“Oh, my Serpentina,” cried Anselmus, “how could I ever stop cherishing you, how can I not love you forever!” The burning tingle of a kiss lingering on his lips, he awakened as if from a profound dream to find that Serpentina had disappeared. The clock struck six, and the student realized with a heavy heart that he hadn’t copied so much as a single word; concerned at what the archivarius would say, he peered at the page and – oh, wonder of wonders – the copy of the enigmatic manuscript lay finished before him. Upon closer scrutiny, he became convinced that he had copied Serpentina’s account of her father, the favorite of the spirit-prince Phosphorus in the magical land of Atlantis.

  At that moment, the archivarius walked in dressed in his light gray overcoat, with his hat on his head and his walking stick in hand. Peering at the parchment Anselmus had covered in that strange script, the old man took a pinch of snuff and smiled. “Just as I thought! Here’s the silver thaler I promised, Herr Anselmus! Now, let’s go mark the moment at Lincke’s Bathhouse— follow me!”

  The archivarius strode swiftly through the garden, in which the air was filled with such a pandemonium of singing, whistling, and chatter that Anselmus was deafened, and he thanked heaven to finally find himself out on the street. They had hardly advanced a few steps when they ran into the Registrar Heerbrand, who gladly tagged along. At the door to the tavern, they stuffed their pipes with tobacco, and the registrar bemoaned not having brought along a tinderbox. “You want a light?” the archivarius exclaimed scornfully. “Take all the fire you need!” Whereupon he snapped his fingers, emitting a stream of sparks, giving light to all.

  “Will you get a load of that little chemical trick!” Registrar Heerbrand remarked to the student. But Anselmus was awestruck, and could not help but muse with a shudder of emotion on the history of the salamander.

  At Lincke’s Bathhouse, the Registrar Heerbrand, ordinarily an even-tempered, quiet man, drank so much strong Doppelbock beer he started singing student songs in a squeaky tenor, and nudged everyone, “So are you my friend or not!” Until, finally, after the archivarius was already long gone, Anselmus had to take the registrar home.

  Ninth Vigil

  How the student Anselmus came somewhat to his senses. The punch party. How the student Anselmus mistook the deputy rector for an owl, thereby making the latter very angry. The ink spot and its consequences.

  All of the strange and wondrous things that befell Anselmus daily took him altogether out of the loop of his ordinary life; he had long since stopped frequenting old friends, and every morning he impatiently awaited the stroke of twelve to return to his paradise. Even though he was devoted heart and soul to the lovely Serpentina and to the miracles of the fairy realm he encountered at the home of the Archivarius Lindhorst, he could not help but think every now and then of Veronica; indeed, it sometimes seemed to him as if she came, blushing, to confess her ardent love, hoping to tear him from the grip of the phantoms that teased and taunted him. It was sometimes as if a strange irresistible force suddenly took hold of him and drew him back to the forgotten Veronica, compelling him to follow her wherever she wished, as though he were chained to her. The very same night that Serpentina had first made herself manifest in the form of a bewitchingly beautiful girl, when the wondrous secret of the marriage of the salamander and the green snake was revealed to him, Veronica appeared in his mind’s eye more vividly than ever. Indeed, when he awakened from deep sleep, it became crystal clear to him that he had only been dreaming; he was now convinced that Veronica, with a pained expression that touched him deeply, was actually standing by and lamenting the fact that he seemed intent on forfeiting her ardent love for the lure of those fantastic illusions that would only lead to his dissolution and eventually bring about his rack and ruin. Veronica looked more enticing than he had ever before noticed; he could hardly get her out of his mind, and this caused him great anguish that he hoped to quell with a morning stroll.

  A magical force beyond his control drew him in the direction of the Pirna Gate; he was just about to turn down a side street when Deputy Rector Paulmann came walking up and called out to him from behind. “Hey, hey! My good Herr Anselmus, mercy, mercy, where in heaven’s name have you been keeping yourself? We haven’t seen hide nor hair of you in God knows how long. Do you know that Veronica longs to sing another number with you? Come along then, it looks like you were already headed in my direction.”

