Weird Tales. Vol. I (of 2)

by E. T. A. Hoffmann

  THE SAND-MAN.[1]

  NATHANAEL TO LOTHAIR.

  I know you are all very uneasy because I have not written for such along, long time. Mother, to be sure, is angry, and Clara, I dare say,believes I am living here in riot and revelry, and quite forgetting mysweet angel, whose image is so deeply engraved upon my heart and mind.But that is not so; daily and hourly do I think of you all, and mylovely Clara's form comes to gladden me in my dreams, and smiles uponme with her bright eyes, as graciously as she used to do in the dayswhen I went in and out amongst you. Oh! how could I write to you in thedistracted state of mind in which I have been, and which, until now,has quite bewildered me! A terrible thing has happened to me. Darkforebodings of some awful fate threatening me are spreading themselvesout over my head like black clouds, impenetrable to every friendly rayof sunlight. I must now tell you what has taken place; I must, that Isee well enough, but only to think upon it makes the wild laughterburst from my lips. Oh! my dear, dear Lothair, what shall I say to makeyou feel, if only in an inadequate way, that that which happened to mea few days ago could thus really exercise such a hostile and disturbinginfluence upon my life? Oh that you were here to see for yourself! butnow you will, I suppose, take me for a superstitious ghost-seer. In aword, the terrible thing which I have experienced, the fatal effect ofwhich I in vain exert every effort to shake off, is simply that somedays ago, namely, on the 30th October, at twelve o'clock at noon, adealer in weather-glasses came into my room and wanted to sell me oneof his wares. I bought nothing, and threatened to kick him downstairs,whereupon he went away of his own accord.

  You will conclude that it can only be very peculiar relations--relations intimately intertwined with my life--that can givesignificance to this event, and that it must be the person of thisunfortunate hawker which has had such a very inimical effect upon me.And so it really is. I will summon up all my faculties in order tonarrate to you calmly and patiently as much of the early days of myyouth as will suffice to put matters before you in such a way that yourkeen sharp intellect may grasp everything clearly and distinctly, inbright and living pictures. Just as I am beginning, I hear you laughand Clara say, "What's all this childish nonsense about!" Well, laughat me, laugh heartily at me, pray do. But, good God! my hair isstanding on end, and I seem to be entreating you to laugh at me in thesame sort of frantic despair in which Franz Moor entreated Daniel tolaugh him to scorn.[2] But to my story.

  Except at dinner we, _i.e._, I and my brothers and sisters, saw butlittle of our father all day long. His business no doubt took up mostof his time. After our evening meal, which, in accordance with an oldcustom, was served at seven o'clock, we all went, mother with us, intofather's room, and took our places around a round table. My fathersmoked his pipe, drinking a large glass of beer to it. Often he told usmany wonderful stories, and got so excited over them that his pipealways went out; I used then to light it for him with a spill, and thisformed my chief amusement. Often, again, he would give us picture-booksto look at, whilst he sat silent and motionless in his easy-chair,puffing out such dense clouds of smoke that we were all as it wereenveloped in mist. On such evenings mother was very sad; and directlyit struck nine she said, "Come, children! off to bed! Come! The'Sand-man' is come I see." And I always did seem to hear somethingtrampling upstairs with slow heavy steps; that must be the Sand-man.Once in particular I was very much frightened at this dull tramplingand knocking; as mother was leading us out of the room I asked her, "Omamma! but who is this nasty Sand-man who always sends us away frompapa? What does he look like?" "There is no Sand-man, my dear child,"mother answered; "when I say the Sand-man is come, I only mean that youare sleepy and can't keep your eyes open, as if somebody had put sandin them." This answer of mother's did not satisfy me; nay, in mychildish mind the thought clearly unfolded itself that mother deniedthere was a Sand-man only to prevent us being afraid,--why, I alwaysheard him come upstairs. Full of curiosity to learn something moreabout this Sand-man and what he had to do with us children, I at lengthasked the old woman who acted as my youngest sister's attendant, whatsort of a man he was--the Sand-man? "Why, 'thanael, darling, don't youknow?" she replied. "Oh! he's a wicked man, who comes to littlechildren when they won't go to bed and throws handfuls of sand in theireyes, so that they jump out of their heads all bloody; and he puts theminto a bag and takes them to the half-moon as food for his little ones;and they sit there in the nest and have hooked beaks like owls, andthey pick naughty little boys' and girls' eyes out with them." Afterthis I formed in my own mind a horrible picture of the cruel Sand-man.When anything came blundering upstairs at night I trembled with fearand dismay; and all that my mother could get out of me were thestammered words "The Sandman! the Sand-man!" whilst the tears courseddown my cheeks. Then I ran into my bedroom, and the whole night throughtormented myself with the terrible apparition of the Sand-man. Iwas quite old enough to perceive that the old woman's tale about theSand-man and his little ones' nest in the half-moon couldn't bealtogether true; nevertheless the Sand-man continued to be for me afearful incubus, and I was always seized with terror--my blood alwaysran cold, not only when I heard anybody come up the stairs, but when Iheard anybody noisily open my father's room door and go in. Often hestayed away for a long season altogether; then he would come severaltimes in close succession.

  This went on for years, without my being able to accustom myself tothis fearful apparition, without the image of the horrible Sand-mangrowing any fainter in my imagination. His intercourse with my fatherbegan to occupy my fancy ever more and more; I was restrained fromasking my father about him by an unconquerable shyness; but as theyears went on the desire waxed stronger and stronger within me tofathom the mystery myself and to see the fabulous Sand-man. He had beenthe means of disclosing to me the path of the wonderful and theadventurous, which so easily find lodgment in the mind of the child. Iliked nothing better than to hear or read horrible stories of goblins,witches, Tom Thumbs, and so on; but always at the head of them allstood the Sand-man, whose picture I scribbled in the most extraordinaryand repulsive forms with both chalk and coal everywhere, on the tables,and cupboard doors, and walls. When I was ten years old my motherremoved me from the nursery into a little chamber off the corridor notfar from my father's room. We still had to withdraw hastily whenever,on the stroke of nine, the mysterious unknown was heard in the house.As I lay in my little chamber I could hear him go into father's room,and soon afterwards I fancied there was a fine and peculiar smellingsteam spreading itself through the house. As my curiosity waxedstronger, my resolve to make somehow or other the Sand-man'sacquaintance took deeper root. Often when my mother had gone past, Islipped quickly out of my room into the corridor, but I could never seeanything, for always before I could reach the place where I could getsight of him, the Sand-man was well inside the door. At last, unable toresist the impulse any longer, I determined to conceal myself infather's room and there wait for the Sand-man.

  One evening I perceived from my father's silence and mother's sadnessthat the Sand-man would come; accordingly, pleading that I wasexcessively tired, I left the room before nine o'clock and concealedmyself in a hiding-place close beside the door. The street doorcreaked, and slow, heavy, echoing steps crossed the passage towardsthe stairs. Mother hurried past me with my brothers and sisters.Softly--softly--I opened father's room door. He sat as usual, silentand motionless, with his back towards it; he did not hear me; and in amoment I was in and behind a curtain drawn before my father's openwardrobe, which stood just inside the room. Nearer and nearer andnearer came the echoing footsteps. There was a strange coughing andshuffling and mumbling outside. My heart beat with expectation andfear. A quick step now close, close beside the door, a noisy rattle ofthe handle, and the door flies open with a bang. Recovering my couragewith an effort, I take a cautious peep out. In the middle of the roomin front of my father stands the Sand-man, the bright light of the lampfalling full upon his face. The Sand-man, the terrible Sand-man,
is theold advocate _Coppelius_ who often comes to dine with us.

  But the most hideous figure could not have awakened greater trepidationin my heart than this Coppelius did. Picture to yourself a largebroad-shouldered man, with an immensely big head, a face the colour ofyellow-ochre, grey bushy eyebrows, from beneath which two piercing,greenish, cat-like eyes glittered, and a prominent Roman nose hangingover his upper lip. His distorted mouth was often screwed up into amalicious smile; then two dark-red spots appeared on his cheeks, and astrange hissing noise proceeded from between his tightly clenchedteeth. He always wore an ash-grey coat of an old-fashioned cut, awaistcoat of the same, and nether extremities to match, but blackstockings and buckles set with stones on his shoes. His little wigscarcely extended beyond the crown of his head, his hair was curledround high up above his big red ears, and plastered to his temples withcosmetic, and a broad closed hair-bag stood out prominently from hisneck, so that you could see the silver buckle that fastened his foldedneck-cloth. Altogether he was a most disagreeable and horribly uglyfigure; but what we children detested most of all was his big coarsehairy hands; we could never fancy anything that he had once touched.This he had noticed; and so, whenever our good mother quietly placed apiece of cake or sweet fruit on our plates, he delighted to touch itunder some pretext or other, until the bright tears stood in our eyes,and from disgust and loathing we lost the enjoyment of the tit-bit thatwas intended to please us. And he did just the same thing when fathergave us a glass of sweet wine on holidays. Then he would quickly passhis hand over it, or even sometimes raise the glass to his blue lips,and he laughed quite sardonically when all we dared do was to expressour vexation in stifled sobs. He habitually called us the "littlebrutes;" and when he was present we might not utter a sound; and wecursed the ugly spiteful man who deliberately and intentionally spoiltall our little pleasures. Mother seemed to dislike this hatefulCoppelius as much as we did; for as soon as he appeared hercheerfulness and bright and natural manner were transformed into sad,gloomy seriousness. Father treated him as if he were a being of somehigher race, whose ill-manners were to be tolerated, whilst no effortsought to be spared to keep him in good-humour. He had only to give aslight hint, and his favourite dishes were cooked for him and rare wineuncorked.

