‘I’ll have a look at this commersh,’ I thought. ‘I’ve never been over to L. either.’ I sought out a ferryman, and went over to the other side.
II
Every one, perhaps, may not know what such a commersh is. It is a solemn festival of a special sort, at which students meet together who are of one district or brotherhood (Landsmannschaft). Almost all who take part in the commersh wear the time-honoured costume of German students: Hungarian jackets, big boots, and little caps, with bands round them of certain colours. The students generally assemble to a dinner, presided over by their senior member, and they keep up the festivities till morning—drinking, singing songs, ‘Landesvater,’ ‘Gaudeamus,’ etc., smoking, and reviling the Philistines. Sometimes they hire an orchestra.
Just such a commersh was going on in L., in front of a little inn, with the sign of the Sun, in the garden looking on to the street. Flags were flying over the inn and over the garden; the students were sitting at tables under the pollard lime-trees; a huge bull-dog was lying under one of the tables; on one side, in an ivy-covered arbour, were the musicians, playing away zealously, and continually invigorating themselves with beer. A good many people had collected in the street, before the low garden wall; the worthy citizens of L. could not let slip a chance of staring at visitors. I too mingled in the crowd of spectators. I enjoyed watching the students’ faces; their embraces, exclamations, the innocent affectations of youth, the fiery glances, the laughter without cause—the sweetest laughter in the world—all this joyous effervescence of young, fresh life, this eager pushing forward—anywhere, so long as it’s forward—the simple-hearted freedom moved me and stirred me.
‘Couldn’t I join them?’ I was wondering.…
‘Acia, have you had enough of it?’ I heard a man’s voice say suddenly, in Russian, just behind me.
‘Let’s stay a little longer,’ answered another voice, a woman’s, in the same language.
I turned quickly round.… My eyes fell on a handsome young man in a peaked cap and a loose short jacket. He had on his arm a young girl, not very tall, wearing a straw hat, which concealed all the upper part of her face.
‘You are Russians,’ fell involuntarily from my lips.