The daring of the man may be taken as evidence of his sincerity. If he

had not believed absolutely in the things he tried to pourtray, he could

not have set them forth so simply as he did, not only in the quite

archaic medallions of the twelfth and thirteenth centuries, but even in

pictures conceived at the end of what we call the Middle Ages. It would

be impossible nowadays to picture Paradise, as in the scene of the

Temptation at Fairford (overleaf), with its bald architecture and little

Gothic fountain, to say nothing of the serpent. But down to the

sixteenth century no subject was impossible to the designer. Even the

Creation did not deter him; on the contrary, it was a favourite subject

in old glass, throughout the mediæval period (page 252): there is no

shirking the difficulty of rendering the division of light from the

darkness, or the separation of the waters from the dry land. Indeed,

problems such as these are sometimes solved with very remarkable

ingenuity, if not quite in a way to satisfy us: the Creator in the

likeness of a Pope, triple crown and all, as at Châlons-sur-Marne, was

pictured no doubt in all good faith and reverence.

Perhaps one of the most daring notions ever put into stained glass

occurs in a window in All Saints' Church, North Street, York. The design

illustrates an old Northumbrian legend called "The Pryck of Conscience,"

and boldly sets out to show--the fishes roaring, the sea a-fire, a

bloody dew, and, as a climax, the general conflagration of the world.

"Of heaven and hell I have no power to tell," wrote the "idle singer"

(as he most wilfully miscalled himself) of this perhaps "empty day." It

was left to the modern artist to discover that.

The subject most frequently affected by the designer of the West window

of a Gothic church was "The Last Judgment," in which appeared our Lord

in Majesty, St. Michael weighing human souls, angels welcoming the

righteous into heaven, and fiends carrying off the doomed to hell. These

"Doom" windows, as they are also called, are not, to the modern mind,

impressive--not, that is to say, as the pictures of reward and

punishment hereafter they were meant to be. The scene strikes us

invariably as grotesque rather than terrible, actual as it may have been

to the simple artist, who meant to be a sober chronicler, and to the yet

simpler worshippers to whom he addressed himself.

[Illustration: 248. THE TEMPTATION, FAIRFORD.]

Apart from that, "Last Judgment" windows are among the most interesting

in the church. The portion of the window, in particular, which is

devoted to perdition is most attractive. Hell flames offered to the

artist a splendid opportunity for colour, upon which he seized with

delight. And the fiends he imagined! Doubtless those crude conceptions

of his were very real to him, convincing and terror-striking. The grim

humour which we see in them may be of our own imagining; but that the

draughtsman enjoyed his creations no artist will doubt.

[Illustration: 249. PART OF LAST JUDGMENT, FAIRFORD.]

That is easy to understand. His subject allowed him freedom of

imagination, gave him scope for fancy, humour, colour; and all his

faculties found outlet. No wonder his would-be fiends live beautiful in

our recollection! In the midst of ruby flames dance devils, purple,

black, and brown, gnashing carnivorous teeth or yellow fangs, their

beady, white eyes gleaming with cruelty. Devils there are apparently

red-hot; others green and grey, with a beautiful but unholy kind of

iridescence about them. As for the blue devils, they are beautiful

enough to scare away from the beholder blue devils less tangible, which

may have had possession of him. There is a great white devil in a window

at Strassburg, who has escaped, it seems, from the Doom window near by,

but not from the flames about him, a background of magnificent ruby. The

drawing of a part of the Last Judgment from Fairford (page 373) gives

only the grotesqueness of the scene, the quaintly conceived tortures of

the damned; but that division of the glass is in reality a glory of

gorgeous colour, to which one is irresistibly attracted. For that, as

ever, the designer has reserved his richest and most glowing colour.

Some slight touch of human perversity perhaps inspires him also. At

Fairford, at all events, he has put some of his best work, and

especially some of his finest colour, into the figures of the

Persecutors of the Church. Unfortunately, they are high up in the

clerestory, and so do not get their share of attention; certainly they

do not get the praise they deserve. Why, one is inclined to ask, this

honour to the enemies of the Church on the part of the churchman? Was he

at heart a heathen giving secret vent in art to feelings he dared not

openly express? Not a bit of it! He was just a trifle tired of Angels,

and Saints, and subjects according to convention; he was delighted at

the chance of doing something not quite tame and same, and revelled in

the opportunity when it occurred. In the tracery openings above the

persecutors, where in the ordinary way would be angels, are lodged much

more appropriate little fiends. They haunt the memory long after you

have seen them, not as anything very terrific, but as bits of beautiful

colour. The Devil overleaf, hovering in wait for the soul of the

impenitent thief upon the cross, is not by any means a favourable

specimen of the Fairford fiends.

Occasionally there is a grimness about the mediæval Devil which we feel

to this day. In a window at S. Etienne, Beauvais, there is a quite

unforgettable picture of a woman struggling in the clutches of the evil

one. She is draped in green, the Devil is of greenish-white, the

architecture is represented in a gloom of purple and dark blue; only a

peep of pale sky is seen through the window. On the one hand, this is a

delightful composition of decorative colour. On the other it is

intensely dramatic. It sets one wondering who this may be, and what will

be the outcome of it. The struggle is fearful, the fiend is quite

frantic in action. One is so taken with the scene that one does not

notice that his head is wanting, and has been replaced by one which does

not even fit his shoulders. That the effect, for all that, is

impressive, speaks volumes for the story-teller.

[Illustration: 250. FAIRFORD.]

Alas, alas, the Devil is dead! His modern counterfeit is a fraud. You

may see this at the church of S. Vincent, at Rouen, in one of the

subjects representing the life of that saint, where he puts the devils

to flight. The nearest of them is an evil-looking thing, ruby coloured,

uncannily spotted, like some bright poisonous-looking fungus. The

restorer has supplemented these retreating devils by a farther one

painted on the grey-blue sky. The imp is grotesque enough, and very

cleverly put in, but it plainly belongs no longer to the early sixteenth

century. It suggests a theatrical "property," not the hobgoblin of old

belief. That is just what the devilry in old glass never does.

It must be owned that mediæval Angels charm us less. They are by

comparison tame. Their colour is delicate and silvery, belike, but not

seductive; their wings sit awkwardly upon them; they fulfil more or less

trivial functions, bearing scrolls or emblems, shields of arms even.

They are not in the least ethereal. They are too much on the model of

man or woman. What possible business, for example, have they with legs

and feet? Yet it is by the rarest chance that the body is, as it were,

lost in a swirl of drapery, which, by disguising the lower limbs, makes

the image by so much, if not the more angelic, at least the less

obviously of the earth.

The glass hunter cannot but be amused every now and again by odd

anachronisms in mediæval and even later illustrations in glass. But

wonder at them ceases when we remember how simple-minded was the

craftsman of those days before archæology. If he wished to picture

scenes of the long past--and he did--there was nothing for it but to

show them as they occurred to his imagination--as happening, that is to

say, in his own day; and that is practically what he did. He had perhaps

a vague notion that a Roman soldier should wear a kilt; but in the main

he was content that the onlookers at the Crucifixion should be costumed

according to the period of William the Conqueror, or Maximilian, in

which he himself happened to live. The practice had, at least, one

advantage over our modern displays of probably very inaccurate

learnedness, in that it brought the scene close home to the unlearned

observer, and, as it were, linked the event with his own life. In short,

there is more vitality in that rude story-telling than in the more

elaborate histories, much less inaccurate in detail doubtless, to which

to-day and henceforth artists are pledged.

There is no occasion to dwell upon the oddities of glass painting; they

are those of mediæval art all through. If we take a certain incongruity

for granted, the guilelessness of it only charms us. That same

guilelessness enables the artist to make absolutely ornamental use of

themes which to-day we might think it profane to make subservient to

decorative effect. We never question his sincerity, though in the scene

of the Creation, as at Erfurth, he made a pattern of the birds, pair and

pair, each on its own tree. He can safely show the staff of S.

Christopher, as at Freiburg, blossoming so freely as conveniently to

fill the head of the window and balance the Child upon his shoulder.

According as it occurs to him, or as it suits his purpose, kings and

bishops take part in the Crucifixion; S. Michael tramples upon a dragon

big enough to swallow him at a mouthful; Abraham goes out, gorgeously

arrayed in red and purple, to slaughter Isaac on a richly decorated

altar, and a white ram, prancing among the green, calls his attention to

itself as the more appropriate sacrifice; Adam and Eve are driven forth

from Eden by a scarlet angel, draped in white, with wings as well as

sword of flaming red. In this last case the peculiar colour has a

significance. Elsewhere it implies the poverty of the glazier's palette,

or indicates the sacrifice of natural to artistic effect. So it was

that, till quite the end of the thirteenth century, we meet with

positively blue beards, ruby cows, and trees of all the colours of the

rainbow; and even at a much later date than that, primary-coloured

cattle look over the manger at the Nativity, and Christ is shown

entering Jerusalem on a bright blue donkey.

To the last the glass painter indulged in very interesting compound

subjects--the Nativity, for example, with in the distance the Magi on

their way; the Last Supper, and in the foreground, relieved against the

tablecloth, Christ washing Peter's feet, the apostles grouped round so

as to form part of each or either subject. Sometimes a series of events

form a single picture, as where you have the Temptation, the Expulsion,

Eve with her distaff, Adam with his spade, the childhood of Cain and

Abel, and the first fratricide, all grouped in one comprehensive

landscape.

Consecutive pictures, by the way, generally follow in horizontal not

vertical series, beginning on your left as you face the window. There is

no invariable rule; but in most cases the order of the subjects is from

left to right, row after row, terminating at the top of the window.

