第11章 The Artist Surprised 一鸣惊人的艺术家

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.

Meanwhile, the object of their mirth was tossing on a bed of sickness. Disease, which had been slowly sapping the foundations of his strength, burned in every vein; his eyes rolled and flashed in delirium; his lips, usually so silent, muttered wild and incoherent words. In his days of health, poor Duhobret had his dreams, as all artists, rich or poor, will sometimes have. He had thought that the fruit of many years' labor, disposed of to advantage, might procure him enough to live, in an economical way, for the rest of his life.He never anticipated fame or fortune; the height of his ambition or hope was, to possess a tenement large enough to shelter him from the inclemencies of the weather, with means enough to purchase one comfortable meal per day.

Now, alas! however, even that one hope had deserted him. He thought himself dying, and thought it hard to die without one to look kindly upon him, without the words of comfort that might soothe his passage to another world. He fancied his bed surrounded by fiendish faces, grinning at his sufferings, and taunting his inability to summon power to disperse them. At length the apparition faded away, and the patient sunk into an exhausted slumber.

He awoke unrefreshed; it was the fifth day he had lain there neglected. His mouth was parched; he turned over, and feebly stretched out his hand toward the earthen pitcher, from which, since the first day of his illness he had quenched his thirst. Alas! it was empty! Samuel lay for a few moments thinking what he should do. He knew he must die of want if he remained there alone; but to whom could he apply for aid?

An idea seemed, at last, to strike him. He arose slowly, and with difficulty, from the bed, went to the other side of the room, and took up the picture he had painted last. He resolved to carry it to the shop of a salesman, and hoped to obtain for it sufficient to furnish him with the necessaries of life for a week longer. Despair lent him strength to walk, and to carry his burden. On his way, he passed a house, about which there was a crowd. He drew nigh, asked what was going on, and received for an answer, that there was to be a sale of many specimens of art, collected by an amateur in the course of thirty years. It has often happened that collections made with infinite pains by the proprietor, have been sold without mercy or discrimination after his death.

Something whispered to the weary Duhobret, that here would be the market for his picture. It was a long way yet to the house of the picture dealer, and he made up his mind at once. He worked his way through the crowd, dragged himself up the steps, and, after many inquiries, found the auctioneer. That personage was a busy man, with a handful of papers; he was inclined to notice somewhat roughly the interruption of the lean, sallow hunchback, imploring as were his gesture and language.

"What do you call your picture? " at length, said he, carefully looking at it.

"It is a view of the Abbey of Newburg, with its village and the surrounding landscape, "replied the eager and trembling artist.

The auctioneer again scanned it contemptuously, and asked what it was worth. "Oh, that is what you please; whatever it will bring, " answered Duhobret.

"Hem! it is too odd to please, I should think; I can promise you no more than three thalers."

Poor Samuel sighed deeply. He had spent on that piece the nights of many months. But he was starving now; and the pitiful sum offered would give bread for a few days. He nodded his head to the auctioneer, and retiring took his seat in a corner.

The sale began. After some paintings and engravings had been disposed of, Samuel's was exhibited. "Who bids at three thalers? Who bids? " was the cry. Duhobret listened eagerly, but none answered. "Will it find a purchaser? " said he despondingly, to himself. Still there was a dead silence. He dared not look up; for it seemed to him that all the people were laughing at the folly of the artist, who could be insane enough to offer so worthless a piece at a public sale.

"What will become of me? " was his mental inquiry. "That work is certainly my best; "and he ventured to steal another glance. "Does it not seem that the wind actually stirs those boughs and moves those leaves! How transparent is the water! What life breathes in the animals that quench their thirst at that spring! How that steeple shines! How beautiful are those clustering trees! " This was the last expiring throb of an artist's vanity. The ominous silence continued, and Samuel, sick at heart, buried his face in his hands.

"Twenty-one thalers! " murmured a faint voice, just as the auctioneer was about to knock down the picture. The stupefied painter gave a start of joy. He raised his head and looked to see from whose lips those blessed words had come. It was the picture dealer, to whom he had first thought of applying.

"Fifty thalers, " cried a sonorous voice. This time a tall man in black was the speaker. There was a silence of hushed expectation. "One hundred thalers, " at length thundered the picture dealer.

"Three hundred! " "Five hundred! " "One thousand! "

Another profound silence, and the crowd pressed around the two opponents, who stood opposite each other with eager and angry looks.

