They pressed him no farther, but one day at noon, as the lawless set

knew that he was fast at his lecture in the college, they rushed into

his chamber, drank the wine, and filled the bottles with water; and the

cheese they scooped so skilfully out from beneath, that nothing but the

outward rind remained standing. They set it again in the dish so that

nothing was to be seen. It may be imagined what was the poor fellow's

dismay as he set the cheese before his newly-arrived relations, and saw

it, at the first cut, fall into mere fragments of peel; and what a face

the old man made as he came to taste of that flat water instead of his

famous Rhine-wine.

Soon afterwards, the student thus treated, missed a sum of money, of

some three hundred gulden, which had been remitted him in order to

defray the expenses contingent on the taking of his doctoral

examination. Von Plauen, who had spent the night with him shortly

before the theft was discovered, fell under strong suspicion, more

especially, as, at the same time, he was accused of forging bills of

exchange. He was thrown into the university prison, and his examination

begun. But he did not await his sentence. One evening, as he knew that

the fat beadle to whom the care of the prison was entrusted, remained

alone in the house, he tore the lock from the door with his hands and

hastened down into the beadle's room. The beadle had the keys belonging

to the different rooms in the house, just then in his hand,--"How came

you here, Herr von Plauen?" demanded he. The prisoner seized a knife

that lay on the table, and warned him that if he did not deliver up to

him the keys, he would stick the knife into his fat paunch. The

terrified man instantly surrendered the keys; the prisoner shut him in

his own room, secured him, and escaped from the house. He hastened over

the bridge. There he threw himself over the gate, which then was closed

every evening; but he stepped up to the window of the gatekeeper,

knocked, and laid down a kreutzer, saying, "I will cheat no man of his

money."

He was pursued, but without avail; and various reports are in

circulation concerning his latter fortunes. Some say that he became a

fencing-master in England, and yet lives there; others, that he

continually gave himself more and more to drinking, and finally died in

the hospital of a great German city, where, in the last hour, he called

for a choppin of beer, and drank it off.

Freisleben.--So let us, in a better liquor, wish that he had left a

better memory. His tricks, if they were not always the best, have at

least served to amuse us; and so may it go well with him in the other

world, where, as his deeds certainly could not conduct him upwards, let

us hope, though somewhat against hope, that a deep and final repentance

prevented his going inevitably downwards.

They touch glasses.

STORY OF THE BLACK PETER.

Mr. Traveller, the turn now comes to you to relate something; but it

really is a difficult task for you to have to relate something which is

connected with Heidelberg.

Mr. Traveller.--Luckily I have recently heard the history of the life

of a student, who formerly studied here, and I think it is sufficiently

interesting;--I shall, therefore, relate as much of it as I recollect.

Some twenty or thirty years ago, a young man came to Heidelburg, whose

name was Schwartzkopf, a native of Fulda in Hesse. His father had been

an officer in the Hessian service, but he died early, and his widow was

compelled to straiten herself severely, in order to be able to educate

her only son out of the proceeds of her small property, and still

smaller pension. Nature had made amends to the son of the widow for his

poverty by many fine endowments of person and mind, and proudly gazed

the affectionate mother on her darling son, as with little solid cash,

but on that account with the more well-intended exhortations, and with

many tears, she dismissed him on his journey to the university. Many

were the anxieties that filled her mind when she thought that her son

indeed possessed a good heart, but was still very giddy and of easily

persuaded mind. He, with joyful spirits, and full of good resolves,

proceeded to his new place of residence. He studied the greater part of

the first year with zeal, and he wanted not good friends with whom he

could spend his hours of the Muses in the most agreeable manner. His

evil angel then caused him to be involved in a duel, and on this

occasion he made some acquaintances that were of disastrous influence

to him. Through them he became acquainted with play, to which he soon

gave himself up passionately. It is true that at first he played only

in his leisure hours, when his old friends were not about him; but he

soon came to neglect these, and his leisure hours soon became

continually less and less able to satisfy his desire for play, and then

his studies were sacrificed. His friends grew tedious to him, because

they had other interests; his books were covered with thick dust; and

if he sometimes attended the lectures, they showed only how far he had

fallen behind in the race of knowledge, and he hastened in vexation to

the kneip, in order to drown in beer and play the upbraidings of his

conscience. Thus he continued to live on for a long time; he returned

to his room only to pass the night, even not that always. In the

morning he fled from it as early as possible, because all there looked

desolate. His books were at length sold, and by degrees he had disposed

of every thing to the Jews, except the wretched clothes on his back, in

order to feed his unhappy passion. Many a time would he fall into a

horror, when he awoke out of a dream, which had carried him back into

his early life, and saw around him that empty room, or when he received

a letter from his affectionate mother, which was full of tender

warnings,--from his mother, who denied herself even the most necessary

things, that he might not want that money which he thus consumed on his

ruinous habits. But these terrible reflections drove him only for a

brief space out of his wild life, for he was already too deep sunk in

it, and felt no longer the strength necessary to work himself out of

the gulf.

It was then that he one day received a letter addressed by a strange

hand, and sealed with black. His mother was dead, and the letter was

from his guardian. Far as Schwartzkopf was already fallen, yet this

letter deeply shook him; it embittered the melancholy intelligence

beyond words, since his guardian, a severe man, wrote him, that he had

driven not a few nails into his mother's coffin; that he had wasted his

property; that he should immediately return home, in order to be made

acquainted with the real state of his affairs, which left him little

other alternative than that of becoming a soldier in the ranks. His

state of mind for the first few days was horrible, and he was at the

very point of self-destruction; but this went by, and he concluded,

after more quiet reflection, that it was the best to turn his footsteps

homewards, in order, if possible, to move his guardian to more moderate

measures, or, came it to the worst, to enlist into the army. His debts

were paid, and he put up the slender remains of his possessions in his

knapsack, with which, early one morning, he passed through the gate

leading towards Frankfort.

In the evening of the second day he had arrived in a great wood, which

extended towards Fulda. The forest seemed to stretch itself out

endlessly before him. It was already nearly dark; and a violent wind

against which he had to labour, bent the tall and gloomy pines, which

groaned awfully. Full of melancholy he wandered forward; the memory of

the past came over him with subduing power; and he almost wished that

one of the mighty trees might be dashed down by the tempest, and bury

him in its fall. He began to sing a song, in order to chase away those

painful thoughts,--when, as he turned an angle of the path, a rough

voice cried "Halt!" and at once three men sprung out of the bush. The

coarse hunting-garb, the pistols and hangers with which they were

armed, and the disguised faces, left him in no doubt that they were

some of the gang that kept that part of the country in disquiet.

The student feared them not; fear had never been any part of his

nature, and least of all now, when life to him was made indifferent by

despair.

"Leave me alone," said he, "I have nothing for you."

"But with your permission," said one of the robbers, "we will make a

rather nearer acquaintance with your knapsack."

"With all my heart," answered the student quietly, handing over to them

the knapsack, at the same time that he filled his pipe, and asked one

of them for a light, as he had himself lost his fire-apparatus. He

seated himself to rest on a block of stone by the side of the road, and

requested the robbers not to detain him too long, as he had yet far to

go to his night's quarters. They could not refrain from a laugh at the

_sang froid_ of the student.

"You seem to me sad fellows," said Schwartzkopf, "that you don't

understand your business better; at thirty paces distance you might

have seen very well, that you would get nothing, from me."

"Be silent, hound!" cried one of them, "or in a moment we will cut thy

throat."

"And a right noble deed too," added the student, "for three men to cut

the throat of one. If you were not miserable Philistines, I should be

obliged to call upon one of you to give satisfaction for that word,

hound!"

"By all the devils, he is right, Heiner," said another; "he has a right

to it, since he has shown himself so brave, and as there is nothing in

the knapsack, except a few miserable articles of covering."

"Does the fellow think I'm afraid of him?" cried Heiner.

"Ay, to be sure I do," said the student, quietly smoking on. The robber

was raging, and demanded on the instant to fight the audacious student;

but his comrades disapproved of it. It was too dangerous an undertaking

to decide this affair on the highway. They proposed to adjourn to their

encampment; and offered in a manner friendly enough to the student, if

he were not killed in the combat, to give him quarters for the night.

He was obliged to content himself with the matter, and so they put

themselves in motion. They went on long, still deeper and deeper into

the thick of the wood, and on the way made inquiries from the student,

whom they watched pretty well, as to the circumstances of his life;

which he related to them truly.

At length they came to an open place in the forest. Here the

surrounding hills formed a sort of basin, which on the one side was

shielded from the wind by a pile of rocks, and on the other by a screen

of stupendous trees. A little spring gushing out from the foot of the

rocks, wound itself through the carpet of grass, upon which the

robber-troop, consisting of about twenty men with their wives and

children, had built some huts. The sentinels on the outposts had first

announced their approach, and they were speedily surrounded by the

troop. When they learned the intention of Heiner and the student, they

gave it their hearty applause; and as soon as all had refreshed

themselves with food and drink, a battle-ground was selected;

Schwartzkopf received a hanger, and the robbers formed a circle round

the combatants. The women kindled great pine-torches, in order properly

to light up the scene.

The robber fiercely attacked his opponent; and the whole scene had a

singular aspect. The powerfully built figures of the men, whose bold

features yet more strongly stood forth in the light of the torches, as

they, smoking their short pipes, looked on the strife, full of

expectation of its issue; and the women dispersed amongst them in

singular and various attire, which they had selected for themselves out

of the plundered stores. All watched the fight in deep silence; which

was only broken by the clattering of the swords, the dashing of the

water, and the rush of the winds as they raged through the woods. The

student, by far superior to his antagonist in skill of fence, parried

with the utmost coolness, quietly meeting with his sword every blow of

his opponent; but as the robber began to press upon him closer and

closer in a furious attack, he suddenly struck in before the stroke of

his adversary, and in the same instant the robber let his sword drop,

and the blood spouted hotly from the arm-wound through his sleeve.

The men had seen the contest with astonishment; the arm of the wounded

robber was bound up, and the rest of them gathered together in a group

in earnest consultation. The student continued standing alone, doubtful

whether he should make an attempt at escape, or should wait the upshot

of the consultation, which might be fatal to him. He concluded to wait.

A robber now stepped up to him, and said, "Our captain fell in a

skirmish a few days ago. We have all seen, with admiration, your

perfect coolness, your courage, and your swordsmanship; when you arrive

at home little good awaits you; remain with us, and be our captain, and

so will you find a better life than amongst those miserable soldiers."

Schwartzkopf hesitated only a short time. He weighed the attraction of

the proposal against the life which he had otherwise before him. He

reflected how dangerous it would be to refuse; and if scruples arose in

his mind, he silenced them again by the thought that he could again

give up this life when he pleased. After a short rumination, he gave

his pledge of adhesion and fidelity to the robbers. The intelligence

spread itself with rapidity through the whole robber troop; the wives

brought wine-cups, and all drank to the health and prosperity of the

new captain. They caroused till deep in the night, and drank

brotherhood to Schwartzkopf, who, under the name of Black Peter, was

speedily known and feared through the whole country round.

About half a year from this event had flown away. The complaints of the

country people in the neighbourhood of Fulda, of the oppressions of the

robber band, had ceased. But from time to time it undertook greater

exploits, with such calculation and astonishing boldness, as testified

the new spirit that was come amongst them since they were led by the

Black Peter. The real name of Peter Schwartzkopf, from which this was

derived, was not recognised. The former student, of whom people had so

often read in the newspapers, was believed to be dead, or to have

fallen into the hands of the recruiting officer, and to serve in

foreign lands. The captain, however, was known as the Black Peter, from

two other causes. He always wore a black mask; and he had never been

seen otherwise than riding on a black horse. The inquietudes of the war

had hitherto made impossible any earnest attempt to put down those

disturbers of the public security; and this was rendered the more

difficult as the band never lingered long in one and the same place,

but, immediately after the perpetration of some bold deed, vanished

from their haunt, and exchanged it for the Bergstrasse, or the country

of the Main.

Already the storm of war had retired many weeks from the neighbourhood

of Fulda, and the robber band appeared also to have left the country,

perhaps out of fear of a more vehement pursuit. The inhabitants of the

little city of Schluechten rejoiced themselves in the prospect of the

enjoyment of a more refreshing rest than they had for a long time been

favoured with.

One afternoon a heavily loaded travelling-carriage rolled slowly into

the city, and aroused universal attention as it drew up before the

Gasthaus Zum-Stern. A swarm of lounging Bauers collected about it, and

out of every window peered curious countenances. But how much greater

was the astonishment as the people learned from the coachman and valet,

who, both of them clad in military costume, looked, in their mustaches,

most formidable fellows, that their master, a Graf of high standing,

had been attacked on the way by robbers, and now lay severely wounded

in the carriage; and that they only owed their escape and life to the

fortunate interposition of a patrol party belonging to the Graf's own

regiment.