  As soon as I saw this Coppelius, therefore, the fearful and hideousthought arose in my mind that he, and he alone, must be the Sand-man;but I no longer conceived of the Sand-man as the bugbear in theold nurse's fable, who fetched children's eyes and took them to thehalf-moon as food for his little ones--no! but as an ugly spectre-likefiend bringing trouble and misery and ruin, both temporal andeverlasting, everywhere wherever he appeared.

  I was spell-bound on the spot. At the risk of being discovered, and, asI well enough knew, of being severely punished, I remained as I was,with my head thrust through the curtains listening. My father receivedCoppelius in a ceremonious manner. "Come, to work!" cried the latter,in a hoarse snarling voice, throwing off his coat. Gloomily andsilently my father took off his dressing-gown, and both put on longblack smock-frocks. Where they took them from I forgot to notice.Father opened the folding-doors of a cupboard in the wall; but I sawthat what I had so long taken to be a cupboard was really a darkrecess, in which was a little hearth. Coppelius approached it, and ablue flame crackled upwards from it. Round about were all kinds ofstrange utensils. Good God! as my old father bent down over the firehow different he looked! His gentle and venerable features seemed to bedrawn up by some dreadful convulsive pain into an ugly, repulsiveSatanic mask. He looked like Coppelius. Coppelius plied the red-hottongs and drew bright glowing masses out of the thick smoke and beganassiduously to hammer them. I fancied that there were men's facesvisible round about, but without eyes, having ghastly deep black holeswhere the eyes should have been. "Eyes here! Eyes here!" criedCoppelius, in a hollow sepulchral voice. My blood ran cold with horror;I screamed and tumbled out of my hiding-place into the floor. Coppeliusimmediately seized upon me. "You little brute! You little brute!" hebleated, grinding his teeth. Then, snatching me up, he threw me onthe hearth, so that the flames began to singe my hair. "Now we've goteyes--eyes--a beautiful pair of children's eyes," he whispered, and,thrusting his hands into the flames he took out some red-hot grains andwas about to strew them into my eyes. Then my father clasped his handsand entreated him, saying, "Master, master, let my Nathanael keep hiseyes--oh! do let him keep them." Coppelius laughed shrilly and replied,"Well then, the boy may keep his eyes and whine and pule his waythrough the world; but we will now at any rate observe the mechanism ofthe hand and the foot." And therewith he roughly laid hold upon me, sothat my joints cracked, and twisted my hands and my feet, pulling themnow this way, and now that, "That's not quite right altogether! It'sbetter as it was!--the old fellow knew what he was about." Thus lispedand hissed Coppelius; but all around me grew black and dark; a suddenconvulsive pain shot through all my nerves and bones; I knew nothingmore.

  I felt a soft warm breath fanning my cheek; I awakened as if out of thesleep of death; my mother was bending over me. "Is the Sand-man stillthere?" I stammered. "No, my dear child; he's been gone a long, longtime; he'll not hurt you." Thus spoke my mother, as she kissed herrecovered darling and pressed him to her heart. But why should I tireyou, my dear Lothair? why do I dwell at such length on these details,when there's so much remains to be said? Enough--I was detected in myeavesdropping, and roughly handled by Coppelius. Fear and terror hadbrought on a violent fever, of which I lay ill several weeks. "Is theSand-man still there?" these were the first words I uttered on comingto myself again, the first sign of my recovery, of my safety. Thus, yousee, I have only to relate to you the most terrible moment of my youthfor you to thoroughly understand that it must not be ascribed to theweakness of my eyesight if all that I see is colourless, but to thefact that a mysterious destiny has hung a dark veil of clouds about mylife, which I shall perhaps only break through when I die.

  Coppelius did not show himself again; it was reported he had left thetown.

  It was about a year later when, in pursuance of the old unchangedcustom, we sat around the round table in the evening. Father was invery good spirits, and was telling us amusing tales about his youthfultravels. As it was striking nine we all at once heard the street doorcreak on its hinges, and slow ponderous steps echoed across the passageand up the stairs. "That is Coppelius," said my mother, turning pale."Yes, it is Coppelius," replied my father in a faint broken voice. Thetears started from my mother's eyes. "But, father, father," she cried,"must it be so?" "This is the last time," he replied; "this is thelast time he will come to me, I promise you. Go now, go and take thechildren. Go, go to bed--good-night."

  As for me, I felt as if I were converted into cold, heavy stone; Icould not get my breath. As I stood there immovable my mother seized meby the arm. "Come, Nathanael! do come along!" I suffered myself to beled away; I went into my room. "Be a good boy and keep quiet," mothercalled after me; "get into bed and go to sleep." But, tortured byindescribable fear and uneasiness, I could not close my eyes. Thathateful, hideous Coppelius stood before me with his glittering eyes,smiling maliciously down upon me; in vain did I strive to banish theimage. Somewhere about midnight there was a terrific crack, as if acannon were being fired off. The whole house shook; something wentrustling and clattering past my door; the house-door was pulled to witha bang. "That is Coppelius," I cried, terror-struck, and leapt out ofbed. Then I heard a wild heartrending scream; I rushed into my father'sroom; the door stood open, and clouds of suffocating smoke came rollingtowards me. The servant-maid shouted, "Oh! my master! my master!" Onthe floor in front of the smoking hearth lay my father, dead, his faceburned black and fearfully distorted, my sisters weeping and moaningaround him, and my mother lying near them in a swoon. "Coppelius, youatrocious fiend, you've killed my father," I shouted. My senses leftme. Two days later, when my father was placed in his coffin, hisfeatures were mild and gentle again as they had been when he was alive.I found great consolation in the thought that his assoc
iation with thediabolical Coppelius could not have ended in his everlasting ruin.

  Our neighbours had been awakened by the explosion; the affair gottalked about, and came before the magisterial authorities, who wishedto cite Coppelius to clear himself. But he had disappeared from theplace, leaving no traces behind him.

  Now when I tell you, my dear friend, that the weather-glass hawker Ispoke of was the villain Coppelius, you will not blame me for seeingimpending mischief in his inauspicious reappearance. He was differentlydressed; but Coppelius's figure and features are too deeply impressedupon my mind for me to be capable of making a mistake in the matter.Moreover, he has not even changed his name. He proclaims himself here,I learn, to be a Piedmontese mechanician, and styles himself GiuseppeCoppola.

  I am resolved to enter the lists against him and revenge my father'sdeath, let the consequences be what they may.

  Don't say a word to mother about the reappearance of this odiousmonster. Give my love to my darling Clara; I will write to her when Iam in a somewhat calmer frame of mind. Adieu, &c.

  * * * * * *

  CLARA TO NATHANAEL.

  You are right, you have not written to me for a very long time, butnevertheless I believe that I still retain a place in your mind andthoughts. It is a proof that you were thinking a good deal about mewhen you were sending off your last letter to brother Lothair, forinstead of directing it to him you directed it to me. With joy I toreopen the envelope, and did not perceive the mistake until I read thewords, "Oh! my dear, dear Lothair." Now I know I ought not to have readany more of the letter, but ought to have given it to my brother. Butas you have so often in innocent raillery made it a sort of reproachagainst me that I possessed such a calm, and, for a woman, cool-headedtemperament that I should be like the woman we read of--if the housewas threatening to tumble down, I should, before hastily fleeing, stopto smooth down a crumple in the window-curtains--I need hardly tell youthat the beginning of your letter quite upset me. I could scarcelybreathe; there was a bright mist before my eyes. Oh! my darlingNathanael! what could this terrible thing be that had happened?Separation from you--never to see you again, the thought was like asharp knife in my heart. I read on and on. Your description of thathorrid Coppelius made my flesh creep. I now learnt for the first timewhat a terrible and violent death your good old father died. BrotherLothair, to whom I handed over his property, sought to comfort me, butwith little success. That horrid weather-glass hawker Giuseppe Coppolafollowed me everywhere; and I am almost ashamed to confess it, but hewas able to disturb my sound and in general calm sleep with all sortsof wonderful dream-shapes. But soon--the next day--I saw everything ina different light. Oh! do not be angry with me, my best-beloved, if,despite your strange presentiment that Coppelius will do you somemischief, Lothair tells you I am in quite as good spirits, and just thesame as ever.

  I will frankly confess, it seems to me that all that was fearsome andterrible of which you speak, existed only in your own self, and thatthe real true outer world had but little to do with it. I can quiteadmit that old Coppelius may have been highly obnoxious to youchildren, but your real detestation of him arose from the fact that hehated children.

