Abbot Suger and St. Denis-en-France
Under the impulse of this monk, truly great in all things, Gothic
architecture was born.--FÉLIX DE VERNEILH (of Abbot Suger).
The churches built during the evolution from Romanesque to Gothic have
been called transitional, a classification which would be most
convenient for the amateur, had not archæologists decided it was an
equivocal term. They say that, during the short period when "Romanesque
and Gothic inhabited under the same roof," the Romanesque parts of the
edifice were placed side by side with the simultaneously built Gothic
parts, that there was juxtaposition, but no fusion. Vaults were either
barrel, groin, or of the diagonal-rib type; there was no such thing as a
transition form of vault. Arches were either round or pointed; there was
no such thing as a transition or intermediary form of arch. And since
the radical distinction between Romanesque and Gothic is caused by the
vaulting, it is correct to call that part of a church where was groin or
barrel vault Romanesque, and that part where were used the intersecting
ribs Gothic.
The sequence of the passing from Romanesque to Gothic is obscure,
because there is a lack of definite dates. From 1110 to 1140, while the
intersecting ribs were coming into use in northern France, such a vault
was practically the only sign in an edifice of the new movement. The
walls still were massive, the windows still were small and round-arched,
the sculpture still was coarse and heavy. Then, as the transition
advanced, the supports grew lighter, the profiles (those cross-section
outlines of ribs, arches, capitals, and bases) grew purer, and the
sculpture discarded Byzantine traditions and took nature as its model.
French archæologists have thought that the use of diagonals came about
first through the desire to hold up some groin vault, on the point of
collapsing, which would seem a very sensible explanation, since the
creative genius of the Ile-de-France seems dimly to have apprehended
even in the first hour the stupendous possibility to be drawn from a
member whose purpose was to concentrate force in order that other parts
of the edifice might be relieved. From the initial hour began the
evolution of the cardinal organ in the Ile-de-France. Whereas the
Lombard architects looked on the diagonals as a mere contrivance,
stubbornly keeping their eyes shut to the structural possibilities
latent therein. The masons of the Ile-de-France at once began to profile
their diagonals graciously, and even before the genius of Suger had
coordinated, at St. Denis, all the foregoing progress of the nascent
art, craftsmen had occasionally symbolized, as it were, the importance
of the intersecting ribs by carving little caryatids for them to rest
upon above the capitals; such figurines are to be seen in the Oise
region at Bury and at Cambronne.[21]
Mr. Arthur Kingsley Porter's idea is that the transitional period
resolves itself into a series of experiments on the part of the builders
to erect a vault with a minimum of centering, and he cites the hollow
spires at Loches as an experiment to put up a stone roof without the use
of any temporary substructure of wood, which apparently was costly.[22]
He thinks that the earlier Gothic vaults were _bombé_ because that form
facilitated construction without centering, and that the Lombards
dropped their precocious diagonals after 1120, as soon as they had
learned how to build domed groin vaults which required no temporary
wooden substructures. What is of value in Mr. Porter's thesis is sure,
in time, to pass into French currency; until a majority of French
archæologists find his explanation better than their own it is
permissible for us to agree with those who are telling the tale of
their own national art.
Probably the earliest extant Gothic vaults in the Ile-de-France are
those at Acy-en-Multien (Oise) and at Crouy-sur-Ourcq (Seine-et-Marne).
Their outline is rectangular. Some intersecting ribs at Rhuis (Oise) are
cited by M. Lefèvre-Pontalis as the oldest in the Soissonnais. Diagonals
were put up, about 1115, at St. Vaast-de-Longmont (Oise), Orgeval
(Seine-et-Oise), Viffort (Aisne), Airaines (Somme), and in other rural
churches. The famous ambulatory vaults at Morienval were probably built
about 1122. A year or two earlier, perhaps, are the side-aisle vaults of
St. Étienne at Beauvais.
Bury (Oise) shows the first extant half dome with ribs. Of the same
time, about 1125, are the diagonals at Marolles, St. Vaast-les-Mello,
Béthisy-St.-Pierre, Bonneuil-en-Valois, and Bellefontaine, all in the
Oise department. Bellefontaine, whose date of 1125 is certain, has
helped to place other churches of the transition by comparing their
diagonals with its pointed intersecting ribs. Bruyères (Aisne) is about
1130, Poissy (Seine-et-Oise) and Villetertre (Oise) are about 1135, and
so are the ribs of St. Martin-des-Champs at Paris. In the Aisne region
are Berzy-le-Sec and Laffaux (c. 1140) and in the Oise region is
Chelles, building at the hour when Suger undertook St. Denis (Seine),
1140 to 1144. Cambronne (Oise) and Foy-St.-Quentin (Somme) are about
1145. Such churches as Glennes (Aisne), St. Leu d'Esserent (Oise), and,
close to the latter, Creuil's church of St. Évremont were building in
1150; so were Chars (Seine-et-Oise) and, near it, Pontoise,[23] whose
ambulatory vaults some claim are prior to those of the procession path
of St. Denis, and therefore a link between Morienval and Suger's
abbatial. The big church at St. Germer (Oise) was begun about 1150,
though certain of its features are more archaic than St. Denis, built
before it. Some of these churches, called transitional, used wall ribs
for their diagonals, others omitted them; in some the intersecting ribs
were pointed, in others, semicircular.
Mr. John Bilson, who contends that diagonals were used in Normandy some
twenty-five years earlier than in the Ile-de-France, considers the early
dates for these rural churches improbable, that scarcely any were
anterior to St. Denis, that it was a case of little churches following
the great churches, not vice versa. The earliest, he thinks, was St.
Étienne at Beauvais (c. 1120), significantly close to Normandy. But
Normandy did not suspect the value and fecundity of diagonals. That feat
of creative genius none can deny to the Ile-de-France.
The traveler can do nothing more enlightening and delightful as a
prelude to his journey among French cathedrals than to spend some early
spring days exploring the rural churches of the privileged land of the
national art which the old geographers chose to picture as an island
inclosed by the Seine, the Marne, the Aisne, and the Oise. Numerous
churches of the transition lie between Soissons, Senlis, and Beauvais,
and once, around Amiens was another such center, but few of the
monuments there have survived.[24] Go to Creuil and see, in the ruins of
St. Évremont, a rudimentary flying buttress--a quarter arch once hidden
under the lean-to roof. No doubt the architect built it with the
intention of bracing the upper walls, but since he omitted to brace the
flying buttress itself it failed of its purpose. Four miles away, at St.