  Having no choice but to accept, Anselmus went along with the deputy rector. As they stepped inside the house, Veronica came rushing toward them decked out in her most enchanting dress, so that her flabbergasted father asked, “Why dressed to the nines, dear daughter, are we expecting company? But here I’ve brought along Herr Anselmus!”

  As Anselmus chivalrously kissed Veronica’s hand, he felt a soft squeeze that ran like a feverish rush through every fiber and nerve of his body. Veronica was merriment and comeliness incarnate, and when Paulmann finally retired to his office she managed through all manner of teasing and sly quips to so excite the student that he lost all restraint and chased the cheeky girl around the room. But the demon of awkwardness once again took hold; he knocked into the table and Veronica’s lovely sewing box fell to the floor. Anselmus picked it up; the lid had flown open and a little round hand mirror peaked out, into which he cast an eager glance. Veronica drew quietly behind him, laid a hand on his arm and, nestling up against him, peered over his shoulder into the mirror. It was as if an inner turmoil welled up in Anselmus— a psychic whirlpool of thoughts and images flashed and faded— the Archivarius Lindhorst— Serpentina— the green snake— until finally things calmed down and all the disparate pieces came together in his conscious mind. It suddenly became clear to him that he had always been thinking of Veronica, that the figure who appeared before him yesterday in the blue room was none other than Veronica, and that the fantastic legend of the marriage of the salamander with the green snake had not been told to him, but had rather been born of his own imagination. He himself wondered at his flights of fancy and simply ascribed it to the exalted states brought on by his love for Veronica, as well as his work for the Archivarius Lindhorst, in whose rooms, moreover, he was overwhelmed by a stupefying scent. He had to laugh out loud at his madcap illusion of being in love with a little snake and at having taken a portly privy archivarius for a salamander. “Yes, indeed, it’s Veronica!” he cried out, turning his head and peering right into the girl’s blue eyes, imbued with love and longing.

  A muffled “Ach!” escaped from her lips, which at that moment burned with longing to press against his.

  “Oh, how lucky I am,” sighed the ecstatic student, “all the stuff of yesterday’s dreams became real today and is truly to be mine.”

  “And do you really want to marry me when you become a privy councillor?” Veronica asked.

  “Absolutely!” Anselmus replied.

  At that moment, the door creaked open and Deputy Rector Paulmann burst in. “Well then, my dear Herr Anselmus, I won’t let you slip away today, so long as you can make do with a meager bowl of soup, after which Veronica will whip up a splendid coffee to be enjoyed in the company of Registrar Heerbrand, who promised to drop by.”

  “Oh, most esteemed Deputy Rector, don’t you know that I am committed to go to the Archivarius Lindhorst to continue my transcription?”

  “Look here, my young friend,” said Deputy Rector Paulmann, proffering his pocket watch, indicating the time of half past twelve. Anselmus realized that it was much too late to go to the Archivarius Lindhorst’s house, and acceded all the more gladly to the deputy rector’s wishes, as he would have the opportunity to gaze at Veronica all day long, and to exchange furtive looks, a gentle squeeze of the hand, and even hope for a secret kiss. Anselmus’s hopes and dreams were now so confirmed in his mind that he grew ever more giddy, convinced as he now was that he would soon be freed of the batty fancies that had threatened to turn him into a complete lunatic.

  The Registrar Heerbrand did indeed drop by as promised after dinner, and once the coffee had been sipped with great delight and darkness had fallen, he let it be known with a chuckle, rubbing his hands together, that he had brought something along with which – once Veronica had applied the magic touch with a whisk of her gracious hands and mixed it properly, thereby titling and paginating its intoxicating properties, as it were – they would all make merry together on that cool October evening.

  “Well then, out with that secret something you’ve got hidden away, most esteemed Registrar!” cried the deputy rector.

  Herr Heerbrand reached three times into his satchel and retrieved, one by one, a bottle of arak, lemons, and sugar. Less than a half hour later, the intoxicating vapors of an ambrosial punch rose from Paulmann’s dining room table. Veronica proffered the drink, which soon sparked all manner of merry chatter among the friends. But as soon as the potent spirit of the liquor rose to Anselmus’s head, all the images of the fabulous phenomena he’d recently experienced leapt back to mind. He saw the Archivarius Lindhorst decked out in his damask dressing gown that sparkled like phosphorus. And he once again felt compelled to believe in Serpentina. Seething inside him, it all welled up again. Veronica offered him a glass of punch, and as soon as he took hold of it, he gently stroked her hand with a poignant sigh, “Serpentina Veronica!” And he drifted back into deep dreams.

