Walk into a cathedral and you see it happening. People turn their heads on their necks as if it were instinct. It’s not a painting, not a pulpit, not a choir screen that grabs their attention. It is a circle. A big, silent, transparent wheel of color and light. Sometimes 10 meters wide, sometimes 15. Sometimes ancient, sometimes reconstructed after war or fire. But always: a window you can’t ignore. Rose windows are the type of detail that medieval master builders built their reputation on – literally. And that 21st-century visitors still get quiet about. Why?
Why your neck hurts in a cathedral
Because they are a brilliant combination of symbolism, stained glass, cosmology, technical bravado and medieval project management. In the next two articles we’ll discover how the rose won its place in Gothic architecture, how it grew bigger and wiser, and why we still photograph it today – often without knowing what we’re seeing.
Before I present to you the big 5 most famous rose windows (or scroll down), first five pressing questions people have when they stare up with their necks back.
1. Why a rose window? And why round?
The circle is the form without beginning or end. Medievalists saw in that shape the divine itself: a cosmic symbol of eternity, perfection and divine order. You find this in many rose windows:
- Center you see Christ or Mary, often as Majestas Domini or Rosa Mystica
- First ring: evangelists, apostles, prophets
- Second ring: constellations, virtues/vices or angels
- Outer ring: often allegorical figures or donors
The whole forms a visual mandala: theology, cosmology and aesthetics in one design. In other words: medieval infographics using glass as a medium.
2. Where did the idea of a rose window come from?
The cradle of the rose window was not in Paris, but in classical antiquity. Already among the Romans, we see round openings in walls: the oculus of the Pantheon (2nd century) is the most famous example – a perfectly circular hole 9 meters in diameter, designed purely to let in light.
This shape survived the fall of Rome in the architecture of the Merovingians, Visigoths and Byzantines, where circular mosaics and stained-glass circular decorations were the harbingers of later rose windows.
In the early Middle Ages, small round windows (oculi) appeared in churches, often unglazed or filled with translucent alabaster. Because of the thick Romanesque walls, these openings could not be larger than 1 to 2 meters. Nevertheless, experiments arose.
In Oviedo, Spain, we already see a rosette-like window in San Miguel de Lillo around 850, and in Germany, churches like Worms and Speyer (11th century) show tentative spokes structures in round gable openings – the so-called wheel windows. Consider a simple sundial made of stone: a circle with a few straight ribs in it, purely functional.
A surprising contribution may have come from outside Europe. According to some art historians, crusaders in the 11th century brought inspiration from Islamic architecture, such as the complex rosette motifs in the palace of Khirbat al-Mafjar (Jordan, 8th century). That influence is hard to substantiate, but not inconceivable: the idea of light-through ornament was universal.
birth of the gothic rose window
The real birth of the Gothic rose window – that is, a large round window with tracery and glass – occurred around 1140, during the renovation of the abbey church of Saint-Denis near Paris under the direction of abt Suger.
He had a pioneering circular window installed in the west facade, reinforced with wrought-iron rings and filled with colored stained glass. Suger’s motivation was not only aesthetic, but theological: “God is light, ” he wrote.
Through a window, that divine light had to touch the soul. As Pope Benedict XVI beautifully explained: from the outside Gothic windows appear somber, “but once inside they come alive; the light that falls through them reveals all their splendor.” That experience from darkness to radiant light was a conscious lesson in faith: the material glass became a conduit of immaterial, heavenly light.
From then on, the rose window became not an architectural extra, but a core part of the Gothic vocabulary. The rose windows of Laon (c. 1190), Chartres (c. 1215) and later Reims and Paris built on the idea of a circle that not only let light through, but also visualized order, theology and geometry. The oculus had evolved into a rose window: no longer a simple hole in the wall, but a flower of glass, stone and symbolism that gave structure as well as meaning to the entire cathedral.
3. In what way was the design of rose windows determined?
Rose windows are not a random color plate in stone. Behind the shape is mathematics: golden section, golden triangle, pentagonal symmetry. According to Prof. Gout (his Dutch (sorry) book Symbolism in Cathedral Building is highly recommended!), the pentagon played a central role in the construction – not as decoration, but as a carrier of structure and symbolism.
