THE STUDENT
When an English lad goes to the university he usually goes there from
a public school, where out of school hours he has been learning for
years past to be a man. In these strenuous days he may have learned a
little in school hours too, but that is a new departure. Cricket and
character are what an English boy expects to develop at school, and if
there is stuff in him he succeeds. He does not set a high value on
learning. Even if he works and brings home prizes he will not be as
proud of them as of his football cap, while a boy who is head of the
school, but a duffer at games, will live for all time in the memory of
his fellows as a failure. But the German boy goes to school to acquire
knowledge, and he too gets what he wants. The habit of work must be
strong in him when at the age of eighteen he goes to one of his many
universities. But when he gets there he is free for the first time in
his life, and the first use he for the most part makes of his freedom
is to be thoroughly, happily idle. This idleness, if he has a backbone
and a call to work, only lasts a term or two; and no one who knows how
a German boy is held to the grindstone for twelve years of school life
can grudge him a holiday. But the odd fact is, that the Briton who
leaves school a man is more under control at Oxford or Cambridge than
the German at Heidelberg who leaves school a boy.
A German university is a teaching institution which prepares for the
State examinations, and is never residential. There are no old
colleges. The professors live in flats like other people, and the
students live in lodgings or board with private families. There is one
building or block of buildings called the _Universität_ where there
are laboratories and lecture-rooms. The State can decline a professor
chosen by the university; but this power is rarely exercised. The
teachers at a German university consist of ordinary professors,
extraordinary professors, and _Privatdocenten_--men who are not
professors yet, but hope to be some day. An Englishman in his
ignorance might think that an extraordinary professor ought to rank
higher than an ordinary one; but this is not so. The ordinary
professors are those who have chairs; the extraordinary ones have
none. But all professors have a fixed salary which is paid to the day
of their death, though they may cease work when they choose. The
salaries vary from £240 to £350, and are paid by the State, but this
income is increased by lecturing fees. Whether it is largely increased
depends on the popularity of the lecturer and on his subject. An
astronomer cannot expect large classes, while a celebrated professor
of Law or Medicine addresses crowds. I have found it difficult to make
my English friends believe that there are professors now in Berlin
earning as much as £2500 a year. The English idea of the German
professor is rudely disturbed by such a fact, for his poverty and
simplicity of life have played as large a part in our tradition of him
as his learning. The Germans seem to recognise that a scholar cannot
want as much money as a man of affairs; therefore, when one of their
professors is so highly esteemed by the youth of the nation that his
fees exceed £225, half of the overflow goes to the university and not
to him at all. In this way Berlin receives a considerable sum every
year, and uses it to assist poorer professors and to attract new men.
As a rule a German professor has not passed the State examinations.
These are official, not academic, and they qualify men for government
posts rather than for professorial chairs. A professor acquires the
academic title of doctor by writing an original essay that convinces
the university of his learning. The title confers no privileges. It is
an academic distinction, and its value depends on the prestige of the
university conferring it.
Germans say that our English universities exist to turn out gentlemen
rather than scholars, and that the aim of their own universities is to
train servants for the State and to encourage learning. I think an
Englishman would say that a gentleman is bred at home, but he would
understand how the German arrived at his point of view. When a German
talks of an English university he is thinking of Oxford and Cambridge,
and he knows that, roughly speaking, it is the sons of well-to-do men
who go there. Perhaps he does not know much about the Scotch and Irish
and Welsh universities, or London, or the north of England; though it
is never safe to build on what a German does not know. I once took for
granted that a man talking to me of some point in history would no
more remember all the names and dates of the Kings of Scotland than I
remember them myself. But he knew every one, and was scandalised by my
ignorance. So perhaps the average German knows better than I do what
it costs a man to graduate at Edinburgh or at Dublin. Anyhow, he knows
that three or four years at Oxford or Cambridge cost a good deal; and
he knows that in Berlin, for instance, a student can live on sixty
pounds a year, out of which he can afford about five pounds a term for
academic fees. If he is too poor to pay his fees the authorities allow
him to get into their debt, and pay later in life when he has a post.
