The golden pot, p.12
The Golden Pot, page 12
“The doctor’s never been so loquacious,” Deputy Rector Paulmann thought to himself. “Why, he’s downright chatty.”
Many days, weeks, and months passed. Anselmus had disappeared, but even Registrar Heerbrand never came a-knocking. It was not until February 4th that the registrar, dressed in a new suit of the finest material, in shoes and silk stockings, the chill outside notwithstanding, came traipsing in at noon on the dot with a big bouquet of fresh flowers in his hands, stunning the deputy rector with his fancy getup. Registrar Heerbrand approached the deputy rector in a right festive manner, embraced him with due decorum, and said, “Today, on the name day of your gracious daughter, Mademoiselle Veronica, let me say everything I’ve long held in my heart! On that unfortunate evening when, stuffed in the pocket of my waistcoat, I brought by all the ingredients of that noxious punch, I had intended to convey some good news and celebrate the happy day in merriment, already knowing that I was to be named privy councillor at court. The official patent cum nominee et sigloi principis I now bring you in the selfsame pocket.”
“Well, I’ll be, Herr Registrar— I mean to say, Herr Privy Councillor Heerbrand!” the deputy rector stammered.
“But, wait, my esteemed friend,” the newly dubbed Privy Councillor Heerbrand continued, “you alone can make my happiness complete. For the longest time I have secretly loved Mademoiselle Veronica, cognizant of certain friendly looks she cast in my direction that clearly indicated that she may not be averse to my affection. In short, esteemed Deputy Rector, I, Privy Councillor Heerbrand, respectfully request the hand of your gracious daughter Mademoiselle Veronica, who, should you not object, I would soon like to make my wife.”
Deputy Rector Paulmann clapped his hands together in complete surprise, and replied, “Well, well, well, Herr Registrar – Herr Privy Councillor, I mean to say – who would have thought it! Well, if Veronica does indeed love you, I for my part have nothing against it; perhaps her present gloom is only a function of her concealed love for you, honored Privy Councillor! You know how moody women can be.”
At that very moment, Veronica entered the room, pale and troubled, as she generally was these days. Privy Councillor Heerbrand immediately approached her, found well-chosen words to greet her on her name day, and handed her the fragrant bouquet along with a little packet. And as she opened it, a pair of glimmering earrings sparkled up at her. Her cheeks flushed with a fleeting redness, her eyes twinkled, and she cried out, “Oh, my God! Can these be the very same earrings I tried on several weeks ago, and which I found so enthralling?”
“How can that be possible,” Privy Councillor Heerbrand replied, somewhat taken aback and a bit chagrinned, “seeing as I just bought them for a pretty penny an hour ago on Schloßgasse?”
But Veronica wasn’t listening, already stationed in front of the mirror, assessing the effect of the jewels that now dangled from her dainty little ears. Deputy Rector Paulmann proceeded to reveal to her with a grave expression and solemn tone of voice his friend Heerbrand’s elevation in rank and his request for her hand in marriage.
Veronica gave the privy councillor a piercing look and said: “I’ve known for the longest time that you wanted to marry me— So be it then! I promise you my heart and hand, but I must immediately reveal to you both, my father and my betrothed, things that weigh heavy on my heart— right now, even if the soup that my sister Fränzchen has just set on the table should grow cold.”
Without waiting for the deputy rector’s or the privy councillor’s reply, ignoring the words of protest visibly about to spill from their lips, Veronica continued, “You can take my word, dear Father, that I loved Anselmus with all my heart, and as the Registrar Heerbrand himself, henceforth promoted to privy councillor, assured us, Anselmus had it in him to achieve like honors. I decided to marry him and no one else. But then it seemed as if strange inimical forces were tearing us apart, and I sought the help of old Liese, who had been my nanny and is now a wisewoman, a great magician. She promised to help me to make Anselmus all mine. We went at midnight on the winter equinox to the crossroads, she conjured up the spirits of hell, and with the help of the black tomcat we managed to fabricate a metal mirror in which, by focusing my thoughts on Anselmus, I had only to peer to make him mine in heart and soul. But now I sorely regret having done all that, I renounce all of Satan’s arts. The salamander vanquished the old crone; I heard her cries, but I could not help her. No sooner was she reduced to a beet and devoured by the parrot than my metal mirror shattered with a piercing clang.”
