 CHAPTER IV Albrecht Dürer and his city Of a truth this man would have surpassed us all if he had had the masterpieces of art constantly before him. Raphael. Hardly any master has scattered with so lavish a hand all that the soul has conceived of fervid feeling or pathos, all that thought has grasped of what is strong or sublime, all that the imagination has conceived of poetic wealth, in no one has the depth and power of the German genius been so gloriously revealed as in him. Lubke. He was content to be a precious cornerstone in the edifice of German art, the future grandeur of which he could only foresee. Richard Ford Heath. Albrecht Dürer. 1471-1528. In our study of the great artists so far we have found that each glorified some particular city, and that whatever other treasures that city may have had in the past, it is the recollections of its great artist that hallow it most deeply today. Thus, to think of Antwerp, is to think instantly of Rubens, Leiden and Amsterdam as quickly recall to our minds the name of Rembrandt. Seville without Morillo would lose its chief charm, while Urbino is Raphael, and without the revered name of the painter, would seldom draw the visitor to its secluded precincts. To the quaintest of European cities the name of Albrecht Dürer instinctively carries us, to Nuremberg, that ancient free imperial town for ever fair and young. Were we to study Dürer without first viewing his venerable city which he so deeply loved all his life that no promise of gain from gorgeous Venetian court or from wealthy Antwerp burgers could detain him long from home, we should leave untouched a delightful subject, and one deeply enwoven in the life and thought of the artist. Were we to omit a brief consideration of his time and the way the German mind looked at things and naturally represented them in words and in pictures, we should come away from Dürer, impressed only with his great homely figures and faces, and wondering why, in every list of the great artists of the world, Dürer's name should stand so high. Having these things in mind, it will not then seem so far away to speak of Nuremberg and Luther before we rehearse the things which make up the life of Albrecht Dürer. Nuremberg does not boast a very early date, for she began her existence just after the year 1000 when men, finding out surely that the end of the world was not come, took as it were a new lease of life. The thing she does boast is that her character as a medieval town has been almost perfectly preserved up to the present day. There were many things which made Nuremberg an important city in early times. She was conveniently located for traders who shipped vast amounts of merchandise from Venice to the great trade centres in the Netherlands. For many years she was a favourite city of the emperor and here were kept the crown jewels which were displayed with great pomp once a year. The country immediately about Nuremberg was sandy but carefully cultivated. There were also large banks of clay very useful to the citizens in the manufacture of pottery. Like the salt of Venice it was a natural source of wealth to the citizens. Very early we find a paper mill here and here too were set up some of the earliest printing presses. Perhaps the most interesting of the early wares of this enterprising city were the watches. The first made in the world were manufactured here and from their shape they were called Nuremberg eggs. We have a story that Charles V had a watchmaker brought in a sedan chair all the way from Nuremberg that he might have his watch repaired. Here was manufactured the first gun lock and here was invented the valued metallic compound known as brass. From all these sources the citizens grew rich but their wealth did not make them forget their city. A little more than fifty years before Diorer's birth the emperor being very much in need of money they bought their freedom. For this they paid what would be in our money about a million of dollars. It was a goodly price but they gave it freely. Then they destroyed the house where their governor or burg grave had lived and they were henceforth ruled by a council selected from their own number. The city lies on both sides of the river Pagnitz which divides it into two almost equal parts. The northern side is named from its great church, St. Sebald's and the southern for that of St. Lawrence. Originally the city was enclosed by splendid ramparts. 365 towers broke the monotony of the extensive walls. Of these one hundred are still standing today. In days gone by a moat thirty-five feet wide encircled the wall but since peace has taken the place of war and security has come instead of hourly danger the moat has been drained and thrifty kitchen gardens fill the space. Within the city are some of the most beautiful buildings both private and public. Here to sculpture which the Germans cultivated before they did painting has left rare monuments. Among these last we must notice the wonderful shrine of St. Sebald in the church of the same name. For thirteen years Peter Vischer and his five sons labored on this work. Long it was to toil and vexing were the questions which arose in the progress of the work but the result was a