"Two thousand thalers! " cried the picture dealer, and glanced around him triumphantly, when he saw his adversary hesitate. "Ten thousand! " vociferated the tall man, his face crimson with rage, and his hands clinched convulsively. The dealer grew paler; his frame shook with agitation; he made two or three efforts, and at last cried out "Twenty thousand! "

His tall opponent was not to be vanquished. He bid forty thousand. The dealer stopped;the other laughed a low laugh of insolent triumph, and a murmur of admiration was heard in the crowd. It was too much for the dealer; he felt his peace was at stake. "Fifty thousand! "exclaimed he in desperation. It was the tall man's turn to hesitate. Again the whole crowd were breathless. At length, tossing his arms in defiance, he shouted "One hundred thousand! "The crestfallen picture dealer withdrew; the tall man victoriously bore away the prize.

How was it, meanwhile, with Duhobret, while this exciting scene was going on? He was hardly master of his senses. He rubbed his eyes repeatedly, and murmured to himself,"After such a dream, my misery will seem more cruel! " When the contest ceased, he rose up bewildered, and went about asking first one, then another, the price of the picture just sold. It seemed that his apprehension could not at once be enlarged to so vast a conception.

The possessor was proceeding homeward, when a decrepit, lame, and humpbacked invalid, tottering along by the aid of a stick, presented himself before him. He threw him a piece of money, and waved his hand as dispensing with his thanks. "May it please your honor, " said the supposed beggar, "I am the painter of that picture! " and again he rubbed his eyes.

The tall mall was Count Dunkelsback, one of the richest noblemen in Germany. He stopped, took out his pocketbook, took out a leaf, and wrote on it a few lines. "Take it, friend, " said he; "it is a check for your money. Adieu."

Duhobret finally persuaded himself that it was not a dream. He became the master of a castle, sold it, and resolved to live luxuriously for the rest of his life, and to cultivate painting as a pastime. But, alas, for the vanity of human expectation! He had borne privation and toil; prosperity was too much for him, as was proved soon after, when an indigestion carried him off. His picture remained long in the cabinet of Count Dunkelsback, and afterward passed into the possession of the King of Bavaria.

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也许，并不是所有仰艾伯特·杜勒才华的人都知道这位著名的雕刻家拥有一位“贤内助”，由于他脾气暴躁，以至于不但她在他自己的生活中受尽了折磨，而且还殃及他的学生和家庭。他以前的学生非常机灵，他们会以安抚这位暴君的方式给自己换来和平，然而对于那些倒霉鬼来说，他们不乐意或是没办法拿出任何可以让他满意的东西。甚至更明智的人也只有利用嫁祸替罪羊的方式，来宣泄内心的不爽。

这个不幸的人就是塞缪尔·杜霍布赖特。杜勒因为可怜他才将他招致门下，让他负责在标志牌和粗制绒绣毯上涂颜色，然后再把它们运到德国。他大约四十岁，身体单薄，相貌丑陋，还有些驼背，因此杜勒的一些学生总是恶毒地嘲笑他。艾伯特·杜勒夫人尤其讨厌他，可以说他就是她的眼中钉。但是他十分有耐心，且毫无怨言，尽管他每天的晚饭只是一些面包屑，而同伴们的饭菜要比他的丰盛得多。

可怜的塞缪尔心里没有丝毫的嫉妒或怨恨。任何时候，他都是卖力劳动到半夜，为那些嘲笑他并大声辱骂他的愚笨的人服务。是的，他不具备社交幽默或者才智，但他是不知疲倦、勤勤恳恳的模范。每天，他总是在天刚蒙蒙亮的时候就开始学习，直到日落黄昏他才会只身来到自己的小屋里休息，逗自己开心。

塞缪尔以这种方式吃了三年的苦头，既没有任何练习的时间，也没有放松神经的机会。他没有向任何人讲他独自一人在小屋子里凭借昏暗的灯光思考绘画的事情。但是，这样长年累月的辛劳将他身体里的能量都耗干了。没有人关注这个可怜的艺术家，也没有谁注意他满是皱纹的脸上泛出的病态的红晕，他那畸形的身躯日益变得瘦弱。

没有人注意到他的薪水几乎买不了一顿午饭，此后数天都是如此。塞缪尔像往常一样出现，忍受同学的嘲讽，或者是来自阿尔伯特·杜勒夫人的嘲弄，继续毫不松懈地努力工作，有时他的手会颤抖，眼睛遍布血丝，他畸形的身躯大概就是因为过度辛劳而导致的。

