In this blog post, I will focus on Ernst Theodor Amadeus Hoffmann’s collection ‘Night Pieces’ and his masterpiece ‘The Sandman’ to explain how images of the night, madness, and the dark aspects of the human psyche are literarily portrayed.

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—realms that 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, they became literary motifs that Romantics—who sought inner freedom by letting their imaginations soar through art—eagerly embraced. Feeling deeply alienated from the stifling reality brought about by the world of Enlightenment rationality, the Romantics rebelled against it and placed great importance on unconscious and irrational experiences in which fantasy and everyday life merged.
However, the irrational world pursued by Hoffmann differs from the tendencies of early Romanticism. While early Romanticism developed in reaction to the Enlightenment’s reason and rationality—symbolized by “light”—by emphasizing the subjectivity of the self, the supernatural, dreams, and premonitions, the author Hoffmann focuses more intently on the secretive and dark aspects of the human psyche. This 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—gradually turned to themes such as the demonic forces of the world, the dark and bizarre mental processes within humans that lead to destruction, 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,” among others; 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—while occasionally hinting at elements of hope amidst ruin—generally depict the human world being overwhelmed by “dark forces” and succumbing to destruction. Instead of the “Preface” that accompanied his earlier works, the title “Night Pieces” was used to introduce the collection as a whole.
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 candlelight, sharp contrasts between light and shadow emerge, along with unique hues, creating an eerie and unsettling effect. This concept was adopted into German literature beginning in the 18th century, coming to refer to terrifying stories featuring ghosts, robbers, and other criminals, as well as tales in which bizarre and frightening events or phenomena unfold against a backdrop of inexplicable, dark forces. In particular, the late Romantics focused on irrational experiences lying beyond the realm of consciousness—such as dreams, madness, somnambulism, and self-healing—as well as the “nocturnal aspects” of the human soul, and sought to give them literary form.
While Hoffmann’s early works primarily depicted the coexistence of everyday reality and fantasy, the works from the period when ‘Night Pieces’ was published showed a particular tendency to focus on the “night aspects” of the human soul. In Hoffmann’s works, the meaning of the “nightscape” manifests itself on various levels, including setting, subject matter, and narrative. First, we 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 themes that belong to the “realm of the night.” These include elements typical of horror fiction, such as gangs of robbers, murder and other crimes, terrifying accidents, fateful events, and revenge. Furthermore, this category includes “dark forces”—presumed to lie behind these horrific events, threatening humanity and causing mental and psychological ruin—that is, something that cannot be fully explained or understood by reason alone.
Hoffmann leaves it as an unsolved mystery whether these forces of fate and crime are actually the work of demonic powers or the result of human manipulation carried out in a demonic manner. He adopts a narrative stance that leaves it unclear whether such forces actually exist or are merely “illusions” of our own selves. The forces of the night are inaccessible to reason, and humans, unable to gain the upper hand in their confrontation with these forces, find themselves threatened by them. This tendency resonates with the concept of the “uncanny,” as coined 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. “The Sandman,” the first story and one that illustrates the concept behind this collection, employs the concept of a “nightscape” metaphorically while dealing specifically with mental and unconscious events that occur in broad daylight. The theme that runs 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 eerie. Regarding this, Nathaniel, the protagonist of “The Sandman,” states, “Every human being deludes himself into thinking he is free, but in reality, he merely serves as a pawn in the cruel game played by dark forces.” The majority of the characters in the stories within this collection experience this “game.” 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 on Each Work

“The Sandman (Der Sandmann)”: A Life Reduced to 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, and follows a somewhat unusual yet simple structure. Unusually, the work begins with three letters; with the exception of the section in the first letter—which appears at the beginning—where the protagonist Nathanael reminisces about his childhood, the narrative generally follows a chronological order of events.
The story of Nathanael’s childhood, as told by him, 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 fears. Coppelius is a man who conducts secret alchemical experiments with Nathaniel’s father; when his father dies in an explosion during one of these experiments, Nathaniel is so terrified—fearing that Coppelius will take his eyes—that he faints.