From the beginning difficult doctrinal subjects are attempted, as well

as histories and legends. In the sixteenth century the design is often

an allegory, full of meaning, though the meaning of it all may not be

very obvious. The Virtues, for example, no longer content to stand under

canopies, systematically spearing each its contrasting Vice, harness

themselves, as at S. Patrice, Rouen, to a processional car, in which are

the Virgin, Christ upon the Cross, and sundry vases, preceded by the

Patriarchs and other holy personages. Another interesting "morality," at

S. Vincent, Rouen, is pictured in a medley of little figures each with

descriptive label--"Richesse," for example, a lady in gorgeous golden

array; "Pitie," a matron of sober aspect; "Les Riches Ingrass," a group

of gay young men; "Le Riche" and "Le Poure," alike pursued by death.

Another decorative device of the sixteenth century is the Virgin,

lifesize, surrounded by her emblems and little white scrolls describing

them--"Fons ortorum," "Sivit as Dei," and so on, in oddly spelt Latin.

This occurs at Conches.

In Later Gothic, and of course in Renaissance glass, the situation is,

if not realised, at all events dramatically treated. One scarcely knows

to which period to attribute the window at S. Patrice, Rouen, with

scenes from the life of S. Louis, an admirably sober and serious piece

of work. Conspicuous in it is the recurring mantle of the King, deep

indigo coloured, embroidered with golden _fleurs-de-lys_, on an

inky-blue ground. The whole effect is rich but strikingly low in tone.

An exceptionally fine scene is that in which the King, in a golden boat

with white sails, ermine diapered, a crown upon his head, kneels in

prayer before a little crucifix, whilst his one companion lifts up his

hands in terror: the man is clad in green; for the rest the colour is

sombre, only the pale blue armour of the Saint, his dark blue cloak, for

once undiapered--as if the artist felt that here the golden lilies would

be out of place--and the leaden sea around: that extends to the very top

of the picture, distant ships painted upon it to indicate that it is

water. An inscription explains how:--

"En revenant du pays de Syrie

En mer fut tourmente ... gde furie

Mais en priant Jesu Christ il en fut delivré."

It must be allowed that the storm does not rage very terrifically; but

the effect is not merely beautiful as colour but really descriptive, and

something more.

It is only occasionally that this much of dramatic effect is produced;

but touches of well-studied realism are common, as where, in the same

church, at the martyrdom of a saint, the executioners who feed the fire

shrink from the yellow flames and guard their eyes.

Decorative treatment goes almost without saying in the early sixteenth

century. At S. Patrice, again, is a singularly fine instance of that. In

the centre of the window, against a background of forest, with the

distant hunt in full cry, S. Eustache stands entranced, his richly clad

figure a focus of bright colour; facing him, in the one light, the

legendary stag, enclosing between its antlers the vision of the

crucifix, balanced, in the other, by the white horse of the convert: the

note of white is repeated in the lithe hounds running through the three

lights, and, with the silvery trunks of the trees, holds the composition

together. This subject of the Conversion of S. Hubert was rather a

favourite one in glass, and was usually well treated. The stag is

invaluable. At Erfurth he stands against the green, a mass of yellow,

with purple antlers, which form a vesica-shaped frame for the fabled

vision.

The use of white, by the way, as a means of holding the window together

is remarkable throughout Later glass, even apart from white canopy work.

In the cathedral at Perugia there is a window in which a stream of white

pavement flows, as it were, down through the groups of richly coloured

figures, emphasising them, and at the same time connecting them with the

canopy.

There is no end to the interest of subject in glass; but the subject

would lead us too far astray from the purpose of this book. Enough has

been said to indicate the kind of interest which each of us best finds

for himself in glass hunting.

CHAPTER XXXI.

HOW TO SEE WINDOWS.

The just appreciation of stained glass is more than difficult, and

judgment with regard to it more than ordinarily fallible. It is too much

to expect of a window that it should stand the test of a light for which

it was not designed. The most conscientious artist can do no more than

design it for the light by which he imagines it is most likely to be

seen. There must inevitably be times of day, when the sun is in a

position not favourable to it, and many days when the intensity of the

light, even though it come from the right quarter, is not what he relied

upon. It happens, of course, that glass is often seen under such

conditions that the brilliancy of the windows on one side of the church

is literally put out by a flood of light poured in upon them through the

windows (brilliantly illuminated by it) on the opposite side. The best

of critics could not appreciate the best of glass under circumstances

like that.

Suppose the windows north and south of a church to be of equal merit,

one's appreciation of them, at first sight, would depend upon the time

of day; and the light which did most justice to the northern windows

would do least to the southern, and _vice versâ_. Experience teaches a

man to make allowances, but he can only judge what he has seen; and it

is only with the light shining through a window that he can see its

colour or judge of its effect.

The wonderful difference which the strength of the light makes in the

appearance of a window, is nowhere quite so obvious as in the case of

windows, not of glass, but of translucent alabaster--as, for example, at

Orvieto, in the lower lights on either side of the nave, or, framed in

black marble mullions, at the West end of the cathedral. The more or

less square-shaped slabs of which they are formed are, in very many

cases, made up of a number of pieces cemented together in lines which

take very much the place of lead lines, and suggest, with the bars

holding them in place, the practice of the glazier; but the effect is

much less that of glass than of deepest amber in the unbroken panels, of

gorgeous tortoise-shell in those that are patched and pieced together.

These last are, if not the more beautiful, certainly the more

interesting. The brown and gold and horny-white grow murkier when the

light does not shine full upon the windows; but there is a mystery about

the colour still, which makes up for the loss of brilliancy. If your

mood is that way, you may find in the curious marbling of the stone

strange pictures of cloudland and fantastic landscape. It is partly the

shape, no doubt, of a circular slab high above the western door, which

calls to mind the image of the moon with its mysterious mountains.

A more delicate, if not always so rich an effect, is to be seen in the

great monolithic slabs which fill the five square-headed windows in the

apse of the upper church at S. Miniato. Effect, did I say? Nay, rather

effects, for they change with every gradation in the light. You may see

at first little more than flat surfaces of pleasantly mottled white and

purple-grey, translucent, but comparatively dull and dead. Then, as the

sun creeps round the corner, a strange life comes into them. The white

and palest greys begin to glow, and turn by slow degrees to pearly-pink,

which kindles into gold, and deepens in the duskier parts to copper-red.

The stronger markings of the stone now show out in unsuspected strength,

and the lighter veins take on by contrast a greenish tint, so that the

warm colour is subtly shot with its cool counterpart. If, when you first

see the windows, the sun illumines them, the effect is less magical; you

get your strongest impression first; but in the course of an hour or so

a great change may take place--when, for example, towards noon the light

passes away; but for a long while the stone remains luminous. Your eyes

are open now, and in the delicate ashen-grey you see--or is it that you

feel it to be there?--a tint of rose.

In proportion as it is less opaque than alabaster, glass is less

perceptibly affected by changes of light; but, whether we perceive it or

not, it owes all its effect to the light shining through it. The most

fair-minded of us misjudge windows because we cannot see them often

enough to be quite sure we have seen them at their best--that is to say,

on the right day, and at the right time of day.

In comparing one window with another we are more than ever likely to do

injustice. Even if they happen to be both in the same church, the light

most favourable to the one may, as just said, be quite the least

favourable to the other. Each must in fairness be judged at its best;

and it is no easy matter to compare to-day's impression with

yesterday's, or it may be last week's--more especially when a newer

impression of the same thing, staring you in the face, will stamp itself

upon the vision. When years, instead of days, intervene, the justice of

even the most retentive memory is open to gravest doubt.

Go to the church of S. Alpin, at Châlons, and in the morning you will

find the East windows brilliantly rich: in the early afternoon, even of

a bright day, they will be lacking in transparency, dull, ineffective.

So at S. Sebald's, Nuremberg, the splendid fourteenth century glass on

the north side of the choir proves absolutely obscure in the late

afternoon. Grisaille, which was delicate under a moderately subdued

light, will appear thin and flimsy with a strong sun behind it. It has

happened to me to describe the same glass on one occasion as too

heavily, on another as too thinly painted; and, again, to describe a

window as warm in tone which memory (and my notes) had painted cool. On

another occasion, well-remembered windows were not to be identified

again. It seemed that in the course of a few intervening years they must

have been restored out of all knowledge; a few hours later in the day

there was no mistaking them, though they had, indeed, lost something by

restoration.

When the most careful and deliberate notes tell such different, and

indeed quite opposite, stories, notes made at times not far enough apart

to allow for anything like a complete change of opinion on the part of

the critic, it is clear that conditions of light go so far towards the

effect of glass, that it is quite impossible to appraise it fairly the

first time one sees it. The more momentary the impression on which one

has to found an opinion, the more essential it is that we should choose

the moment. The strongest light is by no means the most favourable to

glass. In a glare of sunlight it is quite probable that some unhappy

windows will have more light shining upon than comes through the glass.

Happiest are the windows seen by "the subdued light of a rainy day."

Occasionally a window, so deep that under ordinary conditions of light

it is obscure, may need the strongest possible illumination; but even

in the case of very deep-toned windows--such, for example, as those in

the transepts of the Duomo at Florence--the glass, as a whole, is best

seen by a sober light. You get the maximum of colour effect with the

minimum of hurt to any individual window, if there be any hurt at all. A

really garish window may be beautiful as the light wanes. The great

North Rose at Notre Dame (Paris) is impressive at dusk.

