The Life and Opinions of the Tomcat Murr

by E. T. A. Hoffmann

  All that evening, Princess Hedwiga managed to twist and turn so cleverly that Kreisler who, inoffensive and tractable as he was, really wanted to placate her, could not get near her however hard he tried. She countered his cleverest manoeuvres with cunning tactics. Madame Benzon, who had noticed all this, found it all the more striking when at this moment the Princess suddenly broke through the circle of ladies and positively marched up to the Kapellmeister. Kreisler was standing so deep in thought that he woke from his dream only when the Princess asked whether he alone had no word or sign to add to the applause Julia had earned.

  ‘Your Highness,’ replied Kreisler, in a tone that betrayed his inner turmoil, ‘your Highness, famous written have given it as their opinion that when we have departed this world we have only thoughts and looks at our command, no words, and I believe I was in Heaven!’

  ‘In that case,’ replied the Princess, smiling, ‘our Julia is an angel of light, since she could open the gates of Paradise for you! But now I must ask you to leave Heaven for a few moments and give a poor child of earth like myself a hearing.’

  The Princess stopped, as if expecting Kreisler to say something. However, as he looked at her in silence with a shining glance, she cast her eyes down and quickly turned so that the shawl draped loosely around her shoulders dropped off. Kreisler caught it as it fell. The Princess stood still. ‘Then allow us,’ she said, her voice wavering and uncertain as if she were wresding with some decision and found it difficult to come out with what she had determined, ‘then allow us to speak quite prosaically of poetic matters. I know you are giving Julia singing lessons, and I must say that her voice and performance have improved immeasurably since you began, which leads me to hope that you would be able to improve even a moderate talent like my own. I mean –’

  The Princess hesitated, blushing deeply, and Madame Benzon joined them, assuring Kreisler that the Princess did herself a great injustice by calling her musical talent moderate, for she played the pianoforte very well and could sing with great expression. Kreisler, suddenly finding the Princess remarkably charming in her embarrassment, came out with a torrent of kind remarks, and concluded by saying that he could know no greater fortune than for the Princess to allow him to help her, by word and deed, in the study of music.

  The Princess listened to the Kapellmeister with obvious pleasure, and when he had finished, and a glance from Madame Benzon reproached her for her curious shyness towards so amiable a man, she said almost under her voice, ‘Yes, yes, Benzon, you are right! I am often a very childish creature, to be sure!’

  As she spoke she put out her hand for the shawl Kreisler was still holding, without looking at it, and he handed it to her. How it was that in so doing he touched the Princess’s hand, he himself did not know, but a violent pulse-beat throbbed through all his nerves, and he felt as if his senses were leaving him.

  Then, like a ray of light breaking through dark clouds, Kreisler heard Julia’s voice. ‘I am to sing again,’ she said, ‘I’m to sing again, my dear Kreisler! They won’t leave me in peace! I would like to try that lovely duet you taught me the other day.’

  ‘Well now,’ said Madame Benzon, ‘you can’t refuse my Julia’s request, dear Kapellmeister, so off with you to the piano!’

  Unable to utter a word, Kreisler seated himself at the grand piano and struck the first chords of the duet as if dazed and confused by some strange intoxication. Julia began: ‘Ah che mi manca l’anima in si fatal momento.’27 It should be said that the words of this duet, in the usual Italian manner, spoke simply of the parting of a pair of lovers, that momento of course rhymed with sento and tormento, and that the Abbi pietade o cielo and the pena di morir were there too, as in a hundred other duets. However, Kreisler had composed the setting of these words in the greatest agitation of mind, with an ardour which, in performance, was certain to enrapture anyone to whom Heaven had granted even a passable ear. The duet might be ranked with the most passionate works of its kind, and its intonation was rather difficult, since Kreisler strove only for the highest expression of the idea and not for what the soprano could easily and comfortably encompass. Consequently Julia began timidly, in an almost uncertain voice, and when Kreisler came in his was not much better. But soon both voices rose on the waves of the song like shimmering swans, now aspiring to rise aloft to the radiant, golden clouds with the beat of rushing wings, now to sink dying in a sweet amorous embrace in the roaring current of chords, until deep sighs heralded the proximity of death, and with a wild cry of pain the last Addio welled like a fount of blood from the wounded breast.