  But then Registrar Heerbrand exclaimed in a loud voice, “A marvelous old geezer, though he may leave us none the wiser, long life to the Archivarius Lindhorst all the same! Let’s drink to that, Herr Anselmus!”

  Roused out of his dreams, Anselmus clinked glasses and announced, “It all comes from the fact that the archivarius is really a salamander who, in a fit of fury, lay waste to the garden of Phosphorus, the prince of spirits, after he lost the little green snake.”

  “Come again?” asked Deputy Rector Paulmann.

  “Yes, indeed, honored Registrar,” the student rattled on, “that’s why he is compelled to serve as the royal archivarius and set up house here in Dresden with his three daughters, who are, in fact, three little green snakes that lounge around in the elderberry bush, singing enticing songs like sirens and seducing unsuspecting young men.”

  “Herr Anselmus! Herr Anselmus!” cried Deputy Rector Paulmann. “Do you have a screw loose? In heaven’s name, what kind of utter gobbledygook are you babbling?”

  “He’s right,” the Registrar Heerbrand chimed in, “that fellow, the archivarius, is a damned salamander who with his shifty fingers plays fiery tricks, spewing smoldering slime that burns holes in your overcoat. Yes, indeed, you’re quite right, little brother Anselmus, and whoever doesn’t take my word for it is my sworn enemy.” Whereupon the Registrar Heerbrand struck so hard with his fist on the table that the glasses rattled.

  “Registrar! Are you mad?” cried the vexed deputy rector. “Herr Studiosus, Herr Studiosus,” he said, turning to Anselmus, “what kind of madness are you up to again?”

  “Ach!” said the student, “you’re nothing but an odd bird— a wig-combing old eagle owl, Herr Deputy Rector!”

  “What did you say? I, a bird— an eagle owl— a hairdresser?” shrieked the deputy rector in a simmering rage. “Sir, you are mad— stark, raving mad!”

  “And the old lady’s put one over on you,” Anselmus added, “even if she’s low class, and her father was nothing but a scruffy feather duster and her mother a measly wild beet, she got her grounding from all kinds of lowdown creatures – the poison-tongued riffraff she grew up with.”

  “That is a scurrilous slander!” Veronica cried out with burning fury in her eyes. “Old Liese is a wise old woman and the black cat is no hostile creature, but a cultivated young man of high breeding and her first cousin.”

  “Can the salamander eat without scorching its whiskers and wincing in pain?” said the Registrar Heerbrand.

  “No, no!” Anselmus cried out. “Not now or nevermore will he manage; and the green snake loves me, since I’m a childlike spirit and looked Serpentina in the eyes.”

  “The tomcat will scratch them out!” Veronica shouted back.

  “Salamander— salamander beats them all— all,” howled Deputy Rector Paulmann at the top of his lungs. “But am I in a madhouse? Am I myself mad? What kind of crazy mumbo jumbo am I muttering? Me too, I’m bonkers— bonkers!” Whereupon he leapt up, tore the wig off his head, and hurled it hard against the ceiling, so that the crushed curls creaked and totally unraveled, spreading puffs of powder around the room.

  Then the student and the registrar grabbed the punchbowl and the glasses and hurled them against the ceiling, so that the shards scattered in a cacophonous clang. “Long live the salamander— death to the old hag— shatter the metal mirror— scratch the tomcat’s eyes out! Birdy— Birdy flying high— eagle owl— salamander!” This is what the three screamed and howled higgledy-piggledy, like men possessed. Bursting out in tears, Fränzchen leapt up and left the room, but Veronica lay on the sofa whimpering in pain and misery. Suddenly, the door flew open and everyone fell silent as a little man in a gray coat strode in. His face had something strangely grave about it, and an unduly large pair of spectacles graced the bridge of his inordinately twisted nose. His head was bedecked by a curious wig that resembled a cap of feathers.

