In this blog post, I will examine how images of the night, madness, and the darker aspects of human psychology are artistically portrayed in literature, focusing on Ernst Theodor Amadeus Hoffmann’s collection ‘Night Pieces’ and his masterpiece ‘The Sandman’.

Hoffmann and Romantic Horror

Ernst Theodor Amadeus Hoffmann is a leading figure in German Romantic literature. Unlike the Classicists—such as Goethe and Schiller—who stood within the Enlightenment tradition, the Romantics immersed themselves in the world of imagination, dreams, and fantasy, which could not be explained by the rationality of reason. Dreams, fantasies, supernatural phenomena such as madness and hypnosis, and unconscious, irrational experiences tended to be rejected during the Enlightenment, which emphasized reason and rationality; however, for the Romantics, who sought inner freedom by spreading their wings of imagination through art, these were literary motifs they eagerly embraced. Romantics felt a profound sense of alienation from the stifling reality brought about by the world of Enlightenment rationality; in reaction to this, they placed great importance on unconscious and irrational experiences where fantasy and everyday life merged.
However, the irrational world pursued by Hoffmann differs from the tendencies of early Romanticism. While early Romanticism developed in opposition to the Enlightenment’s reason and rationality—symbolized by “light”—by emphasizing the subjectivity of the self, the supernatural, dreams, and premonitions, the writer Hoffmann focused more intently on the secretive and dark aspects of the human psyche. This form of late Romanticism is characteristically referred to as “Schauerromantik” (Romantic Horror). “Schauerromantik” refers to a trend that, instead of the fantastical tales of early Romanticism rich in supernatural elements, increasingly focused on the demonic forces of the world, the dark and bizarre mental processes within humans that lead to destruction, as well as evil impulses, madness, anxiety, and horror. In particular, “madness” (Wahnsinn)—a realm inaccessible to human reason—was a frequent theme in 19th-century literature. During this period, research focusing on the “dark aspects” of the human mind, such as madness, was also prevalent in the fields of medicine and the natural sciences.

Overview of the Collection ‘Night Pieces’ and the Meaning of ‘Night Scenes’

‘Night Pieces’ is Hoffmann’s second collection of novellas, consisting of two volumes containing a total of eight stories. The first volume, published in late 1816, includes ‘The Sandman (Der Sandmann)’, ‘Ignaz Denner’, ‘Die Jesuiterkirche in G.’ (The Jesuit Church in G.), and “Das Sanctus.” The second volume, published in the spring of 1817, contains four stories: “Das öde Haus” (The Desolate House), “Das Majorat” (The Primogeniture), “Das Gelübde” (The Vow), and “Das steinerne Herz” (The Stone Heart). The stories in this collection—though they occasionally offer glimpses of hope amidst ruin—generally depict the human world being overwhelmed by “dark forces” and descending into ruin. Instead of the “preface” that accompanied his earlier works, this collection was introduced with the title “Night Pieces.”
The term “Night Pieces” (German: “Nachtstück,” plural “Nachtstücke”) is a concept originally derived from 15th- and 16th-century painting, meaning “a painting depicting a night scene.” When subjects are depicted under the imperfect illumination of moonlight, torches, or candles, sharp contrasts between light and shadow emerge, creating unique hues and an eerie, unsettling effect. This concept was adopted into literature in Germany starting in the 18th century, coming to refer to frightening stories featuring ghosts, robbers, and other criminals, as well as tales in which bizarre and terrifying events or phenomena unfold against a backdrop of inexplicable, dark forces. In particular, late Romantic writers focused on irrational experiences lying beyond consciousness—such as dreams, madness, somnambulism, and self-healing—as well as the “nocturnal aspects” of the human soul, seeking to give them literary form.
While Hoffmann’s early works primarily depicted the coexistence of everyday reality and fantasy, his works from the period when ‘Night Pieces’ was published tended to focus particularly on the “nocturnal aspects” of the human soul. In Hoffmann’s works, the meaning of the “nocturnal landscape” manifests itself on various levels, including setting, subject matter, and narrative. First, one can focus on “darkness” as the backdrop against which events unfold—such as the dead of night, storms, inclement weather, and the light of candles or torches. Next are the motifs belonging to the “realm of the night.” These include elements typical of horror fiction, such as gangs of robbers, murder and other crimes, accidental and terrifying accidents, fateful events, and revenge. Furthermore, this category also encompasses the “dark forces” presumed to lie behind these horrific events—forces that threaten humanity and bring about mental and psychological ruin—that is, something that cannot be fully explained or understood by the power of reason.
Hoffmann leaves it as an unsolved mystery whether a truly demonic force is at work in all this fate and crime, or whether humans are manipulating events in a demonic manner. He adopts a narrative stance that remains ambiguous as to whether such a force actually exists or is merely an “illusion” of our own selves. It is a situation where the forces of the night are inaccessible to reason, and humans, unable to gain the upper hand in their confrontation with these forces, are threatened by them. This tendency resonates with the concept of the “uncanny” as defined by Freud. In the stories of ‘Night Pieces’, strange phenomena are sometimes partially explained by natural science, psychology, or medicine, yet it remains unclear whether such explanations are sufficient or merely misleading. By offering no clear clues toward a definitive explanation, the author or narrator transmits this sense of unease not only to the characters within the work but also to the readers.
‘Night Pieces’ contains eight stories based on such dark and mysterious events and phenomena. In “The Sandman,” the first story and the one that sets the tone for the collection, the concept of a “night landscape” is used metaphorically to explore mental and unconscious events that occur in broad daylight. The overarching theme running through all the stories in ‘Night Pieces’ is the lack of freedom experienced by humans and the threat posed to them by the incomprehensible and the eerie. Regarding this, Nathaniel, the protagonist of “The Sandman,” states, “Every man deludes himself into thinking he is free, but in reality, he merely serves the cruel games played by dark forces.” The majority of characters in the stories within this collection experience such “games.” While this game does not necessarily lead to horrific or fatal ruin, it is clearly an inexplicable threat that cannot be rationally explained. In this way, Hoffmann captures the dark psychology of humanity that the light of optimistic Enlightenment consciously overlooked.

