illustrated on the left by the Israelites coming out of Egypt, led by
Moses, and on the right by the Gentiles leaving a heathen temple
containing an idol--a naked blue figure (blue merely because the
artist wanted some blue there), and following Christ, by way of a
font, towards a Christian altar, while a demon above their heads urges
them to return to the idol. As at St. Denis, each of the medallions
has a Latin rhyme attached, explaining and enforcing the lesson. Here,
for instance, it runs:
Stella Magos duxit et eos ab Herode reduxit,
Sic Satanam gentes fugiunt te Christe sequentes.
Next we see the Magi making their offerings to the infant Christ, on
one side of which is the Queen of Sheba visiting Solomon and on the
other Joseph in Egypt receiving his suppliant brethren.
And so the series goes on. The twelve windows when complete formed one
of the most elaborate sets of types and antitypes known, and included
not only the life of Christ but eight of His parables--for some reason
a very rare subject in mediæval glass. Two panels of the Parable of
the Sower--the seed falling among the thorns and the seed falling by
the wayside--remain, and have been used to fill up the gaps at the
bottom of this window. Above is a curious subject--the Church with the
three sons of Noah, who hold between them the world, divided into
three regions. From the MS. above mentioned we know that this was the
type to the "leaven which a woman took and hid in three measures of
meal till the whole was leavened"--an idea taken, I think, from St.
Augustine.
The subject of Noah and the Ark from the other window was originally
alongside the Baptism of Christ, the purging of the world by the flood
of waters serving as the type for the purging of the soul by baptism.
Altogether as one studies these windows one is almost as much struck
by the subtlety of thought and earnestness of the teaching they embody
as by the glory of their colouring and grace of their design.
In one of the triforium windows is some glass which may perhaps be
earlier even than this. It consists of three medallions, only one of
which is at all perfect, which seem to be part of a life of St.
Alphege, Archbishop of Canterbury, who was martyred by the Danes. In
the one perfect panel which represents the storming of Canterbury by
the Danes, the warriors wear the long coats of mail and kite-shaped
shields of the Norman period as shown in the Bayeux tapestry, and a
ship in one of the other medallions is exactly like those in which
William the Conqueror and his knights are there shown crossing the
sea. The obscure position of this glass in the triforium is not where
one would expect to find a window devoted to St. Alphege, who before
the death of Becket was the most important saint that Canterbury could
boast; it may be therefore that the medallions have been moved from
elsewhere, perhaps from Archbishop Lanfranc's nave, or it may, for all
we can tell, be some of Prior Conrad's glass that has survived the
fire.
[Sidenote: Vendôme.]
Of other twelfth century work there is not much in existence. There is
a Virgin and Child at Vendôme which somewhat recalls Notre Dame de la
Belle Verrière but has none of her grace, and I have already referred
to the window at Poitiers illustrated in Plate II.
[Illustration: PLATE XI
DAVID, FROM THE CLERESTORY OF THE APSE, CHARTRES CATHEDRAL
Thirteenth Century]
[Sidenote: Poitiers.]
This remarkable and impressive window, which is over 26 feet high and
nearly 10 wide, is one of three, and occupies the central light of
the Cathedral apse. The illustration does not show the whole of
it, for it is surrounded by a rich border, which in its arrangement of
alternate bunches of foliage and knots of interlaced work resembles
that of the Jesse Tree at Chartres, and below the Crucifixion is a
four-lobed medallion showing the Martyrdom of St. Peter, and the donor
offering a model of the window.
The design, as I have said, seems to show that the Byzantine style had
lingered on south of the Loire, where no doubt the influence of the
Limoges school would be strong, and in view of this fact it is rash to
take the age of the Le Mans "Ascension" altogether for granted.
FOOTNOTES:
[6] Some critics have thought the figure merely a copy from an earlier
design, but I cannot agree with them.
[7] The little piece of white with yellow stain under the right toe
is, of course, a fifteenth century scrap.
