Biography Der Sandmann Eta Hoffmann Pdf


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Free kindle book and epub digitized and proofread by Project Gutenberg. [Der Sandmann]. By. E. T. A. Hoffmann. This book is available for free download in a number of formats - including epub, pdf, azw, mobi and more. You can. E. T. A. Hoffmann (). THE SANDMAN. NATHANEL TO LOTHAIRE. Certainly you must all be uneasy that I have not written for so long - so very long.

Der Sandmann Eta Hoffmann Pdf

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E. T. A. Hoffmann's short story 'Der Sandmann' was originally pub- lished in in the first part of the collection Nachtstücke (Night. Pieces).1 The story tells the. eta hoffmann der sandmann pdf. Free eBook: The Sand-Man by E.T.A.. Free kindle book and epub digitized and proofread by Project Gutenberg. Translated by. eta hoffmann der sandmann pdf download. Fantastic tales to music, and Brahms was so fascinated by Hoffmanns character.E. 12 - Transformations of E.

Just as I am beginning, I hear you laugh and Clara say, "What's all this childish nonsense about! But, good God! Except at dinner we, i.

Eta Hoffmann PDF

His business no doubt took up most of his time. After our evening meal, which, in accordance with an old custom, was served at seven o'clock, we all went, mother with us, into father's room, and took our places around a round table.

My father smoked his pipe, drinking a large glass of beer to it. Often he told us many wonderful stories, and got so excited over them that his pipe always went out; I used then to light it for him with a spill, and this formed my chief amusement. Often, again, he would give us picture-books to 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 were enveloped in mist.

On such evenings mother was very sad; and directly it struck nine she said, "Come, children! The 'Sand-man' is come I see. Once in particular I was very much frightened at this dull trampling and knocking; as mother was leading us out of the room I asked her, "O mamma! What does he look like? Full of curiosity to learn something more about this Sand-man and what he had to do with us children, I at length asked the old woman who acted as my youngest sister's attendant, what sort of a man he was--the Sand-man?

When anything came blundering upstairs at night I trembled with fear and dismay; and all that my mother could get out of me were the stammered words "The Sandman! Then I ran into my bedroom, and the whole night through tormented myself with the terrible apparition of the Sand-man. I was quite old enough to perceive that the old woman's tale about the Sand-man and his little ones' nest in the half-moon couldn't be altogether true; nevertheless the Sand-man continued to be for me a fearful incubus, and I was always seized with terror--my blood always ran cold, not only when I heard anybody come up the stairs, but when I heard anybody noisily open my father's room door and go in.

Often he stayed away for a long season altogether; then he would come several times in close succession. This went on for years, without my being able to accustom myself to this fearful apparition, without the image of the horrible Sand-man growing any fainter in my imagination.

His intercourse with my father began to occupy my fancy ever more and more; I was restrained from asking my father about him by an unconquerable shyness; but as the years went on the desire waxed stronger and stronger within me to fathom the mystery myself and to see the fabulous Sand-man.

He had been the means of disclosing to me the path of the wonderful and the adventurous, which so easily find lodgment in the mind of the child. I liked nothing better than to hear or read horrible stories of goblins, witches, Tom Thumbs, and so on; but always at the head of them all stood the Sand-man, whose picture I scribbled in the most extraordinary and repulsive forms with both chalk and coal everywhere, on the tables, and cupboard doors, and walls. When I was ten years old my mother removed me from the nursery into a little chamber off the corridor not far 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 my curiosity waxed stronger, my resolve to make somehow or other the Sand-man's acquaintance took deeper root. Often when my mother had gone past, I slipped quickly out of my room into the corridor, but I could never see anything, for always before I could reach the place where I could get sight of him, the Sand-man was well inside the door.

At last, unable to resist the impulse any longer, I determined to conceal myself in father's room and there wait for the Sand-man. One evening I perceived from my father's silence and mother's sadness that the Sand-man would come; accordingly, pleading that I was excessively tired, I left the room before nine o'clock and concealed myself in a hiding-place close beside the door.

The street door creaked, and slow, heavy, echoing steps crossed the passage towards the stairs.

Translated by J.Y. Bealby, B.A.

