* It was established on the model of that of Berlin solately as 1818, and, except the University of Munich, is themost modern of Germany. As early as 1777 we find an Academyexisted here, and in 1786 this became a charteredUniversity, of which, however, at the conclusion of theFrench Revolutionary War no trace was left The number ofstudents, about one thousand, and the names of the twoSchlegels, Niebuhr, and Walther (one of the first anatomistsof Europe), attest sufficiently its present popularity.The Cabinet of Natural History at Popplesdorf is justlycelebrated, and the collection of petrifactions is wellknown to the scientific world by the valuable work ofProfessor von Goldfuss (‘Petrefacta Musei Univ. Bonnencrio,’&c) The library contains about 60,000 volumes, and includesa most remarkable cabinet of diplomatic seals and records.The Botanical Garden, which occupies upwards of nineteenacres, is considered one of the finest in Germany.
We spent the entire of the first three days visiting collections, museums, libraries, &c.; and although Professor Goldfuss, our cicerone, is a very worthy and well-informed gentleman, yet I have no mind to make you more intimately acquainted with him, so that I shall at once invite you to sip your coffee with us in the garden of the University. Here all is gaiety, life, and animation, the military are seen mixing with the townsfolk, and no longer is there any distance kept up between professor and student. The garden was in olden times the pleasure-ground of a palace, once the residence of the Churfurst of Cologne, and still preserves much of its ancient beauty. The trees are for the most part of foreign origin, and formed into long shady avenues or dark sunless bowers, in each of which might be seen some happy family party enjoying their coffee, the ladies assiduously occupied in knitting and the men no less assiduously occupied in smoking. Occasionally the loud chorus of a Freischtitz air told that the Burschen were holding their revels not far off, while the professors themselves, the learned expounders of dark metaphysics and eke the diggers of Greek roots, did not scruple to join in the gaiety of the scene, and might now be observed whisking along in the rapid revolutions of a German waltz. By the bye, let me warn any of my male readers to beware how he approaches a German dancing party if he be not perfectlyau faitat waltzing. It is quite sufficient to be seen looking on to cause some dancer to offer you his partner for aturn: this is a piece of politeness constantly extended to foreigners, and is calledhospitiren; but indeed every spectator seems to expect a similar attention, and at each moment some tall moustached figure is seen unbuckling hisschlager, throwing his cap upon the ground, and in a moment he is lost among the dancers.
It was already far advanced in the night and the moon was shining brightly upon the happy scene ere we turned our steps homewards, deeply regretting our incapacity either to speak German or to waltz.
The following day the Drachenfels was the scene of a ruralfête, and thither we proceeded, and as the distance is only three English miles we went on foot. The road lay through a succession of vineyards sloping gently towards the Rhine, which is here extremely rapid. A sudden winding of the river brought us in sight of the mountain from base to summit. The Rhine here runs between the Godesberg on the one side and the Drachenfels on the other. The latter rises to the height of fifteen hundred feet above the stream, perpendicular as a wall, its summit crowned by a ruined tower. The sides are wooded with large white oak-trees through which the road winds to the top in a serpentine manner,—and thus as you ascend some new and altogether different prospect constantly meets the eye: at one moment you look out upon the dark forests and deep glens of the Sieben-gebirge, at another you see the river winding for miles beneath you through plenteous vineyards and valleys teeming with fertility; and far in the distance the tall spire of Cologne, rising amid its little forests of pinnacles, is still perceptible.
As we approached the picturesque effect was further heightened when through the intervals between the trees on the mountain-side some party might be observed slowly toiling their way upwards, the ladies mounted upon mules whose gay scarlet trappings gave all the appearance of some gorgeous pageant: and ever and anon the deep tones of the students joining in Schiller’s Bobber song, or the still more beautiful Rhein-am-Rhein, completed the illusion, and made this one of the most delightful scenes I ever observed.
We spent the entire day upon the mountains; and as we descended we observed a small figure standing motionless upon a rock at some distance beneath us. On coming nearer we discovered this to be a little girl of eight or ten years old, who, seeing us coming, had waited there patiently to present us with a garland of vine-leaves and Rhine lilies ere we crossed the river, as a charm against every possible mishap.
On our return we made the acquaintance of a professor whose name I no longer recollect—but he was a most agreeable and entertaining companion, and he gave us a clear insight into the policy of the University. When speaking of the custom of duelling, he surprised us by the admission that such practices were winked at by the heads of colleges, hoping, as he said, that the students being thus employed and having their minds occupied about their own domestic broils, would have less both of leisure and inclination to join in the quarrels and disagreements of their princes and rulers: in the same manner and with the same intention as “the Powers that were” are said to have encouraged the disturbances and riots at fairs in Ireland, hoping that the more broken heads the fewer burnings of farms or insurrectionary plots. And now that I am on the subject of Irish illustration, let me give you a better one.
