back to remonstrate with Almogenes.  The demons then bind Almogenes and bring him before James, who discusses differences with him until Almogenes burns his books of magic and prostrates himself before the Saint.  Both are then brought before Herod, and Almogenes breaks a pretty heathen idol, while James goes to prison.  A panel comes in here, out of place, showing Almogenes enchanting Filetus, and the demon entering into possession of him.  Then Almogenes is seen being very roughly handled by a young Jew, while the bystanders seem to approve.  James next makes Almogenes throw his books of magic into the sea; both are led away to execution, curing the infirm on their way; their heads are cut off; and, at the top, God blesses the orb of the world.

That this window was intended to amuse the Virgin seems quite as reasonable an idea as that it should have been made to instruct the people, or us.  Its humour was as humorous then as now, for the French of the thirteenth century loved humour even in churches, as their grotesques proclaim.  The Saint James window is a tale of magic, told with the vivacity of a fabliau; but if its motive of amusement seems still a forced idea, we can pass on, at once, to the companion window which holds the best position in the church, where, in the usual cathedral, one expects to find Saint John or some other apostle; or Saint Joseph; or a doctrinal lesson such as that called the New Alliance where the Old and New Testaments are united.  The window which the artists have set up here is regarded as the best of the thirteenth-century windows, and is the least religious.

The subject is nothing less than the “Chanson de Roland” in pictures of coloured glass, set in a border worth comparing at leisure with the twelfth-century borders of the western lancets.  Even at Chartres, the artists could not risk displeasing the Virgin and the Church by following a wholly profane work like the “Chanson” itself, and Roland had no place in religion.  He could be introduced only through Charlemagne, who had almost as little right there as he.  The twelfth century had made persistent efforts to get Charlemagne into the Church, and the Church had made very little effort to keep him out; yet by the year 1200, Charlemagne had not been sainted except by the anti-Pope Pascal iii in 1165, although there was a popular belief, supported in Spain by the necessary documents, that Pope Calixtus ii in 1122 had declared the so-called Chronicle of Archbishop Turpin to be authentic.  The Bishop of Chartres in 1200 was very much too enlightened a prelate to accept the Chronicle or Turpin or Charlemagne himself, still less Roland and Thierry, as authentic in sanctity; but if the young and beautiful Dauphine of France, and her cousins of Chartres, and their artists, warmly believed that the Virgin would be pleased by the story of Charlemagne and Roland, the Bishop might have let them have their way in spite of the irregularity.  That the window was an irregularity, is plain; that it has always been immensely admired, is certain; and that Bishop Renaud must have given his assent to it, is not to be denied.