Complete Works of F Marion Crawford

by F. Marion Crawford

  ‘So Rex means to fight,’ remarked one of the young men, who sat opposite to Greif. ‘Was he ever in a Korps?’

  ‘Possibly,’ answered the chief.

  ‘“The Pinschgau lads went out to fight,”’ hummed the student rather derisively, but he did not proceed further than the first line of the old song. Some of the others laughed, and all smiled at the allusion to the comic battle.

  ‘Look here, my good Korps brothers,’ said Greif in his dominating tones, ‘I will tell you what it is. Rex means to have it out with Bauer to-morrow morning. If he turns out a coward and backs down the ground before the Rhine fellow, you can make game of him as you please, and you know very well that I shall have nothing more to do with him, and that he will be suspended from all intercourse with the Korps. I have my own ideas about what he will do, though Bauer is a devil at deep-carte and has a long arm. Until the question is settled you have no right to laugh at an honourable man who is to be our guest-at-arms, because he is not a Korps student. He is our guest as much as the chief of the Heidelberg Saxo-Prussians was when he came over last spring to fight the first in charge of the Franks. Every man who wants to fight deserves respect until he has shown that he is afraid to stand by his words. There — that is all I have to say, and you know I am right. Here is a full measure to the health of all good Swabians, and may the yellow and black schlager do good work whether in the hands of guest or fellow. One, two and three! Suabia Hoch!’

  ‘Hoch! Hoch! Hoch!’ roared twenty lusty young voices.

  The speech had produced its effect, as Greif’s speeches usually did, and every student drained his cup to the toast with a good will.

  ‘But after all,’ said the young fellow who had hummed the offensive song, ‘your friend has not handled a schlager since the days of the flood. It is not likely that he can get the better of such a fellow as Bauer — may the incarnate thunder fly into his body! I can feel that splinter in my jaw to this day!’

  ‘My dear boy,’ said Greif, ‘one of two things will happen. Either Rex will give Bauer a dose, and in that case you will feel better; or else Bauer will set a deep-carte into Rex’s jaw, exactly where he hit you, and if that happens you will feel that you are not alone in your misfortunes, which is also a certain satisfaction.’

  ‘You seem remarkably hopeful about Rex,’ observed the student. ‘Here he comes,’ he added as the door opened and Rex appeared attended by the fox.

  Every one rose, as usual when a visitor appears under such circumstances. Rex bowed and smiled serenely. He had often been a guest of the Swabians and knew all present. In a few moments he was seated on the chief’s right hand. Greif rapped on the table.

  ‘Korps brothers,’ he said, ‘our friend Rex visits us in a new capacity. He comes not as usual to share the drinking-horn and the yellow-black song-book. He is with us to-day as a guest-at-arms. Let us drink to his especial welfare.’

  ‘To your especial welfare,’ said each student, holding his cup out towards Rex, and then drinking a short draught.

  ‘I revenge myself immediately,’ answered Rex, rising as he moved his glass in a circle and glanced round the table. The phrases are consecrated by immemorial usage. He drank, bowed and resumed his seat. He knew well enough that the Swabians did not like him over well, but he was determined that, sooner or later, they should change their minds.

  ‘I congratulate you,’ said the same student who had been talking with Greif, ‘upon your quarrel with Bauer. You could not have picked out a man whom I detest more cordially. Observe this slash in my jaw — two bone splinters, an artery and nine stitches. It is a reminiscence, not dear but near.’

  ‘A fine cut,’ answered Rex, gravely examining the scar. ‘A regular renommir schmiss, a gash to boast of. A deep-carte, I suppose?’

  ‘Of course,’ said the other, with the superiority of a man who knows the exact part of the face exposed to each cut. ‘It could not be anything else. He has the most surprising limberness of wrist, and he never hits the bandage by mistake — never! You strike high tierce like lightning and your blade is back in guard — oh yes! but before you are there his deep-carte sits in the middle of your cheek. Whatever you do, it is the same.’

  Every one was listening, and Greif frowned at the speaker, whose intention was evident. He wanted to frighten Rex by an account of his adversary’s prowess. Rex looked grave but did not appear in the least disturbed.

