At
last he stopped in a hollow, called the Valley of Bushes, on account of
the gigantic white-thorn trees that grew there. He sat down in their
shadow: a small bird was fluttering about, and singing blithely overhead;
but he did not hear her.
When the storm is loud, all natural sounds are silenced. Thus it was
with Durer; the throbbing of ambition in every vein with him absorbed all
the sweeter melodies which should charm the heart and fancy of youth.
He was dreaming of fame and fortune. How to rise was his sole thought;
and it was not probable, except by some very rare circumstance and
chance, that his dream should be realized; for in those days of the
world, at least, it was thought that a shepherd's son should have a
shepherd's tastes. The young man did not see a single path open in which
he could plant his foot--one was barred by wealth, another by position,
another by birth. All that he could dream of was some blest chance that
should break down for him one of these barriers. He was sullen,
afflicted, ashamed, indignant, and alarmed,--above all, when he thought
of one thing--that thing was his poverty.
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