Chapter II: Part 2

The fine rosaces in the ends of the transepts contain fourteenth century glass, and the western rose with its gallery of eight lancets below, excellent Renaissance glazing. The chief glory of the interior, however, is the fine medallion panels all through the choir, not only in the chapels, but also, and most unusually, in the fifteen large lights of the clerestory. These clerestory medallions date from the latter part of the century, and their lateness is evidenced in a number of ways, among others, by the fact that the medallions are oval instead of round and also that they extend to the edge of the embrasure, leaving little or no room for the border. This can also be observed in the easternmost choir windows of Coutances Cathedral. We have noted before that the choir clerestory at this time was generally given over to large figures of kings, bishops, etc., in order to secure more light than medallions would admit. In the Tours clerestory the fifth window on the right and the fifth on the left (just above the great altar) show an attempt to correct the darkening effect of the medallions by alternating with them horizontal stripes of grisaille. Notice that in the easternmost embrasure the three medallions of the second tier, when considered together, form a picture of The Last Supper. This is a more elaborate exposition of the same idea exemplified by the Annunciation at the east end of the Clermont-Ferrand clerestory. A quaint touch is observable in the two medallions which show little figures of donors, each holding up in his two hands a model of his gift window. One of these is in the left-hand lower corner of the window just left of the eastern one, and the other in the right-hand corner of the sixth on the right. Some of the Tours choir chapels are glazed in white, which combined with the pierced triforium, serves to correct the lack of light caused by the unusual treatment of the clerestory.

ANGERS

A bad name dies hard and often lingers years after it is no longer deserved. A striking example of this is found in the now unjust appellation, "Black Angers." Black it may have been in the days when its streets were dirty and narrow, but black it is no longer. Black it may have seemed to the townspeople when their humble dwellings were frowned down upon by the seventeen gloomy towers of its haughty thirteenth century castle. Now the towers of the castle are razed, the walls that girdled the city are tumbled into the great moat to form broad boulevards, and altogether it is as agreeable a place as was ever vilified by an outgrown name. Its most important edifice, St. Maurice Cathedral, is not only a perfect treasure-house of glass, but is also the depository of a profusion of admirable tapestries. Those interested in the latter will find here (even more than at Rheims) what an added inducement they provide for the sightseer. All around the nave are suspended the series of the Apocalypse (as they are called), while on the walls of the transepts are yet others dating from the fourteenth to the eighteenth centuries. Nor are these all, for packed away in chests are many more, which upon the occasion of certain church festivals are brought out to hang in a row around the outside of the cathedral. In fact, it is only on these festival days that one learns that the interior wall space is insufficient to display half of the church's possessions. Having set out this additional reason for visiting St. Maurice Cathedral, let us now turn to its chief charm, the splendid twelfth and thirteenth century glazing. We shall find the nave windows filled with the largest and best preserved collection of twelfth century glass that exists. They are very wide and high, characteristic of that early period. In the choir there are fourteen excellent examples of the thirteenth century medallion type, and there are others in the transepts. We shall not now speak of the two great fifteenth century rose windows, nor of the very large canopy ones which adorn the transepts, nor of the few sixteenth century panels. It is proper to say here, however, that they are excellent examples of those later periods, thus rendering this cathedral one of the best in which to compare glass styles all the way from the twelfth century to the sixteenth. The chief glory of the edifice, however, consists of those which date from the early mosaic period. So few and so unsatisfactory are the remains elsewhere found of twelfth century glass, and so excellent are they here, that it is to this church that one should come to study it. It is a most fortunate coincidence for the student that the same interior also contains many of the best types of the thirteenth century, because this very contiguity enables him to conveniently contrast them with those of the twelfth. The finer distinctions between their traits are much more noticeable to him where the examples are side by side than they would be if he had to carry the picture in his mind from one place to another. He will at once notice that the earlier borders are much wider than the later ones; some of those in the nave occupy nearly one-fourth of the window space on each side, or in other words, if brought together, the borders would fill nearly half of the entire width of the embrasure. He will also observe that the figures in the earlier ones are made of larger pieces of glass and have the draperies more tightly drawn about them. It is very significant that the pieces of glass are larger in the earlier windows: note this carefully, because in many books we are told that the later artist of the thirteenth century had no choice but to content himself with the small morsels of glass, as he had no others. Thus they would have us believe that his wonderful jewelled glow was merely the lucky result of having nothing but small fragments at his disposal. Even so brief a study of twelfth century glass as to show that the pieces then used were uniformly larger than those of the thirteenth or jewel period, is enough to demonstrate that the later artist deliberately used the smaller bits even with the added trouble of more leading. He did so for the very purpose of obtaining the sparkle and sheen that was never achieved before nor since, and therefore he should receive due credit for his results. A close examination of both the choir and nave windows will yield us many quaint and interesting details. The first on the left contains a large Virgin placed upon a panel occupying all of the window that is not given over to a wide grisaille border. Six small medallions are arranged about this panel, half of each on the panel and half protruding over the border. One of these small medallions is placed at each corner and one in the middle of the two long sides, like the pockets on a pool table. The charming elaboration and colour work of the twelfth century borders throughout the nave cannot fail to be noticed.