The repetition of patterns, the radial precision, the balance between lines and light: it feels harmonious because it ís. And that was exactly the intention. Perhaps that is why we can be so amazed by a rose window when we are in a Gothic church.
4. How to build a light machine- and why you don't have to be a morning person to do it
A rose window did not originate with a sketch on parchment. It started on the ground. Literally.
Master builders drew the entire design on a plaster floor – full size, with compasses, ruler and a dose of geometric insight that would make math teachers jealous.
Next came the wooden molds. Every part of the mesh was drawn out and cut out in advance – not for fun viewing, but to get stone “prefab” elements precisely sized. As Prof. ir. Gout dryly summarized it in his book, “The parts of the window were to serve wooden molds for the stone prefabricated elements.”
Only when the entire window – stone, rib, skeleton – stood did the glass come. Each piece carefully cut, placed in lead strips, and lifted into the frame one at a time. No margin for slack. No room for haste.
You’re not building a rose window. You’re assembling a light machine.
5. From modest to monstrous: How did the rose window develop over time?
Gothic architecture began around 1140 with a few brilliant insights. Architecturally, they were gamechangers: pointed arches that better distribute forces, cross-ribbed vaults that directed roof weight to fixed points, and above all: buttresses (and later flying buttresses) that largely deprived the walls of their load-bearing function. Consequence? The wall no longer became the terminus of gravity, but a decorative frame. And where space is created, appears: light.
Instead of the small Romanesque oculi (round windows of at most 1-2 meters in diameter, often without glass), the first true rose windows appeared in the 12th century: large round openings with stained glass, often placed centrally above the main entrance. Consider Laon (c. 1190), where the rose is still rather modest: flower-shaped, central roundel, tight symmetry. This early style was afterwards nicknamed “petal style ” – simple, but not simplistic.
That would soon change.
Bigger. Bigger. Even bigger.
A new era had begun: that of the Rayonnant Gothic. The rose became a visual explosion point. From a single center, dozens of stone ribs fan out in perfect symmetry. Geometric patterns of four-passes, many-passes and circles emerged – not for decoration, but for structure as well as symbolism. Chartres, Reims, Paris: everywhere the roses grew along with the ambitions of their builders.
Technically, this went hand in hand with an innovation: plate tracery gave way to bar tracery. No more recesses in thick stone, but slender rib structures in which the glass hangs like a skeleton. The result: larger windows, less risk of breakage, and above all, much more design freedom. Glass and stone began to dance together.
The flamboyant finale
In the 14th-15th centuries, Gothic received one last growth spurt. The flamboyant style made short work of symmetry. Tracings began to meander in S-curves, flames, asymmetries. At first glance, the rose on the west facade of Amiens (late 15th century) looks more like an abstract painting than a theological scheme. It is a labyrinth in stone – the rose as a psychedelic phenomenon avant la lettre.
Meanwhile, the scale also went up. Cathedrals emulated each other in diameter and complexity. Strasbourg (c. 1300) built a rose nearly 15 meters wide – one of the largest in Europe. The underlying message: this is the house of God, and we are building it more beautiful than our neighbors.
When the Renaissance emerged, the rose was gone for a while. People thought it was all a bit too medieval. Instead of flame-shaped mesh patterns, simple round windows reappeared – occhi in Italy, often without tracery. Light became rational. Decoration became classical.
Death and Resurrection
But memory remained. In the 19th century, neo-Gothic rediscovered the charm of the rose window. Viollet-le-Duc reconstructed them as if he personally wanted to save the Middle Ages. In churches like Saint-Malo cathedral, where the original rose had already been destroyed by a cannonball in 1693, the west front received a new rose window again in 1972 – modern glass in a traditional place. If you are here once: be sure to visit the church in the afternoon, when the sun shines right through the window. Wonderful!
Many windows have stood the test of time as if by a miracle. In Chartres, the glass was removed from the windows in time for both WWI and WWII. In Paris, the roses of Notre-Dame magically remained untouched by fire in 2019. Of course, they had to be restored words, piece by piece. The luck? The rose window today is often better documented than ever.
Why we still care
A window is fragile. Each rose window that is still intact is a unique work of art to continue to marvel at. You don’t need a degree in medieval art to feel it. A rose window pulls you in: the symmetry, the glow, the impossible beauty. It’s architecture, theology, and visual music. Made to last. Made to lift your gaze.
