Across the rolling grain-covered plain of La Beauce winds a long
depression worn by the river Eure. Along the side of this depression we
find Chartres, sloping gently up from the little river that bathes its
feet and proudly lifting into the air the grey and green bulk of its
cathedral, culminating in the two finest spires in France. Its light
stone and the softly-shaded tiles of the roof combine to give us a
delicious impression of delicate greenish grey. This softness of tone
outside gives no hint of the minster gloom within, athwart which shimmer
the rich dark rays slanting through the jewelled windows. Nowhere can
there be found such a contrast between the exterior and interior of a
cathedral. This marked difference serves but to distinguish and
accentuate the special charms of each, and together they make our memory
of the cathedral a most precious possession of our mental picture
gallery.
As the pilgrim enters Chartres Cathedral, there is an impressive moment
at hand for him, for he is penetrating the Holy of Holies of stained
glass. Not only is it the most delightful expression of the thirteenth
century, but also of any century, and we speak not only of France, but
of all Europe.
One is almost staggered by the wealth and profusion of windows--174--and
nearly all of the thirteenth century. In the west front the use of
slightly larger pieces and the wonderful limpidity confirms the fact
that the lovely rose showing the Last Judgment, as well as its three
attendant lancets below, are of the twelfth century; the rest of the
interior was glazed in the next century.
Notwithstanding all that has been written of this wonderful glass, more
still remains hidden away in its pregnant mystery, that mystery that
lays hold upon all who view it, be he poet, or unromantic follower of
one of the homely trades whose guilds have added so generously to the
tale of windows. Nor have revelations of this mystery been made alike to
all. What one man has spelt out from it may remain incomprehensible to
another. The obvious fact to one mind seems to another but a quaint
conceit. Lasteyrie, when he told his story in 1841, felt that there was
a marvellous symbolism about the change in the strength of the light,
brighter as it approached the cross formed by the transepts and then
growing darker as one withdrew further from that Christian emblem of
spiritual illumination. To him this thought was full of great charm and
some of us may agree in his poetic conception. Others may feel that the
brilliancy of the remote west windows seems to refute rather than
support his theory. It is certain, however, that the revelation of
harmony comes to us all alike. It is related that a certain lad thought
himself listening to music from the glass itself when the organ
commenced playing during the time he was gazing raptly up at one of the
great rose windows. This harmony of colours, this melodious flowing of
tone into tone, is a glimpse vouchsafed to us all into the solemn
mystery that dwells within this enchanted bower of light.
James Russell Lowell says:
"I gaze round on the windows, pride of France!
Each the bright gift of some mechanic guild,
Who loved their city and thought gold well spent
To make her beautiful with piety."
If Rheims is to be known as the cathedral of kings, or Amiens
characterised as the Bible in stone, then Chartres must be styled the
chief sanctuary of the mediaeval guilds. We have spoken of the splendid
array of royalties around the clerestory of Rheims, and how they and the
many coronations of which they are reminiscent fully justify the proud
title of "Royal Rheims." Against this wealth of royal reminiscence
Chartres can show but one coronation, that of Henry IV. So far was he
from being disgruntled by the long siege necessitated by the stubborn
defence of its burghers, that he elected to be crowned in their
cathedral, partly, we feel sure, to show the approval of a warrior king
for their fighting qualities. No, it is not a long array of kings that
are set about to guard its windows and bear witness to their power and
beneficence. At Chartres, more than anywhere in France, the Middle Ages
seem to have bequeathed to us the great heartbeat of their middle
classes. Here we see about us the sturdy workers of the city, the guilds
of its industrious burghers. True, the great rose windows of the
transepts show us the royalty and chivalry of the kingdom, but somehow
they seem decorative and not dominating as they do at Rheims. Nor are
our friends of the guilds here present by any man's let or by virtue of
kingly condescension. At Laon there are statues of oxen in the cathedral
towers, put there in kindly remembrance of their services in dragging up
the great stones from the plain far below; but at Chartres it is no
kindly remembrance that has disposed about the nave and elsewhere the
glass histories of guild upon guild. They are in the place because they
