“What’s troubling you, Herr Anselmus?” the Archivarius Lindhorst continued (for none other was the man in the light gray overcoat). “What do you want from the elderberry bush? And why haven’t you come to my place to begin working?”

  In truth, much as he had bucked up his resolve to pay a return visit to the home of the Archivarius Lindhorst, the student had not been able to bring it upon himself to do so. At this very moment when he was torn from the embrace of his lovely dreams, and accosted by the same hostile voice that had previously robbed him of his beloved, he was gripped by a kind of despair and impetuously fired back, “You may take me for mad or not, Herr Archivarius, it’s all the same to me, but here on this tree on Ascension Day I glimpsed the golden-green snake – Ach! Eternal beloved of my soul – and she spoke to me in lovely crystalline tones. But you— you, Herr Archivarius, bellowed and hollered so horribly over the water…”

  “How, pray tell, my fine fellow!” the archivarius interrupted, flashing a curious chuckle and taking a pinch of snuff.

  Anselmus felt infinitely relieved just to have begun talking about that wondrous adventure, and it seemed to him perfectly in order to accuse the archivarius to his face that it was he whose voice had thundered from the distance. He pulled himself together, saying, “So let me tell all the fateful things that befell me on that Ascension Day evening, and then you can say and do and think of me what you will.” He then, in fact, proceeded to relate the entire strange string of occurrences, from his unfortunate collision with the apple basket to the breakaway of the three golden-green snakes in the water, and how everyone had taken him for drunk or mad. “All this,” Anselmus concluded, “did I really see with my own eyes, and the clear echo of the mellifluous voices that spoke to me still resounds in my breast; it was no dream, I can assure you, and if I don’t die of love and longing, I will go on believing in those golden-green snakes, regardless of the fact that I can tell from your smile, Herr Archivarius, honored Sir, that you hold these snakes to be nothing but a manifestation of my overheated and strained imagination.”

  “Not at all,” replied the archivarius with the greatest calm and composure, “the golden-green snakes you saw in the elderberry tree, Herr Anselmus, are none other than my three daughters, and it’s clear that you have fallen head over heels in love with the blue eyes of the youngest, Serpentina. I was already aware of it, by the way, on Ascension Day, and since the whispering and hubbub reached my ears back at my desk at home, I called out to the mischievous little minxes that it was time to hurry home, since the sun was already setting and they had amused themselves with enough singing and sunbathing for the day.”

  To the student it was as if these clearly spoken words had merely confirmed what he had long suspected, and since it suddenly seemed to him as if the elderberry bush, the wall, the grass below, and everything round about started silently spinning, he pulled himself together and prepared to reply. But the archivarius cut him off, quickly pulling off a glove from his left hand; holding the wondrously sparkling and flickering stone of a ring before the student’s eyes, he said, “Look here, my dear Herr Anselmus, you may like what you see.”

  The student looked, and oh wonder of wonders, the stone emitted a tangle of rays from its burning fundament, and the rays spun themselves into a clearly glittering crystal mirror in which the little snakes danced and leapt, twisting and turning, now disentangling and flying apart, now winding their way back together, and when the slender, sparkling bodies rubbed up against each other they sounded in heavenly harmonies like crystal bells. Bursting with rapture and longing, the middle one extended her little head from the mirror and her dark blue eyes whispered, “Do you know me then? Do you believe in me, Anselmus? You can’t love without believing! Are you able to love?”

  “Oh, Serpentina, Serpentina!” Anselmus cried out in wild rhapsodies of delight, but the Archivarius Lindhorst breathed immediately thereafter on the mirror, whereupon the flickering rays of light were sucked back into focus in a crackle of sparks, and all that sparkled now was a little emerald over which the archivarius drew a glove.

  “Did you see the little golden snakes, Herr Anselmus?” asked the Archivarius Lindhorst.

  “Heavens, yes, and the lovely, sweet Serpentina!” replied the student.

  “Hush now!” the archivarius continued. “That’s enough for today. Oh, and by the way, should you decide to come to work for me, you can see my daughter often enough – or rather, to be precise, I will gladly grant you the immense pleasure of seeing her if you put your all into the work, that is, if you copy every sign cleanly and precisely. But notwithstanding the Registrar Heerbrand’s assurances of your prompt appearance, you never even presented yourself.”