一天早上，塞缪尔没来画室，人们对他的旷工议论纷纷，很多人更是冷嘲热讽。大家互相猜测他为什么会旷工，或者细细研究产生这种事情的原因，最终大家一致认为那个可怜的家伙一定是死了，变成了一具骷髅，正在某个药剂师的玻璃框架里面做展示，或者是他家的大门碰巧没关上，从屋外刮进来的大风把他给吹走了。总之，没有人愿意去他家探望，看看他到底出了什么事。

与此同时，大家取乐的对象塞缪尔已经卧床不起，疾病慢慢地吞噬着他的身体，阻塞他的每一条血管；他的眼睛开始打转，并且因为兴奋而闪亮无比；他平常不怎么说话的嘴巴此时有些语无伦次地说着什么。在身体健康的时候，可怜的塞缪尔有自己的梦想，他要成为一位大艺术家，无论那时是贫穷还是富有。他本以为依靠自己的努力，保持勤俭节约的方式就能生活下去，以后就不会为了生活而忧愁。他从来不期望自己有很大的名气或者很有钱；他的期望或者希望，就是拥有一所足够大的房子来躲避恶劣的天气，有足够的钱来买每天必需的食物。

然而，现在所有的愿望都破灭了，他觉得自己快死了，但是他不想就这么轻易死掉，因为还没有人好好地照看过他，也没有人说过一些安慰他的话，让他安心去另一个世界。他幻想着自己的床周围都是恶魔般的脸孔，他们对他的不幸遭遇进行冷嘲热讽，他无力驱散这些邪恶的面孔，最终那些面孔消失了，他很快陷入了疲惫的沉睡中。

他醒来时，觉得一点精神都没有，他已经在这里躺了五天五夜，但就是没有人来看他。他十分口渴，翻了个身，虚弱地把手伸向陶制水壶。从生病一开始，他就用这个水壶喝水。啊！水壶里竟然是空的！塞缪尔躺了几分钟，心想接下来该怎么做。他知道如果他被遗弃在这里，他就会被口渴折磨致死。但是谁能帮助他呢？

终于，一个突发奇想触动了他。他缓慢地直起身来，挣扎着从床上下来，走到屋子的另一边，取出自己最近一次创作的油画，他决定把画带到画商的店铺，希望用这幅画获取能够让他再活一个礼拜的生活必需品。绝望在驱使他前进，同时也让他肩负着沉甸甸的担子。在去画商的店铺的路上，他从一所房子边走过，看到那里聚集着一大群人，于是他凑过去，问道：“这里发生了什么事？”他得到的回答是这里要进行一场艺术品拍卖会，这些艺术品是一位业余收藏家花费三十年时间收集起来的。通常这些作品都是作者本人花费巨大努力才画成的，然后在这些画家死去之后，这些作品会被毫不怜惜或不加区分地以低价变卖出去。

一些人的谈话传到了机警的塞缪尔的耳朵里，他认为在这里可以把自己的画卖出去，况且从这里到画商的店铺还有很长的一段路要走，于是他做出了决定，穿过人群，在询问了几个人之后，他找到了拍卖商。拍卖商正忙得不可开交，手里拿着一堆文件，他注意到了这个衣衫褴褛、瘦弱并且驼背的人，所以就用手势和话语试探了他一下。

“你怎么看你的画？”拍卖商在仔细看过这幅画之后说。

“这幅画画的是纽伯格大修道院，背景是它所在的村落和周围的景色。”画家急切而有些颤抖地说。

拍卖商再次用轻蔑的眼神看起这幅画来，问他打算卖多少钱。“噢，你觉得多少钱合适，就多少钱拿走吧。”塞缪尔答道。

“哼！太蹩脚了，还真没法给价啊。不过，我可以向你保证，这画最多值三泰勒。”

可怜的塞缪尔深深地叹了口气。他想不到自己花费数个夜晚完成的这幅画才值这么点钱。但是他现在饥饿难耐，即使可怜的三泰勒也能买到足够维持数天的面包。他冲拍卖商点点头，便在拍卖场的一处角落坐下来。