The set of thirteenth century windows placed about the choir have some gorgeous blues and brilliant rubies. The fifth, counting from the left side, proves to be a Tree of Jesse window, a sort of pictorially genealogical tree which we will frequently encounter on our travels. In this case the treatment is unusual, as the vine, winding up throughout the window from the loins of Jesse in the lowest medallion, not only distributes its historical personages over the central panes, but also up and down the borders as well. The very wide embrasures of this church give us an excellent opportunity of studying the colours of this period.

While we are in Angers we must visit the church of St. Serge. As we are now seeking early glass the chief interest of this small interior consists of the five grisaille windows of the twelfth century which, with their graceful design of pale brownish strapwork picked out and accentuated by points of colour, leave little to be desired in their soft beauty. They are to be found in the choir, and are considered by most authorities to be the best type of twelfth century grisaille work that exists. During a later pilgrimage we shall come again to this church to inspect the attractive fifteenth century canopy windows which decorate the nave clerestory (see page 175).

LE MANS

The great personages in the windows of St. Julien Cathedral looked down upon a portentous spectacle on that day in the year 1133, when Henry I of England stood holding in his arms his little grandson, Henry Plantagenet, to be baptised by the Bishop of Le Mans. The vast throng that gathered for this ceremony, both within and without the newly completed cathedral, little thought that the helpless babe would one day become not only Henry II, King of England, but also the ruler of the mighty Angevin empire, which included all of England and the western half of France. They could not have foreseen that this little one would cause the House of Plantagenet to take its place in history as one of the greatest of royal houses. Strange sights have these splendid old windows gazed down upon, but never have they tempered the glare of the sun for the christening of a babe who so widely outgrew the place of his birth. In one way or another this cathedral has been connected with many a royal family. In its archives we read that when in November, 1217, it was decided to extend the choir over the Gallo-Roman wall, not only was the consent of King Philip Augustus necessary, but also that of Queen Berengaria, the widow of Richard Coeur de Lion. This double approval was needed, since Philip Augustus, although overlord, had given Le Mans to Queen Berengaria in settlement of her claims upon certain Norman towns which he had captured. Perched upon a hill rising from the river Sarthe the cathedral soars into the air from its lofty site as boldly as befits the chief sanctuary of an embattled city boasting of more than twenty sieges. Impressive as it is from the river, it is still more so from the little plain which lies just below it inside the town. There is hardly a cathedral whose east end is so beautifully revealed as is St. Julien's from this viewpoint. We cannot help but be deeply impressed as it swings out clear against the sky, girdled by its thirteen chapels, hung about by its innumerable flying buttresses and to us rendered specially alluring by the great area of window space filled with the many lead lines and heavy iron saddle-bars which we have learnt to know mean glazing of the thirteenth century. The view of the east end of an elaborate Gothic church is always fascinating, but in this instance its height above us, the great number of chapels and the unobstructed view make it unique. The nave was constructed too early to be greatly elaborated, but if compensation is needed, it is fully provided by the thoroughly mediaeval feeling which awaits one on entering the little square just before its west entrance. The opposite side of the square is occupied by Le Grabatoire, an ancient dwelling built in the first half of the sixteenth century and in an admirable state of preservation. The traveller in France generally finds that buildings which surround an old cathedral are so much more recent in construction that they provide a jarring contrast. Here at Le Mans, on the contrary, its immediate surroundings thoroughly imbue us with the spirit of the middle ages and we are in a proper frame of mind to enter the portal and appreciate the Old World beauty inside. The interior amply fulfills the promises of the exterior. The luminous glory of the broad surfaces of the glass that seem suspended about the lofty choir is something long to be remembered. This is not the place to speak of the transepts because they were glazed in the fifteenth century; they are very fine, especially the one to the north. Oddly enough, the south end of the south transept has no window at all; its large wall space serves as a back for the organ (see page 178). Let us begin our investigations with the nave. Its triforium is a graceful gallery, but is not pierced, while the clerestory above it contains only modern glass, and therefore they will not long detain us. In the west front is one broad window of the round arched Norman type, obviously of the period which we are now considering. Within a wide border are square panels representing scenes from the life of St. Julien, after whom the edifice is named. Although this window is very broad, even for its early type, it is nevertheless not large enough to appear alone