  It was only after the archivarius mentioned the name Heerbrand that the young man once again felt as if his two feet were firmly planted on the ground and he was really the student Anselmus, and the man standing before him was the Archivarius Lindhorst. There was something frightening about the contrast between the matter-of-fact tone of the latter’s manner of speaking and the wondrous apparitions he provoked from his ring like a true necromancer, a contrast further enhanced by the piercing look of his sparkling eyes beaming forth from the bony hollow sockets of his haggard, wrinkled face, as if out of an encasement. The student was gripped by the same uncanny feeling that had come over him while listening to the Archivarius relate so many fantastic things back at the café. He strained to pull himself together, and only when the archivarius asked again, “So why didn’t you come to see me?” did he manage to bring himself to tell him all that had happened to him at his door.

  “My dear Herr Anselmus,” said the archivarius once the student had finished his story, “oh my dear Sir, I know all too well the apple hag of whom you speak; she is a wretched creature who has played all kinds of nasty tricks on me, and it is indeed reprehensible and insufferable that she would paint her face with bronze makeup to imitate a doorknocker and thereby scare away my pleasant visits. If when you come by tomorrow at noon you once again encounter her sneering and shrieking mug, kindly squirt a little of this liquor I give you into her nose and that ought to take care of it. And so adieu, dear Herr Anselmus, I tend to walk a bit quickly, and so won’t propose to accompany you back to town. Adieu! Until tomorrow at twelve!”

  After handing the student a little vial with a golden-yellow liquor, the archivarius rushed off at such a rapid clip that in the twilight he seemed to be swooping rather than walking down into the valley. Once he reached Kosel Garden, his overcoat billowed out behind him as the wind lifted his coattails apart so that they appeared to flutter in the breeze like a massive pair of wings, and it seemed to the student who followed the archivarius with his spellbound gaze as if a great bird were spreading its wings to take flight. As Anselmus stared into the dusk, the cawing caterwaul of a light gray vulture filled the air, and he grasped that the white fluttering which he still took to be the departing archivarius must have been the vulture from the start, even though he was baffled as to what suddenly became of the archivarius. “But it is perfectly well possible that the Archivarius Lindhorst himself flew off,” the student said to himself, “since I now see and sense that all the curious characters from a wondrous world that I had heretofore glimpsed only in my most extraordinary dreams have crossed over into my conscious waking life to toy with my reason. But be that as it may! You live and burn in my breast, oh my beautiful beloved Serpentina, only you can still the boundless longing tearing at my soul. Oh, when will I peer into your blessedly lovely eyes again, my dearest, dearest Serpentina!” Anselmus cried out loud.

  “That is a vile, unchristian name,” muttered a deep bass voice belonging to a stroller passing beside him on his way home. Promptly roused from his reverie and realizing where he was, the student hurried on, thinking to himself, “How unfortunate it would be if in my present state I ran into Deputy Rector Paulmann or Registrar Heerbrand!” But fortunately, he encountered neither of the two.

  Fifth Vigil

  Madame Privy Councillor Anselmus. Cicero de officiis. Long-tailed monkeys and other riffraff. Old Liese. The Aequinoctium.

  “There is nothing to be done with Anselmus,” said Deputy Rector Paulmann. “All my good lessons, all my warnings have been fruitless, he refuses to buckle down and get serious about anything, even though he has the essential fund of knowledge, which is, after all, the foundation for all else.”

  But Registrar Heerbrand responded with a sly and secretive smile. “Just leave Anselmus the space and time, esteemed Deputy Rector! He’s a curious case, but there’s a lot of potential in him – and when I say ‘a lot,’ I mean he has the makings of a privy secretary, or perhaps even a court councillor.”

  “Court c…!?” the deputy rector exclaimed with the greatest surprise, choking on the word.