Veronica fetched the two pieces of the broken mirror and a lock of hair from her sewing box and, handing them to Privy Councillor Heerbrand, continued: “Here, take this, my dear Privy Councillor, take these broken pieces of the mirror and fling them at midnight tonight from the bridge over the Elbe, from the spot crowned with a cross; the current of the raging river is not frozen below. However, keep the lock of hair and wear it against your faithful heart. I renounce Satan’s arts, and gladly grant Anselmus his happiness, for he is henceforth bound to the green snake, who is far lovelier and richer than I. I will love and honor you, dear Privy Councillor, as your legally wedded wife!”
“Oh God! Oh God!” Deputy Rector Paulmann cried out in pain, “my daughter has gone mad, she’s gone mad— she can nevermore become Madame Privy Councillor— she’s gone mad!”
“Certainly not!” Privy Councillor Heerbrand chimed in, “I am well aware of the fact that Mademoiselle Veronica had a certain fondness for that confounded Anselmus, and it may be that in a fit of passion she turned to the old wisewoman who, as I can tell, can be no other than the card- and coffee-grain reader at the Seetor – in short, the raving old crone. And it cannot be denied that there are indeed secret arts that exert their inimical influence on people’s destinies, we’ve read about it in old books, but what Mademoiselle Veronica said about the victory of the salamander and the liaison between Anselmus and the green snake is just the stuff of poetic allegory – a poem, as it were, wherein she celebrates in song her parting with the student.”
“Take it for what you will, my dear privy Councillor!” Veronica interrupted. “Perhaps for the stuff of a foolish dream.”
“By no means do I do so,” replied Privy Councillor Heerbrand, “since I am also well apprised of the fact that Anselmus was propelled by arcane forces that egged him on to all manner of mad doings.”
Unable to keep silent any longer, Deputy Rector Paulmann exploded. “Hold still, for heaven’s sake, hold still! Have we once again been overcome by the insidious effects of that damned punch, or is Anselmus’s madness infecting us? Herr Privy Councillor, what nonsense you speak again! I am willing to believe that love has made you both a bit addled in the brain, but marriage will soon enough iron things out. Else I’d be concerned that you, too, esteemed Privy Councillor, had gone off your rocker, and would then worry that your progeny might inherit the derangement of the parents. Now then, I give my fatherly blessing to your happy union and permit you to kiss as future husband and wife.” This happened forthwith, and so it was that before the soup went cold, the betrothal was arranged.
A few weeks later, as she had foreseen, Madame Privy Councillor Heerbrand sat at the bay window of a lovely house near the New Market, and cast her smiling gaze at the fancy folk rushing by. And they in turn, peering up over their lorgnettes, remarked, “Why, it’s that lovely Madame Privy Councillor Heerbrand, isn’t she looking well!”
Twelfth Vigil
News of the realm to which Anselmus retreated as the Archivarius Lindhorst’s son-in-law, and how he lived there with Serpentina. Conclusion.
