POITIERS
Among the many beauties of France must certainly be accounted its “cities built upon a hill.” There are a goodly number of them and their lofty position has tended to preserve them from change more than cities so placed that their expansion into suburbs was easier. Without doubt there is something fascinating, something irresistibly dominating about a town that looks down upon us. Fortunate it is for us lovers of the picturesque, whom, alas, the uses of modern convenience have made “dwellers in the plain,” that during mediæval times the vital need of safety forced its citizens to seek the refuge of heights! No one can question the right of quaint old Poitiers to be as haughty as hill towns have always been—nay, haughtier. Think of the days when through the House of Plantagenet she gave rulers to England—when these same kings governed not only England but also the whole western half of France! We do not always remember what a long strip of territory was ruled by the Angevin dynasty, stretching all the way from the Pyrenees across the Channel and up to Scotland. One of the greatest encounters that marked the long and bitter struggle between the English and French was the Battle of Poitiers, when in 1356 the English under the Black Prince defeated and took prisoner John the Good of France and slew 11,000 Frenchmen. It was, indeed, a bloody baptism when our hill town stood sponsor to such a conflict of warring nations.
There are few cities in France which more richly repay a visit than this rather out-of-the-way place, and fewer still which have so many varied inducements to offer. The architectural remains are not only interesting but differ materially in character and epoch. The situation of the city is most striking. It is perched on the top of a flat-iron shaped hill upon the point of which the picturesque Jardin de Blossac smiles down upon the winding river Clain. It is not in this book that you should look for a description of the wonderful triple interpenetrated chimney of the Palais de Justice, nor the fourth century church of St. Jean, nor the ivory-like carvings on the façade of Notre Dame de la Garde. Hie thee to a guide-book for these, and the like of them, and let us to our quest! In all glass of this period, nay, of any period or any century, we shall never find a more splendid window than the Crucifixion at the east end of the cathedral. In our introduction we said that glass should not be studied from written description, but that it must be seen. Of this window this observation is even more true than of any other. Its breadth and size indicate that it dates from early in the century. The harmony and the beauty of its colours are beyond words to describe. Indeed, so ingeniously are they combined to produce their effect, that the detail is apt to escape the observer. Even after spending some time before it he may be surprised to learn that the cross is ruby-red and that the hair of the Saviour is blue. If he had read this in a book it would have been impossible to convince him that the result could be one of such great beauty. Unfortunately for the many excellent medallion windows in this cathedral, there are also a great number of uncoloured ones. It does not take us long to decide that a medallion window should never be lighted from within, because that enables one to see the cumbersome machinery used to produce its effect. One should never become aware of the numerous small pieces of unevenly surfaced glass and the vast complexity of leads which in combination produce such glorious results, but only when the light comes from without. Not only do these white panes reveal these ugly details, but by their glare they effectually extinguish the warm glow which we are accustomed to expect from the richly-coloured mosaics of the medallions. Near the west end there is a good deal of fine strapwork grisaille evidently put there to light that end of the church in contrast to the dimmer light which must have prevailed at the east end when all the medallions were still in place. Even if there were not many fine thirteenth century panels in this cathedral, and even if the town itself were not full of many interesting sights, still we would have been amply repaid for our visit by the Crucifixion window, the chef d’œuvre of its time.
Near the cathedral is the church of St. Radegonde. This long narrow edifice has no transepts, nor, indeed, the usual division into choir and nave, and yet it boasts of a rose window, and a fine one, too, over its northern portal. The colour is really delightful and contains much of the brilliant blue for which Poitiers is famous. Its chief interest is that instead of having its figures broken up so as to monotonously radiate from the centre (which is generally true of rose windows) they are, so to speak, right side up, and all participate in forming the picture of the “Last Judgment.” There is some thirteenth century glass on the southern side of this church, but not so well preserved or so good. The windows on the northern side between the north portal and the east end are of the next century and will be considered later (page [172]). We may say, however, in passing, that they are unique in that they have bright figures distributed upon a grisaille background which is surrounded by a border of rich colour.