Leu d'Esserent, is an awkward early trial of a Gothic vault in the
tribune above the porch, but as the ribs are embedded in the cells, no
proper elasticity is achieved. Go to Morienval and study its remarkable
essay in spanning a curving section with diagonals. Trace these early
steps of the national art, and the meaning of the Gothic bone structure
grows plainer.
MORIENVAL[25]
I approve the life of those for whom the city is a prison, who find
paradise in solitude, who live by the works of their hands, or who
seek to remake their spirit by the sweetness of their contemplative
life, who drink of the fountain of life by the lips of their heart,
and forget what is behind them to regard only what lies ahead. But
neither the most hidden forest nor the highest mountains will give
happiness to man, if he has not in himself solitude of the spirit,
peace of conscience, upliftings of the heart to God.--Letter of ST.
IVES, Bishop of Chartres, 1091-1115.
Of the experimental steps which led to Gothic art, the most appealing is
the nunnery church of Morienval, a humble forerunner of Amiens Cathedral
that has made as much stir in archæological controversy as Périgueux's
cathedral of St. Front itself. Morienval may not be the passionately
sought _oeuvre-initiale_, since its vaults, while they betray
inexperience, certainly were preceded by still cruder attempts, but it
can boast that it is the first Gothic ambulatory extant, and as the
curving aisle around the chancel is the most exquisite feature of the
great cathedrals, Morienval's humble first essay of it merits a
pilgrimage.
As one approaches the abbey church it does not appear till one is
directly over it, so snugly hidden away is the village in a fold of the
rolling country that skirts the forest of Compiègne. Perhaps the
IX-century nuns who chose the site may have hoped that the marauders of
that troublous time might ride by, unconscious of booty so close at
hand. With gratitude one learns that the invasion of 1914 has left
Morienval unscathed, as well as those other memorials of tentative
Gothic, Acy-en-Multien and Crouy-sur-Ourcq.
Because of excellent proportions, the church appears larger than in
reality. The exterior is Romanesque. Two time-stained towers of the XI
century mark the angles between transept and choir, an arrangement
derived from Rhenish churches. At the west façade is a beautiful
XII-century tower. It was building while the nuns were proceeding to
tear down a decrepit apse in order to erect the present east end of the
church. In that new apse appeared the much-discussed early ribs.
A record tells that relics were installed in the church in 1122, and it
was probably then that the new works were finished. Ambulatories had
come into favor during the first third of the XII century, when need was
felt for a suitable corridor for pilgrims to encircle the altar whereon
relics were exposed. Now to vault a curving aisle was no easy task,
owing to the trapeze shape of each section. Morienval's ambulatory must
have been designed to hold extra altars, since entrance to the aisle is
blocked at both ends by the towers, and the passage is so narrow that
only one at a time can walk in it. There are no apse chapels. The
sculpture is archaic. Some of the capitals show interlacings, and some
are of the pleated type popular in Normandy. The diminutive corridor has
four small bays whose clumsy intersecting vault ribs are of the size of
the average stovepipe. They curve strangely, and two of the keystones
are not in the axis of the passageway, nor has elasticity yet been
wholly achieved, since the ends of the ribs plunge into the web of the
vault.
Over the choir, consisting of one large bay, are intersecting ribs that
appear to be posterior to those of the ambulatory. They, too, are rude
and large, but are wholly detached from the cells. M. Lefèvre-Pontalis
thinks that the ambulatory diagonals are contemporary, and owe their
more archaic character to the difficulty of vaulting a curved passage.
So swiftly did the early architects acquire skill in the new system of
building, that when a chapel was erected on the northern arm of
Morienval's transept, at the end of the XII century, each diagonal had
become a single slender torus, virile and graceful.
Of less architectural importance is the Romanesque nave of Morienval,
whose meager vault ribs are of the XVII century. The western tower was
the prototype of the Romanesque belfries of the region and should be
preserved. It is in a deplorable state, propped by beams, which are
gayly scaled by the lads who ring the Angelus. Little Morienval has the
human touch which the traveler craves. Set in the wall above the
XIII-century lord of Viri's tomb are tablets that commemorate two
pastors of this isolated Valois village who were heroes as valiant as
any crusader. Their combined ministry covered a hundred and one years.
The first died in 1840, after fifty-seven years of service here,
"faithful to his duty in times most difficult," and difficult indeed was
a priest's life during the Revolution. "Pray for his soul," begs his
grateful commune, to which he had bequeathed the presbytery and all his
savings.
His successor came to Morienval in his 'twenties, fresh from Paris, his
birthplace, and on this dwindling village he expended his energies for
forty-five years. Abbé Riaux loved his parishioners like a father, and
was, says the memorial tablet, "physician for body as well as soul."
During the cholera of 1849 his self-denial elicited a gold medal from
Morienval and the village of Bonneuil, where is another primitive essay
of a Gothic vault. "The state of decay of his beautiful church made him
suffer," runs the inscription, so he willed his modest fortune toward
its restoration. Happily, he lived long enough to see the church he
loved become a savant's shrine. It was in 1880 that M. Robert de
Lasteyrie first drew attention to Morienval as an early step in the
tardily understood national art, and MM. Anthyme Saint-Paul, Eugène
Lefèvre-Pontalis, and Camille Enlart joined in the debate. The
archæologists' war horse they have called our little Morienval. Such
widespread discussion and the good priest's bequest fortunately brought
about a thorough restoration of the choir.
ST. ÉTIENNE AT BEAUVAIS, AND ST. GERMER[26]
Sous le porche de l'église, chacun laisse le fardeau que la vie lui
impose. Ici le plus pauvre homme s'élève au rang des grands
intellectuels, des poètes, que dis-je? au rang des esprits: il
s'installe dans le domaine de la pensée pure et du rêve. Le
gémissement d'une vieille femme agenouillée dans l'église de son
village est du même accent, traduit la même ignorance, le même
pressentiment que la méditation du savant.... De ces parties
profondes de l'être, de ce domaine obscur surgissent toutes les
puissances créatrices de l'homme.