拍卖开始了。在拍卖商拍卖了几幅油画和雕刻品之后，塞缪尔的作品被展示出来。“谁出三泰勒？有谁愿出价？”拍卖商大声喊道。塞缪尔急切地听着，但是没有人回答。“会有人买吗？”他沮丧地对自己说道。拍卖会上仍然一片死寂。他都不敢抬头看了，因为在他看来，在场的所有人都在嘲笑画这幅画的作者有多么愚蠢。因为他太过疯狂，竟然在公开拍卖会上拍卖如此毫无价值的作品。

“我的作品会怎么样？”他扪心自问，“这是我画得最好的作品。”他鼓起勇气偷看了一下。“没有人注意到风激起了那些树枝，吹动了那些树叶！画里面的水是多么清澈啊！在泉水旁喝水的动物生活得多么自在啊！那尖塔是多么闪亮啊！那些树是多么美丽啊！”这是这位艺术家自尊心即将消亡的最后悸动。悲剧的寂静仍在继续，塞缪尔的心里感到十分痛苦，他把头埋在了手心里。

就在拍卖商取下这幅画的时候，突然传来一个微弱的声音：“我出二十一泰勒。”塞缪尔目瞪口呆，开始兴奋起来。他抬起了头，想看看究竟是谁开的尊口。那个喊价的是一名画商，他之前就认为这个人会首先喊价。

“五十泰勒！”一个响亮的声音传来。这次是一位身着黑色上衣、手拿扬声器的大高个儿。在充满期望的寂静过后，“一百泰勒！”终于，画商大声喊道。

“三百泰勒！”

“五百泰勒！”

“一千泰勒！”

场上再一次陷入了寂静，众人都围在这两个竞争者之间，他们面对面坐着，脸上都带着胜券在握的激情，怒目相视。

“两千泰勒！”画商叫道，当他看到竞争对手犹豫了，便炫耀似的打量着他。“一万泰勒！”那个高个儿喊道，他的脸由于愤怒而变得通红，双手紧握，犹如痉挛一般。画商的脸变得苍白起来，他的身躯由于激动开始抖动，在竞拍了两三次之后，终于他大叫道：“两万泰勒！”

那个高个儿的竞争对手并没有因此而服输。他出价四万泰勒，画商不再出价了。那个高个儿用充满轻蔑的笑声炫耀他的胜利，人群里传来了低声的赞叹。对于画商来说，这样的声音太刺耳了，他感到自己没法再保持平稳的心态了。“五万泰勒！”画商充满绝望地吼道。这次轮到那个高个儿的出价者犹豫了。人群再一次陷入了令人难以呼吸的紧张氛围之中。终于，高个儿蔑视地举起手，拼尽全力高喊：“十万泰勒！”那位画商终于认输了，高个儿拿着那幅画，胜利而归。

与此同时，面对这样激动人心的时刻，塞缪尔的心情又是怎样的呢？在拍卖结束之后，塞缪尔无法控制自己的情感。他反复擦拭自己的眼睛，对自己小声说：“做过这样的梦之后，我的痛苦将变得更加残酷！”当拍卖结束的时候，他充满疑惑地站起来，接连打听了好几个人，问他们刚才那幅画卖了多少钱。很显然，他还无法理解十万泰勒到底是多少钱。

当那个苍老、虚弱并且驼着背的塞缪尔拄着拐杖踉跄地朝前走的时候，那个高个儿的出价者正在回家的路上。塞缪尔走到他前面，刚打算做自我介绍，高个儿给塞缪尔扔了一块钱，还没等他说谢谢，就急忙摆手。“谢谢您的慷慨，”塞缪尔说，“我是这幅画的作者。”说着，他再一次擦了擦自己的眼睛。

这个高个儿就是敦克尔巴克伯爵，德国最有钱的绅士之一，他停了下来，拿出支票簿，从里面撕下来一张支票，在上面写了几行字。“拿着，我的朋友，”他说，“这是张支票，里面是你应得的钱。再会！”

最终，塞缪尔说服了自己这不是一场梦。他买下了一座城堡，后来，他又把城堡卖了，并且下定决心，在剩下的后半生要过奢侈的生活，并且把绘画当作消遣。真是让人唏嘘，人类的期望竟是如此的空虚！他家境贫困，受尽折磨，对他来说富有竟然难以承受，正如后来的事实所证明的那样，他因奢侈的生活而丧了命。他的那幅作品一直放在敦克尔巴克伯爵的陈列室里，之后又流落到巴伐利亚国王手中。