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Hannah Lynch
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Title: Toledo. The Story of an Old Spanish Capital
Author: Hannah Lynch
Illustrator: Helen M. James
Release Date: July 16, 2014 [EBook #46301]
Language: English
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_Toledo_
_The Story of an Old Spanish Capital_
_The Mediæval Town Series_
*ASSISI. By LINA DUFF GORDON. [_5th Edition._
+BRUGES. By ERNEST GILLIAT-SMITH. [_3rd Edition._
+BRUSSELS. By ERNEST GILLIAT-SMITH.
+CAIRO. By STANLEY LANE-POOLE. [_2nd Edition._
+CAMBRIDGE. By the Rt. Rev. C. W. STUBBS, D.D. [_2nd
Edition._
+CHARTRES. By CECIL HEADLAM, M.A. [_2nd Edition._
*CONSTANTINOPLE. By WM. H. HUTTON. [_3rd Edition._
+DUBLIN. By D. A. CHART, M.A.
+EDINBURGH. By OLIPHANT SMEATON, M.A.
+FERRARA. By ELLA NOYES.
+FLORENCE. By EDMUND G. GARDNER. [_9th & Revised Edition._
+LONDON. By HENRY B. WHEATLEY. [_2nd Edition._
+MILAN. By ELLA NOYES.
*MOSCOW. By WIRT GERRARE. [_3rd Edition._
*NUREMBERG. By CECIL HEADLAM. M.A. [_5th Edition._
+OXFORD. By CECIL HEADLAM. M.A.
+PADUA. By CESARE FOLIGNO.
+PARIS. By THOMAS OKEY.
*PERUGIA. By M. SYMONDS AND LINA DUFF GORDON. [_6th Edition._
+PISA. By JANET ROSS.
*PRAGUE. By COUNT LÜTZOW. [_2nd Edition._
+ROME. By NORWOOD YOUNG. [_5th Edition._
+ROUEN. By THEODORE A. COOK. [_3rd Edition._
+SEVILLE. By WALTER M. GALLICHAN. [_2nd Edition_
+SIENA. By EDMUND G. GARDNER. [_2nd Edition._
*TOLEDO. By HANNAH LYNCH. [_2nd Edition._
+VENICE. By THOMAS OKEY. [_3rd & Revised Edition._
+VERONA. By ALETHEA WIEL. [_3rd Edition._
_The price of these marked (*) is 3s. 6d. net in cloth, 4s. 6d. net
in leather; +, 4s. 6d. net in cloth, 5s. 6d. net in
leather._
_All rights reserved_
_First Edition_, _August 1898_
_Second Edition_, _July 1903_.
_Third Edition_, _May 1910_.
[Illustration: _Antonio de Covarrubias._]
Toledo. _The Story
of an Old Spanish Capital
by Hannah Lynch Illustrated
by Helen M. James_
[Illustration: colophon]
_London, 1910_
_J. M. Dent & Sons, Ltd._
_New York: E. P. Dutton & Co._
"_Anda el tiempo y anda
y todo se acaba._"
ROMANCERO GENERAL.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER I
PAGE
_Earliest History of Toledo_ 1
CHAPTER II
_Under Goth Rule_ 26
CHAPTER III
_Under the Moslems_ 64
CHAPTER IV
_Her latest History_ 81
CHAPTER V
_The Old Capital, once and now_ 115
CHAPTER VI
_The Cathedral_ 150
CHAPTER VII
_Domenico Theotocopoulos, "El Greco"_ 193
CHAPTER VIII
_San Juan de los Reyes, Santa Maria la Blanca, El Transito_ 216
CHAPTER IX
_Vanished Palaces_ 243
CHAPTER X
_Minor Churches, Convents, and Hospitals_ 266
CHAPTER XI
_Bridges and Gates_ 292
APPENDIX
_Practical Information_ 305
ILLUSTRATIONS
PAGE
_Portrait of Antonio de Covarrubias,
from the painting by El Greco_ _Frontispiece._
_Puente de Alcántara_ 4
_Puente de Alcántara_ 41
_The Cathedral_ 83
_Puente S. Martino_ 97
_Moorish Arch leading to Zocodover_ 121
_House Cervantes stayed in, Toledo_ 123
_The Zocodover_ 125
_The Tagus_ 135
_Mill on the Tagus_ 137
_Toledo from Left Bank of Tagus_ 141
_Puente S. Martino of Bano de la Cava_ 145
_A Street Corner, Toledo_ 147
_Interior of Cathedral_ 153
_North Transept Door of Cathedral_ 160
_Interior of Cathedral Coro from S. Aisle_ 163
_Detail of Reja to Capilla Mayor, Cathedral, Toledo_ 167
_Detail, Tomb of King, Gospel Side of High Altar, Cathedral, Toledo_ 170
_Tomb of Cardinal Mendoza_ 171
_Capitular Door in Toledo Cathedral_ 177
_Tombs of Count Alvaro de Luna and Wife, the Cathedral, Toledo_ 183
_The Cathedral Tower_ 191
_"The Burial of the Count of Orgaz," from the painting by El Greco_ 202
_Detail of Ornament, Interior of S. Juan de los Reyes_ 221
_Cloister, S. Juan de los Reyes_ 223
_S. Luke Angle of Cloister, S. Juan de los Reyes_ 227
_Detail of Ornament, El Transito_ 233
_Santa Maria la Blanca_ 241
_Remains of Palace, said to be that of Don Pedro el Cruel_ 251
_Casa Fuensalida_ 256
_Moorish Window in Casa de Mesa_ 259
_The Castle of San Servando_ 263
_San Tomé_ 267
_Santiago, Toledo_ 272
_Santo Pablo_ 273
_Cristo de la Luz_ 277
_Door of Santa Cruz_ 285
_Tomb of Cardinal Tavera_ 290
_Puerta Visagra (Antigua)_ 297
_Puerta del Sol_ 300
Toledo
The Story of an Old Spanish Capital
CHAPTER I
_What is Known of Toledo's earliest history_
What more stupefying contrast than that of cheap commonplace Madrid
(cheap alas! only in the artistic sense) and the legendary still visage
of Toledo? The capital you leave abustle with modern movement, glaring,
gesticulating, chattering, animated in its own empty and insignificant
fashion, with its pleasant street of Alcala, so engagingly unhistoric,
its shop-fronts full of expensive and second-rate articles from other
capitals, the vulgar vivacity of the Puerta del Sol thronged with
everlasting gossips in trousers and wide-brimmed hats; with its
swindling hotel-keepers and insolent drivers. The train sweeps you past
the wide empty bed of the Manzanares, covered here and there with a film
you understand by courtesy to represent a river, and the city behind is
a gay compact picture, slightly waving upward from its bridges, white
and flourishing above the broad yellow plain. The tones of the land are
rough and crude, red striking hotly against brown and greyish purple.
Here and there a solitary hill, burnt and defoliaged, with a glimpse of
ruined ramparts, a mule-path along which a file of peasants pass, the
women lost in roomy saddles, with feet dangling in the air, and red or
yellow handkerchiefs tied under their chins. Carts move slowly along the
old diligence road, guided by heavy-browed males.
The swallows' flight reveals the exquisite limpidity of the air and the
height of the unstained heaven, azure in the infinite depths of aërial
sapphire, blue beyond blue, translucent almost to the furthest reach of
vision. And the light shines broadly upon an incomparable mingling in
landscape of insensate ardour and changeless moroseness. So still, so
brilliant, so burnt and empty! revealing the national traits of mournful
hopelessness and unembittered, unregretful resignation. The rays lie in
a luminous quietude upon the red-brown land, while the breath of fresh
day just touches the leaves of the scant olives and shows them silver.
Then midway the desert swims behind, and the eye is mildly refreshed
with little signs of pastoral life, ineffectual efforts at gaiety amid
tyrannous sadness. Imagination leaps at sight of a cheering bit of
verdure, not for the beauty of it, though beauty is not altogether
absent, but for the old familiar eloquence of trees and grassy spaces,
the twinkling brightness of rills and flashing water and wooded fringes,
with a hint of shadow along the horizon. Between the poplared banks of
the river, yellow and waveless as befits a river of dead romance, the
eye lingers on glimpses of emerald islets, with reedy edges against the
fuller foliage of elm. Above, exposed on a rocky throne, belted by the
sombre Tagus, sits Toledo.
"The landscape of Toledo and the banks of the Tagus," writes M. Maurice
Barrès, with singular felicity, "are amongst the saddest and most ardent
things of this world. Whoever lives here has no need to consider the
grave youth, the _Penseroso_, of the Medicis Chapel; he may also do
without the biography and the _Pensées_ of Blaise Pascal. With the very
sentiment realised by these great solitary works, he will be filled, if
he but give himself up to the tragic fierceness of the magnificences in
ruins upon these high rocks.
"Toledo, on its hillside, with the tawny half circle of the Tagus at its
feet, has the colour, the roughness, the haughty poverty of the sierra
on which it is built, and whose strong articulations from the very first
produce an impression of energy and passion. It is less a town, a noisy
affair yielding to the commodities of life, than a significant spot for
the soul. Beneath a crude illumination, which gives to each line of its
ruins a vigour, a clearness by which the least energetic characters
acquire backbone, at the same time it is mysterious, with its cathedral
springing towards the sky, its alcázars and palaces that only take sight
from their invisible patios. Thus secret and inflexible, in this harsh
overheated land, Toledo appears like an image of exaltation in solitude,
a cry in the desert."
The train leaves you at the foot of the town before the quaint
fortressed bridge of Alcántara. In these days of unpretentious exits and
entrances, when we scarcely detect the outskirts of a city from the open
way, or the suburbs from the heart of urban movement, these two
castellated bridges, by which you enter and leave Toledo, have a strange
and insistent air of feudality that at once captures fancy, and
resembles the flourish of trumpets in martial dramas. Civilisation
instantly waves backward, and leaves imagination thrilled upon the
shores of legend. At a bound memory is at the core of troubled Spanish
history, a sad and spectral ghost, in the thrall of wonderment and
admiration. Surely never was town, with all our modern needs of
bread-winning and competition, of commerce and politics, of cheap
ambition and every-day social intercourse, so curiously, magnificently
faithful to its past. So precisely must Toledo have looked, barring the
electric light, when the last page of its intimate history was written.
Just so brown and barren, with its front of unflinching austerity, its
stern wealth of architecture, the air of romantic elegance and charmed
slumber it breathes upon sadness, with its look of legendary musing and
widowed remembrance. So, unchanged, must it have been in its great day
of hieratic glory, of Gothic rule, of Saracen triumph and of feudal
revolt.
[Illustration: PUENTE DE ALCANTARA]
From the bridges, the road winds up the steep rock, upon whose summit
this unique old city is built. The views at every turn of the winding
path are entrancing. There is every strange effect to gratify the eager
eye in search of the picturesque: an unsurpassed boldness of site, from
the wide zone of the Tagus to the point of the Cathedral tower pinnacled
against the upper arch of heaven. Project high rocks upon which odd and
delightful passages, neither street nor lane, full of colour and curve
and varied line, are cut like sharp upward and downward strokes, over
frowning ravines, and swelling by swift ascent from the yellow band of
water below, that imprisons the town like a moat, and along with the
martial bridges, give the impression of being cut off from the big
lively world, a prisoner in a city of dreamland. At once you yield
yourself to the gracious grip of your enchanter and gaoler. The eye
rests in ineffable contentment upon the violent line of empty hills,
yellow and brown and rose, turned violet by the sun's retreat, and you
feel no longing for the vulgar and bustling present you have left
behind. Here to sit awhile and dream, not days but unending months, in
the shadow of a mighty cathedral, in what a Spanish writer with Iberian
imagery, has called "a case of mediæval jewels." It is a fitting note of
environment that the landscape should be stamped by an ardent and
ineffaceable desolation, incessantly exposed to devastating winds, swept
by fierce rains and blinding dust and remorseless sunfire. Nature is
neither instigated by contrast, nor softened by charm. Unsmiling in its
arid austerity, it is grand by the magic of its simplicity. The audacity
with which it reveals its nakedness in the glare of unshaded light that
has burnt its flanks a peculiar reddish-brown hue, sinks all impression
of crudity, and becomes the supreme effect of natural art. It makes no
pretence to shield the peril of its broken precipices with the
beguilement of verdure, but lets them hack their murderous way to the
river-brim without shrub or any vigorous sign of vegetation. Heavy and
still, like the glittering light that fatigues the eye, it has
nevertheless its secret, matchless captivation, such as Venice, its
sister-town in strangeness (though of softer and more alluring beauty,
feminine to its stern masculine), and casts the mind, conquered, into
the mazes of reverie. You may have come by a train into this mausoleum
of petrified memories, you may sit at the usual table d'hôte, but you
cannot feel modern: the present slips away, and forgotten is the march
of centuries.
* * * * *
Of the town's earliest history knowledge is merely the wildest
assumption, and we have no reason to believe any of the legends handed
down to us by historians as tradition. For instance, that obscure if
venerable voice, asserts, that when God made the sun he placed it over
Toledo (previously made, of course) and planted the foot of Adam, first
King, beneath it at that particular spot of the globe. This is at least
a fine testimony of the Spaniard's lofty faith in the antiquity of
Toledo. A less sweeping assertion connects the first light of the town
with Tubal, the grandson of Noah, who is supposed to have come hither
after the deluge, and this view is naïvely supported by the verses of
Gracia Dei, the chronicler of King Pedro:
"Tubal, nieto de Noé,[1]
Alphonsus the Learned, in his _Cronica General_, maintains and is
supported in his no less extravagant opinion by Diego Mossem Valera,
Isabel the Catholic's historian, that Toledo was founded by Pyrrhus,
captain of the army of Cyrus, and son-in-law of King Hispan, father of
Iberia. It is imagined that Iberia, Pyrrhus's wife, was in need of the
freshness and verdure of the leafy banks of the Tagus, and that her
husband brought her hither to taste the air and delights of the gardens
around. But we are not told how there came to be gardens and foliaged
places along the silent Tagus, nor who fashioned them, nor how Pyrrhus
heard of them. The wife, Iberia, and the father-in-law appear as
adequate explanations of the subsequent history of Spain, since both
furnish the names of the land that Europe is familiar with. Once upon
the banks of the Tagus, the gardens did not content Pyrrhus, so he began
to enlarge the spot he had chosen. He discovered two towers, one at San
Roman, and the other at the Alcázar, called _Los Dos Hermanos_, (The Two
Brothers), built, tradition then told him, by the two sons of King Rocas
in defence against the enemies of Rocas and his father Tartus. But
whence came Rocas and Tartus and the two brothers? Why should Alphonso
the Learned choose Pyrrhus and his wife, those remote tourists, as the
founders of Toledo, rather than Rocas and Tartus?
