and read all
sorts of mystic books to her, until she begged him--"But, my dear
Nathanael, I shall have to scold you as the Evil Principle which
exercises a fatal influence upon my coffee. For if I do as you wish,
and let things go their own way, and look into your eyes whilst you
read, the coffee will all boil over into the fire, and you will none of
you get any breakfast." Then Nathanael hastily banged the book to and
ran away in great displeasure to his own room.

Formerly he had possessed a peculiar talent for writing pleasing,
sparkling tales, which Clara took the greatest delight in listening to;
but now his productions were gloomy, unintelligible, and wanting in
form, so that, although Clara out of forbearance towards him did not
say so, he nevertheless felt how very little interest she took in them.
There was nothing that Clara disliked so much as what was tedious; at
such times her intellectual sleepiness was not to be overcome; it was
betrayed both in her glances and in her words. Nathanael's effusions
were, in truth, exceedingly tedious. His ill-humour at Clara's cold
prosaic temperament continued to increase; Clara could not conceal her
distaste of his dark, gloomy, wearying mysticism; and thus both began
to be more and more estranged from each other without exactly being
aware of it themselves. The image of the ugly Coppelius had, as
Nathanael was obliged to confess to himself, faded considerably in his
fancy, and it often cost him great pains to present him in vivid
colours in his literary efforts, in which he played the part of the
ghoul of Destiny. At length it entered into his head to make his dismal
presentiment that Coppelius would ruin his happiness the subject of a
poem. He made himself and Clara, united by true love, the central
figures, but represented a black hand as being from time to time thrust
into their life and plucking out a joy that had blossomed for them. At
length, as they were standing at the altar, the terrible Coppelius
appeared and touched Clara's lovely eyes, which leapt into Nathanael's
own bosom, burning and hissing like bloody sparks. Then Coppelius laid
hold upon him, and hurled him into a blazing circle of fire, which spun
round with the speed of a whirlwind, and, storming and blustering,
dashed away with him. The fearful noise it made was like a furious
hurricane lashing the foaming sea-waves until they rise up like black,
white-headed giants in the midst of the raging strugg