V
EARLY THIRTEENTH CENTURY GLASS IN ENGLAND
(CANTERBURY AND LINCOLN)
In passing from the twelfth to the thirteenth century one notices a
certain loss of the restraint and sense of proportion which gives such
dignity and refinement to the earlier work, but on the other hand a
certain gain in vivacity and facility of expression. The Greek
influence is dying out, but the artists, though with less sense of
design than their predecessors, were accomplished at story-telling, in
which, however, they seem less serious and more gossiping. Their
figures are less tall, and the lines of the drapery from being
straight and severe become agitated and flowing.
[Sidenote: The Trinity Chapel, Canterbury.]
East of the choir in Canterbury Cathedral is the Trinity Chapel, of
which the building was finished in 1185 and to which the body of St.
Thomas was translated with great pomp in the year 1220 and placed in
a marvellous jewelled shrine, the position of which can still be
traced on the pavement by the hollow worn round it by the knees of
pilgrims. All around were gorgeous windows which, with the exception
of those in the little circular chapel at the east end, known as
"Becket's Crown," were filled with the stories of his posthumous
miracles.
It is a little difficult to date these windows. They cannot of course
be earlier than 1185, but I do not think that any of them are much
later than 1220, though from the fact that one of the medallions, and
one only, contains a representation of the famous shrine--everywhere
else it is the martyr's tomb in the crypt that is shown--the
particular window containing it cannot have been executed before the
latter date, as the shrine would not have been in existence. It may,
however, have been done in that year. This window and the one next it
seem to me to be by an inferior hand, and contain certain features not
found in the others, but common in later glass of the thirteenth
century.
Whether this represents a gap in the execution of the windows it is,
however, impossible to say without the evidence of the windows which
have been destroyed. Seeing that from 1208 to 1213 the country was
under an interdict, the existence of such a gap would not be
surprising.
None of the windows are entirely filled with their original glass, but
four of them are nearly so. The gaps have been filled up with most
ingenious imitations of the old glass, executed from 1853 onwards by
Mr. Caldwell, under the direction of Mr. G. Austin, and so cleverly
are they done that they are very difficult to detect by the eye alone.
I do not think that "restoration" of old glass, by which is usually
meant filling up or replacing it by imitation of the old work, is ever
justifiable, but I am obliged to admit that, if it ever could be so,
it has been justified here at Canterbury. I think there is not much
doubt that in these four windows, at least, one can see the old glass
better for the gaps being filled up with colour than if they had been
left white. The principle, however, is a bad one, and I have seen
little "restoration" elsewhere that did not disfigure the window.
Fortunately a most indefatigable lover of stained glass, the Rev. J.
G. Joyce, has left a series of coloured drawings of the glass as it
was in 1841 before restoration. These and his manuscript notes are now
in South Kensington Museum, together with some coloured tracings by a
Mr. Hudson, and enable us to trace what has been done. From these we
learn that in his time the place of the Crucifixion in the east window
was occupied by a figure of the Virgin from a Jesse window, proving
that there was once a Jesse window at Canterbury as well as elsewhere.
Judging from the tracing, the scroll work of the "tree" follows
closely the lines of those at Chartres and St. Denis, but is a little
more elaborate and very beautiful. It seems to me more in keeping with
the earlier than the later work at Canterbury. Unfortunately no one
seems to know what has become of it; but Winston who saw it, quotes it
in a lecture as "some of the oldest glass in the country." If the
Cathedral authorities have got it stowed away anywhere I hope they
will some day place it in one of the empty windows where it can be
seen.
[Illustration: PLATE XII
AMAURY DE MONTFORT, FROM THE CHOIR CLERESTORY, CHARTRES CATHEDRAL
Thirteenth Century]
[Sidenote: The east window.]
