Chapter V: Part 5

Upon one of our thirteenth century pilgrimages the reader has already been taken to Poitiers (see page 47). Not only has he visited the cathedral and seen its glorious Crucifixion window, but he has also entered the smaller church of St. Radegonde to view the thirteenth century glass there. For the purpose of this trip he must again repair to the latter church to see a unique manifestation of the effect produced by the new demand for more light, which is the most marked feature of the taste in glass of the fourteenth century. The windows which we are now seeking are the four in the north wall between the north portal and the choir. They are undoubtedly interesting, but can hardly be called beautiful. In order to admit as much light as possible, the greater part of their surfaces is filled with light greenish-grey grisaille, whose design is that of a number of circles, each circle impinging on the next. Scattered irregularly upon the grisaille are many small-sized personages in deep colour. Around the whole is a brilliant border. The contrast between the gay hues of the figures (and also of the border) and the light tone of the grisaille is not only too sharp to be pleasant, but it also destroys the harmonious ensemble which is the great charm in the early canopy window. It seems logical that the light-admitting canopy should be used as a frame for the richly-coloured figure which it encloses, but there is no artistic excuse for spotting light grisaille with sharply-outlined, strongly-toned figures, and then framing the whole by the harsh lines of a coloured conventional border. At Bourges the beauties of the thirteenth and fifteenth centuries can be seen at the same time, and each enjoyed, although for different reasons. Here at St. Radegonde, however, the charming thirteenth century rose window above the north portal enjoys an easy victory over the glaring contrasts of its fourteenth century neighbours. The latter should be inspected because they are unique in their elaborate method of admitting light, but they point to a road which should not be followed. It is interesting to note that at the time of their construction these windows were very highly considered. There was no reason why they should not have been of the best, because this church has long benefited by the generosity of pilgrims to the tomb of the saint beneath its choir. Among these none was more devoted than Anne of Austria, the queen of Louis XIII. Nor is this shrine the only attraction to the pious which the church can boast, for in the south wall there is a small recess protected by an iron grille enclosing what is represented to be a footprint of Jesus Christ. This is still an object of much veneration. These facts must be taken into consideration, because a church to which crowds of votaries for centuries resorted would surely contain no glass inappropriate to the wealth and high standing of these pilgrims. In fact, a certain hallmark is thus given its windows, which enables us by means of it to judge of the taste of the time.

ANGERS

There is hardly a religious edifice in existence where so many periods of glass are represented by such uniformly good examples as in St. Maurice Cathedral at Angers. In a former visit (see page 55) we observed that its nave contains the greatest amount of twelfth century work which any French church can show and also that in its choir and transepts there are many fine medallion windows of the thirteenth century. Now we will take up the really gorgeous fifteenth century glass, beginning with the two large west windows of the north transept. So elaborated and full of architectural detail are they that their canopies alone occupy more than half the entire window space. We have generally seen the canopy used only as a frame, but here there is more frame than picture! Each of these two windows contains four niches enclosing brilliantly-hued figures, two in the lower half and two in the upper half of each window. The glass forming the canopy part is much deeper in tone than we have been accustomed to find, having a strong greenish shade similar to that found in many English fourteenth century canopies (as, for example, those in New College Chapel, Oxford). We have noted before that English glass is generally more highly coloured in the fourteenth than in the fifteenth century, but the contrary is true in France, where the fourteenth is much softer in tone than that found in the next century. These windows provide a case in point. It is perhaps well that they are so strongly toned, for even as it is, they seem rather pale in comparison with the early medallion windows all around them. The embrasures which they fill were built in the thirteenth century and are therefore larger than those generally found in the fifteenth; the extremely strong saddle bars necessary to support this great weight of glass are so noticeable to the observer that they seem to isolate the panels containing the figures and thus hurt the frame effect of the canopy. Perhaps the pilgrim will find this comment is hypercritical, for the windows are undoubtedly very effective. They were given by Bishop Jean-Michel about 1440.

One is naturally curious to see the work done by an artist in his home town, for if not of his best, it is apt to be typical and show the influence which his natural environment exercised upon him. For this reason we turn with considerable interest to see what was accomplished by Andre Robin, when called in 1452 to reglaze the rose windows of the transepts. The stone traceries had been constructed in the thirteenth century, and though it is difficult to adapt later glass to earlier framework, the result here has been very successful, much more so than, for example, in the case of the west rose of the Ste. Chapelle in Paris. In the north rose window Robin put the Resurrection. Christ is in the centre and from Him there radiate sixteen elongated panes bearing yellow and blue angels. The resurrected dead are shown in the act of pushing up the covers of their tombs, a conventional method of representing them. Above are little scenes illustrating the occupations of each month of the year. Upon the south rose there appear the signs of the zodiac, and below them the Elders of the Apocalypse. In these Elders we may trace a reference to the splendid set of Apocalypse tapestries which hang around the interior. The most northerly window on the east side of the transept is also by Robin. The subject is the Crucifixion, and it was finished in 1499. In Angers there is yet another set of fifteenth century windows, and to see them we must go to the little church of St. Serge, in whose choir we have already studied the charming twelfth century grisaille. These windows are of the canopy type and are placed in the nave clerestory. There are three on each side, the two westerly ones being of three broad lancets each and the easterly one of two lancets. The colour contrasts are good and the architecture in the canopy framing very convincing, both in size and adjustment.

