tly beheaded for the murder.

She cared so much for nothing else in the cemetery, but she consented
to let them wonder at the richness of the sculpture in the level tombs,
with their escutcheons and memorial tablets, overrun by the long grass
and the matted ivy; she even consented to share their indignation at the
destruction of some of the brasses and the theft of others. She suffered
more reluctantly their tenderness for the old, old crucifixion figured
in sculpture at one corner of the cemetery, where the anguish of the
Christ had long since faded into the stone from which it had been
evoked, and the thieves were no longer distinguishable in their
penitence or impenitence; but she parted friends with them when she saw
how much they seemed taken with the votive chapel of the noble Holzschuh
family, where a line of wooden shoes puns upon the name in the frieze,
like the line of dogs which chase one another, with bones in their
mouths, around the Canossa palace at Verona. A sense of the beautiful
house by the Adige was part of the pleasing confusion which possessed
them in Nuremberg whenever they came upon the expression of the gothic
spirit common both to the German and northern Italian art. They knew
that it was an effect which had passed from Germany into Italy, but in
the liberal air of the older land it had come to so much more beauty
that now, when they found it in its home, it seemed something fetched
from over the Alps and coarsened in the attempt to naturalize it to an
alien air.

In the Germanic Museum they fled to the Italian painters from the German
pictures they had inspired; in the great hall of the Rathhaus the noble
Processional of Durer was the more precious, because his Triumph of
Maximilian somehow suggested Mantegna's Triumph of Caesar. There was to
be a banquet in the hall, under the mighty fresco, to welcome the German
Emperor, coming the next week, and the Rathhaus was full of work-people
furbishing it up against his arrival, and making it difficult for the
custodian who had it in charge to show it properly to strangers. She was
of the same enthusiastic sisterhood as the vergeress of St. Lawrence and
the guardian of the old cemetery, and by a mighty effort she prevailed
over the workmen so far as to lead her charges out through the corridor
where the literal conscience of the brothers Kuhn has wrought in the
roof to an exact image of a tournament as it was in Nuremberg four
hundred years ago. In