There are cases where a man pays for his university training six years
after he has ended it. But a German university comes to a man's help
still more effectively when there is need for it, and will grant him
partial or even entire support. Then there are various organisations
for providing hungry men with dinners so many days a week; sometimes
at a public table, sometimes with families who arrange to receive one
or more guests on certain days every week. The Jewish community in a
university always looks after its poor students well, and this
practice of entertaining them in private houses is one that gives
rises to many jests and stories. The students soon find out which of
their hosts are liberal and which are not, and give them a reputation
accordingly.
A German comparing his universities with the English ones will always
lay stress on the fact that his are not examining bodies, and that his
professors are not crammers but teachers. A student who intends to
pass the State examinations chooses his own course of reading for
them, and the lectures that he thinks will help him. He does not
necessarily spend his whole time at the same university, but may move
from one to the other in pursuit of the professors he wants for his
special purpose. He is quite free to do this; and he is free to work
night and day, or to drink beer night and day. He is under no
supervision either in his studies or his way of life.
English people who have been to Germany at all have invariably been
to Heidelberg, and if they have been there in term time they have been
amused by the gangs of young men who swagger about the narrow streets,
each gang wearing a different coloured cap. They will have been told
that these are the "corps" students, and the sight of them so jolly
and so idle will confirm their mental picture of the German student,
the picture of a young man who does nothing but drink beer, fight
duels, sing _Volkslieder_ and _Trinklieder_, and make love to pretty
low-born maidens. When you see a company of these young men clatter
into the Schloss garden on a summer afternoon, and drink vast
quantities of beer, when you observe their elaborate ceremonial of
bows and greetings, when you hear their laughter and listen to the
latest stories of their monkey tricks, you understand that the
student's life is a merry one, but except for the sake of tradition
you wonder why he need lead it at a seat of learning. Anything further
removed from learning than a German corps student cannot be imagined,
and the noise he makes must incommode the quiet working students who
do not join a corps. Not that the quiet working students would wish to
banish the others. They are the glory of the German universities. In
novels and on the stage none others appear. The innocent foreigner
thinks that the moment a young German goes to the Alma Mater of his
choice he puts on an absurd little cap, gets his face slashed, buys a
boarhound, and devotes all his energies to drinking beer and ragging
officials. But though the "corps" students are so conspicuous in the
small university towns, it is only the men of means who join them. For
poorer students there is a cheaper form of union, called a
_Burschenschaft_. When a young German goes to the university he has
probably never been from home before, and by joining a _Corps_ or a
_Burschenschaft_ he finds something to take the place of home,
companions with whom he has a special bond of intimacy, and a
discipline that carries on his social education; for the etiquette of
these associations is most elaborate and strict. The members of a
corps all say "thou" to each other, and on the _Alte Herren Abende_,
when members of an older generation are entertained by the young ones
of to-day, this practice still obtains, although one man may be a
great minister of State and the other a lad fresh from school. The
laws of a "corps" remind you of the laws made by English schoolboys
for themselves,--they are as solemnly binding, as educational, and as
absurd. If a Vandal meets a Hessian in the street he may not recognise
him, though the Hessian be his brother; but outside the town's
boundary this prohibition is relaxed, for it is not rooted in ill
feeling but in ceremony. One corps will challenge another to meet it
on the duelling ground, just as an English football team will meet
another--in friendly rivalry. All the students' associations except
the theological require their members to fight these duels, which are
really exercises in fencing, and take place on regular days of the
week, just as cricket matches do in England. The men are protected by
goggles and by shields and baskets on various parts of their bodies,
but their faces are exposed, and they get ugly cuts, of which they are
extremely proud. As it is quite impossible that I should have seen
these duels myself, I will quote from a description sent me by an
English friend who was taken to them in Heidelberg by a corps student.
"They take place," he says, "in a large bare room with a plain boarded
floor. There were tables, each to hold ten or twelve persons, on
three sides of the room, and a refreshment counter on the fourth
side, where an elderly woman and one or two girls were serving wine.