Years later, as a college student, Nathaniel’s childhood trauma is reawakened when he happens to meet Coppola, a peddler from the Blue Wing Guild who bears a striking resemblance to Copelius. He is tormented by a dark premonition that the peddler is actually Copelius and that he will destroy Nathaniel’s love and life. However, his fiancée Clara counters that this is merely a “delusion” born in Nathaniel’s mind. Nathaniel also believes that Copola cannot be Copelius, since Professor Spalanzani has known him for a long time and Copola speaks with an Italian accent; nevertheless, Copola plays a decisive role when Nathaniel’s first bout of madness strikes.
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 story’s final scene, 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 Nathaniel believes, or merely a product of Nathaniel’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. As a result, 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, unflinchingly revealing the conflicting perspectives of the letter writers. While Nathaniel foresees a catastrophic fate approaching him based on nightmares from his childhood, Clara dismisses this as an inner delusion and refutes his claims.
Although multiple perspectives continue to intermingle throughout the work, it is characteristic that passages describing unbelievable events or supernatural phenomena are primarily narrated from the perspective of the emotionally unstable Nathaniel. For example, while secretly spying on an experiment in his father’s room, Nathaniel hears Coppelius shout, “Give me your eyes!” and falls into a state of extreme agitation; he then faints after being overcome by a hallucination in which Coppelius removes his limbs and reassembles them. Even at Professor Spalanzani’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 turmoil—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 go 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, eyeglasses, and telescopes—all are closely associated with “eyes.” The fear of losing one’s eyes pervades the entire work, and the pivotal 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—the “window to the mind” or the “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 incorporating it into the internal world. Therefore, threats or fears related to the loss of sight imply an obstruction preventing normal communication between the internal and external worlds. Meanwhile, 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—became impaired due to nightmares he experienced during childhood. This optical illusion manifests when Coppola, the peddler from Cheongu-gye, 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 Nathaniel purchased from Coppola further reinforces his distorted visual perception. When he first saw Olympia, her eyes were lifeless and rigid; however, when viewed through the telescope, her eyes seem to reflect the glow of moonlight and are filled with love and longing.
Combined with the fear of blindness and the trauma of his childhood tend to severely distort his visual perception of external reality depending on 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 world onto the outside 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 his inner world.
This effectively demonstrates a situation where the boundary between the external and internal worlds has collapsed—a state in which, due to an excessively heightened inner life, he can no longer reflect on his inner world or distinguish between the external and internal realms. However, a state in which the boundary between external reality and the inner world collapses—where external reality is projected onto the inner world, and one becomes consumed by one’s own inner image—entails fatal destruction, as seen in the ancient myth of Narcissus. 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 regard, the fact that madness erupts as Olympia breaks apart signifies nothing less than the collapse of the inner world and illustrates just how fatal the consequences of narcissism—which projects the inner world onto the external world—can be.
In this sense, the existence of the automaton Olympia serves as a literary symbol representing Nathaniel’s loss of identity. The portrayal of Nathanael, 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, fantasy, and 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 symbol”—was regarded as a “secret code” that revealed the world’s deepest mysteries. However, when the term “hieroglyphs” comes from Nathanael’s mouth, it merely illustrates the danger faced by a poet who, buried in excessive subjectivity, fails 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, and because the creative work Nathaniel attempts does not transcend the 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—or, in other words, on the artist who reproduces only himself. In the middle of this work, through the narrator’s voice, Hoffmann expresses the view that a poet “can only depict (real) life as if reflected in a mirror with a rough surface—merely in a blurred manner,” and that a true poet must first be able to visualize within himself a genuine image that is not detached from reality. This implies that an artist who becomes entirely immersed in the world of imagination is no different from Nathanael, who has fallen into madness. Hoffmann’s view ultimately crystallizes into his creative philosophy—the so-called “Principle of Serapion”—which holds that an artist must not be trapped in the 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 “front and center” also reveals his ambivalent stance toward Romantic aesthetics. This is because, considering that Hoffmann attempted a narrative approach that granted the individual consumed by madness a unique voice rather than focusing solely on exploring the protagonist’s madness, the negative evaluation of Romantic aesthetics in the work is somewhat relativized. Rather, the entire work 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 provide a path to healing for Nathaniel.