Other conditions upon which the effect of glass largely depends are

quite beyond our control. As a matter of fact, we rarely see it at its

best. For one thing, we do not see it in sufficient quantity. We find it

in here and there a window only, white light shining unmitigated from

windows all round. Perhaps in the window itself there is a breakage, and

a stream of light pours through it, spoiling, if not its beauty, all

enjoyment of it. It is not generally understood how completely the

effect of glass depends upon the absence of light other than that which

comes through it. Every ray of light which penetrates into a building

excepting through the stained glass does injury to the coloured window;

more often than not, therefore, we see it under most adverse

circumstances. It is worse than hearing a symphony only in snatches; it

is rather as if a more powerful orchestra were all the while drowning

the sound. It takes an expert to appreciate glass when light is

reflected upon it from all sides. The effect of some of the finest glass

in Germany, as at Munich and Nuremberg, is seriously marred by a wicked

German practice of filling only the lower half of the window with

coloured glass and glazing the upper part in white rounds. That enables

folk to read their Bibles, no doubt; but the volume of crude white light

above goes far to kill the colour of the glass. In such case it is not

until you have shut off the offending light that it is possible to

enjoy, or even to appreciate, the windows.

A comparatively dark church is essential to the perfect enjoyment of

rich glass. The deep red light-absorbing sandstone of which Strassburg

and Shrewsbury Cathedrals are built, adds immensely to the brilliancy of

their beautiful glass.

White light is the most cruel, but not the only, offender. Old glass

sometimes quarrels with old glass. An Early window is made to look heavy

by a quantity of Late work about it, and a Late window pales in the

presence of deep rich Early glass. As for modern work, it is that which

suffers most by comparison with old; but it arouses often a feeling of

irritation in us which puts us out of the mood to enjoy.

Worst offence of all is that done in the name of restoration, where,

inextricably mixed up with old work, is modern forgery; not clever

enough to pass for old, but sufficiently like it to cast a doubt upon

the genuine work, at the same time that it quite destroys its beauty.

Something of our appreciation depends upon the frame of mind in which we

come to the windows. They may be one of the sights of the place; but the

sight-seeing mood is not the one in which to appreciate. How often can

the tourist sit down in a church with the feeling that he has all the

day before him, and can give himself up to the enjoyment of the glass,

wait till it has something to say to him? A man has not seen glass when

he has walked round the church, with one eye upon it and the other on

his watch, not even though he may have made a note or two concerning it.

You must give yourself up to it, or it will never give up to you the

secret of its charm.

CHAPTER XXXII.

WINDOWS WORTH SEEING.

The course of the glass hunter seems never yet to have been clearly

mapped out for him. Nor can he depend upon those who pretend to direct

his steps. The enthusiastic description of the monograph proves in the

event to have very likely no warrant of art; the paragraph in the

guide-book is so cold as to excite no spark of curiosity about what may

be worth every effort to see. Between the two a beginner stands

uncertain which way to turn, and as often as not goes astray.

The question which perplexes him on the very outskirts of the subject

is: Which are the windows to see? That depends. Some there are which

every one who cares at all about glass should certainly see, some which

the student who really wants to know should study, some which the artist

should see, if merely for the satisfaction of his colour sense. To

enumerate only a single class of these would be to write a catalogue;

but catalogues are hard reading; the more interesting and more helpful

course will be, to tell shortly of some of the windows best worth

seeing, and why they should be seen. And if choice be made of instances

typical enough to illustrate the history of glass, the list may serve as

an itinerary to such as may think it worth while to study it, as it

should be studied, not in books, but in churches.

[Illustration: 251. GRISAILLE PATTERNS, SALISBURY.]

Churches favourable to the study of Early glass in England are not very

many. A series of thirteenth century windows is rare; and good examples,

such as the fragments from the S. Chapelle, at South Kensington, are few

and far between. The one fine series of medallion windows is at

Canterbury Cathedral, in the round-headed lights of the choir. In the

clerestory also is some figure work, on a larger scale, but less

admirable of its kind. For good thirteenth century grisaille in any

considerable quantity one must go to Salisbury, where, fortunately, the

aisle windows are near enough to the eye to show the very characteristic

patterns of the glass. To sit there in the nave and wait until

service is over, is no hardship even to the most ardent glass hunter.

The silvery light from the windows facing him at the East end of the

aisles is solace and delight enough. Yet more enchanting is the pale

beauty of the Five slim Sisters, in the North transept of York Minster;

that, however, is gained, to some extent, by the confusion of the

pattern, which is not quite typically Early, but begins to show symptoms

of a transition stage in design.

To appreciate at its full value the stronger colour of the Early mosaic

glass one must cross the Channel. We have nothing in this country to

compare in quantity, and therefore for effect, with the gorgeous glass

illuminating the great French churches. Reims, for example, Bourges, Le

Mans, are perfect treasure houses of jewelled light. But richer than all

is Chartres. The windows there are less conveniently placed for study

than at Le Mans, but they are grander, and more in number. At Reims the

art is coarser, though the magnificence of certain red windows there

lives in the memory. Emphatically Chartres is the place to know and

appreciate thirteenth century glass. No other great church of the period

retains so much of its original glazing; and since it is one of the

largest, and the glass is very much of one period, it follows that no

church contains so much Early glass. The impression it produces is the

more pronounced that there is little else. Except for a modern window or

two, one Late Gothic window, and some four or five lights of grisaille,

which belong to the second period, the glass throughout this vast

building is typically Early. It is well worth a pilgrimage to Chartres

only to see it. You may wander about the church for hours at a time,

unravelling the patterns of the windows, and puzzling out the subjects

of the medallion pictures. To sit there in more restful mood upon some

summer afternoon, when the light is softened by a gentle fall of rain,

is to be thrilled by the beauty of it all. It is as though, in a dream,

you found yourself in some huge cavern, lit only by the light of jewels,

myriads of them gleaming darkly through the gloom. It is difficult to

imagine anything more mysterious, solemn, or impressive. Yes, Chartres

is the place in which to be penetrated by the spirit of Early mediæval

glass. There is a story told of a child sitting for the first time in

his life in some French church, awed by the great Rose window facing

him, when all at once the organ burst into music; and it seemed to him,

he said, as if the window spoke. Words could not better express than

that the powerful impression of Early mosaic glass, the solemnity of its

beauty, the way it belongs to the grandeur of the great church, the

something deep in us vibrating in answer to it.

Exceptionally interesting Early glass is to be found in the cathedral of

Poitiers; but it is hurt by the white light from other windows. In the

case of Early coloured windows it is more than ever true that their

intensity can only be appreciated when all the light in the building

comes through them. That intensity, as was said, is deepened where, as

at Strassburg, the colour of the walls absorbs instead of reflecting

light. There the red sandstone of which the church is built gives back

so little light that, as you enter the door, you step from sunshine into

twilight, in which the glass shines doubly glorious. Some of these

(certain of the Kings, for example, on the north side of the nave, each

with its huge nimbus eddying, as it were, ring by ring of colour, out to

the margin of the niche) are of the thirteenth if not of the twelfth

century; but they are typical of no period. The borders framing them are

perhaps a century later than the figures. Indeed, the period of this

glass is most perplexing to the student of style, until he realises

that, after the great fire at the very end of the thirteenth century,

remains of earlier glass, spared from the wreck, were incorporated with

the newer work. And, not only this, but, what was rare in mediæval days,

the fourteenth century designer, in his endeavour to harmonise, as he

most successfully did, the old work with the new, gave to his own work a

character which was not of his period,--much to the mystification of the

student, who too readily imagines that he cannot go far wrong in

attributing to the glass in a church a date posterior to its

construction.

The cathedral at Strassburg is rich also in distinctly Decorated glass,

to all of which the tourist pays no heed. He goes there to see the

clock. If he should have a quarter of an hour to spare before noon--at

which hour the cock crows and the church is shut--he allows himself to

be driven by the verger, with the rest of the crowd, into the transept,

and penned up there until the silly performance begins. To hear folk

talk of the thing afterwards at the _table d'hôte_ you might fancy that

Erwin Von Steinbach had built his masterpiece just to house this rickety

piece of mock old mechanism.

Some of the most interesting glass of the Middle Gothic period is to be

found in Germany, for tradition died hard there; and, whilst thirteenth

century glass was more often Romanesque than Gothic in character, that

of the fourteenth often followed closely the traditions of earlier

Gothic workmanship. The Germans excelled especially in foliage design,

which they treated in a manner of their own. It was neither very deep in

colour nor grisaille, but midway between the two. The glass at

Regensburg is an exceedingly good instance of this treatment; but

instances of it are to be found also in the Museum at Munich, very

conveniently placed for the purposes of study. The windows at Freiburg

in the Black Forest should also be seen. But some of the very richest

figure work of the period is to be found in the choir windows of S.

Sebald's Church, at Nuremberg. Except for the simplicity of their lines

these are not striking in design; but the colour is perhaps deeper in

tone than in the very richest of thirteenth century glass. The first

impression is that the composition is entirely devoid of white glass;

but there proves to be a very small amount of horny-tinted material

which may be supposed to answer to that description. As the light fades

towards evening these windows become dull and heavy; but on a bright day

the intensity of their richness is unsurpassed. They have a quality

which one associates rather with velvet than with glass.

[Illustration: 252. 14TH CENTURY GERMAN GLASS.]

Excellent Decorated glass, and a great quantity of it, is to be found at

Evreux, and again at Troyes. The clerestory of the choir at Tours is

most completely furnished with rich Early Decorated glass of

transitional character--interesting on that account, and, at the same

time, most beautiful to see. There is other Decorated work there with

which it is convenient to compare it, together with earlier and later

work more or less worth seeing. Again most interesting work, but not

much of it, and that rather fragmentary, is to be found at the church of

S. Radegonde, at Poitiers; but there was in France at about that time

rather a lull in glass painting. In England, on the contrary, there is

an abundance of it. There is good work in the choir of Wells Cathedral.

Part of it is in a rather fragmentary condition, but it is all very much

of a period; and there is enough of it to give a fair idea of what

English Decorated glass is like. York Minster is rich in it. It is quite

an object lesson in style to go straight from the contemplation of the

Five Sisters, which belong to the latter part of the Early period of

glass painting, into the neighbouring vestibule of the Chapter House,

where the windows are of the early years of the Second Period, and

thence to the Chapter House itself, where they are typically Decorated.