The wine was brought to the tables, and the various corps sat at their
special tables, all drinking and smoking. The dressing and undressing
and the sewing up of wounds was done in an adjoining room. When the
combatants were ready they were led in by their seconds, who held up
their arms one on each side. The face and the top of the head were
exposed, but the body, arms and neck were heavily bandaged. The
duellists are placed opposite each other, and the seconds, who also
have swords in their hands, stand one on each side, ready to interfere
and knock up the combatant's sword. They say '_Auf die Mensur_', and
then the slashing begins. As soon as blood is drawn the seconds
interfere, and the doctor examines the cut. If it is not bad they go
on fighting directly. If it needs sewing up they go into the next
room, and you wait an endless time for the next party. I got awfully
tired of the long intervals, sitting at the tables, drinking and
smoking. While the fights were going on we all stood round in a ring.
There were only about three duels the whole morning. There was a good
deal of blood on the floor. The women at the refreshment counter were
quite unconcerned. They didn't trouble to look on, but talked to each
other about blouses like girls in a post office. The students drove
out to the inn and back in open carriages. It is a mile from
Heidelberg. The duels are generally as impersonal as games, but
sometimes they are in settlement of quarrels. I think any student may
come and fight on these occasions, but I suppose he has to be the
guest of a corps."
A German professor lecturing on university life constantly used a word
I did not understand at first. The word as he said it was _Commang_,
with a strong accent on the second syllable. The word as it is written
is _Comment_, and means the etiquette set up and obeyed by the
students. The Germans have taken many French words into their language
and corrupted them, much as we have ourselves: sometimes by
Germanising the pronunciation, sometimes by conjugating a French verb
in the German way as they do in _raisonniren_ and _geniren_. The
_Commang_, said the professor, was a highly valuable factor in a young
man's education, because it helped more than anything else to turn a
schoolboy into a man of the world. So when I saw a little book called
_Der Bier Comment_ for sale I bought it instantly, for I wanted to
know how beer turned a schoolboy into a man of the world. It began
with a little preface, a word of warning to anyone attempting to write
about the morals, customs, and characteristics of the German nation.
No one undertaking this was to forget that the Germans had an amazing
_Bierdurst_, and that they liked to assuage this thirst in company, to
be cheerful and easy, and to sing while they were drinking. Then it
goes on to give the elaborate ceremonial observed at the _Kneiptafel_.
One of my dictionaries, although the German-English part has 2412
pages, translates _Kneipe_ as "any instrument for pinching." I never
yet found anything I wanted in those 2412 pages. Another dictionary,
one that cost ninepence, and is supposed to give you all words in
common use, does not include _Kneipe_ at all. As an instrument for
pinching, _Kneipe_ is certainly not common, except possibly amongst
people who use tools. As a word for a sort of beer club it is as
common as beer. It is not only students who go to the _Kneipe_. In
some parts of Germany men spend most of the evening drinking beer and
smoking with their friends, while the womenfolk are by themselves or
with the children at home. But the beer _Commang_ that the professor
thought had such educational value is the name for certain intricate
rites practised by university students at the _Kneiptafel_. Those who
sit at the table are called Beer Persons, and they are of various
ranks according to the time of membership and their position in the
Kneipe. Every Beer Person must drink beer and join in the songs,
unless he has special permission from the chairman. The Beer Persons
do not just sit round the table and drink as they please. If they did
there would be no _Comment_, and I suppose no educational value. They
have to invite their fellows to drink with them, and the quantity
drunk, the persons who may have challenged, and the exact number of
minutes that may elapse before a challenge is accepted and returned,
is all exactly laid down. Then there are various festive and ingenious
ways of drinking together, so as to turn the orgy into something like
a game. For instance, the glass "goes into the world," that is, it
circulates, and any Beer Person who seizes it with a different hand or
different fingers from his neighbour is fined. Or the glasses are
piled one on the top of another while the Beer Persons sing, and some
one man has to drink to each glass in the pile at the word of command.
