Fabian noticed two unusually large frogs that had been hopping along at each side of the walkers ever since the gate. “A beautiful park,” cried Fabian, “in which there is such vermin!”, and he bent down to pick up a small stone that he intended to throw at the frisky frogs. Both sprang into the bushes and peeked at him with shining human eyes. “Wait, wait!” cried Fabian, as he aimed at one, and threw. But at that moment an ugly little woman, sitting on the road, screeched: “Lout! He shouldn’t throw at honest folk, who must earn their bit of bread by hard work here in the garden!”

  “Come on, come,” murmured Balthasar, horrified, for he noticed all too clearly that the frog had turned into the old woman. A glance in the bushes convinced him that the other frog, now become a little man, was busy pulling up weeds. –

  Before the country house there was a large, beautiful lawn, on which both unicorns were grazing, while the most marvellous chords were ringing in the air.

  “Now do you see, do you hear?” said Balthasar.

  “I see nothing more,” replied Fabian, “than two small white horses eating grass, and as for that music in the air, it’s probably hanging Aeolian harps.”

  The marvellous, simple architecture of the moderately sized, one-storey country house delighted Balthasar. He pulled the bell-cord, the door opened at once, and a large, all golden-yellow gleaming bird, resembling an ostrich, stood before the friends as porter.

  “Now look,” said Fabian to Balthasar, “now just take a look at that crazy livery! – If you wanted to give this man a tip later on, does he actually have a hand to put it in his waistcoat-pocket with?”

  And he turned to the ostrich, grabbed him by the shining down-feathers that were ruffling out like a rich jabot 16 on its throat beneath its beak, and said: “He will announce us to the Herr Doctor, my charming friend!”

  But the ostrich said nothing more than, “Quirrr” – and bit Fabian’s finger.

  “Hell’s bells!” shouted Fabian: “he really is a bloody bird!”

  At the same moment an inner door opened, and the doctor himself walked towards the friends. – A thin, pale little man! – He wore a small velvet cap on his head, from which long locks of beautiful hair streamed out, a long, earthen-yellow Indian gown and little red-laced boots, whether trimmed with coloured leather or the gleaming feathered skin of a bird, it was impossible to tell. Calm, good nature itself lay on his countenance; it just seemed strange that when one looked at him really closely, really keenly, it was as if another, smaller face were looking out of this face, as out of a glass case.

  “I saw,” Prosper Alpanus now said, softly, with a slight drawl and a graceful smile, “I saw you, gentlemen, from my window, I knew a long time ago that you would be coming to see me – at least as far as you are concerned, my dear Balthasar. – Be so good as to follow me!” –

  Prosper Alpanus led them into a high, round room, hung all around with sky-blue curtains. The light fell through a window fixed in the top of the dome and threw its rays onto the polished sparkling marble table, supported by a sphinx, that stood in the middle of the room. Apart from this there was absolutely no sign of anything extraordinary in the chamber.

  “Now how can I be of service to you?” asked Prosper Alpanus.

  Then Balthasar composed himself, recounted what had happened with little Zinnober ever since his first appearance in Kerepes, and concluded with the assurance that the conviction had arisen in him that he, Prosper Alpanus, was the benevolent magus who would put a stop to Zinnober’s depraved, heinous sorcery.

  Prosper Alpanus remained silent, in deep thought. Finally, after a good few minutes had passed, he began, with a serious expression, in a deep tone:

  “After all that you have told me, Balthasar, it is not open to any doubt that there is a special, mysterious explanation behind little Zinnober. – But one must first of all know the enemy one is fighting, know the cause whose effect one intends to destroy. – It is to be presumed that little Zinnober is nothing other than a mandrake. Let’s have a look and see.”

  And Prosper Alpanus tugged at one of the silk ropes that were hanging from the ceiling. A pair of curtains swished open, large folio volumes in gilt cases became visible, and a dainty, air-light flight of cedar steps rolled down. Prosper Alpanus climbed these steps and fetched a folio from the uppermost row, which he laid on the marble table, having first carefully dusted it with a large bundle of gleaming peacock’s feathers.