A friend of mine once on his way from Dublin to Dunleary* had the misfortune to find himself on a car drawn by an animal so wretched as to excite his deepest compassion, for in addition to a large surface of the back being perfectly denuded of skin and flesh, one end of a stick had been twisted on the creature’s ear, the other end firmly fastened to the harness so as to keep the animal’s head in the position of certain would-be dandies who deem it indispensable to walktête-à-l’air. Not comprehending the aim of such apparently wanton cruelty, my friend asked the driver for an explanation of the ear torture. The fellow turned towards him with a look of half compassion for his ignorance struggling with the low waggery of his caste. “Troth an’ yer honour,” said he, “that’s to divart his attinshion from therawon his back.”
* Dunleary changed its name to Kingstown in 1821 in honourof George the Fourth’s visit.—E. D.
And I really doubt not but that by “divarting their attinshion” the rulers of German universities have the best chance of success in managing the rude and indomitable spirits.
After a week spent in rambling through the glens and mountains of their delightful country, we set out for Andernach on our way to Coblentz. Here we arrived late in the evening, and went supperless to bed, as the Duke of Clarence, who had just arrived, had ordered everything eatable in the town for himself and his suite. On learning this, we had the good fortune to meet with an English family whom we had previously seen in Holland, and we journeyed together now like old acquaintances. I shall not attempt to delay you by any description of the scenery as we voyaged up the Rhine. The prospect continues to be beautiful until you approach Mayence; then the country becomes open, the mountains degenerate into sloping hills, and the course of the river is less winding.
At last we arrived in Frankfort, but there was little inducement to remain here, as we had no introduction to the Baron von Rothschild, the greatest entertainer andbon vivantin Europe. We merely waited to hear the opera (in which we were much disappointed), and set off for Cassel. I pass over all account of Daneker’s statue of Ariadne and the still greater lion, Professor Soemmering, for every one who has made thepetittour has described both; and I’ll wager my dukedom there is not a young lady’s album in Great Britain which does not contain some lines “On seeing” the beautiful figure I allude to. Ere I depart, however, let me mention a short but striking inscription which I read on the sun-dial in the town—“Sol me—vos—umbra regit.” You may conceive that the German “schnell wagen” is admirably translated by the English words “snail waggon,” when I tell you that we were three days travelling from Frankfort to Cassel, a distance of about 150 English miles.
A German diligence reminds one wonderfully of some huge old family mansion to which various unseemly and incongruous additions have been made, according to the fancy or necessity of its successive proprietors for ages. Conceive a large, black, heavy-looking coach to the front of which is placed a chariot, a covered car to the back, and on the roof a cabriolet; and imagine this, in addition to twelve phlegmatic Germans (who deem it indispensable to drink “schnaps” or “gutes bier” whenever there is a house to sell either), loaded with as much luggage as an ordinary canal boat in the country could carry—the whole leviathan drawn by nine wretched-looking ponies scarcely able to drag along their preposterously long tails,—and you will readily believe that we did not fly.
When we reached Cassel it was night, and the streets were in perfect darkness—not a lamp shone out,—and we saw absolutely nothing till we drew up at the door of Der Kônig von Preussen. On asking the following day the reason of the remarkable want of illumination, we were informed that when the almanac announced moonlight, it was not customary to light the lamps of the town,*—and the moon not being properly aware of this dependence upon her, was not a whit more punctual in Cassel than elsewhere.
* It is strange that Lever considered this a remarkablephenomenon. The economical custom he refers to was notuncommon in many provincial towns—in Ireland at any rate—up to a very recent date.—E. D.
Cassel is the most beautifully built and most beautifully situated town that I know of. Besides having a very excellent Opera, it boasts of one of the best museums in Germany, and of a very respectable Gallery of Painting and Sculpture. These form two sides of a great openplatzor square; the Palace fills up the third side, and the fourth has merely a large iron railing, and affords a most magnificent view of a richly-wooded landscape, the background formed by the lofty mountains of Thuringia. In the middle of this railing a large gateway opens upon a broad flight of stone steps which lead down to a handsomely planted park. Following the windings of a silvery river which flows between banks adorned with blossoming shrubs and flowers, the scene brought to my mind the beautiful lines of Shelley:—
“And on that stream whose inconstant bosomWas plank’t under boughs of embowering blossom,With golden and green light slanting throughTheir heaven of many a tangled hue,Broad water-lilies lay tremulously,And starry river-buds glimmered by,And around them the soft stream did glide and danceWith a motion of sweet sound and radiance.”