masterpiece which stands alone among the artworks of the world. Nor can we forget the foamy suborium of the church of St. Lawrence. For sixty-five feet this miracle of snowy marble rises in the air growing more lacy at every step until in its terminal portions so delicate does it become that it seems like the very clouds in fleeciness. Church doorways are carved with beautiful and fantastic forms by men whose names were long ago forgotten. Common dwellings are adorned with picturesque dormer windows. Even the narrow crooked streets hold their share of beauty for here are fountains so exquisite in their workmanship that their like is not to be found elsewhere. Here it is the beautiful fountain gay with sculptures of heroes and saints and there it is the little Goosemans fountain where humor is added to beauty. Through all the years stands the little man with a goose under either arm patiently receiving his daily drenching. Still two other fountains known to fame send up their crystal waters to greet the light. If we seek for more modern things we are also rewarded for here in Durar Square stands Rauch's great statue of the artist copied from Durar's portrait of himself in Vienna. We note the custom house one of the oldest buildings the town hall and the Berg or castle which for many years was the favorite residence of the emperor. Here too are many fine old houses which used to belong to noble men of the city. It is not these residences that we seek however if we are visiting Nuremberg. We ask rather for the house of Hans Sachs the cobbler poet of John Palm the fearless patriot who gave his life for the privilege of beating Napoleon and above all we seek that quaint house where Durar lived and worked. In choosing these as objects of our special attention we feel like Charles I who said when he compelled a reluctant courtier to hold Durar's ladder, man can make a nobleman but only God can make an artist. In our search for interesting things in old Nuremberg we come suddenly upon a house bearing a tablet on which are these words? Pilate's house. At first we are mystified for was not Pilate's house in Jerusalem but at once we recall that this is the house of the pious Jacob Ketzet who twice visited the holy land that he might measure exactly the distance from Pilate's house to cavalry. When he was satisfied with his measurements he returned to Nuremberg and commissioned the great sculptor Adam Kraft to carve stations as he called them between his home and St John's cemetery to the northwest of the city. These stations which are merely stone pillars on which are carved in relief scenes from the sufferings of our Lord just before his death are still standing and if we go to Durar's grave, as I'm sure we should wish to do, we shall pass them on our way. The Nurembergers have long taken pride in the quaint appearance of their city so that many of the newer houses are built in the old style with their gables to the street. As we note the patriotic spirit of the people and recount the beauties of the old city we feel that Durar was warranted in the deep love and affection that I have borne that venerable city, my fatherland, as he expressed it. As to the time when Durar came into the world it was truly a wonderful age in which to live. Less than twenty-five years after his birth Columbus found a vast new world. People were already much agitated over the evil practices in the old established church. Durar knew and loved Luther and Melanchthon but he was quite as much attached to the scholarly Erasmus who wished not to break away from the old church but merely to correct its abuses. In short Durar belonged to the conservative class which found it possible to accept the food and the new doctrines and retain the pure from the old without revolution. Such were the citizens of Nuremberg and thus did the ancient city as easily accept the new doctrines as she did the morning sunshine pouring in at her storied windows. Thus too were preserved the ancient buildings and institutions which, through the wisdom of her citizens, were not called upon to withstand and other military attacks. Durar was above everything a true representative of the German people and so we ought to take note of some of the qualities of the German mind. As Goethe, their greatest poet says, one of their strongest characteristics is that of wishing to learn and to do rather than to enjoy. The Germans love truth and they do not stop short in their imaginings when they wish to drive it home. So in German art the toiling man or woman is often accompanied by angels and demons, the equal of which were never pictured by any other people. The greatest extremes of beauty and ugliness have these people given in their art. In either extreme however thoughts on the deepest questions of human life are at the foundation. On a summer's day in 1455 there wandered into the far famed city of Nuremberg a young goldsmith from Hungary. The ramparts of the city with their towers and gateways, the splendid buildings enclosed, were like miracles to the youth. It was a fate day in celebration of the marriage of the son of a prominent citizen, Pirkeheimer by name. Albrecht Durar, for that was the youth's name, long studied