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<h2> CHAPTER IV </h2>
<h3> Student Life </h3>
<h3> [The Laborious Beer King] </h3>
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<p>The summer semester was in full tide; consequently the most frequent
figure in and about Heidelberg was the student. Most of the students were
Germans, of course, but the representatives of foreign lands were very
numerous. They hailed from every corner of the globe—for instruction
is cheap in Heidelberg, and so is living, too. The Anglo-American Club,
composed of British and American students, had twenty-five members, and
there was still much material left to draw from.</p>
<p>Nine-tenths of the Heidelberg students wore no badge or uniform; the other
tenth wore caps of various colors, and belonged to social organizations
called "corps." There were five corps, each with a color of its own; there
were white caps, blue caps, and red, yellow, and green ones. The famous
duel-fighting is confined to the "corps" boys. The "<i>Kneip</i>" seems to be a
specialty of theirs, too. Kneips are held, now and then, to celebrate
great occasions, like the election of a beer king, for instance. The
solemnity is simple; the five corps assemble at night, and at a signal
they all fall loading themselves with beer, out of pint-mugs, as fast as
possible, and each man keeps his own count—usually by laying aside a
lucifer match for each mug he empties.<br/> <br/> <br/> <br/></p>
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<p>The election is soon decided. When the candidates can hold no more, a
count is instituted and the one who has drank the greatest number of pints
is proclaimed king. I was told that the last beer king elected by the
corps—or by his own capabilities—emptied his mug seventy-five
times. No stomach could hold all that quantity at one time, of course—but
there are ways of frequently creating a vacuum, which those who have been
much at sea will understand.</p>
<p>One sees so many students abroad at all hours, that he presently begins to
wonder if they ever have any working-hours. Some of them have, some of
them haven't. Each can choose for himself whether he will work or play;
for German university life is a very free life; it seems to have no
restraints. The student does not live in the college buildings, but hires
his own lodgings, in any locality he prefers, and he takes his meals when
and where he pleases. He goes to bed when it suits him, and does not get
up at all unless he wants to. He is not entered at the university for any
particular length of time; so he is likely to change about. He passes no
examinations upon entering college. He merely pays a trifling fee of five
or ten dollars, receives a card entitling him to the privileges of the
university, and that is the end of it. He is now ready for business—or
play, as he shall prefer. If he elects to work, he finds a large list of
lectures to choose from. He selects the subjects which he will study, and
enters his name for these studies; but he can skip attendance.<br/> <br/>
<br/> <br/></p>
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<p>The result of this system is, that lecture-courses upon specialties of an
unusual nature are often delivered to very slim audiences, while those
upon more practical and every-day matters of education are delivered to
very large ones. I heard of one case where, day after day, the lecturer's
audience consisted of three students—and always the same three. But
one day two of them remained away. The lecturer began as usual—</p>
<p>"Gentlemen,"—then, without a smile, he corrected himself, saying—</p>
<p>"Sir,"—and went on with his discourse.</p>
<p>It is said that the vast majority of the Heidelberg students are hard
workers, and make the most of their opportunities; that they have no
surplus means to spend in dissipation, and no time to spare for
frolicking. One lecture follows right on the heels of another, with very
little time for the student to get out of one hall and into the next; but
the industrious ones manage it by going on a trot. The professors assist
them in the saving of their time by being promptly in their little
boxed-up pulpits when the hours strike, and as promptly out again when the
hour finishes. I entered an empty lecture-room one day just before the
clock struck. The place had simple, unpainted pine desks and benches for
about two hundred persons.<br/> <br/> <br/> <br/></p>
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<p>About a minute before the clock struck, a hundred and fifty students
swarmed in, rushed to their seats, immediately spread open their notebooks
and dipped their pens in ink. When the clock began to strike, a burly
professor entered, was received with a round of applause, moved swiftly
down the center aisle, said "Gentlemen," and began to talk as he climbed
his pulpit steps; and by the time he had arrived in his box and faced his
audience, his lecture was well under way and all the pens were going. He
had no notes, he talked with prodigious rapidity and energy for an hour—then
the students began to remind him in certain well-understood ways that his
time was up; he seized his hat, still talking, proceeded swiftly down his
pulpit steps, got out the last word of his discourse as he struck the