--MAURICE BARRÈS.[27]
Close in date to Morienval are the aisle vaults of St. Étienne's nave at
Beauvais, the old city that lies on a tributary of the Oise. The
intersecting ribs are not quite so stout as those of Morienval, but
their ends still plunge into the massive, and they, too, are
round-arched; their date is approximately 1120. That they planned at the
same time to throw similar diagonals over the principal span is proved
by the existent lower structures, but the actual vaults there were not
erected till after a fire in 1180. The transverse arches of the aisles
are noticeably stilted. This device was to lead to a solution of the
problem how to raise the arches framing each vault section to the level
of the diagonals' crown, and thus avoid the excessive doming which is
found in the earlier Gothic vaults.
In the XII-century north façade of the transept is an oculus big enough
to be called the first rose window; a wheel of fortune it is called,
because the images around its circle are an allegory of the fleet
passing of man's greatness. This is one of the very early approaches to
pure sculpture. The nave's two westernmost bays and its façade are of
the XI century. Had the original choir of St. Étienne survived, it is
thought that its ambulatory would be one of the missing steps connecting
the cramped corridor of Morienval with the double procession path of St.
Denis. The present choir, a Flamboyant Gothic structure, is famous for
its gloriously colored windows, some of which were made by that notable
family of local artists who designed the big rose windows of Beauvais
Cathedral, Engrand Le Prince and his sons Jean and Nicolas, and his
son-in-law Nicolas Le Pot. The latter carved the cathedral's wooden
doors, for versatility was characteristic of the artisan-artists of
those days.
Ten miles from Beauvais, a crawling train sets one down in a field
whence a two-mile walk leads to the sleepy bourg of St. Germer-en-Flay.
The abbey was founded in 655 by Germer, a noble of Dagobert's court,
nephew of St. Ouen the great bishop of Normandy's capital. To St.
Germer's abbey came William the Conqueror to beg the French king to join
him in his proposed descent on England. But Philip I gathered his
counselors, and it was decided not to support the Norman duke, since, if
he gained England, he would be richer than his own suzerain, the king of
France, and if he failed, France would have antagonized the English.
The large abbatial church of St. Germer, if not beautiful, is of
archæological interest. Formerly it was thought to be a monument of
1130, but closer study has shown that it was erected during one bout of
work from 1150 to 1180. Hard though it was to believe it the
contemporary of the cathedrals at Senlis and Noyon, its sculpture is too
excellent to have been done earlier. The crocketed capitals of its
westernmost bays were never made earlier than 1175. That the church was
continued without pause from apse to façade is proved by the unity of
profiles and details. Its anachronisms are to be explained because it
derived from a side current of Gothic art, out of touch with the
swift-moving main stream, which was channeled by Abbot Suger.
The architect of St. Germer showed in the main parts of his church a
thorough understanding of the new Gothic vaulting, and at the same time
he covered his tribune gallery with Romanesque groins. He made heavy
Romanesque piers, and simultaneously he essayed to disencumber the
pavement by employing the corbel, or side bracket. The Norman zigzag or
chevron design decorates the heavy molding of the pier arches. Over the
sanctuary he attempted the inartistic experiment of having his ribs
converge, not on a keystone, but directly on a transverse rib. The ribs
of the upper vaulting are heavy and ornamented. The pointed arches of
the pier arcade are surmounted by round arches, in the tribunes. And
between tribune and clearstory are square apertures neither Romanesque
nor Gothic.
To meet the thrust of the upper vaulting, some rudimentary flying
buttresses were built under the lean-to roof of the tribune galleries,
but as they themselves were not braced, they remained ineffectual. The
collapse of some of the high vaults caused the addition, later, of the
present flying buttresses. The exterior of the church is gaunt, with
windows that are small and round-arched. The west façade was wrecked
during the Hundred Years' War, and never restored. Walled-up arches mar
the spacious interior. Thick coats of whitewash cover it, and when dust
gathers on that make-shift of cleanliness the effect is tawdry. Directly
behind the apse of the big abbatial stands a masterpiece of Rayonnant
Gothic, a diminutive church whose west façade faces, with awkward
closeness, the back of the larger church. As it is connected with the
latter's ambulatory by a glazed passage, it may be regarded as a sort of
Lady chapel. Many such imitations of the Sainte-Chapelle of Paris arose,
after St. Louis had made his shrine for the crown of thorns. The abbot
who put up St. Germer's glass reliquary was Pierre Wesencourt, who
ruled from 1254 to 1272, and it is thought that the king's own architect
designed it. That Louis IX contributed toward it is shown by the
fleur-de-lis and the donjons of Castile in the storied windows. Over the
altar once stood the alabaster retablo, depicting St. Germain's life,
now in the Musée Cluny, at Paris.
POISSY[28]
Christianity is still for 400,000,000 of human beings the great
pair of wings that are indispensable if man is to rise above
himself, above humdrum living and shut-in horizons, it is still the
spiritual guide to lead him by patience, resignation, and hope to
serenity, to lift him by purity, temperance, and goodness to the
heights of devotion and self-sacrifice. Always and everywhere for
nineteen hundred years as soon as these wings flag or break, public
and private manners degenerate. Neither philosophy, reason, nor
artistic and literary culture, nor even feudal honor, military and
chivalrous, no code, no administration, no government can serve as
substitute for it.--H. TAINE (1892).
The church of St. Louis, at Poissy, is a link in the normal development
of Gothic, and not like St. Germain, a disconcerting anachronism. About
1135 both systems of vaults were here built at one and the same time.
Poissy lies on the Seine slightly above its junction with the classic
Oise. A pleasant way to approach it is to walk from St. Germain-en-Laye
through the forest, when it is carpeted with anemones. St. Germain's
palace chapel is thought to be the work of Pierre de Montereau. One goes
to Poissy in a spirit of pilgrimage, for at its font, in 1215, St. Louis
of France was baptized.[29] He held the gift of Christian citizenship he
here received above all that the world could bestow. To his intimates he
often signed himself Louis of Poissy. His grandfather, Philippe-Auguste,
had given the manor of Poissy to his son, on his marriage to Blanche of
Castile. Living then in retirement at Poissy was the gentle Agnes of
Méran, that aunt of St. Elizabeth of Hungary whom Philippe-Auguste had
been forced by Rome's decree to set aside. When St. Louis was born, on
St. Mark's Day of 1215, in order to spare the young mother, the church
bells were silent. The Spanish princess asked the cause, and
ordered--gallant woman that she was--that every bell in the town should
ring out a joyous carillon because God had given her _un beau fils_.
Shakespeare would inevitably admire Blanche; she was a Shakespearian
character:
That daughter there of Spain, the hardy Blanche,
Is near to England; look upon the years
Of Louis the Dauphin and that lovely maid.
