fully 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 and blossoms. A magic dazzling light
shone over the whole, though you could not discover whence it came,
for no window whatever was to be seen. As the student Anselmus looked
in through the bushes and trees, long avenues appeared to open
in remote distance. In the deep shade of thick cypress groves lay
glittering marble fountains, out of which rose wondrous figures,
spouting crystal jets that fell with pattering spray into gleaming
lily-cups; strange voices cooed and rustled through the wood of
curious trees; and sweetest perfumes streamed up and down.

The Archivarius had vanished, and Anselmus saw nothing but a huge bush
of glowing fire-lilies before him. Intoxicated with the sight and the
fine odors of this fairy-garden, Anselmus stood fixed to the spot.
Then began on all sides of him a giggling and laughing; and light
little voices railed and mocked him: "Herr Studiosus! Herr Studiosus!
Where are you coming from? Why are you dressed so bravely, Herr
Anselmus? Will you chat with us for a minute, how grandmammy sat
squatting down upon the egg, and young master got a stain on his
Sunday waistcoat?--Can you play the new tune, now, which you learned
from Daddy Cocka-doodle, Herr Anselmus?--You look very fine in your
glass periwig, and post-paper boots." So cried and chattered and
sniggered the little voices, out of every corner, nay, close by the
student himself, who but now observed that all sorts of party-colored
birds were fluttering above him and jeering him in hearty laughter.
A