floor; everybody rose respectfully, and he swept rapidly down the aisle
and disappeared. An instant rush for some other lecture-room followed, and
in a minute I was alone with the empty benches once more.<br/> <br/> <br/>
<br/></p>
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<p>Yes, without doubt, idle students are not the rule. Out of eight hundred
in the town, I knew the faces of only about fifty; but these I saw
everywhere, and daily. They walked about the streets and the wooded hills,
they drove in cabs, they boated on the river, they sipped beer and coffee,
afternoons, in the Schloss gardens. A good many of them wore colored caps
of the corps. They were finely and fashionably dressed, their manners were
quite superb, and they led an easy, careless, comfortable life. If a dozen
of them sat together and a lady or a gentleman passed whom one of them
knew and saluted, they all rose to their feet and took off their caps. The
members of a corps always received a fellow-member in this way, too; but
they paid no attention to members of other corps; they did not seem to see
them. This was not a discourtesy; it was only a part of the elaborate and
rigid corps etiquette.</p>
<p>There seems to be no chilly distance existing between the German students
and the professor; but, on the contrary, a companionable intercourse, the
opposite of chilliness and reserve. When the professor enters a beer-hall
in the evening where students are gathered together, these rise up and
take off their caps, and invite the old gentleman to sit with them and
partake. He accepts, and the pleasant talk and the beer flow for an hour
or two, and by and by the professor, properly charged and comfortable,
gives a cordial good night, while the students stand bowing and uncovered;
and then he moves on his happy way homeward with all his vast cargo of
learning afloat in his hold. Nobody finds fault or feels outraged; no harm
has been done.<br/> <br/> <br/> <br/></p>
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<p>It seemed to be a part of corps etiquette to keep a dog or so, too. I mean
a corps dog—the common property of the organization, like the corps
steward or head servant; then there are other dogs, owned by individuals.</p>
<p>On a summer afternoon in the Castle gardens, I have seen six students
march solemnly into the grounds, in single file, each carrying a bright
Chinese parasol and leading a prodigious dog by a string. It was a very
imposing spectacle. Sometimes there would be as many dogs around the
pavilion as students; and of all breeds and of all degrees of beauty and
ugliness. These dogs had a rather dry time of it; for they were tied to
the benches and had no amusement for an hour or two at a time except what
they could get out of pawing at the gnats, or trying to sleep and not
succeeding. However, they got a lump of sugar occasionally—they were
fond of that.<br/> <br/> <br/> <br/></p>
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<p>It seemed right and proper that students should indulge in dogs; but
everybody else had them, too—old men and young ones, old women and
nice young ladies. If there is one spectacle that is unpleasanter than
another, it is that of an elegantly dressed young lady towing a dog by a
string. It is said to be the sign and symbol of blighted love. It seems to
me that some other way of advertising it might be devised, which would be
just as conspicuous and yet not so trying to the proprieties.<br/> <br/>
<br/> <br/></p>
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<p>It would be a mistake to suppose that the easy-going pleasure-seeking
student carries an empty head. Just the contrary. He has spent nine years
in the gymnasium, under a system which allowed him no freedom, but
vigorously compelled him to work like a slave. Consequently, he has left
the gymnasium with an education which is so extensive and complete, that
the most a university can do for it is to perfect some of its profounder
specialties. It is said that when a pupil leaves the gymnasium, he not
only has a comprehensive education, but he <i>knows</i> what he knows—it is
not befogged with uncertainty, it is burnt into him so that it will stay.
For instance, he does not merely read and write Greek, but speaks it; the
same with the Latin. Foreign youth steer clear of the gymnasium; its rules
are too severe. They go to the university to put a mansard roof on their
whole general education; but the German student already has his mansard
roof, so he goes there to add a steeple in the nature of some specialty,
such as a particular branch of law, or diseases of the eye, or special
study of the ancient Gothic tongues. So this German attends only the
lectures which belong to the chosen branch, and drinks his beer and tows
his dog around and has a general good time the rest of the day. He has
been in rigid bondage so long that the large liberty of the university
life is just what he needs and likes and thoroughly appreciates; and as it
cannot last forever, he makes the most of it while it does last, and so
lays up a good rest against the day that must see him put on the chains
once more and enter the slavery of official or professional life.<br/>
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