CHAPTER XIII
An examination into the character and behaviour of the German student--TheGerman Mensur--Uses and abuses of use--Views of an impressionist--Thehumour of the thing--Recipe for making savages--The Jungfrau: herpeculiar taste in laces--The Kneipe--How to rub a Salamander--Advice tothe stranger--A story that might have ended sadly--Of two men and twowives--Together with a bachelor.
On our way home we included a German University town, being wishful toobtain an insight into the ways of student life, a curiosity that thecourtesy of German friends enabled us to gratify.
The English boy plays till he is fifteen, and works thence till twenty.In Germany it is the child that works; the young man that plays. TheGerman boy goes to school at seven o'clock in the summer, at eight in thewinter, and at school he studies. The result is that at sixteen he has athorough knowledge of the classics and mathematics, knows as much historyas any man compelled to belong to a political party is wise in knowing,together with a thorough grounding in modern languages. Therefore hiseight College Semesters, extending over four years, are, except for theyoung man aiming at a professorship, unnecessarily ample. He is not asportsman, which is a pity, for he should make good one. He playsfootball a little, bicycles still less; plays French billiards in stuffycafes more. But generally speaking he, or the majority of him, lays outhis time bummeling, beer drinking, and fighting. If he be the son of awealthy father he joins a Korps--to belong to a crack Korps costs aboutfour hundred pounds a year. If he be a middle-class young man, he enrolshimself in a Burschenschaft, or a Landsmannschaft, which is a littlecheaper. These companies are again broken up into smaller circles, inwhich attempt is made to keep to nationality. There are the Swabians,from Swabia; the Frankonians, descendants of the Franks; the Thuringians,and so forth. In practice, of course, this results as all such attemptsdo result--I believe half our Gordon Highlanders are Cockneys--but thepicturesque object is obtained of dividing each University into somedozen or so separate companies of students, each one with its distinctivecap and colours, and, quite as important, its own particular beer hall,into which no other student wearing his colours may come.
The chief work of these student companies is to fight among themselves,or with some rival Korps or Schaft, the celebrated German Mensur.
The Mensur has been described so often and so thoroughly that I do notintend to bore my readers with any detailed account of it. I merely comeforward as an impressionist, and I write purposely the impression of myfirst Mensur, because I believe that first impressions are more true anduseful than opinions blunted by intercourse, or shaped by influence.
A Frenchman or a Spaniard will seek to persuade you that the bull-ring isan institution got up chiefly for the benefit of the bull. The horsewhich you imagined to be screaming with pain was only laughing at thecomical appearance presented by its own inside. Your French or Spanishfriend contrasts its glorious and exciting death in the ring with thecold-blooded brutality of the knacker's yard. If you do not keep a tighthold of your head, you come away with the desire to start an agitationfor the inception of the bull-ring in England as an aid to chivalry. Nodoubt Torquemada was convinced of the humanity of the Inquisition. To astout gentleman, suffering, perhaps, from cramp or rheumatism, an hour orso on the rack was really a physical benefit. He would rise feeling morefree in his joints--more elastic, as one might say, than he had felt foryears. English huntsmen regard the fox as an animal to be envied. Aday's excellent sport is provided for him free of charge, during which heis the centre of attraction.
Use blinds one to everything one does not wish to see. Every thirdGerman gentleman you meet in the street still bears, and will bear to hisgrave, marks of the twenty to a hundred duels he has fought in hisstudent days. The German children play at the Mensur in the nursery,rehearse it in the gymnasium. The Germans have come to persuadethemselves there is no brutality in it--nothing offensive, nothingdegrading. Their argument is that it schools the German youth tocoolness and courage. If this could be proved, the argument,particularly in a country where every man is a soldier, would besufficiently one-sided. But is the virtue of the prize-fighter thevirtue of the soldier? One doubts it. Nerve and dash are surely of moreservice in the field than a temperament of unreasoning indifference as towhat is happening to one. As a matter of fact, the German student wouldhave to be possessed of much more courage not to fight. He fights not toplease himself, but to satisfy a public opinion that is two hundred yearsbehind the times.