  Naturally enough the gruesome Sand-man of the old nurse's story wasassociated in your childish mind with old Coppelius, who, even thoughyou had not believed in the Sand-man, would have been to you a ghostlybugbear, especially dangerous to children. His mysterious labours alongwith your father at night-time were, I daresay, nothing more thansecret experiments in alchemy, with which your mother could not be overwell pleased, owing to the large sums of money that most likely werethrown away upon them; and besides, your father, his mind full of thedeceptive striving after higher knowledge, may probably have becomerather indifferent to his family, as so often happens in the case ofsuch experimentalists. So also it is equally probable that your fatherbrought about his death by his own imprudence, and that Coppelius isnot to blame for it. I must tell you that yesterday I asked ourexperienced neighbour, the chemist, whether in experiments of this kindan explosion could take place which would have a momentarily fataleffect. He said, "Oh, certainly!" and described to me in his prolix andcircumstantial way how it could be occasioned, mentioning at the sametime so many strange and funny words that I could not remember them atall. Now I know you will be angry at your Clara, and will say, "Of theMysterious which often clasps man in its invisible arms there's not aray can find its way into this cold heart. She sees only the variedsurface of the things of the world, and, like the little child, ispleased with the golden glittering fruit; at the kernel of which liesthe fatal poison."

  Oh! my beloved Nathanael, do you believe then that the intuitiveprescience of a dark power working within us to our own ruin cannotexist also in minds which are cheerful, natural, free from care? Butplease forgive me that I, a simple girl, presume in any way to indicateto you what I really think of such an inward strife. After all, Ishould not find the proper words, and you would only laugh at me, notbecause my thoughts were stupid, but because I was so foolish as toattempt to tell them to you.

  If there is a dark and hostile power which traitorously fixes a threadin our hearts in order that, laying hold of it and drawing us by meansof it along a dangerous road to ruin, which otherwise we should nothave trod--if, I say, there is such a power, it must assume within us aform like ourselves, nay, it must be ourselves; for only in that waycan we believe in it, and only so understood do we yield to it so farthat it is able to accomplish its secret purpose. So long as we havesufficient firmness, fortified by cheerfulness, to always acknowledgeforeign hostile influences for what they really are, whilst we quietlypursue the path pointed out to us by both inclination and calling, thenthis mysterious power perishes in its futile struggles to attain theform which is to be the reflected image of ourselves. It is alsocertain, Lothair adds, that if we have once voluntarily given ourselvesup to this dark physical power, it often reproduces within us thestrange forms which the outer world throws in our way, so that thus itis we ourselves who engender within ourselves the spirit which by someremarkable delusion we imagine to speak in that outer form. It is thephantom of our own self whose intimate relationship with, and whosepowerful influence upon our soul either plunges us into hell orelevates us to heaven. Thus you will see, my beloved Nathanael, that Iand brother Lothair have well talked over the subject of dark powersand forces; and now, after I have with some difficulty written down theprincipal results of our discussion, they seem to me to contain manyreally profound thoughts. Lothair's last words, however, I don't quiteunderstand altogether; I only dimly guess what he means; and yet Icannot help thinking it is all very true, I beg you, dear, strive toforget the ugly advocate Coppelius as well as the weather-glass hawkerGiuseppe Coppola. Try and convince yourself that these foreigninfluences can have no power over you, that it is only the belief intheir hostile power which can in reality make them dangerous to you. Ifevery line of your letter did not betray the violent excitement of yourmind, and if I did not sympathise with your condition from the bottomof my heart, I could in truth jest about the advocate Sand-man andweather-glass hawker Coppelius. Pluck up your spirits! Be cheerful! Ihave resolved to appear to you as your guardian-angel if that ugly manCoppola should dare take it into his head to bother you in your dreams,and drive him away with a good hearty laugh. I'm not afraid of him andhis nasty hands, not the least little bit; I won't let him either asadvocate spoil any dainty tit-bit I've taken, or as Sand-man rob me ofmy eyes. My darling, darling Nathanael, Eternally your, &c. &c.

  * * * * * *

  NATHANAEL TO LOTHAIR.

  I am very sorry that Clara opened and read my last letter to you; ofcourse the mistake is to be attributed to my own absence of mind. Shehas written me a very deep philosophical letter, proving conclusivelythat Coppelius and Coppola only exist in my own mind and
are phantomsof my own self, which will at once be dissipated, as soon as I lookupon them in that light. In very truth one can hardly believe that themind which so often sparkles in those bright, beautifully smiling,childlike eyes of hers like a sweet lovely dream could draw such subtleand scholastic distinctions. She also mentions your name. You have beentalking about me. I suppose you have been giving her lectures, sinceshe sifts and refines everything so acutely. But enough of this!I must now tell you it is most certain that the weather-glass hawkerGiuseppe Coppola is not the advocate Coppelius. I am attending thelectures of our recently appointed Professor of Physics, who, like thedistinguished naturalist,[3] is called Spalanzani, and is of Italianorigin. He has known Coppola for many years; and it is also easy totell from his accent that he really is a Piedmontese. Coppelius was aGerman, though no honest German, I fancy. Nevertheless I am not quitesatisfied. You and Clara will perhaps take me for a gloomy dreamer, butnohow can I get rid of the impression which Coppelius's cursed facemade upon me. I am glad to learn from Spalanzani that he has left thetown. This Professor Spalanzani is a very queer fish. He is a littlefat man, with prominent cheek-bones, thin nose, projecting lips, andsmall piercing eyes. You cannot get a better picture of him than byturning over one of the Berlin pocket-almanacs[4] and looking atCagliostro's[5] portrait engraved by Chodowiecki;[6] Spalanzani looksjust like him.

  Once lately, as I went up the steps to his house, I perceived thatbeside the curtain which generally covered a glass door there was asmall chink. What it was that excited my curiosity I cannot explain;but I looked through. In the room I saw a female, tall, very slender,but of perfect proportions, and splendidly dressed, sitting at a littletable, on which she had placed both her arms, her hands being foldedtogether. She sat opposite the door, so that I could easily see herangelically beautiful face. She did not appear to notice me, and therewas moreover a strangely fixed look about her eyes, I might almost saythey appeared as if they had no power of vision; I thought she wassleeping with her eyes open. I felt quite uncomfortable, and so Islipped away quietly into the Professor's lecture-room, which was closeat hand. Afterwards I learnt that the figure which I had seen wasSpalanzani's daughter, Olimpia, whom he keeps locked in a most wickedand unaccountable way, and no man is ever allowed to come near her.Perhaps, however, there is after all, something peculiar about her;perhaps she's an idiot or something of that sort. But why am I tellingyou all this? I could have told you it all better and more in detailwhen I see you. For in a fortnight I shall be amongst you. I mustsee my dear sweet angel, my Clara, again. Then the little bit ofill-temper, which, I must confess, took possession of me after herfearfully sensible letter, will be blown away. And that is the reasonwhy I am not writing to her as well to-day. With all best wishes, &c.

  * * * * * *

  Nothing more strange and extraordinary can be imagined, graciousreader, than what happened to my poor friend, the young studentNathanael, and which I have undertaken to relate to you. Have you everlived to experience anything that completely took possession of yourheart and mind and thoughts to the utter exclusion of everything else?All was seething and boiling within you; your blood, heated to feverpitch, leapt through your veins and inflamed your cheeks. Your gaze wasso peculiar, as if seeking to grasp in empty space forms not seen ofany other eye, and all your words ended in sighs betokening somemystery. Then your friends asked you, "What is the matter with you, mydear friend? What do you see?" And, wishing to describe the innerpictures in all their vivid colours, with their lights and theirshades, you in vain struggled to find words with which to expressyourself. But you felt as if you must gather up all the events that hadhappened, wonderful, splendid, terrible, jocose, and awful, in the veryfirst word, so that the whole might be revealed by a single electricdischarge, so to speak. Yet every word and all that partook of thenature of communication by intelligible sounds seemed to becolourless, cold, and dead. Then you try and try again, and stutter andstammer, whilst your friends' prosy questions strike like icy windsupon your heart's hot fire until they extinguish it. But if, like abold painter, you had first sketched in a few audacious strokes theoutline of the picture you had in your soul, you would then easily havebeen able to deepen and intensify the colours one after the other,until the varied throng of living figures carried your friends away,and they, like you, saw themselves in the midst of the scene that hadproceeded out of your own soul.