Rufo Festo Avieno regards Hercules as the founder of the Carpetanian
city, and celebrates the achievement in verse:
"Et Carpetanos inter proverbe sub Auras
Toletum labor Alcide præclareque gentes
Metropolis in gente Tajo ses undique iactat
In qua tardi gradus conspectat parte Trionis
Haud Pater Alcides (ut dicunt) condidit urbem,
Mor ubi ter gemina victor gerione perempto,
In latium meditatus iter Dionysii quondam,
Prium dicta fuit de fundatoris honesto
Nomine; Toletum alii dixere coloni."
This version explains the name of Toledo as Ptoliethron, signifying
important race, bestowed by Hercules. Honour is also awarded to a
certain Greek astrologer, Ferecio, who came to Galicia with Teucer,
Ulysses and Diomedes, after the siege of Troy, and having killed one of
his companions, flew from the anger of the others into the heart of the
Peninsula, until the security of the high rocks on which Toledo is
built, tempted him to seek shelter amid these altitudes, which he at
once consecrated to Hercules. As the natives gathered round him, and the
town spread, he initiated them in the mysteries of magic and astrology,
arts until then unknown in Spain, and for this reason called _arta
Toledana_.
Less wild and improbable is the last legend, that the Jews came hither
when Nebuchadnezzar took Jerusalem, and created the town they called
Toledoth, "city of generations." From this period is supposed to date
the synagogue Santa Maria la Blanca. The explanation of the fact that
under Christian rule the Jews of Toledo were permitted to have their
synagogues and worship unmolested according to their rites, is based on
the tradition that the Jews of Jerusalem consulted them before
condemning Christ to death. They withheld their consent, and pronounced
the sentence both heedless and imprudent, but their letter arrived too
late for consideration. The mere belief that this letter had been sent,
however, secured them for some centuries from insult or persecution.[2]
The famous archbishop, Don Rodrigo Jimenez de Rada, rejects all these
theories, and goes to Rome in search of founders, which he discovers in
two consuls, Tolemon and Brutus, 108 years before Cæsar's time, when
Ptolemy Evergetes was reigning. But this seems no nearer truth, since
there exists no vestige of any domination anterior to the Roman
Conquest, and there are no data on which to found a definite statement.
The most convenient way of disposing of the question, up to the day of
Livy's emphatic description of Toledo as "parva urbs, sed loco munita,"
is to say with the old-fashioned writers that its beginning is "lost in
the night of ages." For lost it most certainly is, and the ancient
Spanish historians are not to be trusted. It is probable that the first
start of the race was a Celtic group of shepherds, wild and rude, whose
wanderings led them to the leafy and verdant banks of the Tagus, and
here, finding abundance of water, and rich and fertile land between
Aranjuez and Toledo, they agreed to settle. Gradually the little town,
pitched high above the river upon its unattackable rocky seat, spread
itself; the number of huts grew into streets and lanes, the vague and
wandering groups became more dense, and attracted others within their
dominating influence, until the capital of Carpetania was formed. The
shepherds left their flocks to build themselves walls and strong places,
and thus bring upon their little city the imperious and conquering eye
of Rome. Here again we have nothing but untrustworthy generalities to
guide us, and no prehistoric remains on which to base conclusions about
this vanished race. Alcocer, the old historian of Toledo, asserts that
the very mystery and obscurity of the city's earliest days is proof of
its antiquity and nobility, "since a race is all the more ancient by the
less that is known of its origin and beginning." In a pleasing
concession to this naïve statement, we need feel no shame in allowing to
Toledo all the nobility and antiquity our unenlightened ignorance
permits it to claim.
The first dim figure in its history that shows out upon a vague and
discutable background is that of Tago, a governor of the town in the
days of Carthagenian domination. Before the second punic war, the
Carthagenians sought to strengthen their forces by alliance with the
Carpetanians, whom they had already partially subjugated. According to
Rasis, the Moorish writer, there were then eleven governors in
Carpetania, one of whom was Tago, at Toledo. Hasdrubal had succeeded
Hamilcar, and reversing his mild policy, entertained his fancy with
every kind of ferocious injustice and cruelty. The Carpetanians were
handy, half allies, half conquered subjects, and the account of Tago's
assassination, for Hasdrubal's mere pleasure, is one of unmitigable
barbarity, one of those incidents that leave us stunned and stupefied by
the revelation of an inexplicable instinct of cruelty in uncivilised
man. Not content with repeatedly stabbing the unfortunate governor with
his own hand, Hasdrubal ordered the body to be crucified, then drew his
sword across the throat, severing the head, exposed the headless trunk,
and forbade it decent burial. One of Tago's slaves revenged his master
by assassinating Hasdrubal, and the infuriated Carpetanians rose up in
revolt against Carthagenian oppression. They joined neighbouring tribes,
and determined to resist Hannibal. Hannibal marched against them, and
met them near ancient Oresia, eight leagues from Toledo, and here a long
and fierce battle was fought, equal on both sides in losses, endurance,
courage and fury. Night fell before either side had obtained the
slightest advantage, and when day came, the confederates had the wild
joy of forcing the world's greatest general to retreat. This obscure and
miserable little people, a handful of raw Celtiberians, had no means of
measuring the extent of their forgotten glory. Hannibal to them was no
more than Hasdrubal, and they little suspected the kind of hero they had
to do with. So they feasted and shouted and sang in their rash triumph,
while Hannibal, who had folded his tent before their impetuous charge,
grimly looked on, and planned to take advantage of their unbuckled hour.
In the midst of their feasting and pleasuring, he bore down unexpectedly
upon the victors, and all the confederates, struck at their brightest
moment in the full flush of pride, were broken on the remorseless wheel
of Carthagenian rule.
From this onward, light begins to gather over Toledan history, dimly, of
course, and by the very necessity of its vicissitudes, intermittent and
dubious. After the fall of Carthage, we find, 191 years B.C., Marcus
Fulvius Nobilior directing the Roman forces against the capital of
Carpetania, and as besieger occupying the opposite bank of the Tagus.
The reigning king of the Celtiberians was Hilermo. Fulvius defeated him
in the plain, and then laid siege to the town and took it with ease. But
though now subject to Rome, the Romans never appear to have dominated
this stolid and sturdy Celtic race. Under whatever sway, Toledo ever
wears its unwearying face of sullen independence. Rome itself could
stamp no permanent impression on such a wilful and indomitable subject.
Her armies might sweep it off the field of rebellion, but could neither
chain it nor secure its sympathy. It remained obstinately neutral in all
the successive Roman strifes; took no notice whatever of Viriate's
imperious call from the foot of its walls to join him on the bank of the
Tagus below, and wage war with him against the Praetor, Caius Plancius.
What was Viriate to the aloof and self-centred Toledans more than a man
of another country fighting a personal battle with which they had no
concern? Toledo willingly opened its gates to Sylla's victim, Sertorius,
and allowed him to shelter and nourish his hate and burning sense of
injury behind its walls, but it flatly declined to help him in his plan
of vengeance. He might stay there and win, as he did, the people's
esteem and a kind of grudging affection, but war was his own affair, and
if he stayed it should be as one of themselves, content with an inactive
recognition of wrongs. To these wild and independent Celtiberians it
mattered nothing whether Rome ran herself to ruin in her fierce quarrels
and dissensions. So Sertorius stayed on in protected exile, almost as a
ruler adopted by those who sheltered him, who yielded him admiration and
sympathy, while sturdily declining to grant him troops or subsidies, and
would not hear of marching under his leadership against the great
Republic. This same haughty indifference Toledo maintained throughout
the civil wars between Cæsar and Pompey, and showed the same coldness in
the fortunes of Augustus. Her voice was not heard in the chorus of
enthusiasm when the Temple of Janus was closed, and the Augustan peace
affected her as little as had the previous disorders and rivalries and
battles. Silent and sullen vassals Rome ever found these Toledans,
holding themselves persistently aloof from all her interests. The single
Roman ruler they appear to have favoured with some measure of homage was
Marcus Julius Philippicus, who, to win his way with them probably
granted them unrecorded favours or some special privilege. This rare
mood of gratitude to Rome was expressed on a marble slab which Maestro
Alvar Gomez, the chronicler of Cisneros, the great Cardinal, found in
the porch of a door where it served as an ordinary seat:
Imp. Caes.
M. Julio Philippo
Pio Fel. Aug.
Pont. Max. Trib.
Pot. P. P. Consul.
Toletam Devotes
Sini Nuninis
Maestati
Que Eius D. D.
The gratitude was apparently of modified value if we may judge by the
unceremonious treatment of its monument.
Though Toledo must have had a distinct existence under the Romans, since
Pliny calls it the Metropolis of Carpetania, there is not to be found
definite evidence of the precise nature of that existence. The few coins
that have come down to us in various collections, said to belong to that
period, are of dubious origin; the inscriptions are not a whit more
authentic. So little is clear or authentic that Alcover may continue to
delight in the mystery and obscurity of its history as proof, according
to his cherished phrase, of the town's antiquity and nobility. We are
hardly justified in supposing anything, and imagination is barely
assisted in its effort to penetrate its inhospitable walls. For we know
that there were walls in those days, since Viriate is depicted standing
under them, and calling on the citizens to join his forces below and
march behind the standard of civil war. It is pretty certain that the
town was extensive and populous, or Viriate would not have troubled to
clamour for its assistance; and assuredly of some importance, else would
Pliny have described it as the Capital of Carpetania? But what was the
measure and nature of its civilisation, of its customs, dress? Did it
adopt any of the Roman ways? We may assume from its rude and central
position that in progress it was far behind the Mediterranean towns. But
it undoubtedly had its place along the great Roman roads, and was
connected with Tarragona and Carthagena, of which superior and more
notable centres it was a dependency. While Tarragona has remained to
this day pre-eminently an old Roman town, the very physiognomy of the
race a kind of diminished Roman, and Cordova and Granada are as
romantically and faithfully Moorish, Toledo has swept from off its face
nearly every vestige of Roman domination but a few miserable stones, and
is as insistently Gothic. So obscure and unrevealed is this period of
transition that beyond the indication of the _Circo Romano_ and portion
of the Puente de Alcántara outside the town, there are no remains to
prove the passage of the world's conquerors and civilisers, nothing to
suggest their imperishable influence. Of its position under Roman rule
it is difficult to form an exact opinion. Its rank at first was probably
that of a stipendary town, left to the despotic will of centurions
without a responsible governor. It was merely regarded as an
insignificant source of tribute. In this period of partial servitude it
would have contracted the habit of idleness, the most prominent curse of
slavery. Later on it was raised to municipal rank, had its own coin and
commerce, and developed a racial preference for the arts of war rather
than for those of peace. Finally, when Augustus came to reign, he raised
Toledo to the rank of a colony, and transmitted to the town the
privileges of Merida, making the Carpetanian capital the centre for the
collection of tribute. But whatever difference these honours may have
made in the town's private history, whatever amount of added prosperity
they may have brought it, we are not permitted by the historians to
obtain a clearer or more striking figure of Toledo as a colony of Rome
than we had of Toledo in its first stage of stipendary town. Here and
there an inscription exists as testimony of her advanced rank, such as.
L. Terentius
Gn. pomp. F. P. P.
Bassino
Totelano Quaestori
Q. Q. Redidili
Primo Flamini perpetuo Toleti
Et Totius Hispanae
Quod hic Termas et viam.
Of the baths and the Roman way nothing now remains. Cristobal Lozano, in
his _Reyes Nueves de Toledo_, devotes a chapter to the Roman glories of
the town, speaks of the Circo Maximo, the temple of Hercules, the
Naumachia and amphitheatre, and tells us that the bullfights of Spain
date from this period. The temple he describes as being 300 feet in
length and 200 feet in width; it was situated in the Vega, and was an
object of devotion to the entire province of Carpetania. The celebrated
cave of Hercules into which Rodrigo, the last of the Gothic kings, is
supposed to have penetrated before the fatal battle of Guadalete, Lozano
describes at greater length. The cave is as legendary as Rodrigo's
sombre experience therein. It covered the prodigious extent of three
leagues, and was composed of thousands of arches, pillars and columns.
It was said to have been used as a secret treasury, but was built by
Hercules as a royal subterranean palace, and here in prehistoric days
the arts of magic were studied. The Romans enlarged it, and during the
persecutions it served the Christians as church and oratory and
cemetery. Part of it lay under the spell of enchantment by the order of
Hercules, and when Spain was flooded with barbarians, and the Goths
swept the classic Romans out of Toledo, Hercules hermetically sealed the
doors, and tradition asserted that whoever should succeed in bursting
open these doors would learn his doom and wed calamity. No Gothic king,
until Rodrigo, was strong-minded enough to risk such dreadful peril, and
the doors remained sealed. But the unfortunate Rodrigo was as brave as
he was curious. He burst through the magic doorway, on which was written
in Greek letters: _The King who opens this cave and discovers the
wonders it holds, will discover good and evil_. Those who preceded him
into the mysterious palace speedily fell back in a state of shuddering
alarm and fear, shouting that they had seen an awful vision. Instead of
staying to learn the nature of the vision, Rodrigo, angry and impatient,
pushed his way in before his cowardly followers. He encountered an
immense bronze statue in a beautiful frame work, highly sculptured. It
held a wooden hammer, and struck fierce blows with it against the earth,
thus moving the air and causing a terrible noise which bewildered and
frightened Rodrigo's courtiers. It stopped its movements as Rodrigo
approached, and on the wall of a closed arch beside it was written:
_Whoever opens this arch will find wonders_. The King ordered his men to
break open a passage, and instead of the treasures he expected to find,
there was a picture of Arabian troops, some afoot, some on horseback,
turbaned and armed, and underneath written: _Whoever reaches this spot
and opens this arch, will lose Spain, and will be beaten by this race_.
"The King," writes Lozano, "with sorrow in his heart and such sadness as
we can understand, though carefully hiding it, ordered the door to be
closed again." All those present also dissimulated their feelings, not
to increase the affliction of the King. And while they went about
seeking if among so many misfortunes they might find some consolation,
lifting their eyes, they saw on the wall, on the left hand of the
statue, other lines of writing: _Sorry King for thy doom hast thou
entered here_. And on the right lines saying: _For foreign nations wilt
thou be dispossessed, and thy people will be heavily punished_. Behind
the statue they read: _I call upon the Moors_, and on its breast was
written: _I fulfil my task_. That same night in the roar of many voices
and loud battle cries, the earth opened and swallowed up in a clap of
thunder the enchanted palace and every vestige of it. The legend is an
excellent one, and has well served the poets, but unhappily it is only a
legend of no historic value whatever. Rodrigo no more penetrated this
mythical cave than he kissed Florinda, who never existed. Cardinal
Siliceo is said to have explored what remained of the part without the
vanished enchanted part of the palace, and after penetrating half a
league inward, found bronze statues on the altar; and while examining
one of them, the statue fixed him with a grave and austere glance, while
a loud noise was heard, which filled the explorers with terror, and
Lozano naïvely suggests that nothing of the sort possibly happened, for
fear is a great inventor, and "they were filled with fear to the eyes."