LE MANS

During the course of our former visit to Le Mans Cathedral (see page 60) we remarked that the transepts were glazed in the fifteenth century. The glass is good and the north rose is particularly well worth seeing. Of the transepts themselves, it may be said that no others in all France are provided with windows in such a curiously irregular way, no two corresponding portions of wall having the same or even similar ones. There is no window at all in the south transept end, but instead there is a solid wall against which the organ is backed. The west side of this transept has two very large windows with coloured borders framing grisaille, upon which are small circles and squares. On the east side the wall has even fewer openings. Crossing over to the north transept, we find still more irregular arrangement, there being a marked difference in amount of window space, as well as in the shape and adjustment between the east and the west wall. There is, however, a distinct improvement over the south transept in that here there are canopy windows and that, too, of no ordinary type. But it is to the north end of this transept that we must turn to have our admiration as well as our interest thoroughly aroused. The writer believes this to be the finest example of a rose window, blossoming out at the top of a well-adjusted group of lancets, that the fifteenth century can afford. At Clermont-Ferrand and Limoges we have noticed that the tendency at that time was to crowd the rose up too high against the roof and then try to counteract the effect by placing beneath it a row of lancets to bring down the whole group. At Le Mans the adjustment in the wall is perfect. Further, the lower range of windows is treated with the respect it deserves, for not only is the rose beautifully glazed, but the lancets have also received the artist's careful attention: they are graceful, good-sized and filled with a triple tier of excellent canopied figures. The rose is poised above and between the points of two wide lancet windows, each of which is in turn divided perpendicularly by mullions. The subject, The Crowning of the Virgin, is admirably treated, and nothing could be more delightful than the numerous angels singing and playing upon various musical instruments. For the honour of the fifteenth century glazier it is well that we should see this splendid effect, because we might otherwise conclude that, notwithstanding his brilliant success in producing canopy panels, he never grasped the full possibilities of the rose window.

SEES

En route from Le Mans to Sees we must pass directly through Alencon, famous for its lace, and especially for the sort known as Point d'Alencon. If en automobile we should stop here long enough to see the Renaissance glass in the church of Notre Dame. Although of a later period than that which we are now considering, we must not be so narrow-minded as to deliberately pass by fine glass, no matter when it was made. The exterior of Notre Dame struck the writer as curiously emblematic of the impression which one receives of the town. The church is squat and ugly, but it is redeemed by the lace-like Gothic of its western porch, which, fearful lest it be not remarked, thrusts itself out into the street. In similar fashion, Alencon as a town has its commonplaceness condoned by reason of the beauty of its lace, a beauty which is constantly thrust upon your attention by its inhabitants. The glass to be noticed is around the nave clerestory. A most charming stone setting is provided for this sixteenth century glazing by the broad and high embrasures of six lancets each. Particularly note how, at the top of each sheaf of lancets, the delicate lines of the traceries flow upward and inward like flames aspiring from a broad-based fire, seeking the outlet above of a narrow chimney. The picture period is here at its best, and the artist, regardless of the upright stone mullions, has spread his subject across all the lancets of each embrasure, and has lavished upon them all the shades of his richly stocked palette. Over the west portal we have the same shape of window, but here it is broader and permits of eight lancets. The subject is the well-worn one of Jesse and his descendants, but the design is distinctly novel, and an unusual amount of green foliage against a blue background lends a pleasant tone to the picture. The descendants are relegated to the upper panes, while the major portion of the great surface is divided equally between Jesse (on the right) and a large panel enclosing the scene of the Saviour's birth (on the left). Of the rest of the glass in this church it is kindly comment to say that it is unsatisfactory.