  Strictly speaking, indulgent reader, I must indeed confess to you,nobody has asked me for the history of young Nathanael; but you arevery well aware that I belong to that remarkable class of authors who,when they are bearing anything about in their minds in the manner Ihave just described, feel as if everybody who comes near them, and alsothe whole world to boot, were asking, "Oh! what is it? Oh! do tell us,my good sir?" Hence I was most powerfully impelled to narrate to youNathanael's ominous life. My soul was full of the elements of wonderand extraordinary peculiarity in it; but, for this very reason, andbecause it was necessary in the very beginning to dispose you,indulgent reader, to bear with what is fantastic--and that is not alittle thing--I racked my brain to find a way of commencing the storyin a significant and original manner, calculated to arrest yourattention. To begin with "Once upon a time," the best beginning for astory, seemed to me too tame; with "In the small country town S----lived," rather better, at any rate allowing plenty of room to work upto the climax; or to plunge at once _in medias res_, "'Go to thedevil!' cried the student Nathanael, his eyes blazing wildly with rageand fear, when the weather-glass hawker Giuseppe Coppola"--well, thatis what I really had written, when I thought I detected something ofthe ridiculous in Nathanael's wild glance; and the history is anythingbut laughable. I could not find any words which seemed fitted toreflect in even the feeblest degree the brightness of the colours of mymental vision. I determined not to begin at all. So I pray you,gracious reader, accept the three letters which my friend Lothair hasbeen so kind as to communicate to me as the outline of the picture,into which I will endeavour to introduce more and more colour as Iproceed with my narrative. Perhaps, like a good portrait-painter, I maysucceed in depicting more than one figure in such wise that you willrecognise it as a good likeness without being acquainted with theoriginal, and feel as if you had very often seen the original with yourown bodily eyes. Perhaps, too, you will then believe that nothing ismore wonderful, nothing more fantastic than real life, and that allthat a writer can do is to present it as a dark reflection from a dimcut mirror.

  In order to make the very commencement more intelligible, it isnecessary to add to the letters that, soon after the death ofNathanael's father, Clara and Lothair, the children of a distantrelative, who had likewise died, leaving them orphans, were taken byNathanael's mother into her own house. Clara and Nathanael conceived awarm affection for each other, against which not the slightestobjection in the world could be urged. When therefore Nathanael lefthome to prosecute his studies in G----, they were betrothed. It is fromG---- that his last letter is written, where he is attending thelectures of Spalanzani, the distinguished Professor of Physics.

  I might now proceed comfortably with my narration, did not at thismoment Clara's image rise up so vividly before my eyes that I cannotturn them away from it, just as I never could when she looked upon meand smiled so sweetly. Nowhere would she have passed for beautiful;that was the unanimous opinion of all who professed to have anytechnical knowledge of beauty. But whilst architects praised the pureproportions of her figure and form, painters averred that her neck,shoulders, and bosom were almost too chastely modelled, and yet, on theother hand, one and all were in love with her glorious Magdalene hair,and talked a good deal of nonsense about Battoni-like[7] colouring. Oneof them, a veritable romanticist, strangely enough likened her eyes toa lake by Ruisdael,[8] in which is reflected the pure azure of thecloudless sky, the beauty of woods and flowers, and all the bright andvaried life of a living landscape. Poets and musicians went stillfurther and said, "What's all this talk about seas and
reflections? Howcan we look upon the girl without feeling that wonderful heavenly songsand melodies beam upon us from her eyes, penetrating deep down into ourhearts, till all becomes awake and throbbing with emotion? And if wecannot sing anything at all passable then, why, we are not worth much;and this we can also plainly read in the rare smile which flits aroundher lips when we have the hardihood to squeak out something in herpresence which we pretend to call singing, in spite of the fact that itis nothing more than a few single notes confusedly linked together."And it really was so. Clara had the powerful fancy of a bright,innocent, unaffected child, a woman's deep and sympathetic heart, andan understanding clear, sharp, and discriminating. Dreamers andvisionaries had but a bad time of it with her; for without saying verymuch--she was not by nature of a talkative disposition--she plainlyasked, by her calm steady look, and rare ironical smile, "How can youimagine, my dear friends, that I can take these fleeting shadowy imagesfor true living and breathing forms?" For this reason many found faultwith her as being cold, prosaic, and devoid of feeling; others,however, who had reached a clearer and deeper conception of life, wereextremely fond of the intelligent, childlike, large-hearted girl Butnone had such an affection for her as Nathanael, who was a zealous andcheerful cultivator of the fields of science and art. Clara clung toher lover with all her heart; the first clouds she encountered in lifewere when he had to separate from her. With what delight did she flyinto his arms when, as he had promised in his last letter to Lothair,he really came back to his native town and entered his mother's room!And as Nathanael had foreseen, the moment he saw Clara again he nolonger thought about either the advocate Coppelius or her sensibleletter; his ill-humour had quite disappeared.

  Nevertheless Nathanael was right when he told his friend Lothair thatthe repulsive vendor of weather-glasses, Coppola, had exercised a fataland disturbing influence upon his life. It was quite patent to all; foreven during the first few days he showed that he was completely andentirely changed. He gave himself up to gloomy reveries, and moreoveracted so strangely; they had never observed anything at all like it inhim before. Everything, even his own life, was to him but dreams andpresentiments. His constant theme was that every man who delusivelyimagined himself to be free was merely the plaything of the cruel sportof mysterious powers, and it was vain for man to resist them; he musthumbly submit to whatever destiny had decreed for him. He went so faras to maintain that it was foolish to believe that a man could doanything in art or science of his own accord; for the inspiration inwhich alone any true artistic work could be done did not proceed fromthe spirit within outwards, but was the result of the operationdirected inwards of some Higher Principle existing without and beyondourselves.

  This mystic extravagance was in the highest degree repugnant to Clara'sclear intelligent mind, but it seemed vain to enter upon any attempt atrefutation. Yet when Nathanael went on to prove that Coppelius was theEvil Principle which had entered into him and taken possession of himat the time he was listening behind the curtain, and that this hatefuldemon would in some terrible way ruin their happiness, then Clara grewgrave and said, "Yes, Nathanael. You are right; Coppelius is an EvilPrinciple; he can do dreadful things, as bad as could a Satanic powerwhich should assume a living physical form, but only--only if you donot banish him from your mind and thoughts. So long as you believe inhim he exists and is at work; your belief in him is his only power."Whereupon Nathanael, quite angry because Clara would only grant theexistence of the demon in his own mind, began to dilate at large uponthe whole mystic doctrine of devils and awful powers, but Claraabruptly broke off the theme by making, to Nathanael's very greatdisgust, some quite commonplace remark. Such deep mysteries are sealedbooks to cold, unsusceptible characters, he thought, without beingclearly conscious to himself that he counted Clara amongst theseinferior natures, and accordingly he did not remit his efforts toinitiate her into these mysteries. In the morning, when she was helpingto prepare breakfast, he would take his stand beside her, and read allsorts of mystic books to her, until she begged him--"But, my dearNathanael, I shall have to scold you as the Evil Principle whichexercises a fatal influence upon my coffee. For if I do as you wish,and let things go their own way, and look into your eyes whilst youread, the coffee will all boil over into the fire, and you will none ofyou get any breakfast." Then Nathanael hastily banged the book to andran away in great displeasure to his own room.

  Formerly he had possessed a peculiar talent for writing pleasing,sparkling tales, which Clara took the greatest delight in listening to;but now his productions were gloomy, unintelligible, and wanting inform, so that, although Clara out of forbearance towards him did notsay so, he nevertheless felt how very little interest she took in them.There was nothing that Clara disliked so much as what was tedious; atsuch times her intellectual sleepiness was not to be overcome; it wasbetrayed both in her glances and in her words. Nathanael's effusionswere, in truth, exceedingly tedious. His ill-humour at Clara's coldprosaic temperament continued to increase; Clara could not conceal herdistaste of his dark, gloomy, wearying mysticism; and thus both beganto be more and more estranged from each other without exactly beingaware of it themselves. The image of the ugly Coppelius had, asNathanael was obliged to confess to himself, faded considerably in hisfancy, and it often cost him great pains to present him in vividcolours in his literary efforts, in which he played the part of theghoul of Destiny. At length it entered into his head to make his dismalpresentiment that Coppelius would ruin his happiness the subject of apoem. He made himself and Clara, united by true love, the centralfigures, but represented a black hand as being from time to time thrustinto their life and plucking out a joy that had blossomed for them. Atlength, as they were standing at the altar, the terrible Coppeliusappeared and touched Clara's lovely eyes, which leapt into Nathanael'sown bosom, burning and hissing like bloody sparks. Then Coppelius laidhold upon him, and hurled him into a blazing circle of fire, which spunround with the speed of a whirlwind, and, storming and blustering,dashed away with him. The fearful noise it made was like a furioushurricane lashing the foaming sea-waves until they rise up like black,white-headed giants in the midst of the raging struggle. But throughthe midst of the savage fury of the tempest he heard Clara's voicecalling, "Can you not see me, dear? Coppelius has deceived you; theywere not my eyes which burned so in your bosom; they were fiery dropsof your own heart's blood. Look at me, I have got my own eyes still."Nathanael thought, "Yes, that is Clara, and I am hers for ever." Thenthis thought laid a powerful grasp upon the fiery circle so that itstood still, and the riotous turmoil died away rumbling down a darkabyss. Nathanael looked into Clara's eyes; but it was death whose gazerested so kindly upon him.