They fled without King Rodrigo's courage to go further. Though it was
summer time, most of them died immediately afterwards from cold and
fright, and the "good" archbishop, who had caused this devastation among
his flock, ordered the mouth of the cave to be built up and covered with
mud, 1543. Antonio Ponz, commenting on this prodigious and serious
account given by Lozano of a fabulous cave and an impossible tale, makes
merry over the naïve Spaniard's accuracy of description and facts. "One
would really believe he had seen it all," writes the unenthusiastic
Ponz, "the statue, the bronze, the _admirable_ sculpture, and had
measured the extent of the cave." The same may be said of Lozano's
grandiose description of the Roman buildings of which hardly a vestige
remained in his time, 1666. The Circo Maximo, Gamero asserts, was built
to hold a hundred thousand persons, from which we might infer that
Toledo under the Romans had an important population.
Approaching less apocryphal days, we learn that Toledo was one of the
earliest towns of Spain to embrace Christianity. It is even said that St
Peter and St James passed here, and some add St Paul, preaching the
Gospel and creating bishops. St Eugenius, of Greek or Roman origin, was
the first. The Spanish historians decline to accept the tradition that
St Denis of Paris sent Eugenius to Spain, preferring to keep him in
company with the Apostles. But it allows that he went to Paris to see St
Denis, and here was martyred near the city by the prefect, Fescenino
Sicino, his headless body being flung into a filthy lagoon so that his
disciples and admirers should never be able to find it. Two hundred
years later the lake gave up its dead, uncorrupted. One Ercoldo, being
ill, saw St Denis in sleep, who told him to rise cured, and go to the
lake, where he would find the body of the illustrious martyr awaiting
burial. At the same time he promised for the sake of Eugenius, great
health to the neighbourhood and the honour of many miracles. Pisa
records this tale at some length with unction and faith. Several
centuries later the emperor, Alfonso VII., grandson of the victor of
Toledo, obtained from his son-in-law, Louis of France, the right arm of
Eugenius as a relic, and the arm was brought to Spain in all pomp by the
Abbot of St Denis in person. Later, Philip II. obtained the entire body
from Charles IX., with the consent of the Cardinal, Duke of Lorrain,
Abbot of St Denis. The town prepared a magnificent reception for the
remains of the founder of its cathedral. Antonio de Rivera, the
choir-master, gives a detailed description of the triumphal arches, the
Latin and Castillian poems, the dances and other diversions of the hour.
The King was present as well as his unfortunate son, Don Carlos, the
princes of Hungary and Bohemia, Rodolpho and Hernesto, sons of
Maximilian, the bishops of Cordova, Siguenza, Segovia, Palencia, Cuenca,
Osuna, Lugo and Gerona. Francisco Bayeu painted a fine fresco of the
scene for the cathedral cloisters, representing the entrance of the
remains under the Puerta de Visagra.
The next saint connected with the Christian history of the town, and its
real patron, is St Leocadia. She was of noble birth, beautiful, young
and gifted. She is depicted a kind of Spanish St Elisabeth of Hungary,
succouring the poor and sick, speaking words of wisdom to the weak, of
sympathy to the suffering. Her father, Leocadio, was governor under
Dacian, and her uncle was Melancius the archbishop. While yet a child
she vowed herself to maidenhood and the service of the needy and those
in trouble, and her doors like her compassionate heart were open to all.
On his arrival at Toledo, Dacian heard of the wonderful maid, and
learnt that her influence spread far and wide. He ordered her to appear
before him, and she came surrounded by friends and admirers. The Roman
in the interview is painted as brutal and inexorable, the girl-saint as
mild but firm. She would change neither her faith nor her ways, and
valiantly announced herself as ready for death. We hear of
flagellations, of chains, of torture, of every form of explosion of
Roman fury, till finally unable to invent further atrocities, Dacian
flung her into a dark dungeon, where she died a natural death, some
assert, others preferring the more ghastly version of Dacian in person
ordering her to be flung down a steep rock into the Tagus. But this, I
imagine, has been tacked on to the legend as a more picturesque
conclusion for a martyr than a natural death in a prison. Gamero does
not endorse it, and his history is admitted to be the most accurate of
any that deals with Toledo.
This is how Pisa writes of Dacian:--"Dacian, haughty, famished for
blood, drunk with the blood of French martyrs, came to accomplish a like
butchery in Spain. He inflicted terrible tortures on St Folia and St
Cucufato and St Eulalia at Barcelona, and went like a mad lion through
Zaragoza, with the blood of martyrs ever flowing behind him. This
minister of Satan came to the town of Alcala, where he shed the blood of
the children, Justo and Pastor, so young that their blood was yet partly
milk. Then he came to this famous city of Toledo, where the people
received him with honour. He sat on the tribune to receive recognizance
and vassalage to the Emperor's published edict, and commanded the public
to adore the idols of his gods. He ordered an inquisition among the
Toledan Christians to torture them and then destroy their bodies." Good
Dr Pisa had not humour enough to perceive the irony of Spanish history,
since these are the very proceedings of the Castellian monarchs to
heretics in later centuries. One wonders at the censorious use of the
ominous word "inquisition" from a Spanish pen. "Tell me, young lady,"
Dacian suavely enough addresses Leocadia summoned before him, "for such
is the exceeding beauty of thy face that nobody born has ever beheld one
more fair, and being well-born and of pure and noble lineage, how is it
thou canst so lightly be deceived by such vanities, despising thus the
ancient ceremonies and worship of our gods and preferring to follow the
new sect of the Crucified." Methinks, so might some urbane cardinal have
addressed a pretty heretic some centuries later as much a martyr, albeit
uncanonised, as Leocadia. And such a desperate wrath would the maiden's
answer have provoked as that which sent Leocadia to imprisonment and
death. Certainly the early Christians were not courteous to the Pagans
they defied. The gods Leocadia contemptuously called "miserable," and
the polite and flattering Dacian came in for a share of her impassioned
vituperation with the consequences she naturally desired.
At so early a period dawns the celebrated hieratic fame of Toledo, which
for centuries made it less subject to the sovereign than to the
archbishop. Melancius was raised to the bishopric in the year 283, and
after him, under the domination of Rome, may be said to have reigned
over the Celtic citizens, ten important bishops, whose portraits can be
studied in the Sala Capitular of the Cathedral. Gothic rule in Toledo is
little else but the story and development of Gothic Christianity. More
than on kings and their battles and doings does the town's early fame
rest upon those councils of the church in its midst. They send the name
of Toledo as far as Rome in a warning note of independence and power.
This primitive church had its own rite, its own customs, its
emphatically racial way of viewing matters, and for centuries no
high-handed effort of Rome could smooth the angles of its stubborn
individuality, or Latinise the tone of its worship and faith. It
remained for France and French influence to accomplish what Rome had
vainly striven to achieve, and it is to be deplored that France should
have succeeded in the defacing task.
The first of these councils took place in the year 396, and the second
in 400, to consider the election of Dictinius to the bishopric of
Astorga, one of the sect of Priscilianists. This deliberate battle waged
by Toledo against the Priscilianists took place in September, and its
minutes are preserved intact in the Toledan Collection. Nineteen bishops
assisted at it, and the Bishop of Merida, Patriuno, presided over it, as
the oldest present. The meeting took place in the church of Toledo, the
bishops seated, and the deacons and congregation admitted, standing. In
a long address the president exposed the scandals and vicissitudes of
the times, and then discussed in ten different points various details
connected with the church. Woman seems to have been the victim of
austere episcopal reprobation. She must not presume to chaunt antiphones
whether nun or widow, in the absence of the bishop, neither with her
confessor nor his attendant. Such communion of the sexes under the
banner of religion the Council held as pernicious and a snare. It
fulminated against the _frail_ sex, but for whose existence man were a
sage and a saint. What a pity the Almighty did not consult the Fathers
before casting this fatal and corrupting instrument of misfortune upon
the world! However, woman must not complain. To quote one of the
delightful and ironical sayings of Renan, the Fathers of the Church
increased her power by making her a sin. As a mere woman she is only a
human being, like her feeble and fugitive mate. But as a combustible
engine requiring the reunion of hoary Fathers from time to time to drown
and extinguish her beneath the founts of holy water set to play upon her
wickedness and peril, she really becomes something diabolical and
magnificent, a creature to inspire alarm and excite curiosity. It is not
improbable that the saintly sages and modest deacons, as they issued
from the church into the rocky and tortuous streets of Toledo, on the
September day of the council in the year 400, gazed in a fresh instinct
of fearful wonder and shuddering attraction at the first skirted fiend
that crossed their path. However plain or beautiful she might be, they
would be greatly more preoccupied with the thought of her sex than her
looks. Yet the clergy still might marry, and they had full rights over
their wife except death. They could beat her, tie and lock her up, give
her all "salutary" punishment that was not mortal, deprive her of food,
and forbid her to sit at table. Never mind, she had her revenge. She
felt her power be sure, and was conscious that she was a _sin_.
Before the Council of Nice, Toledo adopted the belief that the Holy
Ghost proceeds from the Father and Son, which doctrine only became
universal several centuries later. This is the Toledan Credo of the
fifth century: "We believe in one sole and true God, Father, Son, and
Holy Ghost, maker of all things visible and invisible, by whom were
created all things in heaven and on earth; that this sole God and this
sole Trinity are of divine substance; that the Father is not the same as
the Son, but has a Son who is not the Father; that, the Son is not the
Father, but is the Son of God from the nature of the Father; that the
Spirit is the Paraclete, and is neither the Father nor the Son, but
proceeds from both. The Father was not engendered but the Son, but not
the Paraclete which proceeds from the Father and Son. The Father is He
who was heard from the heavens, crying: _This is My Son in whom I am
well pleased. Hearken to Him._ The Son is He who said: _I left the
Father and came from God to this world_; and the Paraclete it is of whom
the Son said: _If I went not to the Father, the Paraclete would not come
to you._ That this Trinity is distinct in three persons, and is a
substance united by virtue and indivisible by power and majesty, beyond
this we do not believe there is any divine nature, nor of angel, nor of
spirit, nor of any virtue that believes itself God. This Son of God,
born of God the Father, before all beginning, sanctified the womb of the
Virgin Mary, and became real man in her, _sine virili generatum semine_;
uniting both natures, that is divine and fleshly, in one sole person,
who is our Lord, Jesus Christ; neither was His body imaginary or any
phantasm, but solid and real; He ate, was thirsty, endured pain, wept
and suffered the injuries of the body; ultimately was crucified by the
Jews, and buried, rose again the third day; spoke afterwards with His
disciples, and the day of quadragesimo, after the resurrection ascended
to heaven. This Son of Man also called Himself Son of God, and the Son
of God also called Himself God, Son of Man. We believe in the future
resurrection of human flesh, and maintain that the soul of man is not a
divine substance, or part of God, but a creature formed by divine will."
Among the singular subjects of excommunication of this Toledan Council
are three worthy of notice: Vegetarians are excommunicated, it being
decided by the Fathers that birds and beasts were intended to be eaten
by man. Mathematicians are excommunicated, unfortunately we are not told
why. Those who execrate marriage are excommunicated. Surely this last
sentence is inconsistent with the Fathers' professed execration of the
"frail sex"!
But the triumphs and severities of the Fathers were soon interrupted by
the invasion of the terrible north barbarians. The Goths were pouring
across the Pyrenees, soon to make Toledo their capital and "Royal city."
Fire, ruin, pillage, and death, Lafuente describes as the traces of
their path. Fields, orchards, cities, and woods were swept by their
ferocity. The horrors of famine and pest succeeded, calamity stalked the
earth, and the Toledan sages sat and talked in the desert. The Vandals
were already in the beautiful southern province of Betica, which they
called Vandalusia. Rome had fallen, and the conquering Visigoth,
unsettled in the north since Ataulfo's assassination at Barcelona,
turned his eyes upon the strong-walled city perched up above on its
seven rocks. Toledo had successfully resisted the Vandals; it succumbed
to the Goths, and Euric took it by force. She was momentarily
extinguished after her first little hour of sacerdotal pride and power.
Euric died at Arles, and the Gothic Court for a time drifted to Sevilla.
But a brighter day dawned when Atanagildo was elected king. Married to
Gosuinda, the bishop of Toledo's sister, he had formed a liking for the
place, and brought hither the Court, making Toledo the capital of his
kingdom.
CHAPTER II
_The Gothic Kings of Toledo_
Here may be said to begin the real history of Toledo, from this until
the fatal battle of Guadalete, the capital of Spain, since it was the
heart of Gothic rule. The backward pages of its story are blurred and
insignificant, judged by their traces, though we may imagine, if it were
possible to build up the effaced picture of Toledo under Roman power, we
should find a very superior civilisation. Instead of a flourishing Roman
colony, Atanagildo's choice of this "strong place" was merely the
establishment of a rough barbaric camp. It is doubtful if, until Wamba's
time, the Goths had the art of profiting by such heritage as the
decadent vanquished had left them. As a race they inspire even less
interest than their brethren east and north.
Family love was no strong element in the development of the Royal House,
as the quaintly heartless story of San Hermengildo proves. Leovigildo
was reigning then, and he, an Arian, committed the imprudence of
marrying his eldest son, Hermengildo, to a French Goth, Ingundus, the
niece of Saint Leander of Seville. With such powerful interests on the
side of Rome, it is not surprising that the Arian prince speedily
abjured his heresy, to the anger and dismay of his father.
