“It may be, after all,” said the student Anselmus to himself, “that the superfine, strong, stomachic liqueur, which I took somewhat freely at Monsieur Conradi’s, might really be the cause of all these shocking phantasms which so tortured me at Archivarius Lindhorst’s door.  Therefore, I will go quite sober today, and so bid defiance to whatever further mischief may assail me.”  On this occasion, as before, when equipping himself for his first call on Archivarius Lindhorst, the student Anselmus put his pen-drawings and calligraphic masterpieces, his bars of Indian ink, and his well-pointed crow-pens, into his pockets; and was just turning to go out, when his eye lighted on the vial with the yellow liqueur, which he had received from Archivarius Lindhorst.  All the strange adventures he had met with again rose on his mind in glowing colors; and a nameless emotion of rapture and pain thrilled through his breast.  Involuntarily he exclaimed, with a most piteous voice:  “Ah, am I not going to the Archivarius solely for a sight of thee, thou gentle lovely Serpentina!” At that moment he felt as if Serpentina’s love might be the prize of some laborious perilous task which he had to undertake, and as if this task were no other than the copying of the Lindhorst manuscripts.  That at his very entrance into the house, or, more properly, before his entrance, all manner of mysterious things might happen, as of late, was no more than he anticipated.  He thought no more of Conradi’s strong water, but hastily put the vial of liqueur in his waistcoat-pocket that he might act strictly by the Archivarius’ directions, should the bronzed Apple-woman again take it upon her to make faces at him.

And did not the hawk-nose actually peak itself, did not the cat-eyes actually glare from the knocker, as he raised his hand to it, at the stroke of twelve?  But now, without further ceremony, he dribbled his liqueur into the pestilent visage; and it folded and molded itself, that instant, down to a glittering bowl-round knocker.  The door went up; the bells sounded beautifully over all the house:  “Klingling, youngling, in, in, spring, spring, klingling.”  In good heart he mounted the fine broad stair and feasted on the odors of some strange perfumery that was floating through the house.  In doubt, he paused on the lobby; for he knew not at which of these many fine doors he was to knock.  But Archivarius Lindhorst, in a white damask nightgown, stepped forth to him, and said:  “Well, it is a real pleasure to me, Herr Anselmus, that you have kept your word at last.  Come this way, if you please; I must take you straight into the Laboratory;” and with this he stepped rapidly through the lobby, and opened a little side-door which led into a long passage.  Anselmus walked on in high spirits, behind the Archivarius; they passed from this corridor into a hall, or rather into a lordly green-house:  for on both sides, up to the ceiling, stood all manner of rare wondrous flowers, nay, great trees with strangely-formed leaves