The 2 12 Pillars of Wisdom Read Free Page A

swordsman?’ asked a rather heavily scarred young man, casually.
    ‘He’s a fine swordsman,’ said von Igelfeld enthusiastically. ‘In fact, I’m sure he’d be honoured to meet any of you gentlemen. At any time!’
    Further glances were exchanged, unnoticed by von Igelfeld, who, draining his third glass of wine, was becoming slightly drunk.
    ‘I’m most interested to hear that,’ said the bearer of the scars. ‘Could you tell him that I shall meet him next Friday evening at a place to be notified? Just for a bit of fun.’
    ‘Of course,’ said von Igelfeld, expansively. ‘In fact, I can accept on his behalf, right now. We’ll be there!’
    Glasses were raised in a toast, and the conversation then moved on to the arrival in Heidelberg of two girls from Berlin whose interests were much to the taste of the group and whose company was being sought that Friday night, after the duel.
    Prinzel was dismayed.
    ‘You had no right to do that!’ he protested, his voice raised in uncharacteristic anger. ‘You had no right at all!’
    Von Igelfeld gazed at his friend. So complete was his admiration for Prinzel, so utter his belief in the nobility of Prinzel’s character, that he could not entertain the thought that the other might object to what was being proposed for him. It was as if he did not hear him.
    ‘But it’s all arranged,’ went on von Igelfeld. ‘And I shall be your second.’ He added: ‘That’s the person who stands by, you know. He carries the towel.’
    ‘For the blood?’ snapped Prinzel. ‘To mop up the blood?’
    Von Igelfeld laughed dismissively. ‘There’s no need for blood,’ he said. ‘Blood hardly comes into it. You’re not going to kill one another – this is merely a bit of sport!’
    Prinzel waved his hands about in exasperation. ‘I simply can’t understand you,’ he shouted. ‘You seem to have a completely false notion of my character. I’m a scholar, do you understand? I am not an athlete. I am not a hero . I have absolutely no interest in fencing, none at all! I’ve never done it.’
    Von Igelfeld appeared momentarily nonplussed.
    ‘Never?’ he said.
    ‘Never!’ cried Prinzel. ‘Let me repeat myself. I am a scholar!’
    Von Igelfeld now seemed to recover his composure.
    ‘Scholars sometimes engage in martial pursuits,’ he asserted. ‘There are many precedents for this. And swordmanship is a traditional matter of honour at universities. We all know that. Why set your face against our heritage?’
    Prinzel shook his head. For a few moments he was silent, as if at a loss for words. Then he spoke, in a voice which was weak with defeat.
    ‘Who are these types?’ he asked. ‘How did you meet them?’
    Noting his friend’s tone of acceptance, von Igelfeld laid a hand on his shoulder, already the reassuring second.
    ‘They are a group of very agreeable characters,’ he said. ‘They have some sort of Korps , in which they drink wine and talk about various matters. They asked to meet me because they thought I was old-fashioned.’
    Von Igelfeld laughed at the absurdity of the notion. They would see next Friday just what sort of friends he had! Old-fashioned indeed!
    Prinzel sighed.
    ‘I suppose I have no alternative,’ he said. ‘You seem to have committed me.’
    Von Igelfeld patted his friend’s shoulder again.
    ‘Don’t you worry,’ he said. ‘It’ll be a very exciting evening. You’ll see.’ The place chosen for the match was a field which lay behind an inn on the outskirts of the city. The field was ringed by trees, which gave it a privacy which had been much appreciated by those who over the years had used it for clandestine purposes of one sort or another. When von Igelfeld and Prinzel arrived, they thought at first that there was nobody there, and for a brief joyous moment Prinzel imagined that the whole idea had been a joke played on von Igelfeld. This made him smile with relief, a reaction which von Igelfeld interpreted as one of