  There was no one present who was not deeply moved by the duet; bright tears stood in many eyes, and Madame Benzon herself confessed that she had never known anything like it even in some finely performed scene of farewell in the theatre. Julia and the Kapellmeister were praised to the skies; their audience commended the true enthusiasm that inspired them both, and perhaps ranked the composition higher than it deserved.

  During the song Princess Hedwiga’s inner emotion had been obvious, hard as she tried to keep calm and indeed hide any show of interest. Beside her sat a rosy-cheeked young lady-in-waiting, equally ready with tears and laughter, who whispered all kinds of things into the Princess’s ear without getting any answer but single words uttered for the sake of courtly convention. The lady-in-waiting also whispered casual remarks to Madame Benzon on her other side, as if she were not listening to the duet at all, but that lady, in her severe manner, asked her to be good enough to save her conversation until the duet was over. At that point, however, the Princess said in a voice loud enough to be heard above the commendations of the entire party, her whole face glowing and her eyes flashing, ‘I suppose I may be allowed to give my own opinion! I admit that the duet may have some value as a musical composition, and my dear Julia sang beautifully, but is it right, is it proper, in a comfortable gathering where friendly conversation should come first, where social intercourse should give rise to speech and song like a brook murmuring softly between beds of flowers – is it right to serve up extravagant notions that rend the heart, ideas whose powerful and destructive impression cannot be overcome? I have tried to close my ears and my mind to the wild pain of the infernal regions which Kreisler has expressed in music, with an art that scorns our vulnerable feelings, but no one was kind enough to take any notice of me. I will happily expose my weakness to your irony, Kapellmeister, I will readily admit that the dreadful impression left by your duet has made me quite ill. Is there no Cimarosa, no Paesiello,28 whose compositions are written in a manner fit for society?’

  ‘Oh God!’ cried Kreisler, his face quivering in the liveliest play of muscles, as it always did when his sense of humour was aroused, ‘oh God, your Highness! Poor Kapellmeister that I am, how entirely do I share your kind and gracious opinion! Is it not an offence against all correct manners and correct attire to bare a breast with all its pain, melancholy and rapture in society, unless it be thickly veiled with the fichu29 of proper conduct and convention? Are all the fire-extinguishing devices which ensure good tone everywhere worth anything, are they sufficient to smother the naphthalene flames that will flicker up here and there? Do we swallow so much tea, so much sugar-water, so much polite conversation, indeed so much amiable chit-chat just to have some evil-minded fire-raiser succeed in throwing a Congreve rocket into our hearts, whereupon up comes the flame shining bright, burning bright even, as pure moonshine never does? Yes, your Highness, I am the unhappiest of Kapellmeisters here below, I have sinned dreadfully with that terrible duet which passed right through this company like some infernal firework display with all manner of flares, rockets, firecrackers and maroons,30 and now, alas, I see it’s struck a spark almost everywhere! Ho there! Fire – fire – mordio, how it burns – rouse the fire-fighters – water – water – help, help!’

  Kreisler made for the box of sheet music, pulling it out from under the piano, opened it – rummaged among the music – snatched up a score, Paesiello’s Molinara,
31 sat down at the instrument and began to play the ritornello of the well-known, pretty arietta, La Rachelina molinarina, with which the miller’s daughter makes her entrance –

  ‘Oh, my dear Kreisler!’ said Julia very timidly, in alarm.

  But Kreisler flung himself down on both knees before Julia and implored her, ‘Dearest, loveliest Julia! Take pity on this esteemed company, bring comfort to their desolate hearts, sing Rachelina’s song! And if you won’t, there’s no help for it: here, before your very eyes, I must plunge into the despair on whose verge I am already teetering, and it will be no use clutching your lost Maître de la Chapelle’s coat-tails, for as you cry out in the kindness of your heart, “O Johannes, stay with us!”, he will already have gone down to the river Acheron32 to cut the most graceful of capers in the demonic shawl dance, so sing, dear lady!’

  Julia did as Kreisler had asked, although, as it seemed, with some reluctance.