At last we came in sight of Wilhelmshöhe, the country palace of the Electors of Hesse; but here, alas! the old Dutch taste in gardening prevails,—
“Grove nods to grove,Each alley has its brother.”
Wherever you turn your eyes, some deity in lead or marble meets you, who, from its agile attitude, seems in the act of taking flight at your approach. But the great wonder of the place is the famousjet d’eau, which is said to be 200 feet in height. To see this all Cassel assembles every Sunday on foot or in carriages; but though the effect of the water rushing over the rocks and forming hundreds of small cataracts is undoubtedly fine, yet the illusion is destroyed by arriving before the commencement of the exhibition, and seeing Hessian Cockneys watching some dry canal with patient anxiety and filling the empty vase of some basking Amphion. However, the scene was a gay one; and the splendid carriage of the Elector, who sat, in all the glory of a rich uniform and with moustachesà la Prusse, smoking most cavalierly, beside a lady (nothis Duchess), was at once characteristic of the country and the individual.
After stopping in Cassel for three days, which passed most agreeably, we took flight, and at the end of a forty miles’ excursion—
“In our stage-coach waggon trotting in,We made our entrance to the U-Nivewity of Gottingen.”
It was a fine night in the month of June, and the moon was shining brightly upon the towers and steeples of Gottingen, as the heavy diligence, thundering over the pavement of the main street, drew up within theport-cocherof Der Hof von England. We alighted, and entered a long low room in which about forty young men, evidently students, were seated at supper. At the head of the table sat the host himself, doling out soup from a vessel the proportions of which had well-nigh led me to suspect that I had mistaken the University town, and was actually in company with the Heidelberg Tun.
We soon retired to our beds, but arose early in the morning and found, to our surprise, that even then—it was but six o’clock—the streets were crowded with students hastening to and from the various lecture-rooms, their long braided frock-coats and moustaches giving them a military air strangely at variance with their spectacled noses and lounging gait.
In three days I was enrolled a student of Gottingen, which, besides conferring on me the undoubted advantages of one of the finest libraries in Europe, with admission to various lectures, collections, botanical gardens, &c., also bestowed upon me the more equivocal honour of being eligible to fight a duel, and drinkbruderschaftin the beer-cellar of the University. I now thought it time to avail myself of some of the numerous introductory letters with which I had paved my trunk on leaving home; and accordingly, having accoutred myself in a suit of sables, and one hand armed with a large canister of Lundy-Foot (which I had brought with me as a propitiatory offering to the greatest nose in Europe) and my credentials in the other, I took my way through the town.
After wandering for some time my guide brought me at length to the door of a long, low, white house, with nothing remarkable about it save the silence and apparent desolation which reigned around, for it stood in the most unfrequented part of the city. On arriving I inquired for the professor, and was told by the servant that he was above-stairs in his cabinet; and having given me this piece of information she immediately returned into a little den off the hall from which she had emerged. I ascended the stairs, and found little difficulty in discovering the apartment, as all the doors were labelled with appropriate titles.
Herein!shouted in a voice of thunder, was the answer from within to my still small knock at the door. I entered, and beheld a small and venerable-looking old man, with a quantity of white hair floating in careless profusion upon his neck and shoulders. His head, which was almost preternaturally large, was surmounted by a green velvet cap placed a little on one side: he was grotesquely enveloped in a species of fur cloak with large sleeves, and altogether presented the most extraordinary figure I had ever seen.
I was again roused by the sound of his voice interrogating me in no less than six languages (ere I found my tongue) as to my name, country, &c, for he at once perceived that I was a foreigner. I presented my letter and present, with which he seemed highly pleased, and informed me that hisguter freund, Lord Talbot, always brought him Irish snuff; and then welcoming me to Gottingen, he seized my hand, pressed me down on a seat, and began talking concerning my travels, plans, probable stay at the University, &c. I now felt myself relieved from the awe with which I had at first contemplated the interview, and looked around with a mingled feeling of admiration and surprise at the oddmélangeof curiosities in natural history, skulls, drawings, medals, and even toys, which filled the cabinet. But indeed the worthy professor was by far the greatest lion of the collection.
I observed that many of our newest English publications lay upon his table; and on my remarking it, he looked for a few minutes among them, and then drew out a small pamphlet, which he placed in my hand, saying at the same time that he had derived much pleasure from the perusal of it. I must confess it was with no small gratification I found it to be a description of the Fossil Elk (now in the Dublin Society House) written by Mr Hart of Dublin. He made many inquiries concerning the author, and expressed his thanks for the delicate attention shown him in the presentation of the work. He then spoke of the London University, the plan of which lay before him; and on standing up to take my leave, I asked him whether the Gall and Spurzheim theories were to comprise part of my university creed and course of study. To which he answered, “No; but if you will wait till October we are to have a new system broached,” and then, chuckling at this hit at the fondness of his countrymen for speculating, he pressed me to revisit him soon and see his collection.*
* Blumenbach is sketched more fully in ‘Arthur O’Leary.’—E. D.
