The Best Tales of Hoffmann

by E. T. A. Hoffmann

  As the Councillor uttered these words with visible signs of emotion, I felt encouraged to hazard the question, “Will you not play it to me, Councillor?” Krespel made a wry face, and falling into his drawling, singing way, said, “No, my good sir!” and that was an end of the matter. Then I had to look at all sorts of rare curiosities, the greater part of them childish trifles; at last thrusting his arm into a chest, he brought out a folded piece of paper, which he pressed into my hand, adding solemnly, “You are a lover of art; take this present as a priceless memento, which you must value at all times above everything else.”

  Therewith he took me by the shoulders and gently pushed me towards the door, embracing me on the threshold. That is to say, I was in a symbolical manner virtually kicked out of doors. Unfolding the paper, I found a piece of a first string of a violin about an eighth of an inch in length, with the words, “A piece of the treble string with which the deceased Stamitz strung his violin for the last concert at which he ever played.”

  This summary dismissal at mention of Antonia’s name led me to infer that I should never see her; but I was mistaken, for on my second visit to the Councillor’s I found her in his room, assisting him to put a violin together. At first sight Antonia did not make a strong impression; but soon I found it impossible to tear myself away from her blue eyes, her sweet rosy lips, her uncommonly graceful, lovely form. She was very pale; but a shrewd remark or a merry sally would call up a winning smile on her face and suffuse her cheeks with a deep burning flush, which, however, soon faded away to a faint rosy glow.

  My conversation with her was quite unconstrained, and yet I saw nothing whatever of the Argus-like watchings on Krespel’s part which the Professor had imputed to him; on the contrary, his behaviour moved along conventional lines, nay, he even seemed to approve of my conversation with Antonia. So often I stepped in to see the Councillor; and as we became accustomed to each other’s society, a singular feeling of homeliness, taking possession of our little circle of three, filled our hearts with inward happiness. I still continued to derive exquisite enjoyment from the Councillor’s strange crotchets and oddities; but it was of course Antonia’s irresistible charms alone which attracted me, and led me to put up with a good deal which I should otherwise, in the frame of mind in which I then was, have impatiently shunned. For it happened only too often that in the Councillor’s characteristic extravagance there was mingled much that was dull and tiresome; and it was particularly irritating to me that, as soon as I turned the conversation to music, particularly upon singing, he was sure to interrupt me, with that sardonic smile upon his face and those repulsive singing tones of his, by some remark of a quite opposite tendency, very often of a commonplace character. From the great distress which at such times Antonia’s glances betrayed, I perceived that he only did it to deprive me of a pretext for calling upon her for a song. But I didn’t relinquish my design. The hindrances which the Councillor threw in my way only strengthened my resolution to overcome them; I must hear Antonia sing if I was not to pine away in reveries and dim aspirations for want of hearing her.

  One evening Krespel was in an uncommonly good humour; he had been taking an old Cremona violin to pieces, and had discovered that the soundpost was fixed half a line more obliquely than usual—an important discovery! one of incalculable advantage in the practical work of making violins! I succeeded in setting him off at full speed on his hobby of the true art of violin playing. Mention of the way in which the old masters picked up their dexterity in execution from really great singers (which was what Krespel happened just then to be expatiating upon), naturally paved the way for the remark that now the practice was the exact opposite of this, the vocal score erroneously following the affected and abrupt transitions and rapid scaling of the instrumentalists.

  “What is more nonsensical,” I cried, leaping from my chair, running to the piano, and opening it quickly, “what is more nonsensical than such an execrable style as this, which, far from being music, is much more like the noise of peas rolling across the floor?”

  At the same time I sang several of the modern fermatas, which rush up and down and hum like a well-spun peg-top, striking a few villainous chords by way of accompaniment.