All the Mensur does is to brutalise him. There may be skill displayed--Iam told there is,--but it is not apparent. The mere fighting is likenothing so much as a broadsword combat at a Richardson's show; thedisplay as a whole a successful attempt to combine the ludicrous with theunpleasant. In aristocratic Bonn, where style is considered, and inHeidelberg, where visitors from other nations are more common, the affairis perhaps more formal. I am told that there the contests take place inhandsome rooms; that grey-haired doctors wait upon the wounded, andliveried servants upon the hungry, and that the affair is conductedthroughout with a certain amount of picturesque ceremony. In the moreessentially German Universities, where strangers are rare and not muchencouraged, the simple essentials are the only things kept in view, andthese are not of an inviting nature.
Indeed, so distinctly uninviting are they, that I strongly advise thesensitive reader to avoid even this description of them. The subjectcannot be made pretty, and I do not intend to try.
The room is bare and sordid; its walls splashed with mixed stains ofbeer, blood, and candle-grease; its ceiling, smoky; its floor, sawdustcovered. A crowd of students, laughing, smoking, talking, some sittingon the floor, others perched upon chairs and benches form the framework.
In the centre, facing one another, stand the combatants, resemblingJapanese warriors, as made familiar to us by the Japanese tea-tray.Quaint and rigid, with their goggle-covered eyes, their necks tied up incomforters, their bodies smothered in what looks like dirty bed quilts,their padded arms stretched straight above their heads, they might be apair of ungainly clockwork figures. The seconds, also more or lesspadded--their heads and faces protected by huge leather-peaked caps,--dragthem out into their proper position. One almost listens to hear thesound of the castors. The umpire takes his place, the word is given, andimmediately there follow five rapid clashes of the long straight swords.There is no interest in watching the fight: there is no movement, noskill, no grace (I am speaking of my own impressions.) The strongest manwins; the man who, with his heavily-padded arm, always in an unnaturalposition, can hold his huge clumsy sword longest without growing too weakto be able either to guard or to strike.
The whole interest is centred in watching the wounds. They come alwaysin one of two places--on the top of the head or the left side of theface. Sometimes a portion of hairy scalp or section of cheek flies upinto the air, to be carefully preserved in an envelope by its proudpossessor, or, strictly speaking, its proud former possessor, and shownround on convivial evenings; and from every wound, of course, flows aplentiful stream of blood. It splashes doctors, seconds, and spectators;it sprinkles ceiling and walls; it saturates the fighters, and makespools for itself in the sawdust. At the end of each round the doctorsrush up, and with hands already dripping with blood press together thegaping wounds, dabbing them with little balls of wet cotton wool, whichan attendant carries ready on a plate. Naturally, the moment the menstand up again and commence work, the blood gushes out again, halfblinding them, and rendering the ground beneath them slippery. Now andthen you see a man's teeth laid bare almost to the ear, so that for therest of the duel he appears to be grinning at one half of the spectators,his other side, remaining serious; and sometimes a man's nose gets slit,which gives to him as he fights a singularly supercilious air.
As the object of each student is to go away from the University bearingas many scars as possible, I doubt if any particular pains are taken toguard, even to the small extent such method of fighting can
allow. Thereal victor is he who comes out with the greatest number of wounds; hewho then, stitched and patched almost to unrecognition as a human being,can promenade for the next month, the envy of the German youth, theadmiration of the German maiden. He who obtains only a few unimportantwounds retires sulky and disappointed.
But the actual fighting is only the beginning of the fun. The second actof the spectacle takes place in the dressing-room. The doctors aregenerally mere medical students--young fellows who, having taken theirdegree, are anxious for practice. Truth compels me to say that thosewith whom I came in contact were coarse-looking men who seemed rather torelish their work. Perhaps they are not to be blamed for this. It ispart of the system that as much further punishment as possible must beinflicted by the doctor, and the ideal medical man might hardly care forsuch job. How the student bears the dressing of his wounds is asimportant as how he receives them. Every operation has to be performedas brutally as may be, and his companions carefully watch him during theprocess to see that he goes through it with an appearance of peace andenjoyment. A clean-cut wound that gapes wide is most desired by allparties. On purpose it is sewn up clumsily, with the hope that by thismeans the scar will last a lifetime. Such a wound, judiciously mauledand interfered with during the week afterwards, can generally be reckonedon to secure its fortunate possessor a wife with a dowry of five figuresat the least.