  As soon as the arietta was over Kreisler began on the notary’s famous comic duet with the miller’s daughter. Julia’s singing, in voice and style, inclined towards the serious and emotional, yet when she was performing comic pieces she could command a mood which was attractive charm itself. Kreisler had mastered the odd but irresistibly pleasing manner of the Italian buffi33 and today took it almost to excess, for while his voice did not seem like itself, adapting to extreme dramatic expression in a thousand shades of meaning, he also pulled faces all the time he was singing, faces so singular that they would have made a Cato34 laugh.

  No one could help applauding loudly and breaking into roars of laughter.

  Delighted, Kreisler kissed Julia’s hand, which she quickly withdrew in decided vexation. ‘Oh,’ said Julia, ‘oh, Kapellmeister, I cannot accustom myself to your strange moods – eccentric moods, I might call them – no, I cannot like them! Such a bold leap from one extreme to another goes to my heart! I beg you, dear Kreisler, don’t ask me to sing a comic piece again, however pretty and charming, when my mind is deeply moved and sounds of the most profound melancholy are still echoing within me. I know I can do it, I can carry it off, but it makes me feel quite ill and exhausted, so don’t ask me to do it any more. You’ll promise me, won’t you dear Kreisler?’

  The Kapellmeister was about to reply, but here Princess Hedwiga embraced Julia more fervendy and laughed more uproariously than any Mistress of the Household would have thought seemly.

  ‘Come to my arms,’ she cried, ‘you loveliest, most musical and wittiest of all maids of the mill! You’ll get the better of all the barons, bailiffs and notaries in the world, and into the bargain –’ But whatever else she was about to say was lost in the loud laughter to which she once more gave way.

  Then, turning swiftly to the Kapellmeister, she added: ‘You have quite reconciled me to myself, dear Kreisler! Ah, now I understand your humorous flights! They are delightful, truly delightful! Higher life can arise only from the conflict between the most various of feelings, the most hostile of emotions! I thank you, I thank you most heartily – there! You may kiss my hand!’

  Kreisler took the hand offered to him, and that pulse-beat throbbed through him again, although not as violendy as before, so that he was obliged to hesitate momentarily before pressing the delicate, ungloved fingers to his lips, bowing with as much decorum as if he were still a Legation Councillor. He himself did not know why this physical sensation he felt on touching the Princess’s hand seemed to him so uncommonly ridiculous. ‘I suppose,’ said he to himself, when the Princess had turned away from him, ‘I suppose her Highness is a kind of Leyden jar,35 and sends electric shocks through honest folk at her gracious pleasure!’

  The Princess went hopping and dancing about the room, laughing and trilling La Rachelina molinarina all the while, and she embraced and kissed now one lady and now another, assuring them she had never been merrier in her life, and she owed it to the good Kapellmeister. All of this was unwelcome in the highest degree to the grave Madame Benzon, and at last she could not refrain from drawing the Princess aside and whispering in her ear, ‘Hedwiga, I do beg of you! Such conduct!’

  ‘I’d have thought,’ replied the Princess, her eyes sparkling, ‘I’d have thought we might leave off being so governessy today, dear Benzon, and all go to bed. Yes, let’s to bed, to bed!’ And so saying, she called for her carriage.

  While the Princess was in a mood of extravagant, convulsive merriment, Julia had fallen sad and silent. She sat at the piano resting her head on her hand, and her obvious pallor and clouded eyes showed that her melancholy mood had increased to the point of causing physical pain.

  The brilliant fire of Kreisler’s humour was extinguished too. Avoiding all conversation, he stole softly towards the door, but Madame Benzon stood in his way. ‘I don’t know,’ she said, ‘what strange depression it was today that made me –

  M. cont. – seemed so familiar to me, so like home; a sweet aroma of some delicious meat roasting, even I knew not what, wafted in a blue haze above the roof-tops, and as if from far, far away, in the rustling of the evening breeze, I heard sweet voices whispering, ‘Murr, beloved Murr, where have you been all this long while?’

  ‘Ah, through this troubled breast of mine

  What heavenly pleasure shoots its dart?

  Does my aspiring, ardent heart

  Feel prescience of things divine?

  Aye! heart, soar high above the earth!

  Be sharp of tooth, of paw be fleet!

  After sad times of loss and dearth,

  All’s turned to merriment and mirth:

  Sweet hope revives – I smell roast meat!’

