It may not be known to all the admirers of the genius of Albert Durer, that that famous engraver was endowed with a “better half,” so peevish in temper, that she was the torment not only of his own life, but also of his pupils and domestics.  Some of the former were cunning enough to purchase peace for themselves by conciliating the common tyrant, but woe to those unwilling or unable to offer aught in propitiation.  Even the wiser ones were spared only by having their offenses visited upon a scapegoat.

This unfortunate individual was Samuel Duhobret, a disciple whom Durer had admitted into his school out of charity.  He was employed in painting signs and the coarser tapestry then used in Germany.  He was about forty years of age, little, ugly, and humpbacked; he was the butt of every ill joke among his fellow disciples, and was picked out as an object of especial dislike by Madame Durer.  But he bore all with patience, and ate, without complaint, the scanty crusts given him every day for dinner, while his companions often fared sumptuously.

Poor Samuel had not a spice of envy or malice in his heart.  He would, at any time, have toiled half the night to assist or serve those who were wont oftenest to laugh at him, or abuse him loudest for his stupidity.  True, he had not the qualities of social humor or wit, but he was an example of indefatigable industry.  He came to his studies every morning at daybreak, and remained at work until sunset.  Then he retired into his lonely chamber, and wrought for his own amusement.

Duhobret labored three years in this way, giving himself no time for exercise or recreation.  He said nothing to a single human being of the paintings he had produced in the solitude of his cell, by the light of his lamp.  But his bodily energies wasted and declined under incessant toil.  There was none sufficiently interested in the poor artist, to mark the feverish hue of his wrinkled cheek, or the increasing attenuation of his misshapen frame.

None observed that the uninviting pittance set aside for his midday repast, remained for several days untouched.  Samuel made his appearance regularly as ever, and bore with the same meekness the gibes of his fellow-pupils, or the taunts of Madame Durer, and worked with the same untiring assiduity, though his hands would sometimes tremble, and his eyes become suffused, a weakness probably owing to the excessive use he had made of them.

One morning Duhobret was missing at the scene of his daily labors.  His absence created much remark, and many were the jokes passed upon the occasion.  One surmised this, and another that, as the cause of the phenomenon; and it was finally agreed that the poor fellow must have worked himself into an absolute skeleton, and taken his final stand in the glass frame of some apothecary, or been blown away by a puff of wind, while his door happened to stand open.  No on thought of going to his lodgings to look after him or his remains.