  “This work,” he then said, “deals with mandrakes, who are all depicted inside; perhaps you will find your enemy Zinnober among them, and then he’s delivered into our hands.”

  When Prosper Alpanus opened the book, the friends saw a number of neatly illuminated copperplates portraying the most utterly astonishing, misshapen manikins with the wildest grimacing faces one could possibly see. But as soon as Prosper touched one of these manikins on the page, it came to life, sprang out and flitted and hopped around on the marble table in a really comical way and snapped its little fingers and performed the most wonderful pirouettes and entrechats, while singing Quirr, Quapp, Pirr, Papp, until Prosper grabbed it by the head and placed it back in the book, where it immediately flattened and evened itself out into a colourful picture.

  All the pictures in the book were examined in this way, but whenever Balthasar was just about to cry, “That’s him, that’s Zinnober!” he had however, on closer examination, to discover, much to his chagrin, that the manikin was not Zinnober at all.

  “Now that is very strange,” said Prosper Alpanus, when the book was finished.

  “Yet,” he continued, “Zinnober could perhaps be an Earth Spirit. Let’s have a look.”

  And he hopped, with a rare agility, up the steps once more, fetched another folio, gave it a good dusting, and laid it on the marble table and opened it, saying: “This work deals with the Earth Spirits, perhaps we’ll catch Zinnober in this book.”

  Once again, the friends saw a number of neatly illuminated copperplates, which portrayed hideously ugly brownish-yellow fiends. And when Prosper Alpanus touched them, they raised whining, screeching, plaintive cries and finally crept clumsily out and rolled around the marble table, growling and groaning, until the Doctor pressed them back into the book.

  Balthasar had not found Zinnober among these figures, either.

  “Strange, most strange,” said the Doctor, and he fell into silent contemplation.

  “The Beetle-King,” he then continued, “the Beetle-King is out of the question, for he is, as I know for certain, occupied elsewhere at this precise moment; Spider-Marshal too, for Spider-Marshal may be ugly, but he’s intelligent and skilful, and earns his living with his hands, without presuming to other actions. – Strange – very strange.” –

  He fell silent again for some minutes, so that one could clearly hear all kinds of wonderful voices which, now in single notes, now in full, swelling chords, rang out all around.

  “You have really charming music, all around and all the time, dear Doctor,” said Fabian. Prosper Alpanus seemed not to be paying the slightest attention to Fabian; he was contemplating only Balthasar, while first stretching out both arms towards him and then tapping him with his fingertips, as if he were sprinkling him with invisible drops.

  Finally the Doctor took hold of both of Balthasar’s hands and said in friendly earnest: “Only the purest consonance of the psychological principle in the law of Dualism will favour the operation I am now about to undertake. Follow me!” –

  The friends followed the Doctor through several rooms which contained nothing in the least curious, apart from some strange animals who were busy reading – writing – painting – dancing, until a double door opened and the friends stepped up to a thick curtain, behind which Prosper Alpanus disappeared, leaving them in deep darkness. The curtain rustled open, and the friends found themselves in an, as it seemed, oval room, lit by a magical chiaroscuro. It was, if one looked at the walls, as if one’s gaze lost itself in boundless green groves and flowery meadows with babbling springs and streams. The mysterious scent of an unknown aroma surged up and down and seemed to carry the sweet sounds of the harmonica back and forth. Prosper Alpanus appeared dressed all in white like a Brahman and placed a large, round crystal mirror, over which he threw a veil, in the middle of the hall.

  “Step in front,” he said in a muffled, ceremonial voice, “step in front of this mirror, Balthasar, focus your thoughts firmly on Candida – want her with your whole soul to show herself to you at the moment now existing in space and time.”

  Balthasar did as he was instructed, while Prosper Alpanus positioned himself behind him and described circles around him with both hands.

  After a few seconds, a bluish haze seethed out of the mirror. The delightful figure of Candida, fair Candida appeared, bursting with life! But beside her, close beside her sat the repulsive Zinnober and squeezed her hands, kissed her – and Candida had wrapped an arm around the fiend and was caressing him!