On my way homeward I was met by a student with whom I had become acquainted the day before at thetable d’hôte. He invited me to drink coffee with him in one of the gardens outside the town, and on our way thither he told me that I should see a specimen of the Burschen life, as a duel was to be fought at the place to which we were then fast approaching. I could not conceive from the tone of my companion whether this was merely a piece of badinage on his part or not, for he informed me with the greatest indifference that the cause of the meeting was the refusal of one of the parties to pledge the other in beer, the invitation being given at a time when the offender was busy drinking his coffee. Such a reason for mortal conflict never entered even into my Irish ideas of insult. We had by this time arrived at the garden, which, crowded with swaggering savage-looking students, most of them with their shirt-collars open and their long hair hanging upon their shoulders, was indeed deserving of a better fate than the code of theCommenthad allowed to it. It was a tract of something more than an acre in extent, tastefully planted with flowering-shrubs and evergreens, and crossed by “many a path of lawn and moss”; and in a sequestered corner, shaded by one large chestnut-tree, stood the monument of Burger, the sweetest lyric poet in any language, not even excepting our own Anacreon, Moore. I was aroused from my silent admiration of the weeping figure which bends so mournfully over the simple urn of the peaceful dead by a voice near me; and on turning around I beheld a tall athletic figure, denuded of coat and waistcoat, busily engaged polishing his broadsword. At this moment my friend arrived to inform me that there was no time to be lost,—we should scarcely get places, the duel having excited a more than usual degree of interest from the fact that the combatants had a great reputation as swordsmen.
We ascended a steep narrow stair which led into a large well-lighted room, but so full of figures, flourishing swords, and meerschaums, that some minutes elapsed before I could comprehend the scene before me. A space had been left in the middle of this chaotic assemblage. At a signal given the spectators all fell back to the walls, and at this moment two young men, wearing large leathern guards upon their breasts and arms, entered and took their places opposite each other. They crossed their swords, and I could scarcely breathe, anticipating the conflict; but I soon discovered that they were only the seconds measuring the distance. This done, their places were taken by the principals, who, stretching out their arms until their swords crossed, were placed in the proper positions by their respective seconds. The umpire, or, to use the Burschen phrase, the Impartial, then came forward, and having examined the weapons, and finding all fair, gave the word “Streich ein,” which was the signal for the insulted to make the first blow. With the rapidity of lightning his arm descended, and when approaching the shoulder of his antagonist he made a feint, and, carrying his point round, cut with the full force of a flowing stroke deep into the armpit of the other, whose hand, already uplifted to avenge the blow he could not avert, was arrested by the opposite second, it beingcontre les règlesto strike while blood is flowing. He was borne home, and some weeks afterwards I heard that he had left the University, carrying with him disease for life.
This occurrence took not more time than I have spent in relating it. In a few minutes the room was cleared, the bystanders were drinking their coffee and enjoying their meerschaums, scattered through the gardens; and I returned to my lodgings fully impressed with the necessity of leaving a relic of my features behind me in Gôttingen.
You will perhaps say that this is an extravagant picture of student life. It is not: such occurrences are of everyday, and the system which inculcates these practices is not confined to one university, but with some slight modifications is found in all The students of Halle and Heidelberg had theirComment(or Code of Honour) as well as their brethren of Jena and Gottingen, and it little matters whether the laws be called Burschenschaft or Landsmanschaft, the principle is the same.
The great fundamental maxim instilled into the mind of every young man entering upon his university career is the vast superiority that students enjoy over all classes in the creation, of what rank soever. The honest citizen of every university town is rudely denominated Philistine in contradistinction to the chosen few; and to such an extent is this carried, that no ties of relationship can mitigate the severity of a law which forbids the student to hold conversation with a burgher. This necessarily leads to counteraction, and woe be to the unhappy townsman who refuses aught to his lordly patron. I well recollect an adventure, the relation of which will set this system in a clearer light than if I were prosing for hours in the abstract.
I was lolling one evening on my sofa enjoying a volume of Kotzebue over my coffee, when my door opened and a tall young man entered. His light-blue frock and long sabre bespoke him a Prussian, no less than the white stripe upon his cloth cap, which, placed on one side of his head with true Burschen familiarity, he made no motion to remove. He immediately addressed me—
“You are an Englishman studying here?”
“Yes.”
“You deal for coffee, et cetera, with Vaust in the Weender Strasse?”