The study of Decorated glass can be continued in the nave again, which

is filled with it. Entering, then, the choir, you find mainly

Perpendicular glass, much of it typical of English work of the Late

Gothic period.

Other very beautiful Late Gothic work is to be found in some of the

smaller churches of York, such as All Saints'. There is a window there

made up of fragments of old glass, among which are some very delicately

painted and really beautiful heads. This work is all characteristically

English. English also is the glass in the Priory Church at Great

Malvern. There is a vast quantity of it, too, which adds to its effect;

but unfortunately, a great part of it now fills windows for which it was

obviously not designed. This is the more unfortunate because, where it

has not been disturbed, it shows unmistakable evidence of having been

very carefully designed for its place. The tracery of the great East

window is, for example, an admirable instance of the just balance

between white and colour so characteristic of later Gothic glass. Again,

the Creation window, amongst others, is a lesson in delicate glass

painting.

[Illustration: 253. FAIRFORD.]

Distinctly English in the delicacy of their painting are, again, the

windows in the church of S. Mary, Ross. The far-famed windows of

Fairford are, of course, not English. They were captured, the story

goes, at sea, and brought to Gloucestershire, where a Perpendicular

church was built to accommodate them. English antiquaries make claim

that they are English, but internal evidence shows them to be Flemish or

German. Considerable notoriety attaches to the Fairford windows owing to

a theory which was at one time propounded to the effect that they were

designed by Albert Dürer. The theory is now as dead as a back number,

but the notoriety remains--and not undeservedly; for although this glass

stands by no means alone, and is distinctly second to some contemporary

work (such, for example, as that on the north side of the nave of

Cologne Cathedral, which Dürer might conceivably have designed), it is

remarkably fine; and it enjoys the comparatively rare distinction of

practically filling the windows of the church. You not only, therefore,

see the colour (which, rather than the painting, is its charm) at its

best, but you have a complete scheme of decoration--Type answering to

Anti-type, the Twelve Apostles corresponding to the Prophets, the

Evangelists to the Four Fathers, and again the Saints opposed to the

Persecutors of the Church. Most old glass owes something to the

disintegration of its surface, and the consequent refraction of the

light transmitted through it. In the Fairford glass the colours are more

than usually mellow. The white, in particular, is stained to every

variety of green and grey--the colour, as it proves, of the minute

growth of lichen with which it is overgrown. It is said that, when the

fury of iconoclasm was abroad, this glass was buried out of harm's way;

which may possibly have hastened the decay of the glass, and so have

given root-hold for the growth which now glorifies it.

It would not be easy to find finer instances of Late Gothic German work

than the five great windows on the North side of Cologne Cathedral.

There, too, one has only to turn right-about-face to compare early

sixteenth century with nineteenth century German practice, and on

precisely the same scale, too. Any one who could hesitate for an instant

to choose between them, has everything yet to learn in regard both to

glass and to colour. The garish modern transparencies show, by their

obvious shortcomings, the consummate accomplishment of the later Gothic

glass painters.

There is a very remarkable late Gothic Jesse window in the Lorenz Kirche

at Nuremberg, and another almost equal to it in the cathedral at Ulm.

The Tree of Jesse is very differently, but certainly not less

beautifully, rendered in the fine West window at Alençon.

In most of the great French churches, and in many of the smaller ones,

you find good fifteenth century work. At Bourges you have seven

four-light windows and one larger one, all fairly typical. The best of

them is in the chapel of Jacques Coeur, the Jack that built at Bourges

quite one of the most remarkable of mediæval houses extant. But there is

no one church which recurs before all others to the memory when one

thinks of Late Gothic glass in France. One remembers more readily

certain superlative instances, such as the flamboyant Rose window at the

West end of S. Maclou, at Rouen, a wonder of rich colour, or the Western

Rose in the cathedral there. The fact is, that the spirit of the

Renaissance begins early in the sixteenth century to creep into French

work; and, as glass painting arrives at its perfection, it betrays very

often signs of going over to the new manner. This is peculiarly the case

in that part of France which lies just this side of the Alps; so much

so, that a markedly mixed style is commonly accepted as "Burgundian."

This is most apparent in the beautiful church of Brou, a marvel of

fanciful Gothic, florid, of course, after the manner of the Early

sixteenth century, extreme in its ornamentation, but, for all but the

purist, extremely beautiful. The church itself is as rich as a jewel by

Cellini, and infinitely more interesting; and the glass is worthy of its

unique setting.

There is a very remarkable series of windows to see in the cathedral at

Auch, all of a period, all by one man, filling all the eighteen windows

of the choir ambulatory. Transition is everywhere apparent in them,

though perhaps one would not have placed them quite so early as 1513,

the date ascribed to them. A notable thing about the work is its scale,

which is much larger than is usual in French glass of that period.

Nowhere will you find windows more simply and largely designed or more

broadly treated. Nowhere will you find big Renaissance canopies richer

in colour or more interesting in design. The fifty or more rather

fantastically associated Prophets, Patriarchs, Sibyls, and Apostles

depicted, form, with the architecture about them and the tracery above,

quite remarkable compositions of colour. And it is very evident that the

colour of each window has been thought out as a whole. There is not one

of these windows which is not worth seeing. They form collectively a

most important link in the chain of style, without, however, belonging

to any marked period. Indeed, they stand rather by themselves as

examples of very Early Renaissance work, aiming at broad effects of

strong colour (quite opposite from what one rather expects of sixteenth

century French work), and reaching it. And though the artist works

almost entirely in mosaic--using coloured glass, that is to say, instead

of pigment--and depends less than usual upon painting, he yet lays his

colour about the window in a remarkably painter-like way.

There are noteworthy windows at Châlons-sur-Marne, in the churches of

SS. Madelaine and Joseph, which can be claimed neither as Gothic nor

Renaissance, details of each period occurring side by side in the same

window. At the church of S. Alpin at Châlons is a series of picture

windows in grisaille, not often met with, and very well worth seeing.

Early sixteenth century glass is so abundant that it is hopeless to

specify churches. Nowhere is the transition period better represented

than at Rouen, and, for that matter, the Early Renaissance too. The

church of S. Vincent contains no less than thirteen windows, with

subjects biblical or allegorical, but always strikingly rich in colour.

The choir is, you may say, an architectural frame to a series of glass

pictures second to few of their period, and so nearly all of a period as

to give one an excellent impression of it: the brilliancy of the colour,

the silveriness of the white glass, and the delicacy of the landscape

backgrounds is typical. Scarcely less interesting is the abundant glass

in the church of S. Patrice, which carries us well into the middle of

the sixteenth century and beyond; so that Rouen is an excellent place in

which to study all but Early glass: there is not much of that to speak

of there. Two exceptionally fine Renaissance windows are to be found in

the church of S. Godard; and there are others well worth seeing whilst

you are in Rouen, if not in every case worth going there to see, in the

churches of S. Romain, S. Nicaise, S. Vivien, in addition to S. Ouen, S.

Maclou, and the cathedral.

Yet finer Renaissance work is to be found at Beauvais--finer, that is to

say, in design. One is reminded there sometimes of Raffaelle, who

furnished designs for the tapestries for which the town was famous;

these may very well have inspired the glass painters; but there is not

at Beauvais the quantity of work which one finds at Rouen. The very

perfection of workmanship is to be seen also in the windows at

Montmorency and Ecouen (both within a very short distance of Paris);

but, on the whole, this most interesting glass hardly comes up to what

one might imagine it to be from the reproductions in M. Magne's most

sumptuous monograph.

In a certain sense also the windows at Conches, in Normandy, are a

disappointment. In a series of windows designed by Aldegrever one

expects to find abundant ornament; and there is practically none. What

little there is, is like enough to his work to be possibly by him; but

one feels that Heinrich Aldegrever, if he had had his way, would have

lavished upon them a wealth of ornamental detail, which would have made

them much more certainly his than, as it is, internal evidence proves

them to be. It would hardly have occurred to any one, apart from the

name in one of the windows, to attribute them to this greatest

ornamentist among the Little Masters. It is only the ornamentist who is

disappointed, however, not the glass hunter. It is an experience to have

visited a church like Conches, simple, well proportioned, dignified;

where, as you enter from the West (and the few modern windows are

hidden), you see one expanse of good glass, of a good period, not much

hurt by restoration. The effect is singularly one. You come away not

remembering so much the glass, or any particular window, as the

satisfactory impression of it all--an impression which inclines you to

put down the date of a pilgrimage to Conches as a red-letter day in your

glass-hunting experiences.

There is magnificent Renaissance glass in Flanders, and especially at

Liège, in which, for the most part, Gothic tradition lingers. Most

beautiful is the great window in the South transept of the cathedral.

The radiance of the scene in which the Coronation of the Virgin is laid,

reminds one of nothing less than a gorgeous golden sunset, which grows

more mellow towards evening when the light is low. In the choir of S.

Jacques there are no less than five tall three-light windows, by no

means so impressive as the glass at the cathedral, but probably only

less worthy of study because they have suffered more restoration. The

seven long two-light windows at S. Martin, though less well-known, are

at least as good as these. In most of them may be seen the decorative

use of heraldry as a framework to figure subjects, characteristic of

German and Flemish work. Very much of this character is the glass from

Herkenrode, which now occupies the seven easternmost windows of the Lady

Chapel in Lichfield Cathedral. They are pictorial, but the pictures are

glass pictures, depending upon colour for their effect; and they are

really admirable specimens of the more glass-like manner of the Early

Flemish Renaissance. There is in the three windows at the East end of

Hanover Square Church, London, some equally admirable glass, which must

once have belonged to a fine Jesse window; but it has suffered too much

in its adaptation to its present position to be of great interest to any

but those who know something about glass.

