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"No! no!" shouted the student Anselmus, "that he never can in this world; and the green Snake loves me, for I have a childlike mien, and I have looked into Serpentina's eyes." "The Cat will scratch them out," cried Veronica. "Salamander, Salamander masters them all, all!" hallooed Conrector Paulmann, in the highest fury. "But am I in a madhouse? Am I mad myself? What crazy stuff am I chattering?
"To her, my lad!" creaked the crone; then the black Cat darted through the air, and plunged over the Archivarius' head toward the door; but the gray Parrot fluttered out against him and caught him with his crooked bill by the nape, till red fiery blood burst down over his neck; and Serpentina's voice cried: "Saved! Saved!"
"What is to come of all this," said he to himself, "I know not; but if it be some mad delusion and conjuring work that has laid hold of me, the dear Serpentina still lives and moves in my inward heart, and rather than leave her I will perish altogether; for I know that the thought in me is eternal, and no hostile Principle can take it from me; and what else is this thought but Serpentina's love?"
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.
The student Anselmus had now worked several days with Archivarius Lindhorst; these working hours were for him the happiest of his life; ever encircled with the lovely tone of Serpentina's encouraging words, he was filled and overflowed with a pure delight, which often rose to highest rapture.
Then, waving in faint tinkles, Serpentina's voice flitted through the room: "Anselmus! believe, love, hope!" And every tone beamed into Anselmus' prison; and the crystal yielded to his pressure, and expanded, till the breast of the captive could move and heave.
Full of anxiety, and dreading reproaches from the Archivarius, he looked into the sheet; and, O wonder! the copy of the mysterious manuscript was fairly concluded; and he thought, on viewing the characters more narrowly, that the writing was nothing else but Serpentina's story of her father, the favorite of the Spirit-prince Phosphorus, in Atlantis, the Land of Marvels.
Thieves! thieves!" That moment the crone returned with a bound into the room, carrying the Golden Pot on her arm, and, with hideous gestures, shrieking wildly through the air; "Joy! joy, little son! Kill the green Snake! To her, son! To her!" Anselmus thought he heard a deep moaning, heard Serpentina's voice.
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