Cathedral Cities of Spain
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Title: Cathedral Cities of Spain
Author: W. W. Collins
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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CATHEDRAL CITIES OF SPAIN ***
CATHEDRAL CITIES OF SPAIN
_UNIFORM WITH THIS VOLUME_
CATHEDRAL CITIES OF ENGLAND. By GEORGE GILBERT. With 60
reproductions from water-colours by W.W. COLLINS, R.I. Demy 8vo,
16s. net.
CATHEDRAL CITIES OF FRANCE. By HERBERT and HESTER MARSHALL. With 60
reproductions from water-colours by HERBERT MARSHALL, R.W.S. Demy
8vo, 16s. net. Also large paper edition, £2 2s. net.
_BOOKS ILLUSTRATED BY JOSEPH PENNELL_
ITALIAN HOURS. By HENRY JAMES. With 32 plates in colour and
numerous illustrations in black and white by JOSEPH PENNELL. Large
crown 4to. Price 20s. net.
A LITTLE TOUR IN FRANCE. By HENRY JAMES. With 94 illustrations by
JOSEPH PENNELL. Pott 4to. Price 10s. net.
ENGLISH HOURS. By HENRY JAMES. With 94 illustrations by JOSEPH
PENNELL. Pott 4to. Price 10s. net.
ITALIAN JOURNEYS. By W.D. HOWELLS. With 103 illustrations by JOSEPH
PENNELL. Pott 4to. Price 10s. net.
CASTILIAN DAYS. By the Hon. JOHN HAY. With 111 illustrations by
JOSEPH PENNELL. Pott 4to. Price 10s. net.
London: WILLIAM HEINEMANN
21 Bedford Street, W.C.
[Illustration]
[Illustration: BURGOS. THE CATHEDRAL]
CATHEDRAL CITIES
OF SPAIN
WRITTEN AND ILLUSTRATED
BY
W. W. COLLINS, R.I.
[Illustration: colophon]
LONDON: WILLIAM HEINEMANN
NEW YORK: DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY
1909
_All rights reserved_
_Copyright, London, 1909, by William Heinemann and
Washington, U.S.A., by Dodd, Mead & Co_
PREFACE
Spain, the country of contrasts, of races differing from one another in
habits, customs, and language, has one great thing that welds it into a
homogeneous nation, and this is its Religion. Wherever one's footsteps
wander, be it in the progressive provinces of the north, the mediævalism
of the Great Plain, or in that still eastern portion of the south,
Andalusia, this one thing is ever omnipresent and stamps itself on the
memory as the great living force throughout the Peninsula.
In her Cathedrals and Churches, her ruined Monasteries and Convents,
there is more than abundant evidence of the vitality of her Faith; and
we can see how, after the expulsion of the Moor, the wealth of the
nation poured into the coffers of the Church and there centralised the
life of the nation.
In the mountain fastnesses of Asturias the churches of Santa Maria de
Naranco and San Miguel de Lino, dating from the ninth century and
contemporary with San Pablo and Santa Cristina, in Barcelona, are the
earliest Christian buildings in Spain. As the Moor was pushed further
south, a new style followed his retreating steps; and the Romanesque,
introduced from over the Pyrenees, became the adopted form of
architecture in the more or less settled parts of the country. Creeping
south through Leon, where San Isidoro is well worth mention, we find the
finest examples of the period in the eleventh and twelfth centuries, at
Segovia, Avila, and the grand Catedral Vieja of Salamanca.
Spain sought help from France to expel the Moor, and it is but natural
that the more advanced nation should leave her mark somewhere and in
some way in the country she pacifically invaded. Before the spread of
this influence became general, we find at least one great monument of
native genius rise up at Tarragona. The Transition Cathedral there can
lay claim to be entirely Spanish. It is the epitome and outcome of a
yearning for the display of Spain's own talent, and is one of the most
interesting and beautiful in the whole country.
Toledo, Leon, and Burgos are the three Cathedrals known as the "French"
Cathedrals of Spain. They are Gothic and the first named is the finest
of all. Spanish Gothic is best exemplified in the Cathedral of
Barcelona. For late-Gothic, we must go to the huge structures of
Salamanca, Segovia, and the Cathedral at Seville which almost overwhelms
in the grandeur of its scale.
After the close of the fifteenth century Italian or Renaissance
influence began to be felt, and the decoration of the Plateresque style
became the vogue. San Marcos at Leon, the University of Salamanca, and
the Casa de Ayuntamiento at Seville are among the best examples of this.
The influence of Churriguera, who evolved the Churrigueresque style, is
to be met with in almost every Cathedral in the country. He it is who
was responsible for those great gilded altars with their enormous
twisted pillars so familiar to travellers in Spain; and which, though no
doubt a tribute to the glory of God, one feels are more a vulgar display
of wealth than a tasteful or artistic addition to her architecture. The
finest of the Renaissance Cathedrals is that of Granada, and the most
obtrusive piece of Churrigueresque is the Cartuja in the same city.
Taking the Cathedrals as a whole the two most unfamiliar and notable
features are the Coros or Choirs, and the Retablos. These
latter--gorgeous backings to the High Altar, generally ill-lit, with a
superabundance of carving sometimes coloured and gilded, sometimes of
plain stone--are of Low-country or Flemish origin. The former, with one
exception at Oviedo, are placed in the nave west of the crossing, and
enclose, as a rule, two or more bays in this direction. Every Cathedral
is a museum of art, and these two features are the most worth study.
NOTE.--_Since the revolution in Catalonia of July-August 1909, the
King has decreed that no one can secure exemption from military
service by the payment of a sum of money._
CONTENTS
PAGE
CADIZ 1
SEVILLE 7
CORDOVA 23
GRANADA 31
MALAGA 57
VALENCIA 65
TORTOSA 77
TARRAGONA 83
BARCELONA 91
GERONA 101
TOLEDO 107
SALAMANCA 121
AVILA 137
SEGOVIA 145
SARAGOSSA 159
SANTIAGO 174
TUY 183
ORENSE 187
ASTORGA 193
ZAMORA 199
LEON 205
OVIEDO 217
VALLADOLID 225
BURGOS 233
INDEX 249
ILLUSTRATIONS
_To face
page_
Burgos. The Cathedral _Frontispiece_
Cadiz. The Cathedral 2
Cadiz. The Market Place 4
Seville. In the Cathedral 8
Seville. The Giralda Tower 12
Seville. In the Alcázar, the Patio de las Doncellas 14
Seville. View over the Town 18
Cordova. Interior of the Mesquita 24
Cordova. The Campanario Tower 26
Cordova. The Bridge 28
Cordova. Fountain in the Court of Oranges 30
Granada. Carrera de Darro 32
Granada. Exterior of the Cathedral 38
Granada. The Alhambra 46
Granada. The Alhambra, Court of Lions 50
Granada. Generalife 54
Malaga. View from the Harbour 58
Malaga. The Market 62
Valencia. San Pablo 66
Valencia. Door of the Cathedral 68
Valencia. Religious Procession 72
Tortosa 80
Tarragona 84
Tarragona. The Archbishop's Tower 86
Tarragona. The Cloisters 88
Barcelona. The Cathedral 92
Barcelona. The Rambla 96
Gerona. The Cattle Market 102
Gerona. The Cathedral 104
Toledo. The Cathedral 108
Toledo. The South Transept 110
Toledo. The Zócodover 114
Toledo. The Alcántara Bridge 116
Salamanca 122
Salamanca. The Old Cathedral 124
Salamanca. An Old Street 128
Avila 138
Avila. Puerta de San Vicente 142
Segovia at Sunset 146
Segovia. The Aqueduct 148
Segovia. Plaza Mayor 152
Saragossa. La Seo 160
Saragossa. In the Old Cathedral 164
Saragossa. Easter Procession 166
Santiago. The Cathedral 172
Santiago. South Door of the Cathedral 174
Santiago. Interior of the Cathedral 178
Tuy 184
Orense. In the Cathedral 188
Astorga 194
Zamora. The Cathedral 202
Leon. The Cathedral 208
Leon. The West Porch of the Cathedral 210
Leon. San Marcos 214
Oviedo. In the Cathedral 218
Oviedo. The Cloisters 222
Valladolid.Santa Maria la Antigua 226
Valladolid.San Pablo 228
Burgos. The Capilla Mayor 236
Burgos. Arch of Santa Maria 242
CADIZ
At one time the greatest port in the world--"Where are thy glories now,
oh, Cadiz?" She is still a White City lying embosomed on a sea of
emerald and topaz. Her streets are still full of the colour of the East,
but alas! Seville has robbed her of her trade, and in the hustle of
modern life she is too far from the busy centre, too much on the
outskirts of everything, to be anything more than a port of call for
American tourists and a point from whence the emigrant leaves his native
country.
This isolation is one of her great charms, and the recollections I have
carried away of her quiet clean streets, her white or pink washed houses
with their flat roofs and _miradores_, her brilliant sun and blue sea,
can never be effaced by Time's subtle hand.
Landing from a coasting-boat from Gibraltar, I began my travels through
Spain at Cadiz; and it was with intense regret, so pleasant was the
change from the grey skies and cold winds of England, that I took my
final stroll along the broad Alameda bordered with palms of all sorts,
and lined with other exotic growth--that I bid good-bye to the Parque de
Genoves where many a pleasant hour had been spent in the grateful shade
of its trees. I shall probably never again lean idly over the sea-washed
walls and watch the graceful barques with their cargoes of salt, spread
their sails to the breeze and glide away on the long voyage to South
America.
Looking out eastwards over the marshes I was at first much puzzled to
know what were the white pyramids that stood in rows like the tents of
an invading host. Then I was told. Shallow pans are dug out in the marsh
and the sea let in. After evaporation this is repeated again and again,
until the saline deposit is thick enough to be scraped and by degrees
grows into a pyramid. Every pan is named after a saint from whom good
luck is implored. No, I doubt if ever my eyes will wander again over the
blue waters to the marsh lands of San Fernando.
[Illustration: CADIZ. THE CATHEDRAL]
Life is short and I can hardly hope that Fate will carry me back to
those sea walls and once more permit me as the sun goes down to
speculate on the catch of the fishing-fleet as each boat makes for its
haven in the short twilight of a southern clime. I cannot but regret
that all this is of the past, but I shall never regret that at Cadiz,
the most enchanting of Spain's seaports, began my acquaintance with
her many glorious cities.
In ancient times Cadiz was the chief mart for the tin of the
Cassiterides and the amber of the Baltic. Founded by the Tyrians as far
back as 1100 B.C., it was the Gadir (fortress) of the Phoenicians.
Later on Hamilcar and Hannibal equipped their armies and built their
fleets here. The Romans named the city Gades, and it became second only
to Padua and Rome. After the discovery of America, Cadiz became once
more a busy port, the great silver fleets discharged their precious
cargoes in its harbour and from the estuary sailed many a man whose
descendants have created the great Spain over the water.
The loss of the Spanish colonies ruined Cadiz and it has never regained
the place in the world it once held. Huge quays are about to be
constructed and the present King has just laid the first stone of these,
in the hopes that trade may once more be brought to a city that sleeps.
There are two Cathedrals in Cadiz. The Catedral Nueva is a modern
structure commenced in 1722 and finished in 1838 by the bishop whose
statue faces the rather imposing west façade. Built of limestone and
Jérez sandstone, it is white--dazzling white, and rich ochre brown.
There is very little of interest in the interior. The _silleria del
coro_ (choir stalls) were given by Queen Isabel, and came originally
from a suppressed Carthusian Convent near Seville. The exterior can
claim a certain grandeur, especially when seen from the sea. The drum of
the _cimborio_ with the great yellow dome above, and the towers of the
west façade give it from a distance somewhat the appearance of a mosque.
The Catedral Vieja, built in the thirteenth century, was originally
Gothic, but being almost entirely destroyed during Lord Essex's siege in
1596, was rebuilt in its present unpretentious Renaissance form.
Cadiz possesses an Académia de Bellas Artes where Zurbaran, Murillo and
Alfonso Cano are represented by second-rate paintings. To the suppressed
convent of San Francisco is attached the melancholy interest of
Murillo's fatal fall from the scaffolding while at work on the _Marriage
of St. Catherine_. The picture was finished by his apt pupil Meneses
Osorio. Another work by the master, a _San Francisco_, quite in his best
style also hangs here.
[Illustration: CADIZ. THE MARKET PLACE]
The churches of Cadiz contain nothing to attract one, indeed if it were
not for the fine setting of the city surrounded by water, and the
semi-eastern atmosphere that pervades the place, there is but little to
hold the ordinary tourist. The Mercado, or market-place, is a busy
scene and full of colour; the Fish Market, too, abounds in varieties of
finny inhabitants of the deep and compares favourably in this respect
with that of Bergen in far away Norway. The sole attraction in this City
of the Past--in fact, I might say in the Past of Spain as far as it
concerns Cadiz--lies on the stretch of water into which the rivers
Guadalete and San Pedro empty themselves. From the very earliest days
down to the time when Columbus sailed on his voyage which altered the
face of the then known globe, and so on to our own day, it is in the
Bahia de Cadiz that her history has been written.
SEVILLE
Seville, the "Sephela" of the Phoenicians, "Hispalis" of the Romans,
and "Ishbilyah" of the Moors, is by far the largest and most interesting
city of Southern Spain. In Visigothic times Seville was the capital of
the Silingi until Leovigild moved his court to Toledo. It was captured
by Julius Cæsar in 45 B.C., but during the Roman occupation was
overshadowed by Italica, the birthplace of the Emperors Trajan, Adrian,
and Theodosius, and the greatest of Rome's cities in Hispania. This once
magnificent place is now a desolate ruin, plundered of its glories and
the haunt of gipsies.
Under the Moors, who ruled it for five hundred and thirty-six years,
Seville was second only to Cordova, to which city it became subject when
Abdurrhaman established the Western Kalifate there in the year 756.
San Ferdinand, King of Leon and Castile, pushed his conquests far south
and Seville succumbed to the force of his arms in 1248.
Seville is the most fascinating city in Spain. It is still Moorish in a
way. Its houses are built on the Eastern plan with _patios_, their roofs
are flat and many have that charming accessory, the _miradore_. Its
streets are narrow and winding, pushed out from a common centre with no
particular plan. It is Andalusian and behind the times. Triana, the
gipsy suburb, is full of interest. The Cathedral, though of late and
therefore not particularly good Gothic, is, on account of its great
size, the most impressive in the whole country. The Alcázar, once more a
royal residence, vies with Granada's Alhambra in beauty; and as a
mercantile port, sixty miles from the estuary, Seville ranks second to
none in Southern Spain.
The Cathedral stands third in point of size if the ground space is alone
considered, after St. Peter's at Rome and the Mesquita at Cordova. The
proportions of the lofty nave, one hundred feet in height, are so good
that it appears really much higher. The columns of the double aisles
break up the two hundred and sixty feet of its width and add much to the
solemn dignity of the vast interior, enhanced greatly by the height of
the vaulting above the spectator. Standing anywhere in the Cathedral I
felt that there was a roof above my head, but it seemed lost in space.
And this is the great characteristic of Seville's Cathedral, _i.e._,
space.
[Illustration: SEVILLE. IN THE CATHEDRAL]
The _coro_ is railed off from the crossing by a simple iron-gilt _reja_.
The _silleria_, by Sanchez, Dancart, and Guillier are very fine and took
seventy years to execute. Between the _coro_ and Capilla Mayor, in Holy
Week the great bronze candlestick, twenty-five feet high, a fine
specimen of sixteenth-century work, is placed alight. When the _Misere_
is chanted during service, twelve of its thirteen candles are put out,
one by one, indicating the desertion of Christ by his apostles. The
thirteenth left burning symbolises the Virgin, faithful to the end. From
this single light all the other candles in the Cathedral are lit.
The _reja_ of the Capilla Mayor is a grand example of an iron-gilt
screen, and with those to the north and south, is due to the talent of
the Dominican, Francisco de Salamanca.
The fine Gothic _retablo_ of the High Altar surpasses all others in
Spain in size and elaboration of detail. It was designed by Dancart and
many artists were employed in its execution. When the sun finds his way
through the magnificent coloured glass of the windows between noon and
three o'clock, and glints across it, few "interior" subjects surpass the
beautiful effect on this fine piece of work.
In front of the High Altar at the feast of Corpus Christi and on three
other occasions, the _Seises's_ dance takes place. This strange ceremony
is performed by chorister boys who dance a sort of minuet with
castanets. Their costume is of the time of Philip III., _i.e._, 1630,
and they wear plumed hats. Of the numerous chapels the most interesting
is the Capilla Real. It possesses a staff of clergy all to itself. Begun
in 1514 by Martin de Gainza, it was finished fifty years later. Over the
High Altar is the almost life-size figure of the Virgin de los Reyes,
given by St. Louis of France to San Ferdinand. Its hair is of spun gold
and its numerous vestments are marvellous examples of early embroidery.
The throne on which the Virgin is seated is a thirteenth-century piece
of silver work, with the arms of Castile and Leon, San Ferdinand's two
kingdoms. Before it lies the King himself in a silver shrine. Three
times a year, in May, August and November, a great military Mass takes
place before this royal shrine, when the garrison of Seville marches
through the chapel and colours are lowered in front of the altar. In the
vault beneath are the coffins of Pedro the Cruel and Maria Padilla his
mistress, the only living being who was humanly treated by this scourge
of Spain. Their three sons rest close to them.
On the north and south sides of this remarkable chapel, within arched
recesses, are the sarcophagi of Beatrice of Swabia and Alfonso the
Learned. They are covered with cloth of gold emblazoned with
coats-of-arms. A crown and sceptre rest on the cushion which lies on
each tomb. In the dim light, high above and beyond mortal reach rest
these two--it is very impressive.
Each of the remaining twenty-nine chapels contains something of
interest. In the Capilla de Santiago is a beautiful painted window of
the conversion of St. Paul. The _retablo_ in the Capilla de San Pedro
contains pictures by Zurbaran. In the north transept in a small chapel
is a good Virgin and Child by Alonso Cano; in the south is the Altar de
la Gamba, over which hangs the celebrated _La Generacion_ of Louis de
Vargas, known as _La Gamba_ from the well-drawn leg of Adam. On the
other side of this transept is the Altar de la Santa Cruz and between
these two altars is the monument to Christopher Columbus. Erected in
Havana it was brought to Spain after the late war and put up here.
Murillo's work outshines all other's in the Cathedral. The grand _San
Antonio de Padua_, in the second chapel west of the north aisle, is
difficult to see. The window which lights it is covered by a curtain,
which, however, the silver key will pull aside. Over the Altar of
Nuestra Señora del Consuelo is a beautiful Guardian Angel from the same
brush. Close by is another, _Santa Dorotea_, a very choice little
picture. In the Sacristy are two more, _S.S. Isidore_ and _Leander_. In
the Sala Capitular a _Conception_ and a _Mater Dolorosa_ in the small
sacristy attached to the Capilla Real complete the list.
Besides these fine pictures there are others which one can include in
the same category by Cano, Zurbaran, Morales, Vargas, Pedro Campaña and
the Flemish painter Sturm, a veritable gallery! And when I went into the
Treasury and saw the priceless relics which belong to Seville's
Cathedral, priceless in value and interest, and priceless from my own
art point of view, "Surely," thought I, "not only is it a picture
gallery, it is a museum as well."
The original mosque of Abu Yusuf Yakub was used as a Cathedral until
1401, when it was pulled down, the present building, which took its
place, being finished in 1506. The dome of this collapsed five years
later and was re-erected by Juan Gil de Hontañon. Earthquake shocks and
"jerry-building" were responsible for a second collapse in the August of
1888. The restoration has since been completed in a most satisfactory
manner--let us hope it will last.
[Illustration: SEVILLE. THE GIRALDA TOWER]
The exterior of the Cathedral is a very irregular mass of towers, domes,
pinnacles and flying buttresses, which give no clue to the almost
over-powering solemnity within the walls. Three doorways occupy the
west façade, which is of modern construction, and there are three also
on the north side of the Cathedral, one of which opens into the
_Segrario_, another into the Patio de los Naranjos and the third into
the arcade of the same patio. This last retains the horse-shoe arch of
the old mosque. In the porch hangs the stuffed crocodile which was sent
by the Sultan of Egypt to Alfonso el Sabio with a request for the hand
of his daughter. On the south is one huge door seldom opened. On the
east there are two more, that of La Puerta de los Palos being under the
shadow of the great Giralda Tower.
This magnificent relic of the Moslem's rule rears its height far above
everything else in Seville. Erected at the close of the twelfth century
by order of Abu Yusuf Yakub, it belongs to the second and best period of
Moorish architecture.