the gay throng, little thinking how in the future the name of his son and that of the bridegroom there would together be known to fame, the one as the greatest artist, the other as the most learned man of Nuremberg. The wandering youth was the father of our artist and the bridegroom was the father of Willebald Pirkeheimer, Durar's lifelong friend and companion. The young goldsmith loved the city at once and encouraged by the business activity of the place he made it his permanent abode. He found employment with Hieronymus Holper and soon married his master's comely daughter, Barbara. They resided in a little house which was a sort of appendage to the great house of Pirkeheimer. A few months after a much longed for a son came to bless the Pirkeimers a little boy was born in the goldsmith's house whom they named for his father, Albrecht Durar. As the years went by 17 other children came to the Durar home. Three only of all these children grew to maturity. With such a family to support we can easily imagine that the father's life was a hard one. He was a pious and industrious man whom his illustrious son never tires of praising. In one place he says of him, he had a great reputation with many who knew him, for he led an honourable Christian life, was a patient man, gentle, in peace with everyone and always thankful to God. He had no desire for worldly pleasures, was of few words, did not go into society, and was a God-fearing man. Thus my dear father was most anxious to bring up his children to honour God. His highest wish was that his children should be pleasing to God and man. Therefore he used to tell us every day that we should love God and be true to our neighbors. Durar sorrowed deeply when his father died in 1502. On his deathbed he commended the mother to her son. Durar was faithful to his trust and cared tenderly for his mother until her death, several years later. Never did boy or man more faithfully keep the command, honour thy father and mother, than did our artist. For many reasons Albrecht seemed to be his father's favourite child. We find him, in spite of numerous other cares, taking great pains with the boy's education. He taught him to read and write well, and must have given him instruction in Latin. These were years when thirst for learning was abroad in the land. Free Latin schools were established to meet the needs. Durar's father was filled with this spirit, and he communicated it to his son. As was customary at the time, the son was trained to follow his father's trade, and so he learned the Goldsmith's art in his father's shop. It is said that in his tender years he engraved, on silver, events from Christ's passage to Calvary. Albrecht's drawing was superior to that usually done in a Goldsmith's shop. In his free hours he drew to entertain his companions. After a while he began to feel that he might paint pictures instead of merely drawing designs for metalwork. He loved the work, and so had the courage to tell his father of his wish to become a painter. The elder Durar was patient with the boy, regretting only that he had lost so much time learning the Goldsmith's trade. Albrecht, then only sixteen, was surely young enough to begin his life work. His father put him to study with Volgemut, the foremost painter of the city, which is not high praise, for the art of painting was then new in the prosperous city of the Pegnitz. Volgemut was, however, a good engraver on wood, and so perhaps was able to direct the young apprentice in quite as valuable a line as painting. Here Durar remained for three years until fourteen ninety. He was now but nineteen, full of hope, and perhaps conscious to a certain extent that his was no ordinary skill of hand. He was now ready, according to the custom of his countrymen, for his Wonderschaft, or journeyman period, when he should complete his art education by going abroad to other towns to see their ways and thus improve his own method. For four years he traveled among neighboring towns. The evidence is strong that the last year was spent in Venice. We have little certain knowledge of where he spent these years, but we feel quite sure that one of the places he visited was Colmar, where he became acquainted with the artist Martin Schogauer. He was called home rather suddenly in fourteen ninety-four by his father, who had arranged what he thought was an acceptable marriage for his son. A short time before Durar had sent his father a portrait of himself in which he figured as a remarkably handsome and well-dressed young man. It is supposed that the father sent for this portrait to help him along in his arrangements for the marriage of his son. However Albrecht may have felt about the matter of making his marriage merely a business affair, he never expressed himself, but was married shortly after his return to Nuremberg. Agnes Frey, the woman selected by Durar's father, was a handsome woman of good family, with a small fortune of her own. She has come down to us with a most unenviable record as a scold who made life almost unendurable for her husband. It is now quite certain, however, that for all these years she has been grossly misrepresented, simply because her husband's friend Pirkeheimer, for small