“Yes.”
“Well then, do so no longer.”
This was said not with any menacing air but with the most business-like composure. He seemed to think he had said enough, but judging from my look of surprise that I had not clearly comprehended the full force of thesoriteswhich had led to this conclusion, he added, by way of explanation,—
“I have lived two years in his house, and on my asking this morning he refused to lend me fourteen louis d’or.”
Immediately perceiving the drift of this visit, I recovered presence of mind enough to ask what the consequence would be if I neglected this injunction.
“You will then fight us all. We are forty-eight in number, and Prussians. Adieu.”
Having said this with the most provoking nonchalance, he withdrew, and the door closed after him, leaving me with an unfinished abjuration of groceries upon my lips.
Ere the following day closed my Prussian friend again visited me to say that Vaust, having complied with the demand made upon him, was no longer under ban.
And now that I have shown you the dark side of the picture, let me assure you that there is a better one. For firm adherence to each other, for true brotherhood, the German student is above any other I ever met with; and although the principle of honour is overstrained, yet in many respects the consequences are good, and the chivalrous feeling thus inculcated renders him incapable of a mean or unworthy action. There is in everything they do at this period a mixture of highly wrought romantic feeling which strangely contrasts with the drudging, plodding habits which distinguish them in after days.
As I have all along preferred to give instances and facts rather than to indulge in mere speculation, I shall relate an occurrence which made too strong an impression on me ever to be forgotten.
I had been about a month in Göttingen, when I was sitting alone one evening in that species of indolent humour in which we hail a friend’s approach without possessing energy sufficient to seek for society abroad, when my friend Eisendaller entered. He resisted all my entreaties to remain, and briefly informed me that he came to request me to accompany him the following morning to Meissner, a distance of about five leagues, where he was to fight a duel. He told me that to avoid suspicion in town the horses should wait at my door, which was outside the ramparts, as early as five o’clock. Having thus acquainted me with the object of his visit, and having cautioned me not to forget that he would breakfast with me before starting, he wished me good-night and departed.
I remained awake the greater part of the night conjecturing what might be the reason for this extraordinary caution, for I well knew that several duels took place every day within the precincts of the University without mention being made of them, or any inquiry being instituted by the prorector or consul.
Towards morning I fell into a kind of disturbed sleep, from which I was awakened by my friend entering and halloing “Auf, auf! die Sonne sheint hell” (Up, up! the sun shines bright)—the first line of a well-known student “catch.”
I rose and dressed myself, and, having breakfasted, we mounted our nags and set off at a sharp pace to the place of meeting. For the first few miles not a word was spoken on either side: my companion was apparently wrapped up in his own thoughts, and I did not wish to intrude upon his feelings at such a moment. At last he broke silence, and informed me that the duel was to be fought with pistols, as he and his adversary had vainly endeavoured to decide this quarrel in several meetings with swords. The cause of this deadly animosity—for such it must have been to require a course rarely if ever pursued by a student of resorting to pistols—he did not clearly explain, but merely gave me to understand that it originated concerning a relative of his opponent,—a very lovely girl, whom he had met at the Court of Hanover.
Having given this brief explanation he again relapsed into silence, and we rode on for miles without a word.
The morning was delightful, the country through which we passed highly picturesque, and there was an appearance of happy content and cheerfulness on the faces of the peasants—who all saluted us as they went forth to their morning labour—that stood in awful contrast to our feelings, hurrying forward, as we were, on the mission of death.
At length we arrived at Meissner, where several of my friend’s party were expecting him, and, having stabled our horses, we left the town and took a narrow path across the fields, which led to a mill about half a mile off. This was the place of rendezvous. On our way we overtook the other party, who had all passed the preceding night at Meissner,—and guess my surprise and horror to find that my friend’s antagonist was one of my own intimate acquaintances, and the very student who had been the first to show me any attention on my arriving at Gottingen! He was a young Prussian named Hanstell, whose mild manners and gentlemanlike deportment had acquired for him the sobriquet of “der Zahm” (the Gentle). After saluting each other the parties proceeded to the ground together. There was little time spent in arranging the preliminaries. It was agreed, as both were well-known marksmen, to throw dice for the first fire. The seconds then came forward, and Hanstel’s friends announced that Eisendaller had won. There was an instantaneous falling back of all but the two principals, who now took their positions about fifteen yards from each other. I watched them both closely, and never did I see men more apparently unmoved than they were at that moment. Not a muscle of their features betrayed the least emotion or any concern of the awful situation in which they were placed.