Toward the end of the work, the narrator suggests that Clara has established a ordinary middle-class household and seems to have found the happiness that the internally fractured Nathaniel could not provide; however, a distinct sense of ironic detachment is clearly evident in this narrative account. The narrator’s stance can be interpreted as a critical distancing from the attitude that has sought to deny the irrational world—such as dreams or madness—which had become entrenched 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, by introducing a protagonist driven by madness, focuses on 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 Dichotomy of Good and Evil

“Ignaz Denner” is the second short story included in the first volume of “ ‘Night Pieces’, following “The Sandman,” and, compared to the multilayered structure of “The Sandman,” it unfolds in a straightforward, linear manner. Set in ancient times, the story centers on the confrontation between Andrés, a pious and virtuous estate hunter, and Ignaz Denner, a wicked bandit leader. Andrés, who is desperately poor, receives help from Denner—who has come to his home posing as a merchant—to save his gravely ill wife and escape his dire circumstances, eventually enjoying a stable life. However, when it is revealed that Denner is the leader of a band of outlaws, Andrés is forced to cooperate with the gang and becomes involved in perilous criminal activities.
With his vulnerability now exposed, Andrés resolutely resists Denner’s temptations and threats, yet endures all manner of horrors and hardships. Even when framed as a thief and murderer, imprisoned, and facing the death penalty, Andrés remains true to his conscience through his devout faith and sincerity, ultimately clearing 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 triumph 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 his time in prison 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 an unjust death.
Moreover, one could argue that it was Count Bach—the master whom Andrés had faithfully served from the very beginning—who left Andrés to suffer in abject poverty and forced him to rely on Denner. Claiming to repay the man who had saved his life during a journey, Count Bach sent him into a desolate forest without providing sufficient financial support. Although he approached Andrés with sinister motives, the one who actually helps him is, ironically, the villain Denner. Furthermore, the court—which should have cleared his name through a just verdict and revealed the truth—far from taking the side of the virtuous Andrés, merely 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 “Romantic Horror.” Spiced with ambushes, robberies, fights, torture, murder, human sacrifices, secret rituals, dark magic, madness, bloodshed, and ghostly apparitions, the story unfolds with a colorful plot brimming with coincidences and implausibilities.
The characters in the story—especially the protagonist, Andrés—are portrayed as beings helplessly at the mercy of “demonic forces” that are even more irrational and inscrutable than in the author’s other “Night Pieces” works. While these “elements of the night” generate entertainment and suspense within the narrative, they are also props deliberately inserted by the author. These diabolical forces operate throughout the narrative and lie beyond the reach of rational explanation. For example, individual psychological explanations are insufficient to account for Andrés’s participation in the band of thieves’ robberies or his generous attitude toward Ignatz Denner at the end.
However, from a sociopsychological perspective, Andrés’s attitude is shaped by his loyalty and gratitude toward his master. Consequently, he fails to realize in the slightest that the very kindness of the master who appointed him as a manorial hunter 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 through acts of service. Thus, he fails to recognize the clear signs indicating that Denner is a criminal and follows him, thereby becoming a criminal himself.
In ‘Ignaz Denner’, alongside the central narrative, several subplots emerge that shed light on the mysterious events. These subplots reveal, in particular, the characters’ familial relationships; the bandit leader Ignaz Denner is ultimately revealed to be the father-in-law of the estate hunter Andrés. Denner not only killed Andrés’s second child but also attempted to kill his first—both of whom 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 leads the reader to the mysterious source of evil through the Trabakio-Denner lineage, delivering a shocking tale of magic, demons, murder, conspiracy, madness, and blood—thereby showcasing the essence of “Romantic Horror.”

“Die Jesuiterkirche in G.” (The Jesuit Church in G.): Artistic Existence and the Dangers 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 whom 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 artwork—all while attempting to uncover more about this enigmatic artist through the professor; the part where the narrator reads the painter’s past history through records provided by the professor and traces his artistic career; and the part where, half a year 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 backstory—recorded in the documents the narrator obtained (the so-called “Bertolt’s Biography”) and which explains Bertolt’s current behavior—accounts for about half of the entire story. Of course, these explanations pertain to the connections and reactions behind specific actions and shed light only partially on the protagonist’s motives or the story’s conclusion.
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 becomes 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 world. His work only succeeds when the figure of a mysterious woman appears, prompting him to continue painting her likeness in his altarpiece.