These are the general bi-weekly Mensurs, of which the average studentfights some dozen a year. There are others to which visitors are notadmitted. When a student is considered to have disgraced himself by someslight involuntary movement of the head or body while fighting, then hecan only regain his position by standing up to the best swordsman in hisKorps. He demands and is accorded, not a contest, but a punishment. Hisopponent then proceeds to inflict as many and as bloody wounds as can betaken. The object of the victim is to show his comrades that he canstand still while his head is half sliced from his skull.
Whether anything can properly be said in favour of the German Mensur I amdoubtful; but if so it concerns only the two combatants. Upon thespectators it can and does, I am convinced, exercise nothing but evil. Iknow myself sufficiently well to be sure I am not of an unusuallybloodthirsty disposition. The effect it had upon me can only be theusual effect. At first, before the actual work commenced, my sensationwas curiosity mingled with anxiety as to how the sight would trouble me,though some slight acquaintance with dissecting-rooms and operatingtables left me less doubt on that point than I might otherwise have felt.As the blood began to flow, and nerves and muscles to be laid bare, Iexperienced a mingling of disgust and pity. But with the second duel, Imust confess, my finer feelings began to disappear; and by the time thethird was well upon its way, and the room heavy with the curious hotodour of blood, I began, as the American expression is, to see thingsred.
I wanted more. I looked from face to face surrounding me, and in most ofthem I found reflected undoubtedly my own sensations. If it be a goodthing to excite this blood thirst in the modern man, then the Mensur is auseful institution. But is it a good thing? We prate about ourcivilisation and humanity, but those of us who do not carry hypocrisy tothe length of self-deception know that underneath our starched shirtsthere lurks the savage, with all his savage instincts untouched.Occasionally he may be wanted, but we never need fear his dying out. Onthe other hand, it seems unwise to over-nourish him.
In favour of the duel, seriously considered, there are many points to beurged. But the Mensur serves no good purpose whatever. It ischildishness, and the fact of its being a cruel and brutal game makes itnone the less childish. Wounds have no intrinsic value of their own; itis the cause that dignifies them, not their size. William Tell isrightly one of the heroes of the world; but what should we think of themembers of a club of fathers, formed with the object of meeting twice aweek to shoot apples from their sons' heads with cross-bows? These youngGerman gentlemen could obtain all the results of which they are so proudby teasing a wild cat! To join a society for the mere purpose of gettingyourself hacked about reduces a man to the intellectual level of adancing Dervish. Travellers tell us of savages in Central Africa whoexpress their feelings on festive occasions by jumping about and slashingthemselves. But there is no need for Europe to imitate them. The Mensuris, in fact, the _reductio ad absurdum_ of the duel; and if the Germansthemselves cannot see that it is funny, one can only regret their lack ofhumour.
But though one may be unable to agree with the public opinion thatsupports and commands the Mensur, it at least is possible to understand.The University code that, if it does not encourage it, at least condonesdrunkenness, is more difficult to treat argumentatively. All Germanstudents do not get drunk; in fact, the majority are sober, if notindustrious. But the minority, whose claim to be representative isfreely admitted, are only saved from perpetual inebriety by ability,acquired at some cost, to swill half the day and all the night, whileretaining to some extent their five senses. It does not affect allalike, but it is common in any University town to see a young man not yettwenty with the figure of a Falstaff and the complexion of a RubensBacchus. That the German maiden can be fascinated with a face, cut andgashed till it suggests having been made out of odd materials that nevercould have fitted, is a proved fact. But surely there can be noattraction about a blotched and bloated skin and a "bay window" thrownout to an extent threatening to overbalance the whole structure. Yetwhat else can be expected, when the youngster starts his beer-drinkingwith a "Fruhschoppen" at 10 a.m., and closes it with a "Kneipe" at fourin the morning?
