That these two men should be found here, associated with Blanche in the same work, at the same time, under the same roof, is a fantastic idea, and students can feel in this political difficulty a much stronger objection to admitting Hurepel to Queen Blanche’s porch than any supposed rule of Church custom; yet the first privilege of tourist ignorance is the right to see, or try to see, their thirteenth century with thirteenth-century eyes.  Passing by the statues of Philip and Mahaut, and stepping inside the church door, almost the first figure that the visitor sees on lifting his eyes to the upper windows of the transept is another figure of Philippe Hurepel, in glass, on his knees, with clasped hands, before an altar; and to prevent possibility of mistake his blazoned coat bears the words:  “Phi:  Conte de Bolone.”  Apparently he is the donor, for, in the rose above, he sits in arms on a white horse with a shield bearing the blazon of France.  Obliged to make his peace with the Queen in 1230, Hurepel died in 1233 or 1234, while Blanche was still regent, and instantly took his place as of right side by side with Blanche’s castles of Castile among the great benefactors of the church.

Beneath the next rose is Mahaut herself, as donor, bearing her husband’s arms of France, suggesting that the windows must have been given together, probably before Philip’s death in 1233, since Mahaut was married again in 1238, this time to Alfonso of Portugal, who repudiated her in 1249, and left her to die in her own town of Boulogne in 1258.  Lastly, in the third window of the series, is her daughter Jeanne,—­“Iehenne,”—­who was probably born before 1220, and who was married in 1236 to Gaucher de Chatillon, one of the greatest warriors of his time.  Jeanne also—­according to the Abbe Bulteau (111, 225)—­bears the arms of her father and mother; which seems to suggest that she gave this window before her marriage.  These three windows, therefore, have the air of dating at least as early as 1233 when Philip Hurepel died, while next them follow two more roses, and the great rose of France, presumably of the same date, all scattered over with the castles of Queen Blanche.  The motive of the porch outside is repeated in the glass, as it should be, and as the Saint Anne of the Rose of France, within, repeats the Saint Anne on the trumeau of the portal.  The personal stamp of the royal family is intense, but the stamp of the Virgin’s personality is intenser still.  In the presence of Mary, not only did princes hide their quarrels, but they also put on their most courteous manners and the most refined and even austere address.  The Byzantine display of luxury and adornment had vanished.  All the figures suggest the sanctity of the King and his sister Isabel; the court has the air of a convent; but the idea of Mary’s majesty is asserted through it all.  The artists and donors and priests forgot nothing which, in their judgment, could set off the authority, elegance, and refinement of the Queen of Heaven; even the young ladies-in-waiting are there, figured by the twelve Virtues and the fourteen Beatitudes; and, indeed, though men are plenty and some of them are handsome, women give the tone, the charm, and mostly the intelligence.  The Court of Mary is feminine, and its charms are Grace and Love; perhaps even more grace than love, in a social sense, if you look at Beauty and Friendship among Beatitudes.