to the convent he found that a great change had gone on
in Clement. He had been attached, while at home, to the daughter of the
judge at whose court his father was employed, and his whole being was
now in a glow of devotion. He would leave the convent and study law: he
bitterly despised the ministry, and made it the object of the most
vindictive sarcasms: he cursed himself and his poverty, which seemed to
chain him to a hated calling: with all the irregular impetuosity of his
character, he rattled unceasingly, and yet idly, at the chains which
bound him. He saw nothing but slavery on every side: he walked from
place to place abstractedly, pale as death, and often with gnashing
teeth. With all the power of his love, Ivo strove to rescue his friend;
but, soon convinced that a higher agency was at work, he contented
himself with grieving for his heart's brother, whose tortures and whose
frenzy he could but half appreciate. In the lectures, Clement sat
staring into vacancy: while the others, with the conscienscious
eagerness of German students, strove to record every word that fell
from the teacher's lips, he occasionally wrote the name of Cornelia,
and then crossed and recrossed it till it became illegible.

The spark of discontent which had slumbered in Ivo's heart threatened
to burst into flame; but as yet the firm walls of obedience, and the
habit of resignation to the dictates of fate, kept it half smothered
beneath the ashes. But even here the fundamental difference in the
character of the two friends displayed itself on all occasions.
Clement sought amusement and noisy distractions, as means of
_self-forgetfulness_; while Ivo became more and more retired and
meditative, as if he knew that _knowledge of self_ was the only escape
from his dilemmas. Yet, although he kept the road, he travelled but
slowly. His soul was hung in sables: he was less fond of life than
formerly, and often declared that he should like to die and sleep the
sleep that knows not waking.

"After all," he remarked one night to Clement, who lay beside him, "the
best thing in the world is a bed. A bird in a cage is to be pitied, for
he doesn't rest well even when he sleeps. He sits on his perch and must
hold on with his claws; so that he still has something to do, and is
never perfectly at rest. So, too, man does not rest well when he sits;
for he must always exert some of his muscles to keep himself upright:
it is only when he lies down that all e