But let us push on to Sees, 20 kilometres further. One reads but little of the cathedral there, and more's the pity, because from any point of view it is not only admirable, but picturesquely delightful. Placed upon a slight eminence in the midst of a wide basin, this elevation suffices to make it visible from a long distance on every side. Its gracefully aspiring twin spires, its mantle of flying buttresses, the charming conformation of its eastern end, all conspire to allure us and fill us with expectations of what a nearer view may reveal. Nor does the interior fail to realise all this distant promise. What a graceful lightness of stonework is everywhere visible, supplemented by the glazier's intelligent delicacy of touch. The nave alone lacks its ancient glass. Nowhere in France or elsewhere can the fourteenth century glass artist be seen to greater advantage than at Sees. Very happy is the way in which his light-admitting grisaille has been enlivened and decorated by coloured borders and bands of richly-toned, canopy-framed figures. At Evreux we will find him more splendid, more varied, but here, around the choir and the transepts, he has worked out more consistently, more coherently, his new idea of combining translucence and colour decoration. Dainty, almost dangerously fragile as is the stonework that supports the upper windows, the glazier's handwork is daintier still--a film of soft grisaille held in a spider's web of lead lines, whilst across the middle third are bands of early canopies. Not only in the clerestory of choir and transepts, but also in the choir chapels below, do we find this treatment uniformly carried out. The completeness of the scheme of decoration, as well as the satisfactory adjustment of colour to grisaille, give an ensemble which we elsewhere seek in vain. Not satisfied with the illumination provided by his airy clerestory, the architect has pierced his triforium gallery throughout. In this lower tier there has been no attempt to introduce figures, the glazier having contented himself with surrounding his grisaille by decorated borders. The only exception to this rule is where the triforium gallery passes below the lovely rosaces that decorate the transept ends--there, in each case, the row of ten lancets is filled, alas! with modern glass whose thin tones betray it at once. Fortunately one is too much absorbed in looking at the great roses above to notice them very intently. So high up are these rosaces in their respective walls that the arching of the ceiling actually passes in front of their upper corners. That in the south transept is a wheel window with medallions in the ends of the spokes, but instead of the rest of the openings being glazed in grisaille (as at Rouen Cathedral), colour is here used throughout. Very different is the north transept rose, from the centre of which six broad arms diverge, separating groups of blossom-like apertures. The colour is good, but would have been better had there been omitted the white borders that make the coloured panels seem about to start from their sockets. The luminous effectiveness of the interior is utilised and accentuated by the placing of the double-faced altar on a raised platform in the middle of the crossing where the transepts can contribute to its glory equally with the choir. The high altar carries off the unusual honour of this central position with great dignity and success.

So much are we seized and held by the charm of the general effect that we are not tempted, as is so often the case elsewhere, to solace ourselves with spelling out quaint details in individual windows. Nevertheless, that form of research is here well worth while. Three times on the south side of the choir clerestory and again in the second choir chapel on the left, do we find the donors, ingenuously holding in their uplifted hands small models of their gift windows. Several times we will note two canopy panels whose stories must be read together, as for example in the first choir chapel on the right, where a mounted man in armour is piercing with his spear the side of the crucified Christ in the next panel to the right. Interesting as are these and many other similar details, it is the softly tinted illumination of the whole interior, more than any particular feature, that makes us remember Sees Cathedral as one of the most satisfactory French examples of fourteenth century glazing.

VERNEUIL

Long before one reaches Verneuil he remarks a great tower looming high above the surrounding house-tops, a tower so commanding as to seem to beckon us from afar, and then later when we have reached its foot, to make us halt awhile in its shadow to enjoy the innumerable delicate details of its architecture, which render a near view as delightful as the distant prospect is imperious. It is not often in France that one sees so striking a landmark, which must have been vastly more significant still in those battleworn years of the middle ages when Verneuil was for so long an important post on the frontier between France and the territory held by the English. There may still be seen one of the massive round towers of the ancient fortifications, its great size bearing witness to the importance attached to the possession and defence of the city. Nor is Verneuil lacking in other and more homely charms, for it preserves many of its old timbered houses, as well as others of stone and brick decorated at one corner by a gracefully carved tourelle. On making our way to the centre of the town we find that the great tower belongs to the church of La Madeleine, which occupies one end of the spacious market-place. No more ill-assorted collection of incongruous elements were ever found in one edifice. The lofty uplift of the choir and transepts rises so much above the low roof-tree of the nave, that viewed from a little distance, there seems no connecting link between the eastern portion of the church and the great tower at the western end. The transepts are so short as to extend but little beyond the sides of the choir, and furthermore there are two sets of transepts, side by side, and opening into each other. It is to the eastern and loftier part of the edifice that we must repair. Here about the choir and the two parallel chapels that adjoin it are a dozen windows containing fifteenth century canopies, mostly arranged in two tiers, one above the other. Note that it is groups rather than single figures that appear within the enframing niches, and that the stories told by these panels are more elaborate, even if less effective than their grander contemporaries in the transepts. These latter are fine tall-pinnacled examples, each canopy enclosing a single figure, and are found in three of the four great embrasures that light the end walls of the transepts. The fourth contains Renaissance canopies. Throughout all this fifteenth century glass the deepness of the tones used in the figures within the niches is most noticeable.

There are also several sixteenth century windows, the most noteworthy one being a Tree of Jesse in the east end of the southerly chapel. A large figure of the Virgin holding the Infant Jesus is shown standing on the vine just at the point where the branches separate. Jesse's descendants, drawn to a smaller scale, are emerging from blossoms all about the Virgin, whom they are intently regarding.

Although the fifteenth century glass in La Madeleine is not so splendid as some we have seen elsewhere, it is in such quantity and variety as to afford valuable facilities for comparison and study. There is also good glass to be seen in the church of Notre Dame. The picturesque old-world flavour of Verneuil will perhaps make it a greater favourite with us than some towns possessing more important windows.