At this intelligence the whole city was thrown into an uproar, and not

the least the landlord of the Star, who with his loud and eager orders

for the proper care of the noble gentleman, made the heads of all his

people dizzy. The stranger Graf was finally lifted out of the carriage

by his servants, aided by some of the others. He was a tall, stately

man, pale with the loss of blood; his eyes were closed, and many deep

wounds in the head were only rudely and hastily bound up. While he was

carried to his bed and given into the care of the surgeon, who was

called in, the Amtmann was hastily sent for; and, from the statements

of the coachman, who caused at the same time his own arm-wounds to be

bound up, dictated to his clerk a long protocol. The whole police

corps, with an addition of some armed Bauers, immediately set out in

pursuit of the robbers, without, however, being able to discover the

least trace of them.

In the meantime the stranger lay in the most frightful delirium. The

servants forbade any one, besides the surgeon, from entering the room;

such, they said, being the orders of their lord. The surgeon wondered

sometimes at the fearful phantoms that haunted the imagination of the

strange nobleman, which the servants calmly remarked proceeded entirely

from the last battle, and from the attack of the robbers.

For some days the Graf hovered between life and death, but shortly a

decided improvement manifested itself in him; and after many weeks he

was so far recovered, as to be able to receive the visits of the first

people of the place, who anxiously desired to make the acquaintance of

so distinguished a personage; and indeed, shortly afterwards, to return

them. He styled himself Graf Pappenheim; gave out that he was a native

of the north of Germany, and had quitted his regiment on account of a

difference with his superior officer, and was about to retire to his

estate. He possessed a great partiality for Hesse, as his mother was a

native of that state, whence he himself had a Hessian accent in his

speech, which was strong enough to strike the ear of the people. In

short, the Graf was a most genteel man in society, had the most

agreeable manners, and was soon a favourite in all the circles of the

little city. When the Bauers had at first seen the many heavy chests of

the stranger, they said, "he is a rich man, the Graf;" and said they

again, with one accord, as they saw him first ride out on a black

horse, purchased of the Chief Forest-master, "he is a very handsome

man, the Graf."

The Graf brought a new life into the little city; he was the soul of

all companies, and himself gave the finest entertainments in the Star;

in short, he had always something new with which to entertain society.

He treated every one with the most condescending courtesy, but above

all the lovely daughter of the Chief Forest-master, who was not a

little envied on that account by the other ladies. As it now one day

became known that the Graf had proposed for the Forester's lovely

daughter, and contemplated buying an estate for himself in the

neighbourhood for his future abode, many of the young ladies made truly

a sour face; but all said, "We have long thought that," and hastened to

present to the young lady their congratulations.

The marriage was immediately afterwards celebrated at the new castle of

the Graf, with the greatest eclat. About five miles from the city lay,

in the midst of a wood--a former hunting castle of the prince--a

wide-stretching building. This the Graf had recently purchased. The

Chief Forest-master thought indeed the castle much too solitary, and of

too great an extent; but his son-in-law quieted him on that head, with

the prospect of the noble hunting which they could here enjoy together.

That the carriage was always at the command of his wife, and he hoped

constantly to have company from the city with him. The extensive

accommodation was, moreover, very convenient to him, as, on account of

the not yet perfectly restored security of the country, he should send

home for the greater part of his servants to attend him here. And it

was not long, in fact, before the rooms of the castle were filled

with about a score of fresh servants. They were altogether strong,

wild-looking fellows; and the Graf said that he had selected these

expressly, because people yet, here and there, talked of the robber

band; and it was possible that they might some day attempt an attack on

his house or property. It was the more necessary for him to do this, as

he was himself a restless spirit, and could not live without now and

then making a little expedition. But this he could not do unless he

felt at the same time that he left his house in perfect security.

The people in the city considered this all very reasonable, and

conceived a still greater opinion of the affluence of the Graf,

who was able to maintain so great an establishment. The Forest-master's

daughter lived with her husband in the happiest manner; and when he

sometimes, accompanied by some of his servants, made a little excursion

into the country round, she invited always some of her friends from the

city, and never sent them back without the most beautiful gifts. The

Graefin, indeed, wondered with herself, that her husband, who otherwise

gratified all her desires the moment they were uttered, never took her

with him on these little excursions; but she loved him too well to

chagrin him by pressing entreaties. The winter was now come, and yet

the excursions of the Graf did not cease. They were it is true, more

seldom, but they often stretched themselves into weeks; and the young

wife frequently felt herself excessively solitary when she, with her

maid, the only other female who was in the castle, sate in the large

room, and the wind without shook the naked branches of the trees

fearfully.

During this period the vicinity was not at all disturbed by the robber

band, notwithstanding the repeated accounts of housebreaking and

highway robberies in the countries of the Main and the Neckar. The Graf

seemed almost totally at ease on that subject, for he often took with

him all the servants, with the exception of two or three, in his

journeys. The young wife made many reflections on this strange conduct

of her husband, who always so suddenly resolved on these marches; yes,

sometimes even was awoke by a servant in the night, and at once went

forth numerously accompanied. It also struck her that many of the

presents which he brought her were clearly not new; and if she asked

him the cause of it, he told her that they had been sent for by him

from his native seat, and that he had been in a neighbouring city to

fetch them.

In that part of the castle in which the servants resided, was a room

which was always closed to the women, as there, the Graf said, were

preserved family documents of the highest importance, to which none but

himself must have access. Strange did it seem when Lisette, the

chambermaid, asserted to her lady, that she had often seen one of the

servants in that room with her lord; and the Graefin was equally annoyed

at the familiarity between master and servants, when the Graf, till

late in the night, in one of the rooms appertaining to the servants,

was accustomed to talk and drink with them. "They are true souls," said

he, "who have been brought up with me, and I must be good to them, as I

have caused them to come into a country so strange to them."

All this, and the relations of Lisette, who, amongst other things,

asserted that she had seen the Graf, on his entering the house, take

off a black mask, disturbed the poor lady in the highest degree, and

she resolved at last to throw light on the mystery, let it cost what it

would, but till then to conceal her anxiety from her relations.

One evening, as she heard the Graf and his followers come riding in,

she hastened quickly into the neighbourhood of the suspected room, into

which her husband was accustomed always to go first, and concealed

herself in an unused fireplace. With beating heart she saw the Graf

enter with two servants. With light steps she approached the mysterious

door and listened. What she then heard was sufficient to inform her of

her dreadful fate. The Graf, and the notorious robber-captain, the

Black Peter, were one and the same person. Near to fainting, the

unhappy wife glided away to her own room. Soon after the Graf appeared,

and expressed his regret that, on account of family intelligence which

he had received, he must yet ride out again this night, but would be

back by break of day.

Scarcely had the Graf and his troop ridden away, when the poor wife

called her maid, communicated to her the dreadful truth, and both

determined on instant flight. They left the lights burning in the

chamber, and stole silently down into a room below. Happily the one

robber whom they had left behind, was yet within the mysterious

chamber. They escaped through the window, and made directly for the

nearest way to the Forest-master's house. Like two alarmed roes they

hastened on through the night, and often shrunk together when the moon

lighted up a distant tree, so that they fancied one of the robbers

stood behind it. Continually looking round to see that no one was

pursuing them, they at length came distantly into view of the

Forest-master's house. Their anguish became almost insupportable when

so near the goal; they thought to themselves they might yet be

overtaken. At last they reached the house, full of joy that they yet

saw a light in the room of the Chief Forest-master. He rose up in

amaze, when he heard a knocking at so late an hour; but how much

greater was his astonishment as his daughter flew to him, and sunk

breathless in his arms.

As soon as the old man was able from his exhausted daughter to learn

the cause of her thus wandering in the night, his wrath burnt fiercely

at the false son-in-law. He called up his huntsmen: the Bauers in the

little city were armed, and with all possible speed they set out for

the wood castle. But the robber had vanished with the mysteries of the

closed chamber. It was empty. All the other rooms were still just in

the state that the fugitives had left them, but gold there was none to

find.

The next day, the castle was surrounded by soldiers that were sent out

from Fulda, but the robbers had evacuated the country, and came not

again. After many vain attempts, it occurred at last that one of the

robbers was seized on the Bergstrasse. This led to further discoveries;

and finally, they had the good fortune to take prisoner the captain

himself. He was confined over the Manheimer Gate in Heidelberg, and was

to be delivered over to the Hessian authorities, when he escaped in a

most extraordinary manner out of his prison, but was speedily

recaptured. After an examination, in which he was hard pressed without

their being able to bring any confession from him, he was dismissed at

eight o'clock in the evening. At half past nine o'clock the same

evening, the gaoler announced to the magistrate who had presided on the

inquiry that the Black Peter had escaped from his confinement. The

watch had shot at him, but had missed him.

It was found that, without any negligence on the part of his keepers,

he had got out in a scarcely imaginable manner, in his shirt only. He

had taken the whole of the circular window of his prison with its frame

out. By means of a sharp holdfast, with which the frame of the window

had been secured, he had broken the two new and good locks of the chain

with which he was chained crossways; taken off the chains; torn up his

bedclothes, and twisted them into a rope-ladder, from ten to twelve

feet long, and had slipped through the wonderfully narrow opening of

the strong window-shutters, which, by proof made there and then, would

admit the passage of no other head. When he had reached the bottom of

his rope he had still nine or ten feet to drop to the earth; and the

shot, which was instantly fired at him, passed close to him.

Immediately on his escape be sprung into the neighbouring Neckar, and

concealed himself under the floor of a swimming-school, which was

erected on a boat, where he continued many hours up to the mouth in

water. He saw the pursuers on both banks of the Neckar, and in the

swimming-school itself. It was not till after midnight that he

attempted to wade through the Neckar, which, luckily for him, was then

very low; but he had not reached the other bank of the river when he

became aware of the watchers placed there also. He continued yet for a

long time sitting on a rock in the middle of the flood. Finally, he

made another attempt, reached the bank, sprang up it, and by a rapid

and breathless flight succeeded in reaching, in spite of all the

straining efforts of his pursuers, the hills and the woods.

In order to make his appearance in the wood the less striking to people

that he might happen to meet, he slipped his legs through the sleeves

of the shirt, and held the lower part of the shirt about his neck with

his hands. He thus ran on to a great distance. He met two Bauers in the

woods, to whom he feigned himself crazed and dumb, and begged of them

by signs, and was so lucky as not only not to be seized, but to obtain

an alms from them, with the pity of the givers. With this alms he

purchased some bread at a solitary mill in the mountain. The people

inquired the cause of his singular dress, or rather want of it; and he

invented a lie which answered his purpose. He fled still farther; till,

at evening, he was arrested by some Bauers of less easy faith, and who

had already became apprised of his flight, and the reward offered for

his recapture. He was brought back to his prison, and soon afterwards

delivered over to the Hessians, and confined in a high tower. But even

from this he effected his escape in the most ingenious manner possible.

One morning, the sentinel who was on duty at the foot of the tower

looking up, observed a hole worked in the wall, from which a tolerably

long rope hung. He immediately and with all speed gave intelligence of

the circumstance to the police officers. All hastened up into the

tower, and saw with amazement a hole made through the wall, of the

width of a man's body of ordinary size. Into the wall, a piece of iron,

part of the broken chain, was driven, and to this the rope was

fastened; the rope itself was made from the torn up cover and tick of

the prisoner's straw bed.

They could not sufficiently wonder how a man could pass through such a

hole; how he could trust himself at such a terrific height to such a

brittle rope; and how he could by any possibility, when he reached the

end of this rope, the length of which was insignificant in comparison

with the height of the tower, drop to the ground without certain

destruction.

While they were thus lost in these wonders, the prisoner, who all the

time was in the room concealed under the straw taken out of his bed and

heaped up behind the door, crept silently out, passed the open standing

door unobserved, descended the stairs, and completely effected his

escape.

He lived afterwards in various places and by various means; and on the

breaking out of the war, enlisted for a soldier. The Battle of

Waterloo, which cost so many honourable men their lives, ended also

his.

"And his former wife?" asked Hoffmann.

"She soon died of grief, or, as they say in England, of a broken

heart."

THE STUDENT STARK.

After a short pause, Freisleben addressed himself to the telling of his

story: and for that purpose drew forth a letter. After he had seen that

the company were supplied with glee-wine, he said--

We have had enough of evil and evil deeds, and it may, therefore, be

permitted me to relate something out of the life of a good man; namely,

out of the life of my friend Stark, whom you have become acquainted

with in his passing through here lately, face to face.

His father was the pastor of the village of Greenwiesel, and had, as is

only too much the case with the country clergy, a very scanty income.

The boy received his first instruction in the Folks'-school of the

place, and afterwards from his father, who, being an industrious man,

contrived to spare so much time from the duties of his office, as was

necessary to the due progress of his son. Private teachers he could not

afford, nor the expense of his maintenance in a neighbouring town, so

that he might attend the Gymnasium there. This was only an advantage to

Stark, as he could not easily have enjoyed an education which was at

once so well grounded, and so free from all pedantry, as that which his

father gave him. An old officer who had long spent his pension in the

village, and was a friend of the pastor's, spared no pains to instruct

him in the mathematics, which he loved above all things. But the

scholar listened with still more delight to his instructor when he

talked to him of the armies in which he had served, and of the battles

in which he had been engaged against the French. The intercourse with

the old officer, and the books which he put into his hands, contributed

not a little to inflame the boy's enthusiasm for liberty and

Fatherland. With avidity he devoured the German history of Kohlrousch,

and was accustomed then to rush forth into the wood, in order that he

might stretch himself under the German oak, and felt altogether as

German should. Nowhere was he so delighted to be, as abroad amid God's

free nature; and as the other boys of the village could not understand

his internal feelings and impulses, he was thus daily accustomed to

roam about alone, which occasioned him many a reproof from his father.