Commentary by Work

‘The Sandman (Der Sandmann)’: A Life Turned into Dreams and Premonitions

‘The Sandman’ is the opening short story in the collection ‘Night Pieces’. Not only is it considered one of Hoffmann’s masterpieces, but it also serves as a programmatic demonstration of the new genre the author attempts in this collection. The story features a college student named Nathanael, who is gripped by madness, as the protagonist, and and follows a somewhat unusual yet simple structure. Uniquely, the story begins with three letters; aside from the section in the first letter where the protagonist, Nathanael, recalls his childhood, the narrative generally follows a chronological order of events.
Nathanael’s account of his childhood contains an experience that serves as a key to understanding him, and at the center of that experience is the elderly lawyer Coppelius, a sinister “Sandman” who is the object of the children’s fear. Coppelius is a figure who conducts secret alchemical experiments with Nathanael’s father; when his father dies in an explosion during one of these experiments, Nathanael faints in terror after Coppelius takes his eyes.
As an adult and university student, Nathaniel’s childhood trauma is reawakened when he one day accidentally encounters Coppola, a blue-eyed peddler who bears a striking resemblance to Coppelius. He is tormented by a dark premonition that the blue-eyed peddler is Coppelius and that he will destroy his love and his life. However, his fiancée Clara argues that this is merely a “delusion” born in Nathanael’s mind. Nathanael also believes that Copola cannot be Copelius, since he is an acquaintance of Professor Spalanzani whom the professor has known for a long time, and because he speaks with an Italian accent; yet, Copola plays a decisive role when Nathanael’s first bout of madness erupts.
When Nathanael visits Professor Spalanzani, he hears the hideous voice of “Coppelius” coming from inside the room and falls into a state of extreme agitation; in the following scene, he witnesses “Coppola” fighting with the professor over possession of the automaton Olympia. At this moment, the professor cries out that “Coppelius” is stealing his automaton. In the final scene of the story, Coppelius reappears as the figure who plays a decisive role in driving Nathanael to suicide. However, fundamental questions—such as whether Coppelius is the same person as Coppola, and whether the Sandman is truly an “evil principle” as Nathanael believes, or merely a product of Nathanael’s delusions as Clara diagnoses—remain unresolved until the very end of the work.
In this work, the narrator is limited to the role of conveying each character’s perspective and opinions, offering no active clues to resolve these questions. Consequently, the reader is left in confusion. This narrative style is evident throughout the entire work. For example, at the beginning of the work, three letters are presented before the narrator appears; each letter is written in the first person, revealing the conflicting perspectives of the letter writers without any filtering. While Nathanael senses that a destructive fate is approaching based on his childhood nightmares, Clara dismisses this as an internal delusion and refutes it.
Although multiple perspectives continue to intermingle thereafter, a distinctive feature of the work is that passages describing unbelievable events or supernatural phenomena are primarily narrated from the perspective of the emotionally unstable Nathanael. For example, while secretly peeking at an experiment in his father’s room, Nathanael hears Coppelius’s voice shouting, “Give me your eyes!” He falls into a state of extreme agitation and faints after being consumed by the hallucination that Coppelius is pulling out his limbs and then reattaching them. Even at Professor Spallanzani’s house, he sees “Coppola” with his eyes while hearing Coppelius’s voice with his ears. Throughout the work, the protagonist’s perspective—marked by inner anxiety—dominates.
This “multiple-perspective” narrative style is a central motif of the work and is also linked to the “eye motif,” which serves as a structural principle. The Sandman, who appears in the old nurse’s story, is a figure who sprinkles sand into the eyes of children who refuse to sleep, taking away their bloodshot eyes. The fairy tale about the Sandman, the father and Coppelius’s secret experiments, Coppelius and Coppola, the eyes of Clara and Olympia, and spectacles and telescopes are all closely associated with “the eye.” The fear of losing one’s eyes pervades the entire work, and the decisive events in Nathaniel’s life—including his two bouts of madness—are also linked to visual phenomena.
Since Plato, the eye has been regarded in Europe as a mirror reflecting the external world—a “window to the soul” or “mirror of the soul.” The eye serves as the boundary between the external and internal worlds, playing a role in perceiving the external world and assimilating it into the internal world. Therefore, threats or fears related to the loss of sight imply an impediment to normal communication between the internal and external worlds. On the other hand, the perception of the external world through the eyes varies greatly depending on the subject’s soul or inner state, and thus the risk of misperception or distortion of the external world is ever-present.
In Nathaniel’s case, it could be said that the function of his eyes—which perceive the external world—was impaired due to nightmares from his childhood. This optical illusion manifests when Coppola, the peddler from the Blue Moon Society, visits Nathaniel for the second time and remarks, “Beautiful eyes.” The moment Coppola utters this metaphorical expression—which refers to eyeglass lenses—Nathaniel is suddenly seized by a frenzied terror. The “telescope” that Nathanael purchased from Coppola further reinforces his distorted visual perception. When he first saw Olympia, her eyes were lifeless and stiff, but when viewed through the telescope, her eyes seem to reflect the wet moonlight and are filled with love and longing.
