Far off in the western corner of France dwells that strange race, the
Bretons. Leave behind you Paris, the standard-bearer of things modern,
and set out for distant Quimper, the westernmost outpost of French
glass. You will find yourself in the midst of a curious folk whose
origin is unknown, in a bleak country where over a million people speak
an uncouth Celtic tongue utterly unlike French; where customs, handed
down from father to son, persist for centuries; where modern costume is
ignored and the peasant glories in his bright blue and gold jacket
adorned with glittering buttons. You have even passed beyond the fabled
forest of Broceliande, where Vivien held the great Merlin by her magic
spell.
Quimper must be visited for its own sake because there are no
neighbouring glass towns. Long as is the journey, it is safe to say that
you will be repaid for its discomforts. Arrive, if you can, on a Sunday.
The roomy interior of the cathedral is quite as attractive as the
elaborate Gothic detail outside has promised. Here during service,
perhaps more than anywhere else in France, will the middle ages seem to
you still to be lingering on. No stiff rows of pews obtrude their modern
convenience upon your notice. You will find the great church filled with
group upon group of Breton men and women sitting on rude rush-bottomed
chairs, the men in their gay attire and the women wearing quaint white
caps which vary slightly in each little village or commune. All this
serves to take us back into feudal times; we sink into a seat and
observe the intense interest with which our neighbours are following the
ringing exhortations of the priest, couched in homely phrases, quite
like the discourse which his predecessors in the fifteenth century
preached from the same pulpit to a very similar audience. Our mood
becomes so mediaeval as to almost make the ancient stained glass seem
contemporary. It is a pleasant thought that the series of canopy windows
made for the choir clerestory in 1417 by Jamin Sohier should have been
continued and carried along the clerestory of the nave and transepts by
his son, also named Jamin Sohier, towards the end of the same century.
One of these later ones near the west front bears the date 1496. Some of
those in the nave were sadly injured by the stress of time, and a few
altogether destroyed; but they have been repaired and replaced most
successfully, pious care having been taken to restore them as nearly as
possible to their original condition. This was done during the years
1867 to 1874 by M. Lucon at the expense of the State. The nave windows
of the younger Sohier are much more brilliant, both in richness and in
variety of colours, than the earlier choir windows of his father. The
gradual development of the verre double (or double sheets of glass)
placed a greater variety of tints at the disposal of the artist, and he
eagerly took advantage of his enriched palette. By comparing the choir
panels with the later ones of the nave, we have here an excellent
opportunity to study the development of the canopy window. We cannot
help but feel that although the earlier ones lack the brilliancy and
glow which characterise those constructed later, this lack is more than
balanced by the delicious softness of the light which they transmit. It
is interesting to observe how many of them set forth the legend of St.
Christopher. Do not fail to notice the skillful contrast of a strong
yellow with a rich green of which the east windows of the north transept
provide several excellent examples.
There is a striking peculiarity in the ground plan of this church. The
choir is not upon the same axis as the nave, but inclines at quite an
angle to the north. This peculiarity also exists in one or two other
French churches, and the local authorities always delight to tell you
that it is a form of Gothic symbolism intended to represent the drooping
to one side of the Saviour's head on the Cross. When the true
explanation is discovered, it generally proves to be of a more practical
nature. The same slant to the north is observable in the choir of Saint
Jean, at Troyes; there it was caused by the fact that the street line on
the south side of the choir had to be pushed northward after the great
fire of 1524. At Quimper the explanation is even more interesting. In
1239 Bishop Raynaud wished to add to his cathedral the chapel of Notre
Dame (founded in 1028 by the Count of Cornoucilles) which stood a little
to the east and was across a small street. He extended his choir so as
to take in the chapel; but as it lay a little to the north of the true
easterly line, he had to slant his choir to effect his purpose. This
explanation may not be poetically symbolical, but it is historically
accurate.