We shall often have occasion to deplore that the glazier of the Renaissance never truly grasped the full artistic possibilities of the black outlines ready to his hand in the leads, and that he failed to realise, as did his predecessors, that the more the drawing was executed by the leads the more attractive and convincing the resulting picture would be. Towards the end of this epoch this disregard for their usefulness in the design was often carried to such an extreme that one concludes the artist must have regarded them as of no service except to hold the glass in position. Some of the men who indulged most in enamel painting became so engrossed in this form of decorating glass as to consider the leads an intrusion, and as tending to reduce the size of the sheets, which they preferred should be of large size in order to facilitate the painting thereon of their pictures.
To recapitulate, the most noticeable features of the new régime are then—
(a) Renaissance architecture depicted instead of Gothic.
(b) Larger scenes.
(c) Use of perspective.
(d) Greatly increased diversity of colour.
(e) Use of enamel painting.
(f) Increasing carelessness in use of leads.
“DESCENT OF THE HOLY GHOST,” MONTFORT L’AMAURY (16th Century).
Architecture depicted now entirely Renaissance. Tracery lights above, much simplified, lend artist more room for his picture. Lead lines now mar the picture, instead of only providing the outlines. Drawing greatly perfected; note the excellent grouping, the “Golden Tongues,” etc. Kneeling donors are not only too large but intrude upon the subject. (See page [237]).
Not only does Renaissance architecture supersede the older Gothic on our windows, but it very naturally brings with it certain characteristics of the new architect. For example, because he generally placed the date conspicuously upon his edifice, so in Renaissance glass we find the glazier introducing the date upon some panel of the simulated architecture. Before this time, windows were seldom dated; now this custom soon became firmly established and various methods for it were devised. In the parish church at Les Iffs, in Brittany, the west panel of the small chapel on the south side of the choir bears its date upon a gold coin held by one of the figures. The writer remembers this well, because, finding no date, it struck him that it might be on the coin. He piled three chairs, one on top of the other, climbed up, and there it was. Immediately after the discovery, the chairs fell down!
Notwithstanding the richness which the artist’s palette has attained, we occasionally meet an indication that he has not forgotten the cool silvery-grey formerly yielded by the canopy window. He now sought to obtain the same result in another fashion by occasionally restricting the colour of a picture window to various shades of grey (or very light brown), relieved by flesh tints where needed, and enlivened by touches of yellow stain. We sometimes find a church glazed throughout in this style, as, for example, St. Pantaléon at Troyes. It was, however, chiefly used in smaller edifices and for domestic or civil purposes. This particular manifestation of sixteenth century style outlived most of its contemporaries and is found as late as the end of the next century. By this last observation we are naturally led to comment upon the almost complete collapse of the cult of stained glass that came at the end of this century. People seemed to no longer care for it, although it had for more than four hundred years been so highly esteemed. We read of many instances of artists who had no orders for work and therefore had to turn their talents into other channels. That master of so many arts, Bernard Palissy, writing at the end of the century, tells us that so completely had the sale of glass fallen into disrepute that it was then hawked about from village to village by those who sold old clothes and old iron, and that although the art was a noble one, many of its practitioners found it difficult to get enough to live upon. For this passing of interest there have been many reasons advanced, but perhaps the most convincing is that of surfeit. Certain it is that an enormous quantity of stained glass was produced during the sixteenth century, much of which has survived. Of course, in some quarters the cult lasted longer than in others, but then it is generally traceable to the existence there of a peculiarly gifted group of glass artists. We shall find this true at Troyes, where the skill and fame of Linard Gonthier and his school produced such a demand for their work as to cause the art in that locality to survive far into the seventeenth century.
While it is true that during the sixteenth century glass reached its highest perfection, it is but natural that on the way up it should have outgrown many of the indications of craft tradition which we have from time to time noticed. The perfected picture no longer needed certain conventional signs to tell its story. Perspective and improved drawing obviated the need of them. There are, however, several instances which show that even the sixteenth century artist felt the charm of quaintness, though to a lesser degree than his predecessors. For example, a window in Caudebec Cathedral (the Passage of the Red Sea by the Israelites) takes pains to identify the sea by having the waves glazed in red! Though he had discarded most of the conventions, he retained and much beautified a few of them. For example, in Tree of Jesse windows, he far outstripped the older schools in grace and elaboration of treatment. As an indication of the interest felt in allegory by the later men we must invite attention to the so-called “Wine Press” window. Here we have the same branching vine found in the Tree of Jesse, but in this case it springs from the wounded Christ, who is being bruised in the press (or sometimes from His pressed-out blood), and spreads out over the panes, bearing as its blossoms saints, apostles or historical personages. In a few instances it rises from the wine pressed by Christ from the grapes. Windows of this type are to be seen at Conches, at Troyes and many other places, but nowhere is the idea so elaborated as at St. Etienne-du-Mont in Paris. Sometimes the heads displayed on the vines indicate another tendency of this century, which can be particularly noted in the last cited window (by Pinaigrier) and in Engrand Le Prince’s Tree of Jesse at St. Etienne (Beauvais). In these two the heads prove to be accurate portraits of contemporary royalties and church dignitaries, a fashion then much affected and highly esteemed. Another evidence of this same tendency to add personal touches is shown in the greatly increased use of armorial bearings, not only serving as the sole decorations of a panel, but also appearing upon picture subjects. These coats of arms are not only agreeable in effect, but also by their heraldry are very useful in fixing dates. Many of these armorial bearings were, however, destroyed after the edict of 1792, forbidding their use. Most sixteenth century windows bear the donor’s figure, nor shall we find excessive modesty shown by the man who paid the price. In this connection it is interesting to note that although stained glass has always been very expensive, strangely enough the expense has remained practically constant throughout all its history, providing, of course, one takes into consideration the varying purchasing power of money. In fact, the cost thus corrected varies so little from epoch to epoch as to be positively surprising. When we consider how costly was a gift of this sort, perhaps it is not extraordinary that, during the sixteenth century, we generally find upon it the givers’ portraits; the wonder is that the custom was not more widely spread before. Unfortunately, the donor was now more aggressive than his predecessors, for often the figure is not only too large, but actually intrudes upon the subject of the window. Frequently not content to appear alone, he had the portraits of several of his family added as well.