not merely under the excitement of the sword-play that this fortitude was shown; it was shown in the surgeon’s room where an uninspiring quiet reigned, and where there was no audience.  The doctor’s manipulations brought out neither grimaces nor moans.  And in the fights it was observable that these lads hacked and slashed with the same tremendous spirit, after they were covered with streaming wounds, which they had shown in the beginning.

The world in general looks upon the college duels as very farcical affairs:  true, but considering that the college duel is fought by boys; that the swords are real swords; and that the head and face are exposed, it seems to me that it is a farce which had quite a grave side to it.  People laugh at it mainly because they think the student is so covered up with armor that he cannot be hurt.  But it is not so; his eyes are ears are protected, but the rest of his face and head are bare.  He can not 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.