  Whilst Nathanael was writing this work he was very quiet andsober-minded; he filed and polished every line, and as he had chosen tosubmit himself to the limitations of metre, he did not rest until allwas pure and musical. When, however, he had at length finished it andread it aloud to himself he was seized with horror and awful dread, andhe screamed, "Whose hideous voice is this?" But he soon came to see init again nothing beyond a very successful poem, and he confidentlybelieved it would enkindle Clara's cold temperament, though to what endshe should be thus aroused was not quite clear to his own mind, nor yetwhat would be the real purpose served by tormenting her with thesedreadful pictures, which prophesied a terrible and ruinous end to heraffection.

  Nathanael and Clara sat in his mother's little garden. Clara was brightand cheerful, since for three entire days her lover, who had been busywriting his poem, had not teased her with his dreams or forebodings.Nathanael, too, spoke in a gay and vivacious way of things of merryimport, as he formerly used to do, so that Clara said, "Ah! now I haveyou again. We have driven away that ugly Coppelius, you see." Then itsuddenly occurred to him that he had got the poem in his pocket whichhe wished to read to her. He at once took out the manuscript and beganto read. Clara, anticipating something tedious as usual, prepared tosubmit to the infliction, and calmly resumed her knitting. But as thesomb
re clouds rose up darker and darker she let her knitting fall onher lap and sat with her eyes fixed in a set stare upon Nathanael'sface. He was quite carried away by his own work, the fire of enthusiasmcoloured his cheeks a deep red, and tears started from his eyes. Atlength he concluded, groaning and showing great lassitude; graspingClara's hand, he sighed as if he were being utterly melted ininconsolable grief, "Oh! Clara! Clara!" She drew him softly to herheart and said in a low but very grave and impressive tone, "Nathanael,my darling Nathanael, throw that foolish, senseless, stupid thing intothe fire." Then Nathanael leapt indignantly to his feet, crying, as hepushed Clara from him, "You damned lifeless automaton!" and rushedaway. Clara was cut to the heart, and wept bitterly. "Oh! he has neverloved me, for he does not understand me," she sobbed.

  Lothair entered the arbour. Clara was obliged to tell him all that hadtaken place. He was passionately fond of his sister; and every word ofher complaint fell like a spark upon his heart, so that the displeasurewhich he had long entertained against his dreamy friend Nathanael waskindled into furious anger. He hastened to find Nathanael, andupbraided him in harsh words for his irrational behaviour towards hisbeloved sister. The fiery Nathanael answered him in the same style. "Afantastic, crack-brained fool," was retaliated with, "A miserable,common, everyday sort of fellow." A meeting was the inevitableconsequence. They agreed to meet on the following morning behind thegarden-wall, and fight, according to the custom of the students of theplace, with sharp rapiers. They went about silent and gloomy; Clarahad both heard and seen the violent quarrel, and also observed thefencing-master bring the rapiers in the dusk of the evening. She had apresentiment of what was to happen. They both appeared at the appointedplace wrapped up in the same gloomy silence, and threw off their coats.Their eyes flaming with the bloodthirsty light of pugnacity, they wereabout to begin their contest when Clara burst through the garden door.Sobbing, she screamed, "You savage, terrible men! Cut me down beforeyou attack each other; for how can I live when my lover has slain mybrother, or my brother slain my lover?" Lothair let his weapon fall andgazed silently upon the ground, whilst Nathanael's heart was rent withsorrow, and all the affection which he had felt for his lovely Clara inthe happiest days of her golden youth was awakened within him. Hismurderous weapon, too, fell from his hand; he threw himself at Clara'sfeet. "Oh! can you ever forgive me, my only, my dearly loved Clara? Canyou, my dear brother Lothair, also forgive me?" Lothair was touched byhis friend's great distress; the three young people embraced each otheramidst endless tears, and swore never again to break their bond of loveand fidelity.

  Nathanael felt as if a heavy burden that had been weighing him down tothe earth was now rolled from off him, nay, as if by offeringresistance to the dark power which had possessed him, he had rescuedhis own self from the ruin which had threatened him. Three happy dayshe now spent amidst the loved ones, and then returned to G----, wherehe had still a year to stay before settling down in his native town forlife.

  Everything having reference to Coppelius had been concealed from themother, for they knew she could not think of him without horror, sinceshe as well as Nathanael believed him to be guilty of causing herhusband's death.

  * * * * * * *

  When Nathanael came to the house where he lived he was greatlyastonished to find it burnt down to the ground, so that nothing but thebare outer walls were left standing amidst a heap of ruins. Althoughthe fire had broken out in the laboratory of the chemist who lived onthe ground-floor, and had therefore spread upwards, some of Nathanael'sbold, active friends had succeeded in time in forcing a way into hisroom in the upper storey and saving his books and manuscripts andinstruments. They had carried them all uninjured into another house,where they engaged a room for him; this he now at once took possessionof. That he lived opposite Professor Spalanzani did not strike himparticularly, nor did it occur to him as anything more singular that hecould, as he observed, by looking out of his window, see straight intothe room where Olimpia often sat alone. Her figure he could plainlydistinguish, although her features were uncertain and confused. It didat length occur to him, however, that she remained for hours togetherin the same position in which he had first discovered her through theglass door, sitting at a little table without any occupation whatever,and it was evident that she was constantly gazing across in hisdirection. He could not but confess to himself that he had never seen afiner figure. However, with Clara mistress of his heart, he remainedperfectly unaffected by Olimpia's stiffness and apathy; and it was onlyoccasionally that he sent a fugitive glance over his compendium acrossto her--that was all.

  He was writing to Clara; a light tap came at the door. At his summonsto "Come in," Coppola's repulsive face appeared peeping in. Nathanaelfelt his heart beat with trepidation; but, recollecting what Spalanzanihad told him about his fellow-countryman Coppola, and what he hadhimself so faithfully promised his beloved in respect to the Sand-manCoppelius, he was ashamed at himself for this childish fear ofspectres. Accordingly, he controlled himself with an effort, and said,as quietly and as calmly as he possibly could, "I don't want to buy anyweather-glasses, my good friend; you had better go elsewhere." ThenCoppola came right into the room, and said in a hoarse voice, screwingup his wide mouth into a hideous smile, whilst his little eyes flashedkeenly from beneath his long grey eyelashes, "What! Nee weather-gless?Nee weather-gless? 've got foine oyes as well--foine oyes!" Affrighted,Nathanael cried, "You stupid man, how can you have eyes?--eyes--eyes?"But Coppola, laying aside his weather-glasses, thrust his hands intohis big coat-pockets and brought out several spy-glasses andspectacles, and put them on the table. "Theer! Theer! Spect'cles!Spect'cles to put 'n nose! Them's my oyes--foine oyes." And hecontinued to produce more and more spectacles from his pockets untilthe table began to gleam and flash all over. Thousands of eyes werelooking and blinking convulsively, and staring up at Nathanael; hecould not avert his gaze from the table. Coppola went on heaping up hisspectacles, whilst wilder and ever wilder burning flashes crossedthrough and through each other and darted their blood-red rays intoNathanael's breast. Quite overcome, and frantic with terror, heshouted, "Stop! stop! you terrible man!" and he seized Coppola by thearm, which he had again thrust into his pocket in order to bring outstill more spectacles, although the whole table was covered all overwith them. With a harsh disagreeable laugh Coppola gently freedhimself; and with the words "So! went none! Well, here foine gless!"he swept all his spectacles together, and put them back into hiscoat-pockets, whilst from a breast-pocket he produced a great number oflarger and smaller perspectives. As soon as the spectacles were goneNathanael recovered his equanimity again; and, bending his thoughtsupon Clara, he clearly discerned that the gruesome incubus hadproceeded only from himself, as also that Coppola was a right honestmechanician and optician, and far from being Coppelius's dreaded doubleand ghost And then, besides, none of the glasses which Coppola nowplaced on the table had anything at all singular about them, at leastnothing so weird as the spectacles; so, in order to square accountswith himself, Nathanael now really determined to buy something of theman. He took up a small, very beautifully cut pocket perspective, andby way of proving it looked through the window. Never before in hislife had he had a glass in his hands that brought out things so clearlyand sharply and distinctly. Involuntarily he directed the glass uponSpalanzani's room; Olimpia sat at the little table as usual, her armslaid upon it and her hands folded. Now he saw for the first time theregular and exquisite beauty of her features. The eyes, however, seemedto him to have a singular look of fixity and lifelesness. But as hecontinued to look closer and more carefully through the glass hefancied a light like humid moonbeams came into them. It seemed as iftheir power of vision was now being enkindled; their glances shone withever-increasing vivacity. Nathanael remained standing at the window asif glued to the spot by a wizard's spell, his gaze rivettedunchangeably upon the divinely beautiful Olimpia. A coughing andshuffling of the feet awakened him out of his enchaining dream, as itwere. Coppola stood
behind him, "Tre zechini" (three ducats). Nathanaelhad completely forgotten the optician; he hastily paid the sumdemanded. "Ain't 't? Foine gless? foine gless?" asked Coppola in hisharsh unpleasant voice, smiling sardonically. "Yes, yes, yes," rejoinedNathanael impatiently; "adieu, my good friend." But Coppola did notleave the room without casting many peculiar side-glances uponNathanael; and the young student heard him laughing loudly on thestairs. "Ah well!" thought he, "he's laughing at me because I've paidhim too much for this little perspective--because I've given him toomuch money--that's it" As he softly murmured these words he fancied hedetected a gasping sigh as of a dying man stealing awfully through theroom; his heart stopped beating with fear. But to be sure he had heaveda deep sigh himself; it was quite plain. "Clara is quite right," saidhe to himself, "in holding me to be an incurable ghost-seer; and yetit's very ridiculous--ay, more than ridiculous, that the stupid thoughtof having paid Coppola too much for his glass should cause me thisstrange anxiety; I can't see any reason for it."