Mother hurried past me with my brothers and sisters. Softly--softly--I opened father's room door. He sat as usual, silent and motionless, with his back towards it; he did not hear me; and in a moment I was in and behind a curtain drawn before my father's open wardrobe, which stood just inside the room.

Nearer and nearer and nearer came the echoing footsteps. There was a strange coughing and shuffling and mumbling outside.

My heart beat with expectation and fear. A quick step now close, close beside the door, a noisy rattle of the handle, and the door flies open with a bang.

Recovering my courage with an effort, I take a cautious peep out. In the middle of the room in front of my father stands the Sand-man, the bright light of the lamp falling full upon his face. The Sand-man, the terrible Sand-man, is the old advocate Coppelius who often comes to dine with us. But the most hideous figure could not have awakened greater trepidation in my heart than this Coppelius did. Picture to yourself a large broad-shouldered man, with an immensely big head, a face the colour of yellow-ochre, grey bushy eyebrows, from beneath which two piercing, greenish, cat-like eyes glittered, and a prominent Roman nose hanging over his upper lip.

His distorted mouth was often screwed up into a malicious smile; then two dark-red spots appeared on his cheeks, and a strange hissing noise proceeded from between his tightly clenched teeth. He always wore an ash-grey coat of an old-fashioned cut, a waistcoat of the same, and nether extremities to match, but black stockings and buckles set with stones on his shoes.

His little wig scarcely extended beyond the crown of his head, his hair was curled round high up above his big red ears, and plastered to his temples with cosmetic, and a broad closed hair-bag stood out prominently from his neck, so that you could see the silver buckle that fastened his folded neck-cloth. Altogether he was a most disagreeable and horribly ugly figure; but what we children detested most of all was his big coarse hairy hands; we could never fancy anything that he had once touched.

This he had noticed; and so, whenever our good mother quietly placed a piece of cake or sweet fruit on our plates, he delighted to touch it under 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 that was intended to please us.

And he did just the same thing when father gave us a glass of sweet wine on holidays. Then he would quickly pass his 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 express our vexation in stifled sobs. He habitually called us the "little brutes;" and when he was present we might not utter a sound; and we cursed the ugly spiteful man who deliberately and intentionally spoilt all our little pleasures.

Mother seemed to dislike this hateful Coppelius as much as we did for as soon as he appeared her cheerfulness and bright and natural manner were transformed into sad, gloomy seriousness. Father treated him as if he were a being of some higher race, whose ill-manners were to be tolerated, whilst no efforts ought to be spared to keep him in good-humour.

He had only to give a slight hint, and his favourite dishes were cooked for him and rare wine uncorked. As soon as I saw this Coppelius, therefore, the fearful and hideous thought 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 the old nurse's fable, who fetched children's eyes and took them to the half-moon as food for his little ones--no I but as an ugly spectre-like fiend bringing trouble and misery and ruin, both temporal and everlasting, everywhere wherever he appeared.

At the risk of being discovered, and, as I well enough knew, of being severely punished, I remained as I was, with my head thrust through the curtains listening. My father received Coppelius in a ceremonious manner.

Gloomily and silently my father took off his dressing-gown, and both put on long black smock-frocks. Where they took them from I forgot to notice. Father opened the folding-doors of a cupboard in the wall; but I saw that what I had so long taken to be a cupboard was really a dark recess, in which was a little hearth. Coppelius approached it, and a blue flame crackled upwards from it.

Round about were all kinds of strange utensils. Good God! His gentle and venerable features seemed to be drawn up by some dreadful convulsive pain into an ugly, repulsive Satanic mask. He looked like Coppelius. Coppelius plied the red-hot tongs and drew bright glowing masses out of the thick smoke and began assiduously to hammer them. I fancied that there were men's faces visible round about, but without eyes, having ghastly deep black holes where the eyes should have been.

Eyes here! My blood ran cold with horror; I screamed and tumbled out of my hiding-place into the floor. Coppelius immediately seized upon me. You little brute! Then, snatching me up, he threw me on the hearth, so that the flames began to singe my hair.