are of the place, nor is there any attempt to disguise the homely
occupations of the donors. In other towns we occasionally find a panel
bearing a statement that it was presented by some company of craftsmen,
but the subject is almost always a scriptural one and throws no light
upon the work-a-day existence of the members. Here it is very different,
for so proud were the honest workmen of the crafts which they plied,
that they took infinite pains to have their windows set out scenes
descriptive of the work and life of the association which gave it. The
history of the Chartres guilds is well worth delving into, and one finds
a luminous index provided by the long series of panels around the lower
part of the nave. The glass speaks eloquently of how well organised
and how rich were the middle classes of Chartres, and nowhere else can
anything like so complete or interesting a set be seen. Goldsmiths,
cobblers, vintners, tanners, moneychangers--so the list goes on until it
swells into a total of nearly forty, and of each there is provided some
little group depicting the service performed for the community by that
particular trade. Several of the guilds gave more than one window, nor
are they confined to the nave aisles, some having strayed so far as
the choir clerestory. But for all that the windows here speak more
eloquently than elsewhere of the sturdy craftsmen--the bourgeoisie that
formed the backbone of old France--we must not forget that they also
bear witness to the gallantry and generosity of the knightly and titled
classes. To glass lovers this cathedral has a peculiar interest in
the fact that St. Louis was baptised within its walls. May we not be
permitted the delusion that to the undeveloped faculties of the royal
babe the wonderful harmony of these windows came as a lullaby, and that
the echo of this lullaby finally grew into the great love for stained
glass which he later developed? Of this love we have found many traces,
all leading up to its ultimate expression in the Ste. Chapelle of Paris.
And where more appropriately could a French king, who loved glass, have
been christened? Where else would he have had about him on his beloved
windows such an array of his subjects, representing not only the
highest, but also those of humbler rank, a bodyguard of four thousand
figures of nobles, gentry, burghers and craftsmen? Nor are these figures
content but to decorate, for some of them by their grouping serve to
narrate for us nearly forty legends. A splendid proof of how much he
loved this cathedral, so often revisited by him, is afforded by his
splendid gift, the Rose of France, as they call the great window in the
north transept. Here are the familiar combination of the French fleur
de lis and the castles of Castile showing that Louis and his mother,
Blanche of Castile, joined in this royal gift. In splendid reds,
lemon-yellows and browns it tells the story of the glorification of
the Virgin, thus repeating what we see in the carvings of the northern
porch. The gorgeous five tall pointed windows below aid it to produce a
glorious ensemble. Nor is it only in this quarter that we see traces of
the nobler classes, for was not the south transept end decorated in
similar wise with scenes showing the glorification of Christ, the gift
of Dreux and Bretagne? Again we find the windows inside repeating what
is shown by the carvings in the porch outside. The five tall pointed
lancets under this rose are especially noteworthy, for the two which, on
either side, flank the middle one containing Christ are each filled with
an Evangelist carried on the shoulders of a Prophet, a very physical way
of depicting the power of prophecy.
[Illustration: CROSSING AND SOUTH TRANSEPT, CHARTRES. (13TH CENTURY.)
_No photograph can even hint at the wealth of deep, warm colour
that fills these windows. The early date of those in the right
foreground indicated by their broad borders. Below the Rose,
four of the lancets show Evangelists borne on the shoulders of
Prophets._]
This is not the place to tell of the wonderful carvings that abound
within and without this great temple, and are especially delightful
around the stone screen that separates the choir from the ambulatory;
nor shall we take upon us to speak in detail of the subterranean chapel
to the Virgin who bore a Child, the pagan legends concerning whom "the
memory of man runneth not to the contrary." For us they are but
accessories to the wonderful whole which provides so magnificent a
casket for the preservation and exposition of the most splendid heritage
of windows that has come down to us.
Although completely outclassed by the cathedral's greater glory, the
glazing of the church of St. Pierre is not only pleasing to the eye, but
also provides a very complete and well-preserved demonstration of how
the transition was effected from the light-obstructing mosaic medallions
to the overlighted interiors of the fourteenth century (see page 188).