MONTMORENCY GLASS
The tour which we now propose will prove particularly attractive to the automobilist or bicyclist, although we do not by that statement desire to discourage the traveller by train. He will find the same glass and the same towns, but he will miss the opportunity to enjoy, en route, the forests of Montmorency and Chantilly which during the summer are so alluring. During the first part of the journey we will see glass designed for moderate sized interiors and, therefore, adapted for close inspection. On these windows will be found many careful portraits of the donors, some of which in their perfection of treatment have never been surpassed. It would be unfortunate if this itinerary for any reason should be omitted, because without it our study of sixteenth century glass would not be comprehensively complete. We leave Paris by the road going north through St. Denis: our pilgrim will hardly, upon this occasion, stop to visit the Abbey Church, because nearly all of its glass is modern and glaringly poor. What there is of old glass is twelfth century and either fragmentary or much restored and repaired. The celebrated window showing the devout figure of its donor, Abbot Suger, excites our reverence, hardly our admiration. Its chief interest lies in the fact that there has come down to us the good abbot’s own account of this among other windows which he presented. The tombs of the French kings are, of course, most impressive, and provide one of the great sights of France to one interested however slightly in its history, but to-day we are in pursuit of stained glass, so the Abbey of St. Denis must wait until another occasion. The road straight on to the north leads to Ecouen, but that visit must be deferred a little, so just outside of St. Denis we turn sharply to the left and after eight kilometres arrive at Montmorency, delightfully perched upon a hill with orchards on every side. From the little platform just outside the west front we get a fine view of the forest of the same name which, fortunately for American eyes, has not been so pruned as to no longer resemble a forest. From Montmorency we take the right hand to Ecouen there to rejoin the straight road running north out of St. Denis. We follow this road to Chantilly, where the Montmorency glass ends, then turn northwest to Beauvais, and after enjoying its splendid cathedral, return to Paris. At this point let us remark that although automobiles and trains undoubtedly add to the comfort of the traveller, it would be better for us on this particular trip if we could substitute for them a mediæval belief in magic. Then our first move would certainly be to seize a fairy wand and summon as our guide that glorious warrior, courtier and patron of the arts, the great constable, Anne de Montmorency. Nothing could be more incongruous than the selection for him of a woman’s name, even though borrowed from the Queen of Louis XII. The reason for summoning him is most obvious: it was he who built the castles of Ecouen and Chantilly, while the church at Montmorency, though founded by his father, William, was completed by the son. Who, then, could better tell us their stories or more delightfully revive by familiar anecdote the originals of their glass portraits? Even after our conjuring had secured for us his company, we might find ourselves in trouble, unless we were willing to discard our automobile or train for a stout horse. The arts by which we secured his presence in the flesh might seem to him quite natural, for magic was much more respected in his time than in these more practical days, but it is greatly to be feared that the puffing engine would overcome that stern courage, tested in many a stricken field, and that it would take the utmost vigilance on our part to prevent him from bolting back into the sixteenth century. After accompanying him to Montmorency and Ecouen, and after wandering together through the forest, park and château of Chantilly, we shall bid him farewell, but we must not be surprised if he stoutly objects to our turning off towards Beauvais, demanding that, having recalled him from the spirit world, we hear his story out, and to that end push on to St. Quentin. The lusty old warrior would be quite right, for the chronicle of his career would be incomplete if it omitted the delaying and glorious defeat he there received while commanding the French forces, thereby providing time for Henry II to rally the remaining strength of France and save Paris from the victorious Philip II of Spain. The result of that battle proved highly satisfactory to both victor and vanquished, for while its delay saved Paris, on the other hand Philip’s victory so elated him that in memory thereof he erected the famous palace of the Escorial near Madrid. Though most of us will conclude to refuse the Constable’s request, some few of our company may desert us and follow him to St. Quentin. Once there, they must not fail to view the two splendid sixteenth century windows in the second northern transept of the church already visited on our thirteenth century tour. They are each two and a half metres wide by nine and a quarter high. One is dedicated to Ste. Barbe and is dated 1533, and the other, dated 1541, to Ste. Catherine, each displaying elaborately gruesome episodes depicting the martyrdom of the heroine. The latter one shows God the Father at the top receiving the saint, who is borne upward by flying angels. In the lowest panel we remark Catherine’s headless body sitting bolt upright, while nearby on the floor lies her severed head intently regarding it (see page [107]).