Then my father clasped his hands and entreated him, saying, "Master, master, let my Nathanael keep his eyes--oh! It's better as it was! I felt a soft warm breath fanning my cheek; I awakened as if out of the sleep of death; my mother was bending over me. But why should I tire you, my dear Lothair? Enough--I was detected in my eavesdropping, and roughly handled by Coppelius.

Fear and terror had brought on a violent fever, of which I lay ill several weeks. Thus, you see, I have only to relate to you the most terrible moment of my youth for you to thoroughly understand that it must not be ascribed to the weakness of my eyesight if all that I see is colourless, but to the fact that a mysterious destiny has hung a dark veil of clouds about my life, which I shall perhaps only break through when I die.

Coppelius did not show himself again; it was reported he had left the town. It was about a year later when, in pursuance of the old unchanged custom, we sat around the round table in the evening. Father was in very good spirits, and was telling us amusing tales about his youthful travels. As it was striking nine we all at once heard the street door creak on its hinges, and slow ponderous steps echoed across the passage and up the stairs.

The tears started from my mother's eyes. Go now, go and take the children. Go, go to bed--good-night. As I stood there immovable my mother seized me by the arm.

That hateful, hideous Coppelius stood before me with his glittering eyes, smiling maliciously down upon me; in vain did I strive to 5 banish the image. Somewhere about midnight there was a terrific crack, as if a cannon were being fired off. The whole house shook; something went rustling and clattering past my door; the house door was pulled to with a bang.

Then I heard a wild heartrending scream; I rushed into my father's room; the door stood open, and clouds of suffocating smoke came rolling towards me. The servant-maid shouted, "Oh! On the floor in front of the smoking hearth lay my father, dead, his face burned black and fearfully distorted, my sisters weeping and moaning around him, and my mother lying near them in a swoon.

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My senses left me. Two days later, when my father was placed in his coffin; his features were mild and gentle again as they had been when he was alive.

I found great consolation in the thought that his association with the diabolical Coppelius could not have ended in his everlasting ruin. Our neighbours had been awakened by the explosion; the affair got talked about, and came before the magisterial authorities, who wished to cite Coppelius to clear himself. But he had disappeared from the place, leaving no traces behind him. Now when I tell you, my dear friend, that the weather-glass hawker I spoke of was the villain Coppelius, you will not blame me for seeing impending mischief in his inauspicious reappearance.

He was differently dressed; but Coppelius's figure and features are too deeply impressed upon 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 Giuseppe Coppola.

E. T. A. Hoffmann: ‘Der Sandmann’

I am resolved to enter the lists against him and revenge my father's death, let the consequences be what they may. Don't say a word to mother about the reappearance of this odious monster. Give my love to my darling Clara; I will write to her when I am in a somewhat calmer frame of mind. It is a proof that you were thinking a good deal about me when you were sending off your last letter to brother Lothair, for instead of directing it to him you directed it to me. With joy I tore open the envelope, and did not perceive the mistake until I read the words, "Oh!

But as you have so often in innocent raillery made it a sort of reproach against me that I possessed such a calm, and, for a woman, cool-headed temperament that I should be like the woman we read of--if the house was threatening to tumble down, I should, before hastily fleeing, stop to smooth down a crumple in the window-curtains--I need hardly tell you that the beginning of your letter quite upset me.

I could scarcely breathe; there was a bright mist before my eyes. Separation from you--never to see you again, the thought was like a sharp knife in my heart.

I read on and on. Your description of that horrid Coppelius made my flesh creep. I now learnt for the first time what a terrible and violent death your good old father died.

Brother Lothair, to whom I handed over his property, sought to comfort me, but with little success. That horrid weather-glass hawker Giuseppe Coppola followed me everywhere; and I am almost ashamed to confess it, but he was able to disturb my sound and in general calm sleep with all sorts of wonderful dream-shapes.

But soon--the next day--I saw everything in a different light. I will frankly confess, it seems to me that all that was fearsome and terrible of which you speak, existed only in your own self, and that the real true outer world had but little to do with it. I can quite admit that old Coppelius may have been highly obnoxious to you children, but your real detestation of him arose from the fact that he hated children. Naturally enough the gruesome Sand-man of the old nurse's story was associated in your childish mind with 6 old Coppelius, who, even though you had not believed in the Sand-man, would have been to you a ghostly bugbear, especially dangerous to children.