The Kneipe is what we should call a stag party, and can be very harmlessor very rowdy, according to its composition. One man invites his fellow-students, a dozen or a hundred, to a cafe, and provides them with as muchbeer and as many cheap cigars as their own sense of health and comfortmay dictate, or the host may be the Korps itself. Here, as everywhere,you observe the German sense of discipline and order. As each new comerenters all those sitting round the table rise, and with heels closetogether salute. When the table is complete, a chairman is chosen, whoseduty it is to give out the number of the songs. Printed books of thesesongs, one to each two men, lie round the table. The chairman gives outnumber twenty-nine. "First verse," he cries, and away all go, each twomen holding a book between them exactly as two people might hold a hymn-book in church. There is a pause at the end of each verse until thechairman starts the company on the next. As every German is a trainedsinger, and as most of them have fair voices, the general effect isstriking.
Although the manner may be suggestive of the singing of hymns in church,the words of the songs are occasionally such as to correct thisimpression. But whether it be a patriotic song, a sentimental ballad, ora ditty of a nature that would shock the average young Englishman, allare sung through with stern earnestness, without a laugh, without a falsenote. At the end, the chairman calls "Prosit!" Everyone answers"Prosit!" and the next moment every glass is empty. The pianist risesand bows, and is bowed to in return; and then the Fraulein enters torefill the glasses.
Between the songs, toasts are proposed and responded to; but there islittle cheering, and less laughter. Smiles and grave nods of approvalare considered as more seeming among German students.
A particular toast, called a Salamander, accorded to some guest as aspecial distinction, is drunk with exceptional solemnity.
"We will now," says the chairman, "a Salamander rub" ("Einen Salamanderreiben"). We all rise, and stand like a regiment at attention.
"Is the stuff prepared?" ("Sind die stoffe parat?") demands thechairman.
"Sunt," we answer, with one voice.
"Ad exercitium Salamandri," says the chairman, and we are ready.
"Eins!" We rub our glasses with a circular motion on the table.
"Zwei!" Again the glasses growl; also at "Drei!"
"Drink!" ("Bibite!")
And with mechanical unison every glass is emptied and held on high.
"Eins!"
says the chairman. The foot of every empty glass twirls upon thetable, producing a sound as of the dragging back of a stony beach by areceding wave.
"Zwei!" The roll swells and sinks again.
"Drei!" The glasses strike the table with a single crash, and we are inour seats again.
The sport at the Kneipe is for two students to insult each other (inplay, of course), and to then challenge each other to a drinking duel. Anumpire is appointed, two huge glasses are filled, and the men sitopposite each other with their hands upon the handles, all eyes fixedupon them. The umpire gives the word to go, and in an instant the beeris gurgling down their throats. The man who bangs his perfectly finishedglass upon the table first is victor.
Strangers who are going through a Kneipe, and who wish to do the thing inGerman style, will do well, before commencing proceedings, to pin theirname and address upon their coats. The German student is courtesyitself, and whatever his own state may be, he will see to it that, bysome means or another, his guest gets safely home before the morning.But, of course, he cannot be expected to remember addresses.
A story was told me of three guests to a Berlin Kneipe which might havehad tragic results. The strangers determined to do the thing thoroughly.They explained their intention, and were applauded, and each proceeded towrite his address upon his card, and pin it to the tablecloth in front ofhim. That was the mistake they made. They should, as I have advised,have pinned it carefully to their coats. A man may change his place at atable, quite unconsciously he may come out the other side of it; butwherever he goes he takes his coat with him.
