suggest a sense of emotional injury.

  ‘O Eternal Power!’ cried Julia vehemently, tears streaming from her eyes. ‘Hedwiga, will you cut me to the heart? What dark spirit speaks out of you? No, no, I will happily suffer you to take revenge on my poor self for all the nightmares that have disturbed you, but I will never believe in the truth of that threatening phantasm! Only recollect, Hedwiga, you are no longer betrothed to the dreadful man who appeared to us like ruin itself! He will never come back, you will never be his!’

  ‘Oh yes,’ replied the Princess, ‘oh yes, I will! Control yourself, dear girl! Only when the Church has united me with Prince Hector will that dreadful dissonance in my life that makes me wretched perhaps be resolved! Heaven’s wonderful providence will save you. We shall part: I to follow my husband, you to stay here!’ The Princess fell silent in emotional turmoil, and Julia herself was unable to utter a word. In silence and tears they fell into each other’s arms.

  It was announced that tea was served. Julia was more agitated than her mild, quiet nature would let her appear. She felt she could not possibly remain in company, and her mother willingly allowed her to go home, since Princess Hedwiga too wished to rest.

  On being questioned by Princess Maria, Fräulein Nannette assured her that Hedwiga had been feeling perfectly well that afternoon and evening, and had insisted on being alone with Julia. So far as she could see from the next room, she said, the Princess and Julia had been telling each other all kinds of stories and playing together, now laughing, now crying.

  ‘The dear girls,’ said the Lord Marshal softly.

  ‘The amiable Princess, the dear girl!’ Prince Irenaeus corrected the Lord Marshal, flashing him a sharp look. In his embarrassment at his shocking faux pas, the Lord Marshal tried to swallow whole a large piece of biscuit he had been dipping in his tea. It stuck in his throat, and he fell into a frightful fit of coughing, so that he had to leave the hall in a hurry, and was saved from choking miserably to death only when the court seneschal performed a well-arranged drum solo on his back with a practised fist in the ante-room.

  Having been guilty of two solecisms, the Lord Marshal feared committing a third, and consequently dared not return to the hall, but sent his excuses to the Prince, saying he was suddenly taken ill. His absence, however, broke up the Prince’s usual whist party. When the card tables were set up, everyone waited in breathless expectation to see what the Prince would do in this crisis. In fact he did nothing, but having signed to the others to sit down and play, took Madame Benzon’s hand, led her to the sofa and told her to sit down, while he himself sat beside her.

  ‘I wouldn’t have liked it,’ said he in the soft, gentle tones he always used with Madame Benzon, ‘I really would not have liked it if the Lord Marshal had choked on that biscuit. But he did seem to be suffering from absence of mind, something I have often noticed in him before, for he called Princess Hedwiga just a girl, so he would have made a poor hand at whist. Anyway, my dear Benzon, I find it very welcome and agreeable not to play today, but exchange a few words with you alone here in confidence instead, in our old way. Ah, our old way! Well, you know of my attachement to you, dear lady! It can never cease; a princely heart is always faithful, so long as insurmountable circumstances don’t demand otherwise.’

  With these words, the Prince kissed Madame Benzon’s hand much more affectionately than their rank, age and surroundings would seem to permit. Madame Benzon assured the Prince, her eyes sparkling joyfully, that she had long wished for an opportunity to speak to him in confidence, since she had much to tell him which he would not dislike hearing.

  ‘You must know,’ said Madame Benzon, ‘you must know, your Highness, that the Privy Legation Councillor has written again to say that our business has suddenly taken a turn for the better, and –’

  ‘Hush,’ the Prince interrupted her, ‘hush, dear lady, no government business! A prince too wears a dressing-gown and dons a nightcap upon going to bed, almost crushed by the burden of ruling, although to be sure Frederick the Great of Prussia was an exception, and as you will be aware, being a well-read woman, wore a felt hat even when he retired. Well, I mean that even a prince always has too much about him of what – well, what people call the basis of so-called ordinary life, marriage, the joys of fatherhood, and so forth – he has too mu
ch of it to deny those feelings entirely, and he may be pardoned for abandoning himself to them at those moments when his attention isn’t wholly claimed by state business, by his care for proper decorum at court and in the country. My dear Benzon, this is such a moment; seven documents lie signed in my cabinet, so now let me forget I am a prince at all, let me be entirely the paterfamilias at tea here, Baron von Gemmingen’s German paterfamilias.63 Let me speak of my – yes, of my children, who cause me such grief that I often fall into a most unseemly disturbance of mind.’

  ‘Your children?’ said Madame Benzon, her voice sharp. ‘We’re to speak of your children, are we, your Highness? You must mean Prince Ignatius and Princess Hedwiga. Go on, your Highness, go on. Perhaps, like Master Abraham, I can offer advice and comfort.’

  ‘Yes,’ continued the Prince, ‘oh yes, I would sometimes be very glad of advice and comfort! You see, my dear Benzon, taking Prince Ignatius first, of course he didn’t need any special intellectual gifts, such as Nature is accustomed to give those who would otherwise remain obscure and insensible on account of their rank – but one could wish he had a little more esprit. He is, he will always be a – simpleton! There he sits, you see, dangling his feet, playing one wrong card after another, giggling and laughing like a boy of seven! Benzon, entre nous soit dit, he can’t even be taught as much of the art of writing as he needs. His princely signature looks like an owl’s claw. Merciful Heaven, what’s to come of this? The other day I was disturbed in my business by a dreadful barking outside my window. I look out, to have the importunate Pom driven away, and what do I see? Would you believe it, dear lady? I see Prince Ignatius, barking at the top of his voice and chasing the gardener’s boy as they play hound and hare together! Can you make any sense of that? Are those princely passions? Can the Prince ever attain the slightest degree of independence?’

  ‘That,’ replied Madame Benzon, ‘that is the very reason why the Prince should be married as soon as possible, to a wife whose grace, charm and good understanding will awaken his sleeping senses, and who will be kindly disposed enough to lower herself entirely to his level, so that she can then gradually draw him up to hers. Such qualities are essential in the woman who is to be the Prince’s wife, to save him from a state of mind which – and it grieves me to say so, your Highness – which could eventually degenerate into true insanity. For that same reason, her rare qualities alone must be the criterion; her rank must not be too strictly regarded.’