On its summit at the four corners rested four brazen balls of enormous
size overthrown by one of the numerous earthquakes which have shaken
Seville in days gone by. The belfry above the Moorish portion of the
tower, which ends where the _solid_ walls stop, was put up in 1568, and
has a second rectangular stage of smaller dimensions above. Both these
are in keeping with the Moorish work below and in no way detract from
its beauty. On top of the small cupola which caps the whole is the
world-famed figure of Faith. Cast in bronze, with the banner of
Constantine spread out to the winds of heaven, this, the _Giraldilla_,
or weather-cock, moves to the slightest breeze. It is thirteen feet
high, and weighs one and a quarter tons. Over three hundred feet above
the ground, the wonder is--how did it get there? and how has it
preserved its equipoise these last three hundred years?
It is difficult to find a point from which one can see the Giralda
Tower, in fact the only street from which it is visible from base to
summit is the one in which I made my sketch. Even this view does not
really convey its marvellous elegance and beauty.
Next to the Cathedral the Alcázar is the most famous building in
Seville. It is now a royal residence in the early part of the year, and
when the King and Queen are there, no stranger under any pretext
whatever is admitted.
Its courtyards and gardens are its glory. The scent of orange blossom
perfumes the air, the fountains splash and play, all is still within
these fascinating courts save the tinkle of the water and cooing of
doves. Of its orange trees, one was pointed out to me which Pedro the
Cruel planted! and many others are known to be over two hundred years
old.
[Illustration: SEVILLE. IN THE ALCÁZAR, THE PATIO DE LAS DONCELLAS]
Of all its courts, the Patio de las Doncellas is the most perfect.
Fifty-two marble columns support the closed gallery and rooms above, and
the walls of the arcade are rich with glazed tiles.
Of all its chambers, the Hall of Ambassadors is the finest and is
certainly the architectural gem of the Alcázar. Its dome is a marvel of
Media Naranja form, and the frieze of window-shaped niches but adds to
its beauty.
Very little remains of the first Alcázar, which, by the way, is a
derivation of Al-Kasr or house of Cæsar, and the present building as it
now stands was due to Pedro the Cruel, Henry II., Charles V. and Philip
V. The first named employed Moorish workmen from Granada, who emulated,
under his directions, the newly finished Palace of the Alhambra. Many a
treacherous deed has taken place within these walls, and none more
loathsome than those credited to Pedro the Cruel. However, one thing can
be put to his credit and that is this fairy Palace, this flower from the
East, by the possession of which Seville is the gainer.
To the east of the Alcázar is the old Jewish quarter, the most puzzling
in plan, if plan it has, and the oldest part of Seville.
The balconies of the houses opposite one another almost touch; there
certainly, in some cases, would be no difficulty in getting across the
street by using them as steps, and if a laden donkey essayed the
passage below I doubt if he could get through. Poking about in these
narrow alley-ways one day, I fell into conversation with a _guardia
municipal_ who entertained me greatly with his own version of Seville's
history, which ended, as he melodramatically pointed down the lane in
which we were standing--"And here, señor, one man with a sword could
keep an army at bay, and"--this in confidence, whispered--"I should not
like to be the first man of the army"!
In almost every quarter of the city fine old houses are to be found
amidst most squalid and dirty surroundings. You may wander down some
mean _calle_, where children in dozens are playing on the uneven
pavement, their mothers sit about in the doorways shouting to one
another across the street. Suddenly a wall, windowless save for a row of
small openings under the roof, is met. A huge portal, above which is a
sculptured coat-of-arms, with some old knight's helmet betokening a
noble owner, is let into this, look inside, as you pass by--behind the
iron grille is a deliciously cool _patio_, full of palms and shrubs. A
Moorish arcade runs round supporting the glazed galleries of the first
floor. A man in livery sits in a rocking chair dosing with the eternal
cigarette between his lips. Beyond the first _patio_ you can see
another, a bigger one, which the sun is lighting up. The life in this
house is as different to the life of its next door neighbours as Park
Lane is to Shoreditch. One of these great houses--owned by the Duke of
Medinaceli--the Casa del Pilatos, has a large Moorish court, very
similar to those of the Alcázar. They will tell you in Seville, that
Pilate was a Spaniard, a lawyer, and failing to win the case for Christ,
left the Holy Land, where he had a good practice, and returned to Spain
to assist Ferdinand to drive out the Moors. "Yes, señor, he settled here
and built this fine house about five hundred years ago."
As a rule, in the better-class houses a porch opens into the street. On
the inner side of this there is always a strong iron gate with a grille
around to prevent any entry. These gates served a purpose in the days of
the Inquisition, when none knew if the Holy Office might not suddenly
descend upon and raid the house. Seville suffered terribly from the
horrors of those dark times; even now--when a ring at the bell calls
forth: "Who is there?" from the servant in the balcony above, before she
pulls the handle which connects with the catch that releases the lock of
the gate--the answer often is: "People of Peace." Some houses have
interior walls six feet thick and more, which being hollow contain
hiding-places with access from the roof by a rope.
In the heat of summer--and Seville is called the "frying-pan of
Europe"--when the temperature in the shade of the streets rises to over
115° Fahr. family life is spent below in the cool _patio_. A real house
moving takes place as the heat comes on. The upper rooms, which are
always inhabited in the winter, the kitchen, servants' rooms and all are
deserted, every one migrates with the furniture to the lower floors. The
upper windows are closed, shutters put up and a great awning drawn
across the top of the courtyard. Despite the great heat, summer is a
perfectly healthy period. No one dreams of going out in the daytime, and
all Seville begins life towards five o'clock in the afternoon; 2 A.M. to
4 A.M. being the time to retire for the night! Seville can be very gay,
and _Sevillanos_ worship the _Torrero_ or bull-fighter (_Toreador_ is a
word unknown to the Spaniard). If a favourite _Torrero_, who has done
well in the ring during the afternoon, enters the dining-room of a hotel
or goes into a café it is not unusual for every one at table to rise and
salute him.
[Illustration: SEVILLE. VIEW OVER THE TOWN]
There is another life in Seville, the life of the roofs. In early spring
before the great heat comes, and in autumn before the cold winds arrive,
the life of the roofs fascinated me. Up on the roofs in the dry
atmosphere, Seville's washing hangs out to air, and up on the roofs, in
the warm sun, with the hum of the streets far below, you will hear the
quaint song--so Arabian in character--of the _lavandera_, as she pegs
out the damp linen in rows. In the evening the click-a-click-click of
the castanets and the sound of the guitar, broken by merry laughter,
tells one that perhaps the _Sevillano_ has fathomed the mystery of
knowing how best to live. And as sundown approaches what lovely colour
effects creep o'er this city in the air! The light below fades from
housetop and _miradore_, pinnacle and dome, until the last rays of the
departing majesty touch the vane of the Giralda, that superb symbol of
Faith,--and all is steely grey.
Over the Guadalquiver lies Triana, and as I crossed the bridge for the
first time the remains of an old tower were pointed out to me on the
river bank. The subterranean passage through which the victims of the
Inquisition found their exit to another world in the dark waters below
is exposed to view, the walls having fallen away. It was therefore with
something akin to relief I reached the gipsy quarter in this quaint,
dirty suburb and feasted my eyes on the colours worn by its dark-skinned
people. The potteries of Triana are world-renowned, and still bear
traces in their output of Moorish tradition and design.
Seville's quays are the busiest part of the city, and the constant
dredging of the river permits of vessels of four thousand tons making
this a port of call.
Next to the Prado in Madrid, the Museum of Seville is more full of
interest than any other. It is here that Murillo is seen at his best.
The building was at one time the Convento de la Mercede founded by San
Ferdinand. The exhibits in the archæological portion nearly all come
from that ruin, the wonderful city of Italica. Among the best of
Murillo's work are _St. Thomas de Villa Nueva Distributing Alms_, _Saint
Felix of Cantalicio_ and a _Saint Anthony of Padua_. A large collection
of Zurbaran's works also hangs in the gallery, but his big composition
of the _Apotheosis of Saint Anthony_, is not so good as his
single-figure subjects, and none of these approach in quality the fine
_Monk_ in the possession of the Bankes family at Kingston Lacy in
Dorset.
Seville is the home of bull-fights. The first ever recorded took place
in 1405, in the Plaza del Triunfo, in honour of the birth of a son to
Henry II. of Castile. The world of Fashion takes the air every evening
in the beautiful Paseo de las Delicias. The humbler members of society
throng the walks watching their wealthier sisters drive down its fine
avenues--this daily drive being the only exercise the ladies of Seville
permit themselves to take.
It is a pretty sight to watch the carriages coming home as twilight
begins, and the last rays of the sun light up the Torre del Oro. Built
by the Almohades this Moorish octagon stood at the river extremity of
Moslem Seville. The golden yellow of the stone no doubt gave it the name
of "Borju-d-dahab," "the tower of gold," which has stuck to it under
Christian rule. But "how are the mighty fallen," and one of the glories
of the Moor debased. It is now an office used by clerks of the Port,
and, instead of the dignified tread of the sentinel, resounds to the
scribble of pens.
CORDOVA
It is hard to realise that the Cordova of to-day was, under the rule of
the Moor, a city famous all the world over and second only to the great
Damascus. Long before the Moor's beneficent advent, in the far-off days
of Carthage, Cordova was known as "the gem of the south." Its position
on the mighty Guadalquiver, backed by mountains on the north, always
seems to have attracted the best of those who conquered. In the time of
the Romans, Marcellus peopled it with poor Patricians from Rome, and
Cordova became Colonia Patricia, the capital of Hispania Ulterior. But
it was left to the Infidel to make it what is now so difficult to
realise--the first city in Western Europe.
The zenith of its fame was reached during the tenth century, when the
mighty Abderrhaman III., ruler of the Omayyades reigned, and did not
begin to decrease until the death of Almanzor at the beginning of the
next century. If we are to believe the historian Almakkari, Cordova
contained at one time a million inhabitants, for whose worship were
provided three hundred Mosques, and for whose ablutions nine hundred
baths were no more than was necessary. (The arch-destroyer of all things
Infidel, Philip II., demolished these.) It was the centre of art and
literature, students from all parts flocked hither, its wealth increased
and its fame spread, riches and their concomitant luxury made it the
most famous place in Western Europe. Nothing could exceed the grace and
elegance of its life, the courtly manners of its people, nor the
magnificence of its buildings.
From the years 711 to 1295, when Ferdinand drove him out, the cultivated
Moslem reigned in this his second Mecca. And now?--under Christian rule
it has dwindled down to what one finds it to-day--a quiet, partly
ruinous town. Of all its great buildings nothing remains to remind one
of the past but the ruins of the Alcázar--now a prison, a portion of its
walls, and the much mutilated Mesquita--the Cathedral.
[Illustration: CORDOVA. INTERIOR OF THE MESQUITA]
I could not at first entry grasp the size of this the second largest
church of any in existence. Coming suddenly into the cool shade of its
many pillared avenues, I felt as if transplanted into the silent depths
of a great forest. In every direction I looked the trunks of huge trees
apparently rose upwards in ordered array. The light here and there
filtered through gaps on to the red-tiled floor, which only made the
deception greater by its resemblance to the needles of a pine-wood or
the dead leaves of autumn. Then the organ boomed out a note and the deep
bass of a priest in the _coro_ shattered the illusion.
The first Mosque built on the site of Leovigild's Visigothic Cathedral,
occupied one-fifth of the present Mesquita. It was "Ceca" or House of
Purification, and a pilgrimage to it was equivalent to a visit to Mecca.
It contained ten rows of columns, and is that portion which occupies the
north-west corner ending at the south-east extremity where the present
_coro_ begins. This space soon became insufficient for the population,
and the Mosque was extended as far as the present Capilla de Nuestra
Señora de Villavicosia.
Subsequent additions were made by different rulers. The Caliph Al-Hakim
II., who followed Abderrhaman III., expanded its size by building
southwards as far as the inclination of the sloping ground would allow.
To him is due the third Mihrâb, or Holy of Holies, the pavement of which
is worn by the knees of the devout who went thus round the Mihrâb seven
times. This Mihrâb is the most beautiful chamber I came across in all
Spain. The Byzantine Mosaics which adorn it are among the most superb
that exist, the domed ceiling of the recess is hewn out of a solid block
of marble, and its walls, which Leo the Emperor of Constantinople sent
a Greek artist and skilled workmen to put up, are chiselled in marble
arabesques and moulded in stucco. The entrance archway to this gem of
the East, an intricate and well-proportioned feature, rests on two green
and two dark coloured columns. Close by is the private door of the
Sultan which led from the Alcázar to the Mesquita.
The last addition of all nearly doubled the size of the Mosque. Building
to the south was impracticable on account of the fall in the land
towards the river. Eastwards was the only way out of the difficulty
unless the beautiful Court of the Oranges was to be enclosed. Eastwards,
therefore, did Almanzor extend his building, and the whole space in this
direction from the transepts or _Crucero_ of the present church, in a
line north and south, was due to his initiative.
[Illustration: CORDOVA. THE CAMPANARIO TOWER]
The Mesquita at one time contained twelve hundred and ninety columns.
Sixty eight were removed to make room for the _Coro_, _Crucero_ and
_Capilla Major_, which is the portion reserved for service now. In the
_coro_, the extremely fine _silleria_, are some of the best in Spain.
The Lectern is very good Flemish work in brass of the sixteenth century.
The choir books are beautifully illuminated missals, especially those of
the "Crucifixion" and the "Calling of the Apostles." All this does not,
however, compensate for the partial destruction of the Mosque. So
thought the people of Cordova, who petitioned Charles V. in vain against
the alterations which have destroyed the harmony of the wonderful
building. When passing through the city at a later date and viewing the
mischief that had been done, the King rebuked the chapter thus: "You
have built here what you, or any one, might have built anywhere else;
but you have destroyed what was unique in the world."
Eight hundred and fifty columns now remain out of the above number. The
odd four hundred and forty occupied the place where now stand the rows
of orange trees in the courtyard, one time covered in, which is known as
the Patio de los Naranjos, or Court of the Oranges. The fountain used
for the ablutions of the Holy still runs with a crystal stream of pure
water, and is to-day the meeting place of all the gossips in Cordova.
Of the five gates to this enchanting court, that of the Puerta del
Perdon, over which rises the great Tower, el Campanario, is the most
important. It is only opened on state occasions. Erected in 1377 by
Henry II. it is an imitation of Moorish design. The immense doors are
plated with copper arabesques.
The exterior of the Mesquita is still Moorish despite the great church
which has been thrust through the centre and rises high above the flat
roof of the remainder of the Mosque. A massive terraced wall with
flame-shaped battlements encircles the whole, the view of which from the
bridge over the river is more Eastern than anything else I saw in Spain.
This fine bridge, erected by the Infidel on Roman foundations, is
approached at the city end by a Doric gateway, built by Herrera in the
reign of Philip II., that Philip who married Mary of England. It
consists of sixteen arches and is guarded at its southern extremity by
the _Calahorra_ or Moorish Tower, round which the road passes instead of
through a gateway, thus giving additional security to the defence.
The mills of the Moslem's day still work, both above and below bridge,
and the patient angler sits in the sun with his bamboo rod, while the
wheels of these relics groan and hum as they did in days gone by. More
cunning is Isaac Walton's disciple who fishes from the bridge itself. A
dozen rods with heavily weighted lines, for the Guadalquiver runs swift
beneath the arches, and a small bell attached to the end of each rod is
his armament. And when the unwary fish impales himself on the hook and
the bell gives warning of a bite, the excitement is great. Greater still
when a peal begins as three or four rods bend!
[Illustration: CORDOVA. THE BRIDGE]
The beggars of Cordova were the most importunate that fate sent across
my path in the whole of Spain. I found it impossible to sit in the
streets where I would gladly have planted my easel, and it was only by
standing with my back to the wall that I was able to make my sketch of
the Campanario. These streets are tortuous and narrow, and the houses,
built on the Moorish plan with a beautiful _patio_ inside, are low. At
many a corner I came across marble columns, some with Roman
inscriptions, probably from Italica, placed against the house to prevent
undue wear and tear. In the narrowest ways I noticed how the load borne
by the patient ass had scooped out a regular track on either wall about
three or four feet from the ground. Wherever I went, to the oldest
quarters of the town in the south-east corner or the modern in the
north-west, I could never rid myself of the feeling that Cordova was a
city of the past. Her life is more Eastern than that of Seville, and her
people bear more traces of the Moor. Decay and ruin are apparent at
every turn, but how picturesque it all is!--the rags, the squalor, and
the ruin. How I anathematised those beggars with no legs, or minus arms,
when I tried to begin a street sketch! The patience of Job would not
have helped me, it was the loathsomeness of these cripples that drove me
away. Begging is prohibited in Seville and Madrid and in one or two
other towns, would that it were so in Cordova.
Away up in the southern slopes of the Sierra de Cordoba stands the
Convento de San Jerónimo, now a lunatic asylum. Built out of the ruins
of the once magnificent Medînat-az-zahrâ, the Palace that Abderrhaman
III. erected, its situation is perfect. In the old days this palace
surpassed all others in the wonders of its art and luxury. The plough
still turns up ornaments of rare workmanship, but like so many things in
Spain its glories have departed.
Yes, Cordova has seen its grandest days, the birthplace of Seneca,
Lucan, Averroes, Juan de Mena--the Spanish Chaucer--Morales, and many
another who became famous, can now boast at best with regard to human
celebrities as being the Government establishment for breaking in horses
for the cavalry. Certainly the men employed in this are fine dashing
specimens of humanity, and they wear a very picturesque dress. But
Cordova like her world-famed sons, sleeps--and who can say that it would
be better now if her sleep were broken?
[Illustration: CORDOVA. FOUNTAIN IN THE COURT OF ORANGES]
GRANADA
Spread out on the edge of a fertile plain at the base of the Sierra
Nevada, Granada basks in the sun; and though the wind blows cold with an
icy nip from the snows of the highest peaks in Spain, I cannot but think
that this, the last stronghold of the Moors, is the most ideal situation
of any place I have been in.
The city is divided into three distinct districts, each with its own
peculiar characteristics. The Albaicin, Antequeruela, and Alhambra. The
first named covers the low ground and the hills on the bank of the
Darro, a gold-bearing stream which rushes below the Alhambra hill on the
north. The second occupies the lower portion of the city which slopes on
to the plain, and the Alhambra rises above both, a well-nigh demolished
citadel, brooding over past glories of the civilised Moor, the most
fascinating spot in all Spain.
The Albaicin district is practically the rebuilt Moorish town, where the
aristocrats of Seville and Cordova settled when driven out of those
cities by St. Ferdinand in the thirteenth century. Many traces remain
to remind one of their occupation in the tortuous streets which wind up
the steep hill sides, and the wall which they built for greater security
is still the boundary of the city on the north. The Albaicin is a grand
place to wander in and lose oneself hunting for relics and little bits
of architecture. At every turn of the intricate maze I came across
something of interest, either Moorish or Mediæval. A mean looking house
with a fine coat-of-arms over the door had evidently been built by a
knight with the collector's craze. He had specialised in millstones; a
round dozen or more were utilised in the lower portions of the wall and
looked strange with stones set in the plaster between them. A delicious
_patio_, now given over to pigs and fowls, with a broken-down fountain
in the centre of its ruined arcaded court, recalled the luxuries of the
Infidel. The terraced gardens standing behind and above many a blank
wall carried me back to those days of old when the opulence of the East
pervaded every dwelling in this Mayfair of Granada. Of all these the
Casa del Chapiz, though degraded into a low-class dwelling, is with its
beautiful garden the most perfect remnant of the exotic Moor.
[Illustration: GRANADA. CARRERA DE DARRO]
In the Carrera de Darro, just opposite the spot where once a handsome
Moorish arch spanned the stream, stands a house wherein is a Moorish
bath surrounded by horseshoe arcades. The bath is 18 ft. square, and in
the vaulted recess beyond is one of smaller dimensions commanding more
privacy for the cleanly Eastern whose day was never complete without
many ablutions.
Not far away up the hillside, in cave-dwellings amidst an almost
impenetrable thicket of prickly pears, live the _gitanos_. I fear they
now exist on the charity of the tourist, and make a peseta or two by
fortune-telling or in the exercise of a more reprehensible cleverness, a
light-fingered dexterity which is generally only discovered by those who
"must go to the gipsy quarter" on their return to the hotel. These
gipsies no longer wander in the summer months and lie up for the winter
as they did of yore. They are not the Romanies of old times, and a
nomadic life holds no charm for them now. They make enough out of the
tourist to eke out a lazy existence throughout the year, and are fast
losing all the character of a wandering tribe and the lively splendour
of their race.
Higher up, the banks of the Darro are lined with more cave-dwellings, a
great many of which, to judge by their present inaccessibility, are
undoubtedly of prehistoric origin. Those that I took to be of later date
have a sort of level platform in front of the entrance, from which the
approach of a stranger could be seen and due warning taken by those
inside of any hostile intent.
The Antequeruela quarter, called thus from the remnant of Moorish
refugees who driven from Antequera found here a home, extends from the
base of Monte Mauro to some distance below the confluence of the Darro
and Genil, Granada's other river. It is the most modern quarter and
busiest part of the city.