All this work is in marked contrast to the not much later Flemish glass

at Brussels--the two great transept windows, and those in the Chapel of

the Holy Sacrament at S. Gudule, to which reference is made at length in

Chapter VII. They are windows which must be seen. They are at once the

types, and the best examples, of the glass painter's new departure in

the direction of light and shade. On the other hand, the large East

window at S. Margaret's, Westminster (Dutch, it is said, of about the

same date), has not the charm of the period, and must not be taken to

represent it fairly.

The brilliant achievements of William of Marseilles at Arezzo, and the

extraordinarily rich windows in the Duomo at Florence, have been

discussed at some length (pages 248, 268). They should be seen by any

one pretending to some acquaintance with what has been done in glass.

Other Florentine windows worthy of mention are, the Western Rose at S.

Maria Novella, and the great round window over the West door at S.

Croce, ascribed to Ghiberti. The transept window in SS. Giovanni e Paolo

at Venice does not come up to its reputation. It is in a miserable

condition, and as to its authorship (whence its reputation), you have

only to compare it with the S. Augustine picture, which hangs close by,

to see that it is not by the same hand. One of the multitudinous

Vivarini may very likely have had a hand in it, but certainly not

Bartolomeo. His manner, even in his pictures, was more restrained than

that. There are a number of fine windows in the nave of Milan Cathedral,

two at least in which the composition of red and blue is a joy to see.

Earlier Italian glass is of less importance; the windows at Assisi, for

example, are interesting rather than remarkable. They show a distinctly

Italian rendering of Gothic, which is of course not quite Gothic; but to

the designer they indicate trials in design, which might possibly with

advantage be carried farther.

[Illustration: 254. RAISING OF LAZARUS, AREZZO.]

By far the most comprehensive series of Renaissance windows in this

country is in King's College Chapel, Cambridge. In the matter of dignity

and depth of colour, the small amount of rather earlier glass in the

outer chapel holds its own; but the thing to see, of course, is the

array of windows, twenty-three of them, all of great size, within the

choir screen. It flatters national vanity, though it may not show great

critical acumen, to ascribe them to English hands. Evidently many hands

were employed, some much more expert than others. It seems there is

documentary evidence to show that the contracts for them (1516-1526)

were undertaken by Englishmen. Very possibly they were executed in

England, and even, as it is said they were, in London. That they were

not painted by the men who drew them, or even by painters in touch with

the draughtsmen, is indicated by such accidents as the yellow-haired,

white-faced negro, of pronounced African type, among the adoring Magi.

It is as clear that the painter had never seen a black man as that the

draughtsman had drawn his Gaspar from the life. Certain of the accessory

scroll-bearing figures, which keep, as it were, ornamental guard between

the pictures, might possibly have been designed by Holbein, who is

reported to have had a hand in the scheme; but they are at least as

likely to be the handiwork of men unknown to fame. But, no matter who

designed the glass, it is on a grand scale, and largely designed. It is

not, however, a model of the fit treatment of glass, though it belongs

to the second quarter of the sixteenth century. For the designers have

been more than half afraid to use leading enough to bind the glass well

together, and have been at quite unnecessary pains to do without lead

lines. The windows vary, too, in merit; and they bear evidence, if only

in the repetition of sundry stock figures, of haste in production.

Still, they have fine qualities of design and colour, and they are, on

the whole, glass-like as well as delightful pictures. We have nothing to

compare with them in their way.

To see how far pictorial glass painting can be carried, go to Holland.

No degree of familiarity with old glass quite prepares one for the kind

of thing which has made the humdrum market town of Gouda famous. Imagine

a big, bare, empty church with some thirty or more huge windows, mostly

of six lights, seldom less than five-and-twenty feet in height, all

filled with great glass pictures, some of them filling the whole window,

and designed to suggest that you see the scene through the window arch.

They do not, of course, quite give that impression, but it is marvellous

how near they go to doing it. No wonder the painters have won the

applause due to their daring no less than to what they have done. Any

one appreciating the qualities of glass, and realising what can best be

done in it, is disposed at first to resent the popularity of this

scene-painting in glass;--one measures a work naturally by the standard

of its fame;--but a workman's very appreciation of technique must, in

the end, commend to him this masterly glass painting. For the Crabeth

Brothers, their pupils, and coadjutors, were not only artists of

wonderful capacity, daring what only great artists can dare, but they

had the fortune to live at a time when the traditions of their art had

not yet been cast to the winds. Though working during the latter half of

the sixteenth century, they were the direct descendants of the men who

had raised glass painting to the point of perfection, and they inherited

from their forbears much that they could not unlearn. Ambitious as they

might be, and impatient of restraint, they could not quite emancipate

themselves from the prejudices in which they were brought up. More than

a spark of the old fire lay smouldering still in the kiln of the glass

painter, and it flared up at Gouda, brilliantly illuminating the

declining years of the century, and of the art which may be said to have

flickered out after that.

This last expiring effort in glass painting counts for more, in that it

is the doing not only of strong men but of men who knew their trade. It

is extremely interesting to trace the work of the individual artists

employed; which a little book published at Gouda, and translated into

most amusing English, enables one to do. Dirk Crabeth's work is

pre-eminent for dignity of design, his figures are well composed, and

his colour is rich; although in the rendering of architectural interiors

he falls into the mud, that is to say, into the prevailing Netherlandish

opacity of paint. His brother Walter has not such a heavy hand; he

excels in architectural distance, as Dirk does in landscape; and his

work is generally bright and sparkling, not so strong as his brother's,

but more delicate. Their pupils, too, do them credit, though they lack

taste. Among the other more or less known artists who took part in the

glass, Lambrecht van Ort distinguishes himself in canopy work, as a

painter-architect might be expected to do; Adrian de Vrije and N.

Johnson delight also in architecture, Wilhelmus Tibault and Cornelius

Clok in landscape. Clok and Tibault compete in colour with the Crabeths,

and go beyond them in originality.

Description of this unrivalled collection of later Dutch glass painting,

except on the spot, is as hopeless as it would be dull. The windows must

be seen. The men were artists and craftsmen, and their work is truly

wonderful. Who shall attempt what these men failed to do? That is the

moral of it.

[Illustration: 255. THE VIRGIN, S. MARTIN-ÈS-VIGNES, TROYES.]

The only other place where later glass is of sufficient worth to make it

worth seeing, the only place where Seventeenth century work arouses

much interest, is Troyes. There is a quantity of it in the churches of

S. Nizier, S. Pantaleon, and in the cathedral, attributed, for the most

part, to Linard Gontier, who is certainly responsible for some of the

best of it. But it is in the church of S. Martin-ès-Vignes, in the

outskirts of the town, that it is to be appreciated _en masse_. There

you may see some hundred and ten lights in all, executed during the

first forty years of the seventeenth century. This is the place to study

the decline and fall of glass painting--a melancholy sort of

satisfaction. Here more thoroughly than ever must be realised how

hopeless it is to evade in glass the glazier's part of the business; how

powerless enamel is to produce effect; how weak, poor, lacking in

limpidity and lustre, its colour is--and this even in the hands of an

artist born, one may say, after his time. Gonthier was an incomparable

glass painter. He could produce with a wash of pigment effects which

lesser men could only get by laborious stippling and scratching; he

could float enamel on to glass with a dexterity which enabled him to get

something like colour in it; but he was not a colourist, nor yet,

probably, a designer. The difference in the work attributed to him, and

the style of his design (which is sometimes that of an earlier and

better day) lead one rather to suppose that he adapted or adopted the

designs of his predecessors as suited his convenience.

To see what glass painting came to in the eighteenth century you cannot

do better than go to Oxford. You have there the design of no less a man

than Sir Joshua Reynolds, painted by one of the best china painters of

his day. None but a china painter, by the way, could be found to do it.

It is not unfair, therefore, to compare this masterpiece of its poor

period with the rude work of the fourteenth century, done by no one

knows whom. And what do we find? Conspicuous before us is the great West

window, which might as well have been painted on linen, so little of the

translucency of glass is there left in it. It in no way lessens the

credit of the great portrait painter that he knew nothing of the

capacities of glass; that was not his _métier_. And there was no one to

advise him wisely in the matter. But the result is disastrous. The

beauty of his drawing--and there is charm at least in the figures of the

Virtues--counts for little, as compared with the dulness of it all. It

has neither the colour of mosaic glass nor the sparkle of grisaille.

The white is obscured by masses of heavy paint, which, when the sun

shines very brightly behind it, kindles at best into a foxy-brown; and

even this is in danger of peeling off, and showing the poverty of the

glass it was meant to enrich. Any pictorial effect it might have had is

ruined by the leads and bars, which assert themselves in the most

uncompromising manner. In short, the qualities of oil painting aimed at

are altogether missed, and the facilities which glass offered are not so

much as sought.

It is no hardship to turn your back upon such poor stuff. And there,

high up on the other side, are seven great Gothic windows. These are by

no means of the best period. The design consists largely of canopy work,

never profoundly interesting; the figures are, at the best, rudely

drawn; some of them are even grotesquely awkward. Their heads are too

large by half, their hands and feet flattened out in the familiar,

childish, mediæval way. In all the sixty-four figures there is not one

that can be called beautiful. Yet for all that, there is a dignity in

them which the graceful Virtues lack. They are designed, moreover, with

a large sense of decoration. The balance of white and colour is just

perfect, and the way the patches of deep colour are embedded, as it

were, in grisaille, is skilful in the extreme. To compare them with the

futile effort of the eighteenth century, opposite, is to apprehend what

can be done in glass, and what cannot. The whole secret of the success

of the mere craftsman where the great painter failed, is that he knew

what to seek in glass,--colour, brilliancy, decorative breadth. He not

only knew what to do, but how to do it; and he did it in the manliest

and most straightforward way. Rude though the work, it fits its place,

fulfils its function, adorns the architecture, gives grandeur to it.