Unfortunately, his conversion did not imply the practice of any of the
Christian virtues. Religion accomplishes the very thing we should have
thought its mission to forbid: it arms the son against his father. The
two sects, oddly enough representing the doctrine of peace and goodwill
on earth, meet outside the walls of Seville in armed encounter. Hitherto
the spectacle had been war and persecution and their attendant horrors
on the side of Pagan against the noble and martyred Christian. From this
we were to learn that Christian _versus_ Christian could show quite as
pretty a figure in atrocities as ever the persecuting worshipper of the
gods. Here we have an infuriated father and a rebellious son ready to
cut one another's throat, and of the two it can hardly be said that the
Catholic saint shows to better advantage. Indeed, in their
correspondence both reason and dignity are on the side of Leovigildo,
who writes to his son: "I associated you with my power from earliest
years, not that you should arm strangers against me. Thou dost blunt thy
conscience, and cover thyself with the veil of religion," he acutely
adds, while Hermengildo's reply is an inflated and pragmatical attack on
the baseness of his father's creed and the superiority of his own.[3]
Hermengildo is beaten, his forces scattered, and thanks to the
intercession of his brother, Recaredo, instead of the expected death
sentence, his father sentences him to exile at Valencia. As a Christian,
a martyr, and a canonised saint, Hermengildo presents an original
figure. Even the harsh wisdom of Moses condemns him, and the worst Pagan
would hardly condone his unprovoked assault on his father, by way of
converting him to a belief in Christ's divinity; while instead of
quietly enduring the consequences of his abortive rebellion and his
inappropriate expression of faith, he went about the coast, begging the
assistance of the Greeks in another attempt to proselytise by the sword,
and seize his father's throne by the same stroke. The Spanish
historians, to whom this method of conversion is particularly
sympathetic and of unquestionable logic, disregard the side question of
revolt, and delight in weighing upon Hermengildo's lofty efforts in
behalf of truth. His object they accept as the laudable extirpation of
error. Indifferent to his natural relations to the king he desired to
dethrone, Gamero says: "Perhaps, like Alaric, within his breast, a
secret voice had commanded him to go forth and destroy the power of
Arianism in Spain; to establish upon the ruins of paganism and false
sects the immortal throne where the god of Sabahot is worshipped, and on
which shines with eternal splendour the immaculate purity of Mary." And
so he complacently follows the unfilial prince on his bellicose mission
through Estremadura, now occupying Merida, again attempting to take
Seville and his former court, seeking support in France with the hope of
arming his brother-in-law, Sigeric, against his father. All Gamero
laments is his unsuccess. The Arian father did precisely what
Hermengildo would have done in his place; he seized his son, flung him
into a dungeon, first at Toledo, then at Tarragona, where he was
beheaded after stoutly refusing to accept communion from the hands of an
Arian bishop. His form of refusal is proudly recorded by St Gregory of
Tours as an admirable one: "As a minister of the devil, only to hell
couldst thou guide me. Away and go, coward, to the punishment prepared
for thee, and which thou deservest." We hardly detect the influence of
Christian mildness and sweetness in this address. However, all saints
cannot resemble St Francis of Assisi, and even St Fernando of Castille
boiled his enemies alive in great pots of water over huge fires. This is
Gamero's admiring epitaph: "Thus on the 13th April, 584, ended with
glorious martyrdom the life of this hero of the Spanish Church, whose
blood effaced any faults as a man he may have committed, and was a
perennial source of happiness and fortune to our country."
Morality is, after all, like criticism, only a matter of existing
convention and national temperament. Believe the right thing, and one's
vices are a matter of small account. In the mediæval times, with a
proper amount of faith, one might with impunity, boil one's enemies or
roast them before a fire, and be duly canonised and offered to posterity
as a saint and a just man. But be as virtuous and as austere as Marcus
Aurelius, believing the wrong thing, and the orthodox historian will
manage to be blind to your virtues, and offer you for public contumely.
So we have a legend of sanctity centred round this extremely unedifying
prince, who took up arms against a father not convicted of any
particular injustice or enormity, plotted with France to dethrone him,
and after an unnatural career, died furious and unresigned, breathing
curses upon his enemies. Behold him one of the glories of that curious
medley of Pagan qualities and unchristian vices, Mediæval Catholicism.
The historians will not even permit the poor father to grieve and regret
his own harshness in peace. His sorrow and remorse are not accepted as
the natural sentiments of a man whom a just anger had carried beyond the
endurance of nature. We are forced to regard them as the tardy
recognition of his own iniquity and error. We are told in triumph that
the monarch died weeping and repentant in the arms of St Leander of
Seville, the friend and uncle by marriage of his exiled son. Could
anything be more natural than this touching and piteous picture of an
old man, doubtful of himself, turning in his grief to the one great
friend of his son? The action in its simple humanity is worth all the
grandiloquent insolence of the saint and martyr Leovigildo mourned, in
whose story virtue and sanctity are equally unevident.
Recaredo, his son and successor, solemnly abjured Arianism before the
third Toledan Council, as the inscription on his statue outside the
Alcázar records. We may imagine this unhappy son and brother weary for
the moment of bloodshed and strife, and anxious to put an end to
dissension in his kingdom. It would suffice to explain the wise and
eloquent speech he addressed to his subjects, exhorting all to be of one
faith, to enter the bosom of the Church, and accept its dogmas as he had
done. His speech must have been miraculously persuasive, and his
influence over his people almost magnetic, since nearly all to a man
yielded to the earnest prayer of a tired and suffering heart, and
consented to make his religion theirs. And thus it might be hoped, after
the terrible domestic tragedy Recaredo had been obliged to witness,
powerless to prevent it, the reign of violence, persecution, and discord
was over, and the religious power of Toledo permanently established upon
tolerant lines. But this was to count without the spirit of the times.
After the first shock of misery and bereavement had passed, the
turbulent sense of revolt on one side, and determination to crush it on
the other, broke out in all its malignant force. The Arian bishops,
goaded on by Leovigildo's widow, hurled their vote of resistance to the
establishment of Roman influence. Here we have another instance of the
charming inconsistency of the prolix Spanish historians. Leovigildo was
nothing less than a monster, because he punished conspiracy and
rebellion, and his Catholic son, condemned justly by the laws of the day
to death, was a haloed martyr. Recaredo remains a just and magnanimous
sovereign when he cuts off the heads and hands of the Arian
conspirators; and the premature death of the queen dowager, Gosvintha,
is deeply lamented, because her step-son was thus deprived of the duty
of cutting off her rebellious head. Why was she less of a saint, one
asks, than Hermengildo? She, too, rebelled on behalf of principle, and
surely a step-son is a more natural antagonist in the field than a
father! But for the historian conspiracy against a legitimate heretical
sovereign may be an article of faith and duty, whereas the heretic who
conspires against the monarch of the right faith is a fiend. It is this
hopeless lack of logic and sense that renders so dreary and unillumined
a task the reading of Spanish history. The humorists, alas! wrote dramas
and novels, and history was left to the terrible Mariana, the credulous
Masdeu, and the one-sided Gamero.
At the next Toledan Council, Recaredo presided in all pomp, accompanied
by his queen, Baddo. The sovereigns first, then all the converted
Arians, bishops, priests, deacons, and lords and leaders, read aloud
this act of allegiance to Rome. Recaredo was the first to swear: "I,
Recaredo, King, maintaining with my heart, and affirming with my word,
this true and holy confession, which alone the Catholic Church professes
all over the globe, have subscribed with my right hand, God protecting
me." Baddo, his wife, then swore: "I, Baddo, glorious queen, have
subscribed with my hand and all my heart to that faith I believe in and
have admitted." Followed the oath of each bishop and priest; and then
came the turn of the nobles. Imagination readily enough evokes the scene
from such dry details, and pictures one of exceptional solemnity, with a
touch of barbarism, beginning to borrow undreamed of luxury from a
departed civilisation, without taste or tact to render that luxury
beautiful. We have only to visit the Musée de Cluny to form some notion
of Gothic gold-work by inspection of the Gothic votive crowns discovered
in Toledo, and it is easy to picture this rough humanity, from monarch
to knight, in their flowing cloaks, grave, impressed, all in deadly
earnest, and the mitred and mighty prelates forming an inner circle, in
gold and silvered embroideries, bejewelled, and full of glory and
contentment. The importance of the nobles we gather from a list of
Gothic dignitaries. First came the dukes, counts, palatines of the royal
house. Then came the first count, the count of the drinking-cup,
_Escansias_; the chamberlain, Count _Cubiculario_; the chief groom,
Count _Estabulario_; then the major domos, counts of the patrimony, the
counters-in-chief, Count _Numerario_, the count of the viands, Count
_Silonario_; knight of the youths, Count of the _Espartarios_, captain
of the guard; Count of the _Sagrarios_, keeper of sacred things; Count
of the _Sargentarios_, keeper of the treasure. The grandees or _ricos
hombres_ were governors of the territories and kingdoms.
St Isidor has painted Recaredo as a model of all the Christian virtues,
which is decidedly excessive praise in the face of such accentuated
vices against the mild sublimity of that scarce practised creed as an
inflexible spirit of vengeance and cruelty, and a bigotry in his new
religion as hard and determined as that of his Arian fathers, once the
early lesson in adversity had been learnt and forgotten. However, in
spite of defects rather belonging to his barbarous times, few natures
being able to resist the forces of environment and general feeling, than
to the man himself perhaps, he remains unquestionably one of the wisest
and strongest of Gothic kings, and his personality is all the more
marked by contrast with that of his feeble son, Luiva II., who was
dethroned by Viterico, a senseless usurper, shortly afterwards
assassinated at table by his own servants and cast into the street,
where the infuriated populace seized the corpse and dragged it up and
down the hilly streets and lanes of Toledo, eventually flinging it into
a filthy hole as unfit for decent burial.
Gundmar's short reign furnished no reason to doubt his well-meaning
intentions. He quelled a rising among the Vasco Navarrese and the
Imperial troops, and convened a council at Toledo to decide in the
town's favour against the sacerdotal pretensions of Carthagena. But his
successor is a figure worth noting, and in his reign takes place the
first of those unfortunate outbreaks against the Jews, for which
dismantled and impoverished Spain still pays so heavy a price. Before
the Moors came, Toledo's source of prosperity and wealth sprang from her
Hebrew colony, and the anti-Semitic movement, started by Sisebuth, had
probably no other object than the barbarians' desire to appropriate
Jewish gold. Sisebuth himself is spoken of in history as the father of
the poor, and is extolled for his compassionate heart and his
liberality. His horror of suffering and blood was so great that he sent
his own doctors to tend the stricken enemy when he was compelled to go
to war, and paid out of his own purse to his soldiers the ransom of
their captives. Servitude and blood-shedding were equally abhorrent to
him. The annalist Frêdégaire tells of him, as an example of exquisite
sensibility in those rude times, which would be no less rare in our own,
that in the thick of battle with the Imperial army, seeing the Greek
soldiers fall in numbers under the savage blow of his men, he rushed
into their midst, shouting: "Woe to me whose reign should see the
flowing of so much human blood," and frantically drove away his soldiers
from the wounded Byzantines. The pity was such excellent sentiments were
not cultivated on behalf of the Jews. Having twice defeated the
Byzantine army, Cesario only procured a treaty of peace on condition the
Jews were expelled from Spain. And in 616, Sisebuth published his famous
edict against the children of Israel, offering them the harsh
alternative, within the year, of professing the Christian faith, and
accepting baptism, or being publicly flogged a hundred whip-strokes,
shaven and shorn, robbed of their goods, and expelled from the kingdom.
One hardly understands why the shaving and flogging should have been
ordered, since appropriation and expulsion ought to have sufficed. Even
the Fathers of the Church had the grace to protest against the needless
inhumanity of this edict, though the Toledan bishops in a council upheld
it. Yet history accepts him as a mild and upright judge, a magnificent
prince, a valiant and humane captain, the friend of the poor, the
protector of letters. He himself dabbled in literature, wrote in the
swollen and exaggerated Gothic manner, composed several earnest and
dogmatic letters in refutation of Arianism, which he addressed to the
King and Queen of Lombardy, severely reprimanded Bishop Eusebius for the
disorders of his existence, and commanded Bishop Caecilius to return to
his diocese, which he had forsaken for the monastery. Clearly a monarch
not to be trifled with even by the bishops, whom he kept in check, and
whose public and private life he insisted on regulating. He conquered
the Asturians and the Vascons, and overthrew the Byzantine power in
Spain, seizing most of the Imperial towns and weakening the Imperial
forces at Cadiz. At home he built the church of St Leocadia.
But of the growth of the town we learn little. Literature in those days
was more moral than descriptive, and the Gothic kings of Toledo, when
not fighting the Byzantines and Vascons, seem chiefly to have been
engaged in discovering elegant flowers of speech, and cultivating the
very finest obscurity of expression. Suinthila, looking from the seven
rocky hills of his martial town, could tell himself that the kings of
Toledo ruled from Cadiz to the Pyrenees, from Atlantic to Mediterranean
shores, while Chindasvinthe, in his semi-Roman palace, looked peacefully
across the vega and along those foliaged banks of the quiet Tagus that
had beguiled Pyrrhus and his mate from the East, and recreated himself
with the art of letters. St Eugenius and St Braulion of Zaragoza were
the honoured recipients of his royal epistles, in which he writes of "an
eloquence adorned with the most flowery words and girdled with all the
harmonies of fine language," and plunging further into unlucid
intricacies hymns an "eloquence suggesting a royal clemency, an
observation wherein shines the zeal displayed in the travail of literary
composition." When he led his troops to battle, it is to be hoped that
his military addresses to them revealed less fearfully the travail of
literary composition. Surely the harmonies of fine language so admired
by him were never more inappropriately "girdled" against the
encroachments of ordinary sense. He speaks of someone "who will not
succumb from a need of understanding" and "who is not meagre through
poverty of spirit." His successor, Recesvinthus, displayed the same
Gothic tendencies and rhymed in the highest obscurity, in proof of the
"fatness" of his wisdom, which verses he dedicated to the grateful
Fathers of the VIIth Council, who being Gothic, probably understood and
relished them. But Recesvinthus deserves the recognition of
bibliophiles, for he had a passion for collecting old manuscripts, and
was extremely particular about their authenticity and corrections. He
too persecuted the Jews, and his morals were doubtful.
The most famous archbishop of Toledo under Gothic rule was San
Ildephonso. His parents, Stephen and Lucy, were noble Goths of almost
royal blood, distantly related to the King Atanagildo. Ildephonso was
educated by his uncle, St Eugenius III. At an early age he developed a
passion for learning, and was sent to Seville to the care of the famous
Doctor St Isidor. It would be astonishing if breathing so much
sanctified air the young Ildephonso did not become himself a saint, or
the reverse. His saintly master grew so attached to his pupil that when
Ildephonso expressed a wish to return to his parents at Toledo, St
Isidor locked him up. After a considerable while he yielded to his
disciple's prayer, and allowed him to depart. The youth, after a short
stay at his father's house, left it for the monastery of Agalia outside
Toledo. Stephen flew into a violent rage upon the discovery, and
attacked the monastery with armed followers. The monks hid the lad,
while Stephen and his band searched the building from roof to cellars,
and departed swearing profusely. His mother was more reasonable, and
besought St Eugenius to intervene and obtain her son's permission to
follow his vocation. Shortly before his death, St Eladio consecrated him
and gave him holy orders (632). He was first abbot of the monastery of
St Cosmos and St Damian, and on the death of Adeodato, became abbot of
the monastery of Agalia where he had received orders. Inheriting from
his parents, he devoted the inheritance to the foundation of a convent
for nuns, and on his uncle's death, 659, he was raised to the vacant
archbishopric of Toledo. Heretics began to discuss the perpetual
virginity of Our Lady, and Ildephonso wrote his first notable book, _De
Virginitate perpetua Sanctae Mariae adversus tres infideles_, the three
infidels being Elvidio, Theudio, and Eladio, natives of Narbonne. The
saint's triumph in polemics was immediate, and the infidels were
pronounced as completely crushed. The whole court followed the King and
the Archbishop to the church of Saint Leocadia to give loud thanks.