If it was fine weather, he used to take out his Tacitus with him, his

favourite author, or he recited with a loud voice a passage from

Ossian, of which the old officer had given him a German translation.

Nothing, however, gave him greater pleasure than to battle with the

winds; and the more it thundered and lightened, the more drenchingly

poured down the rain, the more exulting was his feeling of the strength

of his youth. When wet through, and looking wild, he returned home, his

mother would clasp her hands in wonder at his foolishness, as she

termed it. Yet she loved him extremely, as he on his part, above all

things, loved his parents and his sister, and did every thing to please

them that he could discern would be acceptable to them.

The first bitter tears that he shed, and bitter ones indeed they were,

was when his old friend and instructor, the old officer, died. But a

still greater misfortune soon befell him and his family. At the time

that young Stark should have entered one of the higher classes of the

Gymnasium of a neighbouring town, the old pastor was seized with an

apoplectic stroke, as he returned from preaching. His speedy death

spared him the painful reflection, that he left a widow and two

uneducated children helpless in the world. The family removed to the

next town, and there hired a poor dwelling in a small side street. The

young Stark, who attended the Gymnasium, felt, indeed, that he must

consider himself as the head of the family, and must provide for it. He

discharged his duty in the most exemplary manner. Besides that, he

received his school instruction free, he also enjoyed a stipend which

was awarded him in consequence of his having passed a brilliant

examination. It was very small indeed, but Stark knew how to

circumscribe his wants. He laboured zealously, in order to advance as

rapidly as possible, while at the same time he devoted every leisure

hour to instruct a considerable number of boys in the city, in their

elementary learning. With the united proceeds of this stipend and

these labours he maintained his family; and thus, when he had toiled

through the day as learner and teacher, the evening found him by his

study-lamp, where he sate fixed till late in the night. But he was

cheerful and contented. His strongly-grounded constitution enabled him

to support these exertions, and the glad consciousness of being able to

stand independent, and to provide for the necessities of his mother,

and of one dearly beloved sister, made sweet to him that monotonous

life.

Another removal of the little family was necessary when the young man

went to the High School. For the rest, his family continued to live

after that removal as they had done before, and Stark pursued his

studies with double diligence, in order yet better to maintain them.

His teachers in the university took an interest in the brave youth, and

amongst the students he found congenial friends, who, more favoured by

fortune, took a pleasure in procuring him many enjoyments of life,

without touching too closely on the delicacy of his feelings. They

visited him gladly in his modest room, where, besides the most

necessary articles of furniture, there was nothing to be found but

books, and some maps which he made use of in his studies, and which

hung on the whitewashed walls. Yet was no one happier than he when he

shared the frugal meal in the evening with his family, or with a friend

chatted over a glass of beer and a pipe. He went very simply, but yet

very neatly dressed. His tall, strong figure; that earnest, somewhat

pale countenance, to which the slightly aquiline nose, the friendly,

thoughtful eye, and a background of black whiskers, gave interest and

effect, produced on the beholder a highly favourable impression. Every

one with pleasure heard him speak, for his voice was strong and

well-toned, his speech fluent, and when he became zealous, carried you

irresistibly along with it. But when he sung, he affected every one.

His bass voice was, however, too powerful for a small room. It made

every window vibrate, and was, indeed, a voice made to sing the songs

of German freedom under the German oak.

Cruelly did fate startle him out of this monotonous yet quiet and happy

life. A nervous fever which then raged, snatched away his mother; and

his only sister, who had been her true nurse on her sick bed, soon

followed her. Stark was strongly bowed down by these severe losses. So

much the more did he attach himself to a maiden, whom he had now known

for some years, and to whom he had now been for half a year affianced.

The father of Emily, his promised bride, lived near the city. Emily had

a very attractive person, was always merry and good-humoured, and

possessed many good qualities; but was in the highest degree giddy and

fickle. My friend would never admit the last characteristic. He was

blind enough only to see in the maiden, noble and beautiful qualities,

which he worshipped. But he came to be bitterly convinced to the

contrary. A wealthy merchant's son, who just then was commencing

business for himself, announced himself as a lover of Emily to her

father. The father, although pleased with the proposal, yet gave his

daughter free choice, and she was heartless enough to prefer the

characterless, pretty, and glib-tongued merchant, to the poor Stark,

who, since his recent trials, truly had become more grave, and might

possibly have wearied her with many melancholy retrospections of his

lost mother and sister. Emily shrunk from writing herself to my friend,

but informed him, apparently in an unfeeling manner, through a third

person, that the connexion must be broken off; and assigned as reasons,

besides some other unimportant things, that her father was favourable

to the pretensions of the other lover, and had forbid her to hope for

his consent to a union with Stark.

Her father, who through the whole affair conducted himself as an

honourable man, answered a letter which my friend addressed to him.

This answer kept strictly to the truth; but at the same time expressed

a wish that it might be the last; moreover, requesting the return of

the letters of Emily. I will here communicate to you the letter which

my friend wrote to the false one. He permitted me, as I was long the

confidant of his attachment, and frequently the bearer of his letters,

to take a copy of this, and also to show it to any good and tried

friend. You may in it see the real nature of his character.

"Emily!--Thy father has requested me to renounce our verlobment; to

break off the correspondence. I had already written to give him this

assurance, but he had not the goodness to receive the letter.

Consequently I have not given it him, and his will is for me no

unconditional law.

"But thou appearest to be of the same mind, and thy wishes shall be

sacred to me till my last breath. Fear not that I will embarrass thee

with further importunities: only I cannot deny myself the melancholy

pleasure, once more, in this last letter, to speak to thee from my

heart. I will justify myself to thee, justify thou also thyself to

thyself. My heart shall and must be silent: I have cause to fear that

its language will no longer be understood; and I will not desecrate its

sensibilities. It has for some time been my employment to read over

again all thy letters with a bitter feeling. It is as if the lovely

deception yet still played round my heart; as if it could not awake out

of the sweet dream. I know many kinds of doubts, but none gives such a

scorpion sting as the doubt with which thou hast inspired me. I have

been happy,--happy in my vain belief! and I thank thee for it. Thou

mayst be proud;--no other woman has made me so happy as thou. Thou

mayst be very proud;--none can henceforward make me happy. Thou

bringest me back to my old philosophy respecting the fair sex, and

indeed at the right time.

"Emily, thou hast not dealt nobly, not honestly, with me, not wisely

with thyself. Why hast thou not told me the truth? Thinkest thou that I

shun the truth, even when it strikes me to the earth? I observed thy

change immediately with the holiday. I ran to and fro, full of anguish,

like one possessed. No greeting came from thee--no affectionate

inquiry--no question after a letter, which I had, in fact, written

seven times and tore again to pieces. My spirit was on the rack. Then

informed me, Neuburg, that the connexion must cease; that thou wished

it--thou! who only a fortnight before, sent me the most sacred

protestations! Thy father had taken away all hope from thee; had

menaced thee with his curse!

"Of all this nothing was true, as I learned from thy father's letter.

What course, thinkest thou, then was left me to pursue in accordance

with my character, but to write to thy father directly, as from thy

messenger I must understand that he knew all. Hadst thou but said the

truth to me, I should, after a short struggle, have returned every

thing to thee.

"Thou complainest of my pride, and takest great pains to humble me.

Perhaps thou mayst succeed; perhaps not. Thy father will receive no

further letter from me; thy mother, none; thou thyself perhaps, none.

That cannot humiliate me. I find my conduct tolerably consistent,--as

consistent as a man in my state of mind can be.

"What shall I now do? It was thy desire,--thine, and thine only to

break off. Thou wouldst have spared me, and thyself, and thy parents,

many painful feelings, if thou hadst acted with somewhat more

consideration. It seems as if thou hadst made it thy pleasure to wind

up my sensibilities to such a height, in order then to make me feel my

nothingness. Thou hast succeeded. The maiden who, but shortly before,

hung on my neck, and prayed assurances of my truth, has now not once

the courage to say that she loves me. I am too serious for gallantry;

and thou hast wofully erred, if thou hast classed me amongst such men.

It seems we have neither of us known each other, and need therefore

make no complaints of each other. That I have disturbed thy peace,

forgive me. That thou hast created in me so many beautiful hopes, only

again to destroy them; that through thee my joys are dashed to the

ground, that will I forgive thee; lament my simplicity, and again class

thee amongst the ordinary crowd of maidens.

"Could I but do that, Emily, I should yet be happy enough. My

seriousness has not pleased thee; and, in order to cure it, thou hast

poured bitterness into it. I complain not of thy parents; they act

according to their notions of duty; but how thou actest according to

thy conception of duty, I cannot perceive. Thou hast neither acted

towards thy father nor towards me as thou shouldst. The reasons which

thy father gives are valid enough, as thou givest weight to them; but

one thing more than all has struck me--it is called the fickleness of

women.

"Thy father does thee justice. Emily, thou shouldst have been honest

with me. I am not the man that will abuse the tender heart of a maiden.

I challenge thee to speak the truth. Have I not been open-hearted with

thee? Have I stolen thy affections? My whole soul hangs yet on thee,

and never will it be able to loose itself from thee. If thou wert

unworthy of me, would I weep and lament over thee? Tell me then

candidly thy desires, and trust me that I have generosity enough to

satisfy them all, even if it cost me my life. Thou canst charge nothing

upon my honour. Thou would long ago have had thy letters, if thy father

had not demanded them. He shall not receive them, but he shall read

them if he desires it, for his own satisfaction and thy justification.

Hast thou written any thing that thou art ashamed to acknowledge? Hast

thou cause for shame? Then are we both to be pitied; thy father and I,

and thou most of all. Then shall they, to extinguish all mistrust, be

destroyed in thy presence. If I am reluctant to come into thy father's

presence, yet I will not be ashamed before him. I am wont to compel

respect, if indeed I can acquire no attachment. I can well imagine how

many disadvantageous things people will tell thee at my expense. If

thou canst believe them without examination, then, indeed, have I

expended on thee every sentiment of my heart in vain. I pity thee in

all my misery far more than myself, since I shall probably so long as I

live continue a living reproof to thee. My conduct will be thy

punishment. I assure thee, love, that I shall never lose thee out of my

soul. I have with no other maiden stood in a nearer relationship. Thou

art the only one that has firmly fixed herself in my heart. Go whither

thou wilt, I shall bear thee with me to the grave. Thirty years hence

thou wilt most probably hear from me exactly the same tone, if thou art

by any circumstance reminded of me.

"Emily, thou shouldst have dealt more honestly with me. By God! I would

have sacrificed every thing for thee. Wilt thou be happy when at thy

wedding I sing a song of sorrow, that my friends may weep with me?

"Emily, I pray thee, for God's sake, by the happiness that thou yet

hopest, be worthy of thyself: I cannot believe any thing bad of thy

heart. Be the friend of thy father, if thou canst no longer be my

beloved. If my kiss has not ennobled thee, then am I an outcast, or

thou a creature without mind. Do nothing--nothing secret. What I did

was done on thy account; otherwise I walk ever in the light. For my

sake, also, show this letter to thy parents; I will not, when occasion

requires it, conceal from them that I have written this letter.

"Allow me once more to deceive myself with the sweet delusion of the

harmony of our souls. Thou hast destroyed a beautiful work, love, which

thou shouldst not have done, or shouldst not have helped to build it

up. Thou askest what I think, and not what I feel? I am infinitely

sorrowful; and of what kind my affections are thou mayst read hereafter

in my countenance. I may, perhaps, never again be so happy as to speak

another syllable with thee, but my heart will accompany thee, since I

am unchangeable!

"S. ----."

It is an old, old story,

Yet bides for ever new;

And he to whom it chances,

It breaks his heart in two.

_Heyne_.

It came not truly so far with my friend; but happiness of his life was

for a long period destroyed: the manly and high-toned character of his

mind, however, saved him from sinking permanently under the weight

which would have prostrated many a one of equally sensitive and

strongly-devoted temperament. But, as an English poet has said, he

resolved not to sacrifice

His name of manhood to a myrtle shade.