What more can you ask?

Domestic glass, such as that in which the Swiss excelled (window panes,

many of them, rather than windows), is best studied in museums, whither

most of it has drifted. There is no national collection without good

examples. Better or more accessible it would be difficult to find than

those in the quiet little museum at Lucerne--so quiet that, if you spend

a morning there, studying them, you become yourself, by reason of your

long stay, an object of interest. So little attention do these

masterpieces in miniature glass painting attract, that the guardians do

not expect any one to give them more than a passing glance; but they

leave you, happily, quite free to pursue your harmless, if inexplicable,

bent.

The list of windows worth seeing is by no means exhausted. In many a

town, as at York, Tours, Troyes, Evreux, Bourges, Rouen, Nuremberg,

Cologne, and in many a single church, you may find the whole course of

glass painting, from the thirteenth to the sixteenth century, more or

less completely illustrated; and, where that is so, of course one period

throws light upon another. But the impression is always stronger when

the century has left its mark upon the church.

Not until you have a clear idea of the characteristics of style, can you

sort out for yourself the various specimens, which occur in anything but

historic sequence in the churches where they are to be found. Having

arrived at understanding enough to do that, you will need no further

guidance, and may go a-hunting for yourself. To the glass hunter there

are almost everywhere windows worth seeing.

CHAPTER XXXIII.

A WORD ON RESTORATION.

If old windows have suffered at the hands of time, they have also

gained, apart from sentiment, a tone and quality which the glass had not

when it was new.

Their arch-enemy is the restorer, at whose hands they have suffered

cruel and irreparable wrong. He is the thief who has robbed so much old

glass of its glory, and a most impenitent one: there are times when any

one who cares for glass could find it in his heart to wish he were

crucified. So greedy is he of work, if not of gain, that restoration

cannot safely be left even to the most learned of men; to him, perhaps,

can it least of all be entrusted.

The twelfth century windows at S. Denis should be among the most

interesting extant. They are ruined by restoration. The beauty which

they may have had, which they must have had, is wiped out; and, for

purposes of study, they are of use only to those who have opportunity

and leisure to ferret out what is genuine amidst the sham. The S.

Chapelle is cited as a triumph of restoration, an object lesson, in

which we may see a thirteenth century chapel with its glass as it

appeared when first it was built. If that is so, then time has indeed

been kinder even than one had thought. No less an authority than Mr.

Ruskin (in a letter to Mr. E. S. Dallas, published in the _Athenæum_)

praises the new work there, and says he cannot distinguish it from the

old. There is at least a window and a half (part of the East window, and

the one to the left of that) in which, at all events, the old is easily

distinguishable from the new. But if the new is not more obvious

throughout, that is not because the new is so good, but because the old

has been so restored that it is unrecognisable--as good as new, in fact,

and no better. The old glass is so smartened up, so watered down with

modern, that it gives one rather a poor idea of unspoiled thirteenth

century work. A more adequate impression of what it must have been, may

be gained from the few panels of it, comparatively unhurt by

restoration, now in South Kensington Museum.

The story of destruction repeats itself wherever the restorer has had

his way. Sometimes he has actually inserted new material if only the old

was cracked, obscured, corroded; and has effaced the very qualities

which come of age and accident. Sometimes he has indulged in a brand-new

background. There, at least, it seemed to his ignorance, he might safely

substitute nice, new, even-tinted, well-made glass for streaky,

speckled, rough, mechanically imperfect material. Invariably he has

thinned the effect of colour by diluting the old glass with new. Many

quite poor new-looking windows, spick and span from the restorer (those,

for example, at the East end of Milan Cathedral), turn out to contain a

certain amount of old work, good perhaps, lost in garish modern

manufacture. At Notre Dame, at Paris, the considerable remains of Early

and Early Decorated glass go for very little. One has to pick them out

from among modern work designed to deceive. Certain windows at Mantes

have suffered such thorough restoration that one begins to wonder if

they are not altogether new; and you have precisely the same doubt at

Limoges and at scores of other places. At Lyons an Early Rose has been

made peculiarly hideous by restoration. Much of the harsh purple in

Early French mosaic is surely due to the admixture of crude new glass.

It is needless to multiply examples; they will occur to every one. All

this old work swamped in modern imitation goes inevitably for nought. If

the new is good it puzzles and perplexes one; if bad, one can see

nothing else. What is crude kills what is subdued. It is as if one

listened for a tender word at parting, and it was drowned in the screech

of the steam-engine.

Early glass was so mechanically imperfect, and age has so roughened and

pitted it, that its colour has, almost of necessity, a quality which new

work has not; and one is disposed, perhaps too hastily, to ascribe all

garish glass in old windows to the restorer. Many a time, however, the

new work convicts itself. At Strassburg it is quite easily detected. You

may check your judgment in this respect by surveying the windows from

the rear. It is a very good plan to preface the study of old work by

examining it from the churchyard, the street, the close, or in the case

of a big church from its outer galleries. The surface exposed to the

weather, with the light upon it, explains often at a glance what would

else be unaccountable. A vile habit of the restorer is to smudge over

his glass with dirty paint, perhaps burnt in, perhaps merely in varnish

colour; this he terms "antiquating."

The worse the new work added to the old, the more thoroughly it spoils

it; the better the forgery, the more serious the doubt it throws upon

what may be genuine. The modern ideal of restoration is thoroughly

vicious. All that can be done is mending; and it should be an axiom with

the repairer, that, where glass (however broken) can possibly be made

safe by lead joints, no new piece of glass should ever be inserted in

its place. Better any disfigurement by leads than the least adulteration

of old work.

It is absurd to set good old work in the midst of inferior reproduction

of it, as the common practice is, more especially in the case of Early

work. Every bungler has thought himself equal to the task of restoring

thirteenth century glass. It was rudely drawn and roughly painted. What

could be easier than to repeat details of ornament, or even to make up

bogus old subjects, and so complete the window? To paint figures

anything like those in the picture windows of the sixteenth century was

obviously not so easy, and the difficulty has acted as a deterrent.

Where it has not, the discrepancy between old and new is usually

unmistakable. Men like M. Capronnier, however, have sometimes put

excellent workmanship into their restoration of Renaissance work, to be

detected only by a certain air of modernity, which happily has crept

into it, in spite of the restorer. But was it not he who flattened the

grey-blue background to the transept windows at S. Gudule? The fine

window at S. Gervais, Paris, with the Judgment of Solomon, has lost much

of its charm in restoration. To compare it with the two lights in the

window to the right of it, is to see how much of the quality of old

glass has been restored away. That quality may be due in part to age and

decay. What then? Beauty is beauty; and if it comes of decay (which we

cannot hinder), let us at least enjoy the beauty of decay.

It has been proved at Strassburg that thirteenth or even twelfth century

work may be quite harmoniously worked into fourteenth century windows.

And even in the sixteenth century there were artists who managed to

adapt quite Early mosaic glass to Renaissance windows, in which

abundant stain, and even enamel, was used. The effect may be perplexing,

but it does not deceive. Why will not a man frankly tell us what is new

in his work? Then we could appreciate what he had done. But it is only

once in a while that he takes you into his confidence. This happens, by

way of exception, in a window at S. Mary's Redcliffe, Bristol, in the

case of some figure work on quarry backgrounds, in which the new work is

all of clear unpainted white or coloured glass, but so judiciously

chosen that you do not at first perceive the patching. The effect is

absolutely harmonious; and when you begin to study the glass, you do so

without any fear that imposition is being practised upon you. Where the

painting has in parts been made good, there is always that fear, as, for

example, at S. Mary's Hall, Coventry: the windows have been restored

with great taste; but one cannot always be quite sure as to what is

modern.

The merest jumble of old glass, more especially if it be all of one

period or quality, is far better than what is called restoration. Who

does not call to mind window after window in which the glass is so mixed

as to be quite meaningless, and is yet, for all that, beautiful? The

Western Rose at Reims is an unintelligible jumble mainly of blue and

green. It may not be design, but it is magnificent. Again, the Western

lights at Auxerre, in great part patchwork, are simply glorious when the

afternoon sun shines through.

At the East end of Winchester Cathedral is a seven-light window,

reckoned by Winston to be one of the finest of a fine period. At the

West end is an enormous window, which seems to be a mere medley of odds

and ends. On examination you can trace in perhaps twelve out of

forty-four lights of this last the outline of canopy-work, and in two or

three that of the figure under it; but for the rest, certainly in the

two lower tiers (which are best seen), it is mere patchwork, including

some quite crude blue, and a certain amount of common clear white sheet.

The effect, when you examine it closely, is anything but pleasing. But

as you stand near the choir screen on a not very bright morning, and

look from one window to the other, the effect is just the opposite of

what might have been expected. For the really fine East window has been

restored; and, whether to preserve it or to bring old work and new into

uniformity, it has been screened with sheets of perforated zinc! On the

other hand, the really considerable amount of crude white and colour

with which the West window has been botched is, so to speak, swallowed

up in silvery radiance. Probably it helps even to give it quality;

anyway, the effect is delightful. Indeed, it recalls the impression of

the Five Sisters at York, or suggests some monster cobweb in which the

light is caught. Beauty, forbid that any busybody should restore it! At

Poitiers (S. Radegonde) is a grisaille window of the fourteenth century,

all patched, defaced, undecipherable--mended only with thick bulbous

bits of green-white glass--which is quite all one could desire in the

way of decoration.

[Illustration: 256. A RESTORATION AT ANGERS.]

