The Life and Opinions of the Tomcat Murr

by E. T. A. Hoffmann

  ‘The police lieutenant said curtly that he wasn’t running a slave market, but added that as the little girl really hardly seemed human, and would only be a burden on the house of correction, she was at the gentleman’s disposal if he would pay ten ducats to the city poor-box. Severino immediately produced his purse and counted out the ducats. Chiara and her old grandmother, both of whom had heard the whole transaction, began to weep and wail, and would not be parted. But then the police officers came up, threw the old woman into the cart standing ready to drive the gypsies away, the police lieutenant, perhaps momentarily mistaking his purse for the city poor-box, put the shining ducats in it, and Severino took little Chiara away, trying to soothe her as best he might by buying her a pretty new skirt in the market where he had found her, and feeding her sweetmeats.

  ‘I am sure that Severino had already devised his trick with the Invisible Girl in his mind, and saw every quality for that part in the little gypsy girl. He educated her with care, and also sought to influence her physical organism, which was particularly apt to enter a state of exaltation. He induced this state of exaltation, in which a prophetic spirit flared up within the girl, by artificial means – remember Mesmer and his dreadful operations68 – and whenever he wished her to prophesy he got her into that condition. An unfortunate chance showed him that the child was particularly sensitive when she had felt pain, which increased her gift of seeing into another person’s mind to an extraordinary degree, so that she seemed a wholly spiritual being. So now the wicked man would always whip her most cruelly before performing the operation that induced her state of heightened knowledge. Besides suffering this torment, poor Chiara was often obliged to spend whole days crouching in the box when Severino was away, so that her presence would remain a secret even if anyone intruded into the cabinet. She went on journeys with Severino in the same box. Chiara’s was a dreadful, unhappy fate, like that of the dwarf whom the famous Kempelen69 carried about with him and who had to play chess hidden inside the Turk.

  ‘I found a considerable sum of money in gold and securities in Severino’s desk, and laid it out to procure little Chiara a good income. As for the oracular apparatus, that is, the acoustic devices in the room and the cabinet, I destroyed them along with various other devices which were not portable, although I appropriated many of the secrets Severino had left behind him, in accordance with his clearly expressed will. Having done all this, I took leave very sadly of little Chiara, whom the landlord and his wife said they would keep as their own dear child, and left the city.

  ‘A year had passed, and I was on my way back to Göniönesmühl where their honours the City Councillors wanted me to repair the town organ, but Heaven had a special fancy for making me appear before the world as a conjuror, and so allowed some wretched scoundrel to steal my purse with all my wealth in it, thus obliging me to continue doing tricks to earn my bread, since I was well known as a maker of mechanical devices and held a number of licences and concessions.

  ‘This happened at a little place not far from Sieghartsweiler. So there am I one evening sitting at work on a magic casket, hammering and filing away, when the door opens and in comes a female figure crying, “Oh, I couldn’t bear it any more, I had to follow you, Herr Liscov, or I would have died of longing! You are my lord and master; do as you will with me!”

  ‘Thereupon she runs to me, about to fling herself at my feet, but I catch her in my arms, and see that it is Chiara! I scarcely recognize her; she has grown about a foot taller, and stronger too, but without any impairment to the tender form of her figure!

  ‘ “Dear, sweet Chiara!” I cried, deeply moved, and pressed her to my breast!

  ‘ “You will let me stay with you, won’t you, Herr Liscov?” says Chiara now. “You will not reject poor Chiara, who owes her life and liberty to you?”

  ‘And so saying, she runs to the chest a postboy is just hauling in, and presses so much money into the fellow’s hand that he races out through the door with a great leap, crying out loud, “My word, the dear good blackamoor girl!” Chiara opens the box, takes out this book and gives it to me, saying: “There, Herr Liscov, here’s the best thing Severino left, which you forgot to take!” And as I open the book she calmly goes on unpacking clothes and underwear.

