We shall find it more convenient to group all early glass under the
heading of "Early English," although it will be found not only in its
own narrow, pointed-arched windows, but also before that, in the
round-arched ones of the Norman style. So slow was the development
of our craft during all the time covered by those two schools of
architecture as to make it hardly proper or necessary that our subject
be likewise divided into two epochs. During both of them there is found
richly coloured glass of the "mosaic" type, and also uncoloured windows
of the sort styled by the French "grisaille." Obviously, uncoloured
glass admits much more light than that made up of rich dark hues, and,
therefore, it is but natural that the glazier who dwelt in a cloudy
northern land should early have realised the need for sufficient light
in his churches, a need which did not concern his fellow craftsmen in
the sunny lands of the south. Indeed if he had not appreciated this
practical side of his craft he would not have been the artist which his
windows prove him to have been. The glaziers of sunny Italy were never
confronted with this problem of sufficient illumination--if anything,
they had too much, no matter how richly they painted the panes. Their
fellows in France had less sunlight than they, but more than the
English, and therefore occupied an intermediate ground in the matter of
church illumination; the result was that the French neglected it so
entirely during both the twelfth and thirteenth centuries, and so
darkened their interiors by heavily leaded mosaic glazing as to bring
about, at the opening of the fourteenth century, a sudden revulsion in
favour of better lighted interiors, which went so far as to produce the
excessive light and glare observable at Sees, St. Ouen (Rouen) and
Evreux. This sudden revulsion did not appear in England where, indeed,
there were no grounds for it, because, as we have just seen, the
glaziers had already thoroughly grasped the need for, as well as the
value of, light-admitting grisaille. That they thoroughly mastered the
technique of uncoloured glass we will readily conclude from the splendid
monuments to their genius in the "Five Sisters" at York, and the
grisaille in the south transept at Salisbury, ideal glazing for a land
of infrequent sunshine. Turning from these untinted windows to those
filled with colour, one notices at once that the early examples of the
latter are made up of very small pieces of different hues bound together
by winding strips of lead having little sunken channels on both sides
to hold the glass in place. So small are these pieces that the windows
seem to have been composed much in the same way that the diminutive
cubes are assembled to make a mosaic. It is because of this striking
similarity of method, that this early glazing, constructed of small
fragments, is frequently referred to as "mosaic" glass. Another name
which it often receives is also easily explainable. The stories on these
early windows are told by groups of very small figures, and to prevent a
chaotic multitude of these little persons spread over the glass, each
episode or group is separated from the others by a frame of contrasting
colour, thus breaking up the whole surface into medallions. For this
reason, early mosaic glazing is sometimes spoken of as "medallion
glass." Unfortunately for England, it possesses but few remains of this
delightful product, and therefore suffers sadly by comparison with the
great wealth of it to be seen in France. We shall find enough, however,
at Canterbury and Lincoln to kindle our enthusiasm for the splendid
jewelled glow which the glazier of that time, and of no other, knew how
to make his windows produce. It will not take long for the intelligent
observer to notice that this glitter is due partly to the fact that the
glass is free from paint (except that used to delineate features, folds
of garments, &c.), and partly because its surface is not regular as is
ours to-day. Furthermore, the pieces were small, and the constantly
recurring leadlines (breaking up and combining the rays of light coming
through the little panes) assisted materially to produce the brilliancy
and shimmer which so delight the eye. There is no doubt that the glazier
thoroughly realised this, and availed himself of this mingling of the
coloured rays to suit the purposes of his picture. We frequently see a
thirteenth century window that produces a purple effect, and yet a
closer inspection will reveal that there is only red and blue glass used
in it, but so cunningly have they been intermingled as to produce a much
warmer purple than any sheet of purple glass could render. Some writers
would have us believe that the glazier had no choice but to use these
small bits in building up his picture, and that therefore the rich
glowing effect was the result of chance, and not that of intelligent
deliberation. Any one who has been fortunate enough to visit St.
Maurice's Cathedral at Angers is amply equipped to refute this theory,
and will be prepared to give full credit to the glazier of the
thirteenth century, for, in that church, the twelfth century mosaic
glass of the nave is readily seen to be composed of much larger
fragments than were employed in the choir by the thirteenth century man.
These latter in the choir glisten and glitter, while the earlier ones in
the nave, composed of larger pieces, do not. This indicates that the
improvement shown by the thirteenth century windows over those of the
twelfth century was caused by artistic intelligence, and at the expense
of more labour to the glazier, because in lessening the size of his
panes, he greatly increased the work of leading them together. As he
purposely used smaller fragments, he should receive full credit for his
splendid results. Those who have been so fortunate as to see the French
thirteenth century windows will not only regret the fewness of examples
of that period in England, but will also remark the dearth there of the
great rose windows so frequent in France. Furthermore, he will notice
that in the case of English medallion windows, the medallions are
smaller than those across the Channel; this is caused by the fact that
the lancets of the Early English school were narrower than contemporary
French ones, and therefore necessitated a smaller medallion. While it is
true that it is only at Lincoln that one finds the splendid rose windows
which reach their greatest perfection in France, compensation for their
absence is found in the development in their place of a style of window
almost unknown in France, _i.e._, the great east window, of which such
superb examples will be seen during the next (or Decorated) period at
York, Bristol, and many other places. This difference in the development
of the largest light aperture of a church is due to the architect; in
France he built the eastern end of his churches round, but in England
they were square, thereby permitting a large sheet of glazing at the
east end, which the French rounded apse could not afford. It is
gratifying to note the way in which the genius of the glazier, no matter
where he lived, seized upon and developed to the utmost the artistic
possibilities of his glass, and, furthermore, how cleverly he adapted
them to the structures prepared for him by his architect. We shall see
at Canterbury, more clearly even than elsewhere, that in the manufacture
of this early mosaic glass the English glaziers followed the French
models. In "Stained Glass Tours in France," p. 17, we have made some
conjectures as to the beginnings of glass in France and whence it came
into that country. Indications appear to be in favour of its first steps
being guided by a group of enamellers in Limoges, who were instructed or
influenced by a colony of Venetians that settled near by in 979,
bringing with them their Byzantine art. Whatever opinion we may hold,
there can be no doubt that a striking similarity in drawing, colouring,
&c., is to be remarked between stained glass of the twelfth and
thirteenth centuries, Limoges enamels of those two and the two preceding
centuries, and the Byzantine mosaics of St. Mark's in Venice, &c.