EVREUX
In one’s mental picture of a town there is almost always a single feature which stands out prominently at the expense of the others. For example, winding crowded streets are apt to rise in one’s mind when London is mentioned. The broad straight thoroughfares of St. Petersburg are sure to give roominess and breadth to our memory of the Russian capital. In a similar fashion when the writer thinks of Evreux there always promptly arises a picture of the narrowness which not only characterises the cathedral’s nave, but also the little channels into which the river Iton subdivides itself in preparation for its leisurely meandering through the town. Nor must this be taken as a reproach to Evreux. The little branches of the Iton add very materially to the quiet beauty of the place. So, too, beauty is, though indirectly, lent to the cathedral’s interior by the very narrowness of its nave. A nave only 21 feet wide made very difficult the problem of later joining to it a roomy choir, but the architect hit upon an ingenious device to secure greater width for the latter without having the difference unpleasant to the eye when viewed from other parts of the church. Just behind the columns at the edge of the transept crossing he deftly swelled out his choir walls at such an angle that from no part of the nave is the curving swelling of these walls visible.
The chapels that surround this graceful choir are separated from the ambulatory by light carved wooden screens, very dainty and each one different. The windows all about us reveal this to be a perfect treasure-house of fourteenth century glass, for it has more of this period than any other church in France except, perhaps, St. Ouen, at Rouen. In our preliminary talk about the fourteenth century we referred to the startling abruptness with which taste in glass veered around from the light-obscuring medallions of the preceding century to the light-admitting treatment of the fourteenth. We there stated that the two favourite methods of getting more light were, first, the canopy treatment, and second, but to a less extent, grisaille windows with rich borders which were sometimes, but not always, surcharged with coloured figures or panels. At Evreux we shall not only find many an excellent example of both these new methods, but also interesting proof of how early in the century the new style laid hold upon public taste and that, too, in a very fully developed and completed form. The windows given by Guillaume d’Harcourt, dated 1310, show us the canopy window with a perfection of architectural elaboration that is surprising when we consider its early date. Not only is the canopy well advanced in its detail, but we find that the blue background is damasked, a feature of adornment that elsewhere took some time to develop. The use of grisaille to increase the illumination of the interior is here amply illustrated, as is also a certain variation of it, very much in vogue at that time, partly because it was decorative, and partly, perhaps mostly, because it was so easy to glaze. This is the so-called “quarry window” of white or grisaille glass with its surface composed of either square (carré) or diamond-shaped panels. These quarry windows were not only easy to lead, but their formal design broke up the surface of the glass very agreeably, especially when here and there touches of colour were introduced. Nor were these quarries always used without colour decoration, for around the choir triforium we shall see them surcharged with gay heraldic blazons, while above, in the clerestory, they serve to fill out such portions of the embrasures as are not occupied by the bands of canopies. It was some time before the fourteenth century glazier arrived at the point of filling the entire embrasure with his canopy, and therefore this hesitating use of bands of canopies across a light field is often seen. Below in the choir chapels even less of the space is devoted to canopies and more to quarries or grisaille than in the clerestory. Passing to the nave, almost all the window surface of the chapels is given over to grisaille; indeed, it is only across the upper third that one sees the quaint little fourteenth century canopies. So, too, the clerestory is all grisaille except for an occasional panel in colour. The finest work of the period here is around the choir clerestory—the colours are richer and every part of the decoration more carefully studied. Notice that in the fourth on the left, the second lancet contains a kneeling figure holding up in his two hands a model of the window which he is offering; his name appears in large letters below—M. Raoul De Ferrières. The rich red background, surrounded by the golden canopy, makes a very effective combination. This same pleasant conceit is found again in the most westerly lancet of the fourth choir chapel on the right, but here the figure is much smaller and the model of the gift window not so carefully drawn. Almost all these clerestory lights display facts concerning their donors set out in bold lettering that adds materially to the decorative effect. A few of the panels were glazed in the next century; they are readily picked out by the perfected drawing of their canopies, the fact that they completely fill the embrasures, the pedestals beneath them, etc. Of these later ones, the first on the left especially merits our attention: within its elaborate canopy framing are a triple tier of niches. In the middle tier, the second niche contains the Dauphin (later Louis XI) and the fourth, Charles VII, his father. This reference to the fifteenth century brings us to the consideration of its numerous examples found here, for the Lady Chapel, all the north transept and part of the southern are glazed in that later style. In the Lady Chapel the canopies enclose a double tier of niches which contain scenes remarkable for their strong colouring, as well as for the unusual number of individuals in each little group. Under the second canopy on the lower tier of the first window on the left is depicted Christ feeding the multitude, and no less than twenty-five figures can be counted: this is the greatest number the writer has ever observed in a canopy panel.
The transepts are most charming. Each is lighted by a large rose, while the east and west walls have each not only two great six-lancet windows, but in addition, the triforium gallery is pierced and is carried around under the rose. Where the triforium passes below the rose we have in each case eight lancets filled with canopies enclosing single figures, and in the clerestory of the north transept the same treatment—elsewhere the lancets contain grisaille or quarries surcharged with coloured bosses or shields—the whole bordered in colour. Throughout all this interior so much grisaille and quarry work was used that one should select a rainy or grey day for one’s visit, because on a sunny day the illumination is distinctly garish.
Nor is it for the Cathedral alone that we have come here—so fine is the glazing at St. Taurin that we would have included Evreux in our tour even if there had been nothing to enjoy at the Cathedral. The east end of the choir juts out from the body of the church, and is lighted all round by seven lofty windows, each of two lancets except the westerly pair, which have four. The treatment of all these lancets is alike: the enframing canopy encloses three tiers of niches, one above the other, in each of which is a little scene in colour. One pair of these windows, the second from the west, are modern, but so faithfully are they modelled after their neighbours, that they do not mar the effect of the whole. Instead of one lone saint beneath each canopy (then so common as to be almost monotonous) we have here groups, always agreeable and sometimes amusing. For example, the lower left-hand corner of the window just left of the centre shows us St. Taurin rescuing a lady from some very pointed flames, while a red imp, evidently much annoyed at being exorcised, is darting off, much to the pious satisfaction of five smug onlookers. In accordance with the conventions, each niche has at the back a damasked curtain, above which a glimpse is afforded of an interior lighted by three windows, all very delicately portrayed. It seems ridiculously incongruous to find cows and other animals in the foreground of such a niche. Unfortunately, this absurd combination of tradition and realism was not rare during that epoch. The original glazing of the upper part of the southwesterly window has been replaced by a later Ascension scene, running across all four lancets. At the end of the south transept is a broad window, very interesting because of the different types of canopies in its six lancets. The chief charm of the interior is undoubtedly the choir, whose deliciously soft-toned glazing is so complete as to afford the student not only valuable material, but also (and this is much rarer) an excellent impression of the general effect sought for by the fifteenth century glazier.