The life of an ordinary Spanish town passes in front of me as I sit in
the sun sharing a seat with an old man wrapped closely in a _capa_. It
is April. We are in the Alameda, a broad promenade which leads to the
gardens of the Paseo de Salòn and de la Bomba. On either side are many
coloured houses with green shutters. They are very French, and to this
day I try to recall the town in France where I had seen them before. How
often this happens when we travel abroad!--a face, a scent, a sound.
Memory racks the tortuous channels of half-forgotten things stored away
somewhere in the brain, and for days with an irritating restlessness we
wander fruitlessly amid the paths of long ago.
I turned to my companion on the seat, he looked chilled despite the
warmth of an April sun. "Tell me, sir, to whom does all the fine country
of the Vega belong?" "Absent landlords, señor; they take their rents
and they live in Madrid, and the poor man has no one to care for him."
"But surely he begs and does not wish to work or to be cared for. The
beggars in Granada are more numerous than in any place I know." "That is
true, señor," and with a shake he relapsed into silence, drawing his
_capa_ closer around him. The turn the conversation had taken was not
worth pursuing.
New buildings are superseding the old in Antequeruela, and poverty and
squalor pushed further out of the sight of El Caballero, his Highness
the tourist. Æsthetically we appreciate the picturesque side of poverty,
the tumble-down houses, the rags, the graceful attitudes of the patient
poor for ever shifting in the patches of sunlight as the great
life-giver moves round. Dinner will be ready for us at 7 o'clock in the
hotel, there would be no call to leave home if every town we came to was
clean and its people prosperous. "But what about _Los Pobres_, the
beggars?" you ask. "Are they really deserving of charity, or only lazy
scoundrels?" I cannot answer you. I can only tell you that I have never
seen such terrible emaciated bundles of rags as those I saw in Granada.
In Seville, though it is forbidden to beg, it was the one-eyed that
predominated; in Cordova he of no legs, who having marked down his prey,
displayed great agility as he scuttled across the street with the help
of little wooden hand-rests; but here not only were both combined, but
various horrors of crippled and disfigured humanity with open sores and
loathsome disease thrust themselves before me wherever I went. It was
disgusting--but oh! how picturesque! If only, my good _Pobres_, you
would not come so close to me!
They say Spain is the one unspoilt country in Europe. Personally I think
she is the one country that wants regenerating. Her girls are women at
sixteen, old at thirty, and aged ten years later. Her men take life as
it comes with very little initiative to better themselves. Very few
display any energy. Their chief thoughts are woman, and how to pass the
day at ease. Luckily for the country, at the age when good food and
clean living helps to make men, her youth is invigorated by army
service. True it is not popular. In the late war they died like flies
through fever and ill-feeding, and many were the sad tales I heard of
José and Pedro returning from the front with health ruined for life. It
was a sad blow to Spain, that war. Her navy demolished and her colonies
lost. It may be the regeneration of the nation, her well-wishers hope
so, but it is a difficult thing to change the leopard's spots. The
beggar being hungry begs, and well-nigh starves, his children follow his
example and probably his great grandchildren will be in the same line
of business a hundred years hence--_Quien sabe?_ who knows?
I still sit in the sun rolling cigarettes; it is extraordinary how soon
the custom becomes a habit, and think of all this. A string of donkeys
passes with baskets stuffed tight with half a dozen large long-funnelled
water cans. They have come in with fresh drinking water from the spring
up the Darro under the Alhambra hill, and a little later the
water-sellers will be offering glasses of the refreshingly cool contents
of their cans. Granada is a city running with water, but the pollution
from the drains and the never-ending ranks of women on their knees
wrinsing clothes in its two streams, into which, by the way, all dead
refuse is thrown, makes that which is fit to drink a purchasable
quantity only.
I watch the peasants from the Vega, who come in with empty panniers
slung across their donkeys, scraping up the dirt of the streets which
they take away to fertilise their cottage gardens. Herds of goats go by
muzzled until milking is over. They make for that bit of blank wall
opposite, and stand licking the saline moisture which oozes from the
plaster in the shade. The goats of Granada are reckoned the finest in
Spain, and, as is the custom throughout Andalusia, graze in the early
spring on the tender shoots of the young corn. This not only keeps them
in food, but improves the quality of that part of the crop which reaches
maturity. I could sit all day here if only the sun stood still. My
companion removed himself half an hour ago and it is getting chilly in
the shade, so up and on to the Cathedral.
What a huge Renaissance pile it is. Built on the Gothic plans of Diego
de Siloe it is undoubtedly the most imposing edifice of this style in
Spain. Fergusson considers its plan makes it one of the finest churches
in Europe. The western façade was erected by Alonso Cano and José
Granados, and does not follow Siloe's original design. The name of the
sculptor-painter is writ in big letters throughout the building. To him
are due the colossal heads of Adam and Eve, let into recesses above the
High Altar, and the seven pictures of the _Annunciation_, _Conception_,
_Presentation in the Temple_, _Visitation_, _Purification_ and
_Assumption_ in the Capilla Mayor. The two very fine colossal figures,
bronze gilt, which stand above the over-elaborated pulpits; a couple of
beautiful miniatures on copper in the Capilla de la Trinidad; a fine
Christ bearing the Cross and a head of S. Pedro over the altar of Jesus
Nazareno, are also by Cano. Many other examples from his carving tools
and brush are to be found in the Cathedral, of which he was made a
"Racione" or minor Canon, after fleeing from Valladolid when accused of
the murder of his wife. The little room he used as a workshop in the
Great Tower may still be visited and his remains lie tranquilly beneath
the floor of the _coro_.
[Illustration: GRANADA. EXTERIOR OF THE CATHEDRAL]
In the Capilla de la Antigua there is that curious little image which,
found in a cave, served Ferdinand as a battle banner; and also
contemporary (?) portraits of the King and his Queen.
To me the thing of surpassing interest, which ought to be the most
revered building in all Spain, was the Capilla Real and its contents.
The _reja_, which separates the choir from the rest of the chapel, is a
magnificent piece of work, coloured and gilded, by Bartolomé. As the
verger unlocked the great gate he drew my attention to the box
containing the lock with its three beautifully wrought little iron
figures and intricate pattern. We passed in, the gate swung to with a
click, the lock was as good as if it had but recently been placed there.
These _rejas_ throughout the country are all in splendid condition. A
dry climate no doubt preserves them as it has preserved everything else,
and I very seldom detected rust on any iron work. The humidity of the
winter atmosphere is insufficient, I suppose, to set up much decay in
metal, and certainly the only decay in Spain is where inferior material
has been used in construction, or the negligence of man has left things
to rot.
With the gate locked behind me I stood in front of the two marble
monuments, the one of the recumbent figures of Ferdinand and Isabella,
the other of Philip and Juana la Loca--crazy Jane. Beyond rose the steps
up to the High Altar, close at my side those--a short flight--that led
to the crypt where the coffins of these four rest. I felt surrounded by
the Great of this Earth, and certainly a feeling of awe took hold of me
as their deeds passed through my mind and I realised that here lay the
remains of those who had turned out the Moor, bidden God-speed to
Columbus, and instituted the Inquisition.
They are wonderful tombs these two. Ferdinand wears the order of St.
George, the ribbon of the Garter, Isabella that of the Cross of
Santiago, Philip and his wife the Insignia of the order of the Golden
Fleece. Four doctors of the church occupy the corners of the first tomb,
with the twelve Apostles at the sides. The other has figures of SS.
Michael, Andrew, and John the Baptist, and the Evangelist. Both tombs
are elaborately carved, the medallions in _alto-relievo_ being of very
delicate work. Next to that magnificent tomb in the Cartuja de
Miraflores at Burgos, these are the finest monuments in all Spain.
Above the High Altar is a florid _Retablo_ with not much artistic merit.
My interest was entirely centred in the two portrait figures of
Ferdinand and Isabella. They each kneel at a Prie-Dieu facing one
another on either side of the altar--the King to the north, the Queen to
the south. Below them in double sections are four wooden panels in
bas-relief, to which I turned after a long examination of these
authentic and contemporary portraits. These panels are unsurpassed as
records of the costume of the day and a faithful representation of their
subject. On the left is the mournful figure of Boabdil giving up the key
of the Alhambra to Cardinal Mendoza, who seated on his mule between the
King and Queen, alone wears gloves. Surrounding them are knights,
courtiers and the victorious soldiery. In the background are the towers
of the Alhambra. To the right is seen the wholesale conversion by
Baptism of the Infidel, the principal figures being monks who are very
busy over their work, inducing the reluctant Moor to enter an alien
Faith.
There is something very impressive about these panels, they render so
well and in such a naïve manner the history they record. The surrender
of the Moor after 750 years' rule, the end of his dreams, the final
triumph of the King and Queen, who devoted the first portion of their
reign to driving him out of the country, and the great church receiving
the token of submission at the end of last act, they are all here.--The
verger touched my arm, my reverie of those stirring times was broken, he
had other things to show and noon was fast approaching. Pointing to
three iron plates let into the floor of the chapel, he inquired if I
would like to see the spot where rest the coffins of these great makers
of history. Certainly; I could not leave the Cathedral without a silent
homage to those who placed Spain first among the nations. He lifted the
plates, and lighting a small taper which he thrust into the end of a
long pole, disappeared down the steps, with a warning to mind my head
for the entry was very low. I followed, stooping. At the bottom of the
steps was a small opening heavily barred. The verger pushed his lighted
taper and pole through the bars, and beckoned to me to look. I peered
into the dark chamber, there resting on a marble slab were the rough
iron-bound coffins of the "Catholic Kings." The taper flickered and cast
long shadows in the gloom, discovering the coffins of Philip and Juana.
It was all very eerie, a fitting climax in its simplicity to the
magnificent monuments above and to the history writ on the walls of the
Capilla Real. I shall never forget it.
In the sacristy I was shown the identical banner which floated from the
Torre de la Vela when the Alhambra had surrendered. Isabella herself had
worked this for the very object to which it was put. Next to it hangs
Ferdinand's sword, with a remarkably small handle. I had thought, from
the kneeling effigy in the Capilla Real, that both he and Isabella must
have been small-made and this verified my guess. Many other personal
relics of the two were shown me. The Queen's own missal, a beautiful
embroidered chasuble from her industrious fingers, an exquisitely
enamelled viril, &c. Time was short, my verger wanted his dinner, and I
had seen enough for one morning. He let me out through the closed door
into the Placeta de la Lonja and in a sort of dream I carried away all I
had seen.
The next morning I returned to the Placeta and stood in the doorway of
the old Royal Palace, now used as a drapery warehouse, and commenced the
drawing figured in the illustration. The rich late Gothic ornament of
the exterior of the Capilla Real is well balanced by the Lonja which
backs on to the sacristy. Here Pradas's work has been much mutilated and
the lower stage of the arcading built up. The twisted columns of the
gallery and its original wooden roof remain to tell us what this fine
façade once was.
There is a great deal of interest in this huge Cathedral, which to the
tourist is quite overshadowed by the Alhambra. In the north-west corner
of the Segrario which adjoins the building on the south, is the Capilla
de Pulgar. Herman Perez del Pulgar was a knight serving under
Ferdinand's banner. Filled with holy zeal, he entered Granada one stormy
night in December 1490 by the Darro conduit, and making his way to the
Mosque which then stood where the Segrario now is, pinned a scroll
bearing the words Ave Maria to its principal door with his dagger. This
daring deed was not discovered until the next morning, by which time the
intrepid knight was safe back in camp. His courage was rewarded by a
seat in the _coro_ of the Cathedral, and at his death his body was
interred in the chapel which bears his name.
Nearly all the churches of Granada occupy the sites of Mosques. Santa
Anna, like San Nicolás, has a most beautiful wooden roof. San Juan de
los Reyes contains portraits of Ferdinand and Isabella; its tower is the
minaret of what was once a Mosque.
The Cathedral itself is so crowded in by other buildings, that no
comprehensive view of the fabric is possible. Unfortunately this is the
case, with one or two notable exceptions, throughout the country. Its
fine proportions are thus lost, and it is only the interior with its
great length and breath, its lofty arches and fine Corinthian pilasters
that serve to dignify this House of God.
Taking a morning off, I walked out to the Cartuja Convent. The Gran
Capitan, Gonzalo de Cordoba, at one time granted an estate to the
Carthusians and on it they erected the convent to which I turned my
steps. The Order about this time was immensely wealthy and they spent
money with reckless lavishness on the interior of their church.
Mother-of-pearl, tortoiseshell, ebony and cedar-wood entered largely
into their decorations, as well as ivory and silver. But perhaps the
marbles in the church are the most remarkable part of their scheme.
These were chosen for the wonderful patterns of the sections, and with a
little stretch of the imagination I could trace well-composed
landscapes, human and animal forms in a great many of the slabs. The
overdone chirrugueresque work, to which add these fantastic wall
decorations, makes this interior positively scream. It is nothing more
nor less than a vulgar display of wealth. The cloisters of the convent
also attest the bad taste of the Carthusians, they contain a series of
pictures which represent the most repugnant and bloodthirsty scenes of
persecutions and martyrdoms of the Order.
In another convent, San Gerónimo, was buried the Gran Capitan. A slab
marks the spot, but his poor bones were exhumed and carried off to
Madrid in 1868 to form the nucleus of a Spanish Pantheon. Needless to
say, like so many other great ideas in Spain, nothing further was done,
and Gonzalo's remains still await a last resting-place.
One more fact before I reach the Alhambra. In the church of San Juan de
Dios you may see the cage in which the founder, Juan de Robles, was shut
up as a lunatic. What do you think his lunacy was? Having the infirm and
the poor always before him, this tender-hearted man went about preaching
the necessity of hospitals to alleviate their distress. Aye, he was a
hundred years and more before his time, so they shut him up in a cage
and there let him rot and die. Those that came after in more enlightened
days valued the good man's crusade at its proper price, and he was
eventually canonised, and his supposed remains now rest in an _urna_.
Up a toilsome approach, splashing through the mud, I drove on the night
I reached Granada. As the horses slowed up, I put my head out of the
carriage window, we were passing under an archway and I knew that at
last one of the dreams of my life was realised. I was in the Alhambra. I
became conscious of rows and rows of tall trees swaying in the wind. I
smelt the delicious scent of damp earth, and could just distinguish, as
the carriage crawled up the steep ascent, in the lulls of the storm, the
sound of running water. It was fairyland, it was peace. After that long,
tedious journey and the glare of the electric lit streets I had just
passed through, I sank back on the cushions and felt my reward had
come.
[Illustration: GRANADA. THE ALHAMBRA]
How is it possible to describe the Alhambra? It has been done so often
and so well. Every one has read Washington Irving, and most of us know
Victor Hugo's eulogy. I had better begin at the beginning, which is the
gateway erected by Charles V. under which I passed with such a happy
consciousness. Further up the hill, through which only pedestrians can
go, is the Gate of Judgment, the first gateway into the Moorish
fortress. Above it is the Torre de Justicia erected by Yusuf I. in 1348.
On the external keystone is cut a hand, on the inner a key. Much
controversy rages round these two signs and I leave it to others to find
a solution. In old days the Kadi sat in this gateway dispensing justice.
The massive doors still turn on their vertical pivots, the spear rests
of the Moorish guard are still attached to the wall, and you must enter,
as the Moors did, by the three turns in the dark passage beyond the
gate. A narrow lane leads to the Plaza de las Algibes, under the level
of which are the old Moorish cisterns. To the right is the Torre del
Vino, and on the left the Acazaba.
Come with me up the short flight of steps into the little strip of
garden. Let us lean over the wall and look out on to the Vega. Is there
anywhere so grand and varied an outline of plain and mountain? Do you
wonder at the tears that suffused the eyes of Boabdil as he turned for a
last look at this incomparable spot? The brown roofs of Granada lie at
our feet. Far away through the levels of the green plain, the Vega, I
can see the winding of many silver streams. Beyond those rugged peaks to
the south lies the Alpujarras district, the last abiding place of the
conquered Moor. Further on the mass of the Sierra Aburijara bounds the
horizon, west of it is the town of Loja, thirty miles away, buried in
the dip towards Antequerra. To the north is Mount Parapanda, the
barometer of the Vega, always covered with mist when rain is at hand.
Nearer in is the Sierra de Elvira, spread out below which are the dark
woods of the Duke of Wellington's property--he is known in Spain as
Duque de Ciudad Rodriguez. It is clear enough for us to see the blue
haze of the mountains round Jaen, and the rocky defile of Mochin. The
Torre de la Vela shuts out the rest of the view. There is a bell hanging
in this tower which can be heard as far away as Loja. Now turn and look
behind. Right up into the blue sky rise the snow peaks of the Sierra
Nevada. Mulhacen, the highest point in all Spain, is not visible, but
we can see Veleta which is but a few feet lower. The whole range
glistens in the afternoon sun, but it is the evening hour that brings
such wonderful changes of colour over these great snowfields, and, after
the sun is down, such a pale mother-of-pearl grey silhouetted against
the purple sky.
The entrance into what we call the Alhambra is hidden away behind the
unfinished Palace of Charles V. The low door admits us directly in the
Patio de los Arrayanes, or court of the Myrtles. Running north and south
it gets more sun than any other court of the Alhambra. What a revelation
it is! In the centre is an oblong tank full of golden carp. The neatly
kept myrtle hedges encircle this, reflected in the clear water they add
refreshing charm to a first impression of the Moorish Palace. On the
north rises the Torre de Comares, the approach to which is through a
beautifully proportioned chamber, the roof of which was unfortunately
destroyed by fire in 1890. The whole of the ground-floor of this tower
is known as the Hall of the Ambassadors. The monarch's throne occupied a
space opposite the entrance and it was here that the last meeting to
consider the surrender was held by Boabdil. The elaborate domed roof of
this magnificent chamber is of larch wood, but the semi-darkness
prevents one realising to the full extent its beauties. From the
windows, which almost form small rooms, so thick are the walls of the
Tower of Comares, fine views over the roofs of the city and the Albaicin
hill are obtained.
The Court of the Lions, so called from the central fountain upheld by
marble representations of the kingly beast, is surrounded by a beautiful
arcade. At either end this is thrown out, forming a couple of extremely
elegant pavilions. Fairy columns support a massive roof, the woodwork of
which is carved with the pomegranate of Granada. Intricate fret-work is
arranged to break the monotony of strong sunlight on a flat surface.
Arabesques and inscriptions, stamped with an iron mould on the wet clay,
repeat themselves all round the frieze. Orange trees at one time adorned
the court and cast gracious shade on its surface. The fountain threw up
jets of splashing water, the musical sound harmonising with the
wonderful arrangement of light and shade. I tried to picture all this as
I sat making my sketch, but even in April, though hot in the sun, I
required an overcoat in the shadow, and I must own that the ever-present
tourist with his kodak sadly disturbed all mental attempts at the
reconstruction of Moorish life.
[Illustration: GRANADA. THE ALHAMBRA, COURT OF LIONS]
On the south side of the court is the hall of the Abencerrages, named
after that noble family. The massive wooden doors, which shut it off
from the arcade, are of most beautiful design. The hall is rectangular
and has a fine star-shaped stalactite dome. The _azulejos_, or tiles,
are the oldest that remain in the Alhambra. A passage leads to what was
once the Royal Sepulchral Chamber.
On the east side is the so-called Sala de la Justicia divided into
several recesses and running the whole length of this portion of the
court. The central recess was used by Ferdinand and Isabella when they
held the first Mass after the surrender of the Moors. The chief interest
of the Sala I found to be in a study of the paintings on the
semicircular domed roofs. They portray the Moor of the period. The
middle one, that in the chapel-recess, no doubt contains portraits of
Granada's rulers in council. The other two represent hunting scenes and
deeds of chivalry. It is supposed that the Koran forbids the delineation
of any living thing. The Moor got over this difficulty by portraying
animal life in as grotesque a manner as possible, or by employing
foreign captives to do this for him. One theory of the origin of the
Lion Fountain is that a captive Christian carved the lions and gave his
best--or his worst--as the price of his liberation. Personally I think
they are of Phoenician origin. Animals and birds in decoration reached
the Moor from Persia, where from unknown ages they had always been
employed in this way; and the Môsil style of hammered metal work is
replete with this feature.
On the north side of the court lies the Room of the Two Sisters, with
others opening out from it, which seems to point to the probability that
this was the suite occupied by the Sultana herself. Moorish art has here
reached its highest phase. The honeycomb roof contains nearly five
thousand cells, all are different, yet all combine to form a
marvellously symmetrical whole. Fancy ran free with the architect who
piled one tiny cell upon another and on these supported a third. Pendant
pyramids cluster everywhere and hang suspended apparently from nothing.
In the fertility of his imagination the designer surpassed anything of
the kind that went before or has since been attempted. Truly the verses
of a poem copied on to the _azulejos_ are well set. "Look well at my
elegance, and reap the benefit of a commentary on decoration. Here are
columns ornamented with every perfection, the beauty of which has become
proverbial."
