[17] The "Pax" is a metal plate which, at high mass and during the singing of the "Agnus Dei," the officiating priest gives to be kissed by the clergy and the devout, addressing to each of them these words: "Pax tecum." The "Pax" made by Finiguerra for the Baptistery of St. John has been removed from thence to the Uffizi, where it still is. [18] It is useless to adduce the fine "Profile of a Woman," discovered a few years ago at Bologna, and now the property of the Berlin Museum, as an argument against the poverty we are trying to prove. This very important document is not only of uncertain date, but, as we have remarked elsewhere, the nature of its execution and style forbid one to look upon it as the work of any Florentine artist. [19] Martin Schongauer was born at Colmar, in which town his father had settled as a goldsmith; there he passed the greatest part of his life, and there he died in 1488. Vasari sometimes speaks of him as "Antwerp Martin," or "Martin the Fleming." This is easily explained: a German or Flemish artist would be all one in the eyes of a Tuscan of the fifteenth century, as strangers were all barbarians to the ancient Romans. [20] This is by no means universally admitted to be a genuine work by Martin Schongauer. [21] He had no fewer than eighteen children; Albert was the third. [22] Herr Moriz Thausing has treated this question exhaustively in his important work on Albert Dürer. [23] The oldest known dated engraving by Marc Antonio, the "Pyramus and Thisbe," bears the date of 1505. If Marc Antonio, as we have reason to think, was born about 1480, he must have been already over twenty when he published this extremely commonplace print. [24] Michael Huber ("Manuel des Curieux et des Amateurs de l'Art," t. iii.) says, word for word: "All that is wanted in these prints is a richer handling and that general aspect which we admire in the subjects engraved from Rubens." One might as well say that Petrarch's style would be improved by being Ariosto's. [25] Agostino Caracci, who deserves to be numbered amongst the cleverest engravers of the end of the sixteenth century, did not blush to devote his talents to a similar publication, serious in style, but of most obscene intention. The Bolognese artist, like his celebrated countryman, seems to have wished to display at once his science and his shamelessness. The one only serves to make the other more inexcusable, and it is even still more difficult to tolerate this austere immodesty than the licentiousness, without æsthetic pretension, which characterises the little French prints sold under the rose in the eighteenth century. [26] Passavant: "Le Peintre-Graveur," iii. 5. [27] "Les Maîtres d'Autrefois," p. 165.