Norse Tales and Sketches | Page 5

to the music of a full band. He sits
upon a hard chair in semi-darkness with his face to the wall, and the
only sound he hears is the creaking of the inspectors' boots. For in all
the wide, wide world there are no such creaky boots as those of law
examination inspectors.
And so comes the dreadful moment when the black-robed tormentor
from the Collegium Juridicum brings in the examination-paper. He
plants himself in the doorway, and reads. Coldly, impassively, with a
cruel mockery of the horror of the situation, he raises aloft this fateful
document--this wretched paper-covered hoop, through which we must
all spring, or dismount and wend our way back--on foot!
The candidates settle themselves in the saddle. Some seem quite unable
to get firmly seated; they rock uneasily hither and thither, and one rider
dismounts. He is followed to the door by all eyes, and a sigh runs
through the assembled students. 'You to-day; I to-morrow.'
Meanwhile one begins to hear a light trotting over the paper; they are
leaping.
Some few individuals sit firmly and gracefully through it all, and come
out on the other side 'standing for Laud.' Others think that leaping
straight is too easy; therefore, they turn in the air and alight with backs
first. These also get through, but backwards; and it is said that their
agility does not win from the judges its deserved meed of appreciation.

Again, others leap, but miss the hoop. They spring underneath, to one
side--some even high over the top, alighting safe and sound on the
other side. These latter generally find the paper extremely simple, and
continue the wild ride quite unconcernedly.
But if one is not fond of riding, and has had no practice in leaping, he is
much to be pitied--unless, indeed, he has a monkey on page 496.
I do not know how many hoops I had passed when I found myself face
to face with the process-paper.
It was an unhealthy life that we then led: leaping by day and reading by
night. I sat at midnight half-way through Schweigaard's Process,
alternately putting my head out of the window and into the washhand
basin, and, between whiles, rushing like a whirlwind through the
withered leaves of the musty volume.
However, even the most violent wind must eventually fall; and, indeed,
this was my heartfelt wish. But the juridical momentum was strong
within me. I sat stiffly, peering and reading for the eleventh time: 'One
might thus certainly assume'--'One--might--thus--certainly,'-- combine
the useful with the agreeable--and lean back--a little in the chair. I can
read just as well; the lamp doesn't bother me in the least.
'One--might--thus--'
But all manner of non-juridical images rose up from the book, entwined
themselves about the lamp, and threatened to completely overshadow
my clear legal brain. I could yet dimly see the white paper.
'One--might-- thus--'. The rest disappeared in a myriad of small dark
characters that flowed down the closely-printed pages; in dull despair
my eyes followed the stream, and then I saw, towards the bottom of the
right-hand page, a face.
It was a monkey that was drawn on the margin. It was excellently
drawn, I thought, the brown colouring of the face being especially
remarkable. I am ashamed to say that my interest in this work of art
proved stronger than Schweigaard himself. I roused myself a little, and
leant forward in order to see better.
By turning the leaf, I discovered that the remarkable brown colouring
of the face was due to the fact that the whole monkey, after all, was
only a coffee-stain. The artist had merely added a pair of eyes and a
little hair; the genial expression of the picture was really to be credited
to the individual who had spilt the coffee.

'Cucumis couldn't draw,' thought I; that I knew. 'But, by Jove! he could
do his process!'
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