  Krespel laughed outrageously and screamed, “Ha! ha! I hear our German-Italians or our Italian-Germans struggling with an aria from Pucitta, or Portogallo, or some other Maestro di capella, or rather schiavo d’un primo uomo.” 2

  Now, thought I, now’s the time; so turning to Antonia, I remarked, “Antonia knows nothing of such singing as that, I believe?” At the same time I struck up one of old Leonardo Leo’s beautiful soul-stirring songs. Then Antonia’s cheeks glowed; heavenly radiance sparkled in her eyes, which grew full of reawakened inspiration; she hastened to the piano; she opened her lips; but at that very moment Krespel pushed her away, grasped me by the shoulders, and with a shriek that rose up to a tenor pitch, cried, “My son—my son—my son!” And then he immediately went on, singing very softly, and grasping my hand with a bow that was the pink of politeness, “In very truth, my esteemed and honourable student friend, in very truth it would be a violation of the codes of social intercourse, as well as of all good manners, were I to express aloud and in a stirring way my wish that here, on this very spot, the devil from hell would softly break your neck with his burning claws, and so in a sense make short work of you; but, setting that aside, you must acknowledge, my dearest friend, that it is rapidly growing dark, and there are no lamps burning tonight so that, even though I did not kick you downstairs at once, your darling limbs might still run a risk of suffering damage. Go home by all means; and cherish a kind remembrance of your faithful friend, if it should happen that you never—pray, understand me—if you should never see him in his own house again.”

  Therewith he embraced me, and still keeping fast hold of me, turned with me slowly towards the door, so that I could not get another look at Antonia. Of course it is plain enough that in my position I couldn’t thrash the Councillor, though that is what he really deserved. The Professor enjoyed a good laugh at my expense, and assured me that I had ruined for ever all hopes of retaining the Councillor’s friendship. Antonia was too dear to me, I might say too holy, for me to go and play the part of the languishing lover and stand gazing up at her window, or to fill the role of the lovesick adventurer. Completely upset, I went away from H——; but, as is usual in such cases, the brilliant colours of the picture of my fancy faded, and the recollection of Antonia, as well as of Antonia’s singing (which I had never heard), often fell upon my heart like a soft faint trembling light, comforting me.

  Two years afterwards I received an appointment in B——, and set out on a journey to the south of Germany. The towers of H——rose before me in the red vaporous glow of the evening; the nearer I came the more was I oppressed by an indescribable feeling of the most agonizing distress; it lay upon me like a heavy burden; I could not breathe; I was obliged to get out of my carriage into the open air. But my anguish continued to increase until it became actual physical pain.

  Soon I seemed to hear the strains of a solemn chorale floating in the air; the sounds continued to grow more distinct. I realized that they were men’s voices chanting a church chorale. “What’s that? what’s that?” I cried, a burning stab darting as it were through my breast. “Don’t you see?” replied the coachman, who was driving along beside me, “why, don’t you see? they’re burying somebody up yonder in yon churchyard.” And indeed we were near the churchyard; I saw a circle of men clothed in black standing round a grave, which was on the point of being closed. Tears started to my eyes; I somehow fancied they were burying there all the joy and all the happiness of life.

  Moving on rapidly down the hill, I was no longer able to see into the churchyard; the chorale came to an end, and I perceived not far distant from the gate some of the mourners returning from the funeral. The Professor, with his niece on his arm, both in deep mourning, went close past me without noticing me. The young lady had her
handkerchief pressed close to her eyes, and was weeping bitterly.

  In the frame of mind in which I then was I could not possibly go into the town, so I sent my servant on with the carriage to the hotel where I usually put up, while I took a turn in the familiar neighbourhood, to get rid of a mood that was possibly only due to physical causes, such as heating on the journey, and so forth.

  On arriving at a very familiar avenue, which leads to a pleasure resort, I came upon a most extraordinary spectacle. Councillor Krespel was being conducted by two mourners, from whom he appeared to be endeavouring to make his escape by all sorts of strange twists and turns. As usual, he was dressed in his own curious homemade gray coat; but from his little cocked hat, which he wore perched over one ear in military fashion, a long narrow ribbon of black crepe fluttered backwards and forwards in the wind. Around his waist he had buckled a black sword belt; but instead of a sword he had stuck a long fiddle bow into it.

