Porches, like steeples, were rather a peculiarity of French churches, and were studied, varied, one might even say petted, by French architects to an extent hardly attempted elsewhere; but among all the French porches, those of Chartres are the most famous.  There are two:  one on the north side, devoted to the Virgin; the other, on the south, devoted to the Son, “The mass of intelligence, knowledge, acquaintance with effects, practical experience, expended on these two porches of Chartres,” says Viollet-le-Duc, “would be enough to establish the glory of a whole generation of artists.”  We begin with the north porch because it belonged to the Virgin; and it belonged to the Virgin because the north was cold, bleak, sunless, windy, and needed warmth, peace, affection, and power to protect against the assaults of Satan and his swarming devils.  There the all-suffering but the all-powerful Mother received other mothers who suffered like her, but who, as a rule, were not powerful.  Traditionally in the primitive church, the northern porch belonged to the women.  When they needed help, they came here, because it was the only place in this world or in any other where they had much hope of finding even a reception.  See how Mary received them!

The porch extends the whole width of the transept, about one hundred and twenty feet (37.65 metres), divided into three bays some twenty feet deep, and covered with a stone vaulted roof supported on piers outside.  Begun toward 1215 under Philip Augustus, the architectural part was finished toward 1225 under Louis VIII; and after his death in 1226, the decorative work and statuary were carried on under the regency of his widow, Blanche of Castile, and through the reign of her son, Saint Louis (1235-70), until about 1275, when the work was completed by Philip the Hardy.  A gift of the royal family of France, all the members of the family seem to have had a share in building it, and several of their statues have been supposed to adorn it.  The walls are lined—­the porch, in a religious sense, is inhabited—­by more than seven hundred figures, great and small, all, in one way or another, devoted to the glory of the Queen of Heaven.  You will see that a hundred years have converted the Byzantine Empress into a French Queen, as the same years had converted Alix of Savoy into Blanche of Castile; but the note of majesty is the same, and the assertion of power is, if possible, more emphatic.

The highest note is struck at once, in the central bay, over the door, where you see the Coronation of Mary as Queen of Heaven, a favourite subject in art from very early times, and the dominant idea of Mary’s church.  You see Mary on the left, seated on her throne; on the right, seated on a precisely similar throne, is Christ, Who holds up His right hand apparently to bless, since Mary already bears the crown.  Mary bends forward, with her hands raised toward her Son, as though in gratitude or adoration or prayer, but certainly not in an attitude of feudal homage.  On either side, an archangel swings a censer.