This east window, which is in "Becket's Crown," is one of the best
preserved, only four or five of its four-and-twenty medallions being
new. It is an example of an arrangement of subjects which occurs also
at Bourges and at Chartres, and to which PP. Cahier and Martin in
their work on Bourges give the name of "La Nouvelle Alliance." It
represents, in fact, the foundation of the Church of Christ, as
embodied in His Passion, Resurrection, and Ascension, in the
coming of the Holy Ghost, and in the reign of the Son of Man on high,
each subject being accompanied and illustrated by "types" from the Old
Testament. Here, at Canterbury, on one side of the Crucifixion--which,
though new, is doubtless a correct restoration as far as the subject
goes--is the sacrifice of the Passover, and on the other is Moses
striking the rock in the desert, from whence, as from the side of
Christ, gushes the life-giving stream. Above is the sacrifice of
Isaac; and below, the spies returning from Eshcol carrying the great
cluster of grapes--a type of the wine of the Sacrament.
Above this group come the Entombment (which is reproduced in Plate
V.), the Resurrection, the Ascension, the Descent of the Holy Ghost,
and Christ in Glory, each with its four types surrounding it. The
Resurrection is modern, and so is the Escape of the Spies and the
"Majesty." Noah and his Ark is a modern copy of the one in the north
choir aisle, but the rest of the panels are original.
The work seems to me fairly early in character, but it is not so well
drawn as that in the north choir aisle, and there is not, to me, the
same feeling for line in it. It is, however, very beautiful, and the
whole window is a shimmer of iridescent colour. Plate VI. shows some
of the scroll work that fills the spaces between the medallions.
[Sidenote: The Becket windows.]
The windows in the Trinity Chapel itself are all devoted to the tale
of the posthumous miracles of the Blessed St. Thomas as related in the
Chronicle of Prior Benedict, which affords a key to the pictures. The
Chronicle is fascinating reading for the homely light it throws upon
everyday life in England at the end of the twelfth century. By its
means we can trace in the glass the story of the little boy who fell
in the Medway while throwing stones at frogs, three of which, very
large and green, are shown in the glass; of the workman William, who
was overwhelmed by a fall of earth while digging a conduit near
Gloucester; of the physician of Perigord and many others, who were one
and all restored to life and health through prayer to the Blessed
Martyr. There, too, is the tale of Eilward, whose eyes were put out by
the magistrate for having, when drunk, broken into the house of Fulk
(with whom he had quarrelled over a debt) and taken a pair of hedger's
gloves and a whetstone; to whom St. Thomas, who seems to have thought
the sentence excessive, appeared in a vision, and with a touch
restored his eyesight. Here, too, we see the awful vengeance of the
saint on the knight, Jordan Fitzeisulf, who, when his son was restored
to life, meanly neglected to make the offering he had vowed at the
Martyr's tomb.
Three of the windows on the north side are fairly perfect, and two on
the south side contain many of their original medallions. Of those on
the north, one, the sixth from the west, is the best, and might be by
the same hand as the east window. An interesting point about it is the
border, of which the design is identical with that of a window at Sens
which also deals with the history of St. Thomas à Becket. As this
window contains the story of Jordan Fitzeisulf, I shall refer to it,
if I have to do so again, as the Jordan Fitzeisulf window.
The other two, the fourth and fifth from the west, are, I think, by an
inferior hand, and contain, as I have said, certain features not found
in the other windows, but common in later glass of the thirteenth
century. One of them, the fifth from the west, is divided by the
iron-work into four great circles, each of which contains four
pear-shaped medallions, their points meeting in the middle. The
spandrils between them are filled with scroll work on a ruby ground,
not quite so good as those in the east window; but outside the large
circles--and this is the important point--the ground is filled in with
a regular mosaic of little pieces forming a repeat pattern as shown in
Plate VIII. This is the only instance at Canterbury of this "mosaic
diaper," as it is called, which is so common in glass a little later,
and which from the fact that it could be done "by the yard," and if
necessary by an apprentice, was a much cheaper method of filling in a
background than by scroll work, which it soon completely superseded.
It is noticeable that it is this window which in its uppermost
medallion contains the representation already mentioned of the famous
shrine, from which the saint is issuing and addressing a sleeping
monk, who is thought to be the Prior Benedict, the chronicler of the
miracles.
