Part 26 (1/2)
The unfortunate designer of modern gla.s.s is asked to conform both to the technique and to the design of gla.s.s such as was executed at the period to which belongs the building where his gla.s.s is to go, no matter how inadequate the one or the other, or both, may be. So far as technique is concerned, it can scarcely be questioned that the only rational thing to do, is to do the best that can be done under the circ.u.mstances.
That is equally the thing to aim at in design, simply one's level best.
It seems strange that there should be two opinions on the subject. A building of some centuries past (or in that style) is to be filled with nineteenth century gla.s.s. Choose your artist: a man whose work has something in common with the sentiment of the period of the building, a man with education enough to appreciate the architecture and what it implies, with modesty enough to think of the decorative purpose of his work and not only of his cleverness; let such a man express himself in his own way, controlled only by the conditions of the case; and there would be little likelihood that his work would, in the result, shock either the feelings or the taste of any but a pedant--and if art is to conform to the taste of the pedant, well, it is time the artist shut up shop. Why will men of learning and research discount, nay, wipe out, the debt art owes to them, by claiming what is not their due?
Even though it were necessary or desirable that we should restrict ourselves to what might have been done in the thirteenth century or in the sixteenth, that would not argue that we must do only what was done.
Surely we may be allowed to do what the men of those days might conceivably have done had they possessed our experience. Surely we need not go for inspiration to the gla.s.s of a period when gla.s.s was admittedly ill-understood, inadequate, poor, bad. It is quite certain that the thirteenth century workmen did not realise all that might be done in painted gla.s.s, quite certain that those of the seventeenth did not appreciate what might be done in mosaic gla.s.s. It would be sheer folly to paint no better than a thirteenth century glazier, because our window was destined for Salisbury Cathedral, to make no more use of the quality inherent in gla.s.s than was made by a painter of the seventeenth century, because it was designed for St. Paul's. Those who are really familiar with old work know that, even in periods of decline, work was sometimes done which showed no falling away from good tradition. You may find Renaissance gla.s.s almost as mosaic in treatment as thirteenth century work. But because that was comparatively rare, because the average work of the period was much less satisfactorily treated, modern Renaissance must, it is absurdly a.s.sumed, be on the same unsatisfactory lines.
Suppose we want modern Italian Renaissance, and, further, that we wish not only to retain the character of Renaissance detail but to get good gla.s.s, suppose also that we do not want forgery,--the thing to do would be, to inspire oneself at the very best sources of Italian ornament--carving, inlay, goldsmith's work, embroidery, no matter what (ornament is specifically mentioned because it is in ornament that the tyranny of style is most severely exercised), and to translate the forms thence borrowed into the best gla.s.s we can do. That, of course, is not quite so easy as appropriation, wholesale; it implies research, judgment, a thorough knowledge of gla.s.s; but it would certainly lead, in capable hands, to n.o.bler work, and work which might yet be in the Italian spirit. The danger is that it would clash, not with Renaissance feeling, but with preconceived ideas as to what should be.
Our affectations of old style would be much more really like old work if they pretended less to be like it. Had the old men lived nowadays they would certainly have done differently from what they did.
An artist in gla.s.s cannot safely neglect to study old work, more especially in so far as it bears upon modern practice. It is for him to realise, for example, what artistic good there was in early archaic design, what qualities of colour and so on came of mosaic treatment, what delicacy is due to the liberty of the later Gothic gla.s.s painter, what fresh charm there was in the more pictorial manner of the Cinque-Cento, and at what cost was this bought. Questions such as these are much more to the point than considerations of the date at which some new departure may have been made.
The several systems on which a window design was set out, the various methods of execution--mosaic and paint, pot-metal and enamel, smear-shading and stipple, cross-hatching and needle point, matting and diapering, staining and abrading--all these things he has to study, not as indices of period, but that he may realise the intrinsic use and value of each, that he may deduce from ancient practice and personal experience a method of his own.
Doubtful and curious points concern the antiquary not the artist. He had best keep to the broad highway of craftsmans.h.i.+p, not wander off into the byeways of archaeology. Typical examples concern him more than rare specimens--examples which mark a stage in the progress of art, and about which there is no possibility of learned dispute. He wants to know what has been done in order to judge what may be done, and especially he wants to know the best that has been done.
The problem is how to produce the best gla.s.s we can in harmony with the architecture to which it belongs, but without especial regard to what happens to have been done during the period to which the architecture of the building belongs. We may even inspire ourselves at the sources of sixteenth century Italian art, and yet in no wise follow in the footsteps of the gla.s.s painters of the period, who were more or less off the track; we may set ourselves to do, not what they did (gla.s.s was not their strong point), but what they might have done. There, if you like, is an ideal worthy of the best of us.
If we pretend to be craftsmen we must do our work in the best way we know. If we are men, let us at least be ourselves. Let us work in the manner natural to us. If we undertake to decorate a building with a style of its own, let us acknowledge our obligation to it; let us be influenced by it so far as to make our work harmonious with it--harmonious, that is to say, in the eyes of an artist, not necessarily of a savant. Evidence of modernity is no sin, but a merit, in modern work. To see how a man adapted his design to circ.u.mstances not those of his own day, gives interest to work. We never wander so wide of the old mediaeval spirit as when we pretend to be mediaeval or play at Gothic. True style, as craftsmen know, consists in the character which comes of accepting quite frankly the conditions inherent in our work.