  ‘You may well be thinking, Kreisler, that little Chiara placed me in a situation of no little difficulty, but – well, my dear fellow, it’s time you learned to think a little better of me, since because I helped you steal ripe pears from your uncle’s tree, and hang nicely painted wooden pears in their place, or fill his watering-can with orange-water laced with dung, which he then poured over his white duck trousers spread out on the lawn to bleach, producing a nice marbled effect without any difficulty at all, and in short led you into silly, foolish tricks – well, as I say, you used to think me nothing but a jester and a rascal who never had a heart, or who at least had covered it up so well with fool’s motley that he never felt it beating – now don’t go displaying your sensitivity, man, or your tears, for you’ll have me weeping wretchedly, as you yourself do only too often – oh, but it’s the devil of a business opening one’s heart to young folk, as if it were a chambre gamie,70 and that only in one’s old age.’

  Master Abraham went to the window and looked out into the night. The storm was over. Amidst the rustling of the forest, one could hear the single drops shaken from the leaves by the night wind, and the sound of merry dance music from the castle.

  ‘Ah,’ said Master Abraham, ‘I fancy Prince Hector is opening the partie à la chasse71 by cutting a few capers –’

  ‘And Chiara?’ inquired Kreisler.

  ‘You are right,’ went on Master Abraham, sinking into his armchair, exhausted, ‘you are right to remind me of Chiara, my boy, for I must drain the cup of my bitterest memories to the last drop on this fateful night. Ah me! Well, as Chiara bustled busily to and fro, pure joy shining in her eyes, I knew it would be wholly impossible for me ever to part from her, and she must be my wife. Yet I asked, “But Chiara, what am I to do with you if you stay here?”

  ‘Chiara came up to me and said, very gravely: “Master, you will find an exact description of the way the oracle works in the book I have brought you, and in any case you’ve seen how it was all arranged. I will be your Invisible Girl!”

  ‘ “Chiara,” I cried, utterly at a loss, “Chiara, what are you saying? Can you take me for another Severino?”

  ‘ “Oh, do not speak of Severino!” replied Chiara.

  ‘Well, why need I tell you everything in detail, Kreisler? You already know that I astonished the world with my Invisible Girl, and you may believe me when I tell you I abhorred the notion of stimulating my dear Chiara by any artificial means, or limiting her freedom in any way whatever. She herself let me know the time and the hour when she felt able, or rather would feel able, to play the part of the Invisible Girl, and only then did my oracle speak. And in fact it had become necessary for my little Chiara to play her role. Certain circumstances, which you shall learn at some future date, brought me to Sieghartsweiler. It was part of my plan to make my appearance in a very mysterious manner. I moved into secluded lodgings kept by the widow of the Prince’s cook, through whom I quickly spread rumours at court of my wonderful tricks. It turned out just as I had expected. The Prince – I mean Prince Irenaeus’s father – sought me out, and my soothsaying Chiara was the enchantress who often revealed his own mind to him, as if she were inspired by supernatural power, giving him a clear view of much that would otherwise have remained hidden from him. Chiara, who had become my wife, lodged with a friend of mine in Sieghartsh of and visited me at dead of night, so that her presence remained a secret. For you see, Kreisler, folk are so fond of marvels that, although the Invisible Girl trick was possible only with the co-operation of a human being, they would have scorned the whole thing as stupid folly once they discovered that the Invisible Girl was made of flesh and blood. That was what the townspeople did after Severino’s death, calling him a charlatan wh
en it transpired that a little gypsy girl had spoken the oracular words in his cabinet, and thinking nothing at all of the artificial acoustic device which made the sound come from the glass ball.

  ‘Well, the old Prince died. I was heartily sick of doing tricks and all the trouble of keeping my Chiara a secret; I wanted to go back to Göniönesmühl with my dear wife and build organs again. Then one night Chiara, who was to play the part of the Invisible Girl for the very last time, did not arrive. I had to send the curious away unsatisfied. My heart beat fast with fear and foreboding. Next day I went to Sieghartshof. Chiara had left her lodging at the usual time. Well, man, why do you look at me like that? I hope you aren’t going to ask any stupid questions! You know the answer – Chiara had vanished without trace, and I never – never saw her again!’