Nathaniel, who carries childhood trauma combined with the fear of blindness, exhibits a tendency for his visual perception of external reality to be severely distorted by his inner state. Rather than perceiving objective reality as it is, he perceives the external world by projecting his subjectively imprinted perceptions onto it. This projection of his inner self onto the external world reveals Nathaniel’s narcissistic tendencies. The reason he feels fully understood by the “automatic doll” Olympia is that she functions as a mirror or projection screen, reflecting Nathaniel’s inner self.
This effectively demonstrates a situation where the boundary between the external and the internal has collapsed—a state in which, due to an excessively heightened inner world, he can no longer reflect on his inner world or distinguish between the external and the internal. However, a state in which the boundary between external reality and the inner world collapses, external reality is projected onto the inner world, and one becomes immersed in one’s own inner image—as seen in the ancient myth of Narcissus—entails fatal ruin. This is because if the external world, onto which the inner world has been projected, collapses, it inevitably leads to the collapse of the inner world as well. In this sense, the outbreak of madness following Olympia’s destruction signifies nothing less than the collapse of the inner world, illustrating just how fatal the consequences of narcissism—the projection of the inner world onto the external world—can be.
In this sense, the existence of the automaton Olympia serves as a literary symbol of Nathanael’s loss of identity. Nathanael’s portrayal, consumed by narcissistic tendencies, also contains a satire of the Romantic artist who is prone to turning his back on reality and becoming immersed in the world of imagination and fantasy, the world of the unconscious. Nathaniel interprets the few words uttered by Olympia as “true hieroglyphs of the inner world”; the term “hieroglyphs” reveals the core of Romantic aesthetics pursued by many Romantic writers, from Novalis to Eichendorff.
In other words, to the Romantics, literature as a “sacred sign” was regarded as something akin to a “ secret code” that reveals the world’s deepest secrets. However, the term “hieroglyphs” as spoken by Nathanael merely highlights the danger of the poet becoming mired in excessive subjectivity, unable to distinguish between external reality and inner imagery. This is because Olympia’s words are not sacred, secret-filled symbols revealing some inner connection within the world, nor does Nathanael’s creative endeavor transcend the mere reproduction of the self. The autonomy of Romantic art, which is accepted only by lifeless dolls, ultimately corresponds to the automatism of a machine.
Thus, this work contains the author’s critical perspective on the excessive subjectivity of Romantic art—in other words, on the artist who reproduces only himself. In the middle of this work, Hoffmann, speaking through the narrator, states that a poet can “only depict (real) life as if reflected in a mirror with a rough surface, leaving it merely blurred,” thereby expressing the view that a true poet must first be able to internalize a genuine image that is not detached from reality. In other words, an artist who is completely immersed in the world of imagination is no different from the mad Nathaniel. Hoffmann’s view ultimately crystallizes into his creative philosophy, known as the “Principle of Serapion,” which holds that an artist must not be trapped in an ivory tower of imagination but must be grounded in real life and strive for a balance between reality and imagination, as well as between the external and internal worlds.
However, the fact that Hoffmann placed a protagonist gripped by madness at the “forefront” also reveals his ambivalent stance toward Romantic aesthetics. This is because, considering that Hoffmann attempted a narrative approach that grants a unique voice to the individual ensnared by madness rather than focusing solely on exploring the protagonist’s madness, the negative evaluation of Romantic aesthetics in the work is somewhat relativized. Rather, the work as a whole is imbued with skepticism toward the rationalist discourse dominant at the time—as evidenced by the fact that Clara’s rationalist attitude, which embodies the Enlightenment, fails to serve as a means of healing for Nathaniel.
Although the narrator states at the end of the work that Clara seems to have found happiness—something the internally fractured Nathaniel could not provide—by establishing a ordinary middle-class household, a distinct sense of ironic detachment is clearly felt in this narrative account. This attitude of the narrator can be interpreted as a critical distancing from the stance that sought to negate the irrational world of dreams and madness, a stance that had taken root in Europe since the Enlightenment.
Overall, this work can be read as a modern piece that uses madness as its theme to present readers with the concept of objective reality and the problem of reality perception. This is because Hoffmann introduced a protagonist driven by madness to explore the relationship between external reality and the inner world, as well as the cognitive processes that fail to function normally. The modern narrative strategies employed by the author, such as multiple perspectives and the motif of the eye, serve as literary devices that prompt readers to reflect on these issues.