in the great west wall, and as a result, it narrows the appearance of the nave. When we move up into the choir and look back, this effect becomes all the more noticeable, while the nave is even further dwarfed by the fact that the architect, taking advantage of the greater height of the transepts, placed a clerestory window just above the point where the ridge pole of the nave joins the crossing. Thus the lone west window and the clerestory opening just above the nave roof combine to lower and contract that oldest part of the church. But to return to the nave windows; all the lower range are small and all modern except eight, the three western ones on each side and those over the two smaller west entrances. Of these eight all but two are medallions. One of them (the third from the west on the north side) is of interest because it has a border consisting of four little panels on each side enclosing figures. This sort of border is extremely rare, except in Tree of Jesse windows, where the personages are sometimes used in this way to help make up the border. An instance of this may be seen in the central panel of the second triforium window on the south side of the choir and it may also be noticed in the fifth window on the left in the east end of Angers Cathedral. We have just said that all but two of these lower nave lights are filled with medallions--of these two (the second and third on the south side), one might write a book. The writer prefers the second window to any other in France. It was made some time between 1093 and 1120 and represents the "Ascension." As this book is not written to describe glass, but only to persuade the reader to view it, we will content ourselves by saying "go and see." The blue and the ruby backgrounds have a limpidity of colour that cannot be rivaled. Of the third window it is fair to say that some of the panes were brought from other embrasures of this church. The upper panel, enclosing a bust of Christ, with the drapery of blue and a blue halo upon a background of ruby sprinkled with blue stars, is most delightful. These two are indeed treasures and are all that were left by the ravages of the great fire which in 1120 destroyed the earlier church. Passing from the nave to the choir we are at once struck by the grandiose effect there caused by the loftier sweep of its lines. The choir chapels have lost nearly all their original glazing, but fortunately that little gem, the Lady Chapel, still has all its eleven windows filled with medallions. These encircling chapels not only give great width to the choir, but still further width is added by the fact that the ambulatory is double. The first triforium that goes around above us is not pierced, but just above it we find the spacious embrasures of the second triforium. These latter are the largest of their kind the writer has ever seen; in fact, they are large enough to be placed in the clerestory of most cathedrals. Not satisfied with these, the architect has still further increased the lighting of the choir and given greater scope for the glazier by placing above this second triforium the lofty windows of the true clerestory, those toward the west of six lancets each, and those toward the east of two. All the panels of this great curtain of light are glazed in the mosaic style, but the pieces of glass used are noticeably larger than we have been accustomed to find in the medallion treatment. As a result, the amount of leading is reduced and a great deal more colour meets our eye, colour whose individual tones we can recognise, and not the sort, which, conflicting with other colour, produces a confused purple. At St. Julien Cathedral we get a richer tone from the medallions than we find anywhere else, but this gain in richness is partially offset by losing some of the sparkling gleam which would have resulted from smaller bits of glass set in more leads. Perhaps some of our readers will agree with Viollet-le-Duc and other great architects and writers, in regarding this choir a finer monument of the thirteenth century than that of Bourges or Chartres. If the nave of Le Mans Cathedral were as splendidly glazed as the other parts of that edifice, we might have to reconsider our opinion that Chartres affords the best chance for the student of that early period to pursue his researches.

CHARTRES

Across the rolling grain-covered plain of La Beauce winds a long depression worn by the river Eure. Along the side of this depression we find Chartres, sloping gently up from the little river that bathes its feet and proudly lifting into the air the grey and green bulk of its cathedral, culminating in the two finest spires in France. Its light stone and the softly-shaded tiles of the roof combine to give us a delicious impression of delicate greenish grey. This softness of tone outside gives no hint of the minster gloom within, athwart which shimmer the rich dark rays slanting through the jewelled windows. Nowhere can there be found such a contrast between the exterior and interior of a cathedral. This marked difference serves but to distinguish and accentuate the special charms of each, and together they make our memory of the cathedral a most precious possession of our mental picture gallery.

As the pilgrim enters Chartres Cathedral, there is an impressive moment at hand for him, for he is penetrating the Holy of Holies of stained glass. Not only is it the most delightful expression of the thirteenth century, but also of any century, and we speak not only of France, but of all Europe.