Beyond this entrancing suite of rooms is the Miradoro de Daraxa with
three tall windows overlooking that little gem of a garden the Patio de
Daraxa. It was here that Washington Irving lodged when dreaming away
those delicious days in the Alhambra.
The old Council Chamber of the Moors, the Meshwâr, is reached through
the Patio de Mexuar. Charles V. turned this chamber into a chapel, and
the hideous decorations he put up are still extant. An underground
passage, which leads to the baths, ran from the _patio_ and gave access
to the battlements and galleries of the fortress as well as forming a
connecting link between each tower.
The baths are most interesting, but to me were pervaded by a deadly
chill. I felt sorry for the guardian who spends his days down in such
damp, icy quarters. A remark I made to him inquiring how long his duty
kept him in so cold a spot, called forth so terrible a fit of coughing
that I got no reply. I was told afterwards that he was only placed there
as he was too ill for other duty, and it was expected he would not live
much longer! There are two baths of full size and one for children. The
_azulejos_ in them are very beautiful, as they also are in the disrobing
room and chamber for rest.
An open corridor leads from the Hall of the Ambassadors to the Torre del
Peinador which Yusuf I. built. The small Tocador de la Reina, or Queen's
dressing-room, with its quaint frescoes, was modernised by Charles V.
Let into the floor is a marble slab drilled with holes, through which
perfumes found their way from a room below while the Queen was
dressing.
The glamour of the East clings to every corner of the Alhambra, and the
wonder of it all increased as I began to grow familiar with its
courtyards and halls, the slender columns of its arcades, with their
tracery and oft-repeated verses forming ornament and decoration, and the
well thought-out balance of light and shade. What must it all have been
like when the sedate Moor glided noiselessly through the cool corridors,
or the clang of arms resounded through the now silent halls! It is
difficult to imagine. The inner chambers were then lined with matchless
carpets and rugs and the walls were covered with subtly coloured
_azulejos_.
Many are the changes since those days of the Infidel who cultivated the
art of living as it has never been cultivated since. Restoration is
judiciously but slowly going on, and every courtesy is shown to the
visitor. A small charge might be levied, however, to assist the
Government, even in a slight degree, with restoration, and I am sure no
one would grudge paying for the privilege of sauntering through the most
interesting remains of the Moorish days of Spain.
The unfinished Palace of Charles V. occupies a large space, to clear
which a great deal of the Moorish Palace was demolished. The interior is
extremely graceful. The double arcades, the lower of which is Doric and
the upper Ionic, run round a circular court which for good proportion it
would be hard to beat.
[Illustration: GRANADA. GENERALIFE]
On the Corre de Sol, a little way out of the Alhambra and situated above
it, is the Generalife. It belongs to the Pallavicini family of Genoa,
but on the death of the present representative becomes the property of
the Spanish Government. A stately cypress avenue leads to the entrance
doorway, through which one enters an oblong court full of exotic growth
and even in April a blaze of colour. Through a tank down the centre runs
a delicious stream of clear water. At the further end of this
captivating court are a series of rooms, one of which contains badly
painted portraits of the Spanish Sovereigns since the days of Ferdinand
and Isabella.
Up some steps is another garden court with another tank, shaded by more
cypress trees. One huge patriarch is over six hundred years old, and it
is supposed that under it Boabdil's wife clandestinely met Hamet the
Abencerrage.
Space will not permit me to tell of the many entrancing excursions I
made to the foot-hills of the Sierra Nevada and up the two rivers. I can
only add that the valleys disclosed to the pedestrian are a wealth of
rare botanical specimens, and if time permits will well repay a
lengthened sojourn in the last stronghold of the Moors in Spain.
MALAGA
Malaga disputes with Cadiz the honour of being the oldest seaport in the
country. In early days the Phoenicians had a settlement here, and in
after times both the Carthagenians and Romans utilised "Malacca" as
their principal port on the Mediterranean littoral of Spain. In 571 the
Goths under their redoubtable King, Leovigild, wrested the town from the
Byzantines. Once more it was captured, by Tarik, in the year 710 and
remained a Moorish stronghold until Ferdinand took it after a long siege
in 1487.
It is said that gunpowder was first used in Spain at this siege, when
the "seven sisters of Ximenes," guns planted in the Gibralfaro, belched
forth fire and smoke.
In the year 709 the Berber Tarif entered into an alliance with Julian,
Governor of Ceuta, who held that place for Witiza the Gothic King of
Spain. With four ships and five hundred men he crossed the narrow and
dangerous straits to reconnoitre the European coast, having secretly in
view an independent kingdom for himself on the Iberian peninsula. He
landed at Cape Tarifa.
This expedition was so far successful that in two years' time another
Berber, of a name almost similar, Tarík to wit, was sent over with
twelve thousand men and landed near the rock which received the name of
Jabal-Tarík, or mountain of Tarík, the present Gibraltar.
Witiza in the meantime died and was succeeded by Roderic, who, hearing
of the invasion of this Moorish host, hastened south from Toledo and met
his death in the first decisive battle between Christian and Infidel on
the banks of the Guadalete near Cadiz. Tarík then commenced his
victorious march, which ended in less than three years with the
subjugation of the whole country as far as the foot of the
Pyrenees--Pelayo, in his cave at Covadonga near Oviedo, alone holding
out with a mere remnant against the all-conquering Moor.
[Illustration: MALAGA. VIEW FROM THE HARBOUR]
If you ask me, "What is Malaga to-day?" I can reply with truth, "The
noisiest town in Spain." Like all places in the south it is a babel of
street-cries, only a little more so than any of the others. The
_seranos_, or night-watchmen, disturb one's rest as they call out the
hour of the night, or whistle at the street corners to their comrades. A
breeze makes hideous the hours of darkness by the banging to and fro of
unsecured shutters. The early arrival of herds of goats with tinkling
bells heralds the dawn, which is soon followed by the discordant clatter
of all those, cracked and otherwise, which hang in the church belfries.
The noisiest town I visited, most certainly, but for all that a very
enchanting place. In a way not unlike Naples, for the Malagueno is the
Spanish prototype of the Neapolitan. Lazy, lighthearted, good-natured,
but quick to take affront, he gets through the day doing nothing in a
manner that won my sincere admiration. "Why work, señor, when you have
the sun? I do not know why the English travellers are always in such a
hurry. And the North American, he is far worse. I earned two pesetas
yesterday. To-day I have no wants, I do not work. To-morrow? Yes,
perhaps to-morrow I work, but to-day I sit here in the sun, I smoke my
cigarette, I am content to watch others, that is life!"--and who can say
that the Malagueno is far wrong? Not I.
Malaga's Cathedral, an imposing building of a very mixed Corinthian
character, occupies the site of a Moorish mosque which was converted
into a church. Of this early church of the Incarnation, the Gothic
portal of the _Segragrio_ is the only portion remaining. The present
edifice was begun in 1538 from the plans of that great architect Diego
de Siloe, but being partially destroyed by an earthquake in 1680, was
not completed until 1719. It cannot be called complete even now, and
the long period over which its construction has been spread accounts for
the very many inconsistencies in a building which is full of
architectural defects.
The west façade is flanked by two Towers, only one of which has been
finished; this is drawn out in three stages like the tower of La Seo at
Saragossa, and has a dome with lantern above. The doors of the north and
south Transepts are also flanked by towers, but they do not rise beyond
the cornice line. The interior, reminding one of Granada's Cathedral, is
seemingly immense. The proportions are massive and decidedly good. It
was in his proportions that Siloe excelled. The length of this is three
hundred and seventy-five feet, the width two hundred and forty, and the
height one hundred and thirty feet. The columns which support the heavy
roof consist of two rows of pillars one above the other. The vaulting is
of round arches.
A picture by Alonso Cano in the chapel of Our Lady of the Rosary, and
one of a _Virgin and Child_, in that of San Francisco, by Morales, were
the only two objects that I could say interested me, besides the
magnificently carved _silleria del coro_, the work of many hands, but
chiefly those of Pedro de Mena, a pupil of Cano.
With all its architectural incongruities it is an impressive fabric, and
rises high above the surrounding roofs, like a great Liner with a crowd
of smaller boats lying around her. So it struck me as I sat on the
quayside of the Malagueta making my sketch, sadly interfered with by an
unpleasant throng of idling loafers.
Beyond Malagueta lies Caleta, and on the hill above them is the Castilla
de Gibralfaro, from which when the sky is clear the African mountains
near Ceuta can be seen. Below the Gibralfaro and between it and the
Cathedral, lies the most ancient part of the city, the Alcazába, the
glorious castle and town of Moorish days. And now?--like so many of
Spain's departed glories, it is not much more than a ruined
conglomeration of huts and houses of a low and very insanitary order.
At the other end of Malaga is the Mercado, and close by is the old
Moorish sea gateway, the Puerta del Mar, washed by the waters of the
blue Mediterranean in their day, but at the present time well away from
the sea and surrounded by houses.
The everyday market is held in the dry bed of the treacherous
Guadelmedina, a stream which rose in the fatal October of 1907 and swept
away all the bridges, swamping the lower quarters of the city. Many
lives were lost in this disastrous flood and many bodies picked up by
fishing-boats far out at sea. However, when I made my sketch there was
no chance of such a visitation, and I found the market folk more polite
than the loafers on the quay.
The country lying at the back of the city and at the base of the
sun-baked and scarred mountains by which it is surrounded, produces
almost everything that grows. From this--the Vega--come grapes, raisins,
figs, oranges, lemons, water and sweet melons, quinces, pomegranates,
medlars, plantains, custard-apples, guava, olives and sugar-cane--a
veritable paradise for the fruit grower. Up the hill slopes, where the
olive luxuriates, fine woods of sweet acorn and cork trees are passed,
and any day you may see large herds of swine feeding on the acorns that
have fallen, and routing out other delicacies that their sensitive noses
tell them lie hidden beneath the surface. The pork of Estremadura is
reckoned the best in Spain, and that from these oak woods a good second.
The pig in Spain is a clean feeder, and you can eat him with perfect
safety anywhere. Such a thing as the offensive pig-sty, the disgrace of
rural England, is absolutely unknown here.
[Illustration: MALAGA. THE MARKET]
Malaga's climate is delightful, despite the fierce winds and the dust
they raise. Though rain seldom falls the cool sea breezes in summer
bring a refreshing tonic to the dweller up country; and many Spaniards
at this season come here for bathing, and obtain a maximum of sunshine
without the intense heat of the interior.
VALENCIA
Valencia del Cid is inseparably connected with the hero of Spanish
romance, Rodrigo Diaz of Bivar, to give him his real name, "Cid" being a
corruption of the Moorish _Seyyid_, and first appearing in historical
documents of the year 1064. Rising to great power, Alfonso of Leon
appointed him to the command of his army, but through jealousy banished
him in 1081. From that date the Cid became a true knight-errant. Barred
from the kingdom of Leon, he was ever ready to sell his services to the
highest bidder; and after many wanderings found himself with a goodly
following of knights, only too eager in those days, when might was
right, to be in the train of so redoubtable a champion, _en route_ to
Saragossa. The Moorish ruler of that city being at logger-heads with the
Count of Barcelona accepted the Cid's proffered services, and the result
was a battle in which the Catalans were badly beaten.
With no prospects of further service in Aragon, the Cid turned his face
south and marched on Valencia, whose Moorish King Yahya was only too
pleased to request his protection in advance, instead of succumbing to
his conquering arm. Thus began Rodrigo's connection with the city, which
with one or two intervals ended only at his death.
It was from the top of the Miguelete Tower, which is pictured in my
illustration of the Cathedral, that he showed his wife Ximena and their
daughters the fair land he had conquered. This was in 1095, when after
having rejoined Alfonso and left him again, he had returned and
recaptured the city after a siege of twenty months. Four years later
died the man whose name was a terror to the Infidel, and his widow
Ximena, following the traditions of her warrior husband, held Valencia
against overwhelming hordes of Moors. The story of the bitter end, how
she placed his body on his favourite war-horse and drove it through the
ranks of the enemy, has always been a theme for the balladmonger of
Spain.
It was in 140 B.C. that Junius Brutus founded a small Roman colony on
the banks of the river Turia. Pompey destroyed this settlement and
rebuilt it. In 413 the Goths took possession. The Emir of Cordova
captured it in 714 and Valencia remained a vassal state until the fall
of the Omayeh dynasty. Like other provinces, it became merged under the
single banner that floated over the greater part of the Peninsula at the
union of Aragon and Castile. Being a coast town and savouring of the
south, it was not until the time of the bigoted Philip III. that the
industrious and unfortunate Moriscoe was finally expelled from the
shelter of Valencia's walls.
[Illustration: VALENCIA. SAN PABLO]
Souchet sacked the place in the Napoleonic wars and received the title
of Duke of Albufera from his master. Rather an empty honour, Albufera
being the large and malarious tract of marshland along the coast a few
miles to the south of El Grao, and worth but very little.
El Grao is Valencia's Port, and is three miles distant from the city.
The road which connects the two is about the busiest high road I saw in
Spain. From sunrise till long after sunset two streams of vehicles pass
to and fro. Strings of laden donkeys, waggonettes crammed with
good-humoured laughing fisher and country folk pass along, an electric
tram carries those who can afford the extra _centimos_, and the
carriages of Valencia's well-to-do citizens take them to the harbour for
a breath of sea air out on the breakwaters. Everything seems alive, and
though there is that balmy feeling in the air which one gets in
Andalusia, there is none of the indolence and seductive _dolce far
niente_ of that enchanting province. No! quite the other way in
Valencia. The peasants are extremely industrious. The soil of the
_Huerta_ bears them three crops during the year. The system of
irrigation, the old Moorish system by-the-way, is perfect, and though
the product of a soil which is forced to bear more than it naturally
can, is reinforced at sowing time, in the case of corn, by Russian
grain, it cannot be said that Valencia depends on any outside help for
her prosperity. The swamps bordering the coast grow the finest rice in
the world. The wines of the province are good and cheap, held in much
esteem by French merchants to fortify the lighter produce of their own
country. So cheap are they in fact, that in some parts of the province
it costs more to get a drink of water than a glass of wine. Yet
drunkenness is unknown. If a Valencian took a drop too much, he would be
promptly boycotted by his neighbours, and for ever after looked upon as
a disgusting and outlandish boor, a disgrace to his village and a man to
be shunned.
The peasant is very illiterate and scrupulously honest--the one follows
the other. Like the Andalusian, he is absolutely trustworthy in all his
dealings, which are conducted by word of mouth. In buying and selling no
signatures to documents pass between the contracting parties. If any
paper is ever signed, it is confirmed by certain scratches or marks
known to belong to so and so--the signee. His word is his bond, it is
generally all he can give, but it is enough and is worth more than
signatures sometimes are. Further north, where modern ways of life are
more in vogue, and where all is more "advanced," there are ten lawyers
to the one in Valencia and the south.
[Illustration: VALENCIA. DOOR OF THE CATHEDRAL]
The Cathedral was originally a Gothic structure, but one fashion
following another, has been at different times so altered and robbed of
all architectural beauty that there remains but little of interest in
the building. It was founded in 1262 and finished two hundred years
later. El Miguelete, the celebrated Bell Tower, is so named because the
bells were first hung on St. Michael's Day. Like the Torre de Vela of
the Alhambra, a bell is here struck which regulates the irrigation of
the _Huerta_.
In this connection, and as an exemplification of the peasant's
trustworthiness, once a month, on a Thursday, the Tribunal de Aguas sits
in the Plaza de la Seo outside the Puerto de los Apóstoles or north door
of the Cathedral. Its presiding members are chosen by their fellow
peasants for their integrity and general standing in the community. They
exercise absolute control over the seven different irrigation districts.
The Government has once or twice interfered with this, but
unsuccessfully. Plaintiffs and defendants appear before this primitive
tribunal seated in a public square. The case is stated, _pros_ and
_cons_ weighed, and judgment given fairly on its merits. Any one passing
can stop and hear the arguments of both sides. As a proof of the
shrewdness the peasants possess and the confidence they have in their
dealings with one another, no appeal is ever made from the judgment of
their elders.
This north door has good sculptured figures in the jambs and archivolt.
Above is a fine rose window. These are among the remains of the first
building. Another relic of the early structure is the octagonal
_cimborio_ erected about the same time as the doorway, _i.e._, 1350. The
lancet windows over the Puerta del Paláu, which is surmounted by a round
arch with carvings in the jambs, are all of the same period. The third
doorway, the Puerta del Miguelete, is florid and overdone, and dates
from the eighteenth century. Its bronze doors however are extremely
fine.
The best features of the much-spoilt interior are the octagon and the
very beautiful Corinthian _silleria del coro_. The original _retablo_
over the High Altar was set on fire by the lighted cotton attached to a
pigeon let loose at a religious ceremony in 1469. The side panels alone
were saved from the results of the terrified bird's erratic flight.
Close by on a pillar is hung the armour of James I. of Aragon.
Over the sacristy door is a good painting by Ribalta of _Christ Bearing
the Cross_, and in the ante-room an _Adoration_ by Ribera, besides five
good examples of Juanes' brush.
Among the treasures of the Cathedral is an extraordinary piece of
goldsmith's work, a Calix, showing four different periods of this art,
_i.e._, Roman, IXth, XVth and XVIth centuries. It figures in
the picture of the _Last Supper_ by Juanes, which is now in the Prado at
Madrid. An interesting trophy also belongs to the Cathedral in the shape
of the chain which at one time closed the old Port of Marseilles.
The many different varieties of marble used in the decoration of the
building form a very pleasing series, and go some way towards
compensating the disappointment one experiences with the much-altered
style of what ought to be a grand interior.
I saw a good procession one evening wending its way through the crowds
which lined the narrow street near the church of Santa Catalina. The
balconies were filled with occupants who showered rose leaves down as
the effigy of St. John passed by. The light from the torches carried by
some boys flickered upwards and caught the faces of those peering over
from their vantage posts above. The crowd knelt as the saint passed, and
once more the vitality of the Church, which I could not but feel
wherever I went in Spain is _the_ thing that lives, was again in
evidence.
Over the door of the church of San Martin is a good equestrian group in
bronze. San Domingo has some very beautiful cloisters of late Gothic
date, and San Salvador possesses Valencia's miraculous image. Nicodemus
is reputed to have made this, the Christ of Beyrout. The marvellous
relic navigated itself from Syria across the waters of the Mediterranean
and reached Valencia against the river's stream. A monument on the bank
marks the spot where the wonderful voyage ended by the safe landing of
the Christ. It is much visited by the devout. In the chapel attached to
the Colegio del Patriarca hangs Ribalta's fine _Last Supper_. Every
Friday morning at ten o'clock the _Miserere_ is celebrated here. The
impressive ceremony commences with the slow lowering of this picture
from its place above the High Altar. The void is filled by a dark cloth,
which, as the service proceeds, is gently drawn aside disclosing a
second cloth, this is again repeated, followed by another, and when
this, the fourth cloth, is parted asunder a fine painting of _Christ
Crucified_ is revealed. Meanwhile chants appropriate to the solemn
service have been filling the church and increasing the tension of the
congregation. The whole ceremony is a very good piece of stage
management and certainly most thrilling and inspiring. The black
_mantilla_ for ladies is _de rigeur_.
[Illustration: VALENCIA. RELIGIOUS PROCESSION]
Valencia's walls, erected in 1356, were demolished in 1871 to give work
to the unemployed, and the spacious _Paseo_ made in their stead. The
trees planted along this carriage drive have added materially to the
health of the city.
Of the two remaining gates, the Torres de Serranos is much the better.
Built in the second half of the fourteenth century on Roman foundations,
its massive construction and great height are very grand. It is one of
the best gates I know. The archway itself is rather low. The double
floors above have fine Gothic vaulting and are approached by a flight of
steps. The gallery is supported on heavy corbels, and the cornice has
deep machicolations. The whole rises in isolated grandeur and may
perhaps gain, from the painter's point of view, by the absence of
flanking walls.
The Torre de Cuarto is another enormous gateway with two huge round
towers on either side. It still bears the marks of Souchet's
artillery--whose round shot did apparently no damage whatever. Not far
from this gate lies the Mercado situated in the middle of the old
quarters of the city. Valencia is quite a modern town, it is rapidly
losing everything of any age, and changing its narrow insanitary
streets for spacious well-built thoroughfares.
The Mercado is by far the largest and most attractive market in Spain.
Fruit and vegetables, wicker goods of all sorts, baskets, chairs, toys,
leather-work and harness, brightly coloured mule trappings, every
description of wood and metal-work, the usual assortment of old iron,
lamps antique and modern, oleographs and chromos, saints and virgins
jostling the latest cheap reproduction of a famous _Torrero_ or
_Bailarina_, furniture, worn-out field implements and new cutlery, lace,
everything, in fact, including smells, the variety of which I found
unequalled anywhere. Strong garlic assaulted my nostrils--in three more
steps I was in the midst of roses and carnations, half a dozen more and
a horribly rank cheese made the air vibrate; and so it continued from
one end to the other of this most fascinating kaleidoscopic throng, to
study which I returned every day of my sojourn in Valencia.