Or the president orders a "Beer Galop" with the words "_Silentium für
einen Biergalopp: ich bitte den nötigen Stoff anzuschaffen._" At the
word of command everyone, beginning with the president, passes his
glass to his left-hand neighbour and empties the one he receives. Then
the glasses are refilled, passed to the right, and emptied again as
soon as possible. The president, it seems, has to exercise a good deal
of discretion and ingenuity, for if the _Kneipe_ seems flat it lies
with him to order the moves in the game that will make it lively and
stimulate beer, song, and conversation. There are various fines and
punishments inflicted according to strict rule on those who transgress
the code of the _Kneipe_, but as far as I can make out they all
resolve themselves into drinking extra beer, singing extra songs, or
in really serious cases ceasing to be a Beer Person for whatever
length of time meets the offence. An Englishman who was present at
some of these gatherings in Heidelberg, told me that the etiquette was
most difficult for a foreigner to understand, and always a source of
anxiety to him all the evening. He was constantly invited to drink
with various members, and the German responsible for him explained
that he must not only respond to the invitation at the moment, but
return it at the right time: not too soon, because that would look
like shaking off an obligation, and not too late, because that would
look like forgetting it.
A _Kommers_ is a students' festival in which the professors and other
senior members of a university take part, and at which outsiders are
allowed to look on. The presiding students appear _in vollem Wichs_,
as we should say in their war paint, with sashes and rapiers. Young
and old together drink beer, sing songs, make speeches, and in honour
of one or the other they "rub a Salamander,"--a word which is said to
be a corruption of _Sauft alle mit einander_. This is a curious
ceremony and of great antiquity. When the glasses are filled, at the
word of command they are rubbed on the table; at the word of command
they are raised and emptied; and again at the word of command every
man rubs his glass on the table, the second time raises it and brings
it down with a crash. Anyone who brought his glass down a moment
earlier or later than the others would spoil the _Salamander_ and be
in disgrace. In _Ekkehardt_ Scheffel describes a similar ceremonial in
the tenth century. "The men seized their mugs," he says, "and rubbed
them three times in unison on the smooth rocks, producing a humming
noise, then they lifted them towards the sun and drank; each man set
down his mug at the same moment, so that it sounded like a single
stroke."
A _Kommers_ is not always a gay festival. It may be a memorial
ceremony in honour of some great man lately dead. Then speeches are
made in his praise, solemn and sacred music is sung, and the
Salamander, an impressive libation to the dead man's Manes, is drunk
with mournful effect.
In small university towns--and it must be remembered that there are
twenty-two universities in Germany--the students play a great part in
the social life of the place. German ladies have often told me that
the balls they looked forward to with most delight as girls were those
given by students, when one "corps" would take rooms and pay for
music, wine, and lights. For supper, tickets are issued on such
occasions, which the guests pay themselves. The small German
universities seem full of the students in term time, especially in
those places where people congregate for pleasure and not for work.
Even in a town as big as Leipsic they are seen a good deal, filling
the pavement, occupying the restaurants, going in gangs to the play.
But in Berlin the German student of tradition, the beer person, the
duellist, the rollicking lad with his big dog, is lost. He is there,
you are told, but if you keep to the highway you never see him; and,
to tell the truth, in Germany you miss him. He stands for youth and
high spirits and that world of ancient custom most of us would be
loth to lose. In Berlin, if you go to the _Universität_ when the
working day begins, you see a crowd of serious, well-mannered young
men, most of them carrying books and papers. They are swarming like
bees to the various lecture-rooms; they are as quiet as the elderly
professors who appear amongst them. They have no corps caps, no dogs,
no scars on their scholarly faces. By their figures you judge that
they are not Beer Persons. They have worked hard for twelve years in
the gymnasiums of Germany, they have no idle habits, no interests so
keen as their interest in this business of preparing for the future.
They are the men of next year's Germany, and will carry on their
country's reputation in the world for efficiency and scholarship.