In all the other medallions of the series it is the tomb of St. Thomas
in the crypt, easily recognizable from the descriptions that remain,
at which the sufferers pay their vows, so that it seems probable that
the window was executed in, or soon after, the year 1220, in which the
saint's body was removed to the shrine, but while the memory of the
tomb in the crypt was still fresh.
[Illustration: PLATE XIII
THE FLIGHT INTO EGYPT, FROM THE SOUTH AISLE, CHARTRES CATHEDRAL
Thirteenth Century]
The other, the fourth from the west, has a very remarkable
peculiarity, very seldom met with in glass of the Early Period at all.
The blue background to the figures in the medallions, which is of a
paler and poorer quality than in the other windows, is covered all
over with a thin "matt" of enamel, from which a delicate diaper
pattern has been scratched out. Presumably the artist had for some
reason been unable to get any more of the splendid deep blue glass,
and used this means to give richness and texture to his background.
The only other thirteenth century glass I know of in which at all the
same thing has been done is at St. Urbain at Troyes, but that belongs,
I believe, to quite the latter part of the century. It was a common
device in the fourteenth century, but the patterns used then were of
quite a different character.
[Sidenote: Lincoln.]
Except for the grisaille windows at York and Salisbury, the only other
extensive remains of thirteenth century work in England are those in
Lincoln Cathedral, which, however, are little more than wreckage, and
consequently very difficult to date with any attempt at precision. The
only window in which any of the glass is in its original position is
the great rose window in the north transept, and even this, though the
original design can still be made out, is much mutilated.
The lancets under the rose in the south transept and the east windows
of the choir aisles contain a miscellaneous collection of medallions,
separated from their surrounding ornament and glazed in with remains
of thirteenth century grisaille. Other medallions, too, have been used
to fill gaps in the north rose, and the south rose is filled, with the
exception of one light which retains its original fourteenth century
foliage pattern, with scraps of thirteenth century ornament of which
the effect, with the sunlight twinkling through, is wonderfully
beautiful.
The medallions are not, I think, all of one date, which is not
surprising, for the filling of the windows of a big cathedral must
always have taken many years. The difficulty of dating them is
increased by the fact that much of the painting does not seem to have
been so well "fired" as at Canterbury, and in many cases has perished
altogether. This seems to have happened in recent years, for Mr.
Westlake shows many details in his drawings of the glass which I
cannot now distinguish. Where the painting remains we find that in a
few of the medallions the drapery is drawn in the stiff manner of the
twelfth and very early thirteenth century, but in most of them the
later more flowing treatment prevails. In some, too, the blue of the
backgrounds resembles that used at Canterbury, but in many, and
notably in the north rose, it is of a purplish colour and much less
agreeable. In a few it is of quite a grey blue.
Nowhere can I trace the same hand as at Canterbury, and the borders
and ornament are quite different; but that the artist had access to
some at least of the same designs is shown by a medallion in the south
choir aisle which represents Noah receiving the Dove, and is
practically a replica of the Canterbury one in Plate IV., with a
boat-like hull added to the Ark. It is not, however, nearly so good.
According to Mr. Westlake the work at Lincoln strongly resembles that
at Bourges, and to me it has something in common with that in the
Sainte Chapelle at Paris.
Lincoln Cathedral was not finished till after St Hugh's death in 1199,
so none of the glass can be older than that. On the whole, I think the
bulk of the glass is a little later than any but the very last of the
work at Canterbury, that it is by a different hand, and shows less
taste both in colour and design. Probably it was done between 1220 and
1240.
[Sidenote: The south rose.]
I am confirmed in this view by the examination of the fragments which
fill the great south rose, which consist entirely of thirteenth
century ornament and most probably once formed the setting of these
same medallions. A little of it is scroll work, but the greater part
is "mosaic diaper" of the kind shown in Plate VIII., and which is so
characteristic of French work after 1220, whereas we only find it
beginning at Canterbury.
