University of Virginia Library

8. CHAPTER VIII.
THE KNEIPE.

The weather being fine, the tables were ranged
under the linden-trees in the garden of the inn,
where the club held their meetings.

I do not recollect that there was anything peculiar
in the appearance of the company, to distinguish
them from the mass of Burschen, with whom the
reader has, I suppose, by this time become familiar.
There were some thirty or forty individuals present,
varying in age from eighteen to eight-and-thirty,
and all wearing the club cap and club favour in their
button-hole. Each had moustachios, pipes, and
embroidered tobacco-bags, and each had a great
glass of beer before him with a plated cover. They
sat together in little knots, and conversed on the
everlasting subjects — duels — drinking — dogs —
beer — Rhenish — schlägers, and painted pipes.

“By the way, Rabenmark,” said my old acquaintance,
Dummberg, whom I had just recognised
and greeted, “did you hear of the issue of Salzmaum's
Paukerei, yesterday?”

“Yes, at the first gang, he received a cut across

the cheek, reaching from the end of the eyebrow to
the chin.”

“How many stitches?”

“Nineteen, I believe, but besides that, the tip of
his tongue, which happened unluckily to have been
thrust into his cheek at the moment, was taken off
also — however, that goes for nothing, I believe.

I may as well mention for the benefit of the uninitiated,
that the number of stitches which the doctor
makes in sewing up a wound, is the usual method
of ascertaining its importance.

“Did Spoopsmann go los yesterday, with Hartzberg?”

“Oh yes, and pitch enough he had.” (Pech zu
haben — “to have pitch,” is a student's expression
for all sorts of misfortune.) “At the very second
gang, his nose was taken off in the middle. It fell
on the floor of course, and just as Doctor Jacobus
was about to snatch it up, that infernal poodle of
Finkenstein's, which as ill-luck would have it, had
contrived to remain in the room, pounced upon it
and made for the door. Jacobus followed, and a battle-royal
succeeded. After a good deal of struggling,
the doctor came off victor with half of the fragment
as his “spolia opima.” He hastened to sew it on,
in order to secure to his patient at least three quarters
of his nose, but in the confusion of the moment
and agitated I suppose by his battle with the poodle,
he patched it on upside down. The consequence
is, that poor Spoopsmann, who had a very respectable
aquiline proboscis before, will make his appearance

after his recovery, with the most ridiculous pug
nose in the world.”

“Pitch, indeed!” growled old Dummberg.
“Kellner, you infernal Hundsfott, bring me another
quart of beer!”

I had not been long at the Kneipe, when my old
acquaintance Count Trump Von Toggenburg made
his appearance. He was dressed with the most elaborate
elegance. His scarlet cap with a particularly
resplendent tassel was placed jauntily on one side,
his long sleek hair was combed carefully down each
side of his face, and his moustachios were waxed and
stiffened into an imposing rigidity. He wore a new
Polonaise coat, the breast of which was covered
with an ingenious and elaborate lattice work of
cords and tassels, and he was smoking a meerschaum,
which, as he informed us, he had just
received a present from his cousin, Prince Toggenburg-Hohenstaufer.

He greeted me warmly on entering, and told the
Kellner to bring his beer and tobacco into my neighbourhood.

“I do not consider it any impeachment to my
exalted rank in the social world,” said he to me, in
a confidential tone, “to occasionally indulge myself
in my Vaterland's luxury of beer. I hold it to be
incumbent on every nobleman to encourage all
real national habits and peculiarities. I hope next
winter to induce you to spend a few weeks with
me at Toggenburg. You will find there a profusion
of Vaterland's luxuries, but few extraneous. Wildboar's

ham from Westphalia—plovers' eggs from
Hanover — smoked geese from Pommerania — venison
from Prussia — sausages from Brunswick —
wines from the Rhine and Neckar — beer from Bavaria
— nothing else.”

I expressed myself perfectly satisfied with such
a bill of fare, and the general conversation proceeded.

“I hear that Ulrich, the innkeeper, has procured
several casks of Cassel March beer — is it true,
Dummberg?” asked a fox of the veteran.

“Yes — but not so good as the last; and in fact,
the Cassel beer is not worth the trouble. When I
was a fox, it was held a point of honour with the
seniors of the respectable clubs, when they were on
the eve of a grand commerz, to send a deputation
to Munich, or to Wurtzburg at least, with full plenipotentiary
powers to taste and to purchase an indefinite
quantity of the best beer to be found in all
Bavaria. Yes,” he continued, while a glow of virtuous
enthusiasm lighted up his face; “yes, I have
myself, when con-senior of this very club, been
appointed to head a deputation of forty-five clubs
from Göttingen, Heidelberg, and other universities,
to proceed, at the expense of a fund expressly
provided for the purpose, to Cassel, Wurtzburg and
Munich, and to purchase fifty casks at each city for
each society — fifty casks!” he concluded, hammering
with his fist on the table.

A low murmur of generous and sympathetic admiration
ran round the assembly.

“Alas! — times are sadly altered; the tastes of
our students are degenerating. Never shall I see a
university as I recollect Göttingen twenty years
ago,” concluded Dummberg, with a sigh.

And so the conversation went on, and the beer
went off — quart after quart; and as the fumes
ascended to the head, the conversation became more
boisterous, and the drinking songs and chorusses
went gaily round.

In the course of the evening, a student, who sat
nearly opposite, requested Trump to introduce
him to me.

“You will excuse the liberty,” said he, when the
favour was accorded him, — “but I heard you were
an American, and I wish to ask after some near
acquaintances who have been there for ten years,
and of whom you, doubtless, have heard.”

“Their names?” asked I.

