"And
then," continued Archivarius Lindhorst, "your ink will not stand." He
dipped his finger in a glass of water, and as he just skimmed it over
the lines they vanished without vestige. The student Anselmus felt as
if some monster were throttling him; he could not utter a word. There
stood he with the unlucky sheet in his hand; but Archivarius Lindhorst
laughed aloud, and said: "Never mind it, dearest Herr Anselmus; what
you could not accomplish before, will perhaps do better here. At any
rate, you shall have better materials than you have been accustomed
to. Begin, in Heaven's name!"
From a locked press Archivarius Lindhorst now brought out a black
fluid substance, which diffused a most peculiar odor; also pens,
sharply pointed and of strange color, together with a sheet of
especial whiteness and smoothness; then at last an Arabic manuscript;
and as Anselmus sat down to work, the Archivarius left the room. The
student Anselmus had often before copied Arabic manuscripts; the first
problem, therefore, seemed to him not so very difficult to solve. "How
these pot-hooks came into my fine English current-hand, Heaven and
Archivarius Lindhorst know best," said he; "but that they are not from
_my_ hand, I will testify to the death!" At every new word that stood
fair and perfect on the parchment, his courage increased, and with it
his adroitness. In truth, these pens wrote exquisitely well; and the
mysterious ink flowed pliantly and black as jet, on the bright white
parchment.
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