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So far back as is known it was preserved, probably after being hidden from the fury that attacked all church pictures, in the Rathaus. Maximilian I., of Bavaria, the zealous collector of Dürer's works, offered almost any price for this altar-piece by Dürer's great contemporary.

Everywhere are works of art, from the cruder decorations over doorways and windows to the paintings of Durer in the Germanic Museum. It is a sad reflection to me that most of Durer's work, and all of his masterpieces, are in other cities Munich, Berlin, and Vienna, and that, as it is in Greece, only their fame remains to glorify the city of his birth.

In 'Melancolia' a grand winged woman sits absorbed in sorrowful thought, while surrounded by all the appliances of philosophy, science, art, mechanics, all the discoveries made before and in Albrecht Dürer's day, in the book, the chart, the lever, the crystal, the crucible, the plane, the hammer.

"What have ye made out?" The old hand closed upon them. "He was Dürer's friend," said the girl. "There are letters to him five or six. And he tells about a picture in the journal a picture Albrecht Dürer gave to him." She glanced down at the wrinkled, working face. "It was unsigned, grandmamma and it was the head of the Saviour." The old woman's throat moved loosely.

He was an author and a poet as well as a painter, and only Leonardo da Vinci matched him for greatness and versatility. We may know what Durer's father looked like, since the son made two portraits of him; one is to be seen in the Uffizi Gallery at Florence and the other belongs to the Duke of Northumberland's collection.

Ruskin himself quotes Dürer's note that Raphael sent him his drawings, not to show his soul nor his theories, but simply seine Hand zu weisen to prove his touch. In Raphael's touch was implied Raphael's eye, and those two made the artist Raphael. Nothing strikes one more in these men than the oblivion of self in their work.

In the recess on one side of the fireplace was a cupboard, upon the top of which stood a tea-caddy, a workbox, some tumblers, and a decanter full of water; the other side being filled with a bookcase and books. There were two or three pictures on the walls; one was a portrait of Voltaire, another of Lord Bacon, and a third was Albert Durer's St. Jerome.

"Well, I don't care how many times the King held the ladder, or whether or not he cleaned Durer's shoes, I will hold to this: that as impossible as it is for you to build within the Cathedral an altar that is yet higher than the Cathedral, just so impossible is it for you to marry my daughter, who is so much above you in station." "Mr. Counselor, is this your last word?" said Hans.

Was it the portrait of the wife or the daughter of Holzschuer, Albrecht Durer's personal friend?

He painted himself a little later with the brave kindly face grown mature, and the wisdom of the spirit shining in the eyes, and weighing on the brows. On his return from his travels, Albrecht Dürer's father arranged his son's marriage with the daughter of a musician in Nuremberg.