We have now reached the perfected period of stained glass, by some
called the Renaissance, and by others the Cinque-cento. The latter
affords a graceful recognition of Italian inspiration in the revival of
French art at the beginning of the sixteenth century. By this time the
reader will have appreciated the truth of the statement in our
introduction that stained glass saves us the trouble of dividing it into
periods, because it falls of itself into divisions whose boundaries,
oddly enough, coincide approximately with those of the centuries. This
was heretofore illustrated when the canopy window appeared upon the
scene and caused the abrupt change from the sombre glittering tones of
the thirteenth century to the light-admitting silvery-grey glass of the
fourteenth. Now we are about to see how another change came at the end
of the fifteenth century, when the Renaissance sprang full-grown, not
Minerva-like from the brows of Jove, but from those of Mars, the God of
War, for it was the Italian wars of Louis XII and Francis I that brought
about this sudden regeneration of all branches of French art. What the
French soldiers saw in Italy they remembered and told at home, and,
moreover, many of their trophies bore witness to the wonderful
development then reached by Italian art. The fact that after several
centuries French territory was at last relieved from distress of war
naturally resulted in a sudden interest in building of all sorts.
Because of this, architecture was among the first of the arts to be
affected by the new Italian taste. We have before noticed the
inter-relation of the needs and styles of the architect with those of
the glass artist, and therefore we are not surprised to find our windows
testifying that the latter quickly perceived Gothic architecture was
being superseded by the classic style. During the last two centuries he
had grown to appreciate more and more the light-admitting advantages of
the canopy window, but now he changes the simulated architecture from
Gothic to Renaissance. In his designs we notice an even more important
change, which results from the fact that he now enjoys a good working
knowledge of the laws of perspective and hastens to avail himself of it
in order to lend greater depth to his picture. Indeed, in some
instances, he carried the use of perspective almost to an abuse. His
predecessors in the twelfth and thirteenth centuries knew nothing of
these rules, which, indeed, were then unknown in every art. On our way
down through the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries, because most of the
windows are either canopy, or grisaille surcharged with figures, we are
by their very nature denied an opportunity to observe the same gradual
development of perspective which was contemporaneously taking place in
painting. The result is that when in the sixteenth century the glass
artist decided to branch out from the conventional canopy style and
indulge his taste in the more ambitious effort of the picture window,
the sudden change from no perspective to an abundance is all the more
noticeable. During the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries the only hint
obtainable of an increasing interest in perspective was when we noticed
that fifteenth century canopies were more elaborate than those of the
fourteenth, not only because they had much more intricate pinnacles, but
also by reason of the curtains hanging in the back of the niches, and
other details showing attempts to gain depth in the picture. In his
large picture windows the sixteenth century artist also has more chance
to show us how greatly the discovery of enamelling on glass has enriched
his palette. During the two preceding centuries his development of verre
double (or glass in double layers) has been yielding a constantly
increasing variety of hues in the costumes of his personages,
backgrounds, etc.; but now he adds his brilliant enamels and fairly
riots in colour.
We shall often have occasion to deplore that the glazier of the
Renaissance never truly grasped the full artistic possibilities of the
black outlines ready to his hand in the leads, and that he failed to
realise, as did his predecessors, that the more the drawing was executed
by the leads the more attractive and convincing the resulting picture
would be. Towards the end of this epoch this disregard for their
usefulness in the design was often carried to such an extreme that one
concludes the artist must have regarded them as of no service except to
hold the glass in position. Some of the men who indulged most in enamel
painting became so engrossed in this form of decorating glass as to
consider the leads an intrusion, and as tending to reduce the size of
the sheets, which they preferred should be of large size in order to
facilitate the painting thereon of their pictures.
To recapitulate, the most noticeable features of the new regime are
then--
(_a_) Renaissance architecture depicted instead of Gothic.
(_b_) Larger scenes.
(_c_) Use of perspective.
(_d_) Greatly increased diversity of colour.
(_e_) Use of enamel painting.
(_f_) Increasing carelessness in use of leads.
[Illustration: "DESCENT OF THE HOLY GHOST," MONTFORT L'AMAURY (16TH
CENTURY).
_Architecture depicted now entirely Renaissance. Tracery lights
above, much simplified, lend artist more room for his picture.
Lead lines now mar the picture, instead of only providing the
outlines. Drawing greatly perfected; note the excellent
grouping, the "Golden Tongues," etc. Kneeling donors are not
only too large but intrude upon the subject. (See page 237)._]
Not only does Renaissance architecture supersede the older Gothic on our
windows, but it very naturally brings with it certain characteristics of
the new architect. For example, because he generally placed the date
conspicuously upon his edifice, so in Renaissance glass we find
the glazier introducing the date upon some panel of the simulated
architecture. Before this time, windows were seldom dated; now this
custom soon became firmly established and various methods for it were
devised. In the parish church at Les Iffs, in Brittany, the west panel
of the small chapel on the south side of the choir bears its date upon
a gold coin held by one of the figures. The writer remembers this well,
because, finding no date, it struck him that it might be on the coin.