reason, became offended with her. It seems that in his lifetime Durar, who had collected many curious and valuable things, had gathered together some remarkably fine staghorns. One pair of these especially pleased Pirkeheimer. The widow, without knowing Pirkeheimer's desire for these, sold them for a small sum and thus brought upon herself the anger of her husband's choleric friend, who wrote a most unkind letter concerning her which has been quoted from that day to this, to show how Albrecht Durar suffered in his home. The truth seems really to be that Agnes Durar was as sweet-tempered as the average woman, fond of her husband, and a good housekeeper. The earlier works of Durar are largely woodcuts, the art which more than any other was the artist's very own. The discussions of the times regarding religious matters made a demand for books even at great cost. It was a time when written and spoken words held people's attention, but when, in addition, the text was illustrated by strong pictures, the power and reach of the books were increased tenfold. A place thus seemed waiting for Albrecht Durar, the master wood engraver. His first great series was the Apocalypse, pictures to illustrate the book of Revelation. Such a subject gave Durar ample scope for the use of his imagination. Then came the story of Christ's agony, twice engraved in small and large size. These were followed by still another series illustrating the life of Mary. This series was especially popular for it glorified family life, the family life of the Germans, so worthy, so respected. To be sure, Mary is represented as a German woman tending a dear German child. The kings who come to adore could be found any day on the streets of Nuremberg. The castles and churches that figure in the backgrounds are those of medieval and Renaissance Germany, but this was Durar's method of truth speaking, and it appealed strongly to the people of his time, as it must to us of today. In 1506, when the last series was not quite completed, Durar went to Venice, perhaps to look after the sale of some of his prints, but more likely because the artist wished to work in the sunshine and art atmosphere of the island city. While away he wrote regularly to his friend Pirkeimer. His letters are exceedingly interesting, as we learn from them much about the art society of the time. Durar was looked upon with favor by the Venetian government, but most of the native artists were jealous of the foreigner, and not friendly. They complained that his art was like nothing set down as correct or classical, but still they admired it, and copied it, too, on the sly. Gentile Bellini, the founder of the Venetian school, was then a very old man. He was fond of Durar and showed him many kindnesses, not the least of which was praising him to the Venetian nobles. There's a charming story told of Bellini's admiration for Durar's skill in painting hair. One day, after examining carefully the beard of one of the saints in a picture by Durar, he begged him to allow him to use the brush that had done such wonderful work. Durar gladly laid his brushes before Bellini and indicated the one he had used. The Venetian picked it up, made the attempt to use it, but failed to produce anything unusual, whereupon Durar took the brush, wet with Bellini's own color, and painted a lock of woman's hair in so marvelous a way that the old artist declared he would not believe it had he not seen it done. The most important picture Durar painted while in Venice was the Madonna of the Rose Garlands. It was painted for the artist's countrymen, and is now in a monastery near Prague. Durar evidently valued it highly himself, for he writes of it to Perkheimer. My panel would give a ducket for you to see it. It is good and beautiful in color. I have got much praise and little profit by it. I have silenced all the painters who said that I was good at engraving, but could not manage color. Now everyone says that they have never seen better coloring. After little more than a year's sojourn in Venice, he returned to Nuremberg. He had been sorely tempted by an offer from the Venetian council of a permanent pension, if he would but remain in their city. But the ties of affection which bound him to his home city drew him back to Nuremberg, even though he had written while in Venice, How cold I shall be after this sun, here I am a gentleman, referring indirectly to the smaller place he would occupy at home. Although Durar studied and enjoyed the works of the Italian masters, there is hardly a trace of the influence of this study in his own works. His mind was too strongly bent in its own direction to be easily turned even by so powerful an influence as Venetian painting. We are grateful indeed for the steadfast purpose of Durar that kept his art pure German, instead of diluting it with Italian style so little adapted to harmonize with German thought and method. On Durar's return to Nuremberg, he did some of his best work. He painted one of his greatest pictures at this time, all saints. It is crowded with richly dressed figures, while the air above is filled with an angelic host which no one can count. In the center is the cross on which hangs our suffering