The pistol was handed to Eisendaller with directions to fire before the lapse of a minute. He immediately levelled it, and remained in the attitude of covering his antagonist for some seconds; but at length, finding his hand becoming unsteady, he deliberately lowered his arm to his side, stiffening and stretching it to its utmost length, and remaining thus for an instant, he appeared to be summoning resolution for his deadly purpose. It was a moment of awful suspense. I felt my heart sicken at the bloodthirsty coolness of the whole proceeding, and had to turn away my head in disgust. When I again looked round he had raised his pistol, and was taking a long and steady aim. At length he fired. The ball whizzed through Hanstel’s hair, and, as it grazed his cheek, he wheeled half round by an involuntary motion and raised his hand to feel if there was blood. I was looking anxiously at Eisendaller, but he still stood firm and motionless as a statue. I thought at one moment I saw his lip curl, and a half scowl, as if of disappointment and impatience, cross his features, but in an instant it passed away, and he was as calm and passionless as before.
It was now Hanstel’s turn. He lost no time in presenting his weapon. There was a small red spot burning on his cheek that had been grazed which seemed to bespeak the fiery rage that had taken possession of his soul, for he felt that his antagonist had done his best to take away his life. I shuddered to think that I was looking on my friend for the last time, for from the position in which I stood I could distinctly see that his heart was covered, and the moment Hanstell pulled the trigger would be his last.
Maddened with an agonising thrill of horror, I felt an almost irresistible impulse to rush forward and arrest the arm that was about to deprive Eisendaller of his life; but while a sense of what was due to the established customs of society on such occasions restrained me, I stood breathless with expectation of the fatal flash, Hanstell, to my amazement, suddenly raising his pistol to a vertical position, fired straight over his head, flung his weapon into the air, and rushing forward, threw his arms round Eisendaller, and bursting into tears, exclaimed, “Mein Brader!”
We were wholly unprepared for such a scene, and although not easily unmanned, the overwrought feelings of all sought vent in a passion of tears. We soon left the ground, and, mounting our horses, returned to Gôttingen.
On our way homeward there was little said. It happened that once, and only once, I found myself at the side of Hanstell. He conversed with me for a short time in an undertone, and on my asking him how he had felt at the moment of his adversary’s missing him, he answered me that it was then his determined purpose to shoot him, and up to the last moment this determination remained unaltered, but at the instant of placing his fingers on the trigger he thought he saw an expression about his face that reminded him of careless and happier days when they had studied and played together and had but one heart. “And I felt,” said he, “as if I were about to become the murderer of my brother. I could have then more easily turned the pistol against my own breast.” *
I was not long a resident in Gottingen ere I became considerably enamoured of many of the Burschen institutions. I had already begun to think that students were a very superior order of people,** that duelling was an agreeable after-dinner amusement, and that nothing could be more becoming or appropriate than a black frock-coat braided with a fur collar even in the month of July.
* Lever introduces the story of this duel into “TheLoiterings of Arthur Cleary.”—E. D.** One of Lever’s intimates at Gottingen was a young Germancount Later the Irish student discovered that his collegechum—he calls him “Fattorini” in one of his letters, and hereferred to him in conversation (according to DrFitzpatrick) as “Morony”—was no other than Louis Napoleon,the future Emperor of the French.—E. D.
Having made this avowal, you will perhaps readily believe that I was soon a favourite among my fellow-students; and a circumstance which at that time added not a little to their goodwill and applause was the fact of my translating the English song, “The King, God bless him!” into German verse for a dinner to celebrate the anniversary of Waterloo.
My life now, although somewhat monotonous, was by no means an uninteresting or tiresome one. The mornings were usually occupied at lectures, and then I dined, as do all students, at one, after which we generally adjourned in parties to one another’s lodgings, where we drank coffee and smoked till about three o’clock. After this we again heard lectures till we met together at Blumenbach’s in the Botanical Gardens in the evening, when we listened to the venerable professor explaining the mysteries of calyx and corolla, some half-dozen young ladies by far the most attentive of his pupils. The evening was usually concluded by a drive to Geismar or some other little village five or six miles from Gottingen, when, having supped on sour milk thickened with brown bread and brown sugar (a beverage which, notwithstanding my Burschen prejudices, I must confess neither cheers nor inebriates), we returned home about eleven. And although I wished much that university restrictions had not forbade our having a theatre in the town, and also that professors were relieved from their dread of the students misbehaving, and would permit us to associate with their daughters (for I was as completely secluded from the society of ladies as ever St Kevin was), yet I was happy and content withal.
Such was the even tenor of my way when the news reached us that a rebellion had broken out among the students of Heidelberg, in consequence, it was said, of some act of oppression on the part of the professors. Nothing could exceed the interest excited in Gottingen when the information arrived. There was but one subject of conversation: lecture-rooms were deserted, the streets were crowded with groups of students conversing in conclave on the one subject of paramount interest; and at last it was unanimously resolved to show the Heidelbergers our high sense of their praiseworthy firmness by inviting them to Göttingen, when news arrived that they had already put the University of Heidelberg inverschiess—that is, “in Coventry,”—and were actually at the moment on their way to us.