If lusty love should go in search of beauty,
Where shall he find it fairer than in Blanche?
If jealous love should go in search of virtue,
Where shall he find it purer than in Blanche?
If love ambitious sought a match of birth,
Whose veins bound richer blood than Lady Blanche?[30]
The wide ambulatory of Poissy is groin-vaulted, but diagonals cover the
two oriented apsidioles that open on a false transept, which arrangement
of pseudo-transept with chapels was copied soon after at Sens. The three
easternmost bays of the nave have retained their primitive intersecting
ribs, which are round-arched, decorated, and very broad, as are the
transverse arches that separate the vault into sections. Poissy's
sculpture is of an advanced type. Owing to later changes, there is much
patchwork in the church.
ST. DENIS-EN-FRANCE[31]
Give all thou canst: high Heaven rejects the lore
Of nicely calculated less or more:
So deemed the man who fashioned for the sense
These lofty pillars, spread this branching roof
Self-poised.
--WORDSWORTH.
[Illustration: _Poissy. An Early Example of Gothic Vaulting (c.
1135)_]
Finally came the hour of the new architecture's clear achievement. After
all the trial efforts, there now was built, midway in the XII century, a
monument which was to wield momentous influence. With the erection of
St. Denis, the center of Gothic art may be said to have shifted slightly
south, to Paris. From the capital the new movement spread out in
systematic progression--each church comprehending better than had its
predecessor the principle of thrust and counterthrust, each drawing from
it further consequences.
St. Denis did not put a stop abruptly to the coexistence in the same
edifice of both systems of vaulting any more than it began immediately
the usage of all the consequences of diagonals. Yet none the less the
Royal Abbey is rightly called the first Gothic monument, since here
first was demonstrated stout-heartedly the advantages of the new system.
Abbot Suger was the first to employ the generating member with the full
intelligence of its results. "From the moment of St. Denis' conception,
Amiens had become inevitable."
It was Suger who wedded definitely the pointed arch and the intersecting
ribs. He dared to make piers so slender that the beholders were
astonished they could carry the weight of a stone roof; he dared to open
his walls by windows so large that his choir was called by the people
the lantern of St. Denis. The mastery by Suger's craftsmen of the art of
stained glass was to have profound consequences in Gothic structure,
since it hastened the suppression of the wall screen between the active
members: "Behold I will lay thy stones with fair colors, and thy
foundations with sapphires; and I will make thy windows of agates, and
thy gates of carbuncles, and all thy borders of pleasant stones."
Suger has himself told us how the house of God, many-colored as the
radiance of precious stones, lifted his soul from the cares of this
world to divine meditation, for this Gothic art, whose spiritual appeal
he had apprehended as profoundly as he had its structural laws, was most
aptly fashioned to be a foretaste of the Beyond, neither touching the
baseness of earth nor wholly the serenity of heaven.
Doubtless Suger understood the importance of the dedication day in 1144.
He made of it a national ceremony. He started the Gothic movement
intrepidly. Before a historic gathering of bishops and barons he
demonstrated that a Gothic vault was lighter, more easily built, more
economical, and more enduring than any other, and the important men of
France went back to their own cities to spread far and wide the lesson
they had learned.
In the course of the story of French architecture, fate has most
graciously allied certain monuments of prime archæological interest with
people or events of historic importance.
Gothic art made its debut in a unique setting. St. Denis was the patron
of France, the missionary who first preached Christianity by the Seine,
and who there had been martyred in the III century. On Montmartre is the
crypt said to have been the burial place of the first Christian martyrs
of Paris. In time there rose on the road outside the city a monastery
dedicated to St. Denis, and thither were his relics transferred. Each of
the three royal lines that have ruled France, Merovingian, Carolingian,
and Capetian, chose the abbey of St. Denis as their final resting place
and loaded it with favors. The first milestone on the highroad of Gothic
art was the famous center of the nation's life, and the initiator of the
new system of building was the maker of the nation's unity, Abbot Suger.
To Suger may be applied the mediæval term for an architect, Master of
Works, _maître de l'oeuvre_. He wrote an account of how he
reconstructed his abbey, building it, he says, with the aid of his
companions in the community and his brothers in the cloister. The people
gave voluntarily of their labor. When a quarry with suitable stone was
discovered at Pontoise, the whole countryside--men, women, and children
being harnessed to the carts--dragged the blocks in pious enthusiasm to
St. Denis.
The tomb of the martyred patron of Paris was a pilgrim shrine from
earliest days. The same trait in human nature that, in 1915, sent
Americans to gaze reverently at a relic of their national history, the
Liberty Bell, when on a two weeks' journey from the San Francisco Fair
to Philadelphia, it was exhibited in different cities, made the early
Christians of Gaul flock to revere the relics of the holy man who had
brought them the light and liberty of the gospel. Religion then and all
through the Middle Ages was fraught with patriotism.
For St. Denis' abbey a Merovingian church had been built by Dagobert.
Pépin and Charlemagne replaced it by a Carolingian church. By the XII
century the abbatial had become inadequate for the pilgrim crowds;
people were crushed to death on festival days, and Abbot Suger decided
to rebuild. He began by demolishing a heavy vestibule which Charlemagne
had put up as a kind of tomb over his father's grave, for Pépin had
begged to be buried face downward in penance, before the abbey church.
Suger replaced that encumbering porch by what is to-day a narthex, or
forechurch, formed by the two westernmost bays of the edifice. In the
thirties of the XI century he started the new works. Romanesque feeling
lingered in the sculpture, and the stout vault ribs crossed each other
in round arches. By 1140 the west façade was finished and ceremoniously
consecrated.
A month later, a still greater gathering met at St. Denis for the laying
of the corner stone of the choir. To the sound of trumpets, Louis VII
descended into the trench prepared for the foundation, and placed the
first stone, and as the choir chanted of the jeweled walls of the
heavenly city, _Lapides pretiosi omnes muri tui_, the king, profoundly
moved, took from his finger a costly ring and threw it into the mortar,
which had been mixed with holy water. Each baron and bishop, as he laid
down a stone, did the same. Their vehement faith would turn to literal
meaning the Psalmist's dream of the celestial city.
In his choir, Suger united definitely the pointed arch with the
intersecting ribs, and the ribs, now, were not the heavy ones used in
his forechurch. All the arches at their crown were brought to the same
height by a combination of stilting, pointing, or depressing them. In
the outer aisle of his ambulatory, Suger introduced a fifth rib in each
vault section, which welded the apse chapels with the procession path.