‘Ignaz Denner’: Reality Beyond the Binary of Good and Evil

‘Ignaz Denner’ is the second short story included in the first volume of ‘Night Pieces,’ following ‘The Sandman.’ Compared to the multi-layered structure of ‘The Sandman,’ it unfolds in a straightforward, linear manner. Set in the distant past, the story centers on the confrontation between Andres, a pious and virtuous local hunter, and Ignaz Denner, a wicked bandit leader. Extremely poor, Andrés disguises himself as a merchant and, with the help of Denner—who has come to his home—saves his gravely ill wife and escapes his dire circumstances to enjoy a stable life. However, when it is revealed that Denner is the leader of a band of thieves, Andrés is forced to cooperate with the gang and participate in dangerous crimes.
With his weakness now exposed, Andrés steadfastly resists Denner’s temptations and threats, yet endures all manner of horrors and hardships. Accused of being a thief and a murderer, Andrés is imprisoned and faces the threat of execution, yet he never betrays his conscience thanks to his devout faith and sincere attitude, and ultimately clears his name. In contrast, Denner, the embodiment of evil, meets a miserable end.
Given this conclusion, it is difficult to view this work as simply depicting the victory of good over evil. The protagonist pays too heavy a price for such a conclusion. His second child is murdered, his wife Georgina dies of illness, and Andrés himself is left half-dead from imprisonment and brutal torture. Whether by divine will or mere coincidence, had a witness not appeared at the decisive moment on the scaffold to prove his innocence, he would undoubtedly have met a wrongful death.
Moreover, one could argue that the person who left Andrés to suffer in abject poverty—and forced him to rely on Denner in that state—was none other than Count Bach, the master he had faithfully served from the start. Count Bach, claiming to repay the man who had saved his life on a journey, sent him into a desolate forest without providing sufficient financial support. Although he approached with sinister motives, the one who actually helps Andrés is, ironically, the villain Denner. Furthermore, the court—which should have delivered a just verdict to clear his name and reveal the truth—does nothing to side with the virtuous Andrés; instead, it attempts to extract a confession through inhumane and horrific torture.
Given these circumstances, the fact that Andrés maintained his conscience and held fast to the truth until the very end can truly be called a “miracle.” In this way, the work clearly contrasts good and evil while also revealing their entanglement, posing the question: “Is the pursuit of good possible in this world?” The story is imbued with elements of “Gothic horror.” Using elements such as raids, robberies, fights, torture, murder, human sacrifices, secret rituals, dark magic, madness, bloodshed, and ghostly phenomena as seasoning, a colorful plot unfolds, filled with coincidence and implausibility.
The characters in the story, particularly the protagonist Andrés, are portrayed as beings helplessly at the mercy of an “demonic force” that is even more irrational and inscrutable than in other works of “Night Pieces.” While these “elements of the night” generate entertainment and tension within the narrative, they are also props intentionally inserted by the author. These diabolical forces operate everywhere, existing beyond the reach of rational explanation. For instance, individual psychological explanations are insufficient to account for why Andrés joins a band of robbers in their plundering or why he shows leniency toward Ignatz Denner at the end.
However, from a social-psychological perspective, Andrés’s attitude is deeply ingrained by loyalty and gratitude toward his master. Consequently, he fails to realize that the very kindness of the master who appointed him as a gamekeeper is the cause of his own poverty and misery. This submissive disposition is transferred to his new master (Ignaz Denner), to whom he feels he must express gratitude for a few acts of kindness. Consequently, he fails to recognize the clear signs indicating that Denner is a criminal and follows him, thereby becoming a criminal himself.
In addition to a central narrative, ‘Ignaz Denner’ features several subplots that shed light on the mysterious events. These subplots reveal the characters’ familial relationships; in particular, the bandit leader Ignaz Denner is ultimately revealed to be the father-in-law of the gamekeeper, Andres. Denner not only killed Andrés’s second child but also attempted to kill his first; both children were Denner’s grandsons. In terms of his murderous impulses, Ignaz Denner resembles his father, the poisoner Trabacchio.
Trabakio was a man who made a pact with the devil; he murdered children and drank the blood from their hearts to strengthen his demonic powers and achieve rejuvenation, and he passed this secret knowledge on to his son. In this story, Hoffmann uses the Trabakio-Denner character to lead the reader to the secret source of evil, delivering a shocking tale rife with magic, demons, murder, conspiracy, madness, and blood, thereby showcasing the essence of “Romantic Horror.”

“Die Jesuiterkirche in G.” (The Jesuit Church in G.): The Artist’s Existence and the Danger of Madness