  Now he sat down to finish his letter to Clara; but a glance through thewindow showed him Olimpia still in her former posture. Urged by anirresistible impulse he jumped up and seized Coppola's perspective; norcould he tear himself away from the fascinating Olimpia until hisfriend and brother Siegmund called for him to go to ProfessorSpalanzani's lecture. The curtains before the door of the all-importantroom were closely drawn, so that he could not see Olimpia. Nor could heeven see her from his own room during the two following days,notwithstanding that he scarcely ever left his window, and maintained ascarce interrupted watch through Coppola's perspective upon her room.On the third day curtains even were drawn across the window. Plungedinto the depths of despair,--goaded by longing and ardent desire, hehurried outside the walls of the town. Olimpia's image hovered abouthis path in the air and stepped forth out of the bushes, and peeped upat him with large and lustrous eyes from the bright surface of thebrook. Clara's image was completely faded from his mind; he had nothoughts except for Olimpia. He uttered his love-plaints aloud and in alachrymose tone, "Oh! my glorious, noble star of love, have you onlyrisen to vanish again, and leave me in the darkness and hopelessness ofnight?"

  Returning home, he became aware that there was a good deal of noisybustle going on in Spalanzani's house. All the doors stood wide open;men were taking in all kinds of gear and furniture; the windows of thefirst floor were all lifted off their hinges; busy maid-servants withimmense hair-brooms were driving backwards and forwards dusting andsweeping, whilst within could be heard the knocking and hammering ofcarpenters and upholsterers. Utterly astonished, Nathanael stood stillin the street; then Siegmund joined him, laughing, and said, "Well,what do you say to our old Spalanzani?" Nathanael assured him that hecould not say anything, since he knew not what it all meant; to hisgreat astonishment, he could hear, however, that they were turning thequiet gloomy house almost inside out with their dusting and cleaningand making of alterations. Then he learned from Siegmund thatSpalanzani intended giving a great concert and ball on the followingday, and that half the university was invited. It was generallyreported that Spalanzani was going to let his daughter Olimpia, whom hehad so long so jealously guarded from every eye, make her firstappearance.

  Nathanael received an invitation. At the appointed hour, when thecarriages were rolling up and the lights were gleaming brightly in thedecorated halls, he went across to the Professor's, his heart beatinghigh with expectation. The company was both numerous and brilliant.Olimpia was richly and tastefully dressed. One could not but admire herfigure and the regular beauty of her features. The striking inwardcurve of her back, as well as the wasp-like smallness of her waist,appeared to be the result of too-tight lacing. There was somethingstiff and measured in her gait and bearing that made an unfavourableimpression upon many; it was ascribed to the constraint imposed uponher by the company. The concert began. Olimpia played on the piano withgreat skill; and sang as skilfully an _aria di bravura_, in a voicewhich was, if anything, almost too sharp, but clear as glass bells.Nathanael was transported with delight; he stood in the backgroundfarthest from her, and owing to the blinding lights could not quitedistinguish her features. So, without being observed, he took Coppola'sglass out of his pocket, and directed it upon the beautiful Olimpia.Oh! then he perceived how her yearning eyes sought him, how every noteonly reached its full purity in the loving glance which penetrated toand inflamed his heart. Her artificial _roulades_ seemed to him to bethe exultant cry towards heaven of the soul refined by love; and whenat last, after the _cadenza_, the long trill rang shrilly and loudlythrough the hall, he felt as if he were suddenly grasped by burningarms and could no longer control himself,--he could not help shoutingaloud in his mingled pain and delight, "Olimpia!" All eyes were turnedupon him; many people laughed. The face of the cathedral organist worea still more gloomy look than it had done before, but all he said was,"Very well!"

  The concert came to an end, and the ball began. Oh! to dance withher--with her--that was now the aim of all Nathanael's wishes, of allhis desires. But how should he have courage to request her, the queenof the ball, to grant him the honour of a dance? And yet he couldn'ttell how it came about, just as the dance began, he found himselfstanding close beside her, nobody having as yet asked her to be hispartner; so, with some difficulty stammering out a few words, hegrasped her hand. It was cold as ice; he shook with an awful, frostyshiver. But, fixing his eyes upon her face, he saw that her glance wasbeaming upon him with love and longing, and at the same moment hethought that the pulse began to beat in her cold hand, and the warmlife-blood to course through her veins. And passion burned moreintensely in his own heart also; he threw his arm round her beautifulwaist and whirled her round the hall. He had always thought that hekept good and accurate time in dancing, but from the perfectlyrhythmical evenness with which Olimpia danced, and which frequently puthim quite out, he perceived how very faulty his own time really was.Notwithstanding, he would not dance with any other lady; and everybodyelse who approached Olimpia to call upon her for a dance, he would haveliked to kill on the spot. This, however, only happened twice; to hisastonishment Olimpia remained after this without a partner, and hefailed not on each occasion to take her out again. If Nathanael hadbeen able to see anything else except the beautiful Olimpia, therewould inevitably have been a good deal of unpleasant quarrelling andstrife; for it was evident that Olimpia was the object of the smotheredlaughter only with difficulty suppressed, which was heard in variouscorners amongst the young people; and they followed her with verycurious looks, but nobody knew for what reason. Nathanael, excited bydancing and the plentiful supply of wine he had consumed, had laidaside the shyness which at other times characterised him. He sat besideOlimpia, her hand in his own, and declared his love enthusiasticallyand passionately in words which neither of them understood, neither henor Olimpia. And yet she perhaps did, for she sat with her eyes fixedunchangeably upon his, sighing repeatedly, "Ach! Ach! Ach!" Upon thisNathanael would answer, "Oh, you glorious heavenly lady! You ray fromthe promised paradise of love! Oh! what a profound soul you have! mywhole being is mirrored in it!" and a good deal more in the samestrain. But Olimpia only continued to sigh "Ach! Ach!" again and again.

  Professor Spalanzani passed by the two happy lovers once or twice, andsmiled with a look of peculiar satisfaction. All at once it seemed toNathanael, albeit he was far away in a different world, as if it weregrowing perceptibly darker down below at Professor Spalanzani's. Helooked about him, and to his very great alarm became aware that therewere only two lights left burning in the hall, and they were on thepoint of going out. The music and dancing had long ago ceased. "We mustpart--part!" he cried, wildly and despairingly; he kissed Olimpia'shand; he bent down to her mouth, but ice-cold lips met his burningones. As he touched her cold hand, he felt his heart thrilled with awe;the legend of "The Dead Bride"[9] shot suddenly through his mind. ButOlimpia had drawn him closer to her, and the kiss appeared to warm herlips into vitality. Professor Spalanzani strode slowly through theempty
apartment, his footsteps giving a hollow echo; and his figurehad, as the flickering shadows played about him, a ghostly, awfulappearance. "Do you love me? Do you love me, Olimpia? Only one littleword--Do you love me?" whispered Nathanael, but she only sighed, "Ach!Ach!" as she rose to her feet. "Yes, you are my lovely, glorious starof love," said Nathanael, "and will shine for ever, purifying andennobling my heart" "Ach! Ach!" replied Olimpia, as she moved along.Nathanael followed her; they stood before the Professor. "You have hadan extraordinarily animated conversation with my daughter," said he,smiling; "well, well, my dear Mr. Nathanael, if you find pleasure intalking to the stupid girl, I am sure I shall be glad for you to comeand do so." Nathanael took his leave, his heart singing and leaping ina perfect delirium of happiness.