The fervour of his passion for political liberty, his admiration of

heroic actions, and his pride in his native country, were very near, in

the excited state of his mind, leading him to involve himself in the

grand but ill-digested plans of the Burschenschaft for the

consolidation of Germany into one magnificent empire; and probably the

blowing up of those plans by the government measures which followed on

the wild deeds of Sand and others, just at that crisis, saved him from

the fate which most probably would have awaited one so ardent and

qualified to take a prominent part--flight, or exile, from his native

country. Therefore, turning his eyes away from this hopeless track, he

studied with renewed severity, passed a splendid examination, and soon

after wrote a work on the German political constitution, which at once

attracted attention, and excited the admiration of all the lawyers in

Germany. It was soon translated into most of the languages of Europe,

and brought him a call from the principal university of one of the

first states of Germany, where he now occupies the chair of

jurisprudence with the most splendid reputation. He is no less

distinguished by the clearness and grasp of his reasoning powers, than

by the eloquence of his style, by which he contrives to diffuse a charm

and a life into the driest topics; and he is equally so for the

liberality of his principles, and the ardent devotion of his mind to

the liberties of mankind. He is beloved by the students who attend his

lectures, for the affability of his manners, and by his cordial

readiness on all occasions to give them his advice in any of their

troubles or perplexities. Having himself fought his way through a

narrow and a rugged path, he knows how to sympathize with others in the

same circumstances. His triumphs over his own impediments have not

inspired him with arrogance; nor the sorrows and disappointments of his

dearest hopes seared his sensibilities, but on the contrary, softened

and mellowed his heart. In public, he wears in his pale and grave

countenance traces, not only of his native tone of mind, but of the

shattering baptism of spirit that he has passed through; but in the

social circle, though often on his first entrance silent and reserved,

the warmth of his imagination and heart are sure to triumph over the

sadness of habitual reflection; and he charms every one with the poetry

and the animated references to the great deeds and great men of his

Fatherland, that show you that he is still at heart the same as when he

listened in breathless attention to the stories of the old officer, or

sung out Ossian on the forest hills.

Of Emily, we have little to say. Hidden, herself, in the retirement of

private life, she would have seen with an inextinguishable regret the

splendid career and wide fame of the man whom she had abandoned, had

she possessed a mind worthy of becoming the companion of such a man and

of such a destiny; but the great error of Stark's life was that of

investing a lovely but not high-minded woman, with the poetry and the

magnanimity of his own spirit. But he himself is a striking example of

the virtues, the talents, and the indefatigable labours by which many a

German Professor fights his way out of narrow circumstances, and

through the shades of native obscurity, into the broad light of fame

and public usefulness. Such instances are not rare, and they----but,

hear I right? it even now strikes twelve!

In confirmation of this was heard on all sides the reports of

fire-arms.

"Prost Neu-Jahr! gentlemen," cried Freisleben. "Prost Neu-Jahr!"

resounded they in reply. Freisleben declared that his story was at an

end; they drank off their glasses _anstossing_ for the first time in

the new year, and hurried into the street.

* * *

CONCLUSION OF NEW YEAR'S EVE--THE TORCH TRAIN--THE EXPLOIT

OF THE RED FISHERMAN.

Following the distant sound of the fire-arms, they soon came to the

troop of students, which was marching round to bring to the Prorector,

and to some of the most popular professors, a "Vivat!" Music went

before, accompanied with torches; and a noisy swarm of students

followed it,--some in cloaks and great coats; some in dressing-gowns,

and with their long pipes in their mouths. You could easily see that

they had all of them suddenly started away out of their kneips, where

they had celebrated the termination of the old year. They now arrived

at the dwelling of a professor. The musicians placed themselves in the

centre of the street, surrounded by the torches; the students closed in

around them in a dense circle, and the music played a tune. A student

then stepped forward, and gave a loud "hoch!" to the Professor. All

joined in it three times, while the music blew a flourish, and the

pistols thundered off all round. As the third "hoch!" ceased, a window

opened above, a dark figure showed itself, and immediately below

"Silentium" was commanded. All were still, and the Professor spoke as

follows:--

"Gentlemen! Ever since I have resided in Heidelberg as teacher, have

you annually paid me this testimony of your respect and esteem; but

were I to live to be as old as Methuselah, and was this scene every

year renewed, it would give me a fresh satisfaction.

"Gentlemen! Let the world judge of our worth as men; let the republic

of the learned, which you are growing up to become a part of, decide on

our services as learned men, on our ability as teachers,--the means of

alone coming to a just conclusion oh those points will still lie

constantly in the hands of the student youth. May they always use them

with wise consideration, and free from all party spirit. So long

as we are able to labour with the vigour of men for the good of the

High-School, will our honest endeavours to fill our posts worthily as

teachers, not be in vain; and we rejoice in this glad consciousness

that we find in the acknowledgments of the student youth, only an echo

of that which our inner self declares. But when the zenith of our

career is past, so comes by degrees the weakness, and with it the

doubtfulness of age; and then does it delight us to find in the

acknowledgments of others, the conviction that, although our hair has

become whitened with the snow of age, yet our labour still preserves

its freshness and its green. And the Ruperto-Carola is also an ancient

and venerable stem, which ages in their flight have already visited

with their storms; but, if these storms have often and fiercely shook

it, they have never been able to uproot it. So long as teachers dwell

under the shadow of this tree, who, anxiously seeking its prosperity,

cherish and nourish the old trunk; so long as scholars make to it their

pilgrimage, who seek knowledge earnestly, so long shall Ruperto-Carola

flourish and bloom."

[Here the Professor went over the past year in review, and stated what

it had brought both of good and evil to the university, and then

continued.]

"May Ruperto-Carola ever possess scholars, of whose approval an honest

man will be proud! May yet many an age on the festive day resound the

cry of--'Vivat Ruperto-Carola!'"

The sons of the Muses here joined in with their thundering "vivats!"

The music made a flourish--the pistols resounded.

"Once more," cried the Professor, in conclusion, "my hearty thanks for

this proof of your love. May your Fatherland receive you in a while

with pride from our arms, where it yet only reluctantly leaves you for

your good. May you live long and happy!"

The professor withdrew from the window; the music played yet another

tune, and the troop then marched onwards. The four friends having

separated themselves from the throng, in order to return home, heard

yet for a long time, the distant uproar of the merry students, and the

sounding of the fire-arms.

We must here further observe, that not only such night-music is

brought; but also on some occasions, in order to do the more honour to

the professors, the so-called solemn night-music, attended by a greater

procession of the students, who carry torches, and have their appointed

marshals and officers, to maintain order in the procession. The

description of a torch-train will yet follow. Before this arrives at

the house of the Professor, two or three deputies proceed thither in a

carriage. These, in full gala costume, wait upon him for whom the

compliment is intended, and make him a short address. The Professor

returns them his thanks, and as he has always become aware of the

intention of the students, he has his bottle of champagne ready, which

he sets before the deputies, and _anstosses_ with them. They retire as

the torch-train approaches the house, and when the customary hochs!

have been given: first, by the students to the honour of the Professor;

and then by the Professor in his speech to the prosperity of the

university, the officers who have stepped forward for the purpose

clash their swords wildly together. Before retiring they generally

sing--"Stosst an! Heidelberg live thou!" and the torch-train marches

away.

In some places, as in Munich, it is the custom that the Prorector when

the New-Year's-night "Hoch!" is brought him, invites the students in,

and treats them with punch. It may readily be imagined how much of this

liquor is consumed on such an occasion, and into what a predicament a

Professor once fell in Munich, who had prepared his punch, but waited

for the students in vain, who out of dislike omitted to pay him this

visit of honour.

But it was destined that the Englishman and his three friends, to whom

we must now return from this digression, should not on this night yet

retire to rest. They had just arrived in the Karl-platz, as a man

galloped past, crying out with all his might,--"The ice goes! The ice

goes!"

This messenger was from Neckargemuend, sent to announce to the

inhabitants of Heidelberg this event, which the people living on the

banks of the river, and especially the boat-people, always look forward

to with great anxiety, and take their measures of precaution

accordingly. But especially in that winter were people full of

apprehension, as the ice-covering had acquired an extraordinary

thickness; and indeed, in some places, could no longer be called a

covering, since the flood in shallow places was completely frozen to

the bottom. After a fierce and early-occurring season of severity, the

actual warmth of spring suddenly broke out, and the soft south wind

melted the snow so rapidly on the hills that the waters ran in streams

down their sides. But all was in readiness; and as soon as the four

students reached the bridge, they saw, wherever the houses on the banks

of the Neckar did not completely occupy its strand to the edge, groups

of men, who had provided themselves with cressets with rolls of pitched

torches, called pitch garlands, and awaited the spectacle with eager

looks. The bridge itself was covered with men, and scarcely a place at

the balustrade was to be fought out. From this place an interesting

scene presented itself. So far as you could see the banks of the

Neckar, the torches flamed, and threw their flickering lights on the

surface of ice, on the crowding spectators, and on the neighbouring

landscape.

In the city itself, most of the houses were lit up for the festival,

while above them, in the country, the mountains and the old castle

shrouded themselves in the deepest gloom. Most of those who had

assembled on the bridge, were men in their ordinary dress, who had, on

the announcement of the ice-break, hastened hither from the punch-bowl.

But others had been roused from their beds, and exhibited themselves in

costumes singular enough, over which they had hastily thrown their

cloaks; out of which their nightcaps peeped above.

The explosion, as of distant thunder, was now heard, and the floods of

water that rushed up through the disrupted ice were seen pouring over

the surface. The ice in the neighbourhood of the bridge cracked and

groaned aloud; deep fissures opened, and ran with lightning speed far

and wide. But as the mass of waters still rushed nearer and nearer, and

the ice continued to resist its pressure, the floods rose, and forcing

into the streets, made the people assembled on the banks flee back

precipitately. On the other side of the bridge, all hands in the mean

time were busy removing the piles of fire-timber which were ranged

there, and in conveying them to a safe distance. The huge fragments of

the already up-torn ice were sent with fury over the ice-surface that

yet resisted; in some places, piling itself up into actual bulwarks,

and in others was heaved into the streets. Thus it happened, that a

little boy who, forgotten of the rest in their flight, had escaped to

the top of a pile of wood, above the bridge, was, by one of the masses

of ice which was forced forward by the water and driven directly under

the pile, carried aloft, together with the pile. Ere any one could

spring to his assistance, the moment was come when the opposing ice

could no longer maintain its resistance to the accumulating flood. It

burst with loud explosions, and raising itself furiously with the other

fragments rushed forward towards the bridge. Through the long contest,

the water had acquired the most terrible agitation, and when the

victory came at once, it formed itself into a headlong stream, which

carried the mass of ice on which the boy was, rapidly towards the

middle of the flood. The boy, surrounded by the raging element,

shrieked in the most fearful manner for help. His cries of misery were

scarcely to be heard, but they were not necessary to fill every

spectator with terror and commiseration. But who shall help him! Many

an able swimmer was there, but none would undertake so desperate an

enterprise. Some cried out to throw a rope from the bridge, that the

boy might lay hold of, but this was impracticable, for in the moment in

which the ice-masses struck the piers of the bridge, they were

scattered into fragments, and the stone bridge itself trembled with the

shock of their dashing against it. Already the ice-mass, on which the

boy sate in despair, approached the piers. Every spectator watched the

horrible catastrophe with breathless expectation; when the masses of

ice which now passed in countless numbers, blocked up first one and

then another arch of the bridge. There was a momentary pause in the

progress of the ice. At the crisis of this terrific spectacle, a band

of lively music approached the bridge. It was the wild troop of

students, who, having completed their round, and finished all their

Vivats! and Lebe Hochs! were marching past with their torches, and

amongst them was seen the Red Fisherman, who holding in one hand a

torch, and in the other a pipe, was striding on with open breast, and

in his shirt-sleeves.

"Ackermann! Ackermann!" shouted the multitude, "he must help! He alone

can do it!"

The approaching train rushed upon the bridge; the torch-bearers flew to

the balustrades to cast a light upon the scene--the music ceased in an

instant The Red Fisherman, on whom all eyes were turned, cast but one

glance towards the child; threw his torch on the ice below, and ran

down from the bridge to the banks of the Neckar. It was high time, for

the ice-masses again began to put themselves in motion. Boldly the

fisherman sprung from one block of ice to another; already was he near

the boy, when the ice broke beneath him; yet he fought desperately

against the rushing water. He reached the boy, and endeavoured to raise

himself upon the ice-mass;--at the same moment it went to pieces, and

both the fisherman and the boy disappeared for some seconds. The people

gave them up as lost for ever, when a voice was heard from the other

side of the bridge, crying "A rope! a rope!" It was the fisherman

himself, who stood on the basement at the foot of the pier with the boy

in his arms! He stood up to the middle in water, but he held fast by a

projection of the pier. A rope with a large piece of wood tied to it

was speedily let down by some of the fishermen, and Ackermann with the

boy was hauled up with the help of the students. As soon as his head

appeared on a level with the parapet, he handed over the boy to the

people, and then himself leaped over the iron balustrade. With a loud

"Vivat!" he was here received; and the musicians blew the finest

flourish that they had executed on this remarkable New-Year's night.

The troop of students accompanied the Red Fisherman with loud

acclamations, who quickly put himself in dry clothes; not regarding

some slight wounds which he had received from the ice-masses. The

students took him into their midst, and "Free-night! free-night!"

resounded on all sides.

This cry of triumph means that they will revel the whole night through;

and this takes place either at the room of some student, or at a kneip.

In the last case, the permission of the police is necessary. These

free-nights are only held on extraordinary occasions, or, as in many

cases, when without any particular cause the sons of the Muses find

themselves in a thoroughly joyous humour.

These were especially frequent formerly amongst the so-called Lumpia.

