It will be perceived, no doubt, from what I have already said,
      that the Baron was one of those human anomalies now and then to
      be found, who make the science of mystification the study and the
      business of their lives. For this science a peculiar turn of mind
      gave him instinctively the cue, while his physical appearance
      afforded him unusual facilities for carrying his prospects into
      effect. I firmly believe that no student at G——n, during that
      renowned epoch so quaintly termed the domination of the Baron
      Ritzner von Jung, ever rightly entered into the mystery which
      overshadowed his character. I truly think that no person at the
      university, with the exception of myself, ever suspected him to
      be capable of a joke, verbal or practical:—the old bull-dog at
      the garden-gate would sooner have been accused,—the ghost of
      Heraclitus,—or the wig of the Emeritus Professor of Theology. This, too, when it was evident that the most egregious and
      unpardonable of all conceivable tricks, whimsicalities and
      buffooneries were brought about, if not directly by him, at least
      plainly through his intermediate agency or connivance. The
      beauty, if I may so call it, of his art mystifique, lay in that
      consummate ability (resulting from an almost intuitive knowledge
      of human nature, and a most wonderful self-possession,) by means
      of which he never failed to make it appear that the drolleries he
      was occupied in bringing to a point, arose partly in spite, and
      partly in consequence of the laudable efforts he was making for
      their prevention, and for the preservation of the good order and
      dignity of Alma Mater. The deep, the poignant, the overwhelming
      mortification, which upon each such failure of his praise worthy
      endeavors, would suffuse every lineament of his countenance, left
      not the slightest room for doubt of his sincerity in the bosoms
      of even his most skeptical companions. The adroitness, too, was
      no less worthy of observation by which he contrived to shift the
      sense of the grotesque from the creator to the created—from his
      own person to the absurdities to which he had given rise. In no
      instance before that of which I speak, have I known the habitual
      mystific escape the natural consequence of his manoevres—an
      attachment of the ludicrous to his own character and person. Continually enveloped in an atmosphere of whim, my friend
      appeared to live only for the severities of society; and not even
      his own household have for a moment associated other ideas than
      those of the rigid and august with the memory of the Baron
      Ritzner von Jung. During the epoch of his residence at G——n it really appeared that
      the demon of the _dolce far niente_ lay like an incubus upon the
      university. Nothing, at least, was done beyond eating and
      drinking and making merry. The apartments of the students were
      converted into so many pot-houses, and there was no pot-house of
      them all more famous or more frequented than that of the Baron. Our carousals here were many, and boisterous, and long, and never
      unfruitful of events. Upon one occasion we had protracted our sitting until nearly
      daybreak, and an unusual quantity of wine had been drunk. The
      company consisted of seven or eight individuals besides the Baron
      and myself. Most of these were young men of wealth, of high
      connection, of great family pride, and all alive with an
      exaggerated sense of honor. They abounded in the most ultra
      German opinions respecting the duello. To these Quixotic notions
      some recent Parisian publications, backed by three or four
      desperate and fatal rencounters at G——n, had given new vigor and
      impulse; and thus the conversation, during the greater part of
      the night, had run wild upon the all-engrossing topic of the
      times. The Baron, who had been unusually silent and abstracted in
      the earlier portion of the evening, at length seemed to be
      aroused from his apathy, took a leading part in the discourse,
      and dwelt upon the benefits, and more especially upon the
      beauties, of the received code of etiquette in passages of arms
      with an ardor, an eloquence, an impressiveness, and an
      affectionateness of manner, which elicited the warmest enthusiasm
      from his hearers in general, and absolutely staggered even
      myself, who well knew him to be at heart a ridiculer of those
      very points for which he contended, and especially to hold the
      entire fanfaronade of duelling etiquette in the sovereign
      contempt which it deserves. Looking around me during a pause in the Baron’s discourse (of
      which my readers may gather some faint idea when I say that it
      bore resemblance to the fervid, chanting, monotonous, yet musical
      sermonic manner of Coleridge), I perceived symptoms of even more
      than the general interest in the countenance of one of the party. This gentleman, whom I shall call Hermann, was an original in
      every respect—except, perhaps, in the single particular that he
      was a very great fool. He contrived to bear, however, among a
      particular set at the university, a reputation for deep
      metaphysical thinking, and, I believe, for some logical talent. As a duellist he had acquired great renown, even at G——n. I
      forget the precise number of victims who had fallen at his hands;
      but they were many. He was a man of courage undoubtedly. But it
      was upon his minute acquaintance with the etiquette of the
      duello, and the nicety of his sense of honor, that he most
      especially prided himself. These things were a hobby which he
      rode to the death. To Ritzner, ever upon the lookout for the
      grotesque, his peculiarities had for a long time past afforded
      food for mystification. Of this, however, I was not aware;
      although, in the present instance, I saw clearly that something
      of a whimsical nature was upon the tapis with my friend, and that
      Hermann was its especial object. As the former proceeded in his discourse, or rather monologue, I
      perceived the excitement of the latter momently increasing. At
      length he spoke; offering some objection to a point insisted upon
      by R., and giving his reasons in detail. To these the Baron
      replied at length (still maintaining his exaggerated tone of
      sentiment) and concluding, in what I thought very bad taste, with
      a sarcasm and a sneer. The hobby of Hermann now took the bit in
      his teeth. This I could discern by the studied hair-splitting
      farrago of his rejoinder. His last words I distinctly remember.