  Balthasar was about to yell out, but Prosper Alpanus gripped him firmly by both shoulders, and the cry suffocated in his breast.

  “Calm,” said Prosper, softly, “calm, Balthasar! Take this cane and strike the little one, but do not move from the spot.”

  Balthasar did so and perceived, to his pleasure, the little one writhing, tumbling over, rolling on the ground! – In his fury he sprang forward, then the image melted away into mist and haze, and Prosper Alpanus forcefully dragged the raging Balthasar back, shouting: “Stop! – If you shatter the magic mirror, then we’re all lost! – Let’s go back into the light.”

  At the Doctor’s behest the friends left the hall and walked into an adjoining, bright room.

  “Heaven,” cried Fabian, drawing deep breaths, “Heaven be thanked that we’re out of that cursed hall. The muggy air almost squeezed all the blood out of my heart, and then on top of that those ridiculous conjuring tricks, which I detest with my innermost soul.”

  Balthasar was about to answer when Prosper Alpanus entered.

  “It is,” he said, “it is certain, as of now, that misshapen Zinnober is neither a mandrake nor an Earth Spirit, but an ordinary human. But there is some secret, magical power at work, which I have not yet succeeded in recognising, and that is the reason why I cannot yet be of any help. – Come and visit me again soon, Balthasar, we shall see then what more can be done. Goodbye!”

  “So,” said Fabian, walking right up to the Doctor, “so you’re a wizard, Herr Doctor, and with all your magic you can’t even attack that pitiful little Zinnober? – Do you perhaps know that I take you, with all your colourful pictures, little puppets, magic mirrors, with all your grotesque junk, for a complete and utter charlatan? – Balthasar here, he’s in love and writes verses, you can make him believe all sorts of rubbish; but you won’t have much success with me! – I am an enlightened man and I tolerate no miracles, none at all!”

  “Think of it,” replied Prosper Alpanus, laughing more loudly and heartily than one could have believed his whole being to be capable of, “think of it, whatever you want to. But – even if I’m not exactly a wizard, I nevertheless have at my command some delightful little tricks.”

  “Out of Wiegleb’s ‘Magie’, 17 or somewhere else!” – cried Fabian. “Now, there you find your master in our Professor Mosch Terpin and cannot compare with him, because the honest man always shows us that everything happens naturally, and doesn’t in any way surround himself with such mysterious trappings as you, Herr Doctor. – Now, I take my most respectful leave of you.”

  “Oh,” said the Doctor, “you’re not going to take your leave of me in such a temper, are you?”

  And he gently struck Fabian several times on both arms, down from the shoulder to the wrist, so that the latter felt quite peculiar and anxiously cried: “But what are you doing, Herr Doctor!”

  “Go, gentlemen,” said the Doctor, “you, Herr Balthasar, I hope to see again very soon. – Help will soon be found!”

  “He will not be receiving a tip, my friend,” cried the departing Fabian to the golden-yellow porter, grabbing him by the jabot. But again the porter said nothing more than “Quirrr” and bit Fabian’s finger once more.

  “Beast!” cried Fabian, and he ran away.

  Both frogs did not fail to politely accompany both friends to the gate, which opened and shut with a dull thundering.

  “I really,” said Balthasar, as he strolled down the country road behind Fabian, “I really don’t know, brother, why you’ve put such a strange coat on today, with such appallingly long tails and such short sleeves.”

  Fabian discovered, to his astonishment, that his short coat had grown down towards the ground at the back, whereas the sleeves, normally of a more-than-adequate length, had shrunk up to his elbows.

  “Hell Almighty, what’s this!” he cried and pulled and tugged at the sleeves and hitched his shoulders. And that did seem to help; but when they passed through the city-gate, then the sleeves shrank up and the coattails grew down, so that despite all pulling and tugging and hitching, the sleeves were soon sitting up on Fabian’s shoulders, exposing his bare arms; so that a train was soon rolling after him, stretching out longer and longer. Everyone stood still and roared with laughter, the street arabs ran over the long gown by the dozen, shouting and cheering, and knocked Fabian over; and when he picked himself up, no piece of the train was missing, no! – It had become even longer. And the laughter, shouting and cheering became ever wilder and wilder, until at last Fabian, half demented, rushed into an open house.