CHAPTER XXIX.
JESSE WINDOWS.
The subjects depicted in stained gla.s.s tell the story of the Church, or preach its doctrine. Scenes from the Old Testament, from the Life of Christ, from the legends of the Saints, and so on, recur from the earliest Gothic times, and throughout the period of the Renaissance.
These pictures accommodate themselves to the current plans of design, or the plan of design is chosen to suit them, as the case may be.
There is one subject, however, occurring from the first in gla.s.s, which does not fall into any of the usual schemes of design, and which, in fact, differs so entirely from any of them, that it forms a cla.s.s of design apart. The subject, in fact, by way of exception to the rule, not merely affects but determines the decorative form of the window. This subject is the Descent of Christ--in short, the genealogical tree of the Saviour; and the window devoted to its delineation is called a Jesse window. Much freer and more varied scope for composition was offered by this piece of church heraldry than the ordinary medallion or figure and canopy window afforded, and the glazier turned it early to exceedingly decorative use. The tree is shown issuing, as it were, from the loins of Jesse. It bears his descendants, or rather a very arbitrary selection of them (it is as well not to inquire too strictly as to their legitimate right to be there), ending in the Virgin and the Saviour.
The earliest arrangement of a Jesse window is as follows: at the base is the rec.u.mbent figure of Jesse; the straight stem of the tree, proceeding from him, is almost entirely hidden by a string of figures, one above the other, occupying the centre part of the window, and represented, for the most part, as Kings; above them is the Virgin, also crowned; and in the arch of the window sits our Lord in Majesty, surrounded by seven doves, to signify the gifts of the Spirit. It is not perhaps quite clear upon what these figures sit. They hold on with both hands to branches of highly conventional Romanesque foliage, springing from the main stem, and occupying the s.p.a.ce about the figures in very ornamental fas.h.i.+on. A series of half medallions on each side of this central design contain little figures of attendant prophets--in a sense, the spiritual ancestors of the Saviour. All this is in the deepest and richest mosaic colour, as in the beautiful bluish Jesse window at the West end of the cathedral at Chartres, which belongs to about the middle of the twelfth century. Very much the same kind of thing occurs at Le Mans and elsewhere.
Later the tree more often branched out into loops, forming oval or vesical-shaped s.p.a.ces, in which the figures sat, as may be seen on page 362. The ground of the window is in that case blue, the background of the figure ruby. Had it been red the figures would probably have been upon blue. This particular instance, by the way, is said to be of the twelfth century, although the ornament has more the character of thirteenth century work. You see also the doves referred to encircling the figure sitting in Majesty, and the figures attendant upon the Virgin. Sometimes these are prophets, sometimes angels; sometimes they stand in little canopy niches, sometimes they are in the midst of the foliage. The fragment from Salisbury on page 117 formed most probably part of a Jesse window. The symbolic doves have often each a nimbus. A single dove represents, of course, the Holy Ghost.
A rather suggestive variation upon the orthodox Early scheme occurs in a window at Carca.s.sonne. Each of the three lights is bordered with a rather geometric pattern. Within the border the central light is designed much on the usual lines: Jesse rec.u.mbent below, and above the figures of Kings, sitting each in his own little vesical-shaped s.p.a.ce formed by the growth of the tree. In the sidelights, however, the Prophets are provided with the very simplest canopies, one above the other.
An interesting arrangement is to be found in the clerestory of the cathedral at Tours, where the central light of a window has a Tree of Jesse, with the usual oval compartments, corresponding with hexagon-shaped medallions in the two sidelights, in which are depicted scenes presumably appropriate to the subject; it is difficult to make them out with any certainty.
[Ill.u.s.tration: 243. PART OF EARLY JESSE WINDOW, MUSeE DES ARTS DeCORATIFS, PARIS.]
Occasionally what seems at first sight a medallion window resolves itself, as at S. Kunibert, Cologne, into a kind of genealogical tree, enclosing subjects ill.u.s.trative of the descent of Christ. The rather unusual combination of medallion and vine shown below, also German, is of rather later date.
[Ill.u.s.tration: 244. FREIBURG.]
In the fourteenth century the tree naturally becomes a vine, usually in colour upon a blue or ruby ground, extending beyond the limits of a single light, and crossing not only the mullions, but the borders (which, by the way, often confuse the effect of a Decorated Jesse window). The vine extends also very often into the tracery, where sits the Virgin with the Infant Christ. The figure of our Lord is always, of course, the topmost feature of the tree--in the arms of the Virgin, in the lap of the Father, or sitting in Majesty. A variation upon ordinary practice occurs where the Father supports a crucifix. The figure of Jesse naturally, as at Shrewsbury (page 241), extends across several lights.
Occasionally a figure and canopy window proves to be also a Jesse window--a vine, that is to say, winds about the figures, and connects them with the figure of Jesse; but this combination of canopy work with tree work (as at Wells, some of the detail of which is given overleaf) is confused and confusing. A much happier combination of figures under canopies with tree work occurs in a sixteenth century window at S.