  A creepy shudder ran through my limbs: “He’s insane,” thought I, as I slowly followed them. The Councillor’s companions led him as far as his house, where he embraced them, laughing loudly. They left him; and then his glance fell upon me, for I now stood near him. He stared at me fixedly for some time; then he cried in a hollow voice, “Welcome, my student friend! you also understand it!” Thereupon he took me by the arm and pulled me into the house, up the steps, into the room where the violins hung. They were all draped in black crepe; the violin of the old master was missing; in its place was a cypress wreath.

  I knew what had happened. “Antonia! Antonia!” I cried in inconsolable grief. The Councillor, with his arms crossed on his breast, stood beside me as if turned into stone. I pointed to the cypress wreath. “When she died,” he said in a very hoarse solemn voice, “the soundpost of that violin broke into pieces with a ringing crack, and the soundboard was split from end to end. The faithful instrument could only live with her and in her; it lies beside her in the coffin, it has been buried with her.”

  Deeply agitated, I sank down upon a chair, while the Councillor began to sing a gay song in a husky voice; it was truly horrible to see him hopping about on one foot, and the crepe strings (he still had his hat on) flying about the room and up to the violins hanging on the walls. Indeed, I could not repress a loud cry that rose to my lips when, on the Councillor making an abrupt turn, the crepe came all over me; I fancied he wanted to envelop me in it and drag me down into the horrible dark depths of insanity.

  Suddenly he stood still and addressed me in his singing way, “My son! my son! why do you call out? Have you espied the angel of death? That always precedes the ceremony.” Stepping into the middle of the room, he took the violin bow out of his sword belt and, holding it over his head with both hands, broke it into a thousand pieces. Then, with a loud laugh, he cried, “Now you imagine my sentence is pronounced, don’t you, my son? but it’s nothing of the kind—not at all! not at all! Now I’m free—free— free—hurrah! I’m free! Now I shall make no more violins—no more violins—Hurrah! no more violins!” This he sang to a horrible mirthful tune, again spinning round on one foot.

  Perfectly aghast, I was making the best of my way to the door, when he held me fast, saying quite calmly, “Stay, my student friend, pray don’t think from this outbreak of grief, which is torturing me as if with the agonies of death, that I am insane; I only do it because a short time ago I made myself a dressing-gown in which I wanted to look like Fate or like God!” The Councillor then went on with a medley of silly and awful rubbish, until he fell down utterly exhausted. I called the old housekeeper, and was very pleased to find myself in the open air again.

  I never doubted for a moment that Krespel had become insane. The Professor, however, asserted the contrary. “There are men,” he remarked, “from whom nature or a special destiny has taken away the cover behind which the mad folly of the rest of us runs its course unobserved. They are like thin-skinned insects, which, as we watch the restless play of their muscles, seem to be misshapen; nevertheless everything soon comes back into its proper form again. Everything that stays on the level of mental process in us, becomes action in Krespel. That bitter scorn which the spirit that is wrapped up in the doings and dealings of the earth often has, Krespel gives vent to in outrageous gestures and agile caprioles. But these are his lightning conductor. What comes up out of the earth he gives again to the earth, but what is divine, that he keeps; and so I believe that his inner consciousness, in spite of the apparent madness which springs from it to the surface, is as right as a trivet. To be sure, Antonia’s sudden death grieves him sorely, but I warrant that tomorrow will see him going along in his old jogtrot way as usual.” And the Professor’s prediction was almost literally filled. Next day the Councillor appeared to be just as he formerly was, only he averred that he would never make another violin, nor ever play on another. And, as I learned later, he kept his word.

