Ritter came up to Julius and stood aggressively in his way.

  “Julius,” said he, “you were seen speaking to Lolotte this morning on your way to the lecture?”

  “That may be! probably I was asking her for news of you, Franz!”

  “This is no joking matter. You were seen to kiss her hand. You must understand that I resent it.”

  “And you must understand that she does not resent it.”

  “You jest in order to exasperate me.”

  “I joke so as to pacify you.”

  “The only thing that can pacify me, is a walk with you, my dear fellow, to the Kaiserstuhl hill.”

  “A little blood-letting in the hot weather is, indeed, rather refreshing. I shall practise it on you, if you like, my boy.”

  “In an hour?”

  “In an hour.”

  They separated. Julius came back to Samuel.

  “On my side the affair is settled,” said he.

  “Good! I am going to settle mine,” said Samuel.

  CHAPTER XIV.

  THE WINE DUEL.

  SAMUEL had taken Trichter aside, and had already assured himself of the manner in which his favourite fox had executed his orders.

  “This is what took place,” said Trichter. “When I came into the tavern agreed upon, Fresswanst was at breakfast. I sauntered up to his table without pretending anything, in a hap-hazard way, as if I were simply going by. But, as I passed, I raised the cover of his tankard, and seeing only frothy beer, I said in a tone of real commiseration: ‘Weak drinker! ‘These two words of gentle pity made him spring from his seat, in a rage. Yet, he tried to control himself, and said coldly: ‘That deserves a sword thrust.’ I remained perfectly cool, and said in the same melancholy tone: ‘You see I was right; I humble the drinker, ‘tis the swordsman that replies. Moreever,’ I added, ‘I am equally ready at the point or at the pint.’”

  “Good, my brave fox!” said Samuel. “After that?”

  “After that, he began to understand: ‘If it is an encounter with glasses that you want,’ he then said, ‘I am pleased to hear it, my throat was getting rusty. I am going to ask my senior, Otto Dormagen, to act as my second.’ — ’My senior, Samuel Gelb, is coming and will be mine,’ was my reply. — ’What weapons? “Wine and Liqueurs.’ — ’Braggart! ‘said he, in a tone which he tried to make contemptuous, but which conveyed surprise and respect. And, at this very moment, the blue room is being prepared with all things necessary to this memorable combat. Dormager and Fresswanst are there awaiting us.”

  “We must not keep them waiting,’ said Samuel.

  Accompanied by Julius, they went into the blue room.

  Even at the present day, wine duels and beer duels are by no means uncommon at German Universities. The liquid duel has its rules and its “code “like any other. It is executed with method, according to a system of progression, which it is not permissible to infringe.

  Each drinker in turn swallows a quantity of liquid, then hurls some insult at his adversary, who, to be avenged, is obliged to drink, and to double the insult.

  In beer duels, the quantity is everything; but in wine duels, there is a tariff of proportion that indicates the strength of the wines and the quantity of alcohol that they contain. In the same way, there is, for the insults, an ascending scale, a climax of insult, an acme of affront, which no one has the right to disregard. Thus the struggle ascends from claret to brandy, from the pint to the jugful, from refined epigram to coarse jest, until one of the two drinkers is incapable, unable to move his tongue to speak, open his mouth to drink. That man is the defeated one.

  Besides, the liquid duel is no less fatal than the other, and for this reason the police try to check it by every possible means; which fact seems likely to perpetuate it.

  When Samuel, Trichter and Julius entered the blue room, everything was in readiness for the encounter. Two formidable rows of bottles, and flagons of all sizes, all colours, all shapes, were massed at the two ends of the table, around which stood a score of “Golden Foxes,” grave and silent.

  Two chairs only, one opposite to the other. Fresswanst was already seated on one, Trichter appropriated the other.

  Otto was beside Fresswanst; Samuel placed himself near Trichter.

  Samuel took from his pocket a florin, and tossed it up in the air.

  “Heads,” said Dormagen.