Some of the medallions are, however, very interesting, the best being
those in which the drapery shows the earlier treatment. In the north
choir aisle is a good one of the Israelites crossing a Red Sea of a
fine streaky ruby, and in the south choir aisle is one of St. Thomas à
Becket being conducted to Heaven by angels and carrying the damaged
top of his head in his hands. By a touch of realism both parts of his
head have been made of glass that has slight ruby streaks in it,
giving it a gory appearance. This is the earliest example I know of
the deliberate use of an accident of colouring in the glass to produce
a realistic effect.
[Illustration: PLATE XIV
WORK OF CLEMENT OF CHARTRES IN ROUEN CATHEDRAL
Late Thirteenth Century]
Among the medallions which have been glazed into the north rose is one
representing the funeral of St. Hugh of Lincoln in 1199, the coffin
being carried by three archbishops and three kings. One of the
kings was William of Scotland, and the other King John of England (the
only occasion on which I know of that monarch appearing in a pleasant
light), but the artist must have put the third king in for the sake of
symmetry as there is no record of his presence.
A curious medallion in the south transept shows Salome dancing before
Herod, not in the languorous Oriental fashion one would have expected
of her, but turning a somersault worthy of the music-hall stage, with
a lavish display of red stockings. A similar treatment of the subject
occurs at Bourges, and also in sculpture over one of the west doors at
Rouen Cathedral.
[Sidenote: The north rose.]
The north rose still retains about three-quarters of its original
glazing, and enables one to make out the design. In the centre is
Christ, and in the four petal-like lights which surround Him are, or
were, figures of the Blessed seated, not in circles but in horizontal
rows. Filling the spandrils between these lights are four trefoils, of
which two still each contain an angel swinging a censer, in an
attitude ingeniously fitted to the shape of the light. Outside these,
sixteen circular lights form a ring round the whole, and once
represented the Second Coming of Christ. At the top is Christ seated
on the rainbow, and in two lights on either side of Him are angels
carrying instruments of the Passion. Next come St. Peter and the other
Apostles, six in one light on each side, and below them, in the lights
level with the centre, are the four archangels sounding trumpets. The
lower half of the circle was probably devoted to the resurrection of
the dead and perhaps their judgment, but of these only one light
remains, showing the dead rising from their graves, the rest being
filled with single figures from elsewhere.
The spandrils between these circles are filled with little triangular
lights forming an inner and an outer ring of sixteen each. Of these
the inner ring is filled with white wavy pointed stars on a red ground
and the outer with similar red stars on a dark blue ground, thus
suggesting the idea--in _colour_ alone, without use of light or shade,
of light and warmth radiating from the centre.[8]
According to Mr. Westlake the central Christ has no stigmata, while
the one in the outer circle has them; but the painting has now
perished too much for me to see this even at close quarters. His
theory is that the centre represents Christ as "The Word,--the
uncreated Wisdom, as Creator, resting,"--and the outer circle shows
His last coming as Judge.
FOOTNOTE:
[8] Were it not for the difference in the source of the light one
would be reminded of Kipling's lines:--
"The first are white with the heat of Hell and the second are
red with pain,"
and
"... Tomlinson looked up and up, and saw against the night
The belly of a tortured star blood-red in Hellmouth light;
And Tomlinson looked down and down, and saw beneath his feet
The frontlet of a tortured star milk-white in Hellmouth heat."
VI
THIRTEENTH CENTURY GLASS IN FRANCE
(SENS AND CHARTRES)
[Sidenote: Sens.]
It was at Sens that Thomas à Becket took refuge during his exile. His
mitre and chasuble are still preserved there, and the connection
between the two places seems to have remained very intimate.
It will be remembered that William of Sens was the first architect of
the choir of Canterbury, and it is not surprising to find the
resemblance between the cathedrals at the two places very marked
indeed. Not only does one at once perceive the same hand in the
architecture, but what remains of the early glass at Sens is quite
incontestably the work of the same artist who gave us the east window
and the Jordan Fitzeisulf window at Canterbury.
[Sidenote: The Good Samaritan.]