only be badly wounded, but his life is in danger; and he would sometimes lose it but for the interference of the surgeon.  It is not intended that his life shall be endangered.  Fatal accidents are possible, however.  For instance, the student’s sword may break, and the end of it fly up behind his antagonist’s ear and cut an artery which could not be reached if the sword remained whole.  This has happened, sometimes, and death has resulted on the spot.  Formerly the student’s armpits were not protected—­and at that time the swords were pointed, whereas they are blunt, now; so an artery in the armpit was sometimes cut, and death followed.  Then in the days of sharp-pointed swords, a spectator was an occasional victim—­the end of a broken sword flew five or ten feet and buried itself in his neck or his heart, and death ensued instantly.  The student duels in Germany occasion two or three deaths every year, now, but this arises only from the carelessness of the wounded men; they eat or drink imprudently, or commit excesses in the way of overexertion; inflammation sets in and gets such a headway that it cannot be arrested.  Indeed, there is blood and pain and danger enough about the college duel to entitle it to a considerable degree of respect.

All the customs, all the laws, all the details, pertaining to the student duel are quaint and naive.  The grave, precise, and courtly ceremony with which the thing is conducted, invests it with a sort of antique charm.

This dignity and these knightly graces suggest the tournament, not the prize-fight.  The laws are as curious as they are strict.  For instance, the duelist may step forward from the line he is placed upon, if he chooses, but never back of it.  If he steps back of it, or even leans back, it is considered that he did it to avoid a blow or contrive an advantage; so he is dismissed from his corps in disgrace.  It would seem natural to step from under a descending sword unconsciously, and against one’s will and intent—­yet this unconsciousness is not allowed.  Again:  if under the sudden anguish of a wound the receiver of it makes a grimace, he falls some degrees in the estimation of his fellows; his corps are ashamed of him:  they call him “hare foot,” which is the German equivalent for chicken-hearted.

CHAPTER VII [How Bismark Fought]

In addition to the corps laws, there are some corps usages which have the force of laws.

Perhaps the president of a corps notices that one of the membership who is no longer an exempt—­that is a freshman —­has remained a sophomore some little time without volunteering to fight; some day, the president, instead of calling for volunteers, will appoint this sophomore to measure swords with a student of another corps; he is free to decline—­everybody says so—­there is no compulsion.  This is all true—­but I have not heard of any student who did decline; to decline and still remain in the corps would make him unpleasantly conspicuous, and properly so, since he knew, when he joined, that his main business, as a member, would be to fight.  No, there is no law against declining—­except the law of custom, which is confessedly stronger than written law, everywhere.