The third story in the first volume, “The Jesuit Church in G.,” features the “traveling enthusiast” (reisender Enthusiast)—a character who appears in other works—as the narrator. The story recounts his experiences with Berthold, a bizarre artist he encounters while forced to stay in the small town of G. for three days. The story can be broadly divided into three parts. The first part involves the narrator meeting a professor at the Jesuit seminary, learning about the eccentric painter Berthold, and assisting him with his painting work while attempting to uncover more about this enigmatic artist through the professor; the part where the narrator reads the painter’s history through records provided by the professor and traces his artistic career; and the part where, six months after leaving the town, the narrator receives a letter from the professor suggesting that Berthold likely committed suicide after completing a large altarpiece.
Of these, the past narrative—recorded in the documents obtained by the narrator (the so-called “Bertolt’s Biography”) and explaining Bertolt’s current behavior—accounts for about half of the entire story. Of course, these explanations pertain to the connections or reactions behind specific actions and shed light on the protagonist’s motives or the story’s conclusion only partially.
In the flashback section depicting Bertolt’s development as a painter in Italy, various perspectives on art are described and discussed. As a landscape painter, Bertolt initially practices painting by imitating nature but soon feels dissatisfied; following an encounter with a peculiar man from Malta, he learns to penetrate “the deeper meaning of nature” and the forms within his own inner self. His work finally succeeds when the figure of a mysterious woman appears, prompting him to continue painting her likeness on an altarpiece.
He must learn through experience that only absolute devotion to his ideals can make a true artist. The moment he attempts to build a happy, practical family life with the woman who helped him realize his artistic ideals, this becomes a betrayal of art and ultimately leads to the loss of his status as an artist. This conflict proves to be irreconcilable. Bertolt drives his wife and son out of his life, but eventually his own mind and body collapse, and he ends up living as a muralist. It was during this period that the narrator, the wandering enthusiast, met him.
This work deals with the existence of the “artist” far more intensely than the previous two. Yet here, too, a mysterious force operates behind the scenes, driving the narrative while simultaneously elevating the artist’s will and then causing his frustration and eventual demise. Bertolt, in a state “regarded as bordering on madness,” claims that “that woman alone created my misery,” blaming his frustration on his wife. The narrator, of course, offers no commentary on this. The true cause of Bertolt’s bizarre behavior later on remains unclear.
The narrator and the professor who hired Bertolt speculate that Bertolt might be refusing to paint the portrait because he considers himself the murderer of his wife and son, but when the narrator meets Bertolt face-to-face, Bertolt denies such accusations. Later, the narrator receives a letter from the professor stating that Bertolt became very cheerful after speaking with the narrator and disappeared after completing a large altarpiece, with the assumption that he likely committed suicide; the narrator places this letter at the end of the story. Of course, it is difficult to conclude on this basis that Bertolt confessed to his crime.
Thus, this work not only contains a discourse on the goals of art and the artist’s ideals but also vividly illustrates the ways in which the artistic existence engages with reality, particularly the danger of descending into the madness inherent in artistic existence.

‘Das Sanctus’: The Psychological Causes and Cure of the Loss of Artistic Talent

The fourth story in the first volume, ‘Das Sanctus,’ is the shortest of the stories in the first volume and occupies a special position in several respects. As in ‘The Jesuit Church in City G,’ it takes the form of a report narrated by a wandering fanatic. In this work, the “realm of the night” does not appear as something terrifying or threatening, but merely as an enigmatic, incomprehensible phenomenon.
The narrator calls out to Bettina, a female singer who, having sung her part during Mass, leaves the choir as the “Sanctus” begins in order to perform at her next engagement. The narrator quips, “You will soon no longer be able to sing in church,” and indeed, the singer subsequently loses her singing voice. Since singing is her very essence, the loss of her voice becomes a decisive blow to her fate. This is because the frustration of artistic expression can drive the singer—much like Bertold, the protagonist of “The Jesuit Church in G”—into madness and crime.
Like Hoffmann’s other works, “Das Sanctus” also contains many nested stories within its central narrative. However, these stories within the story are not, as in other works, intended to reveal past events and thereby elucidate a mysterious incident; rather, they are introduced as parallel narratives aimed at curing the singer’s illness.
Various explanations have been proposed for the singer Bettina’s loss of voice. While some explanations invoke magical forces—such as a “negative and pathological state” or “an insubstantial ghost”—the wandering enthusiast believes that a “curse” he unwittingly uttered triggered the singer’s unconscious guilt. In fact, the doctor who diagnosed her acknowledges that her condition is psychological rather than physical and cannot be treated with his traditional medical methods.
However, when the wandering enthusiast cures Bettina using psychological methods, the doctor calls him a “madman,” revealing his arrogance as a physician. The wandering enthusiast succeeds in the treatment by employing the artistic and psychological method of “storytelling,” implying that when dealing with psychological disorders, art is a more specialized field than traditional medicine. In fact, in the study of the history of medicine, Hoffmann is credited with most accurately describing the psychological causes of physical disabilities and making the correct diagnosis in this work.
In terms of modern medicine, the symptoms Bettina suffers from correspond to a type of “Fremdneurose” (alien neurosis), “phonophobia,” or a form of “aphonia.” Bettina is liberated from her neurotic vocal disorder while listening to a parallel narrative describing the process by which “Sulema,” a converted pagan (baptized “Julia”), becomes a member of the church choir.
In this work, the issue of art or the artist plays a central role. Themes familiar from Hoffmann’s earlier works—such as “sacred” music, the secularization of religious music outside the context of church spaces and faith, the dangers faced by artists who strive to meet societal demands, and the conflict between art and love—make an appearance. In this work, these themes are explored in various ways, both as the unfolding of current events and as stories within stories. Furthermore, the narrative of the central events, which takes place in the present, is dominated by humor and satire.