  And the train immediately disappeared.

  Balthasar had no time at all to wonder much at Fabian’s strange bewitchment; for the Referendarius Pulcher grabbed him, dragged him into a back street and said:

  “How is it possible that you haven’t left yet, that you can still show your face here, when the beadle is even now pursuing you with an arrest-warrant?”

  “What’s that, what are you talking about?” asked Balthasar, totally amazed.

  “The madness,” continued the Referendarius, “the madness of jealousy carried you so far away that you violated household rights, breaking into Mosch Terpin’s house with hostile intent, that you attacked Zinnober beside his fiancée, that you beat the misshapen hop-o’-my-thumb half to death!”

  “Come off it!” shouted Balthasar, “I haven’t been in Kerepes all day, disgraceful lies!”

  “Oh quiet, quiet,” interrupted Pulcher, “Fabian’s crazy, nonsensical idea of putting on a dress with a train has saved you. No one is taking any notice of you now! – Just evade humiliating confinement, we’ll fight out the rest all right. You mustn’t go back to your flat! – Give me the key, I’ll send everything on to you. – Now go to Hoch-Jakobsheim!”

  And with that the Referendarius dragged Balthasar away through remote alleys, out of the gate towards Hoch-Jakobsheim village, where the famous scholar Ptolomäus Philadelphus was writing his curious book about the unknown tribe of students.

  Chapter Six

  How Special Privy Councillor Zinnober had his hair combed in his garden and had a dew-bath in the grass. – The Order of the Green-Spotted Tiger. – The happy idea of a Theatrical Costumerer. – How Fräulein von Rosenschön poured coffee on herself and Prosper Alpanus assured her of his friendship.

  PROFESSOR MOSCH TERPIN was floating in sheer delight.

  “Could anything,” he said to himself, “could anything more fortunate have happened to me than the excellent Special Privy Councillor entering my house as a Studiosus? – He marries my daughter – he becomes my son-in-law, through him I gain the favour of the excellent Prince Barsanuph and climb up the ladder my marvellous little Zinnober has clambered up before me.

  “It’s true that it often strikes me as incomprehensible how the girl, Candida, can be so utterly infatuated with the little one. Normally women look for a handsome exterior rather than for special intellectual gifts; and from time to time when I look at the special little man, it seems to me as if he could not exactly be called handsome – even – bossu – quiet – Shh – Shh – walls have ears. He’s the Fürst’s favourite, will rise higher and higher – upwards and onwards and he’s my son-in-law!”

  Mosch Terpin was right; Candida expressed the most decided fondness for the little one and, if it was given to understand by someone, here or there, whom Zinnober’s strange masquerade had not enchanted, that the Special Privy Councillor was actually just an awkward, misshapen thing, she immediately began to talk about the wonderfully beautiful hair with which Nature had endowed him.

  But no one smiled, when Candida spoke thus, more maliciously than the Referendarius Pulcher.

  This man dogged Zinnober’s steps, and he was loyally assisted in this by Privy Secretary Adrian, the very same young man whom Zinnober’s spell had almost driven out of the Minister’s Bureau and who only regained the Fürst’s favour by means of the splendid scouring-ball he handed him.

  The Special Privy Councillor Zinnober lived in a beautiful house with an even more beautiful garden, in the middle of which there was a square, surrounded by thick bushes, where the most marvellous roses bloomed. It had been observed that on every ninth day Zinnober quietly got up at dawn, dressed himself, however difficult this may have been, without any help from his servants, descended into the garden and disappeared in the bushes surrounding the square.

  Pulcher and Adrian, suspecting some secret or other, dared one night, when Zinnober, as they had learnt from his valet, had last visited the square nine days previously, to climb over the garden wall and hide themselves in the bushes.

  Morning had barely broken when they saw the little one walking up, snuffling and snorting; his passage taking him through the middle of a flowerbed, the dewy blades and shrubs were knocking against his nose.