This means a union of students, who bind themselves for a certain time

to give themselves up to the Lump; that is to doing nothing, and to the

wildest pleasures,--to drinking, playing at hazard, and so on. To the

honour of the students these wild engagements are rare, and are in the

strictest manner prohibited by the laws.

The Red Fisherman warmed his stiffened limbs at the kneip with punch,

and a collection was made on the spot, whose proceeds were handed to

him as his reward. The four friends in the mean time had taken the

child, and brought it into a neighbouring inn, where it was undressed

and put to bed, until the mother, who did not till some time afterwards

learn the whole of the circumstances, could be fetched.

After the many events of the night, the wearied party hastened home, to

dream over again what they had witnessed, variously metamorphosed by

fancy, and one image mixed up and exchanged with another.

CHAPTER XXI.

THE MARCHING FORTH.

We Burschen freshly forth to the number of seventeen hundred; thou at

our head, and butchers and tailors and shopkeepers behind us, and

innkeeper and barber, and all the trade guilds of the city, swearing

to storm the place, if a hair of the Burschens' heads is but

crumpled.--_Schiller's Robber_.

Before we permit the Student to depart from the happy Burschendom into

Philisterium, we will see in what manner he generally takes his

farewell of the university.

For this, there are three ways: either the quiet way, in which we shall

presently see Mr. Traveller depart; or the still quieter one in the

stillness of the night, in order to avoid the hands of his creditors;

or, finally, the compulsory one, which the Bursche must generally take

who has made too much noise in the world.

We have already made ourselves acquainted with different excesses on

which lie the penalties of banishment, and we will here speak of the

greatest of all these excesses, at least of that, in respect to its

application to members, the very greatest--the Marching Forth. As the

duel is resorted to, to enforce justice from one student towards

another; so it is the Marching Forth, in which the students not merely

leave the bounds of order, but the university-city itself, which is

regarded as the means of avenging the injured body upon the whole city,

for an encroachment upon its rights. That the reader may obtain a clear

notion of the Marching Forth, we will describe the one which took place

amongst the students of Heidelberg, in the year 1828.

The Museum in Heidelberg, a building dedicated to social entertainment

and pleasures, was built in 1827, and completed in the following year.

The rules for the management of the institution, which, after careful

consideration and proof, were adopted, did not in some particulars

please a part of the students; others, however, found nothing to object

to, and about seventy students immediately enrolled themselves as

members. Instead now of leaving every one to his liberty, a part of the

discontented came to the conclusion, that the museum must, so far as

the university was concerned, be put altogether under the bann. As it

was now found that they laboured zealously to this end, the teachers

took the proper measures to prevent such a circumstance. A member of

the senate, in whom the better portion of the students had always the

strongest moral reliance, endeavoured by every means to make such of

the students as stood high in the respect of their fellows, clearly to

comprehend, that such a bann had the severest enactment of academical

law against it; that it might render the Baden students unfortunate for

life, if they allowed themselves to become partisans; that it might

lead to the most angry contentions, if those who had already become

members of the Museum, would not suffer themselves to be compelled to

such an act of evacuation; and the Senate could not remain unconcerned

spectators, by any means, of such disorder, not just then especially,

as on the near approaching name-day of the Grand Duke, the Museum was

to be solemnly and ceremoniously opened.

But the intelligence quickly spread, that the Burschenschaft, which by

degrees and secretly had again sprung up, had pronounced the bann with

great formality and haste, and that they were labouring with all their

might to compel all other persons into the undertaking, and even to

draw the natives into the matter along with them. Active measures were

therefore unavoidable on the part of the Senate. It accordingly

decreed, on the 13th of August, that immediately with the break of the

following day, the members of the Burschenschaft should be brought to

trial on account of the promulgation of the bann, and that they should

be arrested in such a way, that there might be no concerted plan laid,

upon what they should state in their defence, and in such a way also

that no student should be absent from home.

On the 14th of August, the beadles received at a quarter to four in the

morning, the order to pronounce house-arrest to some, and to remove

others to the university prison, preparatory to their being called up

for hearing. The trial began immediately, and would have been completed

the same day, had the laws found obedience. But immediately on the

sitting of the court, there arose in every street, the cry of "Bursch,

come forth!" This is a call which every student must unconditionally

obey, on pain of proscription. It is therefore, as a compulsion in

opposition to the laws, and as the most convenient method of speedily

raising a tumult, punished with the sharper expulsion.

So ran the ringleaders through the city with a loud "Bursch, come

forth!" drew the students together from all quarters, and rushed with

them, with great uproar, into the front of the university, where the

Senate had speedily assembled, and stood in presence of the tumultuous

throng at an open window. Instead of applying to the Prorector, as they

should have done, had they ground of complaint, they even treated with

contempt two summonses from the Senate to send deputies to explain

their claims or demands, and immediately in the face of the Senate

proceeded, with loud outcries, to make a desperate onset on the door of

the adjoining academical buildings, with sticks and kicks, so that the

upper beadle, to prevent further mischief, was obliged to liberate the

incarcerated students. This being accomplished, they commenced their

march forth towards Schwetzengen.

The whole city was in uproar. The shops were closed out of fear of the

wild faction. Every where chaises rattled through the streets; the

boot-foxes ran here and there; the inhabitants looked full of trouble

out of their windows; when a student, with his sword in his hand,

galloped through the streets with the fearful cry--"Bursch, come

forth!" Most of the students went along with the train, only because

the Comment, or Students' Code of Laws, demanded it, without well

knowing for what purpose. The wild throng rushed into the houses of the

dilatory, in order to rouse them out of bed. Hastily, every one packed

up what was most necessary and threw it into the carriage, or buckled

it upon a horse; and when no longer carriage or horse was procurable,

the boot-foxes must become baggage-bearers.

In order to rouse all into a necessary degree of resentment, and to

keep it up, the ringleaders circulated false stories. They spread it

every where that the authorities had dragged the students out of their

beds in the night; that they had thrust them into a hole where none

could stand upright, and where there was not a single seat to rest

upon; while the fact was, that they who were said to have suffered so

much maltreatment in the night, were conducted to the academical

buildings in clear daylight. Yet, in the excitement of the moment,

these false reports found credit, and with the "Bursch, come forth!"

which raged like a running fire through the streets, they availed in a

very short time, to bring the whole student host together.

They who were on horseback placed themselves at the head of the

procession; rode hither and thither, in order to quicken the motions of

the dilatory, and to maintain the whole train in order. A long line of

carriages followed them, of every description that could be got

together in the haste of the occasion. Part were chaises, in which the

students rode; part were wagons, on which were hastily loaded their

packages. All the students had armed themselves in haste, as well as

they might, with swords, rapiers, and pistols. They who found no place

in the carriages, or on horseback, went on foot, and a great swarm of

boot-foxes followed who were loaded with all kinds of house-gear, as

pipes, dressing-gowns, coats, and so on. A vast crowd of people,

consisting of school-youths who had to thank the students to-day for a

holiday, and of all kinds of people who, in a university city, draw

support from the students, added themselves to the train, and increased

the uproar and alarm, with curses and insults, that the students should

be suffered to go away. The inhabitants of the city looked down in

wonder and curiosity from their windows roused from their sleep by the

noise, and gazed on the motley throng who, with shouts and singing of

Burschen-songs, swept by.

At length the rear of the train disappeared through the city gate, and

a strange silence reigned in the deserted town. The doors opened, and

the Philistines stepped out into the streets together, to talk over the

fatal story. In the mean time a professor might be seen, with serious

countenance and hasty steps, hurrying through the streets, and people

looked doubtfully after him, or one or another of the citizens detained

him to snatch a couple of words as to what was to be done in this

necessity of the Fatherland. Here and there also might be seen a

solitary student who had not been able to join the train in time, now

hastening towards one or other of the city gates; since every one is

compelled, on pain of entire proscription, to quit the city in case of

a Marching-Forth, even if he does not join the train.

When the train arrived in Schwetzengen, the discontented saw that the

territory of Baden was not safe for them, and that by passing the

frontier they would enjoy more freedom. Suddenly there followed them

from many quarters the report "The dragoons come, to fall upon us!" and

all ran with wild haste to Ketsch, a village on the Rhine, where they

caused themselves to be ferried over into Rheinish Bavaria. This false

report of this falling of the troopers upon them had thus arisen.

Immediately on the occurrence of the excess here related, the Senate

held it necessary for the protection of the city, hastily to request a

hundred dragoons to be sent for from Mannheim. These hundred dragoons

marched out of Mannheim, about nine miles below Ketsch, only at

half-past two o'clock in the afternoon, after the students had, in

fact, crossed the Rhine at Ketsch; and they never directed their march

at all against the students, but rode direct to Heidelberg. As it was

then there well ascertained that the Marchers-Forth had taken up their

quarters for the present in Frankenthal, where part of them were lodged

in the town, and part of them had encamped in the neighbourhood under

tents, and that many of them had become involved in the transaction

through erroneous information, a member of the Senate was requested by

the Curatorium to proceed to Frankenthal, and to endeavour to bring the

young men to reason. This took place on the sixteenth of August, but

without success. On the contrary, the emissary of the Senate was sent

back with a remonstrance, very numerously signed, which concluded with

a menacing clause, and demanded that the Senate should guarantee the

whole body of students against all penalties, on account of this

transaction, and should cause Heidelberg, without delay, to be

evacuated by the troops. It was also added, by word of mouth, that the

bann pronounced on the Museum, could not be retracted.

A similar endeavour, made through the university Amtmann, on the

eighteenth of August, received as little attention, although the

Museum, in many points, had yielded to their demands, and thereupon was

immediately relieved from the proscription. The resentment against the

Senate continued unabated; and therefore, on the evening of the

eighteenth, in all haste, the academy was declared to be under the

bann; this, however, was not done through the voting of individuals,

but effected by the dreaded ringleaders pronouncing the bann, demanding

then the others to accede to it, though many were opposed to it; and

thus the resolution was passed in a painful silence, since individuals

saw dangers on all sides of them if they refused. Yet in that night,

and in the course of the next day, numbers quitted Frankenthal, and

returned towards Heidelberg. Here, when they came to understand exactly

the real circumstances of the case, there was regret and general

discontent. A great number of the most noble young men loudly declared

the bann to be dishonourable, to be null and void, because brought

about by deception; to be contrary to all custom and precedent, and

thereupon came some of the most artful proceedings to be talked of: for

example, that in the remonstrance sent to the Senate, there were forged

names of students who were absent at the time, and that the menacing

clause had been surreptitiously introduced. In fact, the natives of

Baden had had no part in the declaration of the bann.

On the twentieth of August the classes again were opened, while the

trials were still proceeding. The ringleaders were punished with

expulsion; others were banished for a certain term; and a greater

number imprisoned for a longer or shorter period. The attention of the

court was turned by these events afresh on the still continuance of the

Burschenschaft, and it was pursued with yet greater severity of

proscription than before. But the Studentschaft had so far achieved its

original object, that its demands on the Museum were for the most part

conceded.

Such Marchings-Forth are of rare occurrence, yet this is not the only

one that has taken place in Heidelberg. Many years before this,

occurred a something similar one, on account of contentions with the

military, which then lay in Heidelberg.

A student, as he went past the watch-house, forgot to take the pipe

from his mouth. He came into contention thereupon with the soldier on

guard, who called an officer, by whom the student was very much

insulted. This gave occasion to a Marching-Forth, which, however,

proceeded no further than to Neuenheim, about a mile from the city,

whence the students at once returned, all their demands being complied

with; which, were, that a full amnesty should be guaranteed for all

that was past, and that the soldiers should be removed. Moreover, the

military were obliged to post themselves on the bridge, the officer at

their head, and so present arms while the students marched past again

into the city in triumph, and with music playing before them.

Where soldiers and students are brought together in one city,

collisions are inevitable; at least in the smaller cities, where both

cannot be sufficiently mixed and lost in the great mass of the people.

Many contentions have heretofore arisen out of such collocation; and

thus occurred also the Marching-Forth from Giessen in the year 1819.

The military having in the most unallowable manner acted towards the

students, and one of the students coming to a quarrel with an officer,

was extremely insulted by him. There appeared in consequence of this a

ministerial rescript, in which it was ordered that the military in

future should only be called out against the students by a requisition

from the Senate, and that all acts of illegality already alleged

against the military on the part of the students should be strictly

investigated, and every just satisfaction made to them. There

immediately appeared a judgment on the part of the military college, by

which the officer who had insulted the student was condemned to

fourteen days' close arrest, which was immediately to take place; and

was, moreover, required, in the presence of the rector of the

university and of the colonel of the officer, to beg pardon of the

student. The aforesaid ministerial rescription was now made known to

the students by four deputies of the Senate, who waited on them in the

place of their retreat; whereupon they immediately resolved to return

to Giessen, and to restore every thing to its old course and order.

To give yet another example of a Marching-Forth, we may take the

disturbance in Goettingen in the year 1818. Contentions arose between

the then students and the members of some of the trade guilds; amongst

others, with that of the butchers' guild. The house of a butcher who

had especially insulted the students was very much damaged, and the

windows of another house beaten in. A commission was despatched by the

government to Goettingen to inquire into and quell the disturbance. The

means, however, which were adopted in order to bring the incensed

student youth again within the bounds of order, were not the most

fitting; and the calling in of the military only made the matter worse.

