d nothing within; others a very blank face
and a very glowing heart. There are a hundred possibilities of poverty
and wealth, and they make the most unexpected combinations.

The great treasure of Nantes is the two noble sepulchral monuments which
occupy either transept, and one of which has (in its nobleness) the
rare distinction of being a production of our own time. On the south
side stands the tomb of Francis II., the last of the Dukes of Brittany,
and of his second wife, Margaret of Foix, erected in 1507 by their
daughter Anne, whom we have encountered already at the Chateau de
Nantes, where she was born; at Langeais, where she married her first
husband; at Amboise, where she lost him; at Blois, where she married her
second, the "good" Louis XII., who divorced an impeccable spouse to make
room for her, and where she herself died. Transferred to the cathedral
from a demolished convent, this monument, the masterpiece of Michel
Colomb, author of the charming tomb of the children of Charles VIII. and
the aforesaid Anne, which we admired at Saint Gatien of Tours, is one of
the most brilliant works of the French Renaissance. It has a splendid
effect and is in perfect preservation. A great table of black marble
supports the reclining figures of the duke and duchess, who lie there
peacefully and majestically, in their robes and crowns, with their heads
each on a cushion, the pair of which are supported from behind by three
charming little kneeling angels; at the foot of the quiet couple are a
lion and a greyhound, with heraldic devices. At each of the angles of
the table is a large figure in white marble of a woman elaborately
dressed, with a symbolic meaning, and these figures, with their
contemporary faces and clothes, which give them the air of realistic
portraits, are truthful and living, if not remarkably beautiful. Round
the sides of the tomb are small images of the apostles. There is a kind
of masculine completeness in the work, and a certain robustness of
taste.

In nothing were the sculptors of the Renaissance more fortunate than in
being in advance of us with their tombs: they have left us nothing to
say in regard to the great final contrast--the contrast between the
immobility of death and the trappings and honours that survive. They
expressed in every way in which it was possible to express it the
solemnity of their conviction that the marble image was a part of the
personal greatness of the defunct, and the p