“Zinzindorf.”

“I hardly recollect any one of that name in my
part of the country. In what province do they happen
to reside?”

“I am not sure; but it is either Brazil or Buenos
Ayres,” was the reply.

“Ah, indeed,” said I, “I do not happen to have
met them very lately; but in my next letters, I shall
not fail to make inquiries, and have no doubt I shall
be able, when I receive the answer, to afford you the
most satisfactory information.”

“I shall be exceedingly obliged to you,” gravely

returned my new acquaintance; “allow me to drink
to you half a quart of beer.”

In the meantime the company had become all
more or less tipsy, and Trump among the rest. He
proposed to drink Schmollis, or Brotherhood with
me, and, of course, I was but too happy to avail myself
of so distinguished an honour.

“Few — very few are the persons,” said he, with
great dignity, “whom I am willing to admit to the
intimacy which `Du and Du' expresses. Out of
my own club, I believe there are not six persons in
the university with whom I am on these terms of
familiarity, and of the whole number, you are the
only one to whom I have proposed this mark of
friendship; all the rest have made their advances to
me. But you are a stranger — you are an American,
and I rejoice that my rank allows me, occasionally,
the privilege of extending my hand without
fear of repulse or ingratitude;” and so saying, Count
Trump Von Toggenburg drank what was left in
his glass, and then, grasping me by the hand, kissed
me fervently on either cheek.

“And now, my friend and brother,” he continued,
“let me advise you not to confine yourself exclusively
to the society of the students. Believe me, the society
of the wits and beauties even of this city, is not
wholly unworthy the attention of a stranger; and I
am very sure if you are inclined to make the experiment,
that you will not be the less favourably received
by being introduced under the auspices of Count

Trump Von Toggenburg;” and as he concluded,
he placed his hand emphatically upon his breast.

“I shall be excessively obliged to you,” I replied,
“for so great a favour: are there any conversaziones
or balls at present?”

“The gay season has hardly commenced — but in
the meantime, you cannot do better than to attend
the aesthetic tea-parties of the Frau Von Rumplestern,
which take place every Wednesday evening.
By the way, there will be one to-morrow — shall I
have the pleasure of introducing you?”

“Most willingly,” said I, “I shall hold myself in
readiness.”

“You must know, mon cher amie,” continued
Trump, who always tried to talk French when he
was tipsy, “that I am not always occupied `à faire
le tapageur;' on the contrary, I have many moments
of deep feeling — many hours of pure and
strong sentiment. You are, probably, not aware
that I am in love?”

And so Trump, whom beer had rendered tender
and sentimental, began confidentially to discourse
to me about a love-affair of his, which, in its course
and termination, afforded me some amusement, and
which I shall have occasion in the course of these
pages to lay before the reader.

“You must know, mon brave, that the house of
Trump Von Toggenburg is a little reduced in its
resources; and it is a natural consequence of the
scrupulousness with which its members have followed
the rule in noble families, of breeding in-and-in.

As it is not in our power to increase our fallen fortunes
by trade, I have at length come to the determination
that it will not be derogatory to my rank
to ally myself to some wealthy female, whose family
is not equal to mine, but who will be sufficienly
illustrious by the splendour which will be reflected
upon her by me.”

“Have you any such person in your eye?” I
inquired.

“You shall see. After due deliberation, and
commuing with myself, as well as mature consultation
with the various branches of my family, I at
last decided on a lady, and was already making
preparations for my marriage, when a new and
most unexpected obstacle presented itself.”

“And that was—” said I.

“The lady would not have me!”

“But of course you were not deterred by so
trifling a difficulty. By the way, you have not told
me the name of the lady?”

“It was a certain Miss Potiphar,” he replied,
“the only daughter of the wealthy Jew banker,
Potiphar. The father has the impertinence to oppose
himself to the match, and insists upon his
daughter marrying a damn'd fellow named Maccabæus,
a merchant of his own tribe.—Conceive the
effrontery of the fellow!” continued Trump, indignantly.
“After I had made up my own mind—
after I had resigned myself to the disgrace of contaminating
the pure ichor of the Toggenburgs with

his damn'd Jewish blood,—to think of the sausage-hating
scoundrel's not jumping at the offer! However,
the daughter is in love with me, I believe, and
I shall have her in spite of the father. By the way,
they will be to-morow at Madame de Rumplestern's,
and I shall introduce you to her.”

Soon after this, it had become late, and the company
being nearly dispersed, Lackland and I took
our way homeward. As I approached my door, I
perceived some one seated on the steps. I could not
divine the cause. On ascending the steps, I perceived
Rabenmark, who was slightly drunk.

“What the deuce are you doing here?” said I.
“Why don't you come in?”

“No, I thank you; I have business here,” was
the answer.

“Is it so important that it cannot be delayed?”
I asked.

“Yes; I am catching.”

“Catching!—What is catching?” said I.

“I will show you presently. Wait a little.”

I waited a few minutes, and then we perceived a
tall student advancing leisurely towards us on the
same side of the way. “There's another!—he
will do. You shall see me catch him;” and so
saying, Rabenmark waited till the stranger was
nearly abreast of us, and then suddenly thrusting
out his leg, tripped him over. The student
rolled in the gutter, and then sprang furiously to
his feet.

“Dummer Junge!” he roared.

“Infamous Hundsfott!” replied Rabenmark.

“You shall hear from me to-morrow,” and off
he rushed.

“Good night,” said Rabenmark, and then turning
to me, he continued: “This is what I call catching.
It is a little invention of my own. I have
caught seven this evening—very simple, you see,
and very little trouble. Good night.”

“Sleep well,” said I, and retired to my chamber.