The Log-Book of a Rambler concludes with an account of a quarrel between the students and the professors at Heidelberg. To this university Lever transferred himself in the autumn of 1828, and after a short sojourn he proceeded to Vienna. In November his father, apologising for being unable to assist a relative in distress, declares that his rents were “being badly paid,” and that his son Charles was “no small charge” upon him. In the same letter James Lever says that Charles intended to pass the winter at Vienna, and then to proceed to Paris, and that he was expected to arrive at home in April or May. “He writes in good spirits,” says his father, “enjoys good health, and if I can supply him with money he does not wish to return soon.”
From Vienna the young student proceeded, early in 1829, to Weimar, and at the Academy he made the acquaintance of Goethe. He describes Goethe’s talk as being marked by touches of picturesque and inimitable description; he had the gift of holding his audience spell-bound by some magic which it was impossible to describe.
From Weimar Lever travelled through Bavaria. To a friend he once stated that not only had he “walked the hospitals” of Germany, but that he had “walked Germany itself, exploring everything.” Possibly this was an exaggerated account of his peregrinations through the Fatherland, but there can be no question that he saw at this time a great deal of Germany and of German life, and that his experiences impressed him and remained with him, vivid and pleasant memories.
In the beginning of March the wanderer found himself in Paris. From this city he wrote to his lifelong friend in Dublin, Alexander Spencer:—
“Paris,Friday, March13,1829.
“I am perfectly ashamed of the rapid succession in which my letters of late have inundated the family, yet in my present state of doubt, &c., I think it better to write at once to prevent any further mischief. I yesterday received a letter from Connor (Joe), informing me that he had forwarded to me in Paris from Vienna a Dublin letter of the 28th of last month. Now none such has arrived, and I have received already letters from Vienna bearing date 2nd March. This delay has rendered me very unhappy about the ultimate fate of my letter, and as Connor has already left Vienna, I have no means of ascertaining anything about it there. I have written to him at [MS. undecipherable], where he is at present, but cannot receive his answer before five days, so that I think it better in the interval to stop payment of the bill, at all events until I can learn something about it. I have myself seen all the letters lately arrived in Paris from Vienna, so that its delay is in no wise attributable to the irregularity of the post in Paris.
“If this letter had arrived before, I should be now on my road homeward, but I am here in durance vile for want of it. But away with blue devils!
“Paris would be a delightful place had a man only ‘gilt’ enough: there are so many gay little varieties and vaudevilles, that you have never time to spare. The Palais Royal is a world in itself of all that is splendid and seducing, but with all these things a poor man has but a sorry time of it. Of the Italian Opera and of Verge I dare only read thecarte, and content myself with a chop at Richard’s and the Opéra Comique. Is it not (I ask you in all calmness) a thought that might lead to insanity to see these lucky ones of fortune sent out on their travels with fat purses, enjoying all the advantage of seeing and hearing what they neither relish nor comprehend, while many a poor fellow might reap advantage and improvement, but is debarred from the narrowness of his circumstances?
“I am now very anxious to see my family and find myself at home, although I believe I am now spending the last few days of a period I shall always call the happiest of my life. I look back on my time in Germany with one feeling of unmixed pleasure; if there be the least tinge of regret, it is only because the time can never return, and that my happiest days are already spent.
“As Don Juan says, I make a resolution every spring of reformation ere the year runs out, but I certainly have more confidence in myself now than I ever before had. I will go home, free myself from all fetters of every species of acquaintanceship that can only consume time and give nothing in return, put my shoulder to the wheel, and in one year I shall find if I am ever to turn out well or not.
“Like every man who has lost time and let good opportunities escape him without an effort to profit by them, I employ my leisure hours in wishes that I had to begin the world again.”
He speaks in a postscript of an English family who were stopping at his hotel:—
“I am going to convey one of the daughters, who is certainly pretty, to the Louvre to-day. She is to have £10,000, and that might not be a bad spec, but I should rather make my fortune by any other means....
“The old padrone had the impudence to half propose my going to Italy as tutor to his young cub, but I answered him very brusquely. He was certainly very spirited in his offer of compensation, but my prospects have not come to that as yet. Remember me most affectionately to father, mother, John, and Anne....
“I wrote to you a few lines on the selvage of my note to my father. As the tenor of them may not have been very intelligible, allow me to repeat. If any letter from Vienna should arrive in Talbot Street, secure it for me. My mother might open it, and although she does not comprehend German, yet there might be more of it understood than I should like. I know your reflections very well at this moment, but you are in the wrong. As the song says,
‘It’s a bit of a thing to keep.’