How deeply I felt in my heart of hearts the profound bliss of the student Anselmus who, bound in body and soul to the lovely Serpentina, retreated with her to the mysterious and wondrous realm for which, imbued with strange intuitions, he had always longed, and that he now recognized as his true home. Overwhelmed by this feeling, I was reluctantly compelled to acknowledge the insufficiency of my every expression, dear reader, in a faltering attempt to put the splendid surroundings of our friend Anselmus into words given the spiritual impoverishment and paltry limitations of my petty little life, which put me in a foul mood. I skulked about as if in a dream – in short, I fell into the sorry state Anselmus had suffered, which I described for you in the fourth vigil. How dispirited I felt, after running through the eleven vigils I had successfully written up, convinced as I now was that the insight necessary to add on the twelfth as a satisfactory conclusion would forever elude me; every time I sat down, come nightfall, to complete the work, it seemed as if spiteful spirits (it might well have been relatives – perhaps first cousins – of the murdered witch) held before me a polished plate of metal in which I saw my sorry self, pale, bleary-eyed and melancholy, like the Registrar Heerbrand in the throes of his post-punch hangover, as I struggled to find the phrases to paint a picture of that never-glimpsed realm. I finally flung my pen down and hastened to bed, so that I might at least dream of our blissful Anselmus and his lovely Serpentina. This had already been going on for many days and nights when, altogether unexpectedly, I received the following note from the Archivarius Lindhorst:
Your Excellency has, as I have learned, set down in eleven vigils the singular adventures of my worthy son-in-law, the former student, now poet, Anselmus, and are presently wracking your brain as to how in a twelfth and final vigil to describe his happy life in Atlantis, whereto he retreated with my daughter to live on the handsome estate I possess there. Much as I regret that in the process you revealed my true nature to your reading public (as this might well cause me a thousand inconveniences in my service as privy archivarius; indeed it might even spur some in the college to question how a salamander can legally and with binding consequences swear an oath to serve the state, and how, if at all, he can be entrusted to conduct important business, since according to Gabalis and Swedenborg, elemental spirits are not to be trusted), and notwithstanding the fact that my best friends may now be inclined to eschew my embrace, fearing that I might in a sudden excess of cockiness transmit a spark and singe their hairpiece and Sunday best, it is nevertheless my intention to be of assistance to Your Excellency in the completion of this work, since the text contains much that is praiseworthy concerning my dear married daughter and myself (would that I could already have married off the other two).
Consequently, should you wish to write the twelfth vigil, I advise you to descend the damned five flights of steps of your abode, leave your miserable little chamber, and hasten to my door. In the palm tree room, with which you are already familiar, you will find all the necessary writing materials, and will then in a few select words be able to reveal to your readers what you have seen. That would be better than attempting a rambling description of a life only known to you from hearsay.
Your Excellency, I remain respectfully your most humble servant,
The Salamander Lindhorst
Pleno Titulo Privy Court Archivarius
This admittedly somewhat harsh, yet on the whole still friendly, note from the Archivarius Lindhorst was most welcome. Whereas it seemed quite certain that the strange old man was well aware of the curious manner in which I learned of what befell his son-in-law (which I must, alas, keep secret from you, esteemed reader), he did not take it as badly as I had feared; he did, after all, offer of his own accord to help me complete my work, from which I am inclined to conclude that he basically gave his accord that his wondrous existence in the spirit world should become known in print. It may be, I thought, that he thereby hoped to have a better chance of finding the mate for each of his remaining daughters, for perhaps a spark may fall into the heart of this or that young reader, igniting in him a longing for the green snakes and propelling him to seek them out and find them curled around the elderberry bush on Ascension Day. From the misfortune that befell Anselmus when he was bottled up in the glass flask, such a worthy suitor will have learned his lesson, to guard against all doubt and disbelief. At eleven o’clock on the dot I extinguished my study lamp and slipped off to the house of the Archivarius Lindhorst, who was already waiting for me in the vestibule.
“You made it to my door, my most esteemed friend! So glad you didn’t misconstrue my good intentions. Do come in!” With these words he led me through the dazzling glimmer of his garden to the azure-blue room in which I spotted the violet desk at which Anselmus had worked. The archivarius disappeared, but reappeared again a moment later with a lovely golden goblet in hand, from which a blue flame danced upward. “Here,” he said, “I bring you the beloved beverage of your friend, the Kapellmeister Johannes Kreisler.[*2] It is arak flambé, sweetened with sugar. Have at least a little nip, while I toss off my dressing gown and make myself comfortable, and while you sit and look and write, enjoying your precious company, bobbing up and down in the goblet.”
“As you please, honored Herr Archivarius,” I replied, “but if I am to enjoy the drink, you surely will not…”
“Don’t you worry, my fine friend,” the archivarius cried. Then he flung off his dressing gown and, to my considerable amazement, stepped into the goblet and vanished in the flames.
Fearlessly I blew aside the flames and partook of the drink— it was ambrosial!
* * *
Can’t you hear the emerald green leaves of the palm trees softly rustling and sighing as if caressed by the cool breath of the morning wind? Roused from sleep, they bestir themselves as if stoked by heavenly harp strings, whispering secrets of faraway wonders! The azure hue is released from the walls and floats up and down like a fluffy fog, but blinding beams of light shoot through the mist that whirls like a child’s exultant joy and rises to immeasurable heights, vaulting over the crests of the trees. But ever more blinding beams cut through the haze until, in a burst of sunlight, the boundless expanse of the grove opens to reveal Anselmus standing before me.
