And now I came to think of Cucumis, of his handsome degree, of his triumphant home-coming, and of how much he must have read in order to become so learned.  And, while I thought of all this, my consciousness awoke little by little, until my own ignorance suddenly stood clearly before me in all its horrible nakedness.

I pictured to myself the shame of having to ‘dismount,’ or, still worse, of being that one unfortunate of whom it is invariably said with sinister anonymity, ‘One of the candidates received non contemnendus’.  And as it sometimes happens that people lose their reason through much learning, so I grew half crazy with terror at my ignorance.

Up I jumped, and dipped my head in the wash-basin.  Scarcely taking time to dry myself, I began to read with an energy that fixed every word in my memory.

Down the left page I hurried, with unabated vigour down the right; I reached the monkey, rushed past him, turned the leaf, and read bravely on.

I was not conscious of the fact that my strength was now completely exhausted.  Although I caught a glimpse of a new section (usually so strong an incentive to increased effort), I could not help getting entangled in one of those artful propositions that one reads over and over again in illusory profundity.

I groped about for a way of escape, but there was none.  Incoherent thoughts began to whirl through my brain.  ’Where is the monkey?—­a spot of coffee—­one cannot be genial on both sides—­everything in life has a right and a wrong side—­for example, the university clock—­but if I cannot swim, let me come out—­I am going to the circus—­I know very well that you are standing there grinning at me, Cucumis—­but I can leap through the hoop, I can—­and if that professor who is standing smoking at my paraffin lamp had only conscientiously referred to corpus juris, I should not now be lying here—­in my night-shirt in the middle of Karl Johan’s Gade [Footnote:  A principal street of Christiania.]—­but—­’ Then I sank into that deep, dreamless slumber which only falls to the lot of an evil conscience when one is very young.

I was in the saddle early next morning.

I don’t know if the devil ever had shoes on, but I must suppose he had, for his inspectors were in their boots, and they creaked past me, where I sat in my misery with my face to the wall.

A professor walked round the rooms and looked at the victims.  Occasionally he nodded and smiled encouragingly, as his eye fell on one of those miserable lick-spittles who frequent the lectures; but when he discovered me, the smile vanished, and his ice-cold stare seemed to write upon the wall over my head:  ’Mene, mene! [Footnote:  Dan. v. 25.] Wretch, I know thee not!’

A pair of inspectors walked creakily up to the professor and fawned upon him; I heard them whispering behind my chair.  I ground my teeth in silent wrath at the thought that these contemptible creatures were paid for—­yes, actually made their living by torturing me and some of my best friends.