He stepped along the corridor, and led Anselmus through the same chambers and halls as at the first visit.  The student Anselmus again felt astonished at the marvelous beauty of the garden; but he now perceived that many of the strange flowers, hanging on the dark bushes, were in truth insects gleaming with lordly colors, hovering up and down with their little wings as they danced and whirled in clusters, caressing one another with their antennae.  On the other hand again, the rose and azure-colored birds were odoriferous flowers; and the perfume which they scattered mounted from their cups in low, lovely tones, which, with the gurgling of distant fountains, and the sighing of the high shrubs and trees, melted into mysterious harmonies of a deep unutterable longing.  The mocking-birds, which had so jeered and flouted him before, were again fluttering to and fro over his head and crying incessantly with their sharp, small voices:  “Herr Studiosus, Herr Studiosus, don’t be in such a hurry!  Don’t peep into the clouds so!  You may fall on your nose—­He, he!  Herr Studiosus, put your powder-mantle on; cousin Screech-Owl will frizzle your toupee.”  And so it went along, in all manner of stupid chatter, till Anselmus left the garden.

Archivarius Lindhorst at last stepped into the azure chamber; the porphyry, with the Golden Pot, was gone; instead of it, in the middle of the room, stood a table overhung with violet-colored satin, upon which lay the writing-materials already known to Anselmus; and a stuffed arm-chair, covered with the same sort of cloth, was placed before it.

“Dear Herr Anselmus,” said Archivarius Lindhorst, “you have now copied me a number of manuscripts, rapidly and correctly, to my no small contentment:  you have gained my confidence; but the hardest is yet to come; and that is the transcribing or rather painting of certain works after the original, composed of peculiar signs; I keep them in this room, and they can be copied only on the spot.  You will, therefore, in future, work here; but I must recommend to you the greatest foresight and attention; a false stroke, or, which may Heaven forefend, a blot let fall on the original, will plunge you into misfortune.”

Anselmus observed that from the golden trunks of the palm-trees, little emerald leaves projected:  one of these leaves the Archivarius took hold of; and Anselmus could not but perceive that the leaf was in truth a roll of parchment, which the Archivarius unfolded and spread out before the student on the table.  Anselmus wondered not a little at these strangely intertwisted characters; and as he looked over the many points, strokes, dashes, and twirls in the manuscript, which seemed to represent either plants or mosses or animal figures, he almost lost hope of ever copying it.  He fell into deep thought on the subject.

“Be of courage, young man!” cried the Archivarius; “if thou hast sterling faith and true love, Serpentina will help thee.”