On one side of this wonderful market-place stands the Lonja de la Seda.
It dates from 1482 and occupies the site of the Moorish Alcázar. Perhaps
of all the examples of Gothic civil architecture in Europe, the Lonja de
la Seda can claim the first place. The west façade, facing the Mercado,
has a double row of square-topped Gothic windows, above which is a
traceried gallery running round the entire building with gargoyles and
a frieze of heads below the embattled parapet.
In the centre is a Tower with a couple of Gothic windows. There are two
separate buildings in this "Silk Exchange," one of which has a beautiful
court. The whole of the other is occupied by the Exchange Hall. The rich
star vaulting of the interior is borne by two rows of spiral columns
without capitals; they branch out to the roof like the leaves of a palm
tree and it is very evident that this beautiful treatment was suggested
by the growth of the tree.
Valencia has always been celebrated for a certain style or school of
painting, and in the Museum, which occupies the buildings of the old
Convento del Carmen, Ribalta, Espinosa and Juanes are seen at their
best. The school is noted for the peculiar deep red undertone of the
shadows, which is very markedly apparent in the works hanging on these
walls. There are also some beautiful examples of native faience and
pottery, for Valencia is still the home of Spanish lustre ware.
The Valencians are great bird fanciers, and very keen pigeon shots.
Numerous lofts built on the roofs for these birds cut the sky-line in
the old quarters of the city. Sunday sees the dry bed of the Turia full
of competitors in shooting matches, when toll is taken of the feathered
inhabitants of these airy dwellings.
If it were not for the rather bad drinking water and the malarious
marshes, the breeding-ground of a most particularly venomous mosquito,
Valencia would be as pleasant and lively a spot for residence as any in
Spain. The climate is good and it is near the sea. It stands on the edge
of a veritable fruit garden, and its people are pleasant and friendly.
TORTOSA
Journeying to Valencia from the north one is carried along a grand bit
of coast with glimpses of the blue Mediterranean rolling in on stretches
of yellow sand, and breaking into spray on the rocks above which the
train runs. The _rapido_ stops for lunch at Tortosa, and I got out
intending to stay if there was anything in the famous old city or its
Cathedral which might bear illustrating in this book.
I reached the best _fonda_ in the place, and was heartily welcomed by
its lively little landlord, who immediately handed me one of his cards,
whereon was set out, amongst many superlatives, the news that an
interpreter was attached to the house. "Gone away for the day, señor,"
was the reply when I asked for an interview. He was always away I fear;
however, I did not need his services and my host and I became fast
friends. So friendly indeed that I only just avoided an embrace at
parting on the day I left. He took great interest in my doings, and on
his side gave me much information. He explained to me how the mighty
Ebro, on which Tortosa is situated, and to which it owes its existence,
had risen in flood during the disastrous October of 1907. "Right up to
here, señor"--this while I was having lunch--and he pointed to a spot a
couple of inches off the floor of the _comedor_, which was on the first
floor of the house--"A terrible flood that?"--"Yes, señor, the streets
were for weeks full of mud and all sorts of things. Hundreds of poor
people lost everything and many were swept out to sea."
Another day I remarked on the gas that lit the _fonda_ and asked my host
why he had not put in electric light. "It is too expensive, señor; some
people have it, and the Market Hall is lit by it; but you must
understand that Tortosa long ago did away with oil lamps and was one of
the first places in Spain to use gas. And now?--well it is enough for
us, and the electric light is too expensive."
Elsewhere in Spain I have been told with pride that the country is still
in the foremost rank of civilisation--whatever the Progressive Press
says--and the almost universal use of electricity has been pointed out
to verify the boast. But Tortosa, which led the van when gas was a
novelty, is the only place of any importance that I know which is still
lit by this means.
Local tradition has it, that the city dates back to the time of St.
Paul who, I was told, settled here and built himself a nice little
house. Whatever the saint did it is on record that before his day the
town was an important Iberian port of the Ilercaones tribe, and in later
years under the Romans, possessed a mint of its own, being then known as
Julia Augusta Dertosa. Strategically the key of the great river, Tortosa
was subject to repeated attempts at capture by those not in occupation.
During the time when it was held by the Moors, Charlemagne's son Louis,
after an unsuccessful attempt, gained possession, only to be driven out
in the year 810. It was not until 1148 that the Infidel's reign was
finally terminated by Ramon Bereuguer, Count of Barcelona.
In the following year a desperate attempt was made by the Moors to
retake their stronghold, and the inhabitants, reduced to the last stage
of despair, contemplated the sacrifice of their women and children, and
then a final sortie to end their own lives. The women, however, showed a
true militant spirit, they courted death, but not in this mean manner.
Mounting the hardly defensible walls with every and any weapon they
could lay hands on, the men were directed to sally forth. The gates were
opened, and cheered on by their wives and daughters, the sterner sex
rushed out. So determined was the onslaught that the Moorish host was
beaten back and fled leaving all the plunder in his camp behind.
Ramon, to show his appreciation of the heroism displayed by the fair
ones, invested them with the Order of the Axe (La Hacha) and decorated
them with the red military scarf. Also decreeing that at their marriage
they should precede mankind, and to this added the privilege of
duty-free dress materials. What more could woman want?
The Cathedral occupies the site of a mosque erected in 914 by
Abderrhaman. A Cufic inscription in the wall at the back of the sacristy
relates this with the date. Bishop Lanfredo dedicated the building to
the Virgin in 1158, but the present structure dates from 1347. It is
extremely good Gothic, with a heavy baroque west façade, ugly and
ill-proportioned. Of the exterior but little is visible, and my sketch
simply includes the upper part of the façade, visible over the roofs of
the quaint old town, with the river flowing in front.
The interior is very simple and dignified. The slender columns of the
nave rise to a great height; the light that filters through the few
clerestory windows that are not blocked subdues the garishness of a bad
_trascoro_, and finds its way amongst the tracery of the arches of the
double apse. In Avila Cathedral this same feature prevails. A double
aisled apse with open-work tracery between the arches and below the
vaulting of the aisles.
[Illustration: TORTOSA]
The _silleria_ of the _coro_ were carved by Cristóbal de Salamanca in
1588, and are really beautiful. The two pulpits are covered with
interesting iron bas-reliefs, and the High Altar encased in a mass of
plateresque silver work. The _retablo_ is a good specimen of early
Gothic work, and I could not help thinking how much better such an one
is than the many overdone chirrugueresque atrocities met with in more
famous places.
Tortosa is the centre of a district the mountains of which yield many
different kinds of marble, and the Cathedral is especially rich in
these. Perhaps the chapel of Cinta contains the best; the most used is
the _broccatello di spagna_ a purple colour with tiny marine molluscs
embedded in the hard clay. The Cathedral is adorned at certain festivals
with a series of splendid tapestries, and amongst many relics overlooked
and left by the French is a fine Moorish casket of ivory.
Pope Adrian IV., the Englishman, was at one time Bishop of Tortosa, a
fact which added interest to this beautiful little Cathedral.
The cloisters are early pointed Gothic, now much dilapidated and uncared
for. On the encircling walls are many highly interesting mural tablets,
a few of which have recumbent figures cut in low relief with their backs
to the wall, as is the case in the earliest Gothic effigies of this
sort.
TARRAGONA
My recollections of Tarragona can be summed up in three words--blue sea,
sunshine, and peace.
Some fifteen or twenty years ago the quays of its fine harbour were full
of life and bustle, ships entered the port and ships went out. The trade
with France in light wines was good, and with England and America in
those of heavier quality, better still.
Nowadays it is cheaper to send wines by rail. Reus, a railway centre a
few miles inland, has captured a great deal of Tarragona's trade, and
modern history repeats itself once more. Cheap and quick delivery are
the watchwords. Hurry and hustle are leaving the old trading towns
behind. Barcelona is not far away. Centralisation is everything, and
thus it happened that I found very few places in Spain so reposeful as
Tarragona. And I might add so beautifully situated as this old city
which climbs and crowns a hill that rises from the very edge of the blue
Mediterranean.
Very few cities in Spain can boast of prehistoric walls still extant.
Tarragona can do so. The huge uneven blocks of granite, which may be
seen in my sketch of the Archbishop's Tower, occupy the lower portion of
the old Roman walls. On the north side of the city they are even more
visible than in the sketch. Some of the blocks measure thirteen by seven
by five feet. Three of the ancient portals, the stone of which is faced
inside, still exist, but apparently no records do, to tell us who placed
these Cyclopean defences where they stand to-day.
Many remains of Roman days may be seen built into the houses of the old
and higher town, tablets, mural inscriptions, bits of columns, &c. The
Cathedral possesses numerous plinths and pillars of marble from the
quarries at Tortosa, built into its walls, and the Font in the
Baptistery is an old Roman basin. What a glorious city it must have been
when the Emperor Augustus made it his capital! and the overland trade
met the sea-going in the harbour below.
Twenty miles away at Gayá the Romans tapped a continuous supply of fresh
water, and their aqueduct, a good deal of which remains, ranks next to
that of Segovia in size, and stands as an example of how the Romans
built. Roman villas with incomparable views out to sea, dotted the
hillsides; temples to every god and goddess rose in the city, which
contained a million inhabitants. It possessed a mint of its own, and,
favoured by nature and art, became known as "Colonia victrix togata
turrita."
[Illustration: TARRAGONA]
The Moslem sacked Tarragona, and for four centuries one of the glories
of Colonial Rome lay a heap of ruins. In 1089, at the commencement of
the building of the Cathedral, the see, much to the disgust of Toledo,
was raised to metropolitan dignity. Thenceforth, between the two cities,
endless disputes have arisen as to the Primacy of Spain.
Though begun at the above date, most of the Cathedral is of twelfth and
early thirteenth-century work. It is not known who designed this
magnificent church, the finest example of Transition in Spain. The
interior is very simple and very dignified. The roof is borne by grand
piers, thirty-five feet in circumference. Their bases are broken by four
seats, one in each corner, placed thus to enhance the line of the
composition, and break the otherwise too great severity of the
foundations.
There is no triforium; but an early pointed clerestory of large bays,
and a superb rose window in the west, of date 1131, admit a flood of
light. Nothing could well be simpler than the pairs of massive columns
which carry the centre arches of the vaulting, nor finer than the
delicate single attendant at their sides from which spring the
transverse sections. All these are capped with square Romanesque
capitals.
The chancel is pure Romanesque and very beautiful. The semicircular end
of the Capilla Mayor and the two small apses are the oldest part of this
noble building. The _retablo_ of the High Altar is alabaster, and carved
with reliefs of the martyrdom of Santa Tecla, Tarragona's patroness. The
delicate tapering finials and the figures under canopies below, are
carved in wood. Behind the High Altar is a very interesting urn which
contains the ashes of Cyprian, a Gothic archbishop.
The fine _cimborio_ which rises above the crossing has eight windows of
three and four lights alternately, which contain fragments of very
brilliant coloured glass. In the transepts are two magnificent wheel
windows full of good glass, indeed I know of no better scheme of colour
than that which adorns this window on the south side.
The _silleria del coro_ are the work of Francisco Gomar and date from
1478. The body of James I. of Aragon lies in a tomb at the west end of
the _trascoro_, having been brought here from the ruined Monastery of
Poblet--the Escorial of Aragon. A ruin where still lie under their much
despoiled and mutilated tombs some of the rulers of that kingdom.
[Illustration: TARRAGONA. THE ARCHBISHOP'S TOWER]
This grand Cathedral is not dependent on gloom or subdued light for its
great impressiveness. On the contrary it is the best lit of any of
Spain's Cathedrals, and it is on its excellent proportions and scale
alone that its reputation for solemnity will always rest, and its
majesty be ever remembered.
The west façade, commenced in 1248, is constructed of a light-coloured
stone, which time has improved into a very beautiful sienna brown. The
upper portion is unfinished. In the centre is a fine and deeply recessed
Gothic portal, flanked by two massive buttresses. Under Gothic canopies
stand statues of the Apostles and Prophets, the lintel of the doorway is
supported by a Virgin and Child, above which is the Saviour, and a row
of figures rising out of their tombs on the Judgment Day. Above all is
the already-mentioned rose window. So well does the mass of the building
rise above the adjacent roofs that this window is visible from the
breakwater of the harbour. The two doorways on either side of the façade
are pure Romanesque. Each is surmounted by a small wheel window. The
iron work which covers the doors is of a very intricate design; and the
huge iron knockers with grotesque heads, the hinges of the doors, and
the copper work as well, gave me many pleasant moments in marvelling at
the skill of the smiths of days gone by.
It was in the cloisters however that I found the greatest charm of the
whole Cathedral. The court is a veritable garden, where date palms, fig
trees and oleanders crowd one another in the neatly arranged beds behind
box hedges. I spent many pleasant hours in this delightful spot, my
solitude broken by occasional visits from the Sacristan, who, in his
faded and patched purple cassock, came in at odd times for a chat. Very
proud of his Cathedral was this quiet custodian, and I shall never
forget his soft voice and winning smile, nor the great interest he
evinced in my sketch. The swifts rushed screaming past, the bees hummed
from flower to flower, the scent of the plants was delicious, the warm
sun and the splash of the fountain--turned on for my benefit--all went
to help the welcome repose and forgetfulness of the outer world that
overcame me as long as I was at work in this little Paradise.
The double doorway in the north transept through which one enters the
cloisters from the Cathedral, is the finest of all. The capitals of its
detached shafts are wonderfully carved. They represent the Awaking of
the Three Kings by an Angel, the Nativity and the Journey of the Magi.
The arcading of the cloisters consists of six bays on all four sides,
these bays are subdivided into three round arches, with a couple of
circular openings above and enclosed within the arch. Some of these
openings contain very beautifully carved tracery.
[Illustration: TARRAGONA. THE CLOISTERS]
The capitals of the columns are a museum of quaint fancy and good
carving. In one set, all the incidents of a sea voyage are cut, in
another, mice are seen carrying a cat to his grave, who, shamming death,
turns and devours some of them before his obsequies are complete. There
is a Descent from the Cross, where one of the Faithful wields a pair of
pincers much longer than his own arms, so determined is he to pull out
the nails that cruelly wound Christ's hands.
Many fragments of Roman sculpture are let into the walls; and a lovely
little Moorish arch, with a Cufic inscription and date 960, reminds one
of the Infidel's rule over the city.
To reach times nearer our own, there are two inscriptions telling of the
occupation by British troops, which run--_5th Company_ and further on
_6th Company_--obviously pointing to the fact that these lovely
cloisters sheltered some of our own troops during the Peninsular War.
Like many other Cathedrals, Tarragona's possesses a grand series of
tapestries, which are hung round the columns and walls during certain
festivals. They are mostly Flemish and not in any way ecclesiastical.
One indeed that I saw was anything but this. Cupid was leading a lady,
who was in _déshabille_, into her chamber, wherein, by a four-post bed,
stood a gentleman with a lighted taper in his hand!
It was pleasant in the evening to stroll down to the harbour and out
along the mole, to watch the deep-sea fishing fleet race home with the
long sweeps out in every boat as the wind dropped and the sea became an
oily calm. I must own it was with great regret I left this now peaceful
spot--a city that once boasted of a million inhabitants, and prior to
that was a great Phoenician port! Of all the Cathedral Cities of Spain
I would rather return to Tarragona than any other, hold converse with my
friend the Sacristan, who knows and loves his Cathedral so well, and end
the day as the sun goes down watching the boats return from long hours
of toil.
BARCELONA
Barcelona the Progressive, the finest port of Spain, with its large
harbour, its wide boulevards, splendid suburbs, good hotels, huge
factories and modern prosperity has well earned the title of first city
of the New Spain.
Amilcar Barca in 225 B.C. founded the Carthagenian city which occupied
the Taber hill on which the Cathedral now stands, and twenty years later
it became a colony of Rome. Remnants of the old walls can still be
traced in the narrow streets which centre round the Holy Fabric. Under
the Goths, Barcino, as it was then called, rose to some importance,
money coined here bears the legend "Barcinona." The Moors were in
possession of the sea-washed fortress for about one hundred years, and
then the reign of the Counts of Barcelona, independent sovereigns,
began.
Count Ramon Berenguer I., who ruled from 1025 to 1077, instituted the
famous "Códego de los Usatjes de Cataluña," an admirable code of laws,
to which was added in the thirteenth century the "Consulado del mar de
Barcelona." This latter code obtained in the commercial world of Europe
the same authority as the old "Leges Rhodiæ" of the ancients.
When at the height of its prosperity, Barcelona, the centre of commerce,
received a severe blow by the union of Cataluña with Aragon, on the
occasion of the marriage of Count Ramon Berenguer IV. to Petronila
daughter of Ramiro II. King of Aragon. When Aragon and Castile were
united Barcelona became subject to the "Catholic Kings," and ever since,
in language, in habits and enterprise has shown her dislike for and her
struggle against the ways of Castile.
To-day Barcelona is far in advance of any other city of Spain. I felt I
was once more in Europe when the comfortable hotel 'bus rattled along
through the well-lit streets. Perhaps I was getting tired of life in the
Middle Ages, and was obsessed with Mediæval Cities! At any rate, a clean
bed in a modern hotel was a luxury I thoroughly appreciated, and I
started the next morning to explore, with a mind at ease and a
consciousness that there would be no irritating little pin-pricks, no
_mañana_ for a couple of weeks at least.
[Illustration: BARCELONA. IN THE CATHEDRAL]
The Cathedral stands on the site of a Pagan Church converted by the
Moors into a Mosque. The present edifice replaced the Christian Church
which superseded this Mosque, and was begun in 1298. The crypt was
finished in 1339 and the cloisters in 1388. The west façade was covered
with scaffolding while I was there, and so may perhaps be completed in
another thirty years.
The interior of this splendid Gothic church is very dark. The pointed
windows are all filled with magnificent fifteenth-century glass. At the
sunset hour, when the rays of light strike low and filter through the
many colours of these windows, the effect in the gloom of this solemn
building is most beautiful. As the orb of day sinks lower and lower the
light lingers on column after column right up the lofty nave to the High
Altar until he suddenly disappears, and all within is wrapt in deep
twilight.
The nave is very narrow and very high. The clustered columns seem to
disappear into space, and the vaulting is almost lost in the darkness.
There are deep galleries over the side chapels in the aisles, which have
a rather curious arrangement of vaulting. From the roof of the aisles at
each bay depend massive circular lamps which catch the light and
heighten the effect of mystery which is omnipresent throughout the
Cathedral.
A flight of steps in front of the High Altar--an almost unique
feature--leads down to the crypt, where rests the body of Santa Eulalia,
Barcelona's patron saint. Her alabaster shrine is adorned with reliefs
of different incidents in her life.
The _retablo_ of the High Altar is richly ornate with tapering Gothic
finials of the fifteenth century; below it is a sarcophagus containing
the remains of St. Severus.
Above the Gothic _silleria del coro_ hang the coats-of-arms of the
Knights of the Golden Fleece. Among them are those of Henry VIII. of
England. The only installation of the Order was held here by Charles V.
The side chapels contain very little of interest, but the cloisters are
otherwise. Entered either from the street or the south door of the
Cathedral their beauty is very striking. In the centre palms and orange
trees rear their heads, and the splash of the fountains, in one of which
the sacred geese are kept, is refreshingly cool after the bustle of
streets outside.
San Pablo del Campo, now a barrack, is the most interesting of
Barcelona's ecclesiastical remains. This church, built by Wilfred II. in
913, is more like the ancient churches of Galicia than those of
Catalonia. Very small and cruciform, a solid dome rises from the centre.
Its cloisters are perfect, the arcading is composed of double shafts
with well-cut figures on the capitals.
The peculiarity of Catalonia's churches is well illustrated in the
aisleless Santa Maria del Mar, San Just, and Santa Maria del Pi. The
first named has some magnificent glass and four good pictures by
Viladomát, and in the crypt beneath the High Altar a curious wooden
figure of San Alajo. San Just has the belfry common to the churches of
Catalonia, an open iron-work screen, from which depend the bells, and
Santa Maria del Pi contains a fine wheel window and more magnificent
glass.
A relic of Loyola, the sword that he offered on the Altar of the Virgin
at Montserrat, is still preserved in the old Jesuit Church of Nuestra
Señora de Belen.
Among the many notable buildings in Barcelona is the Casa Consistorial,
or Town Hall. It was built in 1378, and has a very original Gothic
front. A beautiful _patio_ with slender arches and twisted columns adds
to the interest of the interior.
The Casa de la Diputacion opposite contains the picture on which Fortuny
was at work when he died. The _patio_ here is perhaps better than that
in the Casa Consistorial. It is in three stages, from the topmost of
which huge gargoyles of all sorts of devils and monsters rear their ugly
heads.
