German Enrollments

U. S. professionals who years ago sang Schnitzelbank in its native beergardens while learning the difference between Pilsener and Muenchener and putting finishing touches on their education at Berlin, Heidelberg or Guettingen, were as interested as Dr. Nicholas Murray Butler, Columbia's president, in a report which he issued last week in behalf of the Carnegie Endowment for International Peace (of which he is also president). It was a report comparing pre-War and post-War enrollments in the German colleges. It could be tabulated as follows:

Pre-War Now Evangelical theology 3,875 2,100 Catholic theology 1,900 1,600 Medicine 15,500 8,500 Dental surgery 700 1,700 Chemistry 900 2,300 Philosophy 12,300 13,000 Political economy 2,300 6,700 Law 9,800 18,700 Electrical engineering.... 900 4,000 Mechanical engineering... 3,700 7,850

The report guessed guardedly at reasons for these changes: the War had popularized Science and overcrowded the medical profession. The expansion of industry was making Law a greater field. The ranks of the theologians were thin because more young men are seeking "liberal" careers.

For those who thought the brutal, ancient German university custom of dueling had died there came a shock last week. In William Randolph Hearst's Cosmopolitan. Frazier Hunt, onetime War correspondent & Mexican sugar planter, wrote that at Berlin "only the other day" he had witnessed two German students fight, not a Schlaegermensur or sport duel, wherein undergraduates belabor one another with large, blunt broadswords, but a secret, illegal Saebelmensur, oldtime insult duel, with sharp sabres.

In a wickedly dirty hall smelling of beer slops and iodoform, two men, their seconds, the doctors and judge stood on a sawdust-covered dais. "At other tables," said Correspondent Hunt, "students were drinking pale Pilsener beer, as calmly as if they were about to attend a lecture on philosophy." The duelists faced each other, "formal as bride and groom marching to the altar, but far less nervous." Like disciplined gamecocks they stood, a black scarf about each jugular, a pad about each middle. To make the maiming cleanly, each blade was swabbed with antiseptic.

At "Los!" (Go) they fell to, their left feet planted in blue chalked squares. Each flailed six times and the round ended. The doctors stepped out, examined their men.

At "Los!" again they fell to. The young, less experienced, saw his opponent's blade arch, flicker, fall. Cleanly the sabre skewered his face from nose to mouth. He stood motionless.

The doctor clamped his forceps to the gash, left the silver handles hanging. The victor's second caught a smear of blood on a calling card. Doctors and judges agreed the wound was serious enough to end the fight. With the doctor, the vanquished youth moved away, holding up the forceps to keep their weight from his gashed cheek. ...