  “Hush now!” the Registrar Heerbrand continued, “I know what I’m talking about. For two days now he’s been bent over a work table copying manuscripts at the home of the Archivarius Lindhorst, and yesterday evening the archivarius buttonholed me at the café and said, ‘That’s one fine fellow you recommended, esteemed Sir! That young man’s going to amount to something!’ Just think of all the archivarius’s connections – hush now – let’s talk about it again later this year!” Having uttered these words, the registrar walked out the door with a sly smile on his lips, and left the deputy rector glued to his chair, spellbound and speechless with surprise and curiosity.

  But the conversation made an altogether different impression on Veronica. “Didn’t I know it from the start,” she thought to herself, “that Herr Anselmus is a sharp-minded, lovable young man who’s bound to make it! If only I could say for certain that he really liked me? But didn’t he squeeze my hand twice that evening when we crossed the Elbe? And didn’t he give me absolutely heartfelt looks when we played a duet together? Yes, yes, he’s mine and I know it – and I, Veronica…” She got carried away in her imaginings, as young girls are inclined to do, already dreaming of a more formidable future. She, Madame Court Councillor, resided in a stately house on Schloßgasse or Neumarkt, or on Moritzstraße – that fashionable hat and new Turkish shawl looked great on her – as she breakfasted in an elegant dressing gown on the veranda, giving the cook her instructions for the day. “But don’t you spoil that soufflé, it’s the court councillor’s favorite!” Below, meanwhile, she distinctly heard passing men about town remark, ‘What a divine-looking lady, that Madame Court Councillor, get a load of her in that lace bonnet!” Madame Privy Councillor Ypsilon sends word via her servant inquiring, “Would Madame Court Councillor be so kind as to accompany her today to the Lincke baths?” “Thank you kindly for the invitation, but I’m terribly sorry to say that I’m already committed to take tea at the home of Madame President.”

  Then in her daydream, up comes Court Councillor Anselmus, done early with his work for the day, looking downright dapper in his stylish attire. “My word, ten already!” he exclaims, rewinding his golden watch and giving his young wife a kiss. “How is my dear little wife? Guess what I have for you!” he carries on flirtatiously, and pulls out of his vest pocket a lovely pair of newfangled earrings in the latest design and replacing the ordinary ones she wears.

  “Oh, what lovely dainty earrings!” Veronica cries out loud, leaping up from her chair and shoving aside the task she is engaged with to feast her eyes on the earrings in the mirror.

  “What in heaven’s name is going on here?” exclaimed Deputy Rector Paulmann who, engrossed in his reading of Cicero’s De Officiis, almost let the book drop out of his hands. “Everyone’s having fits like Anselmus.”

  But at that very moment, the student Anselmus, who, contrary to his custom, had not dropped by for a number of days, burst into the room much to Veronica’s fright and astonishment, for everything about him was indeed different. With a self-assurance altogether unlike him, he spoke of new possibilities in his life as he now saw it, of splendid prospects that had been proposed, some beyond the ken of ordinary folk. Bearing in mind Registrar Heerbrand’s confidential remarks, Deputy Rector Paulmann was all the more concerned, hardly able to get a word in edgewise, before Anselmus let slip a hint concerning his pressing work for the Archivarius Lindhorst, elegantly and adroitly kissed Veronica’s hand, and promptly up and left, dashing down the stairs and up the street.

  “Acting like a court councillor already,” Veronica muttered to herself, “and he kissed my hand without slipping or stepping on my foot as he usually does! And he gave me such a meaningful look. He’s sweet on me and I know it!”

  Once again abandoning herself to daydreaming, it seemed to Veronica as if a malevolent presence kept inserting itself among the lovely illusions; just as she emerged from felicitous reverie about her future domestic bliss as Madame Court Councillor, the hostile presence responded with sarcastic laughter and said, “All this is stuff and nonsense, and a lot of bunk to boot. Anselmus will never become a court councillor; he doesn’t love you either, notwithstanding your blue eyes, slender figure, and graceful hand.”

  The words rushed through her like a stream of ice, a deep sense of dread dousing the cozy bliss with which she had been picturing herself in lace bonnet and elegant earrings. The tears almost rained from her eyes as she muttered aloud, “Oh, yes, of course it’s true, he doesn’t love me and I’ll never become Madame Court Councillor!”

