The Tie of Blood

In a hillside inn overlooking the George August University of Goettingen, Germany, students sat around a table one night last week drinking beer. They were dressed in their Sunday best; but each also sported a brightly colored cap, and each wore across his chest a brightly colored ribbon. These were the regalia of the Burschenschaften--the ancient dueling corporations that were banned after the war. For the first time in six years, Goettingen's corporations were holding their semester convention right out in the open.

Rector Wolfgang Trillhaas was with the students, but he was not sure that he approved. "Personally," said Trillhaas over the clatter of steins, "I remain against these customs. But as long as you do not disturb the normal routine of university life, I am prepared to tolerate them." The fact was that Rector Trillhaas did not have much choice. With or without official sanction, the Burschenschajten were once again flourishing all over Western Germany.

Brawl to Ritual. Once they had been the center of student life. They were born in the late 18th century, when students, armed with daggers and pikes, still staged a bloody brawl whenever they had a mind to. The purpose of the corporations was to eliminate most of the bloodshed. As it turned out, they merely ritualized it.

The corporations gradually settled into a rigid pattern. They admitted only the most socially acceptable students, taught them drinking and dueling, kept a fatherly eye on them ever after. Each new member (fox) had to prove himself in at least two duels; after becoming a full-fledged Bursch, he had to fight perhaps a dozen more. The dueling scar became a badge of honor on campus, a key to choice jobs later on.

The whole ritual of the duel is designed to produce scars, for all but the face and shoulders of each fighter is protected by padding and heavy black bandages. Each duel goes three rounds, and from the moment the umpire cries "Silentium!", lasts about 15 minutes. While their brothers watch, each fighter tries to slash at his opponent's face. When it is over, the swordsmen retire to the doctor's bench, each one holding his opponent's right hand while the doctor stitches and bandages. Sometimes the boys try to make their scars more impressive by rubbing salt into their wounds or prematurely ripping out their stitches. But such tampering is considered a "crime."

Over the years, the corporations have withstood more than one setback. The Weimar Republic made dueling a criminal offense, but the practice still kept on. The Nazis banned the corporations, but they managed to survive. After the war, occupation authorities banned them again, but they merely went underground, and the rules against them began to relax.

Elite to the Top. Today, 900 of Goettingen's 4,500 students are openly members of dueling corporations. The University of Mainz has 1,500 members, Munich 3,500, Marburg 500; and one corporation at the University of Kiel has flatly declared that its "obligation to the nation is to put the elite back on top." Meanwhile, the Alte Herren (alumni) are once again swarming back on campus, opening up the luxurious corporation clubhouses, selecting recruits, paying for beers and sabers, holding out the promise of good jobs just as before. Once again, in laboratories and lecture halls, students are showing up with fresh wounds on their cheeks.

With Goettingen's convention out in the open, Rector Trillhaas last week tried to issue a stern warning to the corporations: he suspended for one semester a medical student named Wilfried von Studtnitz for dueling. That was about as far as the rector could go. Only a month ago, Von Studtnitz had been tried in criminal court for the same offense, and acquitted. "The comradeship," he had cried, "the esprit de corps, the traditions . . . which the corporations give us are not enough. There must also be the binding tie of blood spilt in common." Apparently thousands of Germans approved the sentiment.

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