For his inner aisle he employed what is called the broken-rib vault.
First, the keystone was planted in the center and from it branched the
four ribs, each regardless of making a straight diagonal. This became
the generally accepted method for vaulting an ambulatory. Every part of
his edifice Suger supervised with untiring energy. Owing to the waste of
forest trees for machines of war, none of sufficient girth could be
found for the outer roof covering. Suger lay brooding over this one
night, then started up impetuously before dawn, took the measurements of
the beams needed, and himself went into the dense forest. Before nine
that morning he had found a giant tree; by noon ten others, and the
timber was hauled in triumph to the abbey.
All France was talking of the new works at St. Denis. Never before had
been such a gathering of skilled masons and sculptors, of goldsmiths and
glassmakers. St. Denis' school was to direct the glassmakers' art
through the second half of the XII century. Little is known of the
origin of that art; the early basilicas of Christian Gaul had made use
of pieces of colored glass framed together, and in the X century figures
were represented. No work, however, previous to the XII century has
survived. For the earlier fenestration the term "painted glass" is a
misnomer, since each piece was colored in the mass, and only a few
black lines were applied to denote the features, or the folds of the
draperies. The artists of St. Denis obtained their relief effects by a
skilled juxtaposition of tones; intensity of hue was increased by the
employment of thick rough leaves of glass. Scarcely any white was used;
in the ancient windows no spots spring out unpleasantly.
To St. Denis' school succeeded that of Chartres, which predominated
during the first part of the XIII century, while its second half was
ruled by the school of Paris, when windows of the Sainte-Chapelle type
were the rule. Gradually the craftsmen gave up their sound tradition
that a window should be a transparent mosaic, subordinate to its
architectural setting. They began to treat a window as an isolated
picture and the art declined.
Abbot Suger's school of glassmakers carried their art to its zenith. Not
all the wonders of XIII-century fenestration equaled the unfathomable
vibrant blue in the background of XII-century windows--a fugitive
mystery whose secret has been entirely lost. The popular fancy was that
Suger ground down sapphires to obtain his magic color.
All over the land the church builders desired windows like those of St.
Denis. Suger's own craftsmen went to Chartres to make the three big
lancets in that cathedral's western front. The St. Denis school
influenced the superb Crucifixion window in Poitiers Cathedral, and
others in the cathedrals of Angers and Le Mans and in the Trinité at
Vendôme, also the Tree of Jesse window in York Cathedral. And, had the
choir glass of Notre Dame at Paris survived, it would have been of the
school of St. Denis.
Suger wrote inscriptions for his abbey windows to make their symbolism
clearer. Owing to the vicissitudes of seven hundred years, few of the
St. Denis lights have survived. Four are now reset in the central apse
chapel and in that to its north. In a medallion at the base of one of
these windows Suger himself is represented holding a scroll bearing his
name. The medallion figures are of the hieratic Byzantine type. Every
window has a closely woven pattern; each losenge has its own border, and
a rich jeweled border surrounds the whole lancet. Bracing bars of iron
run straight across the pictured story. Slowly, with infinite patience,
worked those old XII-century artists, and never has their handicraft
been surpassed as sheer splendor of ornamentation.
After three years and three months of passionate work, the choir of St.
Denis was finished, and on June 11, 1144, the dedication day, the relics
were installed. That date, forever memorable in the annals of
architecture, may be called the consecration of the national art. At the
ceremony assisted Louis VII with his queen, Aliénor of Aquitaine, whose
strange destiny was to make her patroness of that entirely different
phase of Gothic called the Plantagenet school. The chief barons were
present at the dedication, as well as five archbishops and some fourteen
bishops. They looked and wondered, and not a few of them returned home
to imitate. The bishops of Noyon and Senlis hastened to rebuild their
cathedrals in the new way, and some of Suger's masons passed into the
service of the former prelate. Bishop Geoffrey de Lèves went back to
Chartres to build the most beautiful tower in the world, and the
sculptors who had made Suger's western portals (now no longer extant)
worked on the three west doors of Chartres.
On the day of St. Denis' dedication, Abbot Suger, small and frail in
person, but towering in personality, was honored on every side. When the
abbot of great Cluny, Peter the Venerable, passed from the marvels of
the new church to Suger's narrow cell, he cried out in honest distress:
"This man condemns us all. He builds, not for himself, but for God
alone!"
Though the last half of Suger's life was an example of monastic
simplicity, not always had he been content with a monk's cell. Perhaps
because of his conversion midway in life, he appeals to us in a more
human way. Not that he was converted from evil doings; his purpose
always was high. But in his position as St. Denis' abbot, as a powerful
feudal lord, he lived sumptuously, according to the accepted standards
of the time. He mixed freely in the world; he directed state affairs for
the king to whom he was devoted; he went on embassies; he even led
armies. In 1124, when an irate German emperor was marching on Rheims,
which he had vowed to destroy, Suger in person led against him some ten
thousand of his abbey's retainers. That was the first time the oriflamme
of St. Denis was carried as the national emblem.[32] Suger had grown up
in the secular atmosphere of the Royal Abbey, and took its worldliness
as a matter of course.
Of peasant parentage himself, he had been brought, a child of ten, to
live with the monks, because he already showed exceptional qualities.
Among his fellow students in the abbey school was the king's son, the
future Louis VI, and an intimacy began between the two lads destined to
continue till death. When Suger became a monk he was sent on notable
missions, for he was gifted with tact and good manners, vivacity and
charm. Sweetness of disposition, mental energy, courage, and absolute
integrity won for him general esteem. Early and often this born lover of
things beautiful made the journey into Italy. It was while returning
from one of his missions there, in 1122, that he learned of his election
as abbot by his fellow monks in St. Denis. Louis VI had come to the
throne; henceforth Suger was to lead in all state affairs.
The genius of this son of field workers had pierced to the vital need of
the age--unity of government. Only a strong, central administration
could cope with the disintegration which was feudalism. For its very
existence the feudal system depended on the absence of well-enforced
general laws. It was Suger's strong hand that guided the early steps
toward national unity, and king and people worked for it together. Under
the king whom Suger served France began her great role of redresser of
wrongs. Louis VI was the first to use the title, king of France, not
king of the Franks. The ideal of this XII-century statesman was a strong
central monarchy, coexistent with a national assembly. His high
conception of solidarity was to fructify, within a hundred years, under
Philippe-Auguste, the grandson of Suger's master.