Kneeling at the saint's tomb, suddenly a group of angels appeared
through clouds and sweet scents; the clouds fainting, the young martyr
was revealed in the midst of the group, and smiling graciously upon
Ildephonso, said, _Ildephonse per te vivit domina mea_. The astounded
archbishop, rapidly recovering his bewilderment, held out his hand to
grasp the saint's veil, and the King Recesvinthus, kneeling beside him,
passed him his knife, with which Ildephonso cut off a piece of the veil,
which, together with the knife, is now kept among the Cathedral
treasures. The mass of St Leocadia, composed by the archbishop, was then
solemnly sung, and this was the first inauguration of a feast since
adopted by the Church of Rome, the Feast of the Immaculate Conception.
Thanks from heaven did not rest with Mary's messenger, St Leocadia. Nine
days after entering the church to recite matins, the archbishop saw a
strange flame upon the wall. Approaching, he discovered the queen of
heaven seated on his own marble chair enveloped in heavenly radiance,
who thus addressed him: _Propera, serva dei charissime, in occursum, et
accipe munusculum de manu mea, quod de thesausus filii sevi attuli_. The
present she brought him from heaven was a splendid chasuble wrought by
angels, in which the Virgin with her own hands vested him, while the
celestial choir chanted around him. The vision faded in a faint smoke,
and only the perfumes and the vague echo of remote music remained, while
St Ildephonso lay prostrate in ecstasy, kissing the spot the Virgin's
feet had touched, _ubi steterum pedes ejus_. He was found in this
attitude by the clergy and multitudes, and his fame, owing to this
second miracle, spread far and wide, till Rome dispatched two legates to
inquire into the legend. Thus it was that the Pope and the King of Spain
came to be canons of the Cathedral of Toledo, which took precedence of
all others in the land. In a few weeks St Ildephonso returned the
Virgin's visit in heaven, and he was buried in all pomp beside the
patron of the city, St Leocadia.
But of all these Gothic sovereigns, the most important for Toledo was
Wamba, the only one now gloriously remembered. Wamba it was who built
the great walls, traces of which to-day remain. Most of the Gothic
inscriptions were in honour of Wamba, though these have nearly all
disappeared. His defaced statue it is that greets you welcome to his
ancient citadel and capital. One of these vanished inscriptions is
preserved in the _Chronique rimée des rois de Tolède_ by the anonymous
writers of Cordova.[4] It was traced on Wamba's famous walls: _Erexit
factore Deo rex inclitus urbem, Wamba suæ celebrem protendedens, gentis
honorem. Vos sancti domini, quorum hic præsentia fulget. Hunc urbem et
golebem solito salvate favore._
For the Toledans, Wamba remains a personage of fabulous virtue and
merit. We first meet him at the funeral of Recesvinthus, when by general
election he was proclaimed king. He was an old warrior, neither
ambitious nor over-confident, it would appear, and he humbly declined an
honour he did not feel fitted to accept. So frantic was the sense of
disappointment that a duke walked up to him angrily and threatened to
kill him on the spot if he persisted in his refusal, and confronted with
a crown and a formidable Toledan blade, the humblest sage that ever drew
breath would naturally choose the crown. Wamba bowed to spontaneous
choice, and made his triumphal entry into the capital, Sep. 20, 672,
nineteen days after his compulsory acceptance of the throne. It was no
easy seat, and all his prowess, his undoubted genius and his popularity
could not keep him thereon unmolested, though Bishop Quiricus had
anointed him amid universal rejoicings. Lope de Vega assumes that this
really remarkable man was of peasant origin, but later historians agree
that he was of good blood, a much more likely fact, as the barbarous
Goths were sticklers for aristocratic prestige, and the law kept very
distinct the _nobiles_ and the _vilidies_. However virtuous the man of
obscure origin might be, it is doubtful if a fierce Gothic duke would
have threatened to murder him if he declined so stupendous an honour as
the right of ruling that duke and his fellow-nobles.
The start of Wamba's brief but glorious reign was marked by treachery
and revolt. His general, of Greek origin, Count Paul, in conspiracy with
the Count of Nîmes and the Bishop of Maguelonne, rose against him in
Narbonese Gaul. Wamba was then fighting the eternal Vascon, the
hereditary enemy of the Kings of Toledo, but he left the Basque country
and marched into Gaul, capturing the Pyrenean fortresses, attacking
Narbonne by land and sea, and seizing Béziers, Agde, Maguelonne, and
then he fell upon Nîmes. Never were French prisoners treated with
greater courtesy and consideration. Not only did he free them but sent
them off with splendid gifts. For Count Paul alone was he adamantine. He
condemned the rebel to walk barefooted between two dukes on horseback,
who led him in leash by the hair of his Greek head through the Gothic
ranks at Nîmes. Then Wamba on horseback coldly surveyed the ignoble
procession, while poor Paul was forced to prostrate himself before his
outraged master. In public the King rebuked him, and then we are sorry
to record of so great a man, publicly kicked him and ordered his head to
be shaved. The shaving and the kick might fittingly have been suppressed
with dignity added to the picture of stern Wamba on horseback. To see
his enemy grovelling at his feet ought to have contented even a Goth.
But no. When Wamba made his triumphal entry into Toledo, the unfortunate
Paul and his accomplices walked behind--shaven, forlorn, barefooted,
robed in camel's hair, and instead of graceful, superfluous locks, Paul
wore a mock crown of laurel. He was not without a certain grim humour
King Wamba, you perceive, and one would like to have seen his Gothic
visage as his glance fell upon the laurel crown. Not benignant of a
surety, possibly sardonic.
But it is not in connection with Count Paul that Wamba's name reaches us
to-day and like that of the fatal Rodrigo, is permanently attached to
Toledo. Forgotten the long list of Gothic sovereigns, forgotten the
councils they presided over, the battles they lost and won, their
achievements, follies and virtues, their epistolary flowers of speech
and decrees. Only Wamba and Rodrigo remain, one a historic fact, the
other vaguely and unveraciously defined through legend and romance. As I
have said, coming up from the station, the traveller is greeted upon the
dusty curving road by the noseless statue of King Wamba, who built upon
the Roman remains a magnificent wall round the city, raised ramparts,
towers, and chapels, and for eight years was the untiring benefactor of
the city and the people, till treachery rewarded his splendid services
by deposition in the hour of illness and condemned him to claustral
reclusion.
In his days, the Bridge of Alcántara still existed with its marvellous
Roman arch, one of the most finished and graceful Roman monuments of
Spain. For the Goths had the virtue not to destroy any of the Roman
remains, though they were incapable of profiting by what they found.
They it was who, at Wamba's orders, built the walls and palaces of
Toledo, and gave
[Illustration: PUENTE DE ALCANTARA.]
the city its definite note of architecture, a note the Moors were
careful not to efface, all in adding their own ineffaceable stamp, for
the Moors were great artists and had the secret of utilising what they
influenced. If the Spanish Goths began by modelling their architecture
on the Roman remains in their capacity of imitators and not inventors,
the Moors, inventors and assimilators, forced the Goths to modify their
style by the famous mudejar order. Violence must be a rudimentary
instinct of humanity, since the milder and less florid mudejar remains a
single feature in Spanish architecture, while the rough Goths have the
secret of impressing their individuality on all the entire Peninsula,
and so with their flowers of speech, vapid, empty, and void of sincerity
which to this day have entered the language of the country, unaltered by
the march of centuries, ornate and unintelligent, untouched by modern
civilisation, of which the Spaniards take no heed. The ruins of this
dead Gothic art are best studied at Toledo. Here you have it purest, the
fourth century style with its coarse and pointed leafage, its laboured
workmanship, its ornamentation, symbols, and figurative caprices, then
so new and bold, and which are never repeated in the Arabic or Byzantine
architecture later.
Fragments of this art of Wamba's days may be seen in the ruined church
of San Genes, in the bath of the Cava, never a bath, where never the
legendary Florinda bathed, and in the wall of a house in the _calle
Lechuga_, as well as in the façade of the Bridge of Alcántara. In the
beginning of Gothic rule it was chiefly architecture that flourished,
but Wamba's immediate predecessors, we have seen, preferred literature
and libraries, cultivated poetry, the epistolary art, and such research
as the obscure times afforded, which they called science, and founded
colleges. Their costume was half Roman, since they borrowed what they
knew of civilisation from the Romans. They wore silk embroidered cloaks,
let their hair grow long, like their Merovingian brethren, to mark their
superiority to the short-cropped Celt-Iberians they had conquered; the
women wore costly habits and splendid jewels, and all the nobles drank
from golden cups and washed in silver basins. The value and beauty of
their goldsmiths' work are abundantly testified by the nine great votive
crowns in the Musée de Cluny, where the famous treasure of Guarrazar is
preserved. These magnificent gold crowns of the seventh century were
discovered near Toledo in 1858 by a French officer who owned the
property _La Fuente de Guarrazar_ where these historic crowns were
buried. They were probably buried at the time of Tarik's invasion, and
remained nearly eight centuries underground. The most important, as well
as the largest and most beautiful, is the crown which bears the
inscription in letters of gold cloisonné and incrusted, RECCESVINTHUS
REX OFFERET. To show the value of the workmanship of this crown, I
cannot do better than quote here in full its official description in the
catalogue of the Musée Cluny by M. du Sommerard: "King Recesvinthus'
crown is composed of a large and massive golden band. It opens with a
double hinge, and is richly framed by two borders of gold cloisonné, and
incrusted with red Carian stones, those which Anastasius calls _gemmis
alabandinsis_, and in relief has thirty Oriental sapphires of the
greatest beauty set in golden borders, mostly of considerable dimension.
Thirty-five pearls of a no less notable size alternate with the
sapphires on a golden ground incrusted with the same stones, and
twenty-four little gold chains, starting from the lower circle of the
crown, suspend large letters in gold cloisonné and incrusted, whose
disposition form the words:
RECCESVINTHUS REX OFFERET.
Each of these letters ends with a pendant of gold and fine pearls
holding a pear of rose sapphire. The king's crown is suspended by a
quadruple chain of beautiful workmanship which attaches it to a double
gem of massive gold enriched with twelve pendants in sapphire, and this
gem, whose branches are open, is surmounted by a capital in
rock-crystal, finely wrought; then comes a ball of the same material,
and then a golden stem which forms the starting point of the suspension.
The cross which occupies the centre of the crown and is attached to the
gem by a long golden chain, is not less remarkable for its elegance of
form and richness of material. It is in massive gold relieved by six
lovely sapphires and eight big fine pearls, each jewel is set in relief
in open claws, and behind is still the fibula that hooked it to the
royal mantle.
The diadem is of plain gold within, but the exterior, which the
sapphires and fine pearls set in relief ornament, has another particular
decoration, which consists in a set of palm leaves in open cutting whose
leaves are filled with blades of the same red material which looks like
cornelian stone at first sight, of which we have already spoken.
The sapphires which decorate the band, and whose setting is largely
treated, are, we have said, thirty, all of the finest water, and many of
them show traces of a natural crystallisation by facets; the two
principal ones, which are placed in the centre of each face, are not in
diameter less than thirty millimetres. The pearls are also of an
exceptional size, and only a few have been affected by time. The
suspension chains are composed each of five fine gems cut in open work,
and the stem that supports the whole is of massive gold.
The number of sapphires that ornament this crown, the cross and the gem
are not less than seventy, of which thirty are of matchless size, the
pearls the same. The pendants which terminate the letters of the diadem
are, as well, decorated with enamel enchased in golden borders.
So much to prove that the charge of luxury against the Toledan Goths is
not unfounded. A people so enamoured of gold and jewels and embroidered
silks as they at this time were, would naturally be disposed to forget
the rude lessons of war and camp. Wamba had improved their town and made
it a fair and comfortable place to dwell in, and the barbarians without
the gates were quieted now by frequent defeat. And so, the wise and
virtuous Wamba once deposed by trickery and smuggled off the throne in a
cataleptic fit, garbed in the monk's gown of renouncement, the period of
Gothic decadence set in. Its day of triumph and ordered rule had been a
brief if brilliant one, and it had by patient effort evolved its own
rude and unstable civilisation out of rough-shod conquest. From Ataulfo
and his horde of barbarians, pouring, famished and athirst, across the
Pyrenees, to lettered Recesvinthus and austere Wamba, who would make an
effective figure even in our own times, the range in humanity is long,
the dividing sea is wide and deep. But if swift had been the triumph,
swifter still and more inexplicable was the decline. A more unhappy and
reckless descent to oblivion history does not record. Towards the end of
the seventh century, the glory of Toledo had so sensibly diminished that
a haze lies upon its subsequent history to the lurid fame of the doomed
day of Guadalete. We hear dimly of deplorable vices, of a demoralised
clergy, of effaced and degraded sovereigns, of a people given up to
every shameful pleasure and wrapped in effeminacy and indolence.
The private story of King Egica is a curious and an unedifying one, told
at length by Lozana in his _Reyes Nuevos_ and by the Conde de Mora in
his History of Toledo. Egica fell violently in love with his niece, Doña
Luz, who, on her side, loved more passionately than wisely her other
uncle, Don Favila. Favila seems a disreputable enough fellow, since he
took the last advantage of his niece's passion, and left her to face the
most atrocious troubles that might have ceased by manly behaviour on his
part. It is one of those complicated and incomprehensible episodes in
history that leave us aghast. Favila is elsewhere supposed to have
murdered his brother by a blow on the head for the sake of that
brother's wife. At any-rate he pursued Doña Luz and, as Lozana naïvely
asserts, with her permission entered her bedroom one night, and there
kneeling before the statue of the Virgin (exquisite absence of all sense
of the ludicrous revealed even in modern Spanish plays where the same
sort of thing happens), they proclaim themselves man and wife with the
usual results. In a little while the watchful and suspicious king
perceives that his niece, Doña Luz, is _enceinte_. The lady understands
her own and the coming infant's danger, so she has an ark made, and
after a secret delivery, places the infant in it like another Moses,
with quantities of linen, jewellery and money, and her women float it
down the Tagus, where, by a miracle, it is found by her uncle, Grafeses,
who lives at Alcántara. Not knowing whose is the child, Grafeses takes
it home. At Toledo the king suspects what has happened, but can find out
nothing definite, so, still true to biblical tradition, he decides to
tackle the new-born infants. He sends for a list of all the children
born in and without Toledo during the past three months, with the name
of each father, hoping thus to discover an unfathered babe with which to
charge Doña Luz. The number of babies born during the three months in
the city of Toledo reached 10,428, and in the suburbs surpassed 25,000.