  The florin fell face downwards. It was Trichter to begin. Muse, tell us of the bumpers and of the glorious fight in which these two noble sons of Germany proved to other nations to what degree of elasticity the human envelope can be distended, and how, contrary to all laws of physics, the container is sometimes less than the contained.

  We pass over the first glasses and the first insults, preliminary skirmishes or reconnoitres, which exhausted but a few epithets, and emptied barely five or six bottles between the two combatants.

  We go on to the moment when the worthy fox, Samuel’s favourite, took up a bottle of Moselle, poured more than half of its contents into a huge Bohemian glass, drank negligently and turned the empty glass upside down on the table.

  Then, looking at Fresswanst, he said:

  “Smug!”

  Generous Fresswanst smiled scornfully. He took two glasses of the same size as the one Trichter had used, filled them to the brim with claret, and with assumed indifference swallowed the contents of both to the last drop, as if his thoughts were far away.

  Having gulped down this enormous bumper, he said:

  “Water-drinker.”

  All eyes were at once turned towards big Ludwig Trichter who showed himself not unworthy of so flattering a curiosity. The wine which immediately follows claret, in the alcoholic scale, is Rhine wine. Trichter had the hardihood to skip over one degree and at once attacked Burgundy. He caught hold of a bulging flagon, emptied the contents into his glass, and having drained it to the last drop, cried in stentorian tones:

  “Friend of Kings!”

  The only acknowledgment which this exclamation and show of bravado received from Trichter’s adversary was a shrug of the shoulders, which in itself was an insult. The illustrious Fresswanst would not be outdone; Trichter had omitted Rhine wine, he left out Malaga, and boldly attacked Madeira.

  Not content with this achievement, and desirous of introducing some further innovation, he caught hold of the glass which until then he had made use of, and smashed it against the table. Then he took the bottle itself and funnelled the contents-into his mouth with marvellous dexterity.

  The spectators saw the wine flow from the bottle into the man, and Fresswanst did not even stop to take breath, never for one moment faltered. A quarter disappeared, then half, then three quarters, and this valiant Fresswanst drank on.

  When he had done drinking, he turned the bottle upside down. Not a drop fell out of it.

  A thrill of admiration passed over the spectators.

  But that was not all. The stroke did not count unless completed by an insult. And we must confess that the gallant Fresswanst seemed almost passed saying anything at all. His whole energy had evidently spent itself in this tremendous effort. The rugged champion was now on a chair, exhausted, dejected, his nostrils unnaturally distended, and his mouth hermetically closed. The Madeira was wrestling. At last it appeared vanquished because Fresswanst the magnificent, half opening his lips, succeeded in muttering the one word:

  “Coward!”

  The applause was loud and long.

  Then, O Trichter, didst thou surpass thyself. Feeling that the decisive moment was approaching, thou didst rise. No longer affecting indifference, which would have been out of place at this stage of the drama, thou didst shake thy thick head of hair, which fanned the crowd like a lion’s mane. Slowly didst thou tuck up the sleeve of thy right arm to give thee freedom of movement (because we refuse to believe that this was for the unworthy purpose of gaining time), and, with a solemn gesture, raising to thy lips a bottle of Port, thou didst engulf it at one draught.

  Then, without allowing himself a second’s breathing time, and as if in a hurry to get it over, Trichter articulated in a clear voice, these two syllables:

  “Swindler!”

  “Good! “Samuel deigned to say.

  But when the famous Trichter attempted to sit down again, his eyes apparently deceived him as to the position of his chair, for he fell down heavily, measuring his length on the floor, a very excusable position, to be sure, after such a drowning.

  Immediately all eyes turned towards Fresswanst. But alas! Fresswanst seemed utterly unfit to parry the unexpected thrust of his opponent. The Unfortunate fox had slipped from his chair and likewise sat on the floor, his back supported against the leg of a table, his legs stretched wide apart, — there he lay, stupefied, his eyes fixed, his arms stiff and inert.

  Dormagen said to him:

  “Courage! Come, it’s your turn.”

  Fresswanst did not stir.

  Nothing remained but to resort to desperate measures.

  CHAPTER XV.

