Thou art drowned in dazzling splendor; all objects about thee appear illuminated and begirt with beaming rainbow hues; all quivers and wavers, and clangs and drones, in the sheen; thou art floating motionless as in a firmly congealed ether, which so presses thee together that the spirit in vain gives orders to the dead and stiffened body.  Weightier and weightier the mountain burden lies on thee; more and more does every breath exhaust the little handful of air, that still plays up and down in the narrow space; thy pulse throbs madly; and, cut through with horrid anguish, every nerve is quivering and bleeding in this deadly agony.  Have pity, kind reader, on the student Anselmus of whom this inexpressible torture laid hold in his glass prison; but he felt too well that death could not relieve him; for did he not awake from the deep swoon into which the excess of pain had cast him, and open his eyes to new wretchedness, when the morning sun shone clear into the room?  He could move no limb; but his thoughts struck against the glass, stupefying him with discordant clang; and instead of the words, which the spirit used to speak from within him, he now heard only the stifled din of madness.  Then he exclaimed in his despair “O Serpentina!  Serpentina! save me from this agony of Hell!” And it was as if faint sighs breathed around him, which spread like green transparent elder-leaves over the glass; the clanging ceased; the dazzling, perplexing glitter was gone, and he breathed more freely.

“Have not I myself solely to blame for my misery?  Ah!  Have not I sinned against thee, thou kind, beloved Serpentina?  Have not I raised vile doubts of thee?  Have not I lost my faith, and, with it, all, all that was to make me so blessed?  Ah!  Thou wilt now never, never be mine; for me the Golden Pot is lost, and I shall not behold its wonders any more.  Ah, but once could I see thee, but once hear thy gentle sweet voice, thou lovely Serpentina!”

So wailed the student Anselmus, caught with deep piercing sorrow; then spoke a voice close by him:  “What the devil ails you Herr Studiosus?  What makes you lament so, out of all compass and measure?”

The student Anselmus now noticed that on the same shelf with him were five other bottles, in which he perceived three Cross Church Scholars, and two Law Clerks.

“Ah, gentlemen, my fellows in misery,” cried he, “how is it possible for you to be so calm, nay so happy, as I read in your cheerful looks?  You are sitting here corked up in glass bottles, as well as I, and cannot move a finger, nay, not think a reasonable thought but there rises such a murder-tumult of clanging and droning and in your head itself a tumbling and rumbling enough to drive one mad.  But doubtless you do not believe in the Salamander, or the green Snake.”

“You are pleased to jest, Mein Herr Studiosus,” replied a Cross Church Scholar; “we have never been better off than at present; for the speziesthalers which the mad Archivarius gave us for all manner of pot-hook copies, are clinking in our pockets; we have now no Italian choruses to learn by heart; we go every day to Joseph’s or other inns, where we do justice to the double-beer, we even look pretty girls in their faces; and we sing, like real students, Gaudeamus igitur, and are contented in spirit!”