The students refused to succumb to a strange power. They boldly

attacked the hussars; these drew their swords, and in the skirmish many

students were dangerously wounded. About eight hundred of the students

now marched out to Witzenhausen. They sent by the hands of four

deputies, a memorial to the Senate, who delivered it and returned. In

this document they complained, that one of their fellow-students had

been maltreated by a butcher, and that the butcher had not been visited

with the punishment due to his offence; that the sending of a royal

commission altered the condition of their rights; that the authority of

the same had been so far illegal that the reigning prince had not yet

confirmed it; and finally, that the people had been attacked by the

military in time of peace, whereby many had been wounded.

The ministry, thereupon, issued a rescript, which commanded the whole

body of students to return, and if they refused obedience, threatened

them with the loss of every claim to future employment by the state, as

well as of all stipends that they might enjoy.

After an absence of more than eight days, the greater part of the

students, who had scattered themselves through the country, returned,

exerting, however, on their side a right of retaliation, by declaring

the university to be for two and a half years under the bann to all

foreigners. The foreigners immediately took their departure, and only

about six hundred students were left in Goettingen,--about half of the

number who had studied in it before those disturbances took place.

In Witzenhausen the people had fleeced the students of nearly all their

cash. All necessaries of life, during their abode there, were raised to

a monstrous price, and the burgers of that place charged them

individually for a week's lodging as much as a louis-d'or. Therefore

now, to quit Goettingen, they were obliged to dispose of every thing

that they could possibly spare.

Many natives also, spite of the menaces of the ministers, quitted the

cities; and Goettingen, in fact, presented a melancholy aspect. The

departure of the foreigners was injurious to the city, in two respects;

many workmen depended on them for subsistence, and besides this, they

left many debts behind them. It was natural, in these circumstances,

that many workmen too should quit the place, since their means of

livelihood had failed, and thus the emptiness of Goettingen became still

more apparent.

The sentence of the ministry upon these disturbances condemned one

student to entire expulsion; many to the Consilium abeundi, or

confinement in the university prison; and the master butcher also was

punished with eight days' imprisonment, with bread and water. There was

a further commission appointed for the trial of the originators of the

bann, and these also were punished.

Thus peace and order were again restored; and in order to maintain

these, precautionary measures were adopted; namely, every one studying

in Goettingen, and every fresh comer, must sign a declaration, that he

would take no part in the carrying into effect the bann pronounced

against the university; and that he would never, either by word or

deed, allow it to be supposed that he acknowledged that bann as

actually existing. Spite of all these regulations, it was a very long

time before Goettingen was able to regain its former state of

prosperity.

These Marchings-Forth may serve to show how jealously the students

defend their privileges, not only against individuals, but even against

the state. The student avenges himself upon any one by whom he is

unjustly attacked. A ludicrous story connected with these practices

occurs to our recollection, which happened very shortly after the

tragic act of Sand.

An actor, who played heroic characters in the theatre at Darmstadt, was

at the supper-table in the inn there, and gave a loose very freely and

sourly to his remarks upon students and universities. A student from

Heidelberg, who was present, and had in his possession a letter to

deliver to this very actor, determined to punish him a little for his

observations, and therefore on this evening did not present him the

letter. In the morning he went to the dwelling of the actor, caused his

room to be shown to him, and finding him alone, inquired with a dark

countenance--"Are you the Herr Court-actor F----r?" "Yes."--"Are you

really the Herr Court-actor F----r?"--he reiterated sternly.

"Yes!"--"Now!" cried the student, with a loud voice, and thrusting his

hand into his bosom. The poor hero, who imagined he had got a dagger

there, darted at full speed away. The student laughing called him back.

"Stop!" said he, "stop! it is only a letter!"

In recent times, when people are not so pliant towards the students,

the Marchings-Forth have more and more disappeared. In the year 1838,

the students conceived that their rights were infringed by the

gendarmerie. They assembled at the Hirschgasse; one of them stated the

case to the rest, and invited them to subscribe a memorial on the

subject to the Senate, requesting the removal of those gendarmes. As

the doors were in the meantime all guarded by the Chore people, so all

complied with the invitation. When all had signed, they returned to the

city in one body, two and two abreast; sang "Free is the Bursch," and

presented their memorial to the Prorector. They derived, however,

little satisfaction from this proceeding; and as the document contained

expressions dishonourable to the Senate, some of the ringleaders were

punished.

But the cry "Bursch, come forth!" has not always been employed for the

purpose of effecting a Marching-Forth in opposition to the laws. It has

on many an occasion served to assemble speedily the Burschen for the

noblest objects. It was thus in Heidelberg, when at one time the

bitterness against the Jews had spread itself through Germany. Suddenly

a great throng of Handwerksburschen in this city also, and others of

that class who have nothing to lose and always a chance to win

something in every revolution, had got together, and scoured the

streets, crying "Hep! Hep!" They hastened to the houses of the Jews, to

plunder them and mishandle their inmates. The city soldiers were called

upon to disperse the rioters, but in a cowardly manner refused to do

their duty. People were in a great perplexity how to protect the

unfortunate Jews. Some students met the then Prorector, who was on his

way to the Senate, and engaged to him speedily to restore quiet if he

would only allow them to cry, "Bursch, come forth!" The Prorector took

the responsibility upon himself, and scarcely was the shout of "Bursch,

come forth!" raised, when from all sides came running the students,

armed with their swords. One of those who came first, placed himself at

the door of one of the richest Jews in the city, against whom the mass

of the mob were most desperate, and drawing his sword, called to the

pressing throngs, full of zeal for the good cause--"Only over my corpse

lies your way into this house!" The assailants fell back with terror;

other students speedily came to his aid, and chased away the rabble.

One of the professors took a sword from the hand of a student, and led

on the sons of the Muses. They surrounded the houses which the rioters

had already forced their way into, holding their drawn swords before

the windows so as to prevent all escape, while others, rushing into the

house, seized the plunderers, and gave them into the hands of the

police. Peace was in a very short time restored. The Jews made a public

acknowledgment of their thanks to the academicians, and the Senate

cited before them such of the students as had most distinguished

themselves, in order to thank them themselves, and through them to

thank all the others who had given such timely and successful aid.

In other circumstances of danger too, the students have often

distinguished themselves. This has been especially the case in fires,

where, placing themselves in long rows from the scene of burning to the

river, they have made the water-buckets pass from hand to hand with

astonishing celerity, and all the time have relieved their work with

singing.

Once also they executed, in Heidelberg, justice in the promptest

manner. It was when, at the instigation of Prussia, Baden lost again

the freedom of the press, which the Grand Duke Leopold had conferred on

it at his entrance on the government. Over this circumstance a great

bitterness was felt in Heidelberg. Just at this crisis the Prussian

students at that university celebrated the birthday of their king, as

they are accustomed to do every year. This took place in a Commers in

Neckarsteinach, and as they are often accustomed, they returned to the

city in the evening in an illuminated barge, down the Neckar, with

fireworks. A report had spread itself, that the people, who beheld the

spectacle from the Neckar bridge, would insult the Prussians, when they

passed under the bridge. The police were concerting preventive

measures, when the other students requested to be allowed to maintain

the peace. It was granted to them; and in the evening, they awaited

quietly in their kneips the intelligence of the approach of the festive

barge. They then spread themselves amongst the crowd upon the bridge.

As the boat now drew near, and the customary "Vivat, the king of

Prussia!" was heard resounding from it, the mob on the bridge began to

bawl out a "Pereat!" and one Handwerksbursch was bold enough to fling

down a stone. In a moment such a storm of cuffs and boxes on the ears

was rained down from all quarters on the disturbers, that they were

compelled to fly from the hands of those who were an overmatch for

them; thus the bridge was speedily evacuated by the whole tribe, and

the barge came to its anchorage without further molestation.

Another cause which often compels the students to quit the university,

and indeed in all stillness, is debt. That the young men at the

High-School may readily fall into debt, is easy to conceive. Most of

them were till this time at schools where they were quite dependent on

their parents, and have now, for the first time, considerable sums in

their hands; and beyond this, the way into debt is made so particularly

easy to the student. The landlords, the shopkeepers, and all others,

who derive an advantage from the students, freely give credit, or

_pump_, as the students term it. They do it the more willingly, since

it is a good opportunity to make the account a little larger (since the

English and students, as the student says, generally chop above the

ear, that is, suffer themselves to be overcharged); and moreover, the

students look on it as a certain prerogative, of which many are

compelled to avail themselves, who, especially in their first year,

need more than their remittances. A master tailor who was much in mode

amongst the students, once attempted to put an end to this silently

acknowledged privilege, but it cost him dear. This man sent round a

list amongst his colleagues, by which every one who signed his name

bound himself to give no more credit to any student. But this list had

not circulated far, when the students became aware of the fact. They

assembled themselves that evening at their kneip, armed with their

swards, proceeded thence to the house of the tailor, dashed all the

windows in, broke open the doors, and rushed into the workshops and

store-rooms of the tailor; where they cut to pieces, and bored through

all his pieces of cloth and ready-made clothes, so that they were

totally ruined. The actors, indeed, were punished, and required to pay

all the damages, but the tailor had for ever lost the business of the

students, and his fellow-tradesmen took warning from the transaction.

The academical laws have endeavoured to put a check on this facility of

debt-making, by determining that all demands for credited wines and

spirituous liquors, excepting the regular choppin of wine or beer set

before his guests by the landlord or master of an ordinary,--all

demands of the masters of coffee and billiard-rooms, as such,--all play

debts, demands for carriage, sledge, or horse-hire for more than one

journey, which may be made on students, shall not be recoverable in a

court of law; and it is also enacted to what extent credit for all

necessaries of life, for books, and such things, may be given, so as

yet to leave a legal right of recovery. In order to make themselves

secure against a student, whom they are afraid may attempt to quit

without discharging his debt, the creditor is accustomed to take the

usual and effectual way, that is, to go and lay an arrest on his

departure-testimonial, which will then not be handed to the student by

the university office, till he has paid his debts; by which means it

becomes very difficult to quit the place without a fair settlement with

his creditors. One way, however, remains for him. In the university

cities are people who lend money to the students at a high rate of

interest. These the student pumps, as he calls it,--and, as claims for

money lent to students are untenable before the court, these people

generally get the loss when a student runs off, as well as all those

other creditors who have not protested against the delivery of his

testimonial. This burning through, or running through the rags, as

starting without paying is called, was formerly much more frequent than

at present. If it now sometimes happens, yet the cases are very rare in

which they do not afterwards pay as soon as they are in circumstances

to do it. When these escapes were made, it was generally at midnight;

or in this manner,--the youth's companions accompanied him in a

Comitat, or one of their regular departure-processions, but another

student was set in the first carriage, in the place of honour, as

though it were he who was leaving. When they had, however, quitted the

city, the real departer took the place of honour, and the pretended one

then quietly returned to the city. On such occasions was song the song,

of course not till the immediate danger was past--

Forth from here, the Manichaeans watch us.

The Manichaeans are the creditors, so called after the old much

reprobated sect of the Manichaeans, who in the third century held the

doctrines of the Persian heretic Manes.

Upon a wearied steed, a Jena student flew,

In stumbling career, the fields and meadows through;

And full of dread, with which the Philistines imbued him,

Still wildly looked behind, lest creditors pursued him.

_The Renommist_.

Mr. Traveller had now, in Heidelberg, studied for half a year the

customs and general life of the students. Gladly would he yet longer

have sojourned amongst his new friends; but he could only remain on the

continent till autumn, and wished to make use of this time, in

acquainting himself with some others of the most celebrated of the

universities of Germany. After long delay, a day was finally fixed

during the Easter vacation. His way lay through Leipsic and Berlin, and

it was agreed to set out in a hired carriage as far as Weinheim, there,

till the arrival of the post-wagon, to celebrate the last farewell.

Towards five o'clock, on the appointed morning, Freisleben and Hoffmann

went to call their friend Von Kronen, and were astonished to find the

long-sleeper already up and prepared. "I'll tell you how it happened,"

said he; "I had given my boot-fox orders to rouse me out of bed at four

o'clock, be it as it would. This morning, while it was yet quite dark,

he rushed into my room with his lantern, and startled me out of the

sweetest dreams, with the cry of 'Fire! fire!' 'Where then, where?' I

demanded. 'Get up,' said he, 'in a moment, and come with me.' I sprung

out of bed, threw on my clothes, again demanding, 'Tell me though,

where is the fire?' He then quietly answered, 'Here, you see it, in my

lantern!'"

The friends laughed at the ingenuity of the boot-fox, and hastened to

Mr. Traveller. They found him already dressed, and busy with his

boot-fox, in packing the dress-suit in which he had yesterday paid his

farewell visits to the professors. The room looked desolate and

inhospitable; and on the walls on every side peeped forth the nails, on

which had been suspended pipes, pictures, and other house-gear. On the

floor, packing paper lay every where in heaps; here and there lay a

pair of old shoes, some old boxes, and the like; upon one chair a

trunk, and on another a hat-case. In one corner of the room lay a heap

of books which were to be sent direct to England. The writing-desk was

open, and there lay the purse, the watch, and all that belongs to the

pocket, whilst a stick, and the umbrella in its case leaned against it.