One is almost staggered by the wealth and profusion of windows--174--and nearly all of the thirteenth century. In the west front the use of slightly larger pieces and the wonderful limpidity confirms the fact that the lovely rose showing the Last Judgment, as well as its three attendant lancets below, are of the twelfth century; the rest of the interior was glazed in the next century.

Notwithstanding all that has been written of this wonderful glass, more still remains hidden away in its pregnant mystery, that mystery that lays hold upon all who view it, be he poet, or unromantic follower of one of the homely trades whose guilds have added so generously to the tale of windows. Nor have revelations of this mystery been made alike to all. What one man has spelt out from it may remain incomprehensible to another. The obvious fact to one mind seems to another but a quaint conceit. Lasteyrie, when he told his story in 1841, felt that there was a marvellous symbolism about the change in the strength of the light, brighter as it approached the cross formed by the transepts and then growing darker as one withdrew further from that Christian emblem of spiritual illumination. To him this thought was full of great charm and some of us may agree in his poetic conception. Others may feel that the brilliancy of the remote west windows seems to refute rather than support his theory. It is certain, however, that the revelation of harmony comes to us all alike. It is related that a certain lad thought himself listening to music from the glass itself when the organ commenced playing during the time he was gazing raptly up at one of the great rose windows. This harmony of colours, this melodious flowing of tone into tone, is a glimpse vouchsafed to us all into the solemn mystery that dwells within this enchanted bower of light.

James Russell Lowell says:

"I gaze round on the windows, pride of France!
Each the bright gift of some mechanic guild,
Who loved their city and thought gold well spent
To make her beautiful with piety."

If Rheims is to be known as the cathedral of kings, or Amiens characterised as the Bible in stone, then Chartres must be styled the chief sanctuary of the mediaeval guilds. We have spoken of the splendid array of royalties around the clerestory of Rheims, and how they and the many coronations of which they are reminiscent fully justify the proud title of "Royal Rheims." Against this wealth of royal reminiscence Chartres can show but one coronation, that of Henry IV. So far was he from being disgruntled by the long siege necessitated by the stubborn defence of its burghers, that he elected to be crowned in their cathedral, partly, we feel sure, to show the approval of a warrior king for their fighting qualities. No, it is not a long array of kings that are set about to guard its windows and bear witness to their power and beneficence. At Chartres, more than anywhere in France, the Middle Ages seem to have bequeathed to us the great heartbeat of their middle classes. Here we see about us the sturdy workers of the city, the guilds of its industrious burghers. True, the great rose windows of the transepts show us the royalty and chivalry of the kingdom, but somehow they seem decorative and not dominating as they do at Rheims. Nor are our friends of the guilds here present by any man's let or by virtue of kingly condescension. At Laon there are statues of oxen in the cathedral towers, put there in kindly remembrance of their services in dragging up the great stones from the plain far below; but at Chartres it is no kindly remembrance that has disposed about the nave and elsewhere the glass histories of guild upon guild. They are in the place because they are of the place, nor is there any attempt to disguise the homely occupations of the donors. In other towns we occasionally find a panel bearing a statement that it was presented by some company of craftsmen, but the subject is almost always a scriptural one and throws no light upon the work-a-day existence of the members. Here it is very different, for so proud were the honest workmen of the crafts which they plied, that they took infinite pains to have their windows set out scenes descriptive of the work and life of the association which gave it. The history of the Chartres guilds is well worth delving into, and one finds a luminous index provided by the long series of panels around the lower part of the nave. The glass speaks eloquently of how well organised and how rich were the middle classes of Chartres, and nowhere else can anything like so complete or interesting a set be seen. Goldsmiths, cobblers, vintners, tanners, moneychangers--so the list goes on until it swells into a total of nearly forty, and of each there is provided some little group depicting the service performed for the community by that particular trade. Several of the guilds gave more than one window, nor are they confined to the nave aisles, some having strayed so far as the choir clerestory. But for all that the windows here speak more eloquently than elsewhere of the sturdy craftsmen--the bourgeoisie that formed the backbone of old France--we must not forget that they also bear witness to the gallantry and generosity of the knightly and titled classes. To glass lovers this cathedral has a peculiar interest in the fact that St. Louis was baptised within its walls. May we not be permitted the delusion that to the undeveloped faculties of the royal babe the wonderful harmony of these windows came as a lullaby, and that the echo of this lullaby finally grew into the great love for stained glass which he later developed? Of this love we have found many traces, all leading up to its ultimate expression in the Ste. Chapelle of Paris. And where more appropriately could a French king, who loved glass, have been christened? Where else would he have had about him on his beloved windows such an array of his subjects, representing not only the highest, but also those of humbler rank, a bodyguard of four thousand figures of nobles, gentry, burghers and craftsmen? Nor are these figures content but to decorate, for some of them by their grouping serve to narrate for us nearly forty legends. A splendid proof of how much he loved this cathedral, so often revisited by him, is afforded by his splendid gift, the Rose of France, as they call the great window in the north transept. Here are the familiar combination of the French fleur de lis and the castles of Castile showing that Louis and his mother, Blanche of Castile, joined in this royal gift. In splendid reds, lemon-yellows and browns it tells the story of the glorification of the Virgin, thus repeating what we see in the carvings of the northern porch. The gorgeous five tall pointed windows below aid it to produce a glorious ensemble. Nor is it only in this quarter that we see traces of the nobler classes, for was not the south transept end decorated in similar wise with scenes showing the glorification of Christ, the gift of Dreux and Bretagne? Again we find the windows inside repeating what is shown by the carvings in the porch outside. The five tall pointed lancets under this rose are especially noteworthy, for the two which, on either side, flank the middle one containing Christ are each filled with an Evangelist carried on the shoulders of a Prophet, a very physical way of depicting the power of prophecy.

