NON CI SVEGLIATE!... NON SVEGLIATE QUESTO ASSURDO MONDO MAGICO ADDORMENTATO FRA LE ANTICHE PIETRE!
(798-9)
(ma, cari scrittori, continuate imperituri a raccontarcelo! G.)

Hoffmann approda dunque, secondo lā€™osservazione di Lothar Koehn, alla solitudine del romanziere, allā€™espatriazione trascendentale di cui parla Lukacs nella Teoria del romanzo: allā€™epopea di un ā€œmondo abbandonato da Dioā€ in cui unā€™oggettivitaā€™ sempre piuā€™ elusiva sā€™allontana progressivamente dal soggetto. (XLI, Lā€™esilio del borghese, Claudio Magris)

KREISLERIANA
Non tanto in sogno, quanto nello stato di dormiveglia sognante che precede il sonno (specialmente quando ho sentito molta musica), trovo una concordanza fra colori, suoni, profumi; eā€™ come se le tre cose venissero prodotte insieme, nello stesso misterioso modo, da un raggio di luce, per poi fondersi in un meraviglioso concerto. (44)

LE NUOVE AVVENTURE DEL CANE BERGANZA
Ne sono convintissimo. Tutte le donne affettate, eccessivamente colte - e sostanzialmente fredde - a partire dal venticinquesimo anno di etaā€™ sono mature per lā€™ā€Ospitale degli Incurabiliā€. (109)

IL MAGNETIZZATORE
E buon per voi se la natura tollera che le tiriate i veli con le vostre mani sgarbate e non punisce tanta curiositaā€™ mandandovi in perdizione. (135)

IL VASO Dā€™ORO
Al centro della camera, sopra una piastra di porfido retta da tre leoni egizi in bronzo fuso, poggiava un semplice vaso dā€™oro. Come vi ebbe posato lo sguardo, Anselmo non riusciā€™ piuā€™ a distoglierlo: su quella superficie dā€™oro tersissimo parevano muoversi, in un gioco di mille iridescenti riflessi, figure dā€™ogni specieā€¦ Anselmo vi scorse perfino se stesso ā€¦ (200)

Anselmo, - gli disse il principe degli spiriti. - Tu non hai colpa della tua incredulitaā€™. La colpa eā€™ stata di un principio malefico che cercava di penetrare in te - e di inimicarti con te stesso - per la tua perdizione. Ma tu ti sei mantenuto fedele. Sii dunque libero e felice. (227)

E che altro eā€™ la felicitaā€™ di Anselmo se non la vita nella poesia, cui si rivela il piuā€™ profondo segreto della natura: la sacra armonia regnante fra tutti gli esseri? ā€¦ (237)

KREISLERIANA
ā€¦ per il musicista la visione eā€™ una ā€œaudizione interioreā€ - o piuttosto, una profonda presa di coscienza della musica la quale, vibrando allā€™unisono con lo spirito del musicista stesso, risuona da tutto cioā€™ che il suo occhio riesce ad abbracciare. Cosiā€™, le improvvise ispirazioni, il nascere delle melodie nella mente del musicista, si spiegherebbe con la facoltaā€™ inconscia - (o meglio; non definibile con parole) - di cogliere la musica occulta della natura e di riconoscere in essa il principio della vita e di ogni manifestazione vitale. (303-4)

GLI ELISIR DEL DIAVOLO
Ero colui che sembravo, e non sembravo colui che ero. In quella duplice personalitaā€™ non riuscivo piuā€™ a comprendere, a ritrovare me stesso! (447)

Esiste una sola creatura umana cui il meraviglioso mistero dā€™amore, custodito nei piuā€™ profondi recessi dellā€™animo, non si sia rivelato almeno una volta nella vita?... (527)

RACCONTI NOTTURNI. Lā€™ORCO INSABBIA.
Oh, mamma chi eā€™ questo cattivo Orco Insabbia che ci fa sempre andare via dal babbo? Comā€™eā€™ fatto?
Ma non cā€™eā€™ nessun orco, piccolo mio, - rispose la mamma;
quando dico: viene lā€™Orco Insabbia, vuol dire solo che vi eā€™ venuto il sonno e non potete tenere piuā€™ gli occhi aperti, come se qualcuno vi avesse buttato la sabbia in viso. (654)

Forse, o mio lettore, allora crederai che nulla vā€™eā€™ di piuā€™ stravagante e pazzesco della vita reale e che il poeta la puoā€™ cogliere solamente come un oscuro riflesso dentro uno specchio senza luce. (666)

RACCONTI NOTTURNI. LA CASA DISABITATA.
Ma che cosā€™eā€™, poi, la vita abituale?... Ahimeā€™, eā€™ un eterno rigirarsi entro una cerchia ristretta, un continuo batter di naso dappertutto, un andar di piccolo passo, misurato, monotono, anche se spesso tentiamo di interromperlo con qualche virtuosistica ā€œcourbetteā€... (768)



( )

Amazon labels this e-text as the Ronald Taylor translation, but it appears to be an earlier, incomplete translation.

