uctive and infinitely cleft, the infinitely subtle and
ornamental--perhaps the last trace of the spirit of the north as
compared with the simplicity of the south.

As if from fertile soil, a world of sculptured men and beasts sprang
from the facades of the new cathedrals. The figures on the cathedrals of
Naumburg, Strassburg, Rheims, Amiens and Chartres are far superior to
the artistic achievements of the dawning renascence in Italy. They are
real men, full of life and passion, no longer symbols of the
transcendental glory of the world beyond the grave. "All rigidity had
melted, everything which had been stiff and hard had become supple; the
emotion of the soul flows through every curve and line; the set faces of
the statues are illuminated by a smile which seems to come from within,
the afterglow of inward bliss" (Worringer).

A longing went through the world, stimulating faith in miracles and a
desire for adventure, a longing which no soul could resist. Nothing
certain was known of countries fifty miles distant; the traveller must
be prepared for the most amazing events. No one knew what fate awaited
him behind yonder blue mountains. The existence of natural laws was
undreamt of; there was no improbability in dragons or lions possessing
power of speech. A period incapable of distinguishing between the
natural and supernatural will always indulge in those fancies which are
best suited to its temper. Be the native country never so poor, the long
darkness and cold of the winter never so hard to bear, far away in the
East, or in Camelot, the kingdom of King Arthur, life was full of beauty
and sunshine. The legends of King Arthur powerfully affected the
imagination; they were read, secretly and surreptitiously, in all
convents; on a sultry summer afternoon, during the learned discussion of
their preceptor, one after another of the pupils would fall asleep; the
preceptor, suddenly interrupting himself, would continue after a short
pause: "And now I will tell you of King Arthur," and all eyes would
sparkle as the pupils listened with rapt attention. Francis of Assisi
called one of his disciples "a knight of his Round Table," and three
hundred years later Don Quixote lost his reason over the study of those
legends; some of the finest works of art of the present time, Wagner's
"Lohengrin," "Tristan and Isolde," and "Parsifal," take their subject
from the inexhaustible treasure of the Celtic epic cycle. The longing
for experie