In very many churches there remain fragments of old glass in stray

tracery openings, not enough to produce effect. The question has been

what to do with them. A common practice is to use up such scraps in the

form of bordering to common white quarry glass. That is quite a futile

thing to do. The effect of setting old glass amidst plain white is to

put out its colour; and this, not only in the case of deep-coloured

glass, but equally of Early grisaille; which when framed in clear glass,

looks merely dirty. The most beautiful and sparkling of thirteenth

century glass so framed would be degraded. At Angers are some windows

consisting of a mosaic of scraps worked up into pattern (before the days

of restoration as we know it); and the mere introduction amidst it of a

strapwork of thin white sheet (above) is enough to take from it all

charm of colour, all quality of old glass. Massed all together in one

window, without such adulteration, the most miscellaneous collection of

chips makes usually colour. In the hands of a colourist it would be

certain to do so. What if it be confused? Mystery is, at all events, one

element of charm, and even of beauty.

[Illustration: 257. S. JEAN-AUX-BOIS.]

It is not beyond the bounds of possibility to marry old work with new;

but the union is rarely happy. It wants, in the first place, good modern

glass. Further than that, it wants an artist, and one who has more care

for old work than for his own. There is some satisfactory eking out old

glass with new at Evreux, where a number of small subjects, many of them

old, are framed in grisaille, in great part new, in a very ingenious

way. At Munster is a window in which little tracery lights (you can tell

that by their shapes) are used as points of interest in a modern

composition--with a result, only less happy than where, at S. Mary's

Redcliffe, a window is made up almost entirely of old glass, very much

of one period, the more fragmentary remains forming a sort of broken

mosaic background to circular medallions, heads, and other important

pieces, arranged more or less pattern-wise upon it. Old glass must needs

be mended sometimes, patched perhaps; new may have to be added to it; it

has even to be adapted on occasion to a new window, with or without the

admixture of new; but none of this is restoration of the glass in the

modern sense. That implies restoring it to what once it was--which is,

on the face of it, absurd.

The effect of windows made up (as at S. Jean-aux-Bois, page 409) of

segments of two or three old windows satisfies the artistic sense

perfectly. What the restorer does is to take each pattern he finds in it

for what he calls "authority," and to make two or three windows, all of

which have much more the appearance of modern forgeries (which in great

part they are) than of old work. The "antiquation" of the new glass in

them deceives none but the most ignorant; but it does throw doubt upon

the genuineness of the old work found in such very bad company.

If there remain enough old glass to make a window, let it be judiciously

repaired; if there be not enough for that, let it be piously preserved,

best of all, in a museum, where those who care for such scraps may see

it: scattered about in stray windows in out-of-the-way churches they are

practically unseen. Better than what is called restoration, the

brutality of the mason who plasters up gaps in the clerestory windows of

great churches with mortar, or the plumber's patch of zinc, which

temporarily at least keeps out the weather and the crude white light,

leaving us in full enjoyment of the colour and effect of old glass. How

grateful we are when it is only cobbled, and not restored. Restoration

is a word to make the artist shudder.

In a window at Auch, representing the Risen Christ, with, on the one

side, the doubting Thomas, and on the other the Magdalene, the customary

inscription, "Noli me tangere," is followed (in letters of precisely the

same character) by the signature of the artist, Arnaut de Moles. It is

the reverend Abbé responsible for the authorised description of the

church, who suggests that it may have been with intention he signed his

name just there. He has come off, as it happens, very much better at the

hands of the restorer than most men. Had it been possible for him to

foresee what nineteenth century "restoration" meant, well might he have

written over his signature "Leave me alone"!

INDEX.

(The ordinary figures refer to the numbers of the illustrations, and

those in black type to the pages of the book.)