Die Elixiere des Teufels was Hoffmann's first go at writing a novel. He was inspired to write it by a visit to a Capuchin monastery in Bamberg (although it obviously also owes a lot to Matthew Lewis's famous gothic novel The Monk). It has just about everything you would look for in a gothic novel - monks pious, depraved, inspired and just plain mad; beautiful women scheming, virtuous, or vulnerable; more DoppelgƤnger than a season of Shakespeare comedies; a family curse; incest; murder; dreams and visions; guilt and repentance; several Mysterious Strangers; a comic dwarf; castles, prisons, monasteries, hunting-lodges, forests (complete with ravines and magic bullets). And of course the famous magic potion, said to have been confiscated from the Devil himself by St Anthony.

Hoffmann obviously wrote it in a continuously highly-excited state, which can become a little tiring at times for the reader. There is also that feeling you get in some of Sir Walter Scott's novels, that it was all written far too fast, leading to a lot of tangling-up of the narrators' (because, yes, there have to be multiple nested narratives, don't there?) arms and legs as the plot desperately attempts to brake to a safe speed before crashing through the last page into oblivion. We all think we've got to the end, and then the author suddenly remembers a dangling plot thread from 200 pages back and has to do a handbrake-turn to dash back and pick it up...

The setting is also a little odd: at the start there are clear signs that we are meant to be in a generic, unspoilt and pious pre-reformation Germany of the Narziss und Goldmund type, but then Hoffmann seems to forget himself and bring in all kinds of modern stuff like pianos, post-chaises, confessionals, gothick architecture, and Enlightenment rationalism, so that by the end of the book we're firmly in the late 18th century, and it's all getting a bit closer to Le rouge et le noir.

As a novel I felt it takes its own gothic nonsense a bit too seriously to be really enjoyable for the modern reader - the subversively eccentric Kater Murr is much more fun - but an interesting read anyway. ( )

E.T. Hoffman has been one of the most important representatives of the European imaginary, but also by the most remarkable writers of German romance in the early 19th century. In the strange universe of his work circulating mysterious beings and diabolical creatures - nothing is predictable or expected, surprises are usually unpleasant and painful.
In the Elixir of the Devil, Hoffman remarkably renews the subject of the twofold. The monk Mentar drinks the wine he finds in a cloister of the monastery, resulting in a change in his personality and lead to madness and crime. "In this work," Freud notes, "the second self is outlined in a unique way - the division of the human soul into consciousness and unconsciousness". ( )

This is one bizarre book. Krazy. Yeah, with a K. Thatā€™s how crazy it is. Maybe even Krazee. Said in your best Jerry Lewis voice.

See thereā€™s this monk, Medardus, and he takes orders really early because he doesnā€™t understand girls. Then he gets all uppity with his famous preaching and the Prior send him on a mission because his head is taking up far too much room. Unbeknownst to them the reason for his colossal ego is some enchanted wine that is kept with the other relics of the convent. He and a Count on tour each drink from the bottle of the Devilā€™s elixir and become bound to each other on some unfathomable plain. Ostensibly out to fulfil his monkly duties, Medardus goes off the reservation and his pilgrimage quickly becomes a crime spree.

And thatā€™s only the half of it. Itā€™s hyperbolic, over-the-top, emotionally overwrought and a lot of fun. If you can overlook a few things that is. Thereā€™s lots of pointless rambling and wicked long speeches, but we get nothing of the murders in the Baronā€™s castle. Only later do we sort of understand why, but itā€™s really not an encouraging way to write a story. Come to think of it, the whole editor device, leaving out parts of the story, etc, is strange. At the end of the book, thereā€™s a construct for it of sorts, but by then weā€™ve forgotten all about it.

Of course there are histrionic women perpetually having some kind of fit. Well actually some of the men got the vapors, too, including Medardus. He makes some really daft decisions at times like at one point when he can escape arrest he waits around until itā€™s too late. Then of course there has to be a super dramatic scene to resolve that. And trust me, stuff does get resolved. It doesnā€™t always make sense and really strains the bounds of believability, but itā€™s a gothic novel and if you arenā€™t willing to go with that kind of thing, just pack it in and read something else.

Also thereā€™s the odd spelling of words - not sure if itā€™s the translation from German or if it was common spelling in 1815. Here are some -
tost
pannels
Court Marshal
develope
blest
phantasy
dipt
divers (as in divers objects)
wert ( )