Among the professors at Heidelberg, von Treitschke was one of the most eminent, and it was my privilege one day to hear him lecture on a theme which stirred him—­the battle of Leipsic, the great Voelkerschlacht of 1813, when Germany cruelly clipped the pinions of the Napoleonic eagle.  The hall was crowded with young men, corps-studenten being especially numerous, robust youths in caps and badges, and many of the faces were patched and scarred from duels in the Hirsch-Gasse.  Von Treitschke, a dark, energetic figure, was received with great respect.  Deafness, from which he suffered, affected somewhat his delivery.  He told the story of the great battle, the frantic effort against combined Europe of the crippled French, the defection of the Saxons in the midst of the fight, the final driving of Napoleon across the Elster, the death of Poniatowski and the retreat to France.  His voice was a deep, sonorous monotone and every syllable was caught eagerly by his auditors.  They and the speaker were thoroughly at one in their intense German feeling.  It was a celebration of triumph of the Fatherland.  The significance of it all was not apparent, that sunny spring morning, but we were on the eve of a catastrophe which apparently no one foreboded; Metz, Gravelotte, and Sedan were only a few months away.  The fire which I saw burning so hot in the souls of both speaker and hearers was part of the conflagration destined to consume widely and thoroughly before the summer closed.

Ernst Curtius was probably the most distinguished Hellenist of his time.  He had studied the Greeks on their own soil and gone with German thoroughness into their literature, history, and art.  He had excellent powers of presentment, wrote exhaustively and yet attractively and won early recognition.  He was selected for the post of tutor to the Crown Prince, an honour of the highest.  The Crown Prince, afterwards Emperor Frederick, held him in high regard and in 1870 his position in the world of scholars was of the best.  I had the honour to pay him a visit in his home one pleasant Sunday afternoon in company with Bancroft.  I remember Bancroft’s crisp German enunciation as he presented me; “Ich stelle Ihnen einen Amerikaner vor,” and he mentioned my name.  I bowed and felt my hand grasped cordially in a warm, well-conditioned palm, while a round, genial face beamed good-naturedly.  The interview was in the Professor’s handsome garden, his accomplished wife and daughters were of the party, and I remember Maiwein with pretzels on a lawn with rose-bushes close beside and music coming through the open windows of the house.  The hospitality was graceful, there was no profound talk but only pleasant chatter.  The daughters were glad to have a chance to try their English and I was glad for the moment to slip out of the foreign bond and disport myself for their benefit in my vernacular, but the Professor needed no practice.  His English was quite adequate, as, on the other hand, the German of Bancroft was well in hand.