His mysterious labours along with your father at night-time were, I daresay, nothing more than secret experiments in alchemy, with which your mother could not be over well pleased, owing to the large sums of money that most likely were thrown away upon them; and besides, your father, his mind full of the deceptive striving after higher knowledge, may probably have become rather indifferent to his family, as so often happens in the case of such experimentalists.

So also it is equally probable that your father brought about his death by his own imprudence, and that Coppelius is not to blame for it. I must tell you that yesterday I asked our experienced neighbour, the chemist, whether in experiments of this kind an explosion could take place which would have a momentarily fatal effect.

Aug 1, Feb 23, Jun 22, Dec 20, Project Gutenberg 48, free ebooks 16 by E. Der Goldene Topf by E. Dec 1, Ernst Theodor Wilhelm Hoffmann, better known by his pen name E. Dec 17, This web edition. Ernst Theodor Amadeus, Ernst Theodor Wilhelm Hoffmann and other eBooks from all genres of literature. Certainly you must all be uneasy that I have not written for so long.

Oct Flag for inappropriate content. Related titles. Pygmalion's Spectacles by Weinbaum, Stanley Grauman, Miscellaneous Papers by Dickens, Charles, The Prince and the Pauper, Part 1. It was also in this position that Nathaniel first encountered Olympia.

This point will be taken up in the commentary of the third letter. An important issue highlights the concerns about the creation of the Sandman belief being intertwined with the way the maternal place is presented to Nathaniel. This undergoes a modulation when the figure appeared, that is, it assumed aspects of the insignia of sadness. At first, while the father and his children, after dinner, are involved in a pleasant scene of reading stories, the mother was desolate.

In her desolation, she interrupted the pleasant scene of the children with their father, sending them to bed with the threat of the Sandman. These observations allow us to infer some deductions. First, the Sandman figure was constructed in a way that goes from impressions noises and smells to the representation and belief in its existence. This construction was built about the maternal presence, more precisely, in a modulation of state of spirit that culminated in maternal sadness.

Second, this element of belief is repeated in the meeting with Olympia, the automaton. Nothing causes any doubt that it is a woman, although what is referred to is an automaton. In it we find a rationalist discourse ruling in the spirit of a woman. Initially, there is desolation and almost no acceptance that Nathaniel wrote the first letter to his brother and not to her.

However, Clara, in turn, tries to undo this figure of imagination through a rationalist discourse, which has no effect on the imaginary excesses of her beloved. One has the impression that her words try to forcibly transpose the universe of the stranger into the strictly familiar plan. She even asks him, Nathaniel, to renounce his beliefs. Clara represents one of the versions of the feminine that make up the story, that is the rational connotation. Clara recalls that Nathaniel gave her such an attribute.

Mainly, she insists on the idea that the ghosts in the Sandman figure, as well as the lawyer and the barometer seller, are constructions of the inner world, arising from childhood beliefs. As stated above, despite the rationalist discourse of this woman, whose name is a symbolic allusion to a bright character, nothing changed the beliefs of the young student. In this letter, the manifestation of a version of the female form in the rationalist is noticeable. During the story, this position and that of Olympia will establish a love duel in the life of Nathaniel.

According to Cesarotto , the place of the women appears as an unattainable object: the closer it is, the more it becomes impossible, the incidence of distress that crushes any pleasure. Clara, his original passion, similar to a sister, is the repository of his love, almost like him. This argument suggests that the young student finds a certain return to his automaton condition in Olympia.

This can be proposed, as Nathaniel is dominated by passion in the strict sense of the term: he is driven by his pathos, passion and suffering, in a condition of alienation. On this issue, part of this work will focus on thinking about the automaton as a figure of passion.

That is, the automaton as a form of representation of passion; in this sense, the figure of the passion is a language resource established as a representation attempt, since passion does not have its own representability.

Third letter: meeting with Olympia and the tragic passion In this letter, Nathaniel talks about his meeting with the doll Olympia 3. Initially, it is interesting to highlight the structure of the scene, as in this elements converge close to those of which he, as a child, knew Coppelius, the moment in which the first impressions of the Sandman figure were constituted.