5 Famous Rose Windows
Chartres – Cathédrale Notre-Dame (Chartres, Frankrijk)
Built: 1194–1220. West rose: ~1215. North: ~1231. South: ~1224.
Size: West rose: 12 m; transept roses: 10.5 m. Combined: ~340 m² of glass.
Highlights:
West rose: The Last Judgment — Christ in the center, flanked by angels, beasts, and judgment scenes. Heavy and stoney, with a low proportion of glass.
South rose: Christ in Majesty, encircled by 24 elders of Revelation. The tracery of this rose is more delicate then the west rose and its design more coherent.
North rose: Glorification of Mary — seated Madonna, Old Testament kings & prophets all around. The north rose of Chartres isn’t just stained glass — it’s choreography in stone. Unlike the southern rose, where glass steals the show, this one uses its stone tracery as a standalone geometric marvel: a giant dahlia of radiating petals, layered with concentric rings of diamonds, squares, and half-moons. Each square is rotated just enough to fake motion, like a kinetic halo frozen mid-spin. The result? A layered, optical illusion of movement and depth — more complex than the west or south window, and arguably the most mesmerizing. Even if the glass vanished, the design would still pulse.
- Why it matters: Chartres is the gold standard. Home to the deepest “Chartres blue.” Over 2600 m² of stained glass survive — most of it original. These three roses still deliver the theological punch they were built for.
Reims – Cathédrale Notre-Dame (France)
Built: New construction started 1211. West rose: ~1260–75. Transept roses: ~1255.
Size: West: 12.5 m. Transept: 13 m each. Total glass: ~1500 m².
Highlights:
West: Coronation of Mary — fitting above the church where kings were crowned.
North: The Creation — animals, Adam and Eve, God at the center.
South: Partially modern after war damage.
Why it matters: Reims is grandeur incarnate. After WWI fire damage, glass was rebuilt — but tracery survived. West façade features three half-roses over each portal. Bonus: modern stained glass by Chagall (1974) adds a post-war twist.
Strasbourg – Cathédrale Notre-Dame (France)
Built: 1176–1439. West rose by Erwin von Steinbach, ~1280–1300.
Size: ~15 m diameter; 165–177 m² glass.
Theme: No saints here — just wheat. Abstract tracery patterns symbolizing the harvest, the Eucharist, and cosmic order.
Why it matters: Strasbourg’s rose is a beast — geometrically clean yet symbolically rich. And it survived the French Revolution intact, thanks to one brave administrator. At sunrise, it throws amber and crimson all over the nave.
Laon – Cathédrale Notre-Dame (France)
Built: 1160–1210. West rose: ~1200. North: ~1170–80.
Size: 10–12 m diameter, ~100 m² each.
Highlights:
West: Marian rose — apostles, 24 elders, all pointing to the Queen of Heaven.
North: The Seven Liberal Arts — personifications of Grammar, Astronomy, Rhetoric, and friends. Yes, in glass.
Why it matters: A rare glimpse into early Gothic geometry. The tracery still has Romanesque heft, but the vision is pure Gothic. Also: look up. Yes, those are oxen carved into the towers. Long story. Worth it. Read it here.
Paris – Cathédrale Notre-Dame (France)
Built: Began 1163. West rose: 1225. North: 1250. South: 1260.
Size: West: 9.6 m. North/South: ~13 m. ~130 m² each.
Highlights:
West: The Last Judgment.
North: Old Testament & Mary.
South: Christ and the Triumphant Church.
Why it matters: The triplet rose layout defines the Paris skyline. And yes — they survived the 2019 fire. Still glowing, still doing their job. Violet-le-Duc’s 19th-century iron reinforcements probably saved them. Or divine luck. Maybe both .
BONUS: Saint-Malo – Cathédrale Saint-Vincent (France)
Built: Original medieval rose destroyed in 1693. New rose installed 1972 by Raymond Cornon, glass by Jean Le Moal.
Size: 8–9 m diameter, ~50–64 m² glass.
Theme: Abstract modernism. Motifs of light, hope, and resurrection — no saints, just energy.
Why it matters: A 20th-century rose in a Romanesque frame. It works. Light floods the west façade at sunset, a glowing reminder that not all heritage is medieval — and not all beauty needs to be ancient.
