THE USE OF THE CANOPY.
No one can have paid much attention to stained glass without observing
the conspicuous part played in its design by the quasi-architectural
canopy.
Inasmuch as it, in a sense, enshrines the figure, there exists some sort
of symbolic reason for its use. But that is not enough to account for
its all but universal employment. A more obvious excuse for it is, the
purpose it fulfils in the construction of design. It is a means of
accounting for the position of figures midway up the window, perhaps one
above the other, and not standing upon the sill. It is at once framework
and support to them, preventing them from seeming to float there in
space.
Where the designer of the church designed also the glass for it, it was
almost inevitable that he should plan it more or less upon architectural
lines; and so we find that in windows known to have been designed by
architects the canopy is very often the most conspicuous part of the
design. But at all times the master-builder must have been a power, and
at all times also even glaziers and glass painters must have been so
intimately acquainted with forms of architecture, that it is not
surprising they should have introduced them into their work.
The fact is, the designer happens upon something like a canopy almost
without intending it, and, having arrived so far, perfects the
resemblance to it. Suppose a window of four long lights, in each of
which it is desired to introduce three figures. That means dividing it
horizontally into three, which may be done by the use of bands of
inscription, as at _a_ in the diagram overleaf: there is no suggestion
of architecture there. Supposing you wish to frame the window at the
sides, so as to stop the picture, as at _b_, to the left of the diagram;
you have still no very distinct suggestion of architecture. But if, the
better to frame the picture, you add an extra band of colour, as shown
at _c_, you arrive at once at something so like perspective as to
indicate an architectural elevation. Indeed, that is precisely the form
the canopy takes sometimes in Italian glass. Even when the
cinque-centist framed his picture merely in lines he could hardly help
giving them the appearance of mouldings, painting upon (as at Arezzo)
egg-and-tongue or other familiar architectural enrichment in white and
stain.
[Illustration: 212. DIAGRAM.]
In the clerestory at Freiburg is a window in which the serried saints
appear at first sight to be simply framed by lines of pale purple; but
on examination these resolve themselves into a simple architectural
elevation, with even a hint of unsuspected shadow in it. The date of
that example is 1512; and canopies, not to go back to Græco-Roman
decoration, begin with the beginning of Gothic. It is adduced,
therefore, to show, not the origin of canopy work, but how inevitably
something of the sort occurred. Its immediate source is clearly
imitation. The thing is borrowed straight from architecture, and
indicates, it may justly be said, if not a certain lack of inventive
faculty on the part of the designer, at least some disinclination to
take the pains to invent.
So in the thirteenth century we have funny little glass penthouses over
the figures of saints, architectural in form but not in colour; in the
fourteenth windows are crossed by rows of tall brassy disproportioned
tabernacles, as yet flat fronted; in the fifteenth, white ghosts of
masonry pretend to stand out over the figures; in the sixteenth,
altar-like, or other more or less monumental, structures, are pictured
with something like the solidity of stonework; and eventually the canopy
is merged in painted glass architecture, which joins itself on as best
it can to the actual masonry.
The forms of canopy typical of each period of architecture have been
discussed in the several chapters on design, but something remains to be
said upon canopy work in general, and upon particular instances of it.
The Early canopy goes for nothing as design. Its one merit is that it is
inconspicuous. One could wish that the Decorated were equally so. There
is, as a rule, no shutting your eyes to its mass of overpowering
shrinework. When, by way of exception, it chances to be modest it is
sometimes more interesting--as where it is scarcely more than a cusped
arch, or where, as at Strassburg, it takes the form of an arcaded band
across the window, in which are series of little demi-figures. At
Cologne Cathedral also sundry saints are pigeon-holed in this way.
_Apropos_ of this, it should be mentioned that it invariably adds to the
interest of a canopy, when; for example, the broad shaft of a Decorated
canopy enniches angels and other figures, or when they are introduced
among its pinnacles or in its base. The wide-spreading German canopy
affords scope for variety of design not possible so long as the
structure is confined within a single light. In some four-light windows
at Erfurt (1349-1372) the broad shafts of the canopies, with saints in
separate niches, occupy the whole width of the outer lights, leaving
only two lights for the central picture. In a five-light window at
Strassburg the canopy is five-arched, allowing separate arches in the
outer lights for figures of saints, whilst the three central ones cover
a single subject.
In canopies which include niches with separate subsidiary subjects,
these are sometimes by way of prelude to the main story. In the
cathedral at Berne is something of the kind. There, among the pinnacles
of the canopy which crowns the subject of the Adoration, are seen the
Kings setting out on their pilgrimage, journeying by night, having
audience of Herod, and arriving finally at the city of Bethlehem.
In the great altar-like canopies of the Renaissance there is sometimes a
gallery above, with angels or other figures, which give points of colour
amidst the white. In any case, the canopy is usually more interesting
when it is peopled.
The Perpendicular canopy is in effect much more pleasing than what had
gone before, but it sins in its simulation of stonework. There also
little figures in white and stain are very effectively introduced into
the shafts and other parts of the construction, but more in the form of
architectural sculpture. There are some very interesting instances of
this at Fairford, though the canopies themselves are not otherwise
peculiarly interesting.