Lord. Below, in one corner, is Durar's unmistakable signature, which in this case consists of a full-length miniature of himself holding up a tablet on which is this inscription. Albertus Durar of Nuremberg did it in 1511. After this follows the renowned monogram used by the artist in signing his works after 1496, the D enclosed in a large A, something after this style. He then designed a very beautiful and elaborate frame for this picture to be carved from wood. It was adorned with figures in relief, beautiful vine traceries, and architectural ornaments which showed our artist master of still another national art, wood carving. It is interesting too to know that about this time Durar, finding painting not so lucrative as he had hoped, turned his attention to engraving on all sorts of hard materials such as ivory and hone stone. To this period belongs that tiny triumph of his art, the Degenoff, or gold plate, which contains in a circle a little more than an inch in diameter the whole scene of the crucifixion carefully represented. Through his indefatigable labors, Durar's circumstances were now greatly improved, and so he planned to publish his works, a matter of large expense. Instead of going to some large publishing house as we today do, Durar had a press set up in his own house. We delight in illustrated books today, indeed we will hardly have a book without pictures. Imagine then the joy that must have been felt in this time of the scarcity of even printed books to have those that were illustrated. There was ready sale for all the books Durar could print. Some prints came into Raphael's hands. He wrote a friendly letter to the artist, and sent him several of his own drawings. In return Durar sent his own portrait, life-size, which Raphael greatly prized, and at his death bequeathed to his favorite pupil, Julio Romano. Durar's prosperity continuing, he purchased the house now known to fame as Albrecht Durar's house. It is still very much as it was in the artist's lifetime. Here one may study at his leisure the kitchen and living-room, which seem as if Durar had just left them. The artist's reputation was now fully established. In 1509 he was made a member of the council that governed the city, and he was granted the important commission of painting two pictures for the relic chamber in Nuremberg. In this room, which was in a citizen's house, the crown jewels were kept on Easter night, the time of their annual exhibition to the public. Sigismund and Charlemagne were the subjects selected, the former probably because it was he who first gave to Nuremberg the custody of the precious jewels, and the latter because Charlemagne was a favorite hero with the Germans. The Charlemagne is here reproduced. In wonderful jeweled coronation robes, with a coat of arms of France on one side and that of Germany on the other, he is a fine figure well suited to make us feel Durar's power as a painter. In 1512 there came to Nuremberg a royal visitor, no less a personage than the Emperor Maximilian. This was of greatest importance to Durar, to whom two important commissions came as the result of this visit. The Emperor had no settled abode, so his travels were important, at least to himself. He was fond of dictating poems and descriptions of these travels. Durar was asked to make woodcuts for a book of the Emperor's travels to consist of two parts, the one called the triumphal arch and the other, the triumphal car. The woodcuts for the first were made on 92 separate blocks, which, when put together, formed one immense cut, ten and a half feet high by nine feet wide. For this Durar made all the designs which were cut by a skilled workman of the city, Hieronymus André. It was while this work was going forward that the well-known saying, a cat may look at a king, arose. The Emperor was often at the workshop watching the progress of the work, and he was frequently entertained by the pet cats of the woodcutter, who would come in to be with their master. The designs for the triumphal car were of the same general style. In these, Durar was assisted by other engravers of the city. One expression of Durar's regarding the ornamentation of the car shows him skilled in the language of the courtier, as well as in that of the citizen. He says, It is adorned not with gold and precious stones, which are the property of the good and the bad alike, but with the virtues which only the really noble possess. The noted prayer book of Maximilian was the other work done for the Emperor. Only three of these are in existence, and of course they are almost priceless in value. The text was illustrated by Durar on the margin in pen and ink drawings in different colored inks. Sometimes the artist's fancy is expressed in twining vines and flying birds and butterflies. Again it is the kneeling solomist listening and wrapped attention to some heavenly harpist, or it may be that the crafty fox beguiles the unsuspecting fowls with music from a stolen flute. Thus, through almost endless variety of subjects, stray the artist's thought and hand. We have also a fine likeness of Maximilian drawn in strong free lines by Durar at this same time. Seeing how deft the artist was with his crayons, Maximilian took up