The National tribune., 1882-03-11
AFREAK OF FORTUNE,

| Samuel Duhobret was disciple of the
famous engraver, Albert Durer, admitted
into the art-school out of charity. He was
employed in painting signs and the coarse
tapestry then used in Germany. AS he was
about forty years of age, small, ugly, and
humpbacked, he was the butt of Ill jokes
among his fellow-pupils, and selected as a
special object of dislike by Madame Durer,
who tormented the scholars and domestics,
as well as the master, by her Xantippical
temper Poor Duhobret had not spice Of
malice in his heart, and not only bore all his
trials with patience, eating without COM
plant the scanty crust given him for dinner,
while his companions Jared better, but al
ways showed himself ready to assist and
serve those who scoffed at him. His indus
try was indefatigable. He came to his
studies every morning at daybreak, and
worked till sunset. During three years he
plodded thus, and said nothing of the paint
ings he had produced in his lonely chamber
by the light of his lamp. His bodily ener-
gies wasted under incessant toll. No one
cared enough for him to notice the feverish
color in his wrinkled cheek, or the increas-
ing meagreness of his misshappen frame. No
one observed that the poor pittance set aside
for his midday meal remained untouched
for several days. The poor artist made his
appearance as usual, and as meekly bore the
gibes of the students or the taunts of the
lady; working with the same untiring assid-
uity, though his hands trembled and his
eyes were often suffused with tears.
One morning he was missing from the
scene of his labors, and though jokes were
passed about his disappearance no one
thought of going to his lodgings to see if he
were i'll OF dead. He was indeed Frustrated
by the low fever that had been lurking in
his veins and slowly sapping his strength.
He was half -delirious and muttered wild
and incoherent words, fancying his bed sur
rounded by mocking demons, taunting him
with his inability to call a priest to admin
lister the words of comfort that might smooth
his passage to another world
From exhausted slumbers he awoke faint
and with parched lips; it was the fifth day
he had lain in his cell neglected. Feebly he
stretched cut his hand toward the earthen
pitcher, and found that it contained not a
drop of water. Slowly and with difficulty
he arose; for he knew that he must pro-
cure sustenance or die of want. He had not
kreutzer. He went to the other end of the
room, took up the picture he had painted
last, and resolved to carry it to dealer, who
might give him for it enough to furnish him
necessaries for week longer.
On his way he passed house before which
there was great crowd. There was to be
sale, he learned, of many specimens of art col
lected during thirty years by an amateur. The
wearied Duhobret thought he might here
find market for his picture. He worked
his way through the crowd, dragged himself
up the steps, and found the auctioneer, a
busy little man, holding handful of papers
and inclined to be rough with the lean, sal
low hunchback who SO eagerly implored his
attention.
"What do you call your picture?" he
asked.
at is view of the Abbey of Newbourg,
with the village apd landscape" replied the
trembling artist