  Hints which the Professor let fall confirmed my own private conviction that the carefully guarded secret of the Councillor’s relations with Antonia, nay, even her death, was a crime which must weigh heavily upon him, a crime that could not be atoned for. I determined that I would not leave H——without taxing him with the offence which I conceived him to be guilty of. I determined to shake his heart down to its very roots, and compel him to make open confession of the terrible deed. The more I reflected upon the matter the clearer it grew in my own mind that Krespel must be a villain, and in the same proportion my intended reproach, which assumed of itself the form of a real rhetorical masterpiece, grew more fiery and more impressive. Thus equipped and mightily incensed, I hurried to his house.

  I found him making toys, smiling calmly. “How can peace,” I burst out, “find lodgment even for a single moment in your breast, as long as the memory of your horrible deed preys like a serpent upon you?”

  He gazed at me in amazement, and laid his chisel aside. “What do you mean, my dear sir?” he asked; “pray take a seat.” But my indignation chafing me more and more, I went on to accuse him directly of having murdered Antonia, and to threaten him with the vengeance of the Eternal.

  Further, as a newly full-fledged lawyer, full of my profession, I went so far as to give him to understand that I would leave no stone unturned to get a clue to the business, and so deliver him here in this world into the hands of an earthly judge.

  I must confess that I was considerably disconcerted when, at the conclusion of my violent and pompous harangue, the Councillor, without answering so much as a single word, calmly fixed his eyes upon me as though expecting me to go on again. And this I did indeed attempt to do, but it sounded so ill-founded and so stupid as well that I soon grew silent again.

  Krespel gloated over my embarrassment, while a malicious ironic smile flitted across his face. Then he grew very grave, and addressed me in solemn tones. “Young man, no doubt you think I am foolish, insane; that I can pardon you, since we are both confined in the same madhouse; and you only blame me for deluding myself with the idea that I am God the Father because you imagine yourself to be God the Son. But how do you dare desire to insinuate yourself into the secrets and lay bare the hidden motives of a life that is strange to you and that must continue so? She has gone and there is no mystery.”

  He ceased speaking, rose, and crossed the room backwards and forwards several times. I ventured to ask for an explanation; he fixed his eyes upon me, grasped me by the hand, and led me to the window, which he threw wide open. Propping himself upon his arms, he leaned out, and, looking down into the garden, told me the history of his life. When he finished I left him, touched and ashamed.

  In a few words, his relations with Antonia rose in the following way. Twenty years ago the Councillor had been led into Italy by his engrossing passion for hunting up and buying the best violins of the old masters. At that time he had not yet begun to make them himself, and so of course he had not begun to take to pieces those which he bought. In Venice he heard the celebrated singer Angela——i, who at that time was playin
g with splendid success as prima donna at St. Benedict’s Theatre.

  His enthusiasm was awakened, not only in her art—which Signora Angela had indeed brought to a high pitch of perfection—but in her angelic beauty as well. He sought her acquaintance; and in spite of all his rugged manners he succeeded in winning her heart, principally through his bold and yet at the same time masterly violin playing.

  Close intimacy led in a few weeks to marriage, which, however, was kept a secret, because Angela was unwilling to sever her connection with the theatre; neither did she wish to part with her professional name, by which she was celebrated, nor to add to it the cacophonous “Krespel.” With the most extravagant irony he described to me what a strange life of worry and torture Angela led him as soon as she became his wife. Krespel was of the opinion that more capriciousness and waywardness were concentrated in Angela’s little person than in all the rest of the prima donnas in the world put together. If now and then he presumed to stand up in his own defense, she let loose a whole army of abbots, music composers, and students upon him, who, ignorant of his true connection with Angela, soundly rated him as a most intolerable, ungallant lover for not submitting to all the Signora’s caprices.

  It was just after one of these stormy scenes that Krespel fled to Angela’s country seat to try and forget in playing fantasias on his Cremona violin the annoyances of the day. But he had not been there long before the Signora, who had followed hard after him, stepped into the room. She was in an affectionate humour; she embraced her husband, overwhelmed him with sweet and languishing glances, and rested her pretty head on his shoulder. But Krespel, carried away into the world of music, continued to play on until the walls echoed again; thus he chanced to touch the Signora somewhat ungently with his arm and the fiddle bow.