  ONE DROP PREVAILS OVER EIGHT PAILS OF WATER.

  FRESSWANST was clearly deaf to all words, insensible to all blows. Nevertheless, he was still partially conscious.

  Dormagen therefore resorted to the great and final expedient sanctioned by the laws on liquid duelling.

  Kneeling down, so as to be as close as possible to Fresswanst’s ear, he called aloud:

  “Hey, Fresswanst! Fresswanst! do you hear me?”

  He was answered by an almost imperceptible sigh, and Dormagen resumed solemnly:

  “Fresswanst! how many sword-thrusts did the great Gustavus Adolphus receive?”

  Fresswanst, unable to articulate a syllable, nodded his head once.

  Dormagen made a sign to a student, who went out and returned a minute later with a pail filled with water.

  Dormagen poured the water over Fresswanst’s head.

  Fresswanst seemed perfectly unconscious of it.

  Dormagen again spoke loudly in his ear:

  “How many sabre-cuts did the great Gustavus Adolphus receive?”

  Fresswanst nodded his head twice.

  Two students went to fetch two pails of water which were again religiously emptied over his occiput.

  Fresswanst made no sign.

  Dormagen continued his questioning:

  “How many gun-shots did the great Gustavus Adolphus receive?”

  Fresswanst nodded his head five times.

  Five students brought in five pails and continued inundating the lethargic drinker.

  At the fifth ducking, which made the eighth, a contraction of the muscles of Fresswanst’s face, proved that he was coming to.

  Dormagen hurriedly snatched from the table a flagon of gin, which he held to Fresswanst’s lips.

  Fresswanst, thus aided, gulped down the diabolical liquor, and, roused by this fiery liquid after the icy water, he sat bolt upright, and, in a harsh voice and thick speech, mechanically uttered the word:

  “Murderer!”

  Then he fell back, this time, hopelessly.

  But Dormagen’s side triumphed.

  Trichter, lying prone on the floor, insensible, half-dead, was evidently not in a fit condition to continue the joust.

  “We have won,” said Dormagen.

  “Do you think so?” said Samuel.

  He went up to his fox, and shouted to him with might and main: Trichter was deaf to everything. Samuel, enraged, gave him a kick: Trichter gave not the least sign of life. Samuel shook him roughly; it was of no use. Samuel seized from off the table a flagon similar to that which Fresswanst had so valiantly drained; only, instead of gin, this was kirsch; he tilted the flagon and attempted to insert the neck of it in Trichter’s mouth; but the latter instinctively clenched his teeth The spectators were already congratulating Dormagen.

  “Oh, human will! dost claim to resist me!” muttered Samuel between his teeth.

  He rose, went to a sideboard, took from it a knife and a funnel.

  With the blade of the knife he forced open Trichter’s teeth; thrust the end of the funnel into the opening, and quietly poured in the kirsch, which filtered drop by drop down the throat of the helpless fox.

  Trichter offered no resistance, not even opening his eyes. Those around stooped over him anxiously. His lips moved, but in vain. He could not utter a sound.

  “Nothing done so long as he has not spoken!” cried Dormagen.

  “And I must confess that it appears impossible to extract a word from that hogshead,” said Julius, shaking his head.

  Samuel looked at them fixedly, drew from his pocket a tiny phial, and carefully poured one drop of its contents on Trichter’s lips.

  He had not withdrawn his hand before Trichter, as if struck by an electric shock, drew himself up, started to his feet, sneezed, and with flashing eyes and outstretched arm, hurled at Fresswanst, in a clear voice the word that, in students’ vocabulary, is the acme of insult, compared with which coward, swindler, and murderer are sweet madrigals:

  “Fool!”

  There was a universal exclamation of admiration and surprise.

  “That’s cheating!” exclaimed Otto Dormagen, furious.

  “Why?” said Samuel with a frown.

  “It is allowable to throw water in the combatants’ face, to shake them, to make them drink by force; but it is not fair to make use of an occult and unknown beverage.”

  “What do you mean?” retorted Samuel: “a drinking duel necessarily admits everything which can be drunk.”