Astonished at these changes, Freisleben's spaniel ran about the room,

smelling at every thing in the most particular manner. The carriage now

rattled up; the stout driver made his appearance, and announced that

all was ready. Hastily the maid brought in the coffee, and hastily was

it drunk. The driver and the boot-fox carried down the luggage; Mr.

Traveller put on his travelling coat, the friends lit their pipes, and

all hastened to the carriage. The maid was below and wished a happy

journey; the boot-fox, to whom some remaining pipes and the little

coffee-machine was given, said--"I thank you many times; and, fare you

well;" and as the carriage set off, the old House-Philistine thrust his

head with his white nightcap out of the window above, and with sleepy

voice cried--"a happy journey!" But the maid remained standing at the

door, and looked after the carriage till it turned the next corner.

Mr. Traveller carried with him from Heidelberg only happy

recollections, and rarely can we say this of a place; therefore, as the

carriage swept round the turn of the road at Neuenheim, he bade a last

and regretful farewell to the little city which, stretched along the

bank of the Neckar.

Having arrived in Weinheim, the friends first took a walk up the lovely

Birkenau Thal. They had just returned thence, and seated themselves in

the inn to a breakfast _a la fourchette_, when a whole troop of youths

arrived on foot. They were clad in blue-and-white frockcoats and

blouses, with belt round the waist, wore for the most part straw hats;

carried each a stout knapsack on his back; in their hands held short

cudgels; and had a basket-flask suspended by a riband that passed over

the breast. They were Wurtzburg students, who had penetrated by

Wertheim into the Odenwald, and had traversed that ancient and forest

land in every direction. Von Kronen and Freisleben found amongst them

some old acquaintances. They gave them a hearty welcome; and the

new-comers, who were full of life and good humour, related many of

their travel adventures,--how they came to a village where it was the

Kirchweih, or wake; and how the young bauers came to hard cudgels with

them, because they had enticed from them the loveliest maidens on the

dancing ground; of the Wild Hunter, the Felsenmeere, or Sea of Rocks,

and of the solitary Jaeger-house, where they had been obliged to pass

the night on straw, as there were no beds to be found for so many

guests. They felicitated themselves on all the pleasure that they

promised themselves in Heidelberg. The whole company was very merry;

they did not spare the excellent Hupberger, and totally forgot that on

the heels of this welcome must come a speedy parting. But suddenly the

landlord stepped in, and announced that the Eilwagen had arrived. The

whole company broke up hastily, and accompanied Mr. Traveller to it. It

was high time when they arrived at it, and the Englishman had scarcely

leisure to take a hurried leave of his friends. He promised to send

them notice of the other universities that he should visit, gave them

another hearty shake of the hand--the postilion had blown his bugle,

and the wagon rolled on its way. "Tell the English," cried Freisleben

to him, as he still looked out of the window, "that the German students

are not so bad as they have been described to them." "Honi soit qui mal

y pense," replied Mr. Traveller. While this passed, the other students

had raised the

SONG OF THE DEPARTING BURSCH.

A Mossy Borsch now forth I wend,

O God! Philister's house defend.[47]

Yes, native home, I come to thee;

Myself must now Philistine be.

Farewell, ye crooked streets and straight,

Through you no more I walk elate:

With songs no more make you astir,

With noisy joy and clink to spur.

Ye Kneips, why would ye me delay,

My sojourn here has passed away.

Oh! beckon not with your long arm,

Make not my thirsty heart thus warm.

God bless the College! How she there

Stands in her stately grandeur fair!

Ye twilight halls, both great and small,

Ye win me back no more at all.

And thou too, from thy gabled height,

O Carcer! see'st in vain my flight,

For wretched lodging, night and day,

A Pereat, greet thee thus for aye!

But bloom thou--and, as thus I go,

Old Battle-house, still "Live thou, hoch!"

Yet many a victor-garland be,

Thou house of honour, won in thee!

Then come I--ah! to Liebchen's door,--

Look out, dear girl, look out once more!

Look out with thy sweet eyes so clear,

And with thy dark and clustering hair.

And shouldst thou e'en have me forgot,

A like reward I wish thee not.

Go, thou mayst seek a lover new,

But be he gay, like me, and true.

But farther, farther, now awaits

My course, stand wide ye ancient gates!

Light is my heart, and glad my track;

My blessing, city, waft I back!

Ye Brothers! now, around me press,

Let my heart feel not its distress.

On gallant steeds with gladsome song,

Go ye with me the way along.

In the next Dorf will we alight,

In our last wine our friendship plight.

Now, here ye Brothers,--wo's the case!--

Our last glass take!--our last embrace!

_Gustav. Schwab_.

CHAPTER XXII.

THE STUDENT'S FUNERAL, ETC.

And of our brethren, is there one departed--

By pale Death summoned in his bloom?

We weep, and wish him peace, all saddest hearted;

Peace to our brother's silent tomb.

We weep, and wish that peace may dwell

In our dear brother's silent cell.

"What becomes then of the student at the last?" the reader will

ask--"of him whom we have to this point followed in silent observation

through all his ways, and along his whole course?"

If, as has often been the case, we were to consider the Student-life as

a disease, we should say with the Pathologist:--"Every disease can, by

possibility, have, only one of three terminations: the first, in

health; the second, in some other disease; and the last, in death." But

we are far from looking upon it in this light. Yet we can, regarding

the Student-life in its great outlines as a state of health, assign it

the same issues, with the exception that we hold the Philisterium, to

use the student's own language, to be the natural sequence of the

natural university life.

It is truly a sorrowful reflection, that of the numbers who seek the

university at the same time, it is only the smaller portion of them who

reach that goal after which they strive, or should strive. Not that we

mean to say that death snatches away so many from the midst of them.

No; the mortality in general, and especially in Heidelberg, amongst the

student youth, is very small indeed. But what we now have in our eye

will be more clearly shown, if we explain ourselves on the nature of

the object to be attained by the student. Has he, indeed, attained that

object, when he has piled up in his head laboriously and without order,

a store of things worthy to be known in his peculiar profession? No,

that is not it; although people who are destitute of an enlightened

grasp of mind, are accustomed to see great perfection in the education

of a young man who, returning from a learned institution, is found to

have gathered up all facts like a schoolboy with amazing diligence, so

that when any one says A to him, he can immediately say B and C. We

believe, for our part, the fruit of inquiry to be this: that the young

man learns to perceive that the individual study to which he especially

devotes himself, is only one branch of the great tree of knowledge;

that no science, sundered entirely from the rest, can proceed

prosperously to its own completion; that a science pursued alone and in

an isolated manner, cannot be properly called a science; but that all

the sciences stretch forth their sisterly hands to each other, and form

themselves into a beautiful circle, out of which they will not suffer

themselves to be torn by an unskilful person.

He will perceive, that a well-grounded study of professional science

even, can only base itself on a philosophical foundation; and that he

who, on the contrary, falls into one-sidedness, must become merely a

clever plodder, or a charlatan. He will perceive that the arts and

sciences are as intimately connected, as the capacity for the true, the

good, and the beautiful is united in the spirit of man with the

understanding. But is there one who has acquired no single perception

of all this; has he only crammed into his head the dusty chaff of

learning; has he, in the acquisition of this false learning, lost the

taste for all that is good and beautiful!--it had been better that he

had never entered on this field, which for him has had no result but

that of drying up his brain with the heat of a confused and unfruitful

knowledge.

Truly, there are yet other results of student-life than such as these:

namely, those of a spurious erudition; results which for the quondam

student, are yet more sorrowful, and which fill the heart of the

spectator with pity and abhorrence. We mean the consequences which

habits of drinking, and of other wild practices--such as the miserable

passion for play, draw after them. It is true that we see many wretched

creatures glide trembling about, who have laid the first foundations of

their aberrations at their university. But we see equally many, or more

such miserables, who never visited such an institution: and if we find

many sorrowful histories in the university city, of the students who

had taken their own lives because they had plunged themselves into

inextricable debt; if we hear many a one at the end of his academical

career lament bitterly over his lost and misspent time; we may be

seized with a horror of such places as strong, as when we read what

Jean Paul has depicted in such fearful colours of a similar

unfortunate:--"And he brought out of the whole rich life nothing but

errors, sins and diseases; a wasted body and a weary soul; a breast

full of poison and an age full of remorse. His beautiful youthful days

now changed themselves into spectres, and dragged him back to that

sweet morning where his father had first placed him, at the point of

the diverging paths of life, the right hand of which leads into the

sun-path of virtue, into a wide quiet land, full of light and of

harvest-fields, and of angels; and that of the left conducts down

through the mole-burrowings of crime, into a black cavern full of

down-dropping poison, of darting snakes, and of a damp and sultry

vapour. Ah! the snakes hang on his bosom, and the poison drops on his

tongue, and--he knew where he was. Wild, and with inexpressible horror

and anguish, he cried to heaven--'Give me my youth again! O Father!

place me again on the diverging path that I may choose differently!'"

I say, we, and more especially the foreigner, hearing and seeing such

things, should regard those places with horror. But let the latter

think, how many young people here are collected together; and that

amongst them must of a certainty be many very thoughtless, and no few

of them decidedly bad characters. Let him recollect that these numbers,

who have just escaped from the strict bondage of the schools, now

suddenly stand free, torn loose from all family bonds, to act without

restraint, and at their own pleasure. Let him reflect that they are in

a place where opportunities for every species of extravagance are so

freely offered; where, if their purses are exhausted, so many are at

hand ready to lend. Let him again reflect, that the student is exposed

to all those temptations at an age at which the passions rage often

with a fearful strength; at an age which causes him to stagger between

its extremes. Let him, and let us, weigh all this, and then we cannot

wonder, if many a one in this contest goes down; if many a one fails to

accomplish the aim of his ideal activity; and we shall even rejoice

that so many honourably pass through the ordeal, and choose the right.

Goethe's Wahrheit und Dichtung presents us with a passage which is

particularly applicable to this subject.

"All men of good disposition feel, in the progress of their education,

that they have a double part to play in the world--an actual and an

ideal one,--and in this feeling is to be sought the ground of every

thing that is noble. What of the actual is allotted to us, we find only

too clear; what concerns the ideal, we can seldom come into a distinct

conception of. The man may seek his higher destiny on the earth or in

heaven, in the present or in the future; but on that account he remains

exposed to a constant wavering from within, and to a constantly

disturbing influence from without, till he once for all takes the

resolution to declare that is the right which is conformable to his

individual condition and character."

But before we take our leave of those who, as we have said, have chosen

the right, and now leave the university to enter upon a new life, let

us cast one sorrowful retrospective glance at him, whom death so early

has snatched away from his brethren. And here it rejoices us to behold

how the student seeks to honour and preserve the memory of the for-ever

departed.

When youth, in its strength, in its beauty and freshness, is snatched

away, and is borne to the grave, who does not feel sorrow at heart,

even if he were a stranger to the departed? But in such sorrowful

moments we feel a peculiar pleasure in mounting higher and higher into

a sentiment of grief, till the exhausted spirit dissolves itself in an

infinitude of wo. In the decoration of the funeral procession with

every symbol of sorrow, we behold the desire of friends to do the

greatest possible honour to the deceased in the eyes of the world, and

to bring even this to participate in the mournful interest. If then

this be the intention of the last honours, no one has perhaps more

completely accomplished the object than the student, when he

accompanies his departed friend to his last resting-place by night, and

with the light of torches.

In the streets a curious multitude has gathered together to behold the

solemn train, and moves hither and thither. The tolling of the funeral

bell, announcing the setting forward of the train, has brought us also

to the window, and in silence we look forth into the yet dark streets.

Busy fancy carries us quickly far away to the parents of the deceased,

who now, in unspeakable grief, bewail perhaps the only son, him whom

they hoped soon again, after the years of separation, to have folded in

their arms; who, so thought they, should now cheer and enliven their

old age. Then conducts it us to his solitary death-bed, where in vain

he called on the names of those whom he loved--of those who watched his

childhood; where sorrowfully he thought of their pain; where, finally,

he thanked the friends who, though they had been but for a short period

united to him in friendship, had, through their sympathy and faithful

affectionate care, softened and made consolatory his last hours.

An uncertain and ruddy light now plays upon the houses and the waving

folk's-mass, and the night brings to us the long-drawn tones of the

trumpets, which, wailing with sorrow, make every chord of our inner

life vibrate. Now they call back to us the dear ones that we have

already borne to the grave, and the uncertain light of the torches

causes their forms to sweep before our excited imaginations in a

spirit-train. Now these thrilling notes seem to lament the

transitoriness of all earthly things, and to complain of the dreadful

ordinations of heaven.

The scene becomes continually clearer and brighter; the individual

torches and their bearers appear distinctly, and behold! the mass of

people separates before our eyes. To right and left they shrink back,

as if the multitude feared that advancing train would yet snatch

another out of this moving throng, out of the gladsome drift of life

into the chill of the grave.