Suger was one of the first in Europe to understand political economy. He
laid the base of a sound financial administration. His confirmation of a
charter for the townsmen of St. Denis gave security to trade; he
relieved the abbey serfs of _mainmorte_, built a Villeneuve for homeless
nomads, and found time to study agriculture scientifically. In his
writings we feel the first breath of a national patriotism. A new note
in that age of unfettered personal impulse when might meant right, was
Suger's constant reference to "the poor weighed down with taxations," to
"that which has been too long neglected, the care of the surety of
laborers, of artisans, and of the poor." Many a modern politician could
well ponder Suger's censure of the spoils system. "The officers
dismissed carry off what they can lay their hands on," he said, "and
those who replace them, fearing to be likewise treated, hasten to steal,
to secure their fortune."
Suger's pre-eminence in public affairs continued during two reigns.
Louis VII, after stumbling some years without guidance, turned to his
father's counselor and, during his absence on the Second Crusade,
appointed him regent of France. So masterly was the abbot's rule that
king and people publicly proclaimed him _Père de la Patrie_. Suger
studied the causes of the crusade's lamentable failure; he felt that
forethought and prudence might win success, and, though he was seventy
years of age, he began preparations to carry out a crusade at his own
expense. Time was not given him again to prove his genius for
leadership. When news of his death (1151) reached the court, the king
and the Grand Master of the Templars, who was with him, burst into
tears. On his grave in the abbey church which he had built they cut the
simple inscription, "Here lies Abbot Suger." No need of panegyric. "The
single names are the noblest epitaphs."
The commanding place held by this monk in the estimation of Europe is
vouched for by letters from pope, kings, and many a dignitary. The king
of Sicily wrote to beg a line from him; the king of Scotland sent gifts;
the bishop of Salisbury made the journey to France expressly to know
Suger. By one clear stroke after another--and above all by his own
writings--every line of which is of historical value--the picture is
filled in of this admirable churchman who was as soundly honest and
forceful as the architecture he fostered, and whose delicate, ardent
soul accomplished remarkable things with the reasoned orderliness of the
art he loved.
Suger's sudden but thorough conversion is attributed to St. Bernard. Up
to middle life he had been a type of those who soar as high as human
abilities can reach without super natural aid. Entangled in the mesh of
various employments, his soul could not rise to heavenly things. Then
the trumpet of Bernard's reform sounded in Europe. Men's hearts were set
on fire with repentance and aspiration toward the highest. Bernard's
clear eyes read beneath the outer circumstance of Abbot Suger's life. He
saw that here was a good man, capable of becoming a holy one. He wrote
fearless words of disapproval. "One would think it was a governor of a
province, not of souls," he wrote, when he saw the abbot of St. Denis
ride by with sixty horsemen.
Suger began to scrutinize his manner of life. Grace touched his soul,
pomp was laid aside, and he set about his conversion with the same
thoroughness that he displayed in all his acts. Before reforming his
monastery, he completely reformed himself. With St. Bernard, who was ten
years his junior, he was linked in ennobling friendship to the end. "I
know profoundly this man," Bernard wrote of Suger to the pope, "and I
know that he is faithful and prudent in temporal things, that he is
fervent and humble in things spiritual. If there is any precious vase
adorning the palace of the King of Kings, it is the soul of the
venerable Suger." When Suger lay dying, he wrote to St. Bernard: "Could
I but see your angelic face before I die, I should go with more
confidence." And Bernard, who was to follow in a year, begged that when
Suger reached Paradise he would "think of him before God."
Yet, if the overwhelming saint could change the whole tenor of Suger's
life, the cultivated little abbot of St. Denis offered a gentle,
stubborn opposition to the puritanic ideas of Bernard in the domain of
art. "Vanity of vanities," cried the ascetic, in the well-known open
letter in which he denounced the new luxury in church building. Churches
were made too long, he complained, too high, and needlessly wide; the
capitals were carved with monsters more apt to distract than to lead to
pious recollection.
The art lover in St. Denis' abbey smiled at such iconoclastic vehemence.
Suger thought that nothing was too precious for the house of God. He
proceeded to erect an abbey church as imposing as a cathedral, and to
enrich its treasury with goldsmith work. Over the three gilt-bronze
entrance doors of his church he inscribed, "The soul on its earthly
pilgrimage rises by material things to contemplate the Divine." To this
day both men have vigorous partisans, and those who set out on a
cathedral tour in France are more likely to be on Suger's side in the
controversy.
Suger's subtle mind reached beyond the ascetic's maxim. Well he knew
that both saint and art patron were needed, well he knew that Bernard of
Clairvaux was as instrumental as himself in the formation of the
cathedral builders. A living example of Christian perfection, Bernard
fortified the faith of all Europe. He might advocate church simplicity,
but it was not without cause that his apostolate preceded the most
fecund creative period of mankind's art. His impassioned love of God
warmed the imaginations of the men who began the big Gothic churches.
What remains to-day of the XII-century abbatial built by Suger of St.
Denis? Comparatively little. The lower parts of the west façade and the
two first bays of the nave which form a narthex, or vestibule, are his
work. In the choir, his beautiful ambulatory begins at the third bay of
the double aisles. There are nine bays of Suger's processional path, and
from them radiate seven apse chapels. The pillars that divide the lovely
curving double passage are the very ones which the generous enthusiasm
of the people dragged from Pontoise, and, in memory of the little abbot,
some will touch those slender columns with reverential gesture. It was
Suger who created the disposition of the _rond point_ found in its
perfection at St. Denis and copied in the great cathedrals. The crypt
also is his work, though its nucleus belonged to an underground shrine
built by Abbot Hilduin in the XI century. When Abbot Suger had finished
his choir, he proceeded to make a new Gothic transept and nave; but of
them scarcely a vestige remains. Some sculpture at the north door of the
transept is of the XII century. Whether the construction was faulty, or
whether the monks desired a more ample church, there was a total
reconstruction of St. Denis' abbatial, a hundred years after Suger's
day.
THE ST. DENIS OF ST. LOUIS
Tax not the royal Saint with vain expense,
With ill-matched aims, the architect who planned
(Albeit laboring for a scanty band
Of white-robbed scholars only) this immense
And glorious work of fine intelligence.
--WORDSWORTH.