‘Das öde Haus’ (The Desolate House): Intuitive Imagination That Orchestrates Madness

The first story in the second volume, ‘Das öde Haus,’ displays a structure that is both multi-layered and easily grasped. Within the frame narrative, three friends engage in conversation, discussing the relationship between everyday life and wonder, as well as the ability to discern the extraordinary within the ordinary. Then, one of the friends, Theodor, tells a story demonstrating his talent for perceiving the marvelous. This frame structure creates distance; not only does it introduce the main character from a third-party perspective before the main story begins, but it also presents and evaluates the core concepts embedded in the story to the readers, thereby illuminating their implications.
The main narrative, told in the first person, ultimately centers on events occurring in the “realm of the night,” proceeding to psychologically elucidate the protagonist’s thoughts and motivations as he is tempted by a bewitching power and nearly meets his ruin. In the frame narrative, the reader defines and distinguishes between the “strange” and the “wondrous,” but as the close relationship between the two is emphasized—and particularly as the “nightscape” is defined as a mixture of the strange and the wondrous—the academic distinction between the two becomes meaningless.
The strange and wondrous events unfolding against the backdrop of Berlin’s streets demonstrate that this work depicts a fantasy set in the modern era. A dilapidated and desolate house, situated in the midst of Berlin’s vibrant and bustling streets, catches the eye of the narrator, Theodor. One day, he sees the silhouette of a woman in the house’s window, and a neighbor tells him a strange story and mentions a peculiar odor. Theodor’s vivid imagination begins to run wild, and the pieces of the mosaic come together; in particular, as he falls in love with the mysterious woman’s silhouette, his observations, what he has heard, fantasies, imaginings, and delusions all intermingle.
The influence of the forces of the night first manifests as a demonic allure that the first-person narrator, Theodore, feels in the desolate house, an allure amplified by mirrors and seductive illusions. The mysterious events unfolding in the desolate house where the mad Angelica lives, the fateful curse, the secretive influence of a gypsy woman, and the inexplicable outbursts of Angelica’s madness all belong to the “realm of the night.” “Self-therapy” also emerges as a significant element. The issue of self-therapy is discussed theoretically through the character of the doctor—who seeks to cure Theodore of his “delusional fixation” via psychological and scholarly arguments—and through the participants in the evening gathering.
“Das öde Haus” shares many similarities with “The Sandman.” Both works demonstrate how a single obsession takes root and unfolds within a person (a poet) gifted with a vivid imagination. In this process, the optical instruments (telescopes, mirrors) purchased by the protagonist from an Italian merchant play a crucial role. Through them, the protagonist sees the woman’s form as a beautiful vision, vastly different from how others perceive her.
Both Nathaniel and Theodor are highly sensitive; whenever they encounter something strange, their imaginations are immediately triggered, leading them to invent stories that fit the situation. Both protagonists are vulnerable to fixed ideas and possess imaginations capable of driving them to madness. However, the conclusions of the two stories differ. While Nathanael in ‘The Sandman’ is driven to madness and heads toward ruin, Theodore, the protagonist of ‘Das öde Haus’, is healed. This difference stems from the differences in the characters’ personalities and abilities.
Theodore reflects on what has happened, seeks explanations, and demonstrates an attitude of accepting third-party interpretations that do not align with his own subjective views. He strikes a balance between his own subjective impressions and the perspectives of others. Thus, he ponders an old man’s explanation that convincingly accounts for his delusional fantasies, recognizes his own symptoms of schizophrenia in Dr. Ryle’s writings on the subject, and, above all, dispels his preconceptions through his own will and the doctor’s advice. Ultimately, he finds peace of mind and shares his story with his friends.
Theodore’s creative process differs distinctly from Nathaniel’s. While Theodore depicts the movements of his own emotions particularly vividly, he possesses an “intersubjective” external world that is not entirely subordinate to his inner world. This is evident in the detailed descriptions of the local setting that appear early in the work. Even regarding the views of others, he does not immediately become immersed in subjective interpretations. When discussing or analyzing forces belonging to the realm of “the night,” he seeks balance by contrasting his own impressions with the perspectives of others. In Theodor’s attitude—tracking the movements of his own emotions, possessing an external world not entirely subordinate to his inner world, and striving to observe people and events accurately with sound principles of perception—we see the archetype of the “poet” as portrayed by Hoffmann.

‘Das Majorat’ (The Majorat): A Cursed Fate or Human Greed?