  “A great good evening to you all,” the droll little man snorted, “might I find a certain young scholar Herr Anselmus here? Permit me to convey respectful greetings from Herr Archivarius Lindhorst, who waited in vain today for Herr Anselmus, but bids him respectfully not to miss the usual time tomorrow.” With that, he headed back out the door, and everyone saw that the grave little man was actually a gray parrot.

  Deputy Rector Paulmann and Registrar Heerbrand exploded in a burst of laughter that thundered through the room as Veronica wept and moaned, ridden with unimaginable grief. A lightning bolt of horror flashed through the student’s fit of madness and he dashed out the door and ran through the streets, oblivious to all. Instinct directed him back to his apartment, to the refuge of his little room.

  Shortly thereafter, Veronica strolled peacefully and affably over to his place, asked him why in his inebriated state he had caused her such a fright, and warned him to mind he not fill his head with new delusions when next he works for the Archivarius Lindhorst. “Good night, good night, my dear friend,” she whispered and blew him a kiss. He wanted to take her in his arms, but the phantom figure faded, for she was but the stuff of dreams, and he woke up cheerful and refreshed.

  He himself had to laugh out loud at the effects of the punch, but as soon as he thought of Veronica he was infused with a beneficent feeling. “I owe it to her alone,” he said to himself, “that I survived that ridiculous ordeal. Truth to tell, I was pretty much in the same fix as someone who believes he’s made of glass, or someone who fears going out lest he be eaten by chickens because he believes he’s a barleycorn. But as soon as I become privy councillor, I’ll marry Mademoiselle Paulmann and be happy ever after.” And when at noon he strode through the Archivarius Lindhorst’s garden he wondered no end how all this could have once seemed so strange and magical to him. He saw nothing but a perfectly ordinary broken flower pot filled with all kinds of geraniums, stalks of myrtle, and the like. Instead of those resplendent many-colored birds that teased him there were nothing but a few sparrows fluttering about that gave off a disagreeable crowing as soon as they became aware of him. The blue room also looked altogether different than when he first saw it, and he could not fathom how for a single second he could have been taken by that garish blue and the unnatural golden stems of the palm trees with their misshapen flashing leaves.

  The archivarius regarded him with an altogether quizzical ironic smile and asked, “Well, how did you like that punch yesterday, my dear Anselmus?”

  “Oh, but surely the parrot…” Anselmus replied, deeply embarrassed, before falling silent as he realized that the parrot was just part of the phantasmagoria of his drunken state.

  “But I myself was there in that raucous company,” the Archivarius Lindhorst let slip, “didn’t you see me? With all the mad goings-on I was almost badly injured, since I was seated in the terrine at the precise moment the Registrar Heerbrand reached for it to hurl it against the ceiling, and had to hastily retreat into the bowl of Deputy Rector Paulmann’s pipe. Adieu then, Herr Anselmus – work well. I’ll pay you your silver coin for yesterday’s missed day of work, seeing as you’ve done such a splendid job till now.”

  “How could the archivarius babble such mad drivel?” Anselmus muttered to himself as he sat down at the work table to copy the manuscript the old man had, as usual, spread out before him. But he saw that the parchment was covered with an apparent hodgepodge of so many strangely twisted characters and curlicues that muddled his vision without offering his eyes a single respite that it seemed well-nigh impossible to copy it faithfully. Indeed, taking in the whole of it at first glance, the parchment resembled a motley veined slab of marble or a moss-covered stone. His bewilderment notwithstanding, he wanted to do what he could, and taking heart, dunked the quill, but the ink refused to flow. He flicked the quill tip impatiently and – dear God! – a big dab dropped on the original manuscript spread out before him. Hissing and hurtling, a blue bolt of lightning shot forth from the fleck and with a terrible crash sidled round the room and struck the ceiling. A dense vapor emanated from the walls, the leaves began to rustle as if stirred by a storm, and blinking basilisks burst forth in a flickering crackle of flames, igniting the vapor, so that rolling sheets of fire hailed down on Anselmus. The golden trunks of the palm trees turned into giant snakes whose horrible heads clashed with cutting metallic clangs and entwined their scaled bodies around the student.

 

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