Youth[ edit ] Hoffmann's ancestors, both maternal and paternal, were jurists. In he married his cousin, Lovisa Albertina Doerffer — Ernst Theodor Wilhelm, born on 24 Januarywas the youngest of three children, of whom the second died in infancy. This trio raised the youngster.
The many old friends and acquaintances I found there, the free, jovial life, the manifold artistic and intellectual interests—all these combined to keep me in that city. I was happy as never before, and found rich nourishment for my old fondness for wandering alone through the streets, stopping to enjoy every picture in the shop windows, every placard on the walls, or watching the passers-by and choosing some one or the other of them to cast his horoscope secretly to myself.
There is one broad avenue leading to the —— Gate and lined with handsome buildings of all descriptions, which is the meeting place of the rich and fashionable world. The shops which occupy the ground floor of the tall palaces are devoted to the trade in articles of luxury, and the apartments above are the dwellings of people of wealth and position.
The aristocratic hotels are to be found in this avenue, the palaces of the foreign ambassadors are there, and you can easily imagine that such a street would be the centre of the city's life and gaiety. I had wandered through the avenue several times, when one day my attention was caught by a house which contrasted strangely with the others surrounding it.
Picture to yourselves a low building but four windows broad, crowded in between two tall, handsome structures. Its one upper story was a little higher than the tops of the ground-floor windows of its neighbours, its roof was dilapidated, its windows patched with paper, its discoloured walls spoke of years of neglect.
You can imagine how strange such a house must have looked in this street of wealth and fashion. Looking at it more attentively I perceived that the windows of the upper story were tightly closed and curtained, and that a wall had been built to hide the windows of the ground floor.
The entrance gate, a little to one side, served also as a door-way for the building, but I could find no sign of latch, lock, or even a bell on this gate. I was convinced that the house must be unoccupied, for at whatever hour of the day I happened to be passing I had never seen the faintest signs of life about it.
You all, the good comrades of my youth, know that I have been prone to consider myself a sort of clairvoyant, claiming to have glimpses of a strange world of wonders, a world which you, with your hard common sense, would attempt to deny or laugh away.
I confess that I have often lost myself in mysteries which after all turned out to be no mysteries at all. And it looked at first as if this was to happen to me in the matter of the deserted house, that strange house which drew my steps and my thoughts to itself with a power that surprised me.
But the point of my story will prove to you that I am right in asserting that I know more than you do. Listen now to what I am about to tell you. One day, at the hour in which the fashionable world is accustomed to promenade up and down the avenue, I stood as usual before the deserted house, lost in thought.
Suddenly I felt, without looking up, that some one had stopped beside me, fixing his eyes on me. It was Count P——, who told me that the old house contained nothing more mysterious than a cake bakery belonging to the pastry cook whose handsome shop adjoined the old structure.
The windows of the ground floor were walled up to give protection to the ovens, and the heavy curtains of the upper story were to keep the sunlight from the wares laid out there. When the Count informed me of this I felt as if a bucket of cold water had been suddenly thrown over me.THEY were all agreed in the belief that the actual facts of life are often far more wonderful than the invention of even the liveliest imagination can be.
It seems to me, spoke Lelio, that history gives proof sufficient of this. And that is why the so-called historical romances seem so repulsive and.
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0 Reviews Preview this book» Ernst Theodor Amadeus Hoffmann Limited preview - You are aware, that in order to be completely withdrawn from the distractions of the world, he went out into the desert, and there devoted himself to the severest penitential exercises.
The Devil, of course, followed him, and came often in his way, in. Theodore tells of an adventure with the mysterious.
Imagine you are walking in old Germany on an avenue lined with aristocratic homes and fashionable shops. Tucked among the rich and gay architectures is a deserted old house.
The Sandman [Ernst Theodor Amadeus Hoffmann] on ph-vs.com *FREE* shipping on qualifying offers. The Sandman (German: Der Sandmann, ) is a short story written in German by E. T. A. Hoffmann. It was the first in an book of stories titled Die Nachtstücke (The Night Pieces).
Hoffman's The Deserted House is a fin de siècle gothic tale that may be a difficult story for modern readers to truly understand. Victorian sensibilities are considered quaint and archaic by today's standards and the early horror writers told their tales disguising the horror in innuendo.