In the old quarters of the city, where the five-and six-storied houses
almost touch, the streets are very tortuous and not considered safe at
night.
In this respect, however, Barcelona does not stand alone. Any one who
ventures into the low parts of a Mediterranean seaport after dusk
generally does so at his own risk. Very few brawls commence among the
hot-blooded lower orders of the south without the finale of the knife.
By far the most interesting suburb of the city is Barceloneta. This
self-contained town is entirely given up to the fisherfolk and seafaring
portion of Barcelona's inhabitants. Philip V., when planning his
citadel, now demolished, turned out the people who dwelt where he
afterwards erected it. To compensate them for loss of home and property,
he built this well-planned and well-paved suburb out along the coast to
the north-east. With the breeze coming in every afternoon off the sea my
favourite walk was through the park to Barceloneta. Of all the seaports
I know, Naples not excepted, though the Sta. Lucia of five-and-twenty
years ago might have beaten it, the harbour front of Barceloneta is
without an equal. Here one may watch the boat-builders at work under the
oddest roofs imaginable, carpenters busy with the shaping of masts and
oars, and ship's painters putting the finishing touches to boat
accessories. I used to stand awhile admiring the inventive turn
displayed on the exterior embellishments of the marine-dealers' stores.
Wonderful pictures, of ships that could never float, from brushes
wielded by very local talent in glaring vermilion and green. I watched
the holiday-makers sitting in ramshackle booths, rapidly putting away
all sorts of curiosities of the shell-fish order, and I wondered if they
would survive the day. Perhaps the copious draughts of wine they took
was an antidote, at any rate their laughter and good humour gave point
to my unspoken thought--"let us eat and drink, for to-morrow we die."
[Illustration: BARCELONA. THE RAMBLA]
Going on, I often spent some time comparing the drill of artillery
recruits, whose instructors marched them up and down on a quiet bit of
the roadway, with those at home, and I generally finished my walk and
sat me down on the glorious stretch of sand that runs away north as far
as eye can follow. The evening would then draw in, and the twinkling
lights on the ships in the harbour warn me it was time to return. While
twilight lasted I retraced my steps homewards along the quay-side,
invigorated by an afternoon of sea breeze and salt spray.
The focus of Barcelona's life is the celebrated Rambla. The derivation
of this word is Arabic--"Raml-sand"--a river bed, for a small stream at
one time meandered down to the sea where now is the liveliest street in
the north of Spain.
On either side of the central promenade, under the shade of stately
plane trees, are the carriage drives. The broad walk itself is
thronged, especially in the morning when marketing is done, with an
ever-changing crowd. Boys distribute hand-bills, dog-fanciers stroll
about bargaining with dealers, itinerant merchants cry their wares. A
family of father, mother, and children cross the stream of promenaders,
followed by a pet lamb. Acquaintances meet and gossip away a good ten
minutes.
At the top end of the Rambla are situated the stalls of the
bird-sellers, who also deal in mice, a great place this for mama and her
small daughters. Lower down, the flower-sellers congregate under their
red-striped umbrellas. It was here that I made my sketch, in which
luckily, for a bit of colour, I was able to include the blue-bloused
porters in their red caps who wait about for a job with the rope of
their calling slung over their shoulders. Here too all the odd job men
stand awaiting hire. House painters in white blouses with insignia of
their trade--a whitewash brush on the end of a pole--held high, and
others--an endless variety.
Barcelona, being a business town, is democratic to the core, it is also
to the core, Catalan. The names of streets are displayed in Catalan as
well as Spanish. The animals in the Zoological Gardens also are known by
their Catalan, and Castilian as well as Latin names! Barcelona will have
no dealings with Castile, its people speak their own language and
address the foreigner in French. Barcelona is go-ahead. In the houses of
the new suburbs l'art nouveau screams at one, and everything is
up-to-date!
The Spaniard is well-known to be lazy, not so the Catalan. I have never
seen a Spaniard running, but I have seen a Catalan walking fast!
GERONA
The siege of Gerona is as celebrated in the Spanish history of the
Napoleonic wars as that of Saragossa. Both exemplify the bravery and
tenacity of the Spaniard of the north. In the first siege in 1808, three
hundred men of the Ulster Regiment, under their gallant leader O'Daly,
helped to garrison the place against two ferocious attacks by Duchesne
and his French soldiery. The first failed and the second ended in the
utter rout of the besiegers with the loss of all the artillery and
baggage train.
In the following year three French generals with an army of thirty
thousand men invested the city. Alvarez, the Spanish Governor, was
almost without any means of defence, and the women of Gerona enrolled
themselves under the banner of Santa Barbara, the patron saint of
Spain's artillery, and took their places on the ramparts side by side
with their husbands and sweethearts. Alvarez, ably seconded by a few
English under Marshall, held out until he was struck down by disease and
death. The city then, without a leader, its inhabitants starving, at
length surrendered.
So ancient is Gerona that its early history is lost in the mist of ages.
Charlemagne drove the Moors out when they were in possession, but it
soon passed back into their hands again. The Counts of Barcelona ruled
over the place until the union of Catalonia and Aragon, an event which
gave birth to the Crown Prince's title of Principe de Gerona. Hence we
know that in the twelfth century it was a city of great importance. In
consequence of its adhesion, at the end of the War of Succession, to the
house of Hapsburg, Gerona was deprived of its privileges and university,
since which time it has steadily gone down hill.
Down hill it may have proceeded, but I found it a very pleasant, quaint
old-world city set in the midst of verdant hills and running waters.
Shady walks are taking the place of now useless fortifications; and have
not I sat in one of the most delightful rose gardens you could wish to
rest in, and heard the note of the nightingale trilling on the perfumed
air? Most of Spain has gone down hill, and most of Spain is nothing but
enchanting.
[Illustration: GERONA. THE CATTLE MARKET]
Gerona is bisected by the river Oñar, and from its waters which wash
them, the houses rise tier above tier up the hill side. In the summer
when the river is running low, and if it happens to be a Saturday, you
will see one of the most remarkable sights that Spain can boast of.
Under and around the arches of the old bridge are congregated hundreds
of brown and fawn-coloured cattle. The background of ancient houses,
yellow, grey, white, brown--every tone, rises up above this throng.
Coloured garments, the week's washing, flutter in the breeze, green
shutters and blinds hang from the creeper-clad balconies.
It is market day. The lowing of oxen, mingled with the hum of bargaining
humanity in red caps and Prussian-blue blouses, surges up like the sound
of breakers on a distant shore. You who enter Spain by the east route,
go to Gerona at the end of the week--you will never regret its Saturday
market.
The Cathedral stands well. The west façade, a Renaissance addition, is
approached from the Plaza below by a grand flight of ninety steps in
three tiers. In the unfinished jambs of the south door are a series of
interesting terra-cotta figures dating from 1458.
There is nothing else in the exterior worthy of note, but directly I
entered I stopped in amazement at the daring of an architect who could
build so enormous a span as that under which I found myself. This span
is seventy-three feet, the clear width of the nave, and unsupported by
any pillars. No flying buttresses outside give additional strength to
the thrust of the roof. The stonework is perfect and the vaulting inside
simple. So bold and hazardous were the plans of Guillermo Boffy that the
chapter at first refused to sanction them. Being in doubts as to his
sanity, they sought the opinion of twelve other architects, who were
examined separately. As they all approved and passed Boffy's plans, the
construction of this marvel was commenced, and the first stone laid in
1416.
The apsidal chancel had been begun a century earlier and finished in
1346, pretty much on the same lines as this part of Barcelona's
Cathedral.
Unfortunately--how often does one have to acknowledge this!--the _coro_,
with its hideous _respaldos_, painted to imitate Gothic arches in
perspective, almost ruins this splendid and solemn interior. Among the
seats of the _silleria del coro_ there are still preserved some that
date from the fourteenth century.
Early carved work of the same period is found in the elaborate _retablo_
over the High Altar, which is surmounted by three fine processional
crosses. The _baldaquino_, also of wood, is covered like the _retablo_
with plates of silver. It is a mass of precious metal, enamelled
coats-of-arms and gems, and is an extremely interesting relic of that
century.
[Illustration: GERONA. THE CATHEDRAL]
Over the sacristy door are the tombs of Count Ramon Berenguer II. and
his wife Ermensendis, who died in 1058, predeceasing her husband by
twenty-four years. The sacristy itself contains a remarkable piece of
twelfth-century crewel work, said to be the earliest known specimen in
existence. It is covered with figures of a type similar to those of
contemporary MSS. The Romanesque cloisters form an irregular trapezium.
The columns are doubled and about a foot apart, not unlike those of
Tarragona.
The finest Romanesque example that Gerona possesses is the church of San
Pedro de los Galligans. The apse, little damaged during the siege, forms
a tower in the town wall. There is no doubt of the great antiquity of
this building, which dates probably from the early part of the tenth
century. The east end is mostly constructed of black volcanic scoriæ.
The nave and aisles, the bays of which are very simply built, are almost
prehistoric in their roughness.
In the cloisters attached to the church is the Museo Provincial. Many
relics of Gerona's heroic defence can here be seen, as well as some
early Christian and Hebrew remains.
TOLEDO
Standing high above the yellow Tagus, which, confined in a deep gorge,
rushes and swirls far below between precipitous granite cliffs, Toledo
was always an ideal position for a fortress before modern firearms
rendered Nature's defences of little avail.
Its name is associated with the great Cardinals of the Rodrigo, Tenorio,
and Foncesca families, as well as scions of the houses of Ximenes,
Mendoza, Tavera, and Lorenzana. The wealth of these Prelates was
immense, and their power, Ecclesiastical and Temporal, proportionate.
They practically had no rivals, they certainly feared none, they ruled
kings as well as countries, and their allegiance to Rome was purely
nominal. They made wars and fought in them. For their patronage of art
and literature future generations have had good cause to be grateful.
They built schools and improved the means of communication throughout
the land. Under their influence the Church was omnipotent, and they have
written their names deep in the pages of Spanish history. In fact, so
great was the power of Toledo's clergy that it grew to be the cause of
the foundation of the Capital at Madrid. Philip II., who removed the
Court from Valladolid to Toledo, found it better, after a short
residence here, to take himself and his Court to a town where he no
longer encountered the arrogance of Ecclesiastical rule.
Under the Romans, who captured it in 193 B.C., "Toletum" became the
capital of Hispania. Leovigild removed hither from Seville, and his
successor, Reccared, who embraced the orthodox form of Christianity,
made it the ecclesiastical as well as political capital of his
dominions.
For nearly four centuries, from 712, when the Moors took Toledo, it was
under their rule; but divided counsels and the treachery of the
down-trodden Hebrew enabled Alfonso VI. to enter in triumph with the
Cid. The King then styled himself Emperor, and promoted the Archbishop
to the Primacy of Spain. Under Alfonso's rule the city grew rapidly in
every way. Churches and convents were built, defences strengthened, and
Toledo knew no rival.
With far-seeing wisdom, Moor and Christian were allowed to intermarry,
and lived together in peace for wellnigh one hundred and fifty years.
The advent in 1227 of that ecclesiastical firebrand, St. Ferdinand,
however, altered this. One of his first acts was to pull down the
Mosque, wherein the Moors of the city, by Alfonso's royal prerogative,
had been allowed to worship, and commence the building on its site of
the great Cathedral.
[Illustration: TOLEDO. THE CATHEDRAL]
For two hundred years and more did the architects who followed Pedro
Perez add bit by bit, leaving their mark on its stones. Partly
constructed of granite it is immensely strong. A softer stone has been
used with great discretion in the decorative portions of the building.
No comprehensive view of the Cathedral is obtainable, so closely do the
houses surround it on the south and east, and creep up the hill on which
it is built, on the north. The west front is best seen from the Plaza
Ayuntamiento, a pleasant little garden which the Town Hall bounds on one
side. I managed a sketch from the narrow street below this garden.
Only one of the two towers of the west façade is finished as originally
intended. The other is capped by a dome, designed by El Greco, that
painter of the weird, and under which is the chapel wherein the
Mozárabic ritual is celebrated daily at 9 A.M.
The great west door, La Puerta del Perdon, is enriched with embossed
bronze work. Flanking on it either side are the doors of Las Palmas, and
de los Escribanos. The arches of all three have figures in the jambs,
which are continued round each arch in the very best Gothic of the
fifteenth century. Above the doors the façade is adorned with a
sculptured Last Supper and colossal figures in niches. In the centre is
a splendid rose window twenty-eight feet in diameter.
The north transept is entered from the steep Calle de la Chapineria by
La Puerta del Reloj, the oldest doorway of the Cathedral. Its bronze
doors, of later date than the doorway, were cast to match those of La
Puerta de los Leones in the south transept. This doorway's name is
derived from the Lions, which holding shields, occupy positions on its
pillars. Another entrance is through La Puerta de la Presentacion which
opens on the cloisters.
The effect produced by the magnificent interior is much enhanced by the
beauty of the glass which fills most of the windows. The earliest are on
the north side of the nave, and form a series which was commenced in
1418 and finished one hundred and fifty years later. The glass in the
rose window over the west door is superb, and the same may be said for
that in the north transept and the wheel window over La Puerta de los
Leones.
There is no triforium, and the transepts do not project beyond the nave.
The arches of the very beautiful chancel serve as niches for figures.
Here in each bay is a rose window forming a clerestory, and the colours
in the glass of these shine like jewels in a crown.
[Illustration: TOLEDO. THE SOUTH TRANSEPT]
There are in all twenty chapels, every one of which contains something
worth study. The lofty _retablo_ in the Capilla Mayor is of the richest
Gothic. Above is a colossal Calvary of later workmanship. Cardinal
Ximenes built this chapel, among the many monuments of which are the
tombs of Spain's earliest kings. Separating it from the _crucero_ is a
magnificent Plateresque _reja_, on either side of which stands a gilded
pulpit.
Behind the _retablo_ is the _transparente_, much admired by Toledans,
but the one jarring note in the finest of Spain's Cathedrals. This
theatrical mass of marble figures, in the midst of which the Archangel
Rafael kicks his feet high in the air and squeezes a gold fish in one
hand! is lit from a window let into the roof of the apse.
The Capilla de Reyes Nuevos contains the tombs of the kings descended
from Henry II. His tomb and that of his wife, as well as the spouse of
Henry III., a daughter of John of Gaunt Duke of Lancaster, are among the
many that crowd the walls.
The Capilla de San Ildefonso is an extremely beautiful example of early
Gothic work. The much-mutilated tomb in the centre of Cardinal Albornoz
is a masterpiece of the same style. Many other great Ecclesiastics rest
in this elegant octagon, notably Inigo de Mendoza, Viceroy of Sardinia,
who was killed at the siege of Granada.
The Capilla de Santiago was erected in 1435 by Alvaro de Luna, the man
who saved Spain for Juan II. by repressing the turbulent nobles, and who
for his fidelity was rewarded by disgrace and execution in the Plaza
Mayor at Valladolid. The scallop shells which decorate the walls
represent de Luna's office of Grand Master of the Order of Santiago.
Cardinal Ximenes re-established the Mozárabic Ritual, which is
celebrated in the Capilla Mozárabe, as a reminder to the Pope that Spain
did not owe implicit allegiance to Rome.
The small detached Capilla de la Descension de Nuestra Señora stands
against the second pier in the north aisle. It marks the spot where the
Virgin came down and presented San Ildefonso with the _casulla_ or
chausable.
The Salle Capitular is a grand example of early sixteenth-century work,
with a Plateresque frieze and gilt _artesonado_ ceiling by Francisco de
Lara. It contains a series of portraits of the Cardinal Archbishops of
Toledo, and frescoes by Juan de Borgoña. The work of this painter is to
be met with throughout the Cathedral.
The _coro_ occupies two bays of the nave and is a veritable museum of
carving and sculpture. Its _silleria_ are in two rows. The lower is of
walnut and enriched with scenes representing the campaigns of Ferdinand
and Isabella. The upper of the same wood is a perfect classical contrast
and is inlaid not carved. Berruguete, whose work may be best studied in
Valladolid, executed the seats on the south side, and Vigarney those on
the north. A small figure of the Virgin in blackened stone looks really
ancient. It stands in the middle of the _coro_ on a pedestal. Nicolas de
Vergara was responsible for the two reading desks, which are
masterpieces of gilded metal work.
The Gothic cloisters enclose a delightful garden, and have an upper
cloister reached by a door in the Archbishop's Palace. From this
pleasant _claustro alto_ a very good idea of the size of the Cathedral
is obtained.
Space does not permit me to enlarge on the manifold works of art which
this noble building contains. The pictures, the iron work--though I must
just mention a beautifully fanciful knocker of two nude nymphs hanging
downwards from the head of a satyr whose hands clasped together form the
handle, which adorns La Puerta de la Presentacion--the sculpture,
notably that on the _respaldo_, or outer wall of the _coro_, and the
many relics in the Treasury, would all occupy more than I can afford.
Suffice it to say that nowhere in Spain is there a Gothic building of
such well-proportioned dimensions, such simplicity in its leading
features, such a fine idea in the interior of the spacing out of light
and shade, as in this magnificent Cathedral--the grandest of the three
due to French influence.
And Toledo's churches? There are nearly sixty still remaining, every
street seems to contain one! And Toledo's convents? There are almost as
many. Of the former, San Juan de los Reyes, on the high ground above the
bridge of Saint Martin, the last remnant left of a once wealthy
Franciscan convent, was built by Cardinal Ximenes in commemoration of
the "Catholic Kings" victory of Toro. On its outer walls still hang the
manacles and chains of the captive Christians who were set free at the
conquest of Granada, and the interior is embellished with the arms of
Ferdinand and Isabella, and covered with sculptured heraldry.
[Illustration: TOLEDO. THE ZÓCODOVER]
Santa Maria la Blanca, originally a Jewish synagogue, is in the
_Mudéjar_ style, and has some charming arabesques, with a fine cedar
ceiling said to be of wood from the trees at Lebanon. Almost
opposite--we are in the Juderia, or Jews' quarter, to the south-east of
San Juan de los Reyes--is another synagogue, el Transito. Built in 1366
by Samuel Levi, Pedro the Cruel's treasurer, in the Moorish style, it is
almost a better piece of architecture than Santa Maria la Blanca. Levi
lived next door, in the house known now as La Casa del Greco, that
painter having occupied it during his residence in Toledo. The house and
synagogue are connected by a secret passage from the vaults of the
former. These are of immense size and strength, and in Levi's day held
an enormous amount of treasure--too much for the poor man's good. His
royal master, when sufficient was accumulated, put him to death and
appropriated all he could find.
El Cristo de la Luz, one of the most interesting churches in Toledo, was
originally a tiny mosque. It is divided into nine different compartments
by four columns, from the capitals of which spring sixteen arches. It
was here that Alfonso VI. attended the first Mass after the city was
captured. Close by is the Convent of San Domingo el Real, where a
glimpse may be had of picturesque nuns while at their devotions during
early service.
As the station 'bus rattled up the steep winding ascent to the Despacho
Central we dashed through the Zocodovér, the square celebrated for
numerous _auto de fés_ and other executions. All day long it is crowded
with sauntering folk, who walk up and down, quietly enough now, on the
scene of much former cruelty, bloodshed, and many bull-fights.
On its eastern side a fine Moorish arch leads down the hill by a
footpath to the Bridge of Alcántara. Immediately the arch is passed on
the left lies the old Hospital de Santa Cruz. It is one of the best
examples of the Transition to Renaissance in Spain. The portal is deeply
undercut and elaborately carved in soft "white rose" stone and marble.
The inner gate is plateresque and only surpassed by San Marcos at Leon
and the gateway of the university at Salamanca. Cardinal Mendoza's arms
adorn the beautiful _patio_, which has a double arcade of great
elegance, and the stone work on the balustrade of the staircase leading
out of this is very fine. Opposite, on the other side of this steep
descent, are the Military Governor's quarters which are dominated by the
huge Alcázar, now the Military Academy for Infantry Cadets. Destroyed by
fire in 1886, the present edifice, rebuilt soon after, is seen in the
illustration of the Alcántara Bridge rising a great square mass on the
top of the hill. It was the fortress and palace of Moorish days. Alvaro
de Luna had a share in its alteration and Herrera completed it to the
present size by additions executed for Philip II. Many a time has it
been sacked by the conquerors of Toledo and many a prisoner of note
passed his last hours within its gloomy walls, before being led out to
death in the Zocodovér.
[Illustration: TOLEDO. THE ALCÁNTARA BRIDGE]
Both Toledo's bridges are magnificent. The Alcántara, crossed on the way
from the station, has but a couple of arches which span the mighty river
at a great height. It is defended by a gateway at either end, that on
the inner side being the Moorish Tower in my sketch. The Bridge of Saint
Martin has one arch of enormous span with four smaller, which carry it
over the rushing Tagus. Between these two bridges from the opposite bank
of the river one gets the best idea of Toledo's strength. Nothing in
Spain surpasses the grim majesty of the city, which rises above the
sun-baked and wind-blistered crags that form the gorge below through
which the river has cut its way. No spot could have been better chosen
for defence than the hill enclosed in this "horseshoe" of mad waters.
