Precisely at eleven o’clock I extinguished my study-lamp and glided forth to Archivarius Lindhorst, who was already waiting for me in the lobby.

“Are you there, my worthy friend?  Well, this is what I like, that you have not mistaken my good intentions; do but follow me!”

And with this he led the way through the garden, now filled with dazzling brightness, into the azure chamber, where I observed the same violet table at which Anselmus had been writing.

Archivarius Lindhorst disappeared, but soon came back, carrying in his hand a fair golden goblet out of which a high blue flame was sparkling up.  “Here,” said he, “I bring you the favorite drink of your friend the Bandmaster, Johannes Kreisler.[45] It is burning arrack, into which I have thrown a little sugar.  Sip a touch or two of it; I will doff my nightgown, and, to amuse myself and enjoy your worthy company while you sit looking and writing, shall just bob up and down a little in the goblet.”

“As you please, honored Herr Archivarius,” answered I:  “but if I am to ply the liqueur, you will get none.”

“Don’t fear that, my good fellow,” cried the Archivarius; then hastily threw off his nightgown, mounted, to my no small amazement, into the goblet, and vanished in the blaze.  Without fear, softly blowing black the flame, I partook of the drink; it was truly delicious!

Stir not the emerald leaves of the palm-trees in soft sighing and rustling, as if kissed by the breath of the morning wind?  Awakened from their sleep, they move and mysteriously whisper of the wonders which, from the far distance, approach like tones of melodious harps!  The azure rolls from the walls, and floats like airy vapor to and fro; but dazzling beams shoot through the perfume which, whirling and dancing, as in jubilee of childlike sport, mounts and mounts to immeasurable heights, and vaults over the palm-trees.  But brighter and brighter shoots beam on beam, till in bright sunshine and boundless expanse opens the grove where I behold Anselmus.  Here glowing hyacinths, and tulips, and roses, lift their fair heads; and their perfumes, in loveliest sound, call to the happy youth:  “Wander, wander among us, our beloved; for thou understandest us!  Our perfume is the Longing of Love; we love thee, and are thine forevermore!” The golden rays burn in glowing tones:  “We are Fire, kindled by Love.  Perfume is Longing; but Fire is Desire:  and dwell we not in thy bosom?  We are thy own!” The dark bushes, the high trees, rustle and sound:  “Come to us, thou loved, thou happy one!  Fire is Desire; but Hope is our cool Shadow.  Lovingly we rustle round thy head; for thou understandest us, because Love dwells in thy breast!” The fountains and brooks murmur and patter.  “Loved one, walk not so quickly by; look into our crystal!  Thy image dwells in us, which we preserve with Love, for thou hast understood us.”  In the triumphal choir, bright birds are singing:  “Hear us!  Hear us!