From 1231 to 1280, at St. Louis' own expense, the present nave and
transept of St. Denis were built, and the first bay of the choir as well
as the upper parts of the chevet were reconstructed. Inasmuch as the new
nave was wider than the choir, a canted bay of the latter joined it to
the transept.
St. Denis, as it now appears, presents the noble elegance of Gothic art
in its golden hour. The new transept was made of exceptional width; its
aisles and stately piers compose picturesque vistas. The triforium of
the reconstructed church was glazed, one of the first essays of a
feature which was to be in general use in the XIV century. To unite
triforium and clearstory in a brilliant sparkle of color added to the
magnificence of a church, but it marked a decline in the sound
structural laws of Gothic. The purpose of a triforium arcade was to
beautify the plain wall surface necessitated by the lean-to roof over
the side aisles. When that blind arcade was opened, the lean-to roof of
the aisles had to be changed to a conical one, which signified an inner
channel for rain water and the ultimate deterioration of the masonry.
Suger's St. Denis had started the delight in stained glass, and the St.
Denis of St. Louis merely carried out its consequences--the suppression
of wall inclosures. The present upper windows of the abbatial are poor
examples of Louis-Philippe's day.
The architect of Louis IX, Pierre de Montereau, designed St. Denis as we
have it to-day, so says a record recently unearthed by M. Henri
Stein.[33] He was an innovator who here first accentuated the upward
sweep of Gothic lines. To that XIII-century master they attributed for a
time the Sainte-Chapelle of the king's palace in the Cité, but now that
it is certain that he planned St. Denis, it is doubted if he made the
Sainte-Chapelle, as there is little kinship between the two. There is a
decided likeness between St. Denis and the chapel of the palace at St.
Germain-en-Laye, and also with the Lady chapel of St. Germer-en-Flay.
Pierre de Montereau was buried in 1267 in a now-destroyed
Sainte-Chapelle which he had erected within the monastery inclosure of
St. Germain-des-Prés, at Paris.
Both Montereau and Montreuil claim this distinguished master. Probably
he was born in the former town on the border of Champagne, as his church
at St. Denis shows a trait of that region, the gallery of circulation
under the windows of the side aisles. Moreover, two of his abbot patrons
came from Montereau. The architect Eudes de Montreuil, whom St. Louis
took with him on his first crusade, and who worked on the fortresses of
Aigues-Mortes and Jaffa, was a son of Pierre de Montereau, it is
supposed, and his name should be spelled in the same way.
No tomb in St. Denis' abbey church predates the XIII century. To honor
King Dagobert, founder of the abbey, St. Louis put up an elaborate
monument and ordered the effigies that distinguish his royal
predecessors' graves. With the tombstone of St. Louis' son, Philip the
Bold, began portrait work. An exact likeness of Charles V, the good
Valois king, was made by his Flemish sculptor, André Beauneveu, and of
almost too great realism is that of his general Bertran Duguesclin, whom
King Charles ordered buried with royal honors in the national
necropolis.
It was the XVI century that added to St. Denis' the three tombs of most
architectural pretensions, those of Louis XII, Francis I, and Henry II.
The monument of Louis XII and Anne of Brittany was undertaken (1516-32)
by Jean Juste, who with his brothers had come north from Florence, being
among the first to bring into France the ideals of the Renaissance.[34]
It has been suggested that the king's and queen's kneeling images are
from the studio at Tours of Guillaume Regnault, who for forty years was
co-worker with Michel Colombe, last of the great Gothic artists. The
priants are still quite French in treatment. Jean Juste made the gisants
and his brother and nephew aided with the lesser sculpture. It was Louis
XII who ordered artists at Genoa to make, in 1502, the Carrara marble
tomb of his father, the poet-duke, Charles d'Orléans, and of his
grandfather, the murdered duke of Orléans, builder of Pierrefonds
Castle, and son of the art-loving Valois king, Charles V.
The tomb of Francis I (1549-59) was designed by Philibert de Lorme.
Pierre Bontemps fashioned the bas-reliefs that celebrate the wars in
Italy; he and other masters made the _priants_ and _gisants_. The tomb
of Henry II and Catherine de Medici (1570) of less artistic value, has a
complicated history. The Italian, Primatici, directed the works;
Domenico Florentino made the king's kneeling figure, and Germain Pilon
his _gisant_; Jerome della Robbia chiseled the queen's death image.
To sum up: there are in St. Denis' abbatial three totally different
parts, built in different periods. There is Suger's forechurch, in which
linger Romanesque echoes; there is the ambulatory of purest Primary
Gothic built a little later by the same great abbot; and finally there
are nave, transept, and the main parts of the choir erected during the
reign of St. Louis in the zenith of Gothic art.
As one stands in the center of the church, gazing along its vaulting, it
is easy to perceive that the axis is broken three times, and each
divergence from the straight line conforms to one of the different
stages of work. The deviation of the axis line once was called
poetically _inclinato capite_ (_et inclinato capite, emisit
spiritum_--St. John xix:30). It was thought to symbolize the inclining
of Christ's head on the Cross. When M. Robert de Lasteyrie proved that a
constructive miscalculation was the cause of the irregular line, the
beautiful idea had to be renounced.[35] In each successive addition to a
church it was difficult for the architect to start the new part exactly
on the same axis as the old, since usually a temporary wall shut off the
portion of the church already finished and in use. The slightest
miscalculation at the start led to a very apparent deflection of
alignment. Those churches which show irregular alignment are known to
have been built in successive stages. A number of church choirs slant to
the south, whereas were the figure on the crucifix taken as model they
would deviate to the north. In churches without a transept, or, in other
words, churches that lack the extended arms of the cross, is sometimes
found a decided slant to the north. Moreover, the crucifix of that epoch
represented a triumphant Christ with erect head, for the art of the
XIII century was serene; the pathetic in religious iconography was a
later development. No writer of the period mentions a symbolic
interpretation of the deviated axis, not even Bishop Guillaume Durandus,
in his noted _Rationale_, or _Signification of the Divine Offices_.
There is, instead, a text of the XIV century which says that a certain
architect was so chagrined at having built a tortuous axial line that he
never returned to be paid by the cathedral chapter. Mr. Arthur Kingsley
Porter thinks that the deviation of the axis was intentionally done, in
order to overcome that tendency of perspective which lessens the
apparent length of a church by foreshortening its far bays. By slanting
the east end, the distant bays could be brought into view, and thus the
edifice would seem longer.
