g a dreamy or poetic
temperament, or seem to be inclined to sentimentality, so that
Hoffmann's extraordinary infatuation can only be explained as a "fixed
insanity." At any rate, it powerfully affected his mind, and left an
indelible trace upon him almost down to his dying day. The day on which
her betrothal to a stupid, weak-minded man, a man in all respects
unworthy of her, was celebrated at the pleasure-resort of Pommersfelden
(four hours from Bamberg), was one which shook Hoffmann's storm-tossed
soul to its profoundest depths. He had hated himself for his weakness,
and yet could not or would not manfully resolve to break through it.
Now he was compelled to do so, and in a way that was galling to the
utmost degree. Her marriage turned out an unhappy one; and eight years
later, that is two years before his death, hearing she was in great
trouble, he sent many kind messages to her through a mutual friend.
These relations are detailed with striking truth and fidelity in the
_Nachricht von den neusten Schicksalen des Hundes Berganza_, published
in the _Fantasiestuecke in Callot's Manier_ (1814-15). Perhaps, if we
sufficiently compare the descriptions which he gives of various
heroines in his tales (all of which were written after this time),[17]
and bear in mind the common characteristic running through them all,
namely, that he puts them before us more as individual pictures than as
developments of character, giving us purely objective sketches of
them after the manner of a painter--if we compare these descriptions
with what we know of Hoffmann's mind and character, his restless,
brilliant imagination, and the taint of sensuousness that helped to
mar its purity, his keen eye for beauty in form and colour, his strong
talent for seeing the things with which he came in contact through
an unmistakable veil of either love or hatred, we may perhaps hazard
the opinion, without risk of going far wrong, that it was his
imagination--the imagination that made up such a large part of the
man--that was principally concerned in this remarkable passion; if his
heart was also touched, as it would undoubtedly appear to have been,
the road to it must no less undoubtedly have been found through his
imagination.

Early in 1812 Hoffmann was invited to a banquet at the monastery of the
Capuchins; and the visit made an extraordinary impression upon him. All
during dinner he could not keep his eyes off a gray-haired old monk
with a fine antiq