ABRASION, =60=, =62=

AIX-LA-CHAPELLE, 14

ALABASTER windows, =380=, =381=

ALENÇON, =366=

ANGELS, =375=

ANGERS, 61, 62, 63, 256

" museum, 168

" (S. Serge), 17, 85, 86

ANNEALING, =63=

ANTWERP, =80=, =82=, =226=, =227=, =258=

ARAB glass, =19=, 15, 16, 18, 19, 20, 21, 22, 23

ARCHITECTURE (due consideration of), =356=

AREZZO, =248=, 41, 43, 181, 254

ASSISI, =262=, 53, 177, 187

AUCH, =233=, =280=, =393=, =410=

AUGSBURG, =118=

AUXERRE, 55, 75, 220

BACKGROUND, =251=

" (architectural), =209=, =211=

" (landscape), =209=, =211=

BARS, =101=, =113=, =114=, =122=, =158=, =267=, =275=

" (shaped), 68, 69

BEAUVAIS, =374=, =394=, 247

BEVERLEY minster, =74=

BLACK PAINT (used for local colour), =89=

BOLOGNA, =264=, 180

BONLIEU, =11=

BORDERS (Early), =114=, =327=

" (Decorated), =174-7=, =335=

" (Perpendicular), =190=, =344=

BOURGES, =392=, 70, 72, 234

" (S. Bonnet), =208=, 157

BRABOURNE church, 16

BRISTOL (S. Mary's), =407=

BRITISH Museum, =1=

BROU, =393=

BRUSSELS (S. Gudule), =69=, =79=, =80=, =233=, =395=, 42

BULL'S-eye windows, =267=

CAMBRIDGE (King's College), =216=, =257=, =396=

CANOPIES (Early), =135=, =313=, =334=

" (Decorated), =155=, =197=, =313=

" (Italian), 264=, 265=

" (Perpendicular), =184= _et seq._, =340=

" (Renaissance), =205=, =221=, =224=, =225=, =347=

CANOPY (the beginning of the), =135=

CANTERBURY, =385=, 23, 73, 79, 81, 214

CARCASSONNE, =362=, =369=

CARTOUCHES, =229=

CHÂLONS, =393=, 12, 13, 98, 121, 122, 227

CHANTILLY, =303=, 160

CHARTRES, =144=, =387=, 27, 71, 76, 103, 117, 216, 219

" (S. Pierre), 96, 115

CHETWODE church, 201

CHOICE of glass, =60=, =101=

CLERESTORY windows, =283=

CLOK (Cornelius) =399=

COATED glass, =49=

COLOGNE, =392=, 147

" (S. Kunibert), 25, 28, 77, 222, 223

" (S. Peter), 240

COLOUR (Early), =122=, =328=, =330=

" (Decorated), =338=

" in quarry windows, =287=

" (Italian), =268=, =270=

" (Perpendicular), =346=

CONCHES, =394=

CONFUSED effect, =42=, =134=, =217=

COSTA (Lorenzo), =264=

COUTANCES, 101

CRABETHS (the), =247=, =399=

CUTTING, =8=

" (economy of), =25=

DA UDINE (Giovanni), =300=

DECAY, =219=

DECLINE of glass painting, =86=

DECORATED borders, =176=, =335=

" canopies, =155=, =313=, =334=

" colour, =338=

" composition, =334=

" figure design, =157=, =337=

" grisaille, =163=, =337=

" Jesse windows, =363=

" medallion windows, =152=

" quarries, =290=

" style, =333-338=

" tracery, =278=

DESIGN (banded), =160=

" (Early), =36=, =111=, =112=

" (effect of window-shape upon), =113=

" (essential conditions of), =96=

" (Perpendicular), =187=, =340=

DETAIL (ornamental), =328=

DEVILS, =374=

DIAPER (geometric), =133=

" (German), =171=

" (painted or picked out), =35=, 32, 33, 36, 49, 56

DONORS, =221=

"DOOM" windows, =372=

DRAMATIC effect, =378=

DRAWING, =346=

EARLY canopies, =313=

" colour, =328=, =330=

" design, =36=, =111=, =112=

" English, =327=

" figures, their crudity, =41=

" glass (confusion in effect of), =42=

" glazing, =330=

" grisaille, =137= _et seq._, =408=

" Jesse windows, =362=

" mosaic windows, =32= _et seq._

" ornament, =40=, =115=, =130=

" rose windows, =273=

" tracery, =274=

ECOUEN, =394=

ENAMEL, =12= _et seq._, =77= _et seq._, =99=, =232=

" (influence of Byzantine), =17=

" (objections to), =84=

" (use of in ornament), =78=

ENAMEL _plus_ POT-METAL, =79=

ENGLISH (Early), =327=

" (Perpendicular), =190=

EVREUX, =176=, =177=, 113, 118, 190, 191

FAIRFORD, =374=, =391=, 34, 143, 144, 150, 173, 236, 237, 248, 249,

250, 253

FIFTEENTH century glass, =322=, =340=

FIGURE-AND-CANOPY windows, =326=

FIGURE design, =157=, =337=

FIGURES (Early), =41=, =42=

FIGURES and ornament, =126=, =319=

FIVE Sisters (the), =146=, =147=

FLASHED glass, =49=, =50=

FLESH tints, =77=, =106=

FLORENCE, =264=, =270=, =300=, 179, 182, 183

" (Certosa in Val d'Ema), 202, 203, 204, 242

" (S. Maria Novella), 178, 199

FOURTEENTH century glass, =322=, =333=

" " painting, =47=

FREIBURG, 105, 126, 127, 244

FRENCH glass painting, =75=

" medallion windows, =125=

GEOMETRIC diaper (German), =171=

" " (mosaic), =133=

GERMAN foliated pattern windows, =174=

" geometric diaper, =171=

GLAZING, =6=, =15= _et seq._, =80=, =82=, =101=, =229=, =282=, 168

" (Early), =330=

" (economy in), =144=

" (ingenuity in), =56=

GLAZING _plus_ PAINTING, =43=, =44=, =53=, =54=

" in rectangular panes, =80=, =225=

" shadows in pot-metal, =72=, =224=

GONTIER (Linard), =80=, =81=, =229=, =230=

GOTHIC influence, =203=

" (Italian), =263=

" landscape, =253=

" pattern windows, =291=

" tracery, =280=

GOUDA, =223=, =256=, =258=, =398=, =401=, 46, 161, 162, 165, 172, 176

GRISAILLE (Early), =137= _et seq._, =331=, =408=

GRISAILLE (Decorated), =163=, =337=

" (Perpendicular), =192=, =343=

" and colour, =106=, =120=, =157=

HERALDRY, =198=

HITCHIN church, 21

INTERLACING, =167=

ITALIAN canopies, =265=

" Gothic, =263=

" glass, =248=, =260= _et seq._, =299=

JESSE windows, =360= _et seq._

" (Early), =362=

" (Decorated), =363=

" (Renaissance), =367=

JEWELLERY (glass related to), =21=

JOHNSON (N.), =399=

KALEIDOSCOPIC effect, =42=

KING'S College, Cambridge, =216=, =257=, =396=

LANDSCAPE, =209=, =251=, =256=

LAST Judgment windows, =372=

LATE GOTHIC pattern windows, =291=

" " style, =343=

" " technique, =346=

" " tracery, =280=

" " windows, =178= _et seq._

LATE RENAISSANCE canopies, =225=

LEAD lines, =38=

" outlines, =23=

LEADING (its influence on colour), =39=

LEADS (contrivances for avoiding), =61=, =62=, =63=, =97=

" (scheming of), =27=, =28=

LE MANS, 20, 218

LICHFIELD, =214=, =395=

LIÈGE, =214=, =395=

LINCOLN, 67, 93, 95, 185, 189, 192

LISIEUX, 167

LOCAL schools, =261=

LONDON (S. George's, Hanover Square), =214=, 159

LUCERNE, =403=

LYONS, 26, 83, 84, 153, 188, 239

MALVERN, =55=, 37

MANY lights (windows of), =151= _et seq._

MAP of a window, =8=

MARSEILLES (William of), =248=

MATERIAL and design, =107=

MEDALLION windows, =123= _et seq._, =324=, =325=

" " (Decorated), =152=

" " (French), =125=

" " of many lights, =153=

MEDIÆVAL artlessness, =376=

MENDING (judicious), =407=

MIDDLE GOTHIC glass, =162= _et seq._

MILAN, =263=

MISUSE of shading, =68=

MONTMORENCY, =394=, 40, 158

MOSAIC, =5=, =6=

" (marble and glass), =29=

" diaper, =133=

MULLIONS, =151=, =195=, =197=, =198=, =240=, =272=

MUNICH museum, 124, 128, 129, 131

NATURALISM, =337=

NEEDLE-POINT work, =87= _et seq._

NETHERLANDISH glass, =73=, =302=

NEW departures, =109=

NIMBUS (the), =208=

NORBURY, 114

NUREMBERG, =224=, 125

" (S. Lorenz), 164

" (S. Sebald), 163

OBSCURATION, =68=, =79=, =82=

OLD work (the spirit of), =358=

ORNAMENT (a plea for), =317= _et seq._

" (Early), =40=, =115=, =130=

" (Decorated), =160=

" (Perpendicular), =343=

" (possibilities in), =321=

" (Renaissance), =349=

ORVIETO, =380=, 19

OXFORD (All Souls' College), 35, 141

" (New College), =179=, =401=, 48, 109, 137

PAINT (brushing out), =64=

" (early use of), =33=

" (first use of), =11=

PAINT as local colour, =57=

PAINTED mosaic glass, =43= _et seq._

PAINTER as glass designer (the), =69=

PAINTING, =6=, =44=, =45=, =47=, =53=, =59= _et seq._, =64=, =68=,

=85=, =89=, =103=, =105=, =190=, =211=, =247=, =263=, =331=, =338=,

=346=

PAINTING out, =11=, =34=, =35=, =44=, =45=, =278=

PALETTE (the early), =328=

PARIS (Louvre), 208

" (Musée des Arts Décoratifs), 243

PARIS (S. Eustache), =223=

" (S. Gervais), 166

PATTERN windows (German), =174=

" " (Late Gothic), =291=

PECKITT, =233=

PERPENDICULAR, =340=

" (English), =188=, =190=

" (German), =188=

PERPENDICULAR borders, =344=

" canopies, =184=, =340=

" colour, =346=

" design, =187=, =340=

" detail, =343=

" drawing, =346=

" grisaille, =343=

" ornament, =343=

" style, =340=

" tracery, =278=, =279=, =343=

PICKING out, =35=, =103=

PICTORIAL _versus_ DECORATIVE, =238=

PICTURE (achievement in), =250=

" (the ideal glass), =246=

PICTURES (a medley of), =195=

PICTURE-WINDOWS, =236= _et seq._

PISA, =263=

PLAIN glazing, =226=, 166, 167

" " and painted grisaille, =139=

POICTIERS, =388=, 24, 58, 59, 60

POSSIBILITIES in the way of ornament, =321=

POT-METAL, =5=

PRATO, 184

QUARRIES, =146=, =168=, =192=, =283= _et seq._

QUARRY-LIKE patterns, =169=

QUARRY windows (colour in), =287=

REGENSBURG, =389=, 123, 128, 131, 252

REIMS, 92, 99

" (S. Remi), =118=, 22, 65, 66, 213

RENAISSANCE canopies, =205=, =347=

" " (Late), =225=

RENAISSANCE Jesse windows, =367=

" landscape, =255=

" ornament, =349=

" tracery, =280-282=, =349=

RESOURCES of the glass painter, =95= _et seq._

RESTORATION, =404= _et seq._

REYNOLDS (Sir Joshua), =401=, =402=

ROSE windows, =272= _et seq._, =326=

" " (Early), =273=

ROSS (S. Mary), 55, 145, 232

ROUEN, =392=, =394=, 45, 119, 238

" (S. Godard), 154

" (S. Ouen), 29, 229

" (S. Patrice), =377=, =378=, 155

" (S. Vincent), =375=, =377=, 44, 156, 175

ROUNDELS, =293=, 199

S. DENIS, =404=

S. JEAN-AUX-BOIS, 87, 88, 100, 224, 257

S. MINIATO, =381=

SALISBURY, =385=, 15, 30, 64, 97, 102, 221, 225, 251

SCRAPS, =409=

SENS, 90

SEVENTEENTH century glass, =233=, =323=

" " style, =352=

SHADING (misuse of), =68=, =70=, =73=, =79=, =80=, =247=

" (the beginning of), =13=, =45=

SHREWSBURY, 38, 39, 57, 139, 142, 152, 171, 174

SILVER stain, =52=

SINGLE-FIGURE windows, =118=, =197=

SIXTEENTH century glass, =323=, =347=

" " style, =348=

" " technique, =350=

" " windows, =201= _et seq._

SOISSONS, 89, 91

SOUTH KENSINGTON Museum, 205

STAIN, =50=, =52=, =60=, =61=, =62=, =105=, =182=, =336=, =344=

STANTON S. John, 120

STORIED windows, =195=, =209=, =371= _et seq._

STRASSBURG, =388=, 134

STYLE, =111=, =112=, =156=, =177=, =178=, =323=

" (Early), =324=

" (Decorated), =335=, =338=

" (Late Gothic), =343=

" (Perpendicular), =340=

" (16th century), =348=

" (17th century), =352=

" (the characteristics of), =322= _et seq._

" in modern glass, =354= _et seq._

SUBJECTS not within mullions, =198=

SUBJECT-WINDOWS, =197=

SWISS glass, =87=, =94=, =308=

THIRTEENTH century glass, =322=

" " ornament, =130=

TIBALDI (Pellegrino), =264=

TIBAULT (Wilhelmus), =399=

TIME of day to see windows (the), =382=

TOURS, =362=, =389=

TRACERY (Early), =274=

" (Decorated), =278=

" (Gothic), =280=

" (Perpendicular), =343=

" (Renaissance), =280-2=, =349=

TRACERY lights, =272= _et seq._

TRANSITION, =165=, =178=, =181=, =333=

" from Gothic to Renaissance, =65=, =202=, =204=

" from plain glazing to painted grisaille, =139=

TREE of Life (the), =370=

TRIFORIUM windows, =284=

TROYES, =32=, =366=, =401=, 112, 148, 149, 151, 228, 246

" (museum), 211

" (private collection), 207

" (S. Jean), 241

" (S. Martin ès Vignes), =230=, 47, 169, 170, 255

" (S. Urbain), 31, 108, 114, 226

VAN LINGE, =233=

VAN ORLEY (Bernard), =69=, =222=, =245=

VAN ORT (Lambrecht), =399=

VAN THULDEN, =233=

VERONA (S. Anastasia), 199

WARWICK Castle, 54, 206, 209

WATER Perry, 94

WELLS, =390=, 136, 231, 245

WHITE and colour (combination of), =193=

WHITE as a frame for colour, =192=, =315=

WHITE-LINE work, =91=

WINCHESTER, =407=

WINDOW plane (the), =242=

WINDOW shape (effect of, upon design), =113=, =211=, =212=, =240=

WINDOWS (how to see), =380= _et seq._

WINE press (the), =368=

WORKMANLIKENESS, =244=

WORKMANSHIP (Early), =330=

YELLOW stain, =52=

YORK, =147=, =192=, =277=, =387=, 146

" (All Saints), =371=, 36

NOTE--_The name of a town without mention of a church may be taken to mean

that the glass is in the cathedral or principal church._

THE END.

BRADBURY, AGNEW, & CO. LD., PRINTERS, LONDON AND TONBRIDGE.

* * * * *

TRANSCRIBER NOTES:

Archaic, alternate and misspellings of words have been retained to

match the original work with the exception of those listed below.

Missing punctuation has been added and obvious punctuation errors

have been corrected.

Illustrations have been moved so as not to interrupt the flow of the

text.

Page 85: the printing of several lines was transposed in the

original. They have been corrected.

Page 125: "borders-lines" changed to "border-lines" (He frames his

little pictures with sufficient border-lines to keep them distinct).

Page 226: "(16R5)" changed to "(1615)" (as in the cathedral at

Antwerp (1615)).