When a duel is about to take place, the Red Fisherman is generally posted on the Neckar-bridge, to give thence the first alarm signal. The moment that he perceives the beadles hastening that way, he gives the sign by a handkerchief, or in some other way, to a servant-girl, who is stationed for that purpose below the Hirsch-gasse, and on receiving it, hastens in and gives the alarm. The combatants are hastily stripped of their duel dress, their own garments thrown on, the fighting apparatus thrown into some place of concealment, and all fly out by windows and doors, and plunge into the woods, where they return by a circuitous route to the city. If the surprise is too sudden to allow the Pawkant, or duellist, to divest himself of his inconvenient costume he runs, in full battle-habit, to conceal himself as he is, in the garret of the house, or in a neighbouring corn-field. The little garden-house which stands just above, called by them Tusculum, has afforded many a one shelter; indeed, at one time, two students regularly hired it and lived in it, so that when the surprised combatants ran in thither, they became only visiters, stepped in to see their friends. The police, however, soon prohibited their abode there.
The beadle has little chance of approach by the open highway; but he endeavours to cross the Neckar by a boat, at a distant spot, and so by hidden footways over the hills, to come slily upon their rendezvous; or he lounges as a Bauer or a sportsman through the neighbouring vineyards; or he comes riding up as a gen-d'arme.
But come the beadle however he will,
The wit of the student's too much for him still.
He may think himself certain to pounce on his game,
But he's still more certain to fail in his aim.
One of the most common punishments of the duel is confinement in the university prison; and a few words on the permitted fencing usages may here precede a short account of that. There is one regular fencing-master appointed in the university, who gives his instructions at his own house. Every Chore has here its place of practice; that is, a large room in the house of the fencing-master is hired by each Chore at a fixed hour of the day, where they meet together and practise fencing, the fencing-master often being present. Others who wish to accomplish themselves in the art of fence, join themselves to these Chore members, but it is forbidden to lunge, lest under the pretence of fencing the duel may be concealed. Of the German mode of fencing there is truly as little to say as if we should describe to any one how he should waltz. The customary weapon, and whoever has wielded it knows well the meaning of high and low, guard, quart, terz, high and low quart, prim, second, and so forth. The German rapier fight is not so ornamental as the French lunging with the fleuret. It requires greater strength, and the movements are only in the wrist; for the rest, it may be recommended to any one as a strengthening exercise. The rapier is similar to the Schläger, but, of course, blunt; a thick leather stulp covers the arm, and a mask the face. The German student, it is well known, arrives at a great dexterity in this practice, as he distinguishes himself in all bodily exercises of strength and dexterity, and as the Burschenschaft members did in the more useful gymnastic schools, where they often performed astonishing exploits. The gymnastic schools, as the rendezvous of the Burschenschaft, are unhappily cried down, and are thereby fallen completely into neglect.
It is an inspiriting sight to see able swordsmen contending with powerful strokes in the fencing-school; and sometimes all seem mad together, when a couple of the great dogs of the students having found their way in, each rushes to assist his master with yells and merciless bites. All in the room retreat to tables and chairs, and the wrath of the hounds is then turned against each other. They take the place of strife instead of their masters, who, in their individual ornature, in all corners of the room stand guarding themselves with their swords.
The Carcer is the prison of the students, and consists of three or four rooms in the house of the Chief Beadle, immediately under the roof. It is secured with iron grating, and contains as furniture only a bed, a small table, and a wooden chair. These small chambers have received different names from the students, as the Solitude, Bellevue, Recreation, and the Hole. The last is the dark place into which the nightly disturbers are thrust, that they may here, undisturbed and undisturbing exercise their fancies till morning. They are under the care of a beadle, who supplies the necessities of the prisoner. The captive may not for the first few days quit his durance on any account. Afterwards he may attend his college lectures, or he goes about during the time that he ought to attend them, taking care to avoid meeting the officers of police. He must also return to the prison at night. During the days that he is in close confinement, he can entertain himself with reading; he plays or drinks, smokes and chats with his acquaintance, who are allowed to see him by an order from the Amtmann. His food he procures from one of the regular eating-houses, by means of his boot-fox. If all visits to him are prohibited, in accordance with the severity of his sentence, and if he be not inclined to study, he lies in bed and consoles himself with his pipe the greater part of the day, which he finds far more agreeable than sitting in that hard and uncomfortable chair. Thus we see, that this punishment is not excessively cruel, though it has the property of promoting considerably the transparency of the purse; since this agreeable lodging must be paid for, and the services of the beadle during the day are nothing near so responsive to love as to money, and for which, at all events, he must pay a specified sum. In some universities, as in Giessen, the incarceration is more rigorous. There, all visits and books are denied. The prisoner is not allowed to leave the prison; and even the bedstead is carried out in the morning, so that nothing is left to the poor wretch the whole day but to pace his small apartment, or to sit on that hard chair, and pour out his complaints to the four bare walls. Certainly the stranger will not select a place where such barbarous sentiments are retained, and refinement of mind has made so little progress, for the scene of his university life, but will rather turn his steps towards the more humane and polished Ruperto-Carolo[[21]] or some similar university.