Some time in the small hours, the chairman suggested that to make thingsmore comfortable for those still upright, all the gentlemen unable tokeep their heads off the table should be sent home. Among those to whomthe proceedings had become uninteresting were the three Englishmen. Itwas decided to put them into a cab in charge of a comparatively speakingsober student, and return them. Had they retained their original seatsthroughout the evening all would have been well; but, unfortunately, theyhad gone walking about, and which gentleman belonged to which card nobodyknew--least of all the guests themselves. In the then state of generalcheerfulness, this did not to anybody appear to much matter. There werethree gentlemen and three addresses. I suppose the idea was that even ifa mistake were made, the parties could be sorted out in the morning.Anyhow, the three gentlemen were put into a cab, the comparativelyspeaking sober student took the three cards in his hand, and the partystarted amid the cheers and good wishes of the company.
There is this advantage about German beer: it does not make a man drunkas the word drunk is understood in England. There is nothingobjectionable about him; he is simply tired. He does not want to talk;he wants to be let alone, to go to sleep; it does not matterwhere--anywhere.
The conductor of the party stopped his cab at the nearest address. Hetook out his worst case; it was a natural instinct to get rid of thatfirst. He and the cabman carried it upstairs, and rang the bell of thePension. A sleepy porter answered it. They carried their burden in, andlooked for a place to drop it. A bedroom door happened to be open; theroom was empty; could anything be better?--they took it in there. Theyrelieved it of such things as came off easily, and laid it in the bed.This done, both men, pleased with themselves, returned to the cab.
At the next address they stopped again. This time, in answer to theirsummons, a lady appeared, dressed in a tea gown, with a book in her hand.The German student looked at the top one of two cards remaining in hishand, and enquired if he had the pleasure of addressing Frau Y. Ithappened that he had, though so far as any pleasure was concerned thatappeared to be entirely on his side. He explained to Frau Y. that thegentleman at that moment asleep against the wall was her husband. Thereunion moved her to no enthusiasm; she simply opened the bedroom door,and then walked away. The cabman and the student took him in, and laidhim on the bed. They did not trouble to undress him, they were feelingtired! They did not see the lady of the house again, and retiredtherefore without adieus.
The last card was that of a bachelor stopping at an hotel. They tooktheir last man, therefore, to that hotel, passed him over to the nightporter, and left him.
To return to the address at which the first delivery was made, what hadhappened there was this. Some eight hours previously had said Mr. X. toMrs. X.: "I think I told you, my dear, that I had an invitation for thisevening to what, I believe, is called a Kneipe?"
"You did mention something of the sort," replied Mrs. X. "What is aKneipe?"
"Well, it's a sort of bachelor party, my dear, where the students meet tosing and talk and--and smoke, and all that sort of thing, you know."
"Oh, well, I hope you will enjoy yourself!" said Mrs. X., who was a nicewoman and sensible.
"It will be interesting," observed Mr. X. "I have often had a curiosityto see one. I may," continued Mr. X.,--"I mean it is possible, that Imay be home a little late."
"What do you call late?" asked Mrs. X.
"It is somewhat difficult to say," returned Mr. X. "You see thesestudents, they are a wild lot, and when they get together--And then, Ibelieve, a good many toasts are drunk. I don't know how it will affectme. If I can see an opportunity I shall come away early, that is if Ican do so without giving offence; but if not--"
Said Mrs. X., who, as I remarked before, was a sensible woman: "You hadbetter get the people here to lend you a latchkey. I shall sleep withDolly, and then you won't disturb me whatever time it may be."
"I think that an excellent idea of yours," agreed Mr. X. "I should hatedisturbing you. I shall just come in quietly, and slip into bed."
Some time in the middle of the night, or maybe towards the early morning,Dolly, who was Mrs. X.'s sister, sat up in bed and listened.
"Jenny," said Dolly, "are you awake?"
"Yes, dear," answered Mrs. X. "It's all right. You go to sleep again."
"But whatever is it?" asked Dolly. "Do you think it's fire?"
"I expect," replied Mrs. X., "that it's Percy. Very possibly he hasstumbled over something in the dark. Don't you worry, dear; you go tosleep."