Small wonder that within its encircling walls grew up a race of Prelates
whose rule spread far beyond the borders of Castile, and whose powerful
hand was felt in countries of an alien tongue.
Of the eight city gates the most interesting is the Puerta del Sol, a
Moorish structure with two towers on either side of a horseshoe arch. It
is close to the little church of el Cristo de la Luz, and from either of
the towers a very good idea is obtained of Toledo's defences. Near the
Puerta del Cambon, another of the gates, is the site of the old palace
of the last of the Spanish Goths, Roderic, who lost his life on the
banks of the Guadalete near Cadiz when giving battle to Tarik and his
Berbers.
My whole impression of Toledo was that of a city of gloom. Its larger
houses were forbidding in the extreme. In these a huge portal, with
armorial bearings and massive pillars, defended by a stout iron-bound
door, opens into a dark porch, from which one enters the _patio_ through
an equally strong entrance. The windows that look on to the street are
heavily barred and none are within reach of the pedestrian. Its streets,
too narrow and steep for vehicular traffic, are as silent as the grave
(most Spaniards wear shoes made of esparto grass or soft leather), save
when a young cadet from the Alcázar passes along rattling his sword, and
attracts the attention of the señoritas who sit high up in those
inaccessible balconies. Built on the Moorish plan, these tortuous
thoroughfares twist and turn like a maze, and it seemed to me that the
sun never entered them.
Houses and streets, walls and towers, still remain as they were in the
great Cardinal's days, and stand, even now, as symbols of the iron rule
of the Church. The Cardinal's hat is to be found graved in stone over
many a door, and the "Sheaf of Arrows," the arms of the "Catholic
Kings," is still to be seen over the entrance of what was once the
palace of Pedro the Cruel.
Toledo blades are still made and proved in the ugly factory a mile
outside the city. Toledo ware (made in Germany) is sold by most of the
shops. The growing trade in liquorice is a modern industry, but if it
were not for another recent innovation, the Military Academy, it would
take no stretch of the imagination to carry one back again into the
Middle Ages and to sink one's individuality and become a human atom
under the rule of the great Church.
SALAMANCA
Before I ever thought that Fate would take me to Spain, I had formed in
my mind, as one is apt to do, a Spain of my own, a Spain of glorious
romance. I had been in many cities throughout the country, but it was
not until I reached Salamanca that, "Surely," thought I, "the Spain of
my imagination is now realised."
Here in the middle of the plain, with which one's thoughts are somehow
familiar, rises the great Cathedral, its towers are landmarks for miles
round. Here is a beautiful river winding through valleys deep cut in the
ochre-coloured soil, its banks are clad with verdure and it is spanned
by an ancient bridge. Away over the plain, just visible in the haze, are
the blue mountains of the south. In the midst of all, the dull mud and
yellow walls of the city, the many-hued roofs of red and brown, with
deep shadows under their eaves, rise tier above tier to the Cathedral
above. And this, the prototype of Spain's greatness, her Church, the
ever-present reminder that in days gone by its princes led her armies
to victory and placed her in the van of nations.
I am standing on the noble bridge, half of which is even now as it was
in the days of the Roman occupation. Those massive walls up there of
monasteries and convents always formed part of the picture of my
imagination. They bake under a September sun, just as all Spain ought to
do. A long string of heavily laden mules trots past, their bells
jingling merrily, their drivers shouting and cracking their whips. A
well set-up peasant with his head in a handkerchief and broad-brimmed
hat, cut-away tunic, red sash and tight knee breeches, canters by seated
on a high peaked saddle. His well-bred horse shows a good deal of the
Arab strain, across its quarters are a couple of rugs and its rider
carries an umbrella. A beggar stops before me, and prays that, for the
love of the Holy Mary, I will give him a _perro chico_. Two wizened old
cronies go by chattering about Manuelo's wife. One carries a couple of
fowls tied together by their legs, the poor birds are doing their best
to hold their heads in a natural position. Some little urchins are
throwing stones at the washerwomen by the riverside below. An old man
seated on a donkey's rump ambles past. Yes, this is what I imagined
Spain to be. I turn my steps towards the city. I wander by the Cathedral
and reach the great university of the middle ages. What would Salamanca
have been without its university! I pass many fine houses, with
coats-of-arms emblazoned over their portals. I gaze at their high walls
and windows barred to keep the intruder from the fair sex. Most of them
seem falling into decay, but this only adds to the romance. At length I
reach an arcaded square. The columns of the arcades are wooden, they are
at all sorts of angles, but the houses above still stand. The sun blazes
down on scores of picturesque market folk, who sell almost everything
from peaches and fowls to little tinsel images and double-pronged hoes.
Dogs are sniffing about picking up stray scraps. Children run in and
out, fall down and get up laughing. Every one is busy. The animation of
this little square, as I suddenly come upon it out of a deeply shaded
and aristocratic street, is just the Spain I had always thought of--a
Spain of contrasts. Brilliant sun and grateful shade. Seclusion behind
high walls, and a strange medley of noisy folk, for ever bargaining,
buying and selling. Certainly in Salamanca it is all here. I hear the
click of the castanets and the sound of the guitar in the evening, I see
the ardent lover standing at those iron bars whispering soft raptures to
his mistress, and the picture is complete.
[Illustration: SALAMANCA]
Salamanca is a sleepy old city which the world seems to have left
behind. In the summer it is a veritable furnace, in the winter it is
swept by icy blasts. Before the Christian era it was known as
Salmantica. Hannibal came and captured it in B.C. 247 and under the
Romans it was the ninth military station on the great road which they
built connecting Cadiz and Merida with Astorga and Gijón. Alfonso IX. of
Leon founded the university, which reached its zenith as a seat of
learning during the sixteenth century. Philip II., having transferred
his Court from Valladolid to Toledo, made Salamanca's bishop suffragan
to that city's, since when it seems to have been left out in the cold
and slowly but surely proceeded down hill. This is the reason, I think,
why it attracted me so much. It is essentially a city with a Past and of
the Past. The French under Thiébaut pulled it to pieces and used the
material from its demolished buildings to fortify the place. This was in
1811. The following year saw Marmont's troops utterly routed by
Wellington, three miles south of the fortifications. It was this victory
that gained him his Marquisate and a grant from Parliament of £100,000.
Like Saragossa, Salamanca possesses two Cathedrals. The older intensely
interesting in every way, the later, a huge late Gothic pile begun in
1513 and finished in 1733. This immense structure affords a good study
of the changes of architectural taste spread over the years which
intervened between these two dates.
[Illustration: SALAMANCA. THE OLD CATHEDRAL]
The west façade is a marvel of intricate sculpture in the
richly-coloured soft stone that has been used as if it were plaster or
wax. Late Gothic predominates amidst a deal of Plateresque and Barroque
ornament. Despite its incongruities it is extremely fine, but would look
even better if some of the numerous niches had not lost their statues,
and if little boys did not find a pastime in lodging stones amongst
those that are left, greatly I fear to their detriment. Over the double
doorway are high reliefs of the Nativity and Adoration of the Magi, a
negro prince being an especially good figure in the latter subject.
Above is a Crucifixion.
The north porch is also very fine and gains in effect, as indeed does
the whole of this side of the Cathedral, by the raised piazza on which
it is built. The approach is up some dozen steps, the whole of the
piazza being surrounded by pillars as at Leon and Seville.
Juan Gil de Hontañon, who designed this and the sister Cathedral at
Segovia, surpassed himself with the Great Tower and its
finely-proportioned dome, the top of which is 360 feet high. The
crocketed pinnacles, the flying buttresses, the dome over the crossing,
and the wonderful deep yellow of this huge church, whatever may be
one's opinion about the architecture, make it one of the most
impressive of Spain's Cathedrals.
I was disappointed with the interior on first acquaintance, but it has
only to be known to be appreciated. The imposing proportions, it is 340
feet long, 158 feet wide and close on 100 feet high, gradually asserted
themselves, and before I left Salamanca I was much in love with
Hontañon's masterpiece. A pierced balustrade takes the place of a
triforium, flamboyant Renaissance in the aisles and classical in nave.
It runs round the whole church and in the transepts and choir these two
occur together. Medallions in the spandrils of the arches add to the
rich effect.
Many details in this interior I found to be worth a second and third
visit. The Chapel of Dorado, a veritable museum, contains the tomb of
the builder, Fransico de Palenzuela. Its walls are covered with a
profusion of coloured saints on gilt pedestals. There is a very curious
old organ, standing at the back of an also curious old minstrel's
gallery. A sad-looking skeleton, with "Memento Mori" cut on a slab at
his feet, occupies a dark hole in one of the walls. Fine _azulejos_
decorate the chapel, and many other antiquities too, which I cannot
enumerate.
In the Capilla del Carmen rest the remains of Gerómino, the Cid's bishop
and confessor. An ancient wooden crucifix stands over the altar, it is
the identical one carried by the bishop in the wars of the Cid. Another
relic of the great Campeador is to be seen in the Relicario. A small
Byzantine bronze, "el Crucifijo de las Batallas," studded with chequer
work--a fine specimen of early Limoges enamel.
All this interested me muchly, but the "Catedral Vieja," a grand example
of late Romanesque style, interested me more. Fortis Salmantica, as it
was called, on account of the thickness of its walls, has not been used
for service since its huge neighbour was erected.
I made a drawing of the only view which can be obtained of the exterior
from the Plazuela chica. The central lantern is surmounted by the emblem
of nobility, a cock, and is formed by an octagonal tower with a stone
dome. The tower is arcaded and has four domed turrets and dormers at the
corners similar to those at Zamora. Street considers that he has "never
seen any central lantern more thoroughly good and effective from every
point of view than this is."
To reach the interior one has to retrace one's steps to the "Catedral
Nueva" and from its south aisle pass through a doorway into the other
building. This was erected on a lower level than its big neighbour and
with the attendant verger I descended ten steps and found myself in a
very beautiful mellow-coloured church. The arches of the nave and aisles
are pointed, but the windows and arcading are round. The capitals of the
columns are a museum of carved fantasies, imps, animals, birds, &c. On
the wall of the north aisle, which was partly demolished when the
"Catedral Nueva" was built, are some very curious frescoes; the church
has a clerestory of single lights but no triforium.
There is a wonderful _retablo_ in the Capilla Mayor by an Italian,
Nicolas Florentino. It is still in perfect preservation, and the
fifty-five frescoes set in white and gold of which it is composed have a
beautiful effect in the semi-gloom of the dark chapel. The Mozárabic
Ritual is celebrated six times a year in another chapel, La Capilla de
Talavera. The groining of its roof is the only one of the sort I have
seen, it is composed of parallel ribs which cross one another. In the
Capilla de San Bartolomé lies Bishop Diego de Anaya. His tomb is
surrounded by one of the finest examples of wrought and hammered iron
work in the whole of Spain. Some other members of this family are also
interred in the chapel, which contains a mediæval organ covered by a
screen of coloured Moorish arabesques.
[Illustration: SALAMANCA. AN OLD STREET.]
The cloisters were built in 1170, but have been partly modernised and
totally disfigured by a coat of whitewash. An uncared-for garden filled
with rubbish occupies the centre. Surely some one might be found to tend
this little secluded patch of quietness and make it a place for
delightful repose instead of the disgrace it now is!
Before the French occupation Salamanca was a city of churches and
monastic buildings. To build their fortifications they destroyed
thirteen convents and twenty colleges besides many churches. The
south-west corner of the city is still an empty desert full of rubble
and stone strewn about everywhere, the remains of the now dismantled
fortress which overlooked the valley of the Tormes.
Among the churches left, that attached to the now suppressed Dominican
Convent of San Estéban is by far the finest. It is a miniature Cathedral
in itself. The Gothic exterior is extremely good. The great west façade
is highly enriched with Plateresque ornament. An elliptical arch of
great dimensions roofs the porch. Below it is a realistic group
illustrating the martyrdom of St. Stephen, with the date 1610 cut upon a
stone which one of the figures is picking up to hurl at the saint. The
_coro_ is over the west end, and for once the whole of the interior is
visible. This is very lofty, and the view up to the immense High Altar,
executed by Chirriguera himself, superb. There are two more altars in
the church by the same hand, and although his flamboyant style is not to
my liking, I could not help admiring the way in which he had evidently
allowed himself all the licence he was capable of in their sumptuous
design.
To the south of the little _plaza_ in which San Estéban stands are the
cloisters of the convent, in the upper storey of which is Salamanca's
museum. Unfortunately it contains nothing of interest. Columbus was
lodged by the Dominicans in this convent, and propounded those schemes
to the monks, which the learned members of the university had pronounced
worthless and crack-brained. He found in Fray Diego de Deza and the
other brothers warm supporters.
The once magnificent Convent of las Agustinas Recoletas, founded by the
Count of Monterey, has a beautiful church in the shape of a Latin Cross.
Over the High Altar is one of Ribera's masterpieces--_The Immaculate
Conception_. Monterey was known as "the good slow man" and was Viceroy
of Naples in Philip IV.'s reign. He accumulated great wealth during his
Viceroyalty and built himself the fine palace which stands close to the
convent. There is an anecdote current in Salamanca that when a peasant
woman craved an audience of the King, which he granted, she prayed "God
might make him also Viceroy of Naples."
The University which made Salamanca famous was united with that of
Palencia by Ferdinand, and very soon took the foremost rank as a seat of
learning in Europe, though at the Council of Constance in the year 1414,
Oxford was given precedence, a ruling which much disgusted the patriotic
Spaniard.
The building was entirely altered by the "Catholic Kings," who erected
the marvellous west façade, one of the best examples of Plateresque work
in the country. Like that of the Cathedral and San Estèban, it is a
wonderful example of what can be done with soft stone, and how well the
most delicate modelling has survived in this dry climate. Some of the
Moorish ceilings of the interior have been restored. The grand staircase
leading to the upper floors and cloister is especially well carved with
dancers and foliage. Over the door of each _aula_, or lecture room, is a
tablet denoting the science taught within. The fine library is rich in
theological lore and early editions of Aristotle, &c.
The little square on to which the west façade opens also leads through a
good doorway into the Grammar School, with a delicious cloister and
shady garden.
The four sides of the square and the walls of the Cathedral are covered
with numerous hieroglyphics and names in Roman characters. They are the
initials, signs, and names of the numerous scholars who have
distinguished themselves in different walks of life. A custom now
followed in all our own schools on boards of honour.
The Collegio Mayor de Santiago Apostol is a seminary for Irish priests.
The number in training is generally about twenty. This building,
originally founded in 1592 by Philip II. and dedicated to St. Patrick,
is a very good example of cinquecento architecture.
Among the many fine houses still left after French depredations, that of
La Casa de las Conchas is the most celebrated. It dates from 1512, and
is so named on account of the scallop shells which decorate the exterior
walls. The window grilles are exceptionally fine. The Spanish proverb
"La mujer y el vidrio siempre estan en peligro"--"a woman and glass are
always in danger," evidently held good when these intricate and
beautiful guards were let into the stone. The house has a lovely _patio_
and a very fine staircase. La Casa de Sal is another house with a good
court, the gallery above being supported by life-size figures. La Casa
de las Duendes, or Ghosts, built by Archbishop Fonseca, was supposed to
be haunted, hence the name. The Torre del Clavero is a good specimen of
the Castilian keep. It was built in 1488 by a Sotomayer who was Clavero
or Key-bearer to the Alcántara Order, and is still in the possession of
this noble family.
Throughout the churches, in these houses, and the convents which remain
unsuppressed are many fine pictures, and except for Seville, I found
here more of interest than in any other city of Spain. In the convents
of course mortal man is forbidden entrance, and I could only look at
their lofty walls and wish myself a nearer acquaintance with the
artistic treasures which I was told lay buried behind them.
Perhaps the best example of a square in the whole of the country is the
Plaza Mayor. A lofty colonnade runs around the four sides and every
evening the beauties and others of Salamanca make it their promenade.
The men stroll round in one direction and the women in the opposite. The
social life of a Spanish town passed in view before me, with all its fan
and language of the eyes, as I sat at one of the small tables of a café
and got this cheap and harmless entertainment for one _real_. The square
dates from 1720; the houses are four storeys high and on the north and
south sides bear medallions of kings and celebrated men. The
Ayuntamiento, with its chirrigueresque façade, occupies the centre of
the north side and adds greatly to the appearance of this fine Plaza
where up to fifty years ago bull fights took place.
My work over, I nearly always found myself wandering on to the desert
created by the French at the south-west angle of the city, and with my
pipe spending half an hour or so meditating on the Salamanca of the Past
and its contrast with the Present. The rock stands high here over the
road and river below, and there is a drop of 100 feet or more down on to
the former. It is but a narrow lane hedged in by a high wall and this
forbidding-looking rock. When walking along this lane one day I noticed
many crosses cut in the wall and chalked red. On inquiry I was told that
each cross represented a suicide. From the height above, those tired of
life or disappointed in love hurl themselves down and it is the
unwritten law or prerogative of him who finds the mutilated body to
carve a little cross on the wall at the spot where the unhappy mortal
has ended his days. But it was not to prevent suicides that I wandered
there and sat smoking my afternoon pipe. No, I fear it was something
inglorious, it was to get away from the stenches and filth of the town
and breathe the fresh air of the plain. I do not think that anywhere,
unless it be in Tarragona, were my olfactory nerves so insulted as in
Salamanca. Flies in thousands settled on my colour box and paper
wherever I sat sketching. I can now appreciate fully the torture of the
Egyptians during the plague.
Add to the flies beggars innumerable, with horrible sores, offal and
filth in the streets and some of the romance vanishes. Yet Salamanca
still remains the Spain of my imagination, for was not all this part and
parcel of my dream?
AVILA
Avila is one of the most perfectly preserved towns in Spain. It gave me
the impression of having been dropped from the sky,--complete as it
is--so desolate and barren is the boulder-strewn waste that surrounds
it. A sort of suburb pushes its mean houses straggling beyond the walls,
but Avila itself lies snugly within them. They are perfect--these walls
that entirely encircle the old portion of the town. Forty feet high,
twelve thick, with eighty-six defensive towers and bastions, and ten
gates, they are constructed of slabs of granite set end upwards, and
were always a hard nut for invaders to crack.
The Roman Avela afterwards fell into the hands of the Moors, who for
long held it as a fortress of the first class. Alfonso VI., the
conqueror of Toledo, drove them out after a lengthy siege, and Avila was
rebuilt by his son Ramon of Burgundy. It was then that the present walls
were built, being erected under the supervision of two foreigners, a
Frenchman and an Italian, Florian de Pituenga and Cassandro. Since their
day Avila has played an important _rôle_ in the history of the country
and witnessed many strange events.
In 1465 an extraordinary scene took place on the plain outside the city.
That unpopular king, Enrique IV., was reigning at the time, and the
hatred of the people towards him reached its height when his effigy was
dragged from the city and set upon a throne which had been prepared for
the ceremony of degradation. The Archbishop of Toledo having recounted
the people's grievances, removed the crown from the effigy's head,
others high in the land insulted it and at length pushed it off the
throne, the people then kicked it about and a game of "socker" ensued.
Prince Alfonso, a mere boy, was raised to the unoccupied seat, and
hailed King by the Archbishop, nobles and people, amidst a blare of
trumpets and general rejoicing.
Avila is an intensely cold place, frosts often occur here in May, but
the summer months are delightful. Every street, every house almost is of
interest, and in the old days of its importance there could have been
few strongholds in the country so safe as this.
The Cathedral is almost a fort in itself. The east end forms part of the
city walls, the apse abutting in line with the next two towers on either
side forms part of the defensive works.
[Illustration: AVILA]
Commenced at the end of the eleventh century by Alva Garcia, a native of
Navarre, this early Gothic building is still unfinished. Not much is,
however, of this early date, for the general style of the building is of
the end of the next century, and many alterations have followed this in
later years.
The west front has but one tower, the north--the other, the south, does
not rise above the roof. The favourite ball decoration of late Gothic
Spain is in evidence, and guarding the doorway are a couple of uncouth
mace-bearers. Very terrible are these hairy granite men, but not so
dangerous looking as the two lions which stand on pedestals and are
chained to the Cathedral walls. Always on guard, these four strange
figures have no doubt many a time struck a holy terror into the hearts
of would-be evil-doers as they entered the church, and I daresay kept
the thoughts of others in the straight line.
The north door is early pointed and carries figures in each jamb, the
tympanum is decorated with reliefs of the Betrayal and Last Supper, but
all the figures are sadly mutilated.
The third entrance is at the south-east corner of the Cathedral, and is
a later addition, opening outside the walls of the city on to the Calle
de S. Segundo.