But wait a week and you shall hear it all orally.”
Spencer evidently came promptly to the aid of the traveller, for the same month of March found him once more in his native land.
It is stated by Dr Fitzpatrick in the later editions of his ‘Life of Charles Lever’ that the novelist obtained in 1824 an appointment as medical officer in charge of an emigrant ship bound from New Boss to Quebec. In 1824 Lever would have been only in his eighteenth year, and he would not have been in possession of any medical degree, nor would his brief experience as a student of the healing art have entitled him to undertake the medical charge of a passenger ship. Moreover, in a letter quoted by Dr Fitzpatrick, Lever speaks of spending the summer of 1829 in Canada, and there is no suggestion that he made two voyages to America. It may be safely asserted that the date of the American voyage was not 1824; and in all probability 1829 was the year of the Hegira.*
* I discussed these points with Dr Fitzpatrick during hislast visit to London, shortly before his death, and he stuckto his theory that 1824 was the date. He declared (as hedeclares in his book) that in the early years of the lastcentury there was no Board of Emigration or other authorityto interfere with the engagement of an unqualified orinexperienced man as ship’s doctor, and that 1824 fitted inwith his own opinions about Lever’s various movements moreeasily than 1829; and that Lever speaks in his Log-Book ofhaving heard the sound of Niagara. But the Log-Book was notcompleted until 1830. Subsequently I found in one of JamesLever’s letters, dated 1824, a statement that his sonCharles was then studying medicine and surgery, and was“still in college.” In 1901 the novelist’s only survivingdaughther, Mrs Bowes-Watson, writes: “Yes; my father wentto the United States and Canada when he was a very youngman. It must have been in 1829 or 1830.”—E. D.
Lever appears to have embarked from New Ross in a vessel belonging to Messrs Pope of Waterford. A cousin of Lever, Mr Harry Innes, declares that it was through his good offices the young medical student succeeded in obtaining “the appointment, such as it was.” Lever abandoned the ship upon her arrival in the St Lawrence. He does not speak of this voyage in any of his autobiographical writings, except that he tells us in a preface to ‘Con Cregan’—a novel in which certain quarters of Quebec are intimately and graphically described—that once upon a time he “endured a small shipwreck” on the island of Anticosti. To his friend Canon Hayman he wrote (in June 1843) that the Canadian incidents in ‘Arthur O’Leary’ were largely personal experiences. He narrated to the canon an account of his landing in the New World, and of his rapid passage from civilised districts to the haunts of the red man. He was eager to taste the wild freedom of life with an Indian tribe. Lever, according to himself, found no difficulty in being admitted to Red-Indian fellowship, and for a time the unrestrained life of the prairie was a delightful and exhilarating experience. The nights in the open air, the days spent in the pine-forests or on the banks of some majestic river, were transcendently happy. He was endowed by the sachem with “tribal privileges,” and he identified himself as far as possible with his newly-made friends. Ere long, however, he grew weary of the latitudinarianism and of the ingloriousness of barbaric life, and he began to sigh for the flesh-pots of the city. He contrived to hide his feelings from the noble red man, but a noble red woman shrewdly guessed that the pale-face was weary, discontented, home-sick. This woman warned the young “medicine man” that if he made any overt attempt to seek his own people he would be followed, and one of his tribal privileges would be to suffer death by the tomahawk. Lever dissembled, and (somewhat after the manner of the as yet uncreated Mrs Micawber) he asseverated that he would never desert the clan.
But his moodiness grew apace and his health gave way. The perspicacious squaw, knowing the origin of his malady, feared that the pale-face would die from natural causes. Moved by compassion, she planned, at the risk of her own life and reputation, the escape of the interesting young stranger. An Indian named Tahata—a kind of half-savage commercial traveller—visited the tribe at long intervals, bearing with him supplies of such necessaries as rum and tobacco. Swayed by the promise of a good round sum, Tahata agreed to do his best to smuggle Charles Lever back to the paths of civilisation. The pair, after many vicissitudes, reached Quebec one bright frosty morning in December. “I walked through the streets,” said Harry Lorrequer to Canon Hayman, “in moccasins and with head-feathers.” In Quebec he found a timber merchant with whom his father had business transactions, and this hospitable man recompensed the trusty Tahata, and made Lever his guest; and when the ex-Indian was newly “rigged out” the merchant paid his passage back to the old country.
Lever averred that his description in ‘Arthur O’Leary’ of the escape of Con O’Kelly was a faithful account of his own adventures “deep in Canadian woods.”