But so soon as Dolly had dozed off again, Mrs. X., who was a good wife,thought she would steal off softly and see to it that Percy was allright. So, putting on a dressing-gown and slippers, she crept along thepassage and into her own room. To awake the gentleman on the bed wouldhave required an earthquake. She lit a candle and stole over to thebedside.
It was not Percy; it was not anyone like Percy. She felt it was not theman that ever could have been her husband, under any circumstances. Inhis present condition her sentiment towards him was that of positivedislike. Her only desire was to get rid of him.
But something there was about him which seemed familiar to her. She wentnearer, and took a closer view. Then she remembered. Surely it was Mr.Y., a gentleman at whose flat she and Percy had dined the day they firstarrived in Berlin.
But what was he doing here? She put the candle on the table, and takingher head between her hands sat down to think. The explanation of thething came to her with a rush. It was with this Mr. Y. that Percy hadgone to the Kneipe. A mistake had been made. Mr. Y. had been broughtback to Percy's address. Percy at this very moment--
The terrible possibilities of the situation swam before her. Returningto Dolly's room, she dressed herself hastily, and silently creptdownstairs. Finding, fortunately, a passing night-cab, she drove to theaddress of Mrs. Y. Telling the man to wait, she flew upstairs and rangpersistently at the bell. It was opened as before by Mrs. Y., still inher tea-gown, and with her book still in her hand.
"Mrs. X.!" exclaimed Mrs. Y. "Whatever brings you here?"
"My husband!" was all poor Mrs. X. could think to say at the moment, "ishe here?"
"Mrs. X.," returned Mrs. Y., drawing herself up to her full height, "howdare you?"
"Oh, please don't misunderstand me!" pleaded Mrs. X. "It's all aterrible mistake. They must have brought poor Per
cy here instead of toour place, I'm sure they must. Do please look and see."
"My dear," said Mrs. Y., who was a much older woman, and more motherly,"don't excite yourself. They brought him here about half an hour ago,and, to tell you the truth, I never looked at him. He is in here. Idon't think they troubled to take off even his boots. If you keep cool,we will get him downstairs and home without a soul beyond ourselves beingany the wiser.
Indeed, Mrs. Y. seemed quite eager to help Mrs. X.
She pushed open the door, and Mrs. X, went in. The next moment she cameout with a white, scared face.
"It isn't Percy," she said. "Whatever am I to do?"
"I wish you wouldn't make these mistakes," said Mrs. Y., moving to enterthe room herself.
Mrs. X. stopped her. "And it isn't your husband either."
"Nonsense," said Mrs. Y.
"It isn't really," persisted Mrs. X. "I know, because I have just lefthim, asleep on Percy's bed."
"What's he doing there?" thundered Mrs. Y.
"They brought him there, and put him there," explained Mrs. X., beginningto cry. "That's what made me think Percy must be here."
The two women stood and looked at one another; and there was silence forawhile, broken only by the snoring of the gentleman the other side of thehalf-open door.
"Then who is that, in there?" demanded Mrs. Y., who was the first torecover herself.
"I don't know," answered Mrs. X., "I have never seen him before. Do youthink it is anybody you know?"
But Mrs. Y. only banged to the door.
"What are we to do?" said Mrs. X.
"I know what _I_ am going to do," said Mrs. Y. "I'm coming back with youto fetch my husband."
"He's very sleepy," explained Mrs. X.
"I've known him to be that before," replied Mrs. Y., as she fastened onher cloak.
"But where's Percy?" sobbed poor little Mrs. X., as they descended thestairs together.
"That my dear," said Mrs. Y., "will be a question for you to ask _him_."
"If they go about making mistakes like this," said Mrs. X., "it isimpossible to say what they may not have done with him."
"We will make enquiries in the morning, my dear," said Mrs. Y.,consolingly.
"I think these Kneipes are disgraceful affairs," said Mrs. X. "I shallnever let Percy go to another, never--so long as I live."
"My dear," remarked Mrs. Y., "if you know your duty, he will never wantto." And rumour has it that he never did.
But, as I have said, the mistake was in pinning the card to thetablecloth instead of to the coat. And error in this world is alwaysseverely punished.