  Master Abraham jumped swiftly up and hurried to the window. A deep sigh gave vent to the blood gushing from the wounded heart he had torn open. Kreisler remained silent, respecting the old man’s deep pain.

  ‘You can’t go back to the town now, Kapellmeister,’ Master Abraham began at last. ‘It is midnight, sinister doppelgängers are abroad out there, as you know, and all kinds of other menaces could play havoc with us. Stay with me! It must be a fine thing, a very fine thing –

  M. cont. – such unfortunate events were to occur in that sacred place – I mean the lecture hall. I feel so downcast, my heart so oppressed – although the loftiest of ideas course through me, I can write no more – I must break off, must walk for a while!

  I return to my desk, feeling better. But out of the abundance of the heart the mouth speaketh, and so, I suppose, does the poet’s quill! I once heard Master Abraham speak of an old book which said something about a curious man who had a special kind of materia peccans72 fermenting in his body, and couldn’t discharge it except through his fingers. So he put nice white paper under his hand to catch everything given off by the nasty fermenting thing inside him, and called these vile emanations the poetic creations of his mind. I consider the whole story a spiteful satire, but I do sometimes get a peculiar feeling, I might almost call it an intellectual twinge, all the way to my paws, and they are obliged to write down everything I think. That’s how I feel just now – it may be harmful to me, certain infatuated tomcats might be so blind as to lose their tempers and even turn their claws on me, but it must out!

  Today my master had spent all morning reading a quarto volume bound in pigskin, and when at last he went out at his usual hour he left the book open on his desk. I quickly jumped up, curious and eager in the pursuit of scholarship as I am, to discover what kind of a book my master might be studying so earnestly. It was that fine, wonderful work of old Johannes Kunisperger73 on the natural influence of the stars, the planets and the twelve signs of the Zodiac. Indeed, I may well call that book fine and wonderful, for did not the marvels of my existence, the course of my life here below, appear to me clear as day while I read? Ah! even as I write this there blazes above my head that wondrous constellation which shines into my soul and out of my soul again in true affinity – yes, I feel the glowing, burning ray of the long-tailed comet on my brow – yes, I myself am the glowing comet, the celestial meteor passing prophetically in great glory through the world. As the comet outshines all the stars, so will the rest of you tomcats, other animals and human beings be eclipsed, if only I don’t hide my gifts under a bushel but let my light shine as it should, which depends entirely on me – aye, so will ye all vanish into dark night! Yet in spite of the divine nature radiating from me, long-tailed spirit of light that I am, do I not partake of the fate of all mortals? My heart is too good, I am too sensitive a cat, I would willingly have the agreeable society of weaker vessels, and that grieves me and breaks my heart. For how can I help noticing that everywhere I am alone, as if in the most desolate wilderness, that I am not of this present age, no, but of a future and more cultured era, since there’s not a soul alive who can appreciate me properly? Yet it gives me so much pleasure to be thoroughly appreciated; even praise from ordinary uneducated young tomcats does me no end of good. I can have them quite beside themselves with amazement, but what’s the use? However hard they try, they can’t strike the right note in trumpeting my praise, loud as they may cry ‘Miaow, miaow!’.

  Well, I must think of posterity. Posterity will honour me. Were I to write a philosophical work now, who can penetrate the depths of my mind? Were I to condescend to write a play, where would actors be found able to perform it? If I embark upon other literary genres, writing critical works, for instance – which would be just the thing for me, since I am far above all who have made their names as poets, writers and artists, and can set myself up as a model, an ideal of perfection, unattainable though it be, and consequently I alone am qualified to pronounce judgement – well, if I do so, who can rise to my own vantage point and share my opinions with me? Are there paws, are there hands fit to set the well-earned laurel wreath upon my brow? Well, there’s a remedy for that: I’ll do it myself, and anyone who may venture to tug at that wreath shall feel my claws. For such envious brutes do exist; often, when I merely dream of being attacked by them and fancy I must defend myself, I drive my sharp weapons into my own face, doing sad injury to my fair countenance. Even when nobly aware of one’s own worth, one may feel slightly suspicious, but it can’t be helped. Didn’t I take it for a covert attack on my virtue and excellence the other day when young Ponto, out in the street with several other poodlish youths, discussed the latest wonders of the day without mentioning me, although I was sitting not six paces away from him at the cellar window of my own home? I was not a little annoyed when the jackanapes, on my reproaching him for this, said he really hadn’t noticed me at all.