  “That? fair! that’s fair!” said everyone.

  And what is this drug?” rejoined Dormagen.

  “A simple liquor, which I place at your disposal,” replied Samuel. “I poured, and quite ostensibly, it seems to me, one drop of it into a flagon of kirsch, the quantity that Fresswanst must drink to take up the challenge; add to it two drops, and Fresswanst will speak.”

  “Give it me,” said Dormagen.

  “There is the phial. But a word of warning; this composition is not quite without danger, and if your fox drinks two drops of it, he certainly will never recover from the effects. For the one drop, I shall even now have trouble to save mine.”

  A shudder passed over those assembled.

  “I may add,” resumed Samuel, “that if you resort to this extremity, you will not even then have the last word. Samuel Gelb will not be defeated. I will not hesitate to sacrifice Trichter, and will make him drink three drops.”

  This was said with such cold-blooded heartlessness, that, despite the terror Samuel inspired, a prolonged murmur arose. Julius was bathed from head to foot in cold sweat.

  The general feeling inspired Otto Dormagen with courage, he stepped up to Samuel, and looking him straight in the face, said:

  “Our language is poor, and reduces me to these words all too weak to convey my thought: Samuel Gelb, you are a villain and a scoundrel.”

  Everyone shuddered, and waited anxiously to hear what Samuel would reply to such an insult. A lightning flash illumined the eyes of the students’ King, his hand clenched instinctively, but only for a second; he at once regained control over himself, and replied in a tone of the utmost calmness. But his calmness was more terrifying than his anger:

  “Then we will fight presently. Dietrich, you will be my second. Let seconds and friends arrange in such a manner as for us to find all in readiness at the Kaiser-stuhl. Let the scouts post themselves along the road. The police would spoil everything. The report of a duel between Ritter and von Hermelinfeld must already have reached their ears. And it is necessary that we should not be disturbed. For, by the devil! I swear to you, this will be no laughing encounter. This is the first time I have been insulted, it will be the last. Gentlemen, I promise you all a duel which will make the very stones speak.”

  Once more it was the King of students who addressed them. He spoke with authority, and all present bowed themselves and obeyed his command. He sent out, in uneven numbers and in scattered groups, the students who were in the hall, indicating to them, in a few brief words, the manner of procedure they were to adopt, so as not to arouse suspicion, and the place at which they were to station themselves on the Kaiserstuhl.

  Dormagen himself waited for the commands of this General, before withdrawing.

  At last Samuel turned to Julius: “Go on ahead, I will rejoin you at the Acacias. You have your second?”

  “Yes, Lewald.”

  “Very well, good-bye for the present.” Julius went out, but only from the hall, not, at first, from the hotel. Ought we to confess what he did? He entered a small room, locked himself in, pulled out his pocket book and took from it a faded wild rose, kissed it, then slipped it carefully into the satin sachet which he had purchased from Lolotte, passed the ribbon round his neck, and concealed the dear relic beneath his garments. This manly unmanliness accomplished, he smiled as if satisfied, and only then quitted the tavern, Then, Samuel, when there remained in the blue room but himself and the two drinkers, lying dead-drunk on the floor, stooped down, and placed his hand on Trichter’s forehead. Trichter sighed. Samuel said, “That’s all right!”

  Then he muttered: “That Dormagen! he has forgotten his fox, who was, for all that, colossal. It is a good sign.”

  Samuel called a waiter, and pointing to the two combatants:

  “Put them in the ‘Chamber of the dead,’ “said he.

  The chamber of the dead is a small room stuffed with straw, where drinkers, who have reached a state of total insensibility, are taken to be looked after.

  Samuel then was the last to leave, and bent his steps towards the Kaiserstuhl hill, whistling a viva vallera.

  CHAPTER XVI.

  A DOUBLE DUEL.

  AT the meeting place agreed upon, Samuel rejoined Julius and the two students, who were to act as their seconds, The customary place for encounters between “Studiosi “is behind the Kaiserstuhl Hill, two miles out of Heidelberg.

 

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