closing again over the victim, and pressing a series of
poignards into the body, two being affixed to the front of the face, to
penetrate to the brain through the eyes. "That this machine had formerly
been used cannot be doubted; because there are evident blood-stains yet
visible on its breast and part of the pedestal." This machine was
introduced to Nuernberg in 1533, and is believed to have originated in
Spain, and to have been transplanted into Germany during the reign of
Charles V., who was monarch of both countries. At this period there were
great tumults in Germany and continual quarrels at Nuernberg between the
Catholics and Protestants: the men of that city had no doubt to thank
"the most holy Inquisition" for this importation of horrors.

The great leading principles of the Reformation interested Duerer as they
did other thinking men. He examined by the biblical test the unwholesome
power and pretensions of the papacy, and found it wanting. We have
already noted the exhortation to abide by "the written word" which he
appended to his famous picture of the Apostles. In his journal he breaks
forth into uncontrolled lamentations over the crafty capture of Luther
made by his friend the Elector of Saxony, who conveyed him thus out of
harm's way, and kept him nearly a twelvemonth in the Wartburg. He
exclaims, "And is Luther dead? who will now explain the Gospel so
clearly to us? Aid me, all pious Christians, to bewail this man of
heavenly mind, and pray God for some other as divinely enlightened." He
then exhorts Erasmus to "come forth, defend the truth, and deserve the
martyr's crown, for thou art already an old man." Duerer had painted
Erasmus's portrait at Brussels in 1520, and appears to have been
intimate with that great man as he was with Melancthon, who said of
Duerer, that "his least merit was that of his art."

[Illustration: Fig. 257.--The Cemetery of St. John.]

Amid the strong dissensions of the Reformation, at a time when old
Nuernberg was tottering to its fall, worn down by mental toil, and
withered at heart by one of the worst wives on record, died Albert Duerer
at the age of fifty-seven.

[Illustration: Fig. 258.--The Grave of Albert Duerer.]

In the old cemetery of St. John lies all that is mortal of the artist
who has given lasting celebrity to Nuernberg. Let us take a walk in that
direction. Passing out of the town by the gate opposite Duerer's house,
the sculptured representations of the scenes