He must learn through experience that only absolute devotion to his ideals can make a true artist. Just as he is about to build a happy, practical family 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 making a living as a muralist. It was during this very 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 forward while simultaneously elevating the artist’s will, only to frustrate and ultimately destroy it. Bertolt, in a “state considered tantamount to madness,” claims, “That woman alone was the cause of my misfortune,” blaming his failure on his wife. The narrator, of course, offers no commentary on this. The true cause of the bizarre behavior Bertolt later exhibits 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—it is presumed he may have committed suicide—and the narrator includes this letter at the end of the story. Of course, it is difficult to conclude on this basis alone 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 how the artistic existence relates to reality—particularly the danger of descending into the madness inherent in the artist’s existence.

“Das Sanctus”: The Psychological Causes and Cure of the Loss of Artistic Talent

The fourth story in Volume One, “Das Sanctus,” is the shortest of the stories in the volume and occupies a unique 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.
During Mass, after singing her part, the narrator calls out to Bettina, a female singer who is leaving the choir to perform at her next engagement just as the “Sanctus” begins. The narrator quips, “You won’t be singing in church much longer,” and sure enough, the singer subsequently loses her singing voice. Since singing is her very essence, the loss of her voice deals her a decisive blow of fate. This is because the frustration of her artistic expression can drive her—just as it did 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 a 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 intangible ghost”—the wandering fan 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,” which implies that, in cases of psychological illness, art is a more specialized field than traditional medicine. In fact, in the field of the history of medicine, Hoffmann is recognized for having most accurately described the psychological causes of physical disorders and made the correct diagnosis in this work.
In terms of modern medical terminology, the symptoms Bettina suffers from correspond to a type of “Fremdneurose” (alien neurosis), “Phonophobie” (phobia of sound), or a form of “Aphonie” (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 issues surrounding art and the artist play a central role. Themes familiar from Hoffmann’s earlier works—such as “sacred” music, the secularization of religious music outside the context of the church and faith, the dangers faced by artists who strive to meet society’s demands, and the conflict between art and love—appear here. These themes are explored in various ways, both as part of the present-day narrative and as stories within the story. Furthermore, the narrative of the central events, which unfolds in the present tense, is dominated by humor and satire.

“Das öde Haus” (The Desolate House): Intuitive Imagination That Channels Madness

The first story in the second volume, “Das öde Haus,” features a multi-layered yet comprehensible structure. Within the frame narrative, three friends engage in conversation about the relationship between everyday life and wonder, and the ability to discern the extraordinary within the ordinary. Next, one of the friends, Theodor, tells a story that demonstrates his talent for perceiving the wondrous. This frame narrative creates a sense of distance; not only does it introduce the main character from a third-person perspective before the main story begins, but it also illuminates the story’s implications by presenting and evaluating its core concepts to readers in advance.
The main narrative, told from a first-person perspective, ultimately centers on events occurring in the “realm of the night” and proceeds to psychologically elucidate the protagonist’s thoughts and motivations as he is tempted by a bewitching power and nearly meets his doom. In the frame narrative, the reader defines and distinguishes between the “strange” and the “marvelous”; however, as the close relationship between the two is emphasized—and particularly as the “nightscape” is defined as a blend of the strange and the marvelous—making a scholarly 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 lively streets, catches the eye of the narrator, Theodore. One day, he sees the figure 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 springs into action, and the pieces of the mosaic begin to come together; in particular, as he falls in love with the mysterious woman, 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 Theodore, the first-person narrator, feels in the silent 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 enigmatic influence of a Gypsy woman, and the inexplicable outbursts of Angelica’s madness all belong to the “realm of the night.” “Self-treatment” also emerges as a significant element. The issue of self-treatment is discussed theoretically through psychological and scholarly arguments by the doctor—who seeks to cure Theodore of his “delusional fixation”—and by the participants in the evening gathering.
“Das öde Haus” shares many similarities with “The Sandman.” Both works illustrate 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 in a beautiful light that is vastly different from how others perceive her.
Both Nathaniel and Theodore are highly sensitive; when they encounter something strange, their imaginations are immediately sparked, and they invent stories to match what they see. Both protagonists are vulnerable to preconceptions 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 two characters’ personalities and abilities.