On leaving Verneuil, whether we decide to return to Paris via Chartres, or to link this trip on to the next by passing directly to Evreux and thence to Rouen, we may, by means of a slight detour, go through Nonancourt. If we do, we should delay there long enough to enter the church to see the low fifteenth century windows along the nave aisles, as well as the larger Renaissance ones that stretch in a long row around the whole length of the clerestory. It will be worth the few additional kilometres to the automobilist, although hardly demanding the breaking of a railway journey.

CHARTRES

Besides its wondrous cathedral, Chartres has another though a more modest sanctuary which also possesses its original glazing almost intact. This is the church of St. Pierre, a unique example of the glazier's attempt to meet the objection of light obstruction charged against the thirteenth century mosaic method. His treatment of the clerestory lights is of peculiar interest. There are no transepts. Around the clerestory each window is divided perpendicularly in half, one side being glazed in colour and the other in soft grisaille. The only difference in the nave clerestory is that there each window is divided perpendicularly into three instead of two, the middle division in each case containing colour work and the two outside ones, grisaille. This method of glazing, plus the fact that the triforium is pierced, produces the desired amount of illumination within, but one can hardly say that it is produced in an altogether satisfactory manner. It is inevitable that this sandwiching of strips of colour between others of grisaille should reduce the value of the tints and dull their glow. The effect is very strange--it is as if tall shutters of dark hue had been prepared for grisaille windows, but that these shutters had only been put up on one side of each. Whether one admires it or not, the method is novel, and worth examining. The new demand for more light has been met, but we have not yet reached the perfection of church illumination. For this we must wait until the fully elaborated canopy panels of the fifteenth century, for in those the glazier hit upon just the right proportion of colour and translucency by means of convincingly complete designs containing no jarring contrasts. It is well if one defers this inspection of St. Pierre, and does not go to it straight from the sombre glories of the cathedral. Such an immediate comparison will render it difficult to realise what an agreeable experience the smaller edifice affords for the student of glass (see page 67).

Do not fail to go into the Lady Chapel to see the delightful set of twelve enamels representing the Apostles, by many considered the chef d'oeuvre of the master of that craft, Leonard Limousin. They are remarkable not only for their delicious combination of tones and shades, but also for their unusually large size (two feet high by one foot broad). One is not surprised at the great care everywhere apparent in their workmanship when one learns that they were ordered by Francis I, who, however, did not live to see them finished. His son, Henry II, presented them to Diane de Poitiers for her Chateau d'Anet.

Before leaving St. Pierre, observe how excellently the architect adjusted the relative heights of the bays, triforium and clerestory; so graceful is the result that we depart with the impression of an edifice of unusually agreeable proportions.

QUIMPER

Far off in the western corner of France dwells that strange race, the Bretons. Leave behind you Paris, the standard-bearer of things modern, and set out for distant Quimper, the westernmost outpost of French glass. You will find yourself in the midst of a curious folk whose origin is unknown, in a bleak country where over a million people speak an uncouth Celtic tongue utterly unlike French; where customs, handed down from father to son, persist for centuries; where modern costume is ignored and the peasant glories in his bright blue and gold jacket adorned with glittering buttons. You have even passed beyond the fabled forest of Broceliande, where Vivien held the great Merlin by her magic spell.

Quimper must be visited for its own sake because there are no neighbouring glass towns. Long as is the journey, it is safe to say that you will be repaid for its discomforts. Arrive, if you can, on a Sunday. The roomy interior of the cathedral is quite as attractive as the elaborate Gothic detail outside has promised. Here during service, perhaps more than anywhere else in France, will the middle ages seem to you still to be lingering on. No stiff rows of pews obtrude their modern convenience upon your notice. You will find the great church filled with group upon group of Breton men and women sitting on rude rush-bottomed chairs, the men in their gay attire and the women wearing quaint white caps which vary slightly in each little village or commune. All this serves to take us back into feudal times; we sink into a seat and observe the intense interest with which our neighbours are following the ringing exhortations of the priest, couched in homely phrases, quite like the discourse which his predecessors in the fifteenth century preached from the same pulpit to a very similar audience. Our mood becomes so mediaeval as to almost make the ancient stained glass seem contemporary. It is a pleasant thought that the series of canopy windows made for the choir clerestory in 1417 by Jamin Sohier should have been continued and carried along the clerestory of the nave and transepts by his son, also named Jamin Sohier, towards the end of the same century. One of these later ones near the west front bears the date 1496. Some of those in the nave were sadly injured by the stress of time, and a few altogether destroyed; but they have been repaired and replaced most successfully, pious care having been taken to restore them as nearly as possible to their original condition. This was done during the years 1867 to 1874 by M. Lucon at the expense of the State. The nave windows of the younger Sohier are much more brilliant, both in richness and in variety of colours, than the earlier choir windows of his father. The gradual development of the verre double (or double sheets of glass) placed a greater variety of tints at the disposal of the artist, and he eagerly took advantage of his enriched palette. By comparing the choir panels with the later ones of the nave, we have here an excellent opportunity to study the development of the canopy window. We cannot help but feel that although the earlier ones lack the brilliancy and glow which characterise those constructed later, this lack is more than balanced by the delicious softness of the light which they transmit. It is interesting to observe how many of them set forth the legend of St. Christopher. Do not fail to notice the skillful contrast of a strong yellow with a rich green of which the east windows of the north transept provide several excellent examples.

