France. Just as Wolfram von Eschenbach's "Parzival," Gottfried von Strassburg's "Tristan," and Walther von der Vogelweide's lyrics would have been impossible without the preceding activity of Chrétien de Troyes, Thomas of Brittany, and the Provençal troubadours, so the sculptures of Freiberg, Naumburg, Bamberg, Strassburg, would not be what they are without the influence of Chartres, Rheims, and Amiens. And yet one should be careful not to overestimate the influence of French models upon mediæval German sculpture. From the very beginning there is a decided note of individuality in the German work—an individuality which can hardly be accounted for except by taking recourse to fundamental traits of national temper.

The Frenchman, as a rule, seems to have little difficulty in expressing himself; he seems to be borne along by a popular sentiment in entire accord with his own ideals and views of life; he easily adapts himself to the general current; he is naturally graceful and communicative. The German is naturally self-centered and unresponsive; he often finds himself in opposition to the life surrounding him; and the more he has to say, the harder is it for him to say it. He struggles, he broods, he is burdened with his task, and only in supreme moments of concentrated energy does he pour out his whole self. Is it surprising that, with such national characteristics as these to start from, German sculpture of the Middle Ages, although strongly influenced by the art of France, should have maintained a spirit essentially different from that of French sculpture? If the French artist appeals to us chiefly by his mastery of form, by the universality of his imagination, by the refinement of his manner, the German makes his appeal chiefly through the energy of his personality, through the sturdiness of his purpose, through the homeliness of his speech, through his independence from conventional forms, through his identifying himself with his subject, through his devoutness of soul. French sculpture of the Middle Ages, therefore, preserves an even level of formal excellence and measured grace.

German sculpture moves in leaps and bounds; from broad naturalism it passes over to fantastic mysticism; for the most part it is extreme and one-sided; in rare moments, however, it reaches a perfection of form combining the deepest longings of the heart with fullest comprehension of the visible world.

We are fortunate in having at least one group of monuments, showing essential characteristics of German art, from a time when German sculpture had not yet been affected by French influence : the bronze reliefs of the so-called Bernward Column and the portal of Hildesheim Cathedral, belonging to the begin. ning of the eleventh century. In these remarkable sculptures the German genius for homely truthfulness and directness of characterization manifests itself with a truly childlike simplicity. Crudeness is the most palpable quality of this art; but it is a crudeness thoroughly wholesome and full of power, and therefore refusing to submit to conventional canons. There is nothing in the art of France of the eleventh century which in animation and fullness of life could at all be compared with these Hildesheim monuments; and even the best French works of the beginning of the twelfth century, such as the impressive sculptures of Vézelay and Autun, show a far stricter adherence to conventional arrangement of drapery and grouping, a far closer affinity to the severe Byzantine manner. Nothing could exceed the plainness of speech and the instinctive grasp of essentials with which the Hildesheim artist tells his tale. How God the Father, after the fall of man, appears in the Garden of Eden, calling Adam to account, Adam on his part putting the blame upon Eve; how Cain deals the deadly blow to his brother; how the Virgin receives reverently and devoutly the blessed message of the Angel of Annunciation; how John the Baptist sermonizes to the bad king and the evil queen, the latter sitting in her husband's lap; how the daughter of Herodias dances at the king's feastall this is told with a popular homeliness and freedom from restraint which betray truly indigenous art. It is hardly fanciful to say that in these Hildesheim

monuments we have a worthy counterpart to the simple and direct manner of popular German minnesong of the time previous to the introduction of courtly fashion from France..

Most of the German plastic work from the height of the Middle Ages shows distinct traces of this courtly manner. In the Golden Gate of Freiberg, in the Founders' Statues and the Rood-Screen of Naumburg, in the sculptures of Bamberg and. Strassburg, this influence is clearly discerned. In the drapery, in the arrangement of the hair, in facial expression, in peculiarities of bearing and gesture, all these monuments show a decided affinity to the French type, a clear adaptation to a common standard of decorum and chivalric etiquette. Yet even here it would be a mistake to think of the German work merely as a copy of the French. Over and over again the German individuality asserts itself and gives to these creations their own peculiar life.

Among the Bamberg sculptures of the thirteenth century, I would single out, as illustrating this distinctively German quality of mind, two statues, widely differing from each other in atti-. tude and temper: the serene, saintly empress Kunigunde and the stern, portentous Sibyl (or Elizabeth, as she is sometimes called). That both these statues had their prototypes in certain figures of Rheims Cathedral there can be no reasonable doubt; but it seems equally certain that what imparts the fullness of life to these figures is something not borrowed from any foreign model. French sculpture of the twelfth and thirteenth centuries has produced many a woman figure of greater freedom and gracefulness of movement than is seen in Kunigunde, the saintly

patroness of Bamberg Cathedral; but I doubt whether French art of that time offers any parallel to the homely, naïve gesture of the hand with which this German woman seems to receive the blessing of heaven, the radiance of which is sur-. rounding and transfiguring her. The very awkwardness of motion becomes here a

sign of spiritual concentration and self-surrender. As to the Sibyl, we are justified in finding in her something of the spirit of Albrecht Dürer. The general' outline of the body, the majestic drapery with its regular and rhythmic folds, are taken from French models; but all that gives to this figure its strange, uncanny fascination-the long, emaciated. fingers, the sinewy neck, the almóst masculine face, the thin lips, the protruding cheek-bones,. the small, deep-cut, penetrating eyes all this is the artist's own, and shows in him the same curious mixture of mystic brood-. ing and naturalistic truthfulness which in Dürer, was to find its fullest artistic embodiment.

Of the Strassburg monuments belonging to the thirteenth century, the Death of Mary is perhaps the finest example of French form and German feeling blended with each other. That the general arrangement of this scene, the grouping of the apostles about the bed of the dying Virgin, as well as the treatment of individual figures, were suggested to the German artist by French representations of the same subject; that, therefore, the singular beauty of this wonderful tympanum is pre-eminently a tribute

to the artistic imagination of the French mind, no one familiar with the sculptures of Senlis .or. Notre Dame de Paris will deny. And yet, I hardly believe that among all the French representations of the death or burial of Mary there is one which be