He piled three chairs, one on top of the other, climbed up, and there
it was. Immediately after the discovery, the chairs fell down!
Notwithstanding the richness which the artist's palette has attained, we
occasionally meet an indication that he has not forgotten the cool
silvery-grey formerly yielded by the canopy window. He now sought to
obtain the same result in another fashion by occasionally restricting
the colour of a picture window to various shades of grey (or very light
brown), relieved by flesh tints where needed, and enlivened by touches
of yellow stain. We sometimes find a church glazed throughout in this
style, as, for example, St. Pantaleon at Troyes. It was, however,
chiefly used in smaller edifices and for domestic or civil purposes.
This particular manifestation of sixteenth century style outlived most
of its contemporaries and is found as late as the end of the next
century. By this last observation we are naturally led to comment upon
the almost complete collapse of the cult of stained glass that came
at the end of this century. People seemed to no longer care for it,
although it had for more than four hundred years been so highly
esteemed. We read of many instances of artists who had no orders for
work and therefore had to turn their talents into other channels. That
master of so many arts, Bernard Palissy, writing at the end of the
century, tells us that so completely had the sale of glass fallen into
disrepute that it was then hawked about from village to village by those
who sold old clothes and old iron, and that although the art was a noble
one, many of its practitioners found it difficult to get enough to
live upon. For this passing of interest there have been many reasons
advanced, but perhaps the most convincing is that of surfeit. Certain
it is that an enormous quantity of stained glass was produced during
the sixteenth century, much of which has survived. Of course, in some
quarters the cult lasted longer than in others, but then it is generally
traceable to the existence there of a peculiarly gifted group of glass
artists. We shall find this true at Troyes, where the skill and fame of
Linard Gonthier and his school produced such a demand for their work as
to cause the art in that locality to survive far into the seventeenth
century.
While it is true that during the sixteenth century glass reached its
highest perfection, it is but natural that on the way up it should have
outgrown many of the indications of craft tradition which we have from
time to time noticed. The perfected picture no longer needed certain
conventional signs to tell its story. Perspective and improved drawing
obviated the need of them. There are, however, several instances which
show that even the sixteenth century artist felt the charm of
quaintness, though to a lesser degree than his predecessors. For
example, a window in Caudebec Cathedral (the Passage of the Red Sea by
the Israelites) takes pains to identify the sea by having the waves
glazed in red! Though he had discarded most of the conventions, he
retained and much beautified a few of them. For example, in Tree of
Jesse windows, he far outstripped the older schools in grace and
elaboration of treatment. As an indication of the interest felt in
allegory by the later men we must invite attention to the so-called
"Wine Press" window. Here we have the same branching vine found in the
Tree of Jesse, but in this case it springs from the wounded Christ, who
is being bruised in the press (or sometimes from His pressed-out blood),
and spreads out over the panes, bearing as its blossoms saints, apostles
or historical personages. In a few instances it rises from the wine
pressed by Christ from the grapes. Windows of this type are to be seen
at Conches, at Troyes and many other places, but nowhere is the idea so
elaborated as at St. Etienne-du-Mont in Paris. Sometimes the heads
displayed on the vines indicate another tendency of this century, which
can be particularly noted in the last cited window (by Pinaigrier) and
in Engrand Le Prince's Tree of Jesse at St. Etienne (Beauvais). In these
two the heads prove to be accurate portraits of contemporary royalties
and church dignitaries, a fashion then much affected and highly
esteemed. Another evidence of this same tendency to add personal touches
is shown in the greatly increased use of armorial bearings, not only
serving as the sole decorations of a panel, but also appearing upon
picture subjects. These coats of arms are not only agreeable in effect,
but also by their heraldry are very useful in fixing dates. Many of
these armorial bearings were, however, destroyed after the edict of
1792, forbidding their use. Most sixteenth century windows bear the
donor's figure, nor shall we find excessive modesty shown by the man who
paid the price. In this connection it is interesting to note that
although stained glass has always been very expensive, strangely enough
the expense has remained practically constant throughout all its
history, providing, of course, one takes into consideration the varying
purchasing power of money. In fact, the cost thus corrected varies so
little from epoch to epoch as to be positively surprising. When we
consider how costly was a gift of this sort, perhaps it is not
extraordinary that, during the sixteenth century, we generally find upon
it the givers' portraits; the wonder is that the custom was not more
widely spread before. Unfortunately, the donor was now more aggressive
than his predecessors, for often the figure is not only too large, but
actually intrudes upon the subject of the window. Frequently not content
to appear alone, he had the portraits of several of his family added as
well.
Before we make our selection of towns to be visited, let us look about
us in Paris, for it has not a little glass to show us.