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111 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1819
What one at first sight could well have regarded as a small, strangely cartilaginous wooden stick was actually a malformed boy, barely two spans high, who had crawled down from the basket, in which he had been lying crosswise, and was now growling and rolling in the grass. The thing’s head was set deep between its shoulders, it had a pumpkin-like outgrowth in place of a back, and its hazel switch-thin little legs hung down directly beneath its breast, so that the boy resembled a split radish. A dull eye would discover little about the face, but looking more closely, you would become aware of a long, sharp nose jutting out beneath shaggy black hair and a pair of small, darkly flashing eyes that seemed – especially when one considered the otherwise quite old, furrowed facial features – to reveal a small alraun.
Candida had read Goethe’s ‘Wilhelm Meister,’ Schiller’s poems and Fouqué’s ‘Der Zauberring’ and then forgotten almost everything they contained; she played the pianoforte very tolerably, and from time to time even sang along as well; she danced the newest Françaises and Gavottes and wrote the laundry-list in an excellent, legible hand. If one absolutely had to find fault with the dear girl, it could perhaps lie in her talking in too deep a voice, lacing herself up too tightly, being pleased with a new hat for too long and consuming one cake too many with her tea.
“Such youths as you, my worthy Zinnober, are a credit to the State and deserve to be distinguished with honour! – You are Special Privy Councillor, my man!” “Thanks so much,” rasped Zinnober, gulping down the last bite and wiping his mouth with both his little hands, “thanks so much, I’ll do the thing all right, just as becomes me.”
The thing's head was set deep between its shoulders, it had a pumpkin-like outgrowth in place of a back, and its hazel switch-thin little legs hung down directly beneath its breast, so that the boy resembled a split radish. A dull eye would discover little about the face, but looking more closely, you would become aware of a long, sharp nose jutting out beneath shaggy black hair and a pair of small, darkly flashing eyes that seemed — especially when one considered the otherwise quite old, furrowed facial features — to reveal a small alraun [mandrake root].
Prosper asked if she, as it was still early morning, would perhaps take a cup of coffee; Rosenschön said that a Nun never spurned such things. The coffee was brought, but however hard Prosper tried to pour it out, the cups remained empty, notwithstanding that coffee streamed out of the pot.
"Well, well," smiled Prosper Alpanus, "this is naughty coffee! Would you, my dear Fraulein, be so good as to pour the coffee yourself?"
"With pleasure," replied the Fraulein, grasping the pot. But despite the fact that not a single drop poured out of the pot, the cup became fuller and fuller, and the coffee flowed over on to the table, on to the Nun's dress. She quickly put the pot down; the coffee immediately disappeared without a trace.
"In your power," cried the Fraulein, angrily, "in your power, Doctor? Foolish conceit!"
And with these words her silk dress spread itself out, and she floated up to the ceiling as the loveliest Camberwell beauty. But at once Prosper Alpanus was buzzing and rushing after her as a huge stag-beetle. Totally exhausted, the Camberwell beauty fluttered down and ran around the ground as a little mouse. But the stag-beetle sprang after it, miaowing and snorting, as a grey tomcat. The little mouse rose once again as a dazzling hummingbird, when all sorts of strange voices were raised all around the country house, and all sorts of wonderful insects buzzed in, along with strange wood-fowl, and a golden web was spun over the window. Then all at once the Fairy Rosabelverde, radiant in all her splendour and eminence, in a glistening white garment fastened by a sparkling belt of diamonds, white and red roses woven in her dark locks, stood there in the middle of the room. Before her the magus in a gold-embroidered robe, a glittering crown on his head, the cane with the fiery-beaming knob in his hand.
As Rosabelverde strode up to the magus, a golden comb fell out of her hair and shattered, as if it were made of glass, on the marble floor.
"Oh my! Oh my!" cried the Fairy.
Suddenly Sister von Rosenschon was sitting once more in a long black dress at the coffee table, and opposite her sat Doctor Prosper Alpanus.