There is a striking peculiarity in the ground plan of this church. The choir is not upon the same axis as the nave, but inclines at quite an angle to the north. This peculiarity also exists in one or two other French churches, and the local authorities always delight to tell you that it is a form of Gothic symbolism intended to represent the drooping to one side of the Saviour's head on the Cross. When the true explanation is discovered, it generally proves to be of a more practical nature. The same slant to the north is observable in the choir of Saint Jean, at Troyes; there it was caused by the fact that the street line on the south side of the choir had to be pushed northward after the great fire of 1524. At Quimper the explanation is even more interesting. In 1239 Bishop Raynaud wished to add to his cathedral the chapel of Notre Dame (founded in 1028 by the Count of Cornoucilles) which stood a little to the east and was across a small street. He extended his choir so as to take in the chapel; but as it lay a little to the north of the true easterly line, he had to slant his choir to effect his purpose. This explanation may not be poetically symbolical, but it is historically accurate.

SIXTEENTH CENTURY

We have now reached the perfected period of stained glass, by some called the Renaissance, and by others the Cinque-cento. The latter affords a graceful recognition of Italian inspiration in the revival of French art at the beginning of the sixteenth century. By this time the reader will have appreciated the truth of the statement in our introduction that stained glass saves us the trouble of dividing it into periods, because it falls of itself into divisions whose boundaries, oddly enough, coincide approximately with those of the centuries. This was heretofore illustrated when the canopy window appeared upon the scene and caused the abrupt change from the sombre glittering tones of the thirteenth century to the light-admitting silvery-grey glass of the fourteenth. Now we are about to see how another change came at the end of the fifteenth century, when the Renaissance sprang full-grown, not Minerva-like from the brows of Jove, but from those of Mars, the God of War, for it was the Italian wars of Louis XII and Francis I that brought about this sudden regeneration of all branches of French art. What the French soldiers saw in Italy they remembered and told at home, and, moreover, many of their trophies bore witness to the wonderful development then reached by Italian art. The fact that after several centuries French territory was at last relieved from distress of war naturally resulted in a sudden interest in building of all sorts. Because of this, architecture was among the first of the arts to be affected by the new Italian taste. We have before noticed the inter-relation of the needs and styles of the architect with those of the glass artist, and therefore we are not surprised to find our windows testifying that the latter quickly perceived Gothic architecture was being superseded by the classic style. During the last two centuries he had grown to appreciate more and more the light-admitting advantages of the canopy window, but now he changes the simulated architecture from Gothic to Renaissance. In his designs we notice an even more important change, which results from the fact that he now enjoys a good working knowledge of the laws of perspective and hastens to avail himself of it in order to lend greater depth to his picture. Indeed, in some instances, he carried the use of perspective almost to an abuse. His predecessors in the twelfth and thirteenth centuries knew nothing of these rules, which, indeed, were then unknown in every art. On our way down through the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries, because most of the windows are either canopy, or grisaille surcharged with figures, we are by their very nature denied an opportunity to observe the same gradual development of perspective which was contemporaneously taking place in painting. The result is that when in the sixteenth century the glass artist decided to branch out from the conventional canopy style and indulge his taste in the more ambitious effort of the picture window, the sudden change from no perspective to an abundance is all the more noticeable. During the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries the only hint obtainable of an increasing interest in perspective was when we noticed that fifteenth century canopies were more elaborate than those of the fourteenth, not only because they had much more intricate pinnacles, but also by reason of the curtains hanging in the back of the niches, and other details showing attempts to gain depth in the picture. In his large picture windows the sixteenth century artist also has more chance to show us how greatly the discovery of enamelling on glass has enriched his palette. During the two preceding centuries his development of verre double (or glass in double layers) has been yielding a constantly increasing variety of hues in the costumes of his personages, backgrounds, etc.; but now he adds his brilliant enamels and fairly riots in colour.

We shall often have occasion to deplore that the glazier of the Renaissance never truly grasped the full artistic possibilities of the black outlines ready to his hand in the leads, and that he failed to realise, as did his predecessors, that the more the drawing was executed by the leads the more attractive and convincing the resulting picture would be. Towards the end of this epoch this disregard for their usefulness in the design was often carried to such an extreme that one concludes the artist must have regarded them as of no service except to hold the glass in position. Some of the men who indulged most in enamel painting became so engrossed in this form of decorating glass as to consider the leads an intrusion, and as tending to reduce the size of the sheets, which they preferred should be of large size in order to facilitate the painting thereon of their pictures.