As mentioned earlier, when Coppelius came to the house of his parents, he used to hide behind the curtain. Nathaniel knew that he was in danger of being discovered and punished. Now, as a young student of the famous professor of physics, Spalanzani, and based in G.

Nachtstücke by E. T. A. Hoffmann

Here a similar position to that of the initial character is repeated: through the curtain, these objects are presented with a strange familiarity. She sat opposite the door, so that I could see the whole of her angelic countenance.

She did not appear to see me, and indeed there was something fixed about her eyes as if, I might almost say, she had no power of sight. It seemed to me that she was sleeping with her eyes open. Also, in these, which did not appear to see, there is a representation of a certain somber aspect of the maternal condition of Nathaniel. In these elements, together with the position of the child — peering through a curtain — a composition of the return of childhood elements is noted in this scene.

Shortly after the narrative of this meeting, there is a modulation in the form of address in the writing of Nathaniel. He goes back to Lothar and recalls his relationship with Clara. Here another narrative perspective emerges: the tale passes to the omniscient and omnipresent voice of the narrator in the third person, the narrator-witness who was entrusted with these letters.

Thus, with the unfolding of the plot, other narratives about the meetings between them are conducted in the voice of the narrator in the third person, a young student and friend who is the guardian of the letters and a witness to his passion. This narrative form is used in the majority of the story. Thus, it is possible to suggest that the narrative capacity of the young man in love succumbed to the passion.

It is possible, from that, to observe one of the fundamental traits of a passionate madness: an impoverishment of narrative or near impossibility of representation. Also, in the form of this silence of the mute character, it is possible to infer a similar position to that of his mother. Before the meeting with the object of the passion 4 , Nathaniel is also faced with some aspects of the maternal ghost.

Initially, this narrator provides a description of Clara and also of the meeting between her and Nathaniel, more precisely, of the clash between the rational spirit of the girl and the mystic spirit of the student. But why do these petrified or limpid eyes such as the maternal position make it impossible to occupy a place in the loving dimension?

It can be suggested that in that empty gaze of the Other, represented by these women, and inscribed in the life of Nathaniel by the maternal condition, there is no demand, there is no place for desire, except that of death.

The young man, with a premonition that Coppelius would upset his loving happiness, wrote a poem about the meeting with the barometer seller. However Clara does nothing more than sit knitting and tells him to throw away the writings. However, after a fight between them, they were reconciled, vowing eternal love and fidelity. Returning to the city where he was undertaking his studies, he found his lodging completely burned down.

After this incident, he moves to another house where he did not find it remarkable that he could see, through the window, the room where Olympia was.

Olympia often sat alone, so that he could plainly recognize her figure, although the features of her face were indistinct and confused. At last it struck him that Olympia often remained for hours in that attitude in which he had once seen her through the glass door, sitting at a little table without any occupation, and that she was plainly enough looking over at him with an unvarying gaze.

He was forced to confess that he had never seen a more lovely form but, with Clara in his heart, the stiff Olympia was perfectly indifferent to him. Occasionally, to be sure, he gave a transient look over his textbook at the beautiful statue, but that was all Ibid, p.

There is the encounter with a beautiful woman, virtuous, reclusive, a prisoner, paralyzed. This, precisely, produced profound disturbances in the tormented and romantic young man. He encounters a condensation of the woman-doll: splendidly dressed with an angelic face. From this moment, the consequences of a passionate madness start to unfold, which culminates in a tragic passion.

Initially, there was a conflict between the love for Clara and the blossoming passion for Olympia. So much so that buying his binoculars, in order to watch Olympia, is interleaved with writing a letter to Clara. For the first time he could see the wondrous beauty in the shape of her face.

Only her eyes seemed to him singularly still and deadAs stated above, despite the rationalist discourse of this woman, whose name is a symbolic allusion to a bright character, nothing changed the beliefs of the young student.

He could restrain himself no longer, but with mingled pain and rapture shouted out, 'Olympia! Drawing from his own life to substantiate psychoanalysis, Freud tells a silly story of wandering through a small Italian town and coming repeatable to a street of bordellos, citing feelings of helplessness and a strong sense of the uncanny.

Liliana Lesu. Excepting at dinner-time I and my brothers and sisters used to see my father very little during the day.