This is not the place to tell of the wonderful carvings that abound within and without this great temple, and are especially delightful around the stone screen that separates the choir from the ambulatory; nor shall we take upon us to speak in detail of the subterranean chapel to the Virgin who bore a Child, the pagan legends concerning whom "the memory of man runneth not to the contrary." For us they are but accessories to the wonderful whole which provides so magnificent a casket for the preservation and exposition of the most splendid heritage of windows that has come down to us.

Although completely outclassed by the cathedral's greater glory, the glazing of the church of St. Pierre is not only pleasing to the eye, but also provides a very complete and well-preserved demonstration of how the transition was effected from the light-obstructing mosaic medallions to the overlighted interiors of the fourteenth century (see page 188).

AUXERRE

Our memories of architecture are generally those of form and not of colour. To this rule there are, however, a few exceptions, and of these the cathedral of St. Etienne at Auxerre is one of the most noteworthy. One remembers it chiefly for its rich brown colour, partly due to the tint of the stone and partly to the terra-cotta tiles which cover its roof. The deeper hue of the tiles calls out all the warmth in the shading of the stone and they together make a mellow brown picture, especially attractive if seen for the first time in the tones which it takes on towards twilight, when the low rays of the sun perform for it the same service that they do for the interior of the Corpus Christi quadrangle at Oxford. Another cathedral whose colour lingers in our memory is Chartres, where the dull green tiles of the roof tone into the greyish stone of the building, accentuating and enriching it, and leaving with us a distinct impression of a soft-hued grey church. A very picturesque city is Auxerre, sloping up from the river, with its three chief churches rising watchfully above the monotonous level of the house-tops like huge rocks anchoring the city more firmly to its foundations. Not so bulkily impressive but equally noticeable is the quaint old bell tower, which, from its great height, rings out every now and again reminders of the flight of time.

The proportions of the cathedral interior are very harmoniously adjusted. The noticeable features are that the ambulatory is lower than the nave, and that the Lady Chapel at the east end is square instead of being rounded. In view of the geographical location of Auxerre one would expect to find glass of the more florid Burgundian type; but instead it is clearly of the Champagne school. There is a quantity of good sixteenth century glazing and we would especially call the visitor's attention to the fine blues, which he should not fail to notice. The windows we have come to see, however, are to be found in the chapels and the upper lights of the choir. Henri Villeneuve in 1220 caused to be placed in the choir clerestory the great row of fifteen, each consisting of two bays surmounted by a small rose. This arrangement is very graceful and gives an agreeable grouping. The colouring and drawing of the large figures with which they are filled testify to the good taste of their donor. Nor are the windows in the clerestory any more worthy of notice than the twenty-nine which we shall find below surrounding the choir and filling the choir chapels--almost all complete and containing fine types of the medallion style. The three nearest the transepts on each side and one or two others are glazed in white, the result of well-meaning sacrilege on the part of the monks seeking to secure more light. Fortunately their hands were stayed, so that enough of the old panels are left to give us the jewelled gleam which we are seeking. There is an unique arrangement in some of the embrasures of Auxerre which we must not fail to note. It provides an early example of the use of grisaille to increase the illumination of the interior. In several instances the coloured figure or panel has two borders, the one next it being of grisaille and the outside one of rich colour. Possibly the contrast will strike us as being too marked. We shall find that in the next century this combination is carried to such an extreme as to become positively disagreeable, but here at Auxerre it is so skillfully employed that it is not at all unpleasant. In any event, it is far better than white panes used for the same purpose.