  Thus I sang, losing myself in the most pleasing dreams and taking no notice of the terrible sound of the fire! But even up here on the roof I was to be followed by awful apparitions from the grotesque life of the world into which I had leapt, for next moment one of those strange monsters whom humans call chimney-sweeps rose from the chimney-stack. No sooner did this black-a-vised scoundrel catch sight of me than he cried, ‘Shoo, cat!’ and threw his brush at me. Avoiding it, I raced away over the nearest roof and down into the gutter. Who can describe my happy amazement, my joyful shock, when I realized that I was on the building where my good master lived? I clambered nimbly from skylight to skylight, but every one of them was closed. I raised my voice in vain; no one heard me. Meanwhile, the clouds of smoke from the burning house were swirling aloft, jets of water hissed among them, a thousand voices were shouting in confusion, and the fire seemed to be getting more threatening. Then a skylight opened, and Master Abraham looked out, wearing his yellow dressing-gown.

  ‘Murr, my dear Murr, so there you are! Come in, come in, my little grey-coated friend!’ Such was my matter’s joyful exclamation when he caught sight of me. Nor did I omit to show him my delight by every means at my command; we indulged in a delightful, wonderful moment of reunion. When I had jumped down to him in the attic my master stroked me, making me purr softly and sweetly for the sheer pleasure of it. ‘Oho,’ said my master, laughing, ‘oho, my boy, I see you’re glad to be home again, perhaps after long travels, and you don’t understand the danger we’re in. I could almost wish to be like you, a happy, innocent tomcat caring nothing for firemen, and with no assets to go up in flames, since the only movable asset in your immortal spirit’s possession is yourself.’

  So saying, the Master picked me up and went downstairs to his room. No sooner had we entered than Professor Lothario rushed in, followed by two other men.

  ‘I beg you,’ cried the Professor, ‘for Heaven’s sake, I beg you, Master! You are in the most imminent danger; the fire’s already caught your roof. Let us carry your things away.’

  My master said, very drily, that in such dangerous circumstances his friends’ sudden zeal could do much more harm than the danger itself, since what was saved from the fire usually went to blazes anyway, if in a more handsome manner. He himself, he said, once had a friend who was threatened by fire, and who had enthusiastically and with the best of intentions thr
own a quantity of Chinese porcelain out of the window to save it from the flames. However, he added, if they would be kind enough just to pack a trunk with three nightcaps, a couple of grey coats and some other garments, including a pair of silken breeches to be treated with special care, along with some underclothes, and to put books and manuscripts in a couple of baskets, he would be much obliged, but they were not to lay so much as a finger on his machines. If the roof actually went up in flames, he added, he and his movable assets would move out.

  ‘But first,’ he concluded, ‘allow me to give food and drink to the companion of my hearth and home, who has just come home tired and exhausted after a long journey, and then you may set to work!’

  They all laughed heartily when they realized that Master Abraham meant none but me.

  I enjoyed a delicious meal, and the delightful hopes I had expressed up on the roof in dulcet tones of longing were fully realized. When I had refreshed myself my master put me in a basket, and as there was room enough he put a little dish of milk in beside me, and covered the basket carefully.

  ‘Just wait there in your dark refuge, my dear cat,’ said Master Abraham, ‘wait and see what’s to become of us, and sip your favourite beverage to pass the time, because if you go jumping or running about the room they’ll tread on your tail or legs in all the flurry of saving my things. If it really comes to flight, I’ll take you out myself in case you run away again as you did before. You wouldn’t believe,” said the Master, turning to the others, ‘you wouldn’t believe, my good sirs, my helpers in time of trouble, what a wonderful, what an erudite tomcat that little grey fellow in the basket is. Gall and such natural historians36 believe that although cats of tolerable education may be equipped in other respects with the best of capacities, such as a bloodthirsty disposition, an instinct for thieving, rascally behaviour and so forth, they have no sense of direction at all, and having once run away can never find their way home, but my dear Murr is a brilliant exception. He has been missing for several days, and I mourned his loss deeply, but today, only just now, he returned. I have reason to suppose that he used the roof-tops as a pleasing substitute for a street. The good creature showed not only intelligence and understanding, but also the most faithful devotion to his master, so that I now love him more than ever.’