Читать книгу Stained Glass Tours in France - Charles Hitchcock Sherrill - Страница 4

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The reason for the existence of a window is obvious. When the dwelling ceased to be a cave and became a house, the need for a light aperture at once arose. Neither the house nor the window concern us until long after the house had been made thoroughly habitable, and its windows after much evolution are finally filled with a sheet of translucent substance, which, while excluding the weather, would admit the light. Our interest does not begin until the wish to decorate the house naturally brought about a desire to decorate the window. We will pass over the story of the discovery of glass and its gradual improvement; nor will we pause to consider the very earliest examples now extant, nor examine the steps through which it must have passed to reach so advanced a stage as we find in the twelfth century. This is a book to tell where to see windows, and therefore it must not take up stained glass until a period is reached when examples are sufficiently numerous and beautiful to repay a visit to them. At what date then, shall we make our beginning? There is practically nothing until we come to the charming remains of the twelfth century; but because these latter are very few and those few in churches which also contain glass of the next century, we shall commence with the heading of “Thirteenth Century and Earlier.” That explains why we have selected this particular epoch as the starting point of our investigations. Our windows will themselves disclose to us that the Golden Age of French stained glass falls of itself into three subdivisions—the first comprising the twelfth and thirteenth centuries, the second the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries, and the third the sixteenth century. Of the second subdivision we shall find but few examples, of the first more, and of the third most.

No matter how far back we push our researches, we are sure to be surprised at the advanced state of the art represented by any window which attempts a picture. In fact, we shall happen upon no satisfactory traces of the evolution which must have led up to even the crudest and oldest story-window. We are forced, therefore, to conclude that this evolution must have occurred in another art, and the result there evolved transferred into this one. This conclusion is much strengthened when we read that St. Sophia, built by Justinian during the sixth century in Constantinople, contained not only glass mosaics on the walls, but also in its windows. Here we have the key to the puzzle. The many artists who were then occupied in designing mosaics, worked out their pictures in little pieces of glass on the wall until they had developed along that line as far as possible. Then they doubtless bethought themselves that these glass mosaics would be even more effective if they could devise a means of illuminating their picture by letting the light shine through the colour. To accomplish this they contrived to hold the morsels of glass securely in place, first by wooden or stucco frames, and later by long ribbons of lead having channels on each side to retain the edges of the glass. This form of mosaic so held up to the light became a stained-glass window. Thus we easily understand that when the idea arrived of taking the mosaic picture off the wall and putting it into the embrasure of the window, the art of making that picture out of bits of glass had already been fully developed.

We shall avoid the technicalities of glass making, as they do not suit our holiday mood. Nor is there good reason why we should discuss any use of glass save that which is required in the construction of our windows. Let us, however, in passing, refer to the very curious fact that a severe blow was dealt to all other sorts of glassware when the artists turned their attention to the making of windows. Glassware had constantly improved in design and colour up to the time (early in the twelfth century) when the great interest in windows sprang up. This new taste seemed to at once throw all other developments of this material into a comatose condition which lasted on through the five centuries composing the Golden Age of the window. This observation receives a peculiar confirmation when we notice that, at the end of the sixteenth century, stained glass suddenly lost its vogue at the same time that glassware sprang into renewed favour through the artistic skill and inventive genius of the Venetians. Indeed, the decadence of stained glass seemed to be the signal for the revival of hollow glassware. To revert for a moment to the time when window making caused a halt in the improvement of hollowware, it is interesting to note that glass making then left its former haunts and betook itself to the forests, where it lurked until the stained-glass window having shot its bolt, hollowware again engaged the attention of the artists and was once more manufactured nearer to the homes of its purchasers. During this period of partial seclusion the glass produced was of a peculiar quality called in English “forest glass” and in French “verre de fougère” (referring to the wild fern or bracken which was burnt to provide the necessary alkali). The two names combine to explain to us that wood and not coal was used by the glass-blower and also that his alkali had to be gotten in an unusual way. The toughness of this “forest glass” was admirably suited to the requirements of the window-maker.