SENS

In these days of telephones, telegrams, express trains, automobiles, newspapers and printed books, it is difficult for us to realize that in mediaeval times thought traveled but slowly, and that two cities a few leagues apart were much more widely separated than they would now be if divided by the ocean. To-day a piece of news, an invention, some new artistic method, is flashed around the world and at once meets the eye of millions of readers. All this excites no comment. When, however, we notice that in some mediaeval period a novelty in one country very shortly thereafter appeared and was used in a neighbouring one, we are forced to conclude that there must have been some very unusual occurrence to have so far set at naught the difficulty of news transmission to which we have just referred. The history of the middle ages does not contain a stranger example of such a rapid spread of something novel than that presented by the story of how and of why William of Sens (who, in building the Cathedral of Sens, constructed the first thoroughly Gothic church) came to have the honour of introducing Gothic architecture into England by a call to rebuild Canterbury Cathedral. It so happened that just as he was completing his great work and disclosing to the world the new beauty of Gothic architecture, Pope Alexander III, exiled from Rome, took up his residence at Sens (September 30, 1163, till April 11, 1165). It is recorded that on the 19th of April, 1164, surrounded by a gorgeous array of cardinals and bishops gathered there in attendance upon the papal residence, he consecrated the altar of the Holy Virgin in the cathedral then rapidly approaching completion. Where the Pope was, there also was the centre of the Christian world, and thither of course repaired the clergy from all parts of Europe. These distinguished pilgrims were witnesses of William's first bold attempt at the pointed arch, the chief characteristic of his great cathedral. To see was to admire. Its beauty was so striking that they could not fail to remember and recount it when they returned to their home towns, thus stimulating other architects to copy this new architecture. Never before nor since had a builder so well timed a gathering of admiring ecclesiastics. Among those who came, and saw, and remembered, was Thomas a Becket, Archbishop of Canterbury, himself an exile from his see. He dwelt four years at Sens (1166-70) and what he saw there impelled him to invite William of Sens in preference to all the English architects to rebuild the Cathedral of Canterbury. It would seem strange even now, and a thing worthy of comment, if a French architect were chosen to construct an important English church, but how much more extraordinary was it that Thomas a Becket should have taken this step in 1174, after the disastrous fire which destroyed the earlier church on the site of the present Cathedral of Canterbury. William succeeded in completing the choir as it stands to-day, but it cost him his life, for as he was superintending the finishing touches of his great work, he fell from a high scaffold and received injuries from which he died. Through this introduction of the young French Gothic into England he exercised a noteworthy influence upon the beginnings of ecclesiastical Gothic in that country. We have told this story here because we know the architect and the glazier worked hand in hand. This association grows more interdependent as the Gothic blossoms into decoration and as more wall space is devoted to windows. It is fair to assume that the stained glass style then prevailing in France must have accompanied its sister, Gothic architecture, upon the latter's invasion of England, and an examination of the early medallions at Canterbury tends to confirm this theory. Since a Becket was having the new Gothic of Sens copied, why not also its admirable glazing? In any event we know that French glass was well known and much admired by the English, and later we shall recount several instances of its being brought to glaze English churches, and even requirements made in English contracts that French and not domestic glass should be provided. While it is true that the early glass of Sens Cathedral is not so abundant as that of the sixteenth century, we have come here at this time because nothing finer is known than the few medallion windows which remain to us along the north wall of the choir. They date from the end of the twelfth century and are large, strong in tone, and in excellent preservation. The clerestory lights of the choir are filled with attractive examples of grisaille enlivened by large geometric figures in points of red, blue, etc. These designs are constructed with slender lines and without too much colour, so that plenty of soft silvery light is admitted to illuminate the choir below. So well lighted is it from the clerestory above that we are forced to conclude that all the chapel embrasures below must at one time have been filled with the gloom-producing medallions. It is unfortunate that the original set of medallions below is not complete, because if it were, we would now be able to see, thanks to the charming grisaille in the clerestory, a perfect combination of the well-lighted choir surrounded by the sombre gleam of its protecting chapels. Such a combination is rare. At Tours, at Troyes, even at Bourges, we find ourselves wishing that we had a little more light from above to set off by contrast the dark splendour of the jewelled caverns below. The clerestory at Sens shows us just the luminous effect which we have sought elsewhere, but, alas! our coloured dusk below, which should go hand in hand with it, has been almost entirely dissipated. As a result we are left with an impression of too bright an interior. The minster gloom with all its dignity is gone! We shall return later to Sens to see its splendid glass of the sixteenth century (see page 218).