some pieces which broke in his hand. When asked why it did not do so in the fingers of the artist, Durar made the well-known reply, Gracious Emperor, I would not have your majesty draw as well as myself, I have practiced the art, and it is my kingdom. Your majesty has other and more difficult work to do. For all this wonderful work, Durar's compensation was little more than the remission of certain taxes by the Nuremberg Council and the promise of a small annual pension. Maximilian's death made it doubtful whether the pension would be paid. Durar, in common with others, sought out the new emperor, Charles V, to have the favors granted by his predecessor confirmed. With this in view, in 1520 the artist, with his wife and maid, set out for the Netherlands. They were gone something more than a year and a half during which time Durar kept a strict account of his expenses and of his experiences and impressions throughout the journey. Everywhere he was received with the most marked attention. He was invited to splendid feasts, and was the recipient of all sorts of gifts. In return he gave freely of his own precious works. He made his headquarters at Antwerp, and here he witnessed the entry of the new monarch. The magnificence of the 400 two-storied arches erected for the occasion impressed Durar deeply. Of the many and varied experiences of the Nuremberger, not the least interesting was his attempt to see a whale that had been cast ashore in Zeeland. He made all haste to see this unusual sight, and was nearly shipwrecked in the attempt. The exposure, too, to which he was subjected, gave rise to ills which eventually caused his death. After all his trouble he was disappointed at his journey's end, for the whale had been washed away before he arrived. He finally accomplished the object for which he went to the Netherlands. His pension was confirmed, and in addition he was named Court Painter. Ladened with all sorts of curious things which he had collected, and with a generous supply of presents for his friends and their wives, he started home, where he arrived in due time. There were but seven years of life left to our painter, and these were burdened with broken health. To this period, however, belong some of his most wonderful and characteristic works. The very year of his return he engraved that marvellous head of an old man, now in Vienna. Never were the striking qualities of age more beautifully put together than in this head. With about the same time we associate the praying hand now also in Vienna. How an artist can make hands express the inmost wish of the soul as these do, will always remain a mystery even to the most acute. We have the story that they were the clasped hands of Dürer's boyhood friend who toiled for years to equal or rival his friend in their chosen work. When, in a test agreed upon, to Dürer was given the prize, then Hans, for that was the friend's name, prayed fervently to be resigned to a second place. Dürer caught sight of the clasped hands, and drew them so well that, wherever the name and fame of Albrecht goes, there also must go the praying hands of his friend. Whether the story be true, we cannot say, but in the hands we have a master work to love. At this time the new religious doctor informed the subject of thought everywhere. There was the most minute searching for truth that the world has ever known. Dürer, deeply moved by the thought of the time, put its very essence into his works. He was a philosopher and a student of men. He saw how the varied temperaments of men led them to think differently on the great questions of the time. Feeling this keenly, he set to work to represent these various temperaments in pictured forms, a most difficult thing to do as we can easily imagine. Perhaps his own diseased condition led him to select as the first of these, melancholy, that great brooding shadow that hovers constantly above man, waiting only for the moment when discouragement comes to fall upon and destroy its victim. How does Dürer represent this insidious and fatal enemy? A powerful winged woman sits in despair in the midst of the useless implements of the art of science. The compass in her nervous fingers can no longer measure, nor even time in his ceaseless flow explain the mysteries which crowd upon this well-nigh distraught woman, who it seems must stand for human reason. The sun itself is darkened by the uncanny bat, which possibly may stand for doubt and unbelief. Perhaps no one can explain accurately the meaning of this great engraving, and therein lies the greatness which allows each person to interpret it to please himself. In painting he attempted the same difficult subject of the temperaments, in his four apostles, St. Paul and Mark, St. John and Peter. He painted these without charge as a sort of memorial of himself in his native town. Two saints are painted on each panel. No figures in art are more beautiful than the leading one on each panel, the St. Paul on the one, and the St. John on the other. If we interpret these as regards temperament, John is the type of the melancholy, Peter of the phlegmatic, Paul of the choleric, and Mark of the sanguine. In 1526 Durer sent these pictures as a gift to the Council