  But it is time for me to impart to you, my kindred spirits in a better posterity – and would that that posterity were here in the present, thinking clever thoughts about Murr’s greatness and expressing them out loud, in a voice so clear that you couldn’t hear anything else above the racket it made – aye, it is time for me to impart to you a little more of what happened to your Murr in the time of his youth. So pay attention, good souls: I am coming to a notable point in my life.

  The Ides of March were come, the mild and lovely rays of the spring sun fell on the roof, and a soft fire glowed within me. For some days past I had been tormented by an indescribable restlessness, an unknown, marvellous yearning – I now calmed down, but only to fall very soon into such a state as I had never known before!

  From an attic window not far away there climbed softly, gently, a creature – oh, that I could paint that loveliest of forms! She was clad all in white, except for a small black velvet cap on her dear little brow, and little black stockings on her dainty legs. Sweet fire flashed from the delicious grass-green of those loveliest of eyes, the gentle movements of her finely pricked ears told the observer that virtue and reason dwelt within her, just as the undulations of her waving tail expressed the utmost charm and feminine delicacy of feeling!

  This lovely young creature did not seem to notice me, but looked up at the sun, blinked and sneezed. Ah, that sound sent sweet shivers thrilling through me, my pulse beat – my blood flowed seething through every vein – my heart was ready to burst – all the ineffably painful delight that set me quite beside myself poured out in the long ‘Miaow!’ I uttered.

  The little creature quickly turned her head and looked at me with alarm and sweet, childlike timidity in her eyes. Invisible paws propelled me in her direction with irresistible force – but just as I was leaping towards the lovely fair to embrace her, she had vanished quick as thought behind the chimney stack! All rage and despair, I ran around the roof mewing in the most pitiful tones, but in vain – she did not return! Ah, what a state I was in! I couldn’t eat a bite, my studies nauseated me, I didn’t feel like either reading or writing.

  ‘Heavens!’ cried I next day, when I had sought my fair one all over the roof, in the attic, the cellar, in every corridor of the building, and had gone sorrowfully home, whe
re I found that the little darling was constantly in my thoughts, so that even the fried fish my master set before me stared up at me from my dish with her eyes, causing me to cry out loud, in raptures of delight, ‘Is it you, so long desired?’ before swallowing it in one gulp – yes, well: ‘Heavens, o Heavens,’ I cried, ‘can this be love?’ whereupon I became calmer, and decided, being an erudite youth, to get a proper understanding of the state I was in. Although it cost me some effort, I instantly began to study Ovid’s De arte amandi and Manso’s Art of Love,74 but none of the marks of a lover as cited in those works really seemed to apply to me. At last I suddenly remembered reading, in some play or other,∗ that an unquestionable spirit and a beard neglected were sure signs of a man in love! I looked in a mirror. O Heaven, were my whiskers neglected! O Heaven, was my spirit unquestionable!

  Now that I knew I was in love in the right kind of way I felt comforted. I decided to fortify myself well with food and drink and then seek out the little creature to whom I had given my whole heart. A sweet foreboding told me she was sitting outside the door of the building. I went downstairs, and sure enough, I found her! Oh, what a reunion! How the delight, how the ineffable joy of amorous feeling, surged through my breast! Kitty – for such was the little darling’s name, as I learned later – Kitty was sitting there prettily posed on her hindquarters, washing herself by passing her little paw over her cheeks and ears several times. With what indescribable grace did she perform, before my eyes, those tasks required by cleanliness and elegance! She needed no base artifices of the toilette to heighten the charms Nature had lent her! I approached her, less exuberantly than before, and sat down beside her! She did not flee, but looked inquiringly at me and then cast down her eyes.