  ‘So?’ he ejaculated. ‘Really! Well, I can put a silver thaler in my cheek and save my teeth, at all events. They are very good.’

  A roar of laughter greeted this response.

  ‘But that is contrary to the code,’ objected the student, laughing with the rest. He was not an ill-humoured man in reality.

  ‘Yes — I was joking,’ said Rex. ‘But I once saw a man fight with an iron nose on his face.’

  ‘How was that?’ was asked by every one.

  ‘He was a brave fellow of the right sort,’ said Rex, ‘but he had a long nose and a short arm. In fact he had formed the habit of parrying with his nose, like a Greek statue — you know, all those they find have had their noses knocked off by Turks. Now the nose is a noble feature, and is of great service to man, when he wants to find out whether he is in Italy or Germany. But as a weapon of defence it leaves much to be desired. The man of whom I am telling you had grown so much used to using it in this way, that whenever he saw anything coming in the shape of a carte he thrust it forward as naturally as a pig does when he sees an acorn. After a couple of semesters the cartes sat on his nose from bridge to tip, one after the other, like the days of the week in a calendar. But when the third semester began, and the cartes began to fall too near together, and sometimes two in the same place, the doctors said that the nose was worn-out, though it had once been good. And the man told the second in charge, and the second told the first, and the first laid the matter before the assembled Korps. Thereupon the whole Seniorum Conventus sat in solemn committee upon this war-worn nose, and decided that its owner need fight no more. But he was not only brave; he possessed the invention of Prometheus, combined with the diabolical sense of humour which so much distinguished the late Mephistopheles. He offered to go on fighting if he might be allowed an iron nose. Goetz of Berliehingen, he said, had won battles with an iron hand, and the case was analogous. The proposition was put to the vote and carried unanimously amidst thunders of applause. The iron nose was made and fitted to the iron eye-pieces, and my friend appeared on the fighting ground looking like a figure of Kladderadatsch disguised as Arminius. He wore out two iron noses while he remained in the Korps, but the destruction of the enemy’s weapons more than counterbalanced this trifling expense. When he left, his armour was attached to a life-sized photograph of his head, which hangs to this day above two crossed rapiers in the Kneipe. That is the history of the man with the iron nose.’

  There had been much half-suppressed laughter while Rex was telling his story, and when he had finished, the students roared with delight. Rex had never before given himself so much trouble to amuse them, and the effect of his narrative was immense.

  ‘He talks as if he knew something about it,’ said one, nudging his neighbour.

  ‘Perhaps he helped to wear out the nose,’ answered the other still laughing.

  ‘A health to you all,’ cried Rex, draining his full measure.

  ‘And may none of you parry carte with the proboscis,’ he added, as he set down the empty cup.

  ‘Ha! That is a good thing!’ laughed the voice of the burly second as he entered the room, his face beaming with delight.

  ‘Out with the foxes, there is business here for a few minutes.’ The foxes, who were not privileged to hear the deliberations of their elders upon such grave matters, rose together and filed out, carrying their pipes and drinking-cups with them. Then the second sat down in his vacant place.

  ‘Well?’ asked Greif. ‘Is it all settled.’

  ‘Yes. The cattle wanted to fight you first. I said the Philistine insisted
— excuse me, no offence. Good. Now — that was all.’

  The second buried his nose in a foaming tankard.

  ‘Is it for to-morrow morning?’ asked Rex calmly.

  ‘Palmengarten, back entrance, four sharp.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ asked Greif. ‘Are we to fight in the Palmengarten, in the restaurant?’

  The second nodded, and lighted his pipe.

  ‘Poetic,’ he observed. ‘Marble floor — fountain playing — palm trees in background.’ ‘Then we must go there at that hour so as not to be seen?’

  ‘The Poodle thinks it is at Schneckenwinkel, and is going out by the early train to lie in wait,’ chuckled the burly student.

  ‘There he will sit all the morning like a sparrow limed on a twig.’

  ‘Have we any other pairs?’ asked Greif absently.

