When Calvin arrived in that ancient city to which the Emperor Aurelian had given his name, he kept himself apart, being naturally timid, and repelled by the noisy vivacity of the students. Yet his loving disposition sighed after a friend; and such he found in a young scholar, Nicholas Duchemin, who was preparing himself for a professorship in the faculty of letters.[2] Calvin fixed on him an observing eye, and found him modest, temperate, not at all susceptible, adopting no opinion without examination,[3] of equitable judgment, extreme prudence, and great mildness, but also a little slow in his movements. Duchemin's character formed a striking contrast with the vivacity, ardour, severity, activity, and, we will add, the susceptibility of Calvin. Yet he felt himself attracted towards the gentle nature of the young professor, and the very difference of their temperaments shed an inexpressible charm over all their intercourse. As Duchemin had but moderate means, he received students in his house, as many of the citizens did. Calvin begged to be admitted also, and thus became one of the members of his household. He soon loved Duchemin with all the energy of a heart of twenty, and rejoiced at finding in him a Mommor, an Olivétan, and even more. He wanted to share everything with Nicholas, to converse with him perpetually; and they had hardly parted, when he began to long to be with him again. 'Dear Duchemin!' he said to him, 'my friend, you are dearer to me than life.'[4] Ardent as was this friendship, it was not blind. Calvin, true to his character, discovered the weak point of his friend, who was deficient, he thought, in energy; and he reproved him for it. 'Take care,' he said, 'lest your great modesty should degenerate into indolence.'[5] [Sidenote: THE STUDENTS AT ORLEANS] The scholar of Noyon, consoled by this noble friendship, began to examine more closely the university population around him. He was surprised to see crowds of students filling the streets, caring nothing for learning, so far as he could tell. At one time he would meet a young lord, in tight hose, with a richly embroidered doublet, small Spanish cloak, velvet cap, and showy dagger. This young gentleman, followed by his servant, would take the wall, toss his head haughtily, cast impertinent looks on each side of him, and want every one to give way to him. Farther on came a noisy band composed of the sons of wealthy tradesmen, who appeared to have no more taste for study than the sons of the nobility, and who went singing and 'larking' to one of the numerous tennis-courts, of which there were not less than forty in the city. Ten _nations_, afterwards reduced to four, composed the university. The German nation combined with 'the living and charming beauty of the body' that of a mind polished by continual study. Its library was called 'the abode of the Muses.'[6]