of Nuremberg. It was the artist's wish that they should always remain in the Council Hall. Notwithstanding this, only copies are now to be seen in Nuremberg, while the originals are in Munich, carried there by the elector of Bavaria, who paid a good price for them. One other of Durer's pictures should be spoken of, though it hardly belongs last in order of time. It is really the summing up of much that he had done from time to time all through his busy lifetime. This picture, called The Night, Death, and the Devil, is an engraving on copper. The stern, intelligent men of the time who were ready to face any danger in order to bear themselves according to their notions of right, are well represented in this splendid mounted night. What though death reminds him by the uplifted hourglass that his life is nearly ended, or that Satan himself stands ready to claim the night's soul, there is that in this grand horseman's face that tells of unflinching purpose and indomitable courage to carry it out against the odds of earth and the dark regions besides. One of our greatest art critics says of this work, I believe I do not exaggerate when I particularize this point as the most important work which the fantastic spirit of German art has produced. A reading of Fouquet's Sintraum inspires us anew with the true spirit of Durer's great work. The gift to his natal city was Durer's last work of note, the sickness that had been growing upon him, which was none other than consumption, gradually absorbed his energies, and in April 1528 he died. He was buried in St. John's Cemetery in the lot belonging to the Frey family. On the flat gravestone was let in the little bronze tablet, on which was a simple inscription written by his friend Pirkeimer. A century and a half later, Sandrat, the historian of German painters, visited the tomb, then in ruins. He caused it to be repaired, and added another inscription which has been translated into English. Rest here, thou prince of painters, thou who was better than great, in many arts unequal in the old time or the late. Earth, thou didst paint and garnish, and now in thy new abode thou paintest the holy things overheard in the city of God. And we, as our patron saint, look up to thee, ever will, and crown with laurel the dust here left with us still. Juror's character was one of the purest to be found on the honour list of the world. He bore heavy burdens with patience, and was true to his country and to himself in the most distracting of times. He was the father of popular illustration, and the originator of illustrated books. He was as many-sided in his genius as Da Vinci, and as prolific as Raphael, though along a different line. That he was architect, sculptor, painter, engraver, author, and civil engineer proves the former point, while the fact that he left a great number of signed works satisfies us regarding the latter comparison. One who knew him wrote of him in these words. If there were in this man anything approaching to a fault, it was simply the endless industry and self-criticism which he indulged in, often even to injustice. In closing this sketch, nothing can so delightfully summarise the beauty of the old town of Nuremberg and the character of its great artist, as a part of Longfellow's poem, Nuremberg. In the valley of the Panganets, where across broad meadowlands rise the blue Franconian mountains, Nuremberg the ancient stands. Quaint old town of toil and traffic, quaint old town of art and song, memories haunt thy pointed gables like the rooks that round them throng. Memories of the Middle Ages, when the emperors, rough and bold, had their dwelling in thy castle, time defying, centuries old, and thy brave and thrifty burgers boasted in their uncouth rhyme, that their great imperial city stretched its hand through every climb. In the courtyard of the castle, bound with many an iron band, stands the mighty Linden planted by Queen Kunagunda's hand. On the square the Oriole window, where in old heroic days set the poet Melchior singing Kaiser Maximilian's praise. Everywhere I see around me rise the wondrous world of art, fountains wrought with richest sculpture standing in the common mart. And above cathedral doorways, saints and bishops carved in stone by a former age commissioned as apostles to our own. In the church of St. Ed. Sebald sleeps enshrined his holy dust, and in bronze the twelve apostles guard from age to age their trust. In the church of St. Ed. Lawrence stands a picks of sculpture rare, like the foamy sheaf of fountains rising through the painted air. Here when art was still religion, with a simple reverent heart, lived and labored Albrecht Dürer, the evangelist of art. Hence, in silence and in sorrow, toiling still with busy hand, like an emigrant he wandered seeking for the better land. Emigravit is the inscription on the tombstone where he lies, Dead he is not, but departed, for the artist never dies. Farer seems the ancient city, and the sunshine seems more fair, that he once has trod its pavement, that he once has breathed its air. End of Chapter 4 Read by Kara Schellenberg on March 7, 2008, in San Diego, California. And this is the end of Great Artists, Volume 1, by Jenny Alice Kieser.