A few miles from Madrid lies the famous palace of the Escorial, built
upon a ground plan following as closely as possible the shape of a
gridiron. It was erected by King Philip II in pious memory of his famous
victory at St. Quentin on St. Lawrence's Day, 1557. St. Lawrence
achieved martyrdom by being roasted alive on a gridiron, hence
the selection of that humble utensil as a design for the royal
thank-offering. There are few more interesting monuments to commemorate
a victory, and one would hardly expect to hear that a battle won in
northern France is commemorated by a palace far to the south across the
Pyrenees. Many a time in history did St. Quentin make herself famous by
her stout defences, but none ever won her so much fame as this defeat
which, by delaying the Spanish forces, enabled the French armies to
assemble behind her and save Paris. It was a great victory for Philip,
but it cost him the possession of the French capital.
As we stood upon the lofty heights at Laon, we looked far out over a
wide plain, across which, forty-five kilometres to the northwest, lies
St. Quentin. The quiet streets of this well-to-do city afford little to
remind us of the mediaeval strife that so often raged through them. We
hear no sounds that recall to us the angry noises of besiegers without,
which so often carried dismay to the stout hearts of its burghers.
Unlike Laon, its situation and its buildings now present little to
recall the picture of the past. The huge barn-like exterior of its great
church is quite different from those we have been seeing. Even its
triple-tiered flying buttresses have so short a span as to entirely miss
the decorating possibilities which we have a right to expect. It lacks
the lightness and grace of the true Gothic; in fact, to tell the truth,
it looms up big and bulky, more like an Italian church than the
beautiful French ones. But when we have once passed inside, we are
provided with a most agreeable surprise, for it is much more attractive
than many whose external promise has been greater. There are two sets of
transepts, one beyond the other, which unusual feature not only enhances
the charm of the interior, but also causes its beauty to reveal itself
in a more leisurely fashion. But to the glass! In the choir clerestory
are seven double windows, of which the lancets each hold two great
dignitaries, one above the other. The small rosaces above, which serve
to tie together these pairs of lancets, are very pleasing, nor should
we fail to note the handsome wide borders of the lancets themselves,
plentifully besprinkled with fleur de lis. We must particularly
appreciate the service performed by the modern glass around the choir
chapels in so subduing the light as to permit these splendid lancets to
receive all their illumination from without and therefore to disclose,
undiminished in any way, that warm glow that makes them so delightful.
The hideous polychrome painting of the interior also assists in this
fruitful modification of the light, but this is the only possible
apology for its presence! The oldest glass here is that which fills the
two side windows of the Lady Chapel. Each has twenty medallions, those
on the left showing Old Testament scenes, and those on the right,
episodes from the life of the Virgin. One of the large transepts has a
moderately-sized rose window which does not as usual contain figures,
but, instead, is filled with designs in colour. The absence of the
figures does not spoil the effect; in fact, the story depicted in glass
of this period is nothing like so important as the colour scheme. The
details of the legend are generally elaborately worked out, often in
quaint episodes, but upon this the beauty of the window does not depend.
Indeed, it is not until we are at such a distance that we can no longer
distinguish the little figures that the charm of the glass begins to lay
hold upon us. The reason we do not find more thirteenth century panels
here is because the older part of the church was reconstructed during
the reign of Louis XI. Furthermore, when we consider the many sieges to
which the town has been subjected, as well as the great fire of October
14, 1669, it seems strange that even this much of so fragile a treasure
has survived. In this connection it is interesting to learn that in
1557, Philip II instructed his artillery to avoid hitting the great
church. This very appreciation of art and respect for religion perhaps
explains why, as soon as he had captured the city, he so promptly
confiscated the church's gorgeous tapestries to be used later in
decorating the Escorial! In 1766 an attempt was made to negotiate for
them so that they could be restored to their original home, but the
Spaniards replied that they could not part with so glorious a trophy.
Nor was the ravaging hand of the warrior the only hostile force to which
the unfortunate edifice was subjected. January 25, 1572, during a
tempest, one of the great choir windows was blown in, and on Easter Day,
1582, the same fate befell the great window of the first northern
transept, this time with fatal results, for in falling it killed four
priests. The old glass in the nave clerestory was removed by the
monks in 1747 to secure more light, which form of vandalism was,
unfortunately, only too common. We must not leave without commenting
upon what a delightful monument of fifteenth century Gothic is afforded
by the south end of the easterly transepts. Below is a chapel shut in by
a light stone screen of admirable design; above it the stretch of wall
is relieved with gracefully carved patterns, while higher still appear
four large lancets surmounted by a rosace, all excellently glazed. The
lancets have richly coloured single figures below canopies of such size
that their pinnacles occupy more than half the height of the embrasures.
The only criticism possible of the otherwise satisfactory adjustment of
the various portions of this south wall is that the rose is too high up
and too small to balance the splendid lancets below it. Of sixteenth
century glass there are two fine examples in the north end of this same
pair of transepts, but we will postpone further reference to them until
later on (see page 269).
Before leaving the town, one should visit the Salle Syndicale in the
Hotel de Ville in order to see the fine Francois Premier fireplace, and
the double arched ceiling with its quaint corbels. The windows of this
room formerly contained a long series of sixteenth century scenes from
the life and labours of Hercules, but a Prussian shell destroyed all but
five of them.
When he leaves St. Quentin, bound for Amiens, the traveller by railway
is quite as well off as the automobilist or the bicyclist. Up to this
stage of our journey the two latter have had a decided advantage, but
now the country has less attractions to offer and the road is one of
those straight Routes Nationales whose only apology for their monotony
is that they save distance.