“Willy Snyders told me,” Ritter explained, “that he bought it from a rascal of a New York customs official, a man of German extraction, whose father had been a cabinet-maker in Ochsenfurt.  The figure comes from the town-hall there and had been taken to the cabinet-maker for repair.  He substituted another freshly painted figure, which the good folk of Ochsenfurt greeted with joy as the original greatly beautified and rejuvenated.  Thus, Willy Snyders.  I am not responsible for the version,” he concluded laughing.  “But one thing is certain, it’s a genuine Riemenschneider.”

The lovely statue by the Wuerzburg master radiated a vivid charm, which with the spell of the small room, decorated with such tender affection for old memories, and the greenish-golden sparkle of the Rhine wine in the hock glasses, brought back the German home in all its deep-seated force and beauty—­a beauty, it is true, unintelligible, and therefore non-existent, to the average German of to-day.

“Once I followed up Tillman Riemenschneider’s works,” said Ritter.  “I started at Rothenburg ob der Tauber, and went down the valley of the Tauber past Kreglingen, and so forth, as far as Wuerzburg.  I am confident of recognising every piece of his at first glance, especially his Madonnas.  They have almost completely cast off the Gothic, and no other sculptor in wood of his time knew so well how to treat the peach bloom of a woman’s skin or the charm of a woman’s face and body.  His women are the pick of the lovely girls of Wuerzburg and its surroundings.  Each one is adorably beautiful.  Here is Veit Stoss.”  He took a portfolio from a shelf filled with portfolios.  “Veit Stoss is superior to Riemenschneider in force of temperamental expression; he has capacities in his passions that make him superior, or at least equal, to Rembrandt.”  Ritter spread before them several reproductions of the master, showing the seriousness and sorrow inspiring all his works.  “Nevertheless,” he said, “Riemenschneider holds his own against him for the very reason that he differs from him so absolutely.”

“The obstinate resistance of the Gothic,” said Frederick, “the nightmare condition of mediaeval Christianity, its fearful revelling in pain, its ardour for suffering had to give way to the clear, healthy vision of a burgher.  The atmosphere clears, the garments acquire a natural flow of line, erring flesh begins to blossom forth—­”

“Tillman Riemenschneider’s portraits are unsurpassed by any works, ancient or modern, unsurpassed, I say, by the very best,” Ritter reiterated.

Willy Snyders entered with a great bluster.  He had come directly from his work in the offices of an interior decorating firm.