Glowing hyacinths and tulips and roses raise their fair heads and, like sweet notes, their blended scents salute the blessed youth: “Stroll, oh stroll among us, beloved boy, you who understand our essence – our scent is the longing for love – we love you and are forever yours!”
The golden beams of light burn in glowing tones: “We are fire ignited by amorous fervor – their scent is the longing, but fire is desire, and do we not reside in your breast? We are yours!”
The dark bushes rustle – the tall trees beckon: “Come to us! You, oh blessed one, dearly beloved! Fire is desire, but hope is our cool shadow! We rustle round your head, whispering sweet nothings, for love lives in your heart, and so you understand.” The fountains and brooks burble and bubble: “Oh, dearly beloved, don’t rush by so quickly, pause a moment to peer into our crystal surface – your image lives in our midst, that look that we lovingly preserve, for you have understood!”
A flock of brightly colored birds burst into a triumphal chorus of twittering and tweeting: “Give ear, give ear to our song, we are joy incarnate, we are bliss, the rapture of love!”
But Anselmus looks with longing at the resplendent temple rising in the distance. The artful columns look like trees, and the capitals and cornices like acanthus leaves twirled and twisted into splendid wreaths dangling as wondrous adornments. Anselmus approaches the temple, gazing in ecstasy at the brightly colored marble and the magnificent moss-covered steps. “Oh no,” he cries out, as if in an excess of rapture, “she cannot be far!”
Then Serpentina, in all her grace and splendor, emerges from the temple carrying the golden pot out of which a lovely lily has sprouted. The inexpressable bliss of her endless longing glowing in her lovely eyes, she looks at Anselmus and says, “Oh, my beloved, the lily has burst from its calyx, the greatest good has been fulfilled, can there be any happiness like ours?”
Anselmus wraps his arm around her with the fervor of his burning desire, whereupon the lily bursts into flames above his head. The trees and bushes rustle louder, and the fountains frolic all the more merrily, the birds and all sorts of brightly colored insects dance in the swirling bursts of air— a joyful, frolicking, jubilant tumult in the air— in the waters— on dry ground— celebrating the revelry of love! Now streaks of light flash through the bushes. Diamonds glimmer from the ground like sparkling eyes! Glittering geysers shoot out of the fountains. Wondrous scents waft about with the beating of wings. They are the elemental spirits rendering homage to the lily and proclaiming the fulfilment of Anselmus’s bliss. Then Anselmus raises his head as if engulfed by the glimmer of an apotheosis! Is it glances? Is it words? Is it song? I can hear it distinctly, “Serpentina! My belief in you, my love, has let me tap nature’s innermost essence! You brought me the lily that sprouted out of the golden core, tapping earth’s primal force before Phosphorus ignited the idea – it is the recognition of the harmony of all being, and in this recognition let me live in the bounty of its bliss forevermore. Jubilant, I have known the highest truth, that I must love you forever, oh Serpentina! Never will the golden rays of the lily fade, for like faith and love, knowledge springs eternal.”
* * *
I am indeed beholden to the magical arts of the salamander for affording me this vivid vision of Anselmus frolicking on his estate in Atlantis, which I found cleanly inscribed in my own handwriting on paper lying on the yellow table there before me after it all disappeared in a flash as if swallowed by a fog. However, I felt myself pierced and torn by a sudden burst of pain.
“Oh, you, lucky Anselmus, who cast off the burden of the mundane responsibilities of daily life! Who, borne aloft on the wildly waving wings of your love of the beauteous Serpentina, now live in bliss and delight on your estate in Atlantis! Whereas I, poor soul! Soon, all too soon, in a matter of minutes, I find myself removed from that lovely hall, hardly an estate in Atlantis, returned to my miserable garret room, my spirit burdened by the beggarly needs of sustaining life, my vision encumbered by a thousand hardships as if cloaked in a thick fog, at the thought that I myself may never set eyes on the lily!”
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