[Illustration: _St. Denis-en-France and Its Royal Mausoleums_]
The Royal Abbey of St. Denis suffered during the Hundred Years' War,
from which period dates the crenelated wall at the birth of the towers.
In those checkered times the silver tombs of St. Louis, of his father
Louis VIII, and of his grandfather Philippe-Auguste, disappeared. In the
XVI-century religious wars the abbey was pillaged, and its library, a
national treasure, was burned. The Calvinists carried off Suger's altar
vessels of silver and gold, on which the learned little abbot had
inscribed Latin verses. The Revolution completed the havoc; of the
monks' quarters nothing remains to-day. The Committee of Public Safety
voted to destroy the tombs of "our ancient tyrants" on the first
anniversary of the August 10th that had unseated the monarchy. So the
mob sallied forth to St. Denis and scattered the dust of the patriot
Suger, whose life work had been the public weal, and the dust of St.
Louis, the most conscientious man who ever ruled a nation and the first
to give France her written laws. The gruesome account of the wrecking of
the royal tombs was written by an eyewitness.[36]
In the opening years of the XVIII century, the abbey church was
described by Chateaubriand as in a ruinous state, with the rain falling
through its roof and grass growing on the broken altars: "The birds use
its nave as a passageway; little children play with the bones of mighty
monarchs. St. Denis is a desert." Napoleon began its restoration, and
many of the scattered tombs were brought back. During the first half of
the XIX century some deplorably bad work was carried on, and the robust
primitive profiles were chiseled away. No sooner was the spire on the
north tower finished than cracks showed, and the tower was dismantled to
the level of the roof. Later changes have repaired some of the stupidity
of those tasteless renovators.
The very history which had been enacted within the walls of the great
abbatial would suffice to make it a national relic. To the
Primary-Gothic church which Suger was building came Louis VII for the
oriflamme, the banner carried before the army in momentous wars. He
shared bed and board with the monks the night before he set forth on the
Second Crusade. To the same early-Gothic church, in 1190, came his son
Philippe-Auguste, to receive the oriflamme for the Third Crusade. The
flame-colored abbey gonfalon on its gold lance flouted the German
emperor when Bouvines' great victory was won in 1214. At the funeral of
Philippe-Auguste, in 1223, a little lad of eight marched to St. Denis'
behind his grandfather's bier. It was the first time that the populace
had beheld their future saint-king, and an old record tells how his
noble bearing gladdened their hearts. At his side walked Jean de
Brienne, king of Jerusalem, leader of the recent Fifth Crusade. When St.
Louis came to St. Denis for the oriflamme in 1247, it was to find a
totally reconstructed church, for Pierre de Montereau had been many
years at work. Joinville in his memoirs described the landing in Egypt
of the Royal Abbey's banner, how for miles the sea was dotted with the
gleaming ships of the crusaders, how the king, standing head and
shoulders above the rest, on perceiving that the leading vessel which
bore the oriflamme had touched shore, leaped into the sea, sword in
hand, with the cry, "Montjoye St. Denis!" And uttering the same battle
cry of France, princes and knights followed. Five years later, tested by
defeat and imprisonment, as fine gold is by fire, Louis IX brought back
the oriflamme to St. Denis. Again he returned for it in 1270 for his
last crusade. Within a year, the whole nation, in mourning, came out to
the abbey. In a reliquary, the king's bones, embalmed with fragrant
spices, had been brought from Tunis, and the new king bore the _châsse_
solemnly, and wherever he paused, on the way from Notre Dame to St.
Denis, a memorial cross was erected. But, to give the annals of the
abbey church would be to tell the history of the French monarchy.
The first time that the gonfalon of St. Denis was carried against
Frenchmen was in 1413, two years before the defeat at Agincourt, in the
black days of the Hundred Years' War, days as fatal to the builders' art
as to the civic life of France. What those dire times were that rent
France to shreds, and how _la fille de Lorraine à nulle autre pareille_
came to the rescue, have been sung by a poet whose high destiny it was
to fall in recent battle. Charles Péguy, in his poem, linked the
momentous epochs of the capital: St. Denis, who brought the Light; Ste.
Geneviève, the sentinel patroness of Paris, who guarded it, and Jeanne
d'Arc, who lifted up the torch from the mire--the torch which the fallen
heroes of the World War have passed on refulgent.
In the V century it was at Geneviève's instigation that a basilica was
raised to honor St. Denis. In the XV century Jeanne d'Arc paid tribute
to the first martyr of Paris. Her troops lodged in the town of St.
Denis, then moved in closer to Paris, and in a shrine dedicated to St.
Denis, in the village of La Chapelle, Jeanne heard Mass, the morning
that she led the assault on the walls of Paris, September 8, 1429. When
wounded she was carried back to La Chapelle (to-day a dense industrial
faubourg of the city), and on St. Denis' altar she offered tribute.
During her trial at Rouen they asked her what arms she had offered to
St. Denis.[37]
"A complete knight's outfit in white, with a sword that I had won before
Paris," was Jeanne's reply. "And why did you make that offering?" asked
the judge, bent on twisting her every act to sorcery. Jeanne answered
hardily: "For devotion, and because it is the custom for all men-of-arms
when they are merely wounded thus to give thanks. Having been wounded
before Paris, I offered my arms to St. Denis because his is the cry of
France."
But let Charles Péguy speak, he who fell between Belgium and Paris in
August, 1914:[38]
Comme Dieu ne fait rien que par miséricordes,
Il fallut qu'elle [Ste. Geneviève] vît le royaume en lambeaux,
Et sa filleule ville embrasée aux flambeaux,
Et ravagée aux mains des plus sinistres hordes;
Et les coeurs dévorés des plus basses discordes,
Et les morts poursuivis jusque dans les tombeaux,
Et cent mille innocents exposés aux corbeaux,
Et les pendus tiront la langue au bout des cordes;
Pour qu'elle vît fleurir la plus grande merveille
Que jamais Dieu le père en sa simplicité
Aux jardins de sa grâce et de sa volonté
Ait fait jaillir par force et par necessité;
Après neuf cent vingt ans de prière et de veille,
Quand elle vit venir vers l'antique cité ...
La fille de Lorraine à nulle autre pareille ...
Gardant son coeur intact en pleine adversité,
Masquant sous sa visière une efficacité,
Tenant tout un royaume en sa ténacité,
Vivant en pleine mystère avec sagacité,
Mourant en plein martyre avec vivacité ...
Jetânt toute une armée aux pieds de la prière.[39]