The useful device of low, flat-topped canopies, adopted in the nave
windows at Cologne Cathedral, seldom occurs out of Germany. It is there
most successful. Indeed, these particular canopies are interesting
examples of the interpenetration of architectural tracery as well as of
its moderate and modest use.
Late German canopies are often much more leafy than French or English;
they are less architectural--or rather, the architecture breaks out into
more free and flowing growth. The charm of Late Gothic canopy work, as
was said, lies in its colour, or in the absence of colour--in its
silvery effect, that is to say. And one may safely add that quite the
most satisfactory canopies, in whatever style, are those in which white
largely prevails, modified by stain, but preserving its greyish
character. In later Renaissance work white is still largely used; but it
is made less brilliant by painted shadow, and so has less to excuse its
architectural pretensions. At Milan there is a window in which what
should be white is in various granular tints of brown.
The coloured canopy, to which the Italians adhered (as well as to the
border enclosing it), does not frame them as the white glass does. The
idea appears to be, on the contrary, that it should form part of the
picture. Elsewhere than in Italy coloured canopies, other than yellow,
are rare; but they occur. There are, for example, the hideous
flesh-coloured constructions peculiar to Germany. At Troyes are some not
unsatisfactory little canopies in green, and others in purple (1499). At
Châlons-sur-Marne is an effective canopy (1526-1537) of golden arabesque
on purple. At Freiburg (1525) is a steely-blue Renaissance canopy, from
which depend festoons of white and greenish-yellow, against the ruby
ground of the subject. And there are others satisfactory enough. But so
invariably effective is the framework of white and stain, that to depart
from it seems almost like giving up the very excuse for canopies.
The Late Gothic canopy work does most effectually frame the pictures,
and gives light, of course, at the same time. It goes admirably with the
colour scheme, which includes always a fair quantity of white, even in
comparatively rich figure subjects. There is no denying, nor any desire
to deny, its altogether admirable effect. If the effect were not
otherwise to be obtained, the end would justify the means. But the
effect is due simply to the setting of the subjects in a framework of
white, not to the architectural character of the design. All that those
Perpendicular canopies do could be done equally without architectural
forms at all. Canopies make no more beautiful screens of silvery-white
than, say, the Five Sisters at York. Intrinsically they are less
interesting than pattern work. They give less scope for arranging
subjects variously, just as one will; and they allow less range for the
fancy of the artist. The most interesting canopies, and among the most
effective, are those Early Renaissance picture frames (French, German,
or Italian) which, whilst just sufficiently suggesting something near
enough to architecture to be called canopies, are really little more
than arabesque. One might almost say they are pleasing in proportion as
they depart from the quasi-architectural formula.
The enormous value of the mass of white afforded by the canopy, as a
setting for colour, has reconciled us too readily to its use. Why not
this mass of white without pretended forms of masonry, without this
paraphernalia of pinnacles? The architect alone, perhaps, in his heart
likes canopy work, and would prefer it to any other kind of ornamental
device. When he plans a window, or directs its planning, forms of
architectural construction occur to him naturally. Supposing him to be
an artist (as we have perhaps a right to expect him to be) he produces a
fine thing; but were he to work upon more workmanlike lines, or, to
speak quite precisely, more upon the lines of the worker in glass, how
much better he would do--being an artist! In his reliance upon
inappropriate structural forms, he makes the obvious mistake of
depending upon the kind of thing with which he is most familiar, not the
thing especially called for. Each particular craft has a technique of
its own.
One other class of person also loves canopy work--the tradesman; but his
affection for it is less disinterested, and more easily accounted for.
The stock canopy (as every one knows who has been, as it were, behind
the counter) is a famous device for cheapening production. The examples
chosen for illustration throughout these pages do, on the whole, much
more than justice to the periods which they were chosen to represent;
but, taken altogether, they do not, even so, form a very effective plea
for canopy work.
Were the canopy more defensible than it is in glass, it would still have
monopolised far too large a place in the scheme of mediæval and
Renaissance design. We owe largely to it, in connection with the
gradually increasing claims of figure work, the all but extinction of
pattern glass. Figure work is practically implied by the canopy.
Occasionally, indeed, architecture has formed the whole _motif_ of a
window; but the case is so rare that it does not count. Once in a while
there may be excuse, and even occasion, for almost any device.
There is no valid reason of art why figures and figure subjects should
not be framed in ornament, designed indeed with reference to the
architecture of the building, but not in the least in the likeness of
architecture. This ornament might perfectly well be in white and stain.
Ornamental setting in colour does occur in thirteenth century medallion
windows, and again (though only by exception) in certain Early
Renaissance glass; but by that time pictures, as a rule, absorbed all
the interest of design. The instinct which makes us want to give even
pictured personages some sort of roof above their heads is more natural
than logical. Anyway, to make windows to look like niches in the wall,
is an absurd ideal of design, and the nearer the glass painter gets to
it the further he has gone off the track. If anything in the nature of a
canopy be desirable, clearly it should be constructed on the lines, not
of masonry, but of glazing.