  During the next few days Spalanzani's ball was the general topic ofconversation. Although the Professor had done everything to make thething a splendid success, yet certain gay spirits related more than onething that had occurred which was quite irregular and out of order.They were especially keen in pulling Olimpia to pieces for hertaciturnity and rigid stiffness; in spite of her beautiful form theyalleged that she was hopelessly stupid, and in this fact they discernedthe reason why Spalanzani had so long kept her concealed frompublicity. Nathanael heard all this with inward wrath, but neverthelesshe held his tongue; for, thought he, would it indeed be worth while toprove to these fellows that it is their own stupidity which preventsthem from appreciating Olimpia's profound and brilliant parts? One daySiegmund said to him, "Pray, brother, have the kindness to tell mehow you, a sensible fellow, came to lose your head over that MissWax-face--that wooden doll across there?" Nathanael was about to flyinto a rage, but he recollected himself and replied, "Tell me,Siegmund, how came it that Olimpia's divine charms could escape youreye, so keenly alive as it always is to beauty, and your acuteperception as well? But Heaven be thanked for it, otherwise I shouldhave had you for a rival, and then the blood of one of us would havehad to be spilled." Siegmund, perceiving how matters stood with hisfriend, skilfully interposed and said, after remarking that allargument with one in love about the object of his affections was out ofplace, "Yet it's very strange that several of us have formed prettymuch the same opinion about Olimpia. We think she is--you won't take itill, brother?--that she is singularly statuesque and soulless. Herfigure is regular, and so are her features, that can't be gainsaid; andif her eyes were not so utterly devoid of life, I may say, of the powerof vision, she might pass for a beauty. She is strangely measured inher movements, they all seem as if they were dependent upon somewound-up clock-work. Her playing and singing has the disagreeablyperfect, but insensitive time of a singing machine, and her dancing isthe same. We felt quite afraid of this Olimpia, and did not like tohave anything to do with her; she seemed to us to be only acting _like_a living creature, and as if there was some secret at the bottom of itall." Nathanael did not give way to the bitter feelings whichthreatened to master him at these words of Siegmund's; he fought downand got the better of his displeasure, and merely said, very earnestly,"You cold prosaic fellows may very well be afraid of her. It is only toits like that the poetically organised spirit unfolds itself. Upon mealone did her loving glances fall, and through my mind and thoughtsalone did they radiate; and only in her love can I find my own selfagain. Perhaps, however, she doesn't do quite right not to jabber a lotof nonsense and stupid talk like other shallow people. It is true, shespeaks but few words; but the few words she docs speak are genuinehieroglyphs of the inner world of Love and of the higher cognition ofthe intellectual life revealed in the intuition of the Eternal beyondthe grave. But you have no understanding for all these things, and I amonly wasting words." "God be with you, brother," said Siegmund verygently, almost sadly, "but it seems to me that you are in a very badway. You may rely upon me, if all--No, I can't say any more." It all atonce dawned upon Nathanael that his cold prosaic friend Siegmund reallyand sincerely wished him well, and so he warmly shook his profferedhand.

  Nathanael had completely forgotten that there was a Clara in the world,whom he had once loved--and his mother and Lothair. They had allvanished from his mind; he lived for Olimpia alone. He sat beside herevery day for hours together, rhapsodising about his love and sympathyenkindled into life, and about psychic elective affinity[10]--all ofwhich Olimpia listened to with great reverence. He fished up from thevery bottom of his desk all the things that he had ever written--poems,fancy sketches, visions, romances, tales, and the heap was increaseddaily with all kinds of aimless sonnets, stanzas, canzonets. All thesehe read to Olimpia hour after hour without growing tired; but then hehad never had such an exemplary listener. She neither embroidered, norknitted; she did not look out of the window, or feed a bird, or playwith a little pet dog or a favourite cat, neither did she twist a pieceof paper or anything of that kind round her finger; she did notforcibly convert a yawn into a low affected cough--in short, she sathour after hour with her eyes bent unchangeably upon her lover's face,without moving or altering her position, and her gaze grew more ardentand more ardent still. And it was only when at last Nathanael roseand kissed her lips or her hand that she said, "Ach! Ach!" and then"Good-night, dear." Arrived in his own room, Nathanael would break outwith, "Oh! what a brilliant--what a profound mind! Only you--you aloneunderstand me." And his heart trembled with rapture when he reflectedupon the wondrous harmony which daily revealed itself between his ownand his Olimpia's character; for he fancied that she had expressed inrespect to his works and his poetic genius the identical sentimentswhich he himself cherished deep down in his own heart in respect to thesame, and even as if it was his own heart's voice speaking to him. Andit must indeed have been so; for Olimpia never uttered any other wordsthan those already mentioned. And when Nathanael himself in his clearand sober moments, as, for instance, directly after waking in amorning, thought about her utter passivity and taciturnity, he onlysaid, "What are words--but words? The glance of her heavenly eyes saysmore than any tongue of earth. And how can, anyway, a child of heavenaccustom herself to the narrow circle which the exigencies of awretched mundane life demand?"

  Professor Spalanzani appeared to be greatly pleased at the intimacythat had sprung up between his daughter Olimpia and Nathanael, andshowed the young man many unmistakable proofs of his good feelingtowards him; and when Nathanael ventured at length to hint verydelicately at an alliance with Olimpia, the Professor smiled all overhis face at once, and said he should allow his daughter to make aperfectly free choice. Encouraged by these words, and with the fire ofdesire burning in his heart, Nathanael resolved the very next day toimplore Olimpia to tell him frankly, in plain words, what he had longread in her sweet loving glances,--that she would be his for ever. Helooked for the ring which his mother had given him at parting; he wouldpresent it to Olimpia as a symbol of his devotion, and of the happylife he was to lead with her from that time onwards. Whilst looking forit he came across his letters from Clara and Lothair; he threw themcarelessly aside, found the ring, put it in his pocket, and ran acrossto Olimpia. Whilst still on the stairs, in the entrance-passage, heheard an extraordinary hubbub; the noise seemed to proceed fromSpalanzani's study. There was a stamping--a rattling--pushing--knockingagainst the door, with curses and oaths intermingled. "Leavehold--leave hold--you monster--you rascal--staked your life and honourupon it?--Ha! ha! ha! ha!--That was not our wager--I, I made theeyes--I the clock-work.--Go to the devil with your clock-work--youdamned dog of a watch-maker--be off--Satan--stop--you paltryturner--you infernal beast!--stop--begone--let me go." The voices whichwere thus making all this racket and rumpus were those of Spalanzaniand the fearsome Coppelius. Nathanael rushed in, impelled by somenameless dread. The Professor was grasping a female figure by theshoulders, the Italian Coppola held her by the feet; and they werepulling and dragging each other backwards and forwards, fightingfuriously to get possession of her. Nathanael recoiled with horror onrecognising that the figure was Olimpia. Boiling with rage, he wasabout to tear his beloved from the grasp of the madmen, when C
oppola byan extraordinary exertion of strength twisted the figure out of theProfessor's hands and gave him such a terrible blow with her, that hereeled backwards and fell over the table all amongst the phials andretorts, the bottles and glass cylinders, which covered it: all thesethings were smashed into a thousand pieces. But Coppola threw thefigure across his shoulder, and, laughing shrilly and horribly, ranhastily down the stairs, the figure's ugly feet hanging down andbanging and rattling like wood against the steps. Nathanael wasstupefied;--he had seen only too distinctly that in Olimpia's pallidwaxed face there were no eyes, merely black holes in their stead; shewas an inanimate puppet. Spalanzani was rolling on the floor; thepieces of glass had cut his head and breast and arm; the blood wasescaping from him in streams. But he gathered his strength together byan effort.

  "After him--after him! What do you stand staring there for?Coppelius--Coppelius--he's stolen my best automaton--at which I'veworked for twenty years--staked my life upon it--the clock-work--speech--movement--mine--your eyes--stolen your eyes--damn him--cursehim--after him--fetch me back Olimpia--there are the eyes." And nowNathanael saw a pair of bloody eyes lying on the floor staring at him;Spalanzani seized them with his uninjured hand and threw them at him,so that they hit his breast Then madness dug her burning talons intohim and swept down into his heart, rending his mind and thoughts toshreds. "Aha! aha! aha! Fire-wheel--fire-wheel! Spin round, fire-wheel!merrily, merrily! Aha! wooden doll! spin round, pretty wooden doll!"and he threw himself upon the Professor, clutching him fast by thethroat. He would certainly have strangled him had not several people,attracted by the noise, rushed in and torn away the madman; and so theysaved the Professor, whose wounds were immediately dressed. Siegmund,with all his strength, was not able to subdue the frantic lunatic, whocontinued to scream in a dreadful way, "Spin round, wooden doll!" andto strike out right and left with his doubled fists. At length theunited strength of several succeeded in overpowering him by throwinghim on the floor and binding him. His cries passed into a brutishbellow that was awful to hear; and thus raging with the harrowingviolence of madness, he was taken away to the madhouse.

  Before continuing my narration of what happened further to theunfortunate Nathanael, I will tell you, indulgent reader, in case youtake any interest in that skilful mechanician and fabricator ofautomata, Spalanzani, that he recovered completely from his wounds. Hehad, however, to leave the university, for Nathanael's fate had createda great sensation; and the opinion was pretty generally expressed thatit was an imposture altogether unpardonable to have smuggled a woodenpuppet instead of a living person into intelligent tea-circles,--forOlimpia had been present at several with success. Lawyers called it acunning piece of knavery, and all the harder to punish since it wasdirected against the public; and it had been so craftily contrived thatit had escaped unobserved by all except a few preternaturally acutestudents, although everybody was very wise now and remembered to havethought of several facts which occurred to them as suspicious. Butthese latter could not succeed in making out any sort of a consistenttale. For was it, for instance, a thing likely to occur to any one assuspicious that, according to the declaration of an elegant beau ofthese tea-parties, Olimpia had, contrary to all good manners, sneezedoftener than she had yawned? The former must have been, in the opinionof this elegant gentleman, the winding up of the concealed clock-work;it had always been accompanied by an observable creaking, and so on.The Professor of Poetry and Eloquence took a pinch of snuff, and,slapping the lid to and clearing his throat, said solemnly, "My mosthonourable ladies and gentlemen, don't you see then where the rub is?The whole thing is an allegory, a continuous metaphor. You understandme? _Sapienti sat._" But several most honourable gentlemen did not restsatisfied with this explanation; the history of this automaton had sunkdeeply into their souls, and an absurd mistrust of human figures beganto prevail. Several lovers, in order to be fully convinced that theywere not paying court to a wooden puppet, required that their mistressshould sing and dance a little out of time, should embroider or knit orplay with her little pug, &c., when being read to, but above all thingselse that she should do something more than merely listen--that sheshould frequently speak in such a way as to really show that her wordspresupposed as a condition some thinking and feeling. The bonds of lovewere in many cases drawn closer in consequence, and so of course becamemore engaging; in other instances they gradually relaxed and fell away."I cannot really be made responsible for it," was the remark of morethan one young gallant. At the tea-gatherings everybody, in order toward off suspicion, yawned to an incredible extent and never sneezed.Spalanzani was obliged, as has been said, to leave the place in orderto escape a criminal charge of having fraudulently imposed an automatonupon human society. Coppola, too, had also disappeared.

