Memories grave and gay

by Florence Howe Hall

It was a slight shock to find that the famous spires of Chartres are not alike, having been built at different periods, yet they are held to be unsurpassed in France. The older one is much simpler than its younger brother. We had been delighted with the stained glass of Notre Dame in Paris, and we had enjoyed—with some reservations—that of the Sainte-Chapelle. But the windows at Chartres were a revelation. They were like gleaming jewels on an enormous scale, wonderful, wonderful to behold. The deep-blue tones I especially remember. The windows in the clearstory of the nave are very beautiful, the superior height of the French cathedrals making these much larger and more beautiful than the corresponding windows in the English minsters. In the latter the choir is often fenced off from the nave by an ugly jube, or rood screen, surmounted by an organ, instead of being left open, as in France. The reason of this difference is that the French churches were built by the people, in an almost literal sense, for they not only gave money, but in some instances actually hauled the great blocks of stone in their pious zeal. Hence the French people rightly felt that these splendid buildings belonged to them.

At Chartres it makes one’s heart ache to see that the exquisite lacework in stone of the choir screen is broken in a number of places, though still most beautiful. The great triple porches, with their portals fairly crowded with sculptured figures, delighted us. Even the layman can see that the quaint, exaggerated elongation of the statues serves a definite architectural purpose.

At Beauvais we visited the famous tapestry-works and saw the workmen carrying on their craft. Each held a little mirror in his lap, showing the right side of the texture, the wrong, on which he wrought, being turned toward him. Their hands looked white and soft like a woman’s. Beauvais has its heroine, who seems to be little known outside the limits of the town. When Charles the Bold of Burgundy attacked the place the inhabitants defended it successfully, the women helping. In the market-place stands a statue of Jeanne Lainé, or Hachette, the heroine of the fight. The banner which she captured with her own hands is still preserved.

It seems fitting that the boldest and highest flight of Gothic architecture should have been attempted in a place with such traditions. Alas! The result proved that it is best not to be overbold. The Cathedral of St. Pierre was and is a magnificent fragment, for it was never finished. When the noble and beautiful spire fell, five years after its completion, on Ascension Day, 1573, it was said that with it fell the pointed style in France.

We reached the Cathedral of Beauvais in time to witness a procession in honor of the Virgin’s Assumption. It was pleasant to see the townspeople thus making active use of their “enormous, though ill-proportioned and yet magnificent, church.”

We entered by the south transept, which is most beautiful and impressive. Standing before it, one does not see that the nave is wanting; one only admires a vast structure, richly carved. We found the choir made beautifully light and bright by its three lofty stories of stained glass. The building gives one no sense of repose, for in the desire to realize the vast height the eye constantly follows the course of the colossal piers as they rise up, up, up in the air. Alas! various scaffoldings erected in the interior to strengthen weak parts give one a feeling of insecurity.

From certain points of view, the Cathedral of Beauvais looks like a stranded monster of the past. Its vast height is exaggerated by the lack of a nave, making it appear high-shouldered and out of proportion. Yet other views of it are so beautiful and so impressive that we felt well repaid for our trip.

Before the year 1914 we thought of Rheims Cathedral as the most beautiful of the great sister churches of France. Now we think of her as of a loved one no longer living. We cannot speak her name without sorrow, for the crown of martyrdom has been added to her other glories.

We were so anxious to see as much as possible of the cathedral that we took rooms in the hotel opposite it. From our windows we looked directly out at the wonderful façade. There was one terrible drawback, however, to our proximity to the cathedral. We were awakened at about five in the morning by a loud and persistent ringing of the bells of the great church. The repetition of the same tone over and over again, several hundred times, drove Darby almost to distraction. Later we learned that it had been the custom to ring this tocsin at this time for four or five hundred years! What a comment on the industry of the place, and indeed of the French people generally!

We viewed the building from many points, noting the wonderful way in which the beautiful features of the structure echo from one part to another till they reach the highest pinnacle and vanish into the heavens, as the great church itself has now vanished, all but a few ruins. Perhaps it has again taken shape there. May we not hope to see its image, etherealized, in the Celestial City?