  ‘Three others. Two foxes and Hollenstein. He is gone to bed and I am going to send the foxes after him. We can make a night of it, if you like.’

  ‘I will stay with you,’ said Rex, who seemed jovially inclined.

  Neither Greif nor the second thought it their business to suggest that their combatant had better get some rest before the battle. When two o’clock struck, Rex was teaching them all a new song, which was not in the book, his clear strong voice ringing out steadily and tunefully through the smoky chamber, his smooth complexion neither flushed nor pale from the night’s carousal, his stony eyes as colourless and forbidding, as his smile was genial and unaffected.

  As they rose to go, he caught sight of a huge silver-mounted horn that hung behind his chair.

  ‘I will drink that out to-morrow night, with your permission,’ he said with a light laugh.

  ‘Bravo!’ shouted the excited chorus.

  ‘He is a little drunk,’ whispered the student whom Bauer had wounded, addressing his neighbour.

  ‘Or a boaster, who will back down the floor,’ answered the other shrugging his shoulders.

  ‘I hope you may do it,’ said the first speaker aloud and turning to Rex. ‘If you do, I will empty it after you to your health, and so will every Swabian here.’

  ‘Ay, that will we!’ exclaimed Greif, and the others joined readily in the promise. Seeing how probable it was that by the next evening Rex would be in bed, with a bag of ice on his head, it was not likely that they would be called upon to perform the feat.

  ‘It is a beer-oath then!’ said Rex. ‘Let us go and fight.’

  And they filed out into the narrow street, silently and quietly, in fear of attracting attention to their movements.

  CHAPTER IX

  THE SCENE PRESENTED by the Palmengarten restaurant at four o’clock in the morning was extremely strange. Since Greif and Rex had dined together in the place on the previous evening, the arrangement of the hall had been considerably changed. The palms alone remained in their places around the four sides, and their long spiked leaves and gigantic fans cast fantastic shadows under the brilliant gaslight. The broad marble floor was cleared of furniture and strewn with sawdust, some fifty chairs being arranged at the upper end of the room, around and behind the fountain, whose tiny stream rose high into the air and tinkled as it fell back again into the basin below. A few small tables remained in the corners. The place was lighted by a corona of gas-jets, and was on the whole as bright and roomy a fencing ground as the heart of a Korps student could desire. The proprietor, who entered with enthusiasm into the scheme, moved about, followed by a confidential waiter in his white apron, examining every detail, adjusting the position of the tables and chairs, turning the principal key of the gas-jets a little so as to obtain the best possible flame, and every now and then running to the door which opened to the outer chambers, as he fancied that he heard some one tapping at the street entrance. The whole effect of the preparations suggested something between a concert and the reception of a deputation, and no one would have suspected that a party of young men were about to engage in a serious tournament amidst the fantastic decorations and the shadows of the beautiful plants, beneath the flood of light that bathed everything in warm lustre.

  Presently the expected signal was heard, and the proprietor rushed breathlessly to the outer door. Greif, Rex and their companions entered swiftly and silently, followed by the liveried servant of the Korps who carried an extraordinary collection of bags and bundles, which he dropped upon the floor with a grunt of satisfaction as soon as he was inside. Then he took up his burden again, at the command of the burly second, and carried his traps into the illuminated hall. With the speed of a man accustomed to his work he began to unpack everything, laying out the basket-hilts of the rapiers, adorned with battered colours, side by side, and next to them half a dozen bright blades freshly ground and cleaned, each with its well oiled screw-nut upon the rough end that was to run through the guard, while the small iron wrench was placed in readiness at hand. Then three leathern jerkins were taken from their sacks and examined to see whether every string and buckle was in order, then the arm and neck bandages, the iron eye-pieces, the gauntlets padded in the wrist, the long gloves and stout caps with leathern visors worn by the seconds, the regulation shirts for the combatants, the bottle of spirits for rubbing their tired arms, a couple of sponges, and a dozen trifles of all sorts — in a word, all the paraphernalia of student warfare.