TROYES

Of all the French schools of glass which at one time or another gained renown, none ever surpassed that of Champagne. Not only do we know this from the pages of history, but it is easily proved by the innumerable examples found in the many churches of Troyes, the ancient capital of that province. The fame of the glass artists of Champagne not only began early but lasted long. In fact, in its capital, the perfected methods of the sixteenth century became so firmly established that their style and vigour lasted far over into the seventeenth century, which was not generally true elsewhere. Troyes has always enjoyed prominence and that, too, along different lines; "Troy weight" testifies to the wide fame of its jewellers. In our travels we shall observe that most towns have but one or two churches whose windows repay a visit. Troyes and Rouen are the marked exceptions to this rule, for in each we shall find many well worth examining and a great wealth of glass. Then, too, both these cities provide facilities for studying the art from the earliest to the latest period of its golden age. We will postpone consideration of Rouen until we take up the sixteenth century because its thirteenth century glass is unimportant. This is not true of Troyes, for if by some sudden calamity all its splendid Renaissance windows were destroyed, we would still most heartily recommend that our pilgrim visit the city to see the early glass in the cathedral and in the fairy-like church of St. Urbain. These two buildings alone provide the best of reasons for including Troyes in this tour. The story of the foundation of that architectural eggshell, St. Urbain, is very interesting. In 1261 there became Pope a certain Jacques Pantaleon, a native of Troyes. After his elevation to the pontificate he remembered his humble beginnings, and so far from being ashamed that his father had been a small shopkeeper, he bought the ground whereon his father's shop had stood, as well as some of the neighbouring buildings, and erected, about 1263, one of the most delightful and airy examples of fragile grace in all Gothic architecture. The walls seem literally to be constructed of glass, so slender are the stone uprights between the windows, and so wholly is this little church uplifted and upheld by the innumerable flying buttresses that stretch away from its roof and delicate sides like the supporting guy ropes of a tent. At the Ste. Chapelle in Paris we noticed that although medallion panels give a splendid dark warmth, they do not admit light enough for a small structure. Perhaps in St. Urbain we shall feel there is too much light. The medallions of the period are there, but only in small numbers and imbedded in large fields of silvery grisaille. The lower half of the clerestory windows is in grisaille and it is only in the upper half that we find coloured figures. While it is true that we lose the silvery hue that simple grisaille generally yields, still, in exchange, we receive a low-toned glow that is delightful. The proportion of glass surface to wall space is here so great that if the grisaille had not been warmed by touches of colour, there would really have been a glare, though the embrasures contain no white glass. The more we study the subject the clearer it becomes that the glazier thoroughly understood and appreciated the possibilities of the medium in which he worked.

As we pass from St. Urbain to the larger and more impressive Cathedral of St. Pierre, we shall notice that although the artist felt the necessity for the lighter treatment in the dainty chapel-like church, he found it more appropriate in the larger edifice to so glaze his windows as to fill the place with the more solemn and dignified light suited to its greater size. The choir of the cathedral provides an unusually complete and satisfying example of this period, not only in its girdle of chapels, but also above in the gorgeous row of thirteen clerestory windows from which ferocious-looking figures stare down upon us from glittering eyes leaded into Byzantine faces. Splendid as they are, we feel that a little more light should have been admitted, and this thought must also have struck the glazier, because he resorted to a trick in the choir chapels to better illumine the eastern part of the structure. If you will step into one of these chapels you will find that in most of them he has substituted grisaille for the medallions in the lancet on either hand nearest the choir. When you stood in the choir ambulatory, this device escaped you because the arch which provides the entrance to the chapel conceals these two nearest lancets. The result of the trick is that two side-lights, properly softened by the grisaille, are thrown into the chapel. If white panes had been used, they would have illuminated the inner side of the medallion panels, thus revealing their ugly machinery of leads, and, worse still, effectually destroying their power to transmit a combination of colour and glow. Ample illumination has been furnished this cathedral by its pierced triforium and the great expanse of its clerestory, but, thanks to the remarkably warm tone of the glass, we do not find it anywhere overlighted. Even the later glass which adorns the nave and transepts and which we will discuss farther on, is so unusually strong in colour that we avoid that sharpness of contrast between thirteenth and fifteenth century work to be seen at Bourges. Decidedly, St. Pierre is one of the most beautiful interiors in France for the glass lover, and he should not fail to see what the best examples of the Champagne school has done for this church, the charm of which lays hold upon him directly he enters it (see page 222).