The second story in the second volume, ‘Das Majorat,’ deals largely with the history of a family from the mid- to late-18th century, with the exception of the later section narrated by the narrator from the present perspective. The story as a whole does not follow a chronological structure, and the past narrative occupies a significant portion as a “story within a story.” Theodor, who also serves as the first-person narrator of the work, is a character who personally experienced a secret-filled story that took place in a certain castle during his youth; the main plot revolves around the fate of the family as recounted by his great-uncle, the legal advisor to the baronial family.
Hoffmann, who was a lawyer, wrote this work with the intention of criticizing the irrationality of the “primogeniture” system, and since he projects himself—a poet, musician, and lawyer—onto the protagonist, it can be said that the work reflects much of the author’s own reality. Baron Roderich von Rositen establishes a system of “primogeniture” to ensure the family’s enduring stability, bequeathing the family’s major assets to the eldest son so that the estate remains undivided and the family’s power grows. However, as three generations pass, the last heir dies, and the estate reverts to the state.
The narrator laments that Baron Roderich was short-sighted and failed to look far ahead, and that he summoned some evil force that cursed the family with death; this “evil fate” of the family is mentioned several times throughout the work. However, as is the case with most works in ‘Night Pieces’, it is difficult to attribute the family’s fate solely to some incomprehensible force; rather, it is revealed that the primary causes lie in human behavior and character traits such as envy, malice, arrogance, hatred, a thirst for revenge, greed, and a lust for power.
The external plot structure of the story is replete with elements of “Gothic horror.” It is characterized by the depiction of unpredictable ruin brought about by supernatural, inexplicable phenomena, inner obsessions, and relentless human desires. The founder, who established primogeniture, believed in the influence of the stars and died in mysterious circumstances when the tower where he conducted his astronomical research collapsed. Only Daniel, the servant who knew of the night’s activities, knew where the deceased baron had hidden his treasure.
Wolfgang, the eldest son and heir apparent, is greedy and domineering, and he viciously humiliates Daniel. The second son, Hubert, is jealous of his brother’s inheritance and plots to bring him down. With Hubert’s tacit approval, Daniel kills the heir apparent and then, having become a sleepwalker, repeatedly returns to the scene of his crime. When Baron Hubert dies and his son attempts to claim the inheritance, a young Baron Roderich—Wolfgang’s previously unknown son, named after his grandfather—appears and, after various twists and turns, becomes the heir apparent. Exaggerated passionate love, a secret murder, hatred between brothers, the appearance of a ghost, implausible coincidences, a chain of diverse events, and a curse on the family are all typical devices of the Gothic novel.
The story of a family spanning three generations, marked by hatred and jealousy, casts a shadow over the events involving Theodor and his great-uncle. A new phase begins due to the narrator’s passionate love for the sensitive Seraphine, the wife of the heir apparent. Theodore’s piano playing and their conversations about music prove alluring to her. A romantic relationship blossoms through their shared musical experiences, but this relationship begins to have a destructive effect, much like the destructive power of money on the family.
In this work as well, the Romantic and the Enlightenment-era figures are presented in contrast. The protagonist, an artist, can fall into sweet melancholy and intoxicating despair by fixating on the obsessions of Romantic writers. The great-uncle, warning his great-nephew against such folly and excessive passion, demonstrates the primacy of reason. Representing a cool, calm, and rational figure, the great-uncle is a man of strong duty and clear reason. Amid characters driven by unknown forces, he restores balance by warning of the folly and dire consequences of a “poetic sensibility” consumed by emotion.
The two parts of the work differ significantly in narrative style. Compared to the chronological account, the story told by Theodor takes a much more delicate form. Psychological sensitivity is evident in the passages describing the emergence of passionate love, and the characters—who are more important than those in the past narrative—are portrayed with greater care. Nevertheless, there are numerous connecting threads between the two stories, the most important of which are the character of the great-uncle and the curse passed down through the family, affecting even the last generation.
In this way, Hoffmann successfully integrates two narrative types: the night scene and the story of the artist and love. Just as money and power represent temptation and danger to ordinary people, excessive and passionate love, and art that is solely immersed in emotion, become temptation and danger to those with a “poetic sensibility.” The sensitive and romantic first-person narrator, after reading Schiller’s “The Ghost-Seer,” becomes particularly sensitive to ghosts; later, driven by love and music, he finds himself in a state where he forgets all convention and acts under the influence of a strange power.

“Das Gelübde” (The Vow): Sleepwalking Pregnancy and an Irreconcilable World

The third story in the second volume, “Das Gelübde,” is similar to Hoffmann’s other works in that it deals with a secret-filled event. The first part of the story describes an unknown woman giving birth to a child under unusual circumstances, while the second part is devoted to elucidating the past events related to this. Another essential element of the story is the political situation in Poland, which explains the heroine’s excessive love for her homeland.
The protagonist of the flashback is Hermengilda, the daughter of a handsome Polish count. A complex character prone to flights of fancy and emotional outbursts, she loves Count Stanisław, a champion of freedom; however, when the count proves unable to save his homeland, her love turns to “contempt.” However, as the count leaves her to go to the battlefield, her heart, once as cold as death, transforms into burning love. But when news arrives that the count has died, her hypersensitive state of excitement seems to descend into “madness.”
At that moment, his cousin Ksawer, who bears a striking resemblance to Stanisław, appears, and her love shifts to him. However, when it becomes clear that the cousin is not the man she loved, she completely breaks down in shame and bitter pain and withdraws. Yet, upon hearing Xaver’s account of Stanislaus’s love, she is drawn to him once more, and in her imagination, the two cousins gradually become indistinguishable.
Shortly thereafter, Hermengilda falls into a strange state at the pavilion—one that can only be described as a “waking dream”—in which she believes she is marrying Stanislaus, but is in fact being seduced by Xaver. The fact that Hermengilda was in this somnambulistic state, which suggests her innocence, is corroborated by her statement that she saw Stanislaus, who had suffered a fatal wound in battle at that time. However, her behavior is regarded as “madness” by her family once her unexplained pregnancy is confirmed.
Eventually, Ksawer confesses that he seduced her, and Hermengilda, shocked, turns her back on him and makes a “vow” never to show her face to anyone again. Her vow is, on the one hand, an act of atonement and, on the other, a means of seeking her own “comfort” and “peace”—in other words, a kind of defense mechanism against her madness. Thus, she does not merely cover her face with a veil but dons a “white mask that fits tightly over her face.” For her, the mask is a form of self-punishment.
When her face is exposed during a struggle with the tempter who has come to take her child, she falls into a stiff, automaton-like state and soon meets her death. Various explanations are offered within the work regarding Hermengilda’s strange behavior and the causes of her mental derangement. Her extreme emotional volatility is attributed to the nature of Polish women. One doctor offers a psychological interpretation: because the two cousins bore an uncanny resemblance, her emotions were severely unsettled, and she surrendered herself to a somnambulistic and self-absorbed state.
However, Hermengilda’s mental derangement can also be understood as the result of evil forces and a “special fate.” Meanwhile, the guilt she feels stems not from physical desire or falsehoods—as most people around her seem to assume after her pregnancy is revealed—but rather from her own disposition and nature. Yet, those around her, particularly her father, also bear responsibility in this regard. This is because her father instilled romantic and naive ideas in her mind while promoting patriotism.
What matters to him is not his daughter’s happiness, but marrying her off without attracting widespread attention in order to preserve the family’s honor. He has little interest in his daughter’s healing and prioritizes compliance with social norms. Xaver is also a deceitful character who uses his resemblance to his cousin to court and seduce her. He exploits her delirious state at the villa to satisfy his own desires, and when the problem arises, he presents marriage as if it were the solution.
The motif of an unwitting pregnancy is one that was also explored in German literature in Kleist’s “The Marquise O.” However, there are differences between the two works. Hoffmann transforms Kleist’s state of fainting into a state of somnambulism, and unlike the potentially conciliatory ending in Kleist’s story, reconciliation seems impossible in Hoffmann’s. Hermengild ultimately rejects the hypocritical and selfish Xaver and chooses the path of atonement in the form of a “vow.” In Hoffmann’s story, “strange” phenomena such as the unexplained pregnancy are explained, but the resulting wounds remain irreparable.