To recapitulate, the most noticeable features of the new regime are then--

(_a_) Renaissance architecture depicted instead of Gothic. (_b_) Larger scenes. (_c_) Use of perspective. (_d_) Greatly increased diversity of colour. (_e_) Use of enamel painting. (_f_) Increasing carelessness in use of leads.

Not only does Renaissance architecture supersede the older Gothic on our windows, but it very naturally brings with it certain characteristics of the new architect. For example, because he generally placed the date conspicuously upon his edifice, so in Renaissance glass we find the glazier introducing the date upon some panel of the simulated architecture. Before this time, windows were seldom dated; now this custom soon became firmly established and various methods for it were devised. In the parish church at Les Iffs, in Brittany, the west panel of the small chapel on the south side of the choir bears its date upon a gold coin held by one of the figures. The writer remembers this well, because, finding no date, it struck him that it might be on the coin. He piled three chairs, one on top of the other, climbed up, and there it was. Immediately after the discovery, the chairs fell down!

Notwithstanding the richness which the artist's palette has attained, we occasionally meet an indication that he has not forgotten the cool silvery-grey formerly yielded by the canopy window. He now sought to obtain the same result in another fashion by occasionally restricting the colour of a picture window to various shades of grey (or very light brown), relieved by flesh tints where needed, and enlivened by touches of yellow stain. We sometimes find a church glazed throughout in this style, as, for example, St. Pantaleon at Troyes. It was, however, chiefly used in smaller edifices and for domestic or civil purposes. This particular manifestation of sixteenth century style outlived most of its contemporaries and is found as late as the end of the next century. By this last observation we are naturally led to comment upon the almost complete collapse of the cult of stained glass that came at the end of this century. People seemed to no longer care for it, although it had for more than four hundred years been so highly esteemed. We read of many instances of artists who had no orders for work and therefore had to turn their talents into other channels. That master of so many arts, Bernard Palissy, writing at the end of the century, tells us that so completely had the sale of glass fallen into disrepute that it was then hawked about from village to village by those who sold old clothes and old iron, and that although the art was a noble one, many of its practitioners found it difficult to get enough to live upon. For this passing of interest there have been many reasons advanced, but perhaps the most convincing is that of surfeit. Certain it is that an enormous quantity of stained glass was produced during the sixteenth century, much of which has survived. Of course, in some quarters the cult lasted longer than in others, but then it is generally traceable to the existence there of a peculiarly gifted group of glass artists. We shall find this true at Troyes, where the skill and fame of Linard Gonthier and his school produced such a demand for their work as to cause the art in that locality to survive far into the seventeenth century.

While it is true that during the sixteenth century glass reached its highest perfection, it is but natural that on the way up it should have outgrown many of the indications of craft tradition which we have from time to time noticed. The perfected picture no longer needed certain conventional signs to tell its story. Perspective and improved drawing obviated the need of them. There are, however, several instances which show that even the sixteenth century artist felt the charm of quaintness, though to a lesser degree than his predecessors. For example, a window in Caudebec Cathedral (the Passage of the Red Sea by the Israelites) takes pains to identify the sea by having the waves glazed in red! Though he had discarded most of the conventions, he retained and much beautified a few of them. For example, in Tree of Jesse windows, he far outstripped the older schools in grace and elaboration of treatment. As an indication of the interest felt in allegory by the later men we must invite attention to the so-called "Wine Press" window. Here we have the same branching vine found in the Tree of Jesse, but in this case it springs from the wounded Christ, who is being bruised in the press (or sometimes from His pressed-out blood), and spreads out over the panes, bearing as its blossoms saints, apostles or historical personages. In a few instances it rises from the wine pressed by Christ from the grapes. Windows of this type are to be seen at Conches, at Troyes and many other places, but nowhere is the idea so elaborated as at St. Etienne-du-Mont in Paris. Sometimes the heads displayed on the vines indicate another tendency of this century, which can be particularly noted in the last cited window (by Pinaigrier) and in Engrand Le Prince's Tree of Jesse at St. Etienne (Beauvais). In these two the heads prove to be accurate portraits of contemporary royalties and church dignitaries, a fashion then much affected and highly esteemed. Another evidence of this same tendency to add personal touches is shown in the greatly increased use of armorial bearings, not only serving as the sole decorations of a panel, but also appearing upon picture subjects. These coats of arms are not only agreeable in effect, but also by their heraldry are very useful in fixing dates. Many of these armorial bearings were, however, destroyed after the edict of 1792, forbidding their use. Most sixteenth century windows bear the donor's figure, nor shall we find excessive modesty shown by the man who paid the price. In this connection it is interesting to note that although stained glass has always been very expensive, strangely enough the expense has remained practically constant throughout all its history, providing, of course, one takes into consideration the varying purchasing power of money. In fact, the cost thus corrected varies so little from epoch to epoch as to be positively surprising. When we consider how costly was a gift of this sort, perhaps it is not extraordinary that, during the sixteenth century, we generally find upon it the givers' portraits; the wonder is that the custom was not more widely spread before. Unfortunately, the donor was now more aggressive than his predecessors, for often the figure is not only too large, but actually intrudes upon the subject of the window. Frequently not content to appear alone, he had the portraits of several of his family added as well.