Theodore reflects on what has happened, seeks explanations, and demonstrates a willingness to accept third-party interpretations that do not align with his own subjective interpretation. He strikes a balance between his own subjective impressions and the perspectives of others. Thus, he reflects on an elderly man’s explanation, which convincingly accounts for his delusional thoughts; he recognizes his symptoms of schizophrenia in Dr. Ryle’s writings on the subject; and, above all, he 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 markedly from that of Nathaniel. While Theodore depicts the movements of his own emotions in a particularly vivid manner, 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 Theodore’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 Primogeniture): A Cursed Fate or Human Greed?

The second story in the second volume, “Das Majorat,” deals primarily with the history of a family from the mid- to late 18th century, with the exception of the later section, which is narrated by the narrator in the present tense. 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.” Theodore, who also serves as the work’s first-person narrator, is a character who personally experienced a mysterious incident that took place at a 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; since he projects himself—a poet, musician, and lawyer—onto the protagonist, the work can be said to reflect much of the author’s own reality. Baron Roderich von Rositen established a “primogeniture” system to ensure his family’s eternal stability: by bequeathing the family’s key assets to the eldest son, he prevented the estate from being divided and strengthened the family’s power. However, as three generations passed, the last heir died, and the estate reverted to the state.
The narrator laments that Baron Roderich was short-sighted and failed to look far into the future, and that he summoned some malevolent force that brought a curse of death upon the family; this “malevolent fate” of the family is mentioned several times throughout the work. However, as is the case with most of the works in ‘Night Pieces’, it is difficult to attribute the family’s fate solely to some incomprehensible force; rather, it is revealed that the root causes lie primarily in human behavior and character traits—such as jealousy, malice, arrogance, hatred, a thirst for revenge, greed, and lust for power.
The story’s external plot structure is replete with elements of “Romantic Horror.” It is characterized by the depiction of unpredictable destruction brought about by supernatural and inexplicable phenomena, inner obsessions, and the unpredictable ruin brought about by relentless human desire. The founder, who established the primogeniture system, believed in the influence of the stars; he died under mysterious circumstances when the tower where he conducted his astronomical research collapsed. Only Daniel, the servant who witnessed the events that took place at night, knows where the dead baron hid his treasure.
Wolfgang, the eldest son and heir apparent, is greedy and overbearing, and he humiliates Daniel relentlessly. 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 romantic passion, a secret murder, hatred between brothers, the appearance of a ghost, implausible coincidences, a series of interconnected events, and a family curse 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 chapter begins due to the narrator’s fervent love for the sensitive Seraphine, the wife of the heir apparent. Theodor’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 within the family.
This work also contrasts the Romantic and Enlightenment ideologies. The protagonist, an artist, becomes consumed by the obsessions of Romantic writers, plunging him into sweet melancholy and intoxicating despair. The great-uncle warns his great-nephew against such folly and excessive passion, thereby demonstrating the primacy of reason. Representing a cool-headed, calm, and rational character, the great-uncle—a man of strong sense of duty and clear reason—restores balance by warning of the folly and dire consequences of a “poetic sensibility” that becomes consumed by emotion, amidst characters driven by unknown forces.
The two parts of the work differ significantly in narrative style. Compared to the chronological account, the story told by Theodore takes on a much more nuanced form. Passages describing the emergence of passionate love reveal a psychological sensitivity, and the characters—who are more significant than those in the historical narrative—are portrayed with greater meticulousness. Nevertheless, there are numerous threads connecting 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 succeeds in integrating two narrative genres: 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 purely immersed in emotion become temptation and danger to those with a “poetic soul.” 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 conventions and is swept along by an unknown force.

“Das Gelübde” (The Vow): A 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 mystery-filled event. The first part of the story describes an unknown woman giving birth under unusual circumstances, while the second part is devoted to elucidating the backstory related to this event. 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 falls in love with Count Stanisław, a champion of freedom; however, when the count proves unable to save his homeland, her love turns to “contempt.” Yet, as the count leaves her to go to the battlefield, her heart—once as cold as death—is transformed by passionate love. Then, news arrives that the count has died, and her highly strung state of excitement seems to tip over 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 is revealed that her cousin is not the man she loved, she completely breaks down in shame and bitter anguish and withdraws; yet, as she hears Xaver speak of Stanislaus’s love, she is drawn to him once more, and in her imagination, the two cousins gradually become one and the same.