“Das steinerne Herz” (The Stone Heart): A Symbol of Delusion and Emotional Detachment

The fourth story in the second volume, “Das steinerne Herz,” is the final work included in ‘Night Pieces’. The story unfolds across multiple temporal layers. In the first temporal layer (the narrative present), the first-person narrator first leads the reader to a country villa and the heart-shaped gazebo located there. In the subsequent second temporal layer, a story from nearly twenty years ago unfolds, featuring Maximilian Leutring, a court counselor, and Julie, the wife of Privy Councilor Fürt.
In their conversation, two specific events from the past are mentioned. One is the story of their love: their relationship was thwarted due to Leutringger’s “dreamy belief in intuition or peculiar, ominous visions,” leading to Julie’s marriage to another man. The other is a more recent event in which Loitlinger foresaw the future in the behavior of his nephew, Max, and cast him out. Believing he was being tormented by his brother’s intrigues, Loitlinger, fearing discord within the family, built a heart-shaped mausoleum intending it to be a resting place for his own heart.
However, his nephew Max played with a dark red stone heart intended to be placed at the center of the pavilion’s floor. Since the stone symbolized his own heart, Max’s act of playing with his “stone heart” fueled a premonition that his nephew, like his brother, would also bring him disappointment.
The third temporal layer takes place about ten years after the second. Court advisor Leutringger hosts a masquerade ball every three years, requiring attendees to wear 1760s-era costumes so they can reminisce about the youthful days when his love blossomed. During the ball, Leutringger is found collapsed in the gazebo. He believes he has seen an exact replica of himself on that fateful day thirty years ago, when Julíe got married and he attempted to end his miserable life.
In reality, the people he encountered were his nephew Max, now eighteen, and Julíe, the daughter of his former lover. Max begs the court counselor for forgiveness and asks if he can be taken back. The court counselor initially refuses this request outright, but upon realizing that Max and Julie are meant to be together, he accepts them both. Shortly thereafter, he dies and is buried in the gazebo, and his stone heart finally finds rest.
Overall, this work gives the impression of disparate stories loosely connected. This is because the first-person narrator, who appears only at the beginning and end of the story, simply narrates the events without offering any commentary. In the opening section, the narrator addresses the reader directly and guides them into the space of Court Advisor Leutringger, but from then on, the story is conveyed through the characters’ own voices. The narrator reappears only at the very end to announce that Max and Julie have married, thus concluding the story.
The central motif corresponding to the “realm of the night” consists of Leutringger’s delusions and the visions foreshadowing misfortune, which he attributes to an “evil fate.” He interprets the visions at the pavilion and the recurring scenes of love and separation as the approach of a dark force heralding his imminent death. While he demonstrates insight in the process of solving the riddle, this does not serve as evidence of “healing.”

Even after reconciling with Max, he immediately reacts to the mysterious hints of his eccentric friend Exter and sends his nephew Max—his doppelgänger—to Constantinople. Like Exter, Leutring is a believer in “self-healing.”
Meanwhile, the blood-red “stone heart” appears across all temporal layers of the story. It refers both to Leutringger’s heart and to the burial site he has prepared for it. Ironically, the heart and the stone, identified as one, signify the opposing concepts of “emotion” and “loss of emotion.” This draws on the oxymoron of a “cold” heart—as hard as stone—which was widely used during the Baroque and Rococo periods.
The final scene of this story particularly overlaps with the image of Lord Horion committing suicide at the grave of his beloved in Jean Paul’s novel ‘The Morning Star’. On Lord Horion’s tombstone lies a “heart of ashes,” and beneath it, the words “Rest in Peace!” are inscribed in white letters. In Hoffmann’s story as well, the same phrase is inscribed on the stone heart of the sperm whale. Composed of such mysterious and suspenseful events and narratives, “Das steinerne Herz” goes beyond merely using fantasy or sensational themes as motifs; through its rich intertextuality—which reinterprets traditional metaphors, symbols, and past works—it demonstrates a deeper literary achievement.