July, 1916 
39 
will inevitably work at cross-purposes. 
Moreover, Van Cuyp boasted that the 
leads “hardly showed,” that glass “of dif¬ 
ferent thicknesses” was cunningly intro¬ 
duced, and that sometimes there was “paint 
sneaked in between the layers,” while al¬ 
ways the craftsmen were compelled to “fish 
around” for materials to represent this or 
that. Obviously, they were out of conceit 
with their medium, and had but little j oy in 
their work. Those leads—why, bless you, 
leads are magnificent, rightly placed; let 
them show; it is futile to regard them as a 
necessary evil and to try to hide them; ac¬ 
cepted and welcomed, they give added bril¬ 
liancy and coherence to a flashing gloria 
of color. As for “fishing around” in quest 
of a half-leaf here, a complexion there, and 
a bit of cat’s fur over yonder, what char¬ 
latanry ! So of fooling with “different 
thicknesses” and “paint sneaked in between 
the layers.” Oh, well, there are bumpkins 
who admire pictures made of postage 
stamps and there are cockneys who applaud 
a violinist for imitating bird-calls, while 
plenty of nice little children will clap their 
hands if you play a tune on tumblers. Me- 
thinks the attempt to evolve a “regular 
picture” out of glass is quite as dignified. 
Not a “Lost Art” 
Meanwhile, the mottled, crinkly, opales¬ 
cent half-tones discard the supreme oppor¬ 
tunity of a window. As well dim a ruby or 
tarnish a diamond. What you want is 
splendor of transfigured sunshine. Let the 
light through. Let the colors sing for joy. 
If you try to make glass a substitute for 
canvas, you fail to produce a complete 
painting, and you have sacrificed the jubi¬ 
lant shimmer without gaining any adequate 
recompense. Come, come! Let us keep 
things separate. East is East and West is 
West. Pigs is pigs, canvas is canvas, glass 
is glass. In the Middle Ages this was un¬ 
derstood. Witness those glowing windows 
at Carcassonne, in the minster at York, in 
Notre Dame, in the Cathedral at Chartres 
—yes, and in many an ancient baronial hall 
or college library as well. 
It is customary, I know, to speak of all 
this as a “lost art,” and so it was—for a 
time; that is, if by “lost” you mean neg¬ 
lected. The demand for it vanished. Sir 
Joshua Reynolds, president of the Royal 
Academy though he was, executed a murky, 
muddy series of translucent paintings to 
The same artist executed these two of the 
centaurs. This is set in a larger win¬ 
dow much in the manner of that shoivn 
opposite , with flat lights on all sides 
take the place of windows in the chapel at 
New College, Oxford. In our own day, 
John La Farge went in for opalescent glass, 
and America bowed down and worshipped. 
Yet, if you will read Viollet-le-Duc’s “Vit- 
rail,” you will discover that the “lost” art 
was known to him in its every detail. I 
remember a farmer w r ho accidentally drop¬ 
ped a crow-bar into a deep pond, and con¬ 
soled himself by remarking, “ ’Tain’t lost 
ez long’s I know where it is.” The stained 
glass situation exactly. All through the 
centuries of the art’s banishment there were 
craftsmen who knew where it was. To-day 
men like Charles J. Connick and Nicola 
d’Ascenzo are restoring it to its old-time 
supremacy and honor by their work. 
Modern Medievalism 
This spells revolution. It means dark 
days ahead for the opalescent eccentricities 
of La Farge and his followers. It indicates 
that a small boy may yet be raised up to do 
the right thing by Van Cuyp’s window. But 
there is nothing at all phenomenal about the 
return to mediaeval practice. The same 
glass is to be had now. The same processes 
are in use, the same type of design, the same 
technique. Let Van Cuyp say the word 
and a modern mediaevalist will furnish the 
perfect window -—- in conception, flat and 
rigid to suit the wall; in material, trans¬ 
parent glass of pure colors; in treatment, 
the soul-delighting radiance allowed to 
blaze triumphantly through a painted black 
design “fired in” to insure its permanence, 
in structure, absolutely candid, with bars 
showing, leads showing, and, by their effect¬ 
ive contrast with the glass, heightening its 
glory to the discerning eye. 
Still when I chaffed Van Cuyp about his 
probable desire to collar the roses Baedeker 
describes as “worthy of inspection” and 
“stick them in his house,” he was quite 
right in calling them too “churchy.” No 
more would a medieval baron have thought 
A modern cartouche designed by Nicola 
d’Ascenzo in the mediceval fashion. The 
combination of figure and heraldry heavily 
leaded is a characteristic of the period 
of “sticking” them in his castle. To adapt 
13th Century glass to use in a private 
dwelling involves considerations of light and 
optics familiar in the Middle Ages and by 
no means forgotten now. The roses, for 
example, would but poorly illumine a dwell¬ 
ing. They would assault the eye. With 
the rest they would have a “churchy” air 
by reason of their ecclesiastical symbolism. 
But, dear me, these are no arguments 
against introducing mediaeval glass into 
modern mansions. If you want more light, 
leave spaces of clear glass. If the color 
is too resplendent, confine it to a central 
cartouche or distribute it. If the “churchy” 
emblems seem out of place, use heraldic de¬ 
signs, allegorical figures, or conventional 
decorative motifs. And mind you, Gothic 
treatment is far from imperative. One 
may draw upon the Renaissance, particu¬ 
larly upon the Italian Renaissance, and be 
playful, almost, while at the same time ad¬ 
hering to traditional standards. 
For the Private House 
I warn you, however, that you are em¬ 
barking upon a fairly thrilling adventure 
when you risk mediaeval luminosity in a 
private house. It may clash with the neu¬ 
tral semi-tones of an interior. It may have 
over-much “body.” It may dominate, per¬ 
haps domineer. By its suggestion of weight 
it may make your walls look flimsy. Before 
you venture upon the spree, order a council 
called, to consist of your glass man, your 
architect, your interior decorator, yourself, 
the wife of your bosom, and, for “the bet¬ 
ter prevention of scenes,” a few Bishops. 
As a preliminary, read, mark, and inwardly 
digest Westlake’s “History of Design in 
Painted Glass” and the book by Lewis F. 
Day under the title “Windows.” 
The result, I dare say, will be a basis of 
clear glass—or tinted, if you prefer—leaded 
in a rigid design, and embellished with a 
central cartouche of sumptuous, gleaming 
color. Or you may add a border. If your 
taste favors Renaissance floridity, you may 
select a color treatment sprayed across the 
window, though leaving abundant spaces of 
clear or tinted glass. The details may be 
of several sorts, but the principle remains. 
With good fortune, you will have accom¬ 
plished a thoroughly dignified and entirely 
legitimate effect, attempting nothing in vio¬ 
lation of honesty, candor, propriety, logic, 
or the architect’s scheme for your house. 
Instead of shutting away half the sunshine 
in order to obtain a sham canvas for a sham 
picture, you will have welcomed the light 
and made it magnificent. Instead of en¬ 
couraging a cheap trickery, you will have 
spoken out for the same noble, sincere 
workmanship that gave the Middle Ages 
their romantic and imperishable charm. 
By avoiding the ecclesiastical and taking 
subjects from modern or classic life, the 
window in the modern home will not have 
that heavy “ churchy ” air 