  The next person to appear upon the ground was the surgeon, a young man with a young beard, who had not been many years out of a Korps himself, and who understood by experience the treatment of every scratch and wound that a rapier can inflict. He also carried a bag, though a small one, and began to lay out his instruments in a business-like fashion upon the table reserved for his use. Then there was another summons from the door and the members of the Rhine Korps filed silently in, their dark blue caps contrasting oddly with the brilliant yellow of the Swabians. They saluted gravely and kept together upon the opposite side of the room. Next came the Westphalians, in green caps, and the Saxons with black ones, till nearly a hundred students filled half the available space in the hall. Then the seconds in charge met together in the centre and looked over their lists of duels. There was a moment of total silence in the chamber, until the result was known, for no one could tell exactly which duel would be fought first. Then the four separated again and returned quickly to their comrades.

  ‘We are to let fly first,’ said the Swabian second to his chief. ‘Now, Hollenstein, old man, jump into your drumming skin!’

  ‘You will be next,’ said Greif turning to Rex and speaking in an undertone. ‘You had better dress while Hollenstein is out with the Saxon. The affair will not last long, I fancy.’

  Hollenstein, a thickset fellow with a baby’s complexion, but whose sharp eye showed his temper, went quietly about the operation of dressing, assisted by a couple of foxes, the second in charge and the Korps servant, who was as expert in preparations for duels as an English valet in dressing his master for following the hounds. In ten minutes everything was ready, the seconds on each side drew on their gloves, settled the long visors of their caps well over their eyes, took their blunt rapiers in hand and stepped forward. The witnesses of each party, also gloved, stood on the left of the combatants, it being their duty to watch the blades, and to see whether either fencer backed down the ground. The umpire took out his pocket-book and pencil and stop-watch, and placed himself where he could look across the fighting. The armed fighters stood up face to face at half the length of the room, a novice supporting the right arm of each high in air.

  ‘Paukanten parat? Are the combatants ready?’ inquired the umpire, who was the chief of the Westphalians.

  ‘Parat! Ready!’ was answered from both sides simultaneously.

  ‘Silence!’ cried the umpire. ‘The duel begins. Auf die Mensur! Fertig! Los!’

  Hollenstein and his adversary walked forward, accompanied by their seconds. Each struck a formal tierce cut at the other, and a halt was cried. They scarcely retired and the umpire repeated the words ‘To the fight! Ready! Go!’ and the duel b
egan in earnest. Both were accomplished swordsmen, and the combat promised to be a long one. They exhibited to the admiring spectators every intricacy of schlager fencing, in all its wonderful neatness and quickness of cut and parry. From time to time a halt was called, and each man retired to his original place, his right arm being caught and held in air by the ‘bearing-fox,’ as the novice is called whose business it is to fill the office. The object of this proceeding is to prevent a rush of blood to the arm, which might cause pain and numbness in the member and interfere with the combatant’s quickness.

  ‘A couple of good fencers,’ remarked Rex as he rose from his chair and went to prepare himself for what was before him.

  ‘You will see what will happen,’ answered Greif with a smile of confidence in his comrade.

  The ‘drumming,’ as the students call it, proceeded for some minutes, and nothing was heard in the hall but the sharp whistle and ring of the blades and the sound of shuffling feet upon the sawdust-covered floor. All at once Hollenstein turned his hand completely round upon his wrist in the act of striking what is called a deep-carte, remained a moment in this singular position, which seemed to confuse his adversary, and then as the latter was making up his mind what to do, suddenly finished the movement and returned to his guard in time to parry the inevitable tierce. A thin line of scarlet instantly appeared upon the Saxon’s face, straight across his left cheek.

  ‘Halt!’ cried both seconds at once.

  ‘She sat!’ exclaimed the second of the Swabians, throwing down his blunt sword and making for a goblet of beer that was placed in readiness for him, as though he took no further interest in the proceedings. Hollenstein stood as usual with his arm supported by the novice, while the Saxon was examined by the surgeon.

  ‘Abfuhr!’ said the latter. The word means that the wounded man must be removed.

  ‘Please to declare the Abfuhr!’ said the Swabian second relinquishing his glass and turning sharply to the umpire.