What a different story from that of to-day! One wonders where there was
room for the immense population of olden times. Alas for the vindictive
king! All the babies had authentic fathers and mothers, and there was no
reaching Doña Luz by this device. There remained another and less
primitive vengeance. He ordered one of his gentlemen, Melias, to attack
her publicly as "a lost woman." Because she refused to become _his_
mistress, and became somebody else's (his brother's), he decided she
should be burnt for impurity. Excellent logic of man! On Doña Luz's
first appearance at Court Melias charged her with impropriety, and the
king fiercely ordered her to reply to the accusation. "My Lord," said
Luz, with much dignity, "how would you have me reply to such a charge?
God knows, and you, my lord, see that I cannot give him the reply he
merits, since he is a cavalier and yet accuses me, a woman, of evil."
The king, base churl, not touched by this admirable reply, mockingly
assures her that he is uncertain whether to address her as dame or maid,
and defies her to find a defender, having previously forbidden his
courtiers to take up her cause. At all times the picture of a
disappointed lover vindictively pursuing the woman who has refused to
listen to him is particularly hideous, but never more than here, where
the insulted lady is so noble and patient and he such a ruffian. Without
a defender, he adds, she is destined to burn for her lack of chastity.
She asks for a delay, and this is surlily granted. Just as the fire is
being prepared for the unfortunate Doña Luz, Don Favila arrives from the
Asturias. It is not made clear to us why he did not remain and provoke a
duel with Melias at once, but the historians unctuously assure us that
he kissed his wife (in the eyes of God) wept over her, told her to hold
her soul in patience, and returned to the Asturias in search of money.
The delay must have been unendurably long, and one wonders at Egica's
unnatural command of temper, when even now, as I, alas! too well know,
it takes a long time, even with the aid of steam, to get from Toledo to
the Asturias. In hot haste, however, Don Favila returned to Toledo,
challenged Melias, and all the court assembled in the Vega beneath the
archbishop's palace, to watch the fight. Doña Luz remained in her
chamber, full of sorrow and fear for Favila. The king ordered the Duke
of Cabra and Count of Merida with three hundred cavaliers to guard the
Vega, and, under pain of death, prevent anyone from assisting the
combatants. His fierce desire, not even concealed, was that Favila
should be killed, and Doña Luz thus placed more utterly at his mercy.
The knights met with a terrible shock of steel, so that both were
unhorsed and nearly killed. This report reached Doña Luz and prostrated
her. She hurried out to see for herself; and Favila, recovered from his
faint, looked up and gave her a glance of reassurance and love. He was
only dizzy as was proved by his alert spring to his feet and quick rush
upon his lady's enemy, through whose slanderous mouth he thrust his
sword inflicting thus a death wound. He coolly drew out his sword, wiped
it, and advancing to the royal seat, he bowed before the king and queen,
and haughtily hoped that Doña Luz's reputation now was cleared. Not
satisfied, Egica sent another knight, Bristes, (what unutterable cads
those Gothic knights were!), to challenge the lady's innocence, and
Bristes went gaily forth on his base sovereign's behalf to meet Favila
to whom he shouted: "I will kill you and have Doña Luz burnt." Favila
wisely replied: "deeds not words weigh" and ran his sword through the
braggart's body. Much to his grief and disappointment Egica was forced
to admit the lady's vindication, but demanded her lover's sword, which
provoked a fresh onslaught. Grafeses stayed the clash of steel by coming
to court to learn the meaning of all these wild doings, and, on passing
through his niece's room, on his way to the queen's chamber, recognised
a handkerchief which resembled those folded round the infant of the ark
he had picked up on the banks of the Tagus at Alcantara. Questioning his
niece, he discovered the nature of her relations with Favila, and
instantly insisted on their marriage. The king was still bent on another
duel, and sent Longaris to fight Favila about the sword, when a hermit
comes to court and, in the name of heaven, stops the duel by revealing,
as a divine message from above, the secret loves of Doña Luz and Don
Favila. Both the cavaliers were wounded, and Doña Luz flung herself on
her knees before the king and begged for mercy for her lover. After long
hesitation, impelled by the hermit's command from heaven to accept the
inevitable, Egica gives in, signals the end of the third duel against
Doña Luz's happiness, and permits, gracelessly of course, after Favila's
recovery, his public marriage with the thrice unfortunate Doña Luz. He
and the queen were witnesses, and Grafeses, a kind of _deus ex machina_,
proclaimed the infante Childe Pelayo, the future hero and victor of
Covadonga. Egica's other feat was to persecute anew the Jews for an
imaginary conspiracy to convert Spain into a Hebrew kingdom. He
pronounced them slaves, took their children from them, and forebade them
to intermarry.
Two figures stand out in this prolonged and monotonous legend in
exaggerated, it may even be said, in false relief. Witiza and Rodrigo
are charged with the ruin of the Toledan kingdom. No less than four
archbishops, in no moderate language, have recorded the tale of Witiza's
iniquities, Sebastian of Salamanca, Isidor Pacense, Lucas of Tuy, and
Rodrigo of Toledo. None of these writers were contemporaries of Witiza,
and they wrote in days when research was nigh impossible, and when we
may doubt if a premium was put upon accuracy. How much even of our own
history is a matter of hearsay? and does there exist a man so fortressed
by virtue as to live without the range of slander if he be so
unfortunate as to excite enmity or jealousy; above all, if he tread on
the susceptible toes of prejudice? This is what Witiza precisely did.
And the prejudice he wounded was ecclesiastical, and ecclesiastical
rancour we know at all times has proved the bitterest man can provoke.
But we also find the notable figure of the Archbishop of Toledo, Julian,
a fluent and accomplished writer, and a saint. The anonymous chronicler
of Cordova tells us that his origin was Jewish, a fact suppressed by the
anti-semitical Spanish historians. He succeeded Quiricus and wrote the
history of Wamba's reign, all in proving himself a model pastor. His
accomplishments were varied. He was a historian, an orator, theologian,
polemist, poet, and musician. So much genius and sanctity in a Goth was
little short of an impertinence. The list of his writings is vast, but
only a few remain. Some are in Greek, most are in Latin, and their
matter is hardly of general interest. He wrote the _Apology of Real
Faith_ in reply to the heresies of Apollinarius, and sent it to Pope Leo
II. It reached Rome after the pope's death. The succeeding pope,
Benedict, replied to it, and two years later the reply reached the
Archbishop of Toledo. It provoked a learned treatise to prove that the
writer was in accord with Isidor of Seville, Fulgence, Ambrose,
Augustine and Cyril of Alexandria. Three ecclesiastics were dispatched
with the precious document, and it took them fourteen months to reach
Rome. Meanwhile three other popes had succeeded Benedict, and the fourth
called a council to consider the matter. All Spain hung on the decision;
the king was worried and alarmed, not knowing if he should regard his
erudite archbishop as a heretic or one of the faithful. At last the
messengers from Rome arrived, bringing praise and admiration from a pope
to whom the document had not been addressed, while between him and Leo,
the original disputer of Julian's orthodoxy, four popes placidly lay in
their tombs. Julian died three years after this triumph, having ruled
during ten brilliant years of primacy, 690, and was buried with St
Ildefonso in the church of St Leocadia.
This is the incongruous legend of Witiza. During his father's life-time,
he ruled at Tuy in Galicia, and proved himself pious, mild, just and
generous. His morals were unimpeachable, and while humane to all, he was
indulgent to his personal enemies, and freely granted pardon and favours
to malcontents. Such a man seems a fitter subject for canonisation than
San Hermengildo. Then this excellent monarch, in middle life, with
character and habits formed, comes down to Toledo, and without rhyme or
reason, we hear of him suddenly as a blind and bloody-minded scoundrel.
From sage and saint he turns into an historic ogre, not content with
libertinage in himself but constraining his subjects to follow his
example, and for sheer viciousness' sake, commanding an austere and
chaste clergy to marry. No villany, no crime seems too base and
preposterous for the archbishops to lay to his account. For the
benevolence of Tuy we have rank injustice, for the mildness envenomed
cruelty, and every anterior virtue is replaced by its pendant vice. Yet
Witiza's power at Tuy was no less than his power at Toledo. He had his
court and his throne in both towns, and there was no reason on earth why
he should act the wise man in the north, and the unreasoning reprobate
in the south. We suspect his first act of clemency on reaching Toledo,
in annulling Sisebuth's edict against the Jews, had much to do with the
joint vituperation of the archbishops and the subsequent historians. Not
only did he recall them, but, misplaced generosity in mediæval eyes, he
restored to the unfortunates their appropriated property and wealth, and
permitted them to live and earn unmolested in his kingdom.
Witiza's defence has been ingeniously undertaken by the Père Tailhan in
his interesting notes to the rhyming chronicler of Cordova, a
contemporary of Witiza. Here we meet the clement Prince of Tuy, whose
mildness, in spite of a natural impetuosity held in check, was his
greatest crime in the eyes of immediate posterity, unswervingly kind to
all who approached and addressed him, described by his enemies, the
Moors, as the most just and pious of all the Christian kings of his
time, and a man of blameless life. Count Fernando Gonzalez refers to him
as "a powerful king, of indomitable courage and of noble heart." The
anonymous writer of Cordova, who was in a position to judge, writes of
his reign as one of peace and prosperity and universal happiness. Was
the devil incarnate the invention of the four respectable archbishops?
Of course the dull and bigoted Mariana follows in their footsteps. Don
José Godoz Alcantara is of a different opinion:--"Witiza," he writes,
"initiated his reign by the most ample act of generosity. He restored to
the destitute their dignities and wealth, publicly burnt all proofs and
denunciations of conspiracy; wishing to cure a degenerate aristocracy of
the passion of power, and direct their spirit of sedition to the arts of
peace, he knocked down Wamba's famous walls, and according to the
picturesque phrase of the Archbishop Don Rodrigo, 'pretended to turn
arms into spades.'"[5] The only crime the traveller in Spain will find
it difficult to forgive, is this act of vandalism in knocking down
Wamba's walls. He could have exhorted his subjects to practise the arts
of peace, all in leaving these great walls untouched in their monumental
beauty. But this is what the reformers of humanity never will do. They
are never happy until they have sacrificed the picturesque on the altar
of utility. Witiza, we see, was in advance of his age. He was a "modern"
man, a creature of fads and fantasies. This was how he came by his
quaint notion of refining the deplorable morals of Toledo. He could
think of no other way of steming the tide of general sensuality but in
legalising polygamy. So fierce a race fallen into bad habits was hardly
to be sermonised with success. The legal state of polygamy he regarded,
along with Oriental sages, as preferable to indiscriminate and
wide-spread libertinage. It is still a nice question unsolved in
civilised Europe whether several legitimate wives or their unrecognised
substitutes constitute a higher or lower state of morality. Witiza was
only less hypocritical than civilised Europe, that is all. But to
pretend that bigamy is more scandalous than private disorder is absurd.
Witiza's notion of reform may have been primitive and instructive, but
it does not justify the legend of his own evil life. To begin with, if
he had been the degraded sensualist the archbishops and Mariana describe
him, he would not have troubled about reform at all, and he may have had
sound reason for requesting the clergy to marry since historians are
agreed that they had become utterly demoralised.
The same haze of legends blurs for us the figure of his unfortunate
successor, Roderick of the Chronicle. On one side we hear of him as
ascending the throne an octogenarian, on another as the impassioned
lover of the beautiful Florinda, the brilliant president of a brilliant
court; carried to battle in a litter, and riding thither on a legendary
steed, fulgent and valiant; disappearing from the field and
disgracefully hiding in a monastery; fighting like a hero and falling in
the fray. We are told that he was a coward by the pen that depicts him
valorously and recklessly approaching the unknown terrors of the
enchanted palace of Hercules, though Florinda's charming leg is not more
vaporous upon research than the vanished walls of this palace. It
matters little now whether the archbishop Rodrigo's ivory-carven car
drawn by mules carried his unhappy namesake to the fatal field of
Guadalete or the legendary steed flashing its way through mailed ranks.
However he comported himself, he lost his kingdom, and his resting place
is forever unknown.
But the tale of the great tournament with which he started his
disastrous reign, must be told at length as one of the most resplendent
pages of courtly history. Whatever may have been the end of his reign,
he certainly began it in the most sumptuous spirit of hospitality and
generosity yet recorded. Was ever such a tournament given before?
Princes and lords and their followers came in swarms from all parts of
Europe to high Toledo, upon her seven steep hills. Hearken only to the
names, and say if they do not make a page in themselves as delightful
as any of Froissart's. The lords of Gascony, Elmet de Bragas, with a
hundred cavaliers; Guillamme de Comenge, with a hundred and twenty; the
Duke of Viana, with four hundred cavaliers; the Count of the Marches,
with a hundred and fifty; the duke of Orleans, with three hundred
cavaliers; and four other Dukes of France, with four hundred. Then came
the King of Poland, with a luxurious train, and six hundred gentlemen of
Lombardy; two marquises, four captains, with twelve hundred cavaliers.
Rome sent three governors and five captains, with fifteen hundred
cavaliers. The Emperor of Constantinople, his brother, three counts, and
three hundred cavaliers came, as well as an English prince, with great
lords, and fifteen hundred cavaliers. From Turkey, Syria, and other
parts, nobles and princes to the number of five thousand came, without
counting their followers and servitors, and different parts of Spain
alone furnished an influx of fifty thousand cavaliers. What a poor
affair our modern exhibitions and sights, even the Queen's Jubilee, seem
after reading of such a brilliant and stupendous gathering of guests at
King Roderick's court of Toledo.
He was, as I have said, a King to visit, with nothing of Spanish
inhospitality about him. He ordered all the citizens to sleep without
the city walls in the ten thousand tents he had fixed in the wide Vega,
and give up their houses to his foreign guests. Be sure he paid them for
the sacrifice in princely style, for out of Eastern fable never was such
a prince as Don Rodrigo, the last of the Goths. All the expenses of the
foreigners, including their mounts and armour, were his, for they were
not permitted to use their own lances, swords, armour or horses. Never
were guests entertained with such prodigious splendour. He ordered
palaces to be built for them, and laid injunctions on builders,
furnishers and purveyors to spare neither expense nor luxury. The whole
Peninsula was scoured in search of armourers and iron-workers, and over
fifteen hundred master armourers with their apprentices and under-hands
were hastily gathered together in Toledo in more than a thousand[6]
improvised iron-shops, working for six busy months at shields and lances
and exquisitely wrought damascene armour for every lord and knight, the
guest of their king. Each guest on arriving received, as well as house
and board, his horse, full armour, shield and lance. The tourney opened
on a Sunday, and presented such a scene as imagination alone can depict.
We are not told the precise spot, but we may suppose the quaint
three-cornered, the ever irresistible Zocodover. Rasis el Moro records
each guest's formal reply when asked if he desired to fight? "For this
we have come from our lands; firstly, to serve and honour these feasts;
secondly, to see how they are carried out; thirdly, to prove your body,
your strength, and learn what you are worth in arms."