A numerous band of music comes at the head of the procession, lighted

by torch-bearers. Then follows the funeral car, covered with black

cloth and drawn by black horses. Upon the car lies the Chore-band, the

Chore-caps of the deceased, and two crossed swords, all covered with

mourning crape, and surrounded with mourning wreaths. We remark also

particularly one smaller garland; it is formed of white roses, and is,

so we are told, from the sorrowing hand of some unknown fair one.

This car, this coffin, incloses the mortal remains of the student whom

so lately we saw traversing these streets in the freshness of youth,

whose strong arm has lifted one of these swords in defence of his

honour. This city, the witness of his fresh and lively existence, will

soon have forgotten him.

Through life's course unto his goal

With the tempest's speed roan driveth;

Then within the true friend's soul

Yet a little while surviveth.

_Uhland_.

Immediately before the car, go two of the beadles carrying fasces

wreathed with crape. On each side and behind the car, walk the

companions of the Chore, all in simple black mourning, and with hats.

Immediately behind the Chore also we see two clergymen in black costume

walking. This whole group is surrounded by the torch-bearers. Then come

all the other students who were acquainted with the deceased, and who

have added themselves to the train. Before them goes the leader of the

procession, with two attendants or marshals. The peculiar mourning

costume--the buckskins and great jack-boots--the large storm or

two-cocked hat, bordered with black and white crape, with sweeping

feathers--the great leathern gauntlets--the sword trailing in its

sheath--the broad Chore-riband, veiled in crape; all these particulars

point him out. His two attendants are similarly attired, but without

the storm-hat. The students then follow two and two, in divisions

according to their Chores, and others add themselves. In two long lines

they advance slowly on each side of the street, and from time to time

we observe an officer marching between these lines, distinguished by

his cerevis cap and riband, while he carries in his hand his sword, its

colours also veiled in crape, and its sheath hanging from his left

side. These maintain the order of the procession. Formerly it was

customary for them to be more ceremoniously attended, similarly to the

leader of the train. In the same costume as the leader of the train,

however, comes its closer, also accompanied by his two attendants; and

these personages are chosen by the Chores from amongst their tallest

members, as a matter of state.

Thus the procession moves on slowly through the streets, and we see a

seriousness expressed on the countenances of most of the attendants,

which the peculiar paleness that the torchlight is wont to give,

greatly heightens. While the murmur of the thoughtless multitude

announces to us the termination of the train, let us hasten, by a

shorter cut than they, to the Friedhof, the churchyard where the

students are interred. Here the train assembles itself around the open

grave. The clergyman steps into the midst of the silent throng, and

having pronounced his address, closes it with his last benediction.

Then steps forward one of the friends of the deceased, to clothe in

words once more before the assembled crowd, his painful feelings. Yet

once more calls he to their remembrance the true friendship of the

departed, his manly worth, and his genuine German mind. Yet once more

he dwells on all that they have lost in him. A few stanzas are sung,

from the beautiful hymn "From High Olympus," which he had so often

joined them in. And now the coffin must descend; and all press forward

to discharge to him their last duty, by throwing each a handful of

earth upon him. Lastly, the lowered swords are crossed over his grave,

and their clash is the signal for the return of the train.

We perceive in many of these funeral ceremonies a similarity to those

with which the deceased soldier is interred; and this is still more

strikingly shown in the manner in which they return to one of the

larger squares, there to burn the torches--a manner which we can by no

means approve.

No longer solemnly and silently tread back the throng; but instead of

mourning airs, we hear the march, nay, even the merry waltz and the

gallopade. Arrived in one of the larger squares, the train march round

it, and turning towards the centre, at a given signal, let their

torches fly up into the air, and fall on a heap in the midst. They

whirl up, describing many a fiery circle and convolution ere they reach

the flaming pile; and now, while this one animated and huge torch

lights up all around with a strong radiance, and the dark and giant

clouds of smoke, which rolling up, mixed with the many-coloured flames,

spread themselves to the heavens, the voices of the assembled students

join in chorus the music-accompanied song of

Gaudeamus igitur,

Juvenes dum sumus.

And we see how speedily youth can step from one feeling to another. We

see also the thought--"Though an individual falls, the great whole yet

continues; it was for that, that he laboured, and his exertions have

not been in vain;" we see this thought expressed in--

It shall live! the Academical Freedom!

which bursts forth from a thousand voices, amid the clashing together

of the swords.

Finally, the torch-pile having nearly consumed itself in its splendid

light, is extinguished--an image of the high-aspiring youth who has

been borne to the grave; and--

As nothing had occurred now all is silent;

The bells have pealed out, the songs are ended.

_Uhland_.

We have deferred the description of a torch-train, which is, on solemn

or festive occasions, conducted in honour of a professor, etc., to this

chapter; and it is only necessary here to remark, that on these

occasions, the mourning attributes and contingencies of course being

absent, the general arrangement and proceeding is the same.

Only such students who have distinguished themselves in a Chore, and

are on that account well known to the whole student body, are buried

with the honour of a torch-train. Others are interred in the day, and

the attendants follow either on foot or in mourning coaches. The

permission for a torch-train must always be obtained from the

Academical Senate.

The students in like manner join themselves to the funeral train

of a teacher of the university, with the rest of the members of the

High-school, as well as other mourners. If it be that of a professor

little known or little esteemed, only those of his own faculty attend;

but if it be the funeral of a man distinguished for his eminent talents

as a teacher, for the excellence of his character, and for his services

to the university, they scarcely omit one of their number.

CHAPTER XXIII.

THE COMITAT.

But we have hitherto only turned our attention to the images of death;

let us now accompany the more happy youth who sails out of the joyful

Burschen world into Philisterium, on his progress. During the student

period, the academician generally far separated from his connexions,

sometimes pays them a visit in the vacation.

And when again he visits us!--O God! my wish is won!

I see him with his black mustache the real Muses' son!

"The Ferien[48] now ended--I must away--adieu!

And now until I've finished, I come no more to you."

If the student always so lived as during the whole last year or

half-year of his university-life, we might have been spared the labour

of writing the tenth and other chapters of our volume. There he sits

now, in his solitary little room. Instead of frolicksome brothers, the

old folios surround him; he has even forgot the Commersing, and instead

of that he sips his cup of coffee, in order again to revive the

exhausted spirit of his life. His duelling wrath is directed against

the flies that disturb him in his studies, and his pipe is the only

friend that cheers his spirit in his solitude.

Students who have lived jovially, are accustomed to denote that they

have arrived at this melancholy termination of their campaign by

exchanging the cap for the Philistine hat, and their cronies are

reasonable enough then to perceive, that nobody may disturb them in

these their arduous exertions, as, indeed, the Burschen-life cannot

last for ever. After these glorious exertions, the son of the Muses

plunges boldly into the doctoral examination. This is partly made in

writing, partly orally, and is conducted under the superintendence of

the Dean, who also selects the questions, to which the youth under

examination, isolated in a room of the Dean's house, gives his answers.

The examination is seldom closed under a week; after which he receives,

as its result, from the examining professors of the faculty, one of the

usual degrees of the university, unless his acquirements have been so

indifferent, that his evil-star, as the students say, has caused him to

fall through.

The usual degrees are these four--"Summa cum laude;" "Praeclara cum

laude;" "Insigni cum laude;" "Magno cum laude;" (feliciter evasit, as

the student jocosely says.) In most states the doctoral examination

precedes the state examination, and the examinee acquires the right to

be admitted to the latter when he has passed his doctoral examination,

and has written a dissertation. In other states, as in Baden, the

reverse is the fact.

Is the new doctor then dubbed?--he has sworn his oath on the fasces,

and he hastens to announce this new distinction to his delighted

connexions, and to apprise them of his speedy return home.

See! Father, see! a letter! his student days are done,

A Doctor they've created, with high applause, thy son.

By the next post, so writes he, to-morrow e'en to dine!

He comes--"Then, mother, fetch thou thy last flask of good wine."

_Chamisso_.

When now the quondam Bursch returns home, in order then to prepare

himself to pass the State's examination, the portal of Philisterium,

his university companions accompany him in procession out of the city.

This accompaniment they call the Comitat.

What rings and sings in the street out there!

Open the windows, ye maids so fair.

'Tis the Bursche, away he wendeth--

The Comitat him attendeth.

_Uhland_.

Such a comitat was, in former times, more stately and striking than at

present. Before rode in Kollar and Kanonen, that is, in buckskins and

jack-boots, the assembled Chore-brothers, wearing the Chore-caps and

bands, in their right hands their drawn swords. Then followed in a

carriage with four or six horses, the senior in the fullest gala dress,

and wearing the storm-hat, and holding two crossed swords. Then

followed in a carriage drawn by the same number of horses, the

Departing Bursch. He sate on the left side in the old Burschen dress,

with the old cap on, while on his right hand sate two Foxes, dressed in

the highest gala uniform, who were attending on him with the greatest

assiduity, performing every possible service for him, especially in

lighting his pipe for him. On each side of the carriage was generally

wont a student also to ride. The rest of the students who joined the

procession, now followed in two-horse carriages, and the Pawk-doctor

did not fail to appear in the train. The train-closer came last, in the

style in which we have before described him, either on horseback with

his drawn sword, or in a carriage holding the crossed swords. So moved

on the picturesque procession to the next place, where they once more

assembled themselves to enjoy the Burschen-life. Finally, the Mossy

Bursch must say a last farewell to the university city; finally, must

he tear himself from the arms of his companions, and hasten towards his

home. He carries with him out of the city of the Muses many a

delightful remembrance, and brings to his parents and relations, to

whose arms he returns, as the testimony of his scientific acquirements,

the diploma of Doctor.

THE OLD BURSCH.

Think'st thou thereon how in the Burschen season,

So light and free, life unto thee did show?

Think'st thou thereon--how, and with fullest reason,

Lovely it seemed to feel young friendship's glow?

Rememb'rest then, what glad throngs thou didst see soon

As Brothers greet thee--true in joy and wo?

When near us lies nor foul deceit could won?--

Speak, Ancient House! oh! think'st thou yet thereon?

Rememberest thou, the good old time and tide then,

In German coat, long hair, and open breast;

Heft under arm,[49] the rapier by the side then,

With zeal and courage we in college pressed,

And fought our way all through the deep-and-wide fen,

Of the most learned lecturer's wild-goose quest.

Then by conceit nor rank imposed upon?--

Speak, Ancient House,--oh! think'st thou yet thereon?

Thinkest thou yet how the Philistines feared,

Yet still gave credit when the Bursche came;

To the Prorector when with plaints they fared,

The Landsmannschaft did straight the Bann proclaim?

Thinkest thou yet how boldly then we dared

With lovely maids, who still, so mild, so tame--

How in Commers to heaven we have gone--

Speak, Ancient House! oh! think'st thou yet thereon?

Rememberest thou each tragi-comic action--

How we did fight, since I had thee touchirt?

But when the bleeding wound gave satisfaction,

How heartier than ever we smollirt?

And how we then, both true unto our paction,

In Carcer two long moons each other cheered?

In Carcer even clinked glasses,--cared for none?

Speak, Ancient House! oh! think'st thou yet thereon!

I think thereon! oh! ne'er shall I forget it!

The good, the dear, the ancient Burschentide!

Oh! that 'tis gone! that heaven each brief term set it!

East, west, the brothers scattered on each side!

And villany! since then I oft have met it!

Yes, life disgusts me--all so cold and wide!

Courage, Old House! sing "Gaudeamus" on!

Canst "thou" it yet? Ah! God! I think thereon!

CHAPTER XXIV.

SUMMARY OF THE ACTUAL MERITS AND DEMERITS OF STUDENT LIFE.

Prove all things; and hold fast that which is good.

The life and habits of the student are closed with the last chapter. We

have accompanied him from the time when he advanced from the school

into the free atmosphere of the university, till that in which, turning

his back on the joyful Burschen-world, he sailed forth into the

Philisterium. The English reader has attended us on a progress through

a strange country, which lay so near him, and yet was so enigmatical to

him; and we hope that his trouble has not proved irksome to him. It is

true that the Student-life has its rough and eccentric side; and this,

as falling most prominently under the eye, has not escaped the

foreigner. On the other hand, many have endeavoured, in their writings,

to represent these in the most exaggerated manner. But the Student-life

has also a beautiful and a poetical side, and this many do not think

worthy of their time and attention, while others have no sentiment for

it, and therefore no perception of it. When, moreover, in English

periodicals are exhibited such caricatures and calumnious portraitures

as genuine delineations of what would be, truly, very singular

proceedings and persons; if the reader has carried away with him these

as true, because they have been written in Germany and with an air of

authority, we need not wonder that he turns from these monstrous and

bizarre pictures with shuddering and contempt, and if he laugh at the

folly and reprobate the immorality of the German youth. But after we

have sketched the true features of German Student-life, we leave it to

the reader to make his reflections upon it, and to extract the grains

of wheat from the chaff.

There remain for us, however, still several questions which the more

particularly demand answers, because hereupon the most singular notions

prevail. What gains the student by this academical life? What does he

carry with him out of it? and what does he leave behind in it? and what

becomes of him next!