  When Nathanael awoke he felt as if he had been oppressed by a terriblenightmare; he opened his eyes and experienced an indescribablesensation of mental comfort, whilst a soft and most beautiful sensationof warmth pervaded his body. He lay on his own bed in his own room athome; Clara was bending over him, and at a little distance stood hismother and Lothair. "At last, at last, O my darling Nathanael; now wehave you again; now you are cured of your grievous illness, now you aremine again." And Clara's words came from the depths of her heart; andshe clasped him in her arms. The bright scalding tears streamed fromhis eyes, he was so overcome with mingled feelings of sorrow anddelight; and he gasped forth, "My Clara, my Clara!" Siegmund, who hadstaunchly stood by his friend in his hour of need, now came into theroom. Nathanael gave him his hand--"My faithful brother, you have notdeserted me." Every trace of insanity had left him, and in the tenderhands of his mother and his beloved, and his friends, he quicklyrecovered his strength again. Good fortune had in the meantime visitedthe house; a niggardly old uncle, from whom they had never expected toget anything, had died, and left Nathanael's mother not only aconsiderable fortune, but also a small estate, pleasantly situated notfar from the town. There they resolved to go and live, Nathanael andhis mother, and Clara, to whom he was now to be married, and Lothair.Nathanael was become gentler and more childlike than he had ever beenbefore, and now began really to understand Clara's supremely pure andnoble character. None of them ever reminded him, even in the remotestdegree, of the past. But when Siegmund took leave of him, he said, "Byheaven, brother! I was in a bad way, but an angel came just at theright moment and led me back upon the path of light. Yes, it wasClara." Siegmund would not let him speak further, fearing lest thepainful recollections of the past might arise too vividly and toointensely in his mind.

  The time came for the four happy people to move to their littleproperty. At noon they were going through the streets. After makingseveral purchases they found that the lofty tower of the town-house wasthrowing its giant shadows across the market-place. "Come," said Clara,"let us go up to the top once more and have a look at the distanthills." No sooner said than done. Both of them, Nathanael and Clara,went up the tower; their mother, however, went on with the servant-girlto her new home, and Lothair, not feeling inclined to climb up all themany steps, waited below. There the two lovers stood arm-in-arm on thetopmost gallery of the tower, and gazed out into the sweet-scentedwooded landscape, beyond which the blue hills rose up like a giant'scity.

  "Oh! do look at that strange little grey bush, it looks as if it wereactually walking towards us," said Clara. Mechanically he put his handinto his sidepocket; he found Coppola's perspective and looked for thebush; Clara stood in front of the glass. Then a convulsive thrill shotthrough his pulse and veins; pale as a corpse, he fixed his staringeyes upon her; but soon they began to roll, and a fiery current flashedand sparkled in them, and he yelled fearfully, like a hunted animal.Leaping up high in the air and laughing horribly at the same time, hebegan to shout, in a piercing voice, "Spin round, wooden doll! Spinround, wooden doll!" With the strength of a giant he laid hold uponClara and tried to hurl her over, but in an agony of despair sheclutched fast hold of the railing that went round the gallery. Lothairheard the madman raging and C
lara's scream of terror: a fearfulpresentiment flashed across his mind. He ran up the steps; the door ofthe second flight was locked. Clara's scream for help rang out moreloudly. Mad with rage and fear, he threw himself against the door,which at length gave way. Clara's cries were growing fainter andfainter,--"Help! save me! save me!" and her voice died away in the air."She is killed--murdered by that madman," shouted Lothair. The door tothe gallery was also locked. Despair gave him the strength of a giant;he burst the door off its hinges. Good God! there was Clara in thegrasp of the madman Nathanael, hanging over the gallery in the air; sheonly held to the iron bar with one hand. Quick as lightning, Lothairseized his sister and pulled her back, at the same time dealing themadman a blow in the face with his doubled fist, which sent him reelingbackwards, forcing him to let go his victim.

  Lothair ran down with his insensible sister in his arms. She was saved.But Nathanael ran round and round the gallery, leaping up in the airand shouting, "Spin round, fire-wheel! Spin round, fire-wheel!" Thepeople heard the wild shouting, and a crowd began to gather. In themidst of them towered the advocate Coppelius, like a giant; he had onlyjust arrived in the town, and had gone straight to the market-place.Some were going up to overpower and take charge of the madman, butCoppelius laughed and said, "Ha! ha! wait a bit; he'll come down of hisown accord;" and he stood gazing upwards along with the rest. All atonce Nathanael stopped as if spell-bound; he bent down over therailing, and perceived Coppelius. With a piercing scream, "Ha! foineoyes! foine oyes!" he leapt over.

  When Nathanael lay on the stone pavement with a broken head, Coppeliushad disappeared in the crush and confusion.

  Several years afterwards it was reported that, outside the door of apretty country house in a remote district, Clara had been seen sittinghand in hand with a pleasant gentleman, whilst two bright boys wereplaying at her feet. From this it may be concluded that she eventuallyfound that quiet domestic happiness which her cheerful, blithesomecharacter required, and which Nathanael, with his tempest-tossed soul,could never have been able to give her.

  * * * * * * *

  FOOTNOTES TO "THE SAND-MAN":

  [Footnote 1: "The Sand-man" forms the first of a series of talescalled "The Night-pieces," and was published in 1817.]

  [Footnote 2: See Schiller's _Raeuber_ Act V., Scene 1. Franz Moor,seeing that the failure of all his villainous schemes is inevitable,and that his own ruin is close upon him, is at length overwhelmed withthe madness of despair, and unburdens the terrors of his conscience tothe old servant Daniel, bidding him laugh him to scorn.]

  [Footnote 3: Lazaro Spallanzani, a celebrated anatomist and naturalist(1729-1799), filled for several years the chair of Natural History atPavia, and travelled extensively for scientific purposes in Italy,Turkey, Sicily, Switzerland, &c.]

  [Footnote 4: Or Almanacs of the Muses, as they were also sometimescalled, were periodical, mostly yearly publications, containing allkinds of literary effusions; mostly, however, lyrical. They originatedin the eighteenth century. Schiller, A. W. and F. Schlegel, Tieck, andChamisso, amongst others, conducted undertakings of this nature.]

  [Footnote 5: Joseph Balsamo, a Sicilian by birth, calling himself CountCagliostro, one of the greatest impostors of modern times, lived duringthe latter part of the eighteenth century. See Carlyle's "Miscellanies"for an account of his life and character.]

  [Footnote 6: Daniel Nikolas Chodowiecki, painter and engraver, ofPolish descent, was born at Dantzic in 1726. For some years he was sopopular an artist that few books were published in Prussia withoutplates or vignettes by him. The catalogue of his works is said toinclude 3000 items.]

  [Footnote 7: Pompeo Girolamo Batoni, an Italian painter of theeighteenth century, whose works were at one time greatlyover-estimated.]

  [Footnote 8: Jakob Ruysdael (_c._ 1625-1682), a painter of Haarlem, inHolland. His favourite subjects were remote farms, lonely stagnantwater, deep-shaded woods with marshy paths, the sea-coast--subjects ofa dark melancholy kind. His sea-pieces are greatly admired.]

  [Footnote 9: Phlegon, the freedman of Hadrian, relates that a youngmaiden, Philemium, the daughter of Philostratus and Charitas, becamedeeply enamoured of a young man, named Machates, a guest in the houseof her father. This did not meet with the approbation of her parents,and they turned Machates away. The young maiden took this so much toheart that she pined away and died. Some time afterwards Machatesreturned to his old lodgings, when he was visited at night by hisbeloved, who came from the grave to see him again. The story may beread in Heywood's (Thos.) "Hierarchie of Blessed Angels," Book vii., p.479 (London, 1637). Goethe has made this story the foundation of hisbeautiful poem _Die Braut von Korinth_, with which form of it Hoffmannwas most likely familiar.]

  [Footnote 10: This phrase (_Die Wahlverwandschaft_ in German) has beenmade celebrated as the title of one of Goethe's works.]