Before we make our selection of towns to be visited, let us look about us in Paris, for it has not a little glass to show us.

PARIS

Before starting on our thirteenth century tours, Paris supplied us with very useful results from our comparison of the glass in the Ste. Chapelle with that of the north rose at Notre Dame. Not so satisfactory was our study of the fifteenth century canopy windows at St. Severin in that city. We shall, however, find excellent sixteenth century glass in several of the Paris churches, and will thus be afforded an opportunity to prepare for our excursions by obtaining in advance some idea of the style of that period, and shall also find some examples by its best artists. Let us begin at St. Germain l'Auxerrois, whose charmingly light tower and graceful exterior seem to give the lie to the sinister fact that from this very belfry rang out the signal for the massacre of St. Bartholomew. The west wall of the north transept provides a reason for here beginning our study of sixteenth century glass, because there, side by side, are two very similar windows, harmonising agreeably one with the other, and yet the architecture of the canopies of one is fifteenth century Gothic, and of the other, Renaissance. This very conveniently illustrates for us one of the marked changes which came over our glass. If the canopies were not enough to date them, other details are not lacking to perform that service. The earlier window has all the features of the distant landscape put in with the leads, while in the later one they are delicately painted on greyish blue; especially note this in the well scene. The other windows in this transept are also attractive and the warmth of some of the reds in the bed draperies of the earlier one of the pair just mentioned should be noticed. The adjusting of the figures to their panes in the transept rose windows is adroitly handled, particularly some of the kneeling angels in the south one. In the west wall of the south transept, the problem of placing a central figure when the architect provided only four, instead of five lancets, is gracefully overcome.

At St. Gervais we have one of the few opportunities to compare two of the greatest artists produced by the new school--Robert Pinaigrier and Jean Cousin--but that is about all that can be said for this ugly church, where architecture, white windows and modern glass combine to drive away the student. The best window is by Pinaigrier, the Judgment of Solomon (second on the right in the choir chapels); it is dated 1531, and although considered by many his masterpiece, seems to us to have too much marble pavement, etc., for its personages; and further, the little scenes in the tracery lights contrast disagreeably not only with the picture below, but also with its minarets and their sky background which jut up into the space above. We must, however, note how the accurate perspective contributed by the lines of the pavement and the distant architecture facilitates the correct stationing of the figures without confusing them as to position or foreshortening. His, also, are the twelve panels in the Lady Chapel, giving scenes from the life of the Virgin Mary: here the composition is delightful. We may remark in passing that at least one of them displays verses which by reason of their quaint expressions are less suited to our times than to the more unrestrained speech of those earlier days. Jean Cousin's window, the Martyrdom of St. Lawrence (1551), is the first on the right in the choir, and though good in technique, is not attractive. We should reserve judgment upon his work until after we have visited Vincennes. Across the river and at the top of the hill crowned by the Pantheon is to be found an edifice that looks more like an architectural freak than a church--St. Etienne-du-Mont. It seems to realise its own ugliness and tries to conceal itself behind the Pantheon. Once we enter its portal we find a vast improvement over the distressing exterior of this confection of stone. There are plenty of spacious windows and a general airy effect. Swung high in the air across the front of the choir is a graceful stone jube arch, seemingly fastened to the columns at each end by double loops of delicate spiral stairways. The choir is so lightly constructed, and with so few obstructing columns, that the whole of the ambulatory space becomes a part of it. This arrangement enables us to enjoy the glazing of the ambulatory and the choir chapels from all parts of the building. A little door marked "Sacristie" leads off from the ambulatory through a corridor to the Chapel of the Catechism. Along the west wall of this chapel are ranged a series of twelve panels by Pinaigrier, and because they are on the level of the observer's eye, he is afforded every facility for examining what could be accomplished by a great artist in enamelling colour on glass. In fact, there is no place in France where this can be more conveniently studied. Although all twelve are fine, that devoted to the allegory of the wine press is easily the best. Oddly enough, it was the gift of a rich wine merchant. In it are to be found faithful portraits of Pope Paul II, Emperor Charles V, Francis I, and Henry VIII of England, as well as sundry cardinals and archbishops, all in rich ceremonial costume. Needless to say, those individuals have nothing to do with the subject of the window, but the opportunity to display portraits of them was too good for the artist to waste. This frequently appears on glass of the period and sometimes the result verges on the ludicrous.