Hearing of these great feasts, the Duchess of Lorraine, persecuted by
her brother-in-law, Lembrot, came to Toledo to implore Rodrigo's
protection. Rodrigo received her with cordiality, and lodged her in the
royal palace, and as official defender charged Sacarus with her cause.
Lembrot was called to Toledo to meet the Duchess's knight, and came with
a great train. He, too, was generously entertained, and pending the
clash of steel which was to decide the quarrel between Lembrot and the
Duchess, the Queen gave a sarao, which was even a more brilliant and
gorgeous spectacle than the tourney. Fifty ladies danced with fifty of
the greatest lords, and never was such a constellation of European
titles joined in a single diversion. The ladies' names are not recorded,
but there were in the first dance the King of Poland, the French prince,
the Emperor of Constantinople, the son of the King of England (simply
called _el hijo del Rey de Inglaterra_), the Spanish infante, the Duke
of Viana, the Duke of Orleans, the Count of the Marshes, the Marquis of
Lombardy, and Count William of Saxony.
This enchanting moment preceded bloodshed, for on the next day the two
uncles of Lembrot were killed by Sacarus, thus proclaiming the innocence
of the Duchess to whom Lorraine was then restored, and, along with other
fallen knights, lay the King of Africa. The dead were buried with great
pomp at the expense of their splendid host, and thus ended a tournament
surely without equal as a spectacle in history. The chronicle of Don
Rodrigo devotes nearly a hundred pages to this picturesque event.
The most prominent episode in the life of the legendary Rodrigo is his
famous intrigue with Florinda. We are told that Count Julian, Governor
of Ceuta, sent his daughter to be brought up at Court, where she was in
a sense the King's ward. Nothing remains in history to support this
tradition, for it is now asserted it was never the Gothic habit to have
the daughters of absent noblemen brought up at court as the sovereign's
wards. Then we hear of the Cava's baths, where Rodrigo, from his palace
windows, overhanging the river outside the Puenta de San Martin, beheld
her bathing. Inspection proves these ruins to be the old foundation of a
bridge, nothing more. The story of the Cava dates from the fourteenth
century, when an Arabian writer, Aben-en-Noguairi, in a volume called
_El Limita de la prudencia en las reglas de la prudencia_, gives the
legend. The historian Gamero thus defines the word _Cava_ as applied to
Florinda in explanation of her condition of violated maiden. Caba
proceeds from Caat, an Arabian tribe that came to Spain in Wamba's
reign, descended from Heber of Jewish origin. When the Jews at the
seventeenth Council of Toledo, under Egica, were ordered to be
destituted and sold as slaves, while their children were to be taken
from them and forcibly brought up as Christians, the saying was that the
_Caba was violated_, that is, that this entire tribe, forced to become
Christian in preservation of its wealth and property, had prostituted
itself. From the current phrase, the historians applied the word to a
particular woman, and poetically named her Florinda. From Eve downward
all her daughters have had to share her fate in supporting all the blame
of human disasters. Neither war, defeat, nor blunder nor wreckage of
nations or of individuals is accepted by man as properly and adequately
explained, if some woman is not the man's or the nation's evil genius.
Unprompted by woman, man is a serene and prudent animal, and but for
Florinda, who never existed (though the historians gravely reproduce a
touching and eloquent letter of hers to her father recording in fine and
dignified phrases the story of her wrongs, and beseeching her father to
vindicate her outraged honour and punish the unworthy King), the last of
the Toledan sovereigns might have ended his days in his bed, and,
undesirable fate for Spain! the Moors might never have crossed the
narrow strait. As Gamero says: "Ultimately the story of Rodrigo's guilty
love for a lady of the palace was created." A lady's name once
introduced, it followed a fatal and romantic legend should be invented,
and what prettier than conversion of the broken bridge on the enchanting
marge of yellow Tagus into a syren's bath, with Rodrigo, the inflammable
warrior, fresh from his encounter with dethroned gods and their
emissaries in an enchanted palace, looking down on the maiden as she
disported in the water from the windows of his luxurious Gothic palace?
The legend once started, it is inevitable that the traitor should
follow, and hence the elusive and mysterious figure of Count Julian, who
advances into the picture on a mission of paternal vengeance, and
treacherously opens the gates of Spain to the predatory Berbers. The
Turks had entered Spain, and it needed some other explanation than
national pluck, enterprise and determination to account for their almost
unopposed approach towards Toledo; and what so likely an instrument of
misfortune as the mythical father of the fabulous Florinda? So history
was written, in all faith in those naïve days. Don Faustina de Bourbon
remarks that this fable was not heard of before the dominion of the
Asturian monarchs in southern Spain; not until the Cid took Valencia,
and Alonzo basely seized Toledo, the kingdom of his Moorish protector
and host. Such fables accord with the childish, superstitious yearning
and need to associate the land's misfortunes with the personal
iniquities of those who rule it. Roderick may have been no saint, and
small blame to him in those grossly immoral times, but we need not
attach to his shoulders the packet of national sins and disorders.
Because the abuses among the clergy and the nobles had reached a
repulsive depth of infamy, and public morals were in a lamentable state,
is no reason to insist on his violation of Florinda, or refer as the
Viscount Palazuelos does in his modern guide-book of Toledo, in an
excess of unromantic austerity and disdain "to the guilty loves of
Rodrigo and Count Julian's daughter."[7] There is no proof whatever
that Rodrigo was the wretched sensualist the historians delight to
paint. His crime was (and that the Gothic race shares with him) that he
unworthily lost a large kingdom to a small invading force, and his shame
lies in his inexplicable defeat.
But for traitor there was never any need to invent Count Julian (whom
the Père Tailhan insists was a certain Roman Urban who accompanied
Tarik, and whose name was distorted into Julian), nor Florinda.
Treachery existed nearer home in Witiza's family. Rodrigo had deposed
Witiza, and the usurper was repaid by the treachery of Witiza's sons and
his brother, Oppas, foolishly thinking the Berber raid would only prove
a transient panic which would permit them to dispossess the usurper, and
claim Witiza's throne. Instead of a mere raid, the invasion turned out
one of the most astonishing conquests of history.
Rodrigo's army was immense; Tarik's only numbered twelve thousand men.
The battle took place on the banks of the Wadi-becca; it lasted a week,
beginning on July 19th, 711. Two wings of the Spanish army were
commanded by Witiza's worthless sons, chiefly manned by malcontents and
their serfs. So when the commanders ordered their men to give their
backs to the enemy, there was no difficulty on the question of
obedience. The centre, commanded by Rodrigo, stood its ground valiantly,
but unassisted, at length gave way, and the Turks literally hacked the
Christians to pieces. It was an appalling massacre. Rodrigo's fate, as I
have said, remains unknown. Did he fly, was he killed? Did he sink into
the marsh where his embroidered saddle and silken cloak were found? We
hear on one side that Roderick disappeared mysteriously from the
battle-field; on the other, that he fought valiantly and when forced to
retreat, did so, fighting his way step by step, sword in hand, and fell
with his face to the enemy as befits a soldier. He was supposed in this
version to have been buried at Visein, and 160 years later, Alfonso the
Great, in reconstituting that fallen town, discovered the dust of the
defeated monarch with the inscription on a stone--_Hic requiescit
Rudericus (ultimus) rex Gothorem_.[8]
It is idle now to ask what is true in all these conflicting accounts, or
stop to ask which statement is the right one, that Rodrigo was a gallant
prince in the prime of life when he began his short reign of one year,
or, as an Arabian historian has asserted, a sick and feeble old man of
over eighty.
His defection or disappearance completed the catastrophy, the most fatal
and final in the record of any land, and Tarik profited by the
circumstance. Both malcontents and Jews joyfully received him and threw
wide open the gates of Toledo to his advance. Hither he came with fresh
laurels gathered at Ecija, surrounded with the flower of his army, while
he sent around detachments against Cordova, Archidme, and Elvira.
To the Jews he owed his easy conquest of Toledo, and the Goths alone
were to blame for this. It was only natural the unhappy and persecuted
Jews should welcome any foreign invasion that helped to deliver them
and sweep their brutal oppressors into obscurity. Witiza's clemency was
too isolated a fact in Gothic rule to be remembered by them or to
inspire the faintest hope for continued tolerance. The next monarch
might even prove worse than Sisebuth or Egica. It was safer to rely on
the Moor, who would probably remember their good-will, and would hardly
maintain a prejudice against them in favour of the Christians. As for
the nobles and prelates, they lost their heads and flew northward. The
city was speedily emptied of all the Goths who had the means of flight.
Most of the patricians emigrated to Galicià; the archbishop retreated to
Rome, and in payment for their treachery, Witiza's sons claimed land to
the extent of three thousand farms, which Tarik granted them. Oppas,
Witiza's brother, was named governor of Toledo, until Tarik's splendid
victory brought over from Africa Musa, infuriated and jealous. Instead
of thanking his lieutenant, he acknowledged his services by publicly
horsewhipping him when the dismayed victor came submissively to meet him
at the city gates.
CHAPTER III
_Toledo under Moslem Rule_
"It must not be supposed that the Moors," writes Mr Lane Poole in his
"History of the Moors in Spain," "like the barbarian hordes who preceded
them, brought desolation and tyranny in their wake. On the contrary,
never was Andalusia so mildly, justly, and wisely governed as by her
Arab conquerors.... All the administrative talent of Spain had not
sufficed to make the Gothic domination tolerable to its subjects. Under
the Moors, on the other hand, the people were on the whole contented--as
contented as any people can be whose rulers are of a separate race and
creed--and far better pleased than they had been when their sovereigns
belonged to the same religion as that which they nominally professed....
What they wanted was not a creed, but the power to live their lives in
peace and prosperity. This their Moorish masters gave them.... The
Christians were satisfied with the new regime, and openly admitted that
they preferred the rule of the Moors to that of the Franks or the
Goths."
Toledo alone, true to its character of rebel, met the Moors in an
attitude of violent resistance. The Jews had opened her gates to the
invaders, but the exact date of the fall of Toledo into Saracen hands is
unknown. Historians differ, but keep within the dates 712 and 719. The
town capitulated with considerable advantages. She maintained her right
to hold arms and horses, and all the citizens who remained were secured
perfect freedom, but those who left the city forfeited their property
and rights. The citizens were inviolable in their houses, their
orchards, and farms, and the annual tribute levied by the Moors was a
very moderate one. The free exercise of religion was permitted, and the
Christians were allowed seven churches by the State, Santa Justa, Santa
Eulalia, San Sebastian, San Marcos, San Lucas, San Torcuato, and Santa
Maria de Alficin. But they were not allowed to build others without
permission, nor were processions or public ceremonies allowed. They were
left to the observance of their own laws and customs, subject to
sentence at the hands of their own judges, but were exempted of
Christian punishment if they chose to accept their conqueror's creed.
Tarik, entering Toledo, found it almost empty, but for the Jewish
colony. Most of the inhabitants had taken refuge among the steep and
rocky mountain-passes outside the city. Only a few noble families had
decided to remain and make the best of Moslem rule. In the royal palace
Tarik seized twenty-five golden and jewelled crowns, and amongst the
vast Gothic treasure, the psalms of David, written upon gold leaf in
water made of dissolved rubies, and Solomon's emerald table wrought in
burnished silver and gold, which the Arabian chronicler describes as
"the most beautiful thing ever seen, with its golden vases and plates of
a precious green stone, and three collars of rubies, emerald, and
pearls." This sumptuous table is said to have been one of the causes of
quarrel between Tarik and Mûsa, the latter holding his brilliant
lieutenant as responsible for the missing golden leg. Whither have this
emerald table and the psalms of David written in dissolved rubies on
gold leaf been spirited? We have the crowns of the Gothic kings still;
why not the table of Solomon fashioned of material just as enduring?
The first quaint episode after the conquest of Toledo is the marriage of
Mûsa's son, Belacin, with King Roderick's widow, Blanche. Mûsa decided
upon the marriage in his high-handed way, and Doña Blanche bitterly
complained in Belacin's presence of the indignity offered her in this
incongruous union. "Good mistress," said Belacin, in protesting
affability, "do not fret, for by the law we are permitted to have seven
wives. If it can be settled, I would have you for my wife as each one of
these; and all the things that your law commands a man to do to his
wife, will I do unto you. And for this, do not lift your voice in
complaint, for it will be to my honour that all who wish me well shall
serve you well if you will consent to be the lady of all my wives."[9]
The poor wives, we may imagine, had the worst of the bargain. Blanche
naturally could not forget that she had been sole Christian queen, the
president of the greatest tourney of the age, and her first exaction was
that the Moorish Court should kneel to her. Belacin yielded to her every
wish, and bade his nobles cheerfully humble themselves. He went so far
as to order the palace gates to be closed to those who refused to
prostrate themselves before Doña Blanche as she sat in foolish state
awaiting their obedience in a lofty chamber, with a crown on her head
and a royal mantle about her. How wild and strange this must have seemed
to the Moorish wives in their latticed harem, fugitive and hidden
articles of pleasure, and what a preposterous innovation in the eyes of
the astounded courtiers! This haughty attitude on the part of a captive
Christian raised to the Moorish throne by the good nature and affection
of a Moor, who might have condemned her to servitude and indignity, so
angered the Moors that Isyed, the ruler's son-in-law, spread the report
that Belacin had become a Christian, and then murdered the unfortunate
as he knelt to pray in the Mezquita.
For a time, Toledo was a secondary town under the Saracens, infatuated
as they were with Seville and Cordova. The latter town was chosen as the
Khalif's residence and thus became one of the wonders of the world.
Meanwhile Toledo stormily sulked. Abandoned to herself, she grew to be a
thorn in the Moslem side. No sooner conquered by one chief, she rose up
furiously against the next, and in 763, we find Cassim, her Moorish
ruler, so far impregnated with Toledan principles of independence, that
he declined to recognise the sovereignty of Cordova. So that Abderraman,
when he came to rule over the Spanish Arabs, found himself confronted
with the necessity of conquering Toledo anew, and was compelled to send
a fresh army to besiege it. The old city was by this wearied of Cassim's
tyranny and gladly capitulated to the more distant sovereign in 766.
When Abderraman came to visit the town in person, he left behind him as
wali, his son, Suleiman. But his conquest was an unstable one. Toledo's
history at this time is a monotonous tale of broken peace and futile
revolt. She yielded to one Moor only to rise up against the next. An
Arabian chronicler has asserted that no subjects were ever so mutinous
and unruly. But the Moors respected her, not only for her formidable
strength, for her ramparts and fortresses, but also for her renown and
prestige, for the learning of her prelates and the kingly authority of
her great archbishops. And so the old Gothic capital remained for them
"the royal city." The popular poet, Gharbib, kept the new Sultan in awe
and terror, and was careful to maintain the revolutionary fires blazing
in constant menace. As long as he lived, the Sultan did not dare to
complain of the haughty and intolerable Toledans, but when he died Hakam
summoned up courage to address them as their sovereign, and try a
policy of conciliation. He chose for their governor a renegade
Christian, one Amron of Huesca, the worst choice he could have made.