As this book will be confined to an examination of French stained glass, it is appropriate to cite Theophilus, who when in the twelfth century he wrote his celebrated Latin treatise on this general subject, stated that the art was a French one. This makes it all the more important that we trace its beginnings in France, as well as inquire whence came the influence which so strongly marked them. This inquiry will reveal that it was to Byzantium that the early glaziers were indebted for their quaint style of drawing. In early glass we will observe the constrained, ungainly poses of the bodies, arms and legs, as well as the staring-eyed, ill-proportioned heads, not only in the medallion type of windows, but also in the larger figures glaring down from the clerestories. Very interesting conclusions may be reached if we place side by side three figures, one taken from thirteenth century glass, another from a Limoges enamel made any time from the tenth to the thirteenth century, and the third from the famous mosaics of St. Mark’s in Venice. We have selected an enamel from Limoges because that was the only locality in which a continued as well as a renowned cult of enamelling existed in France during the centuries named, while the reason for choosing St. Mark’s is that it is one of the finest extant examples of Byzantine art. Notice the same constraint in the drawing of all these three figures, the same awkward pulling of garment folds to delineate the form, and the same quaint morsel of conventional architecture about the top (which last, by the way, indicated that the personage below was a high dignitary of either church or state). The resemblance is too striking to be merely a coincidence, especially as each of these figures used in the comparison is typical of hundreds of others. This very resemblance hints at its own explanation. The dates of the figures show the order in which these peculiarities of style must have been transmitted. The Byzantine mosaics of St. Mark’s are much the oldest; then came the Limoges enamels, and lastly the stained glass windows. Thus we learn not only where our windows originated in France, but also whence came the designs that the Limoges enamellers taught the glazier. Abbe Texier, in his “Essai Historique et Descriptif sur les Argentiers et les Emailleurs de Limoges” (1841), says that French stained glass began in the neighbourhood of Limoges, whose highly vaunted school of enamellers were strongly influenced by the Byzantine types of the Venetian school and that therefore it was but natural that the glass artist should also have yielded to the Byzantine influence. As showing how this influence reached Limoges, he states that in 979 a Venetian colony settled there for the purpose of trading in spices and other commodities of the East, conveyed from Egypt by way of Marseilles. Winston says that the Venetian Doge Orseolo I came to sojourn in France in 978 and that the erection of the Church of St. Front, Périgueux (near Limoges), is ascribed to him. James Ferguson, in his Illustrated Handbook of Architecture, tells us that the Venetians (as the great carriers and merchants of the Levant) were in constant communication with Byzantium. These facts provide a ready explanation of why these same pronounced Byzantine types can be remarked first in the mosaics of St. Mark’s, next in the enamels of Limoges and lastly on the stained glass windows of the thirteenth century. The older the glass, the more closely does the drawing follow these models; the attitudes are more constrained and awkward, and the folds of the garment are more tightly drawn around the figures, nor does the artist allow himself any freedom from the traditions of that school. Later on the drawing becomes more graceful and the lines are freer. Anyone who desires to go thoroughly into the technical side of this art will find a most exhaustive and scholarly book in Lewis F. Day’s “Windows of Stained Glass” (1897). The best book in French is Oliver Merson’s excellent “Vitraux” (1895).

Let us now postpone any further consideration of the general subject until after we, with our own eyes, have seen enough windows to have collected material for discussion. This brings us to the selection of towns, and the consideration of routes.

We have referred to how naturally stained glass divides itself into three epochs, viz.:

1. Thirteenth century and earlier.

2. Fourteenth and fifteenth centuries.

3. Sixteenth century.

Visits to the glass of these epochs will be, for convenience, subdivided into the following tours:

EPOCH I

(a) Bourges, Poitiers, Tours, Angers, Le Mans, Chartres. (b) Auxerre, Sens, Troyes, Chalons, Rheims. (c) Soissons, Laon, St. Quentin, Amiens.

EPOCH II

(a) Evreux, Rouen. (b) Bourges, Moulins, Riom, Clermont-Ferrand, Eymoutiers, Limoges, Poitiers, Angers, Le Mans (Alençon), Sées, Verneuil, Chartres. Also separate visit to Quimper.

EPOCH III

(a) Vincennes, Sens, Troyes, Chalons. (b) Montfort l’Amaury, Conches, Pont-Audemer, Caudebec, Rouen (Grand-Andely, Elbeuf, Pont de l’Arche). (c) Ecouen, Montmorency, Chantilly (St. Quentin), Beauvais. Also separate visits to Bourg, Auch and Champigny-sur-Veude.

At the back of the book will be found a table showing distances by road, and also the usual index.

It must be admitted that even in so delightful a country as France, one’s wanderings gain an added zest if guided by a more definite purpose than is the slave of the red-backed Baedeker, intent upon exhausting the sights of every place visited. This admitted, we have then to consider not only the stranger on his first visit to France, but also the experienced traveller who already knows the beauties of its roads and the lazy charm of its historic towns. If our reader is of the latter sort he will especially hail some new quest as a reason for revisiting old scenes in search of charms heretofore unseen or unappreciated. It was especially him that the writer had in mind when putting together the rambling notes covering six years of glass study. He knows what varied forms of beauty await those who are sufficiently energetic to escape from the ultra-modern charms of Paris, that fascinator of foreigners. He knows the quaint villages, the perfect roads, the ancient castles, the magnificent cathedrals that are waiting to be explored. To him we will tell the story of a wonderful beauty where light lies imprisoned in colour—a beauty which can be seen nowhere so well as in France. What if you have already visited every nook and corner of this picturesque land? Come out again with us and add another to the many reasons for your love of France. Take up the modern equivalent of the pilgrim’s staff and shell and fare forth, being well assured that your eyes will be opened to the appreciation of something which, to be loved, has only to be wisely seen—the window of stained glass.