After visiting these stately temples, the quiet church of St. Merri appears even more modest and retiring than its obscure site just off the busy quarter about the Hotel De Ville really renders it. In fact, so well is it hidden that we would have missed it had we not been seeking very carefully. The windows here are more interesting than beautiful and their effectiveness has been impaired in several ways. We read that during the eighteenth century those in charge of the church, after careful deliberation, replaced a great deal of the coloured by white glass, especially in the nave, where they removed the two central lancets of each group of four, leaving only the upper half of the two outer ones. Of course, the result was not only disastrous to the window's general effect, but entirely extinguishes any warmth of tone in such glass as remains. We cannot but deplore the absence of the abstracted panes, for the remains in the side lancets and tracery lights evidence such skill, as well in combination of tones as in drawing (more particularly in the handling of perspective), that one can readily imagine what harm has been done. Even the few scenes that are left are well worth inspection, and are as interesting as any of this epoch in Paris. Notice in the third window on the right, the way in which the landscape is carried back until it ends in a little red-topped tower, from which peer out two heads. Fortunately, these deliberate and painstaking vandals spared the glass in the three westerly windows on each side of the choir, and also in the eastern walls of the transepts. The panels on the left, showing the history of Joseph, are better than their neighbours across the choir.

Of the sixteenth century glass to be seen in Paris, this much can be said: it varies markedly, illustrates most of the types of that time, and is therefore very useful in preparing us for the tours we are about to take.

SIXTEENTH CENTURY TOURS

We shall have to approach the subject of viewing sixteenth century glass in a very different spirit from that in which we undertook the tours of the preceding centuries. We can no longer set up any claim to thoroughness. If our pilgrim visited all the places recommended in our thirteenth century excursions, as well as those for the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries, he can rest with the comfortable assurance that he has seen about all of the really good glass of those periods. Now we have a different problem. There has survived a great deal more glass from the sixteenth century than from all the preceding ones combined. He cannot hope to see it all, and we will have to limit ourselves to sketching out for him three tours covering the best--supplementing these by several detached cities, so that if the glass hunter happens in their neighbourhood he will not overlook them. He will find, however, some compensations for the bewilderment caused by the great quantity of sixteenth century glass, the chief of which is that either Rouen or Troyes provides in its many churches a complete exposition of that period's style. If the pilgrim's time is limited, he can accomplish more during a short stay in those two cities than he could upon any tour which might be outlined. Two other compensations provided by this abundance of material are--first, that there is a great deal of good glass to be seen in Paris, and furthermore, the automobilist especially will delight to learn that there are a half-dozen points in its immediate neighbourhood which offer an excellent excuse for a half-day's outing. For the leisurely traveller who has both time and inclination, we will arrange three tours; but he must understand that although they will provide him with a sight of the best sixteenth century glass, there will still be left a number of towns worth visiting.

Each of these trips will begin in Paris. On Tour (_a_) we first stop at Vincennes, just outside the fortifications, then on to Sens, to Troyes, to Chalons-sur-Marne and back to Paris. Tour (_b_) takes us by way of Versailles to Montfort l'Amaury; then to that perfect shrine of Renaissance glass, Conches; next to Pont-Audemer; then across the Seine by boat to Caudebec, and from there upstream, by the interesting old Abbey of St. Wandrille and the stately Jumieges to Rouen. From Rouen we run out to Grand-Andely, Elbeuf or Pont de l'Arche before we push up the river Seine to Paris. Tour (_c_) will particularly recommend itself to the automobilist, and most of the points are quite near Paris. We go out through St. Denis to the town of Montmorency, then through the wood of Montmorency to Ecouen, and next a little further on to Chantilly. From there our route lies across to Beauvais, and back to Paris. As stated before, several of the towns comprised in these three tours are so close to Paris as to enable a glass lover with a half-day on his hands to pleasantly employ it in a short excursion by train or automobile. Of course, if he travels by train he can hardly hope in half a day to see more than one of these. If, however, he is an automobilist and therefore untrammelled by time-tables, he can combine several. For example, a glance at the map will reveal that Ecouen, Montmorency and Chantilly are so close together that an automobilist can fit them into one day. A word of warning is not out of place for one about to visit these nearby towns. He must be careful to ascertain from his Baedeker or from the public prints, upon which days they are open to the public. Montfort l'Amaury and Ecouen can be seen any day; Vincennes and Chantilly, Thursdays and Sundays, etc., but these statistics had better be verified in the manner suggested because the regulations are changed from time to time. There are three very important glass shrines which are, however, so located as to make it impossible to combine them into a tour. These are the Cathedral of Auch (down in the southwest near Toulouse), the chapel of the chateau of Champigny-sur-Veude in Touraine, and the famous church of Brou at Bourg in Savoy. The pilgrim should make every effort to see them.

(_a_) _Vincennes, Sens, Troyes, Chalons._ (_b_) _Montfort l'Amaury, Conches, Pont-Audemer, Caudebec, Rouen, (Grand-Andely, Elbeuf, Pont de l'Arche)._ (_c_) _Montmorency, Ecouen, Chantilly (St. Quentin), Beauvais._ _Also separate visits to Bourg, Auch and Champigny-sur-Veude._

(_For table of distances, see page 295._)]

VINCENNES