"You alone can help me to punish these rebels who refuse to acknowledge
a Moor for their chief, but who will perhaps submit to one of their own
race," he said to Amron, who was officially recognised as governor of
Toledo in 807. The Sultan wrote to the Toledans: "By a condescension
which proves our extreme solicitude for your interests, instead of
sending you one of our own subjects, we have chosen one of your
compatriots." The Toledans were speedily to receive immortal proof of
the special delicacy of this attention. There exists no more shameless
and inconceivable barbarity in the blood-stained pages of history than
this same Amron's horrible method of cowing a haughty people. He began
with the arts of beguilement, and left nothing undone to win the
confidence and affection of the Toledan nobles. He feigned with them an
implacable hatred of the Sultan and their conquerors, mysteriously
asserted his faith in the national cause--that is Toledo's
independence--and by this was able, without exciting suspicion, to
quarter soldiers in private houses. Without difficulty he obtained the
town's consent to build a strong castle at its extremity as a barrack
for his troops, and then, to show their confidence in him, the nobles
suggested the very thing he wanted, that the castle should be raised in
the middle of the town. When the fortress was built, Amron installed
himself therein with a strong guard, and then sent word to the Sultan,
whose heart by this was well hardened against the sullen and untameable
Toledans. Troops were speedily gathered from other towns, and set
marching upon the royal city. The young prince, Abderraman, commanded
one wing, and the others were commanded by three vizirs. Amron then
persuaded the unfortunate nobles to accompany him to meet the Sultan's
son outside the walls. The nobles plumed themselves on their power and
value, and gaily set out to visit the young prince, who received them
splendidly. After a private consultation with the vizirs, Amron came
back to the nobles, whom he found enchanted with the prince's kindness
and courtesy, and proposed that they should invite Abderraman to honour
the town with his visit. The Toledans applauded the proposition to
entertain a prince with whom they were so satisfied in every way. They
had a governor of their own nationality, they enjoyed perfect freedom,
and Abderraman had personally won them. In their innocence they besought
an honour now desired. Abderraman acted the part of coy visitor,
delicately apprehensive of giving trouble, but finally yielded to the
persuasion of such genial hospitality. He came to the fortified castle,
and ordered a great feast to which all the nobles and wealthy citizens
of Toledo were invited. The guests came in crowds, but they were only
permitted to enter the castle one by one. The order was that they should
enter by one gate, and the carriages should round the fortress to await
them at another. In the courtyard there was a ditch, and beside it stood
the executioners, hatchet in hand, and as each guest advanced, he was
felled and rolled into the ditch. The butchery lasted several hours, and
the fatal day is ever since known in Spanish history as the _Day of the
Foss_. In Toledan legends it has given rise to the proverb _una noche
Toledana_, which is lightly enough now applied to any contrariety that
produces sleeplessness, headache, or heartache. But only conceive the
horrible picture in all its brutal nakedness! The gaily-apparelled
guest, scented, jewelled, smiling, alights from his carriage, looking
forward to pleasure in varied form; brilliant lights, delicate viands,
exquisite wines, lute, song, flowers, sparkling speech. Then the quick
entrance into a dim courtyard, a step forward, perhaps in the act of
unclasping a silken mantle; the soundless movement of a fatal arm in the
shadowy silence, the invisible executioner's form probably hidden by a
profusion of tall plants or an Oriental bush, and body after body, head
upon head, roll into the common grave till the ditch is filled with nigh
upon five thousand corpses. Not even the famous St Bartholomew can
compete with this in horror, in gruesomeness. Compared with it, that
night of Paris was honourable and open warfare. It is the stillness of
the hour, the quickness of doing, the unflinching and awful personality
of the executioners, who so remorselessly struck down life as ever it
advanced with smiling lip and brightly-glancing eye, that lend this
scene its matchless colours of cruelty and savagery. Beside it, few
shocking hours in history will seem deprived of all sense of mitigation
and humanity.
The place of this monstrous episode is said to have been the famous
_Taller del Mora_, now a degraded ruin. Suspicion was first aroused by a
doctor, who had strolled out to watch the arrival of all these
distinguished citizens come to the feast of the Moorish prince. Having
time to kill, he decided to stay and see the departure, but as the hours
went by, and no one came out by the door so many had gone in by, while
report carried him the fact that the other door had not yet opened for
the exit of a single guest, he began to express his fears to the
loungers gathered round him to watch for the end of the entertainment.
Alarm was quickly spread. Who, after all, were these brilliant strangers
but the enemy armed, unscrupulous and powerful? Apprehension was
strained to its utmost tension, when the doctor shouted, as all began to
perceive the rising of a heavy vapour: "Unfortunates, I swear to you
that that vapour is never the smoke of a feast, but that of the blood of
our butchered brethren."
Never was a town so completely stupefied by a moment's blow before. Not
a single voice was lifted in protest. Toledo, on ordinary occasions, so
resentful, proud, rebellious, was simply prostrate from emotion and
horror; and in her stunned and terrorised condition the Turk might have
done what he willed with her. She was bereft of tears, bereft of
reproaches, of will and force. The remaining citizens dared hardly speak
of the dreadful occurrence in whispers among themselves, so heavily
gripped were they by the nightmare of reality. Now, whether the young
prince or the sultan was aware of the Wali's atrocious design remains
for ever a mystery. How far were they accomplices? To what extent did
they reprove the action? We are told that Amron took Abderraman into his
confidence before the feast, and protested loudly in upholding his
design as a justifiable measure, since the Toledans were such a harsh
and unmanageable race, and its nobles so insupportable and dangerous,
and that the young prince demurred to such ruthlessness of method, and
begged the Wali to be prudent and not bring unnecessary odium upon
Moslem rule. This precisely would seem the deep design of Amron's double
treason. Did he wish to accumulate fresh odium on his adopted race, or
pay off old scores by one fell blow on his forsaken people? Anyhow, we
are glad to learn that he was deservedly punished. After a while the
town woke up from its stunned resignation. The Toledans shook themselves
out of their trance of horror; met once more in the Zocodover, talked
fiercely together, and remembered that they too could be ferocious with
less provocation than this last outrage, and from the Zocodover the
murmur broke out and travelled along the outlying streets and remote
little markets, and down by the river among the armourers and
silversmiths. The people rose up, and swooped willingly down upon Amron,
and burnt him and his castle. And surely never was vengeance more holy.
But in spite of siege, insurrection, and temporary surrender, which were
the constant conditions of public life in Toledo, the town increased,
and Moorish influence began to show itself triumphantly in architecture
and in horticulture. Gardens spread along the Vega, and Arabian palaces
brightened the sombre landscape. Both Jews and Christians were becoming
enormously rich, and the Wali, Aben Magot ben Ibraham, decided to raise
the tribute of the Christian merchants and persons of means. This was
quite enough to quicken the slumbering fires of revolt, and a young
Toledan, Hacam, nicknamed _El Durrete_, striker of blows, resolved to
expend his great wealth in assisting to fan the flames. Like every other
Toledan, he thirsted for an excuse for sedition, and called his
fellow-conspirators together in the market-place. There it needed
nothing but a judicious use of strong language to induce the people to
fling stones and shower blows on the unfortunate palace guard, so handy
to the Zocodover, and from blows was only a step to the massacre of all
the officials and seizure of the Alcazar. Reprisals naturally followed,
and Hacam, routed for the moment, retired to devise a fresh attack. He
sent abroad the report that he had gone off to make a raid upon
Catalonia, and kept his spies on the look-out for the first signs of
relaxed supervision. The instant he found the town-gates unlocked, he
poured his men silently into the city at night, and recovered Toledo
without a blow, and set fire to the greater part of the upper town. In
834 the sultan sent Omaiga to besiege the seditious town, but the
Toledans repulsed him triumphantly, and Hacam was practically the
uncrowned king of the city. Skirmishes continued with success, now on
one side, now on the other, but always leaving Toledo unsubdued.
Maisara, a renegade Spaniard in command of Moslem troops, routed the
Toledans outside the walls, and died shortly after his victory, of
remorse and shame, when the soldiers, according to a hateful custom,
presented him with the heads of the slain.
In 873 discord broke out anew between the renegades and the Christians.
A Toledan chief, Ibn Mohâdjir, offered his services to the commander of
Calatrava, and Walid, the sultan's brother, was charged to direct the
siege, which lasted a year. An envoy of Walid stole secretly into the
town, and discovered the famished and weakened state of the inhabitants,
urged capitulation, which advice was rejected. But the envoy's report of
the people's misery induced Walid to press on a vigorous assault, and
once more was Toledo tamed and taken, and Amron's fatal castle rebuilt.
Later fresh troubles hailed from Cordova, whither came Eulogius burning
for martyrdom, and exciting the Christians to exasperate the Moslems
into persecution. We know that left alone the Spanish Arabs were not in
the least given to religious persecution. The Christians were free to
practice their religion, and in Toledo lived tranquilly under Mozarabe
law. Only the condemned Christian might always appeal from the Mozarabe
tribunal to the Moslem Judge, who could grant him immunity. This was no
very great hardship, for in general mediæval law made it too easy to
kill and too difficult to reprieve. No masters have ever been more
tolerant than the Moors, and it needed all the blind and unreasoning
fanaticism of Eulogius to discover persecution and a means of forcing
martyrdom. The surest method naturally was to revile the False Prophet
in public, and insult every instinct and prejudice of the conquerors.
This was to prove oneself a saint in those far-off days, while now we
should pronounce a distinctly different opinion on such proceedings. So
Eulogius, with his lamentable tales, fresh from his romantic parting
with the martyred Flora, fired the Toledans with indignation, and again
they took up arms under Sindola, arrested their Moorish governors, and
sent word to the Sultan at Cordova that his life would answer for that
of their fellow-Christians. They declared war, took Calatrava, which the
Sultan retook in 757, filed through the Sierra Morena, and defeated the
Moors at Andujar. Mohammed assembled his troops and marched against
Toledo in June 854, when Sindola turned to Ordoño, king of Leon, for
help. The Christian king sent a large army to Toledo under Gaton, Count
Bierzo. The Moors, by a false assault and retreat, drew Gaton and the
Toledan troops into an ambush, where girdled by Moslem forces, they were
massacred to a single man. Over 8000 Christian heads were stuck on the
walls of different towns, and for a time was Toledo again cowed. But she
took her revenge in electing as archbishop, on Wistremir's death, the
Sultan's impassioned enemy, Eulogius, and this time to punish the rebels
the Sultan resorted to a stratagem worthy of Amron of the Foss renown.
He began to undermine their bridge while his own troops occupied it, and
before the operation was completed, he withdrew his men, thus inveigling
after them the rash Toledans. The bridge split, and the unfortunate
rebels were drowned in a heap in the deep and sullen Tagus. An Arabian
poet triumphantly sings the infamy: "The Eternal could not allow a
bridge to exist built for the squadrons of miscreants. Deprived of her
citizens, Toledo is mournful and desolate as a grave."
But a people that could shake off the nightmare stun of the day of the
Foss could rise above this blow. Toledo had resisted for twenty years,
and she was not yet conquered. Leon was at her back, and its king was
her proclaimed knight. In 873 she forced from the Sultan a treaty
acknowledging her as an independent Republic under annual tribute, and
concluded an alliance with the famous Beni Casi of Aragon, a great
Visigoth family converted to Islamism, who sent Lope, the chief's son,
to Toledo as consul.
Then came to the throne of Cordova the great Khalif, Abd-ar-Rahman III.,
and Toledo was to discover that here was a very different enemy from the
incapable generals that had hitherto striven in vain to subdue her. Here
was a mighty commander who was not to be daunted by her frowns and her
wild spirit, and whose patience and dogged determination she was to find
the match of her own. Genius alone could quell her, and genius came in
the handsome and valiant young monarch who would win her or die. First
he sent a royal order, commanding her to surrender to him her rights as
a free and independent Republic, and humbly acknowledge him as liege
lord. This Toledo roughly and proudly declined to do. Her reply was
couched in terms of evasive menace, for eighty-four years of freedom,
under the protection of the Beni Casi of Aragon and the King of Leon,
had taught her to regard herself as an enemy to be duly reckoned with.
Then the Sultan sent his general vizier, Said-ibn-Moudhir in May 930 to
open the siege, and in June he joined him with the flower of his army,
and encamped on the banks of Algodor near the Castle of Mora. Here he
forced the commander to evacuate, and placed his own garrison in the
fortress before advancing on Toledo. He began by camping in the cemetery
and burning the outlying villages, and then, in order to show the
Toledans the kind of man they had to deal with, he proceeded to build a
town on the opposite bank of the Tagus, exactly fronting the royal city,
on a mountain side as high as hers. Here he and his troops dwelt for
eight years, persistent and unswerving, calling the town he built
"Victory" in anticipation of the inevitable result. A siege of eight
years! what a tale of magnificent determination and stupendous force of
will and endurance on both sides. Which to praise most, wonder most at,
the Toledans or Abd-ar-Rahman? What a town, what a Sultan! With such a
watchful power outside the walls, the marvel is that famine so long
delayed its fatal presence; but it came at last, and stalked the gaunt
dim streets and humbled the city of the Goths as no other force or
persuasion could have done, and after years of accumulated sufferings
and privations, bereft of pride and strength and dignity, she yielded
her haggard front to the Sultan's swift assault, as soon as he knew her
power undermined, her patience at bay, and by nightfall the heads of her
insurgent chiefs were grinning lividly over the Puerta de Visagra.
After the great Khalif's death, the town recovered a partial
independence, and remained, until the Christian Conquest, a kingdom
apart under the rule of tolerated Arabian princes, independent of
Cordova. Successive feeble efforts to win her prove ever unavailing, and
she continues to glower above the river in unquiet and mutinous temper,
while the princes make believe to rule and do but obey, proud but
fearful of so uneasy a charge. Her rulers during the unsatisfactory
eleventh century were: Yaîch-ibn-Mohammed-ibn Yaîch, till 1036; Ismail
Dhafir, till 1038; Abou-I-Hassan Yah[^y]r Mamon, till 1075; and Yah[^y]a
ibn Ismaïl ibn Yah[^y]a Câdir, till the conquest.
The most picturesque episode is that which leads to the downfall of the
demoralised Moslems. Alphonso of Leon, escaping from the monastery of
Sagahun, fled to Toledo and besought the hospitality and protection of
the Moorish King Almamon. The generous and courteous Moor gave him
considerably more than shelter; affection and all the outward show of
his rank. Persecuted by a Christian brother, he was nobly befriended by
a loyal enemy, whose generosity he ill repaid by treachery and
ingratitude. Almamon gave him the Castle of Brihuega, and constituted
him the chief of the Mozarabes, that is the Christians of