[CHAPTER VIII.]
CHARACTERS CONNECTING THEMSELVES WITH STUDENT LIFE.
The appearance of the Red Fisherman in our last chapter has brought before our mind's eye some other of the creatures of the students, to whom we cannot better devote a brief chapter than in the present place. These are the Binsen-Bube, the Hofrath Dieh, and the Frau Gottliebin. And we would have the renowned Red Fisherman to understand, that we mean not in bringing these personages into connexion with his name to bring his dignity into question, nor for a moment to place in comparison with him the two former of these individuals, over whose heads he looks down from the clouds of fame. The Binsen-Bube, or as he is also called, the Blumen-Bube, that is, the Rush-boy, or the Flower-boy, will figure in another part of the volume, and therefore must first stand forth the Herr Hofrath Diehl, or in pure English, the Privy Counsellor Diehl, an individual on whom many foreigners must have stumbled in Heidelberg.
This individual has served for some thirty years to amuse the rackety young men by his original nonsense; and we lament to be obliged to say that the students of a former time were not wholly guiltless of originating the condition in which he now finds himself. He is a melancholy example of a student scathed in his career; and who has, from one unfortunate hour, sunk continually deeper and deeper into the depths of misery and insignificance. What part he played as a student we are not able precisely to state; but this must be certain, that he never could have been enlightened by the sun of reason as men on the average are, and now it is with him an everlasting eclipse. According to the opinions of some, he must unluckily have been walking under a great umbrella when reason was rained down from heaven. He thus early became a plaything in the hands of men who were base enough to abuse his simplicity. He received a forged letter, containing the intelligence that he was appointed a privy counsellor of the Hesse Darmstadt court, and the scoundrels who deceived him advised him to use some peculiar kind of pomatum, which should give to his head a look of official dignity. The upshot of this infamous business was that he lost nearly all his hair by this application, and was brought back from Darmstadt, whither he had gone to take possession of his office, to the university a crazed man. From the consequences of this lamentable history he has never recovered. His mind, weak before, has since remained hopelessly confused. He has continued to occupy a small chamber, where he employs himself busily in scheming and maturing plans for the improvement of the world; for the maintenance of the European balance of power; for the better pursuit of philosophy, and for bringing it into a better connexion and alliance with other branches of education; and in the discovery of an elixir of longevity. The results of his profound meditations are laid down in vast masses of manuscripts, which, alas! like the Journey from Stolpe to Danzig,[[22]] have never been able to find a publisher. Yet they are by no means useless to their author, if they are unappreciated by the world. He employs them as mattrasses and pillows for his bed; and he busies himself with scattering great quantities of water out of his window in order to dissipate those heavy vapours which have prevented the booksellers from perceiving what would be so greatly to their advantage. During the day, this singular man traverses all the streets, and goes round to all the Beer-kneips. With short and measured steps he walks about clad in an old coat which he owes to the kindness of some student. Now it is a polonaise, now a velvet frock, and anon it is a mackintosh. He wears, like the student, a little cap, from below which hangs his scanty and white hair. His countenance has a singular expression of mixed pride and humility, of friendliness and melancholy; and in his right hand he carries a light stick, in such a manner as if every moment he was about to raise it in the act of demonstrating some of his cosmopolitan propositions. This moment he picks up from the street some worthless fragment, and even a bit of wood for his fire; the next instant he whistles his little dog, a faithful companion to which he is most fondly attached; and now he is greeting this person and the other, with the words "How goes it, my friend, to-day, with thee?" for he stands on the Smollis with every body, that is, he puts himself on the familiar footing of thee and thou; to another, "Good-day, my dear son."