  “Romantic drivel, romantic drivel!” cried Deputy Rector Paulmann, and then, taking up his hat and walking stick, he rushed off.

  “That’s just what I needed!” Veronica groaned, and became seriously vexed at her twelve-year-old sister, seated nearby, who heedlessly kept knitting away.

  It was almost three o’clock already, time to clean up the room and prepare for coffee, for the Mademoiselles Osters had announced their arrival at the home of their friend. But out from behind every little cabinet that Veronica shoved aside to sweep, from behind the books of musical notes she took from the piano, behind every cup and the coffeepot she took from the cabinet, that nasty naysayer leapt forth, laughed sarcastically, fiddled with its spidery little fingers, and cried, “He’ll never be your husband! He’ll never be your husband!” And then when she dropped everything and fled to the middle of the room, it peeked forth with its long pointy nose from behind the oven, snarling and whining, “He will never be your husband!”

  “Can’t you hear, don’t you see it, sister?” Veronica cried out, so petrified and trembling with terror that she didn’t dare touch anything.

  Quietly and with great composure, little Frances rose from her knitting frame and said, “What’s wrong with you today, sister? You’re tossing everything around helter-skelter with such a rattle and clatter. Let me help you.”

  But the merry guests had already arrived in a burst of girlish laughter, and at that moment Veronica realized that she had mistaken the oven handle for a malevolent apparition and the creak of the badly closed oven door for a stream of snarky words. Horror-stricken, she could not manage to save face fast enough to keep her friends from noticing her extraordinary tension, clearly evident in her pallor and troubled expression. After receiving her friends with a forced smile, she hastily broke off the merry chatter to tell of the confoundedly odd things that had befallen her. Veronica had to admit to having given herself over to a most peculiar string of thoughts, and to having suddenly in broad daylight fallen prey to a strange fear of spooks, which was not at all like her. She proceeded to recount in such a lively fashion how a little gray man taunted and teased her from every corner of the room. The Oster girls looked every which way around and were themselves soon gripped by fear. Whereupon little Frances appeared with the steaming coffeepot and all three came to their senses, laughing at their foolishness.

  Angelica, the older of the Oster sisters, was betrothed to an officer in the army, from whom no word had been received for such a long while that she could not rule out his death or at least a serious wound to his person. This had sunk Angelica into the deepest depression, but today she was cheerful to the point of hilarity, surprising Veronica so much that she forthrightly remarked upon it.

  “My dear girl,” said Angelica, “I keep my Victor forever here in my heart, on my mind, and in my thoughts, and for that very reason keep my spirits high – Dear God! – always blissful to the depths of my soul! I know that my Victor is alive and well, and that I will soon see him again riding up as cavalry captain decorated for his boundless bravery. A serious but by no means life-threatening wound to his right arm inflicted by the saber slash of a hostile Hussar keeps him from writing, and the constant decampment – since of course he remains reluctant to leave his regiment – makes it all the more difficult for him to communicate with me. But this very evening he will receive the express order to stay put until he is back on his feet. Tomorrow, I’m quite certain, he’ll be headed home, and no sooner having climbed into the carriage he will learn of his promotion to cavalry captain.”

  “But my dear Angelica,” Veronica chimed in, “how, pray tell, do you now know all this to be true?”

  “Don’t laugh at me, dear friend,” Angelica replied, “better bite your tongue, or else the little gray man will peep out of the mirror over there and flash you a punishing look! Enough of this, I cannot help but believe in certain mysterious matters, as they have often enough become visible and palpable, that is to say they have manifested themselves in my life. As a matter of fact, I don’t even find it as wondrous and unbelievable as others might that there are people in this world endowed with a second sight able by certain infallible means to make their predictions come true. There is here in this city an old woman particularly adept at this. Unlike other dubious riffraff, she does not prophecy from cards, poured lead, or coffee grounds. Rather, following certain prescribed rituals in which the inquiring person participates, a wondrous muddle of all manner of shapes and figures appear in a brilliantly polished metal mirror which the old woman interprets, and from which she divines the answer to the question. I conferred with her yesterday evening and received news of my Victor, which I don’t doubt for a minute.”