CHALONS-SUR-MARNE

Certain travellers and most tourists think they can, from studying maps and reading books, obtain a very fair impression of a town before they visit it, and that the chief result of their visit will be to fill in sundry local details. If people of that ilk desire to remain high in their own estimation, they had best omit Chalons from their travels. Let us assume that one of these aforesaid folk plans a visit to Chalons. He will probably begin by studying the map, which shows a city seemingly drawn out along both sides of a long, straight street. His practised mind will conclude this the proper method to enter the town and that he can easily find his way about. Step number two will be the consultation of histories. Here he will fall upon the account of the great Battle of Chalons, in which Attila, the "Scourge of God," met in 451 his final check, the combined army of Romans, Franks and Visigoths there putting a bloody end to his dream of an anti-Christian empire erected upon the crumbling remains of "the power that once was Rome's." Anyone who has noticed how surprisingly few decisive victories have been followed by widespread or lasting results must have remarked that the Battle of Chalons stands out prominently as an exception to this rule. So much for what the maps and the histories have disclosed to our experienced tourist. He is doomed to a bitter disappointment. To-day in this quiet little city of yellowish-grey houses he will find nothing reminiscent of that old-time victory. Not only will his dip into history thus prove to have been in vain, but what is more, the street plan has given him a very wrong idea of a really very pretty place. The writer himself well remembers how the map misled him. He remarked thereon the long straight street; therefore, on emerging from the railway station, he proceeded up this tiresome thoroughfare, which he found equipped with the usual provincial tram-line, both trying to tie the older part of the town to the distant railway station that bears its name. As a disappointment this first impression of Chalons was a pronounced success! Don't fall into the same error. This was the wrong way to enter the town, but there is also a right way, especially for one who believes in first impressions.

If you want to be in a mood to enjoy the glass, branch off to the right when you reach the canal (which is not far from the station), and you will come into a park called the Jard, one of the prettiest combinations of green trees and water to be found in any provincial French city. On a later visit the writer stumbled upon this park, with the result that instead of a mental picture of an ugly town built on both sides of an ugly street, he carried away pleasantly revised memories not only of the charming Jard, but also of several little water-courses meandering through the town, affording lovely vistas every now and again in most unexpected ways. It seems certain that these streams feel equally bitterly about the ugly street, because as soon as they come near it, they promptly hide their heads and pass under it, carefully keeping out of sight in small tunnels. Wait until you see the street, and you won't blame the streams. Now that you have by means of the woody refreshment of the green Jard purified your perceptions from the taint of railway dirt, let us enter the cathedral. We shall find the glass more interesting and instructive than impressive, but to this general observation we must make an exception on behalf of the thirteenth century windows in the clerestory behind and above the altar; they undeniably leave little to be desired. The blue of their backgrounds combines excellently with the tones of the figures. In one of the panels which shows the Crucifixion, we can readily discern that the bars supporting it at the back (called saddle bars) have been moved to one side so as not to interfere with the two figures on either side of the cross. This displacement of the saddle bars to leave undisturbed the drawing of an important personage was quite usual at that time. Later on the glazier seemed to have no objection to the intrusion of the iron bars, just as he grew to disregard the running of his leads across faces, arms, etc. This church also boasts of a fine rose window in the north transept, which is rendered even more effective by the gallery of lancets beneath it. The especial interest of the cathedral to a student of glass is undoubtedly its grisaille windows, some plain and some banded across by highly-coloured panels of the medallion type. This latter arrangement we find along the north wall of the nave, while those containing grisaille alone are in the triforium and clerestory. In the case of the banded ones we shall notice that it is only the middle third of each which has the highly-coloured panels, all the rest being grisaille, doubtless for the purpose of giving plenty of light to the nave. Although a most interesting arrangement, the effect is not that of great beauty. Some of the narrow triforium panels have a border of plain grisaille surrounding the central panel of colour work in which there are no figures; this is quite unusual. A study of the use of colour with grisaille in that century is not complete without a visit to Chalons, but this having been said we must admit that notwithstanding the splendid panels in the choir clerestory and the fine rose window in the north transept, there are several more inspiring places for one wishing to learn how greatly thirteenth century glass can beautify a religious interior. Some of the finest and most valuable twelfth and thirteenth century panels have been removed from the cathedral, and are now the property of the Musee des Arts Decoratifs, in Paris. Unfortunately they are not always on exhibition. On the south side of the nave is a fine series of Renaissance windows, but these, together with the grey and gold figure panels of St. Alpin, and the excellent coloured ones of the fine church of Notre Dame, will be discussed in our sixteenth century pilgrimages (see page 233).

RHEIMS