If the copying of these Arabic manuscripts had prospered in his hands before dinner, the task now went forward much better; nay, he could not himself comprehend the rapidity and ease with which he succeeded in transcribing the twisted strokes of this foreign character.  But it was as if, in his inmost soul, a voice were whispering in audible words:  “Ah! couldst thou accomplish it wert thou not thinking of her, didst thou not believe in her and in her love?” Then there floated whispers, as in low, low, waving crystal tones, through the room:  “I am near, near, near!  I help thee; be bold, be steadfast, dear Anselmus!  I toil with thee, that thou mayest be mine!” And as, in the fulness of secret rapture, he caught these sounds, the unknown characters grew clearer and clearer to him; he scarcely required to look on the original at all; nay, it was as if the letters were already standing in pale ink on the parchment, and he had nothing more to do than mark them black.  So did he labor on, encompassed with dear, consoling tones as with soft, sweet breath, till the clock struck six, and Archivarius Lindhorst entered the room.  He came forward to the table, with a singular smile; Anselmus rose in silence; the Archivarius still looked at him, with that mocking smile; but no sooner had he glanced over the copy than the smile passed into deep, solemn earnestness, which every feature of his face adapted itself to express.  He seemed no longer the same.  His eyes, which usually gleamed with sparkling fire, now looked with unutterable mildness at Anselmus; a soft red tinted the pale cheeks; and instead of the irony which at other times compressed the mouth, the softly-curved, graceful lips now seemed to be opening for wise and soul-persuading speech.  The whole form was higher, statelier; the wide nightgown spread itself like a royal mantle in broad folds over his breast and shoulders; and through the white locks, which lay on his high open brow, there was wound a thin band of gold.

“Young man,” began the Archivarius in solemn tone, “before thou thoughtest of it, I knew thee, and all the secret relations which bind thee to the dearest and holiest I have on earth!  Serpentina loves thee; a singular destiny, whose fateful threads were spun by hostile powers, is fulfilled should she be thine and thou obtain, as an essential dowry, the Golden Pot, which of right belongs to her.  But only from effort and contest can thy happiness in the higher life arise; hostile Principles assail thee; and only the interior force with which thou shalt withstand these assaults can save thee from disgrace and ruin.  Whilst laboring here thou art passing your apprenticeship; belief and full knowledge will lead thee to the near goal, if thou but hold fast what thou hast well begun.  Bear her always and truly in thy thoughts, her who loves thee; then shalt thou see the marvels of the Golden Pot, and be happy forevermore.  Fare thee well!  Archivarius Lindhorst expects thee tomorrow at noon in thy cabinet.  Fare thee well!” With these words Archivarius Lindhorst softly pushed the student Anselmus out of the door, which he then locked; and Anselmus found himself in the chamber where he had dined, the single door of which led out to the lobby.