The interior of the Cathedral is very simple and massive, partaking more
of strength than elegance. It is a fitting inside to the severity of the
fortress-like exterior. The nave is narrow and lofty, and so are the
aisles. The large clerestory windows have their tracery above blocked
up, and the lower lights have been treated in the same way, thus giving
a certain resemblance to a triforium, a feature the church does not
possess.
The aisles in the apse are double, like those at Tortosa, and although
the single columns in the centre are very beautiful, these aisles have
not the elegance of those in the other Cathedral. The apse is very dark,
the stone work at one time was painted red and the little that remains
of this colour adds to the religious gloom of its double aisles.
The columns throughout the Cathedral were built to bear great weight,
their capitals are simple and their bases the same. The little light
that glimmers through the windows adds greatly to the sombre strength of
this fine building, which, more than any other of its size, reflects the
life of the Spain of those days in which it was erected. Street thinks
it less influenced by outside art than any other building in the
country, and instances the unique method of laying the stone of the root
as supporting this opinion.
The transepts contain some good glass, as also do the windows in the
chancel. There are many good early tombs throughout the Cathedral.
Judging from their style Avila was left alone when Chirriguera was
erecting monstrosities elsewhere, and to me it is the most homogeneous
of Spain's Cathedrals. The _retablo_ over the High Altar rises in three
stages and contains pictures by Berruguete, Santos Cruz and Juan de
Borgoña. On this account my last remark might be criticised, for the
whole piece is a jumble of styles. The chancel is, however, too narrow
for a view of this medley from the body of the church, and wherever one
roams in the building nothing attracts the eye or disturbs the mind by
being too flagrantly incongruous.
So dark is the apse that the Renaissance _trassegrario_ does not obtrude
in the early Gothic of its surroundings. The very fine tomb of Bishop
Alfonso de Madrigal, the Solomon of his day, is fortunately illumined by
a little light, and I could see the effigy of this wise Prelate seated
at his desk busily engaged with his pen and scroll, while above him the
Magi and Shepherds are adoring in a good relief.
There are some early paintings in most of the chapels, the _retablo_ in
that of San Pedro being perhaps the best.
The work of Cornielis, a Flemish sculptor, _circa_ 1537-47, is admirably
displayed in the very beautiful carving of the _silleria de coro_, and
there is no better example of Spanish metal work of the fifteenth
century to be found than in the two iron-gilt pulpits.
The sacristy contains a splendid silver monstrance by Arfe, and an
Italian enamelled chalice of the fourteenth century by Petrucci Orto of
Siena. The cloisters are disappointing, having been much mutilated and
the fourteenth-century tracery of the arches blocked up.
Avila, like its neighbour Segovia, contains some of the best examples of
Romanesque work, and its many churches are archæologically as
interesting as the Cathedral.
Sheltering from the keen north wind under the arcade of San Vicente I
made a sketch of the gateway of that name. The church was founded in
1307 and dedicated to three martyrs who were put to death on the rock
which may still be seen in the crypt below. The west façade has two
incomplete towers, between which is a most elaborately carved Romanesque
doorway, standing in a deeply recessed arch.
[Illustration: AVILA. PUERTA DE SAN VICENTE]
The pure Romanesque nave has both triforium and clerestory and the
unusual feature of pointed vaulting. The proportions of this noble
church are very fine, but the interest of the non-architectural visitor
will be centred in the Tomb of San Vicente and his two sisters SS.
Sabina and Cristeta. A metal work canopy resting on twisted columns
surmounts the tomb which is a sarcophagus of the thirteenth century. The
legend tells how, after the martyrdom of these three, the body of the
first-named was cast out to the dogs, and that a serpent came out of the
hole in the rock (still visible) and watched over it. A Jew who mocked
was smitten unto death by the reptile and lies buried in the south
transept.
The transept choir and three semicircular apses are Transitional, and
carry a barrel vaulting.
Outside the city wall, a little way down the hillside and beyond the
dirty suburb that intervenes, is the late Gothic church of San Tomás. It
possesses a fine _retablo_ of the patron St. Thomas Aquinas. The High
Altar is placed in a gallery above a low elliptical arch, this feature
being repeated at the west end with the _coro_ above. At the crossing of
the transepts is the beautiful but greatly mutilated tomb of Prince
Juan, the only son of Ferdinand and Isabella, by whose untimely death
the crown of Spain passed to Austria. Two other tombs of great interest
are those of Juan de Avila and Juana Velasquez. Messer Dominco, the
Florentine, executed them both.
San Pedro, standing at the east side of the Mercado Grande, is another
Romanesque church of great beauty. Over the west door is a fine wheel
window. The interior is pure Romanesque and rich in ornament, and the
north portal is replete with the same.
Santa Teresa was born of noble parents in Avila. In her early youth her
heart hungered for saintly adventures in the broiling sun of Africa and
her mind was set upon martyrdom at the hands of the Moors. Fate,
however, decreed otherwise. At twenty years of age she took the veil and
within a few years had founded seventeen convents of bare-footed
Carmelite nuns. A favourite saint of Spain, the date of her death,
August 27, is kept all over the Peninsula and her festival celebrated
with great honour in Avila on October 15.
SEGOVIA
Dirty, dilapidated and sleepy, but the most enchanting town in Spain.
What a treat it was to find myself once more in the Middle Ages after
the bustle and noise of Madrid!
The springs of a Spanish 'bus are good. I never entered one without
great misgivings as to how long I was fated to remain in this world. To
drive into a town such as Segovia is a grand test for the nerves. Crack
goes the whip, off start the sorry-looking horses with a jerk. I am
flung violently against my neighbour. I hasten to apologise. A
disconcerting jolt knocks the hat over my eyes, before it is adjusted I
find myself in an attitude of prayer with my head buried in the lap of
the stout lady who pants opposite, another bump and she is embracing me,
we disentangle ourselves, we apologise, every one in the 'bus is doing
the same. The Jehu on the box fears no obstacles, a rock or a rut, they
are all the same to him, he takes them all with utter disregard to
everything in his way. We fly along, and somehow we land safely. We
always do. Yes, the steel of those spiderlike springs must be good, or
the saints are watching our venture. Perhaps both.
The scenery on the journey from Madrid is very fine after the train
leaves the junction at Villalba. Slowly we crawled up the incline
winding round and doubling on our course. Merry little snow-fed streams
eager to join with their fellows below sped along in a race to the sea.
The summer villas of the Madrileños dot the hill slopes on the ground
above the withy beds. We went up and up until the highest point on the
line was reached under the road along which, marching north, Napoleon's
troops toiled in the face of a fearful blizzard. Before entering the
tunnel at the top of the pass a glorious panorama is spread out to the
south. Away in the distance are the mountains of Toledo and the spires
of far-off Madrid. On leaving this point the descent became rapid, and
we whirled through a magnificent valley amidst true Alpine scenery. The
rugged tops of the Sierra rose above thick forests of pine, brawling
torrents dashed headlong down through green pastures, grand cattle were
browsing on every side, it was indeed more Swiss than Spanish.
[Illustration: SEGOVIA AT SUNSET]
One often hears the question asked--why are there no trees in Spain? A
French writer answers, that the Moors are responsible for the lack of
shade in a Spanish landscape. He tells us they cut down all the trees
they found, because trees harbour birds, and birds destroy all fruit and
grain!--a truly ingenious theory, quite worthy of the fertile brains of
the French, but surely a most ridiculous solution. The Moor brought the
orange and the lemon to Europe; he was a lover of shade, he was also a
great gardener. No, the reason why Spain has apparently no trees, is
that very few have been planted for hundreds of years. Wood is necessary
for fires in a country where there is practically no coal. The peasant
has always been poor, he has always taken anything that came to hand. He
helped himself to the wood of the forests around him. His betters did
the same. All the trees near Madrid are known to have been ruthlessly
cut down and sold to defray the expenses of Philip II.'s Court; and it
is only of recent years that any replanting has been taken in hand.
When the present King was a boy of four years old, a ceremony, now
repeated every year at the Fiesta del Arbol, was inaugurated. The Queen
Mother took him to Guindebra outside Madrid, where he planted several
trees. At every anniversary the day is devoted by school children all
over the country to this same object. As many as 10,000 saplings have
been put into the ground in a single day, thus laying by a store of
wealth for future generations.
Segovia is surrounded by trees. Hidden from the great plain in which the
town lies, they cover the banks of the two streams which join issue
below the city, thus forming the mass of rock on which it stands. These
valleys, eaten out by the running water, are among the great charms of
this romantic place. Nothing can exceed the beauty of early spring.
Fruit trees in full blossom, tall poplars bending their graceful heads
in the breeze and chestnuts bursting into leaf. The air is filled with
the twitterings of nesting birds, the sloping banks covered with the
tender green of young grass; all nature is alive, the sun is warm and
the sound of rushing waters brings peace to the soul. Perched high up,
hanging apparently on mighty rocks, the Alcázar broods grimly over the
gorge below. Still further up and beyond, rises the mass of the
Cathedral, towers, domes and pinnacles. Three hundred and thirty feet
high, the great tower rears itself like a sentinel, a landmark for many
miles. Round the base cluster the houses of the town like chickens
seeking shelter under the wings of a mother hen. No place in all Spain
appealed to me so much. No town was so replete with subjects for my
brush, and nowhere else did I feel the romance of this marvellous
country as in Segovia.
[Illustration: SEGOVIA. THE AQUEDUCT]
A town of Iberian origin and name, under the Roman rule it was of some
importance. The great aqueduct, which spans the valley that divides
Segovia in the Plaza del Azoquéjo, brought pure water from a mountain
torrent, the Rio Frio, ten miles away. It does the same to-day.
Constructed of granite blocks, laid Cyclopean fashion without mortar or
cement, it commences near San Gabriel. To break the force of the rushing
stream the conduit has many angles. Without doubt it is the most
important Roman remain in Spain, for this alone Segovia would be famous.
Once upon a time his Satanic Majesty fell desperately in love with a
beautiful Segovian. To further his suit, an offer was made to do
anything she might require. Her home was on a hill; her work, to fetch
water from the stream below. Finding the continual tramp down and up
rather irksome, this daughter of Eve bethought herself of a request to
mitigate her toil. "Done," said the Evil One, and the aqueduct was built
in one night! In terror she fled to the church, and the church
discovered that one stone had been left out, also that the aqueduct was
extremely useful. The contract was declared void and the maiden freed
from the rash promise she had playfully given his majesty. The country
folk still know it by the name of the Puento del Diabolo.
During the siege of Segovia, the Moors destroyed thirty-five of the
arches, but these were cleverly rebuilt in 1493 by Juan Escovedo, a
monk of El Parral, who received the scaffolding in payment for his work.
More recently, extensive repairs in the same way have been successfully
carried out. The most imposing view is in the Plaza del Azoquéjo, from
which it towers upwards in a double line of arches one above the other,
and its length is best grasped from El Calvario, a hill to the south of
the town.
The Cathedral is a late Gothic pile, built of a warm yellow stone, and
looks particularly impressive from the shady walk among the rocks on the
left bank of the Clamores, the stream which cuts off Segovia from the
southern plateau. It was begun in 1525 by the builder of Salamanca's
Cathedral which it greatly resembles, Juan Gil de Hontañon, and
continued at his death by his son. The weak point in the exterior, which
masses very grandly, is the western façade. The interior is very
striking. The wide span of the arches, the richness of the admirable
vaulting, the splendid late Gothic windows and the feeling of light and
space are fine examples of the last stage of Gothic work, just before
the influence of the oncoming Renaissance took hold of the architects of
that day. The floor is beautifully laid with red, blue and white
diamond-shaped slabs of marble; and the very necessary notice--"No
escupir, la religiosidad y higiene la prohibur"--keeps it clean and
decent.
In the _coro_, which occupies nearly the whole of the centre of the
nave, there is a _retablo_ by Sabatini. The _silleria_ are very fine.
They were rescued from the old Cathedral, which was destroyed in Charles
V.'s time by the Comunéros, who started business by pulling down
churches, appropriating all they could lay hands on, plundering the
wealthy and generally behaving as a mob that has the upper hand always
does. The outer walls of the _coro_ are stucco, painted to represent
different species of marble; described, by the way, in a reputable guide
book--"beautifully coloured marbles"!
Most of the _rejas_ which shut off the side chapels are good gilded iron
work. In that of la Piedad there is a good _retablo_ with life-sized
figures by Juan de Juni, 1571; and in the chapel of the Segragrio a
wooden figure of Christ by Alonso Cano. Through a fine Gothic portal in
the Capilla del Cristo del Consuelo I entered the cloisters in company
with a verger, who took great pride in his Cathedral. These cloisters
are surpassingly beautiful; a very good example of flamboyant Gothic. In
vain did I search for a corner from which to make a sketch. The
courtyard was overgrown with shrubs, tall cypresses and vines climbing
at random shut out everything. The garden itself was a mass of rubbish
and old timber. The well in the centre, overgrown with creepers and
weeds; while in the cloisters themselves preparations were afoot for the
coming Easter processions, and all available space taken up by
carpenters and painters at work on the Pasos.
In the little dark chapel of Santa Catalina on the west side, is the
tiny tomb of the unfortunate Infante Pedro, the three-year-old son of
Henry II. The poor little child was dropped by his nurse from a window
in the Alcazar, and ended his young life on the rocks below. 'Tis a
pitiful object this pathetic tomb, alone, here in this damp spot where
daylight only enters when the door is opened.
In the sacristy there is a Custodia in the form of a temple, six feet
high, silver and exquisitely chased. The vestments possessed by the
clergy are most rarely worked and of great value.
Segovia was once rich in churches. Like the rest of the city, a great
many have alas! fallen into decay, and those not in this state are
rapidly approaching it. They are mostly small and retain the apse.
Several are cloistered and every one of them is architecturally of great
interest. Here again is another charm of this romantic old city,
evidence of past glories and ecclesiastical power, the history of Spain
written in its stones.
[Illustration: SEGOVIA. PLAZA MAYOR]
San Millan, a Romanesque structure of the twelfth century, is the best
preserved church in Segovia. The exquisite arcades on the north and
south sides have coupled columns with elaborately carved capitals. Like
most of the buildings of this period solidity rather than grace was the
effect aimed at by their architects. It possesses a triple apse; the
piers supporting the roof are very massive, the capitals to the columns
are formed of semi-grotesque figures of man and beast. The two doorways
are good. In the church of San Martin there is a carved wooden Passion.
Four life-sized figures take the place of shafts in the great doorway,
and again a cloister forms the exterior of the south and west walls.
In the Dominican convent of Santa Cruz, founded by Ferdinand and
Isabella, is still to be seen a sepulchral urn of one of the original
companions of St. Dominic. "Tanto monta" the motto of the King and Queen
is cut both inside and out on the walls. Over the west portal are good
reliefs of the Crucifixion and the Pietà. La Vera Cruz, a church built
by the Templars in 1204, is difficult of access. I procured the key
after much trouble, and found the twelve-sided nave forming a sort of
ambulatory round the central walled-in chamber. It is an imitation of
the Holy Sepulchre at Jerusalem. The Templars were suppressed in 1312,
so this gem had but a short existence as their house of prayer.
Nestling amidst a grove of acacia trees, hidden away under the rock, is
the Santuario de Fuencisla. Built to commemorate the miraculous rescue
of Maria del Salto, a beautiful Jewess, this little sanctuary is much
affected by pilgrims. The rock which overshadows it is known as La Peña
Grajera, or "Crow's Cliff," taking this name from the multitude of
carnivorous birds who always assembled here for a meal after a victim
had been hurled down to expiate his crime in a death below. Maria,
accused of adultery, was led to the top and pushed off the edge to find
the fate of so many before her. With great presence of mind she called
loudly on the Virgin, who hearing, came to her assistance; and so
retarded her downward flight that she alighted gently, escaping unhurt.
Here in days long gone by lived a hermit, whose good life and deeds are
still a much-reverenced legend among Segovians.
The monastery of El Parral, once a wealthy and powerful house of the
brotherhood of San Gerónimo, contains a very good _retablo_ by Diego de
Urbina. It was founded by a member of the great Pacheco family, who
fought three antagonists one after another and came off successful. He
vowed to build a church on the spot where his skill and prowess gave
him so splendid a victory, and to endow it as well. It is now a convent
of Franciscan nuns.
Next in importance to the Cathedral is the comparatively new building of
the Alcázar. Standing high up on the crags, below which the Eresma and
Clamores meet, it occupies an unrivalled position. A fine view of this
truly Castilian fortress is obtained from the beautiful walk which
encircles the city on the further bank of each stream. Above the tall
poplars and thick scrub rise its turrets and spires. The massive walls
go sheer up from the rock on which their foundations rest. The huge
embattled tower and drawbridge assist the feeling of strength; and it
only requires the weathering of years, adding broken colour to the
somewhat new-looking exterior, to make this a perfect specimen of
mediæval architecture.
The building was originally Moorish, but the many vicissitudes of
troublous times saw it in a bad state when Henry IV., "el Impotente,"
repaired and made it his residence. Within its walls Isabella was
proclaimed Queen of Castile in 1474. Cabrera, the husband of her
greatest friend, Beatrice of Boabdilla, held the fortress and its
treasure, and it was mainly through his valour that Isabella succeeded
to the throne. During the Comunéros insurrection the Alcázar held out
for Charles V. At the quelling of the revolt Charles did all in his
power to thoroughly restore the building and furnish it with great
splendour. His son Philip added much that the father's death had left
unfinished. Our own King, Charles I., was here entertained, and Gil Blas
confined a prisoner. The great fire, originated by some of the students
of the military college, almost entirely destroyed the whole castle in
1862. The present edifice dates from shortly after that year and is now
used as a storehouse for military archives and an academy for artillery
officers.
A very good gateway spans the road that leads out past the Santuario de
Fuencisla along the right bank of the Eresma. The river here is an ideal
looking trout stream, but alas! fish are not as plentiful now as when
Charles I. was entertained and fed on "fatte troute" in the Alcázar.
Follow the path over the bridge to the left, it soon narrows into a mere
goat track as it skirts the rock; a few steps farther on and the
wonderful position of the fortress-castle bursts into view. How
fascinating it looked as I saw it one night in the moonlight with the
silver beams glinting on its spires. All was very still as I entered the
wood of stunted pines beyond. Across the ravine rose the mighty
Cathedral silhouetted against a dark star-laden sky. A light here and
there shone from a window in the houses beneath. I heard the distant
cry of the watchman on his rounds. A faint scent from the heavy dew rose
to my nostrils, a scent of mother earth. It was with unwilling steps I
crossed the stream and sought my bed that night. Such moments are rare.
On the left bank of the Eresma, almost hidden in the trees, stands a
building which once was the mint of Spain. Up till the year 1730 all
Spain's money was coined here, the proximity to the impregnable Alcázar,
which was used as the Treasury, affording security against untimely
raids. The old mint is now a flour mill, but still bears the royal arms
over its gateway.
At one time Segovia was the great Castilian mart for wool. The church,
and monasteries of El Parral, El Paular, and the Escorial owning immense
flocks. These were driven to the pure waters of the Eresma, to be
cleansed before being shorn. After the sheep-washing, the animals were
put into the sweating house, and their legs tied together. The shearer
then commenced operations, and as each sheep passed out of his hands it
was branded; the shepherds standing by made a selection of the older
animals for the butcher, the remainder being taken away to their
mountain pastures. Even now there are many flocks in the country around,
particularly on the lower hills near La Granja, where I noticed a large
number not at all unlike the Kentish breed of Romney Marsh.
Seven miles from Segovia the summer Royal Palace of La Granja lies in
the midst of beautiful woods and clear streams. At the foot of the
Sierra, the highest peak of which, La Peñalara, raises its crest a few
miles off, this elysium is a beautiful spot for those who have earned a
holiday from the cares of State. The gardens are most charmingly
arranged, and the fountains with a never ending supply of water, better
than those at Versailles. Built by Philip V., whose tastes and
inclinations were thoroughly French, La Granja has been the scene of
important events in the history of the country. The treaty which handed
Spain over to France in 1796 was here signed by Godoy. In 1832 Ferdinand
VII. revoked the decree by which he had abolished the Salic law, and
summoned Don Carlos to the palace as heir to the throne, a call which
plunged his unhappy country into civil war. Four years later the Queen
Regent was compelled within its walls, by the leader of the
revolutionary soldiery, to accept the constitution of Cadiz.
Every corner of Spain holds history, but none can compare with Segovia
and its surroundings in romance and old-world charm.
SARAGOSSA
Saragossa lies midway on the railway between Madrid and Barcelona, and,
having about it a touch of both these, can qualify as one of Spain's
progressive cities. The unsightly factory chimney is beginning to sprout
up in the suburbs; old and narrow streets are making way for broader and
better; and insanitary quarters giving place to modern hygiene.
Aragon is the poorest portion of this fair land, and Saragossa is its
capital. In every age this little kingdom has been torn by war and has
suffered heavily, but its people have never wavered in their faith, and
are still among the most pious and superstitious of the many
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