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, though in reality she is 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 sustained 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, Xaver confesses that he seduced her; shocked, Hermengild 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 securing her own “comfort” and “peace”—in other words, a kind of defense against her madness. Therefore, 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 seducer who has come to take her child, she falls into a state of rigidity, like an automaton, and soon meets her death. The work offers various explanations for Hermengilda’s bizarre behavior and the cause of her mental confusion. Her extreme emotional outbursts are attributed to the temperament of Polish women. One doctor offers a psychological interpretation: because the two cousins bore an incredible resemblance, her emotions were severely unsettled, and she surrendered herself to a somnambulistic and self-absorbing influence.
However, Hermengilda’s mental derangement can also be understood as the result of evil forces and a “special fate.” Meanwhile, the guilt she feels—which, after her pregnancy is revealed, most people around her seem to attribute to physical desire or falsehoods—can be said to stem from her own disposition and innate nature. Yet, those around her, particularly her father, also bear responsibility in this regard. This is because her father, while instilling patriotism, also filled Hermengilda’s mind with romantic and naive ideas.
What mattered to him was 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, too, is a deceitful character who uses his striking resemblance to his cousin to court and seduce her. He exploits her delirious state at the country estate as an opportunity to satisfy his own desires, and when the problem comes to light, 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 fainting spell into a state of sleepwalking, and unlike the potentially conciliatory ending in Kleist’s story, reconciliation seems impossible in Hoffmann’s. Hermengilda ultimately rejects the hypocritical and selfish Xaver and chooses the path of atonement in the form of a “vow.” In Hoffmann’s story, “bizarre” phenomena such as the unexplained pregnancy are explained, but the wounds they inflict 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 pavilion located there. In the second temporal layer that follows, a story set nearly 20 years earlier unfolds, featuring Maximilian Roitlinger, a court counselor, and Julie, the wife of Privy Councilor Förter.
In their conversation, two specific events from the past are mentioned. One is the story of their love: their romance was thwarted due to Leutringger’s “dreamy belief in intuition or strange, ominous visions,” leading Julije to marry another man. The other is a more recent incident in which Loitlinger foresaw the future in the behavior of his nephew, Max, and cast him out. Believing he was being tormented by his younger brother’s intrigues, Loitlinger, fearing discord within the family, built a heart-shaped mausoleum intending it to serve as a resting place for his own heart.
However, his nephew Max played with the dark red stone heart that was meant to be placed at the center of the pavilion’s floor. Since the stone symbolized his own heart, Max’s playful handling of his “stone heart” fueled a premonition that his nephew, just like his brother, would also disappoint him.
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 days of their youth when 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 earlier—the day Julije got married and he attempted to end his miserable life.
In reality, the people he encountered were his nephew Max, now eighteen years old, and Julije, the daughter of his former lover. Max begs the court advisor for forgiveness and asks if he can be taken back. The court advisor 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 also 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, merely narrates the events without offering any commentary. In the opening section, the narrator addresses the reader directly—as implied from the start—and guides them into the space of Court Advisor Leutringger; thereafter, however, the story is conveyed through the characters’ own voices, and the narrator reappears only at the very end to announce that Max and Julie have married, thus bringing the story to a close.
The central motif corresponding to the “realm of the night” consists of Leutringger’s delusions and the premonitory visions of misfortune 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 foretelling his imminent death. While he demonstrates insight in the process of solving the mystery, 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—who is his doppelgänger—to Constantinople. Like Exter, Leutringger is a believer in “self-healing.”
Meanwhile, the blood-red “stone heart” appears across all temporal layers of the story. It refers both to Loitringger’s heart and to the burial site he prepared for it. Ironically, the heart and the stone—which are thus identified with one another—represent the opposing concepts of “emotion” and “loss of emotion.” This is inspired by the oxymoron of a “cold” heart, hardened like 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 in the pavilion. Composed of such mysterious and suspenseful events and narratives, “Das steinerne Herz” goes beyond merely using fantasy or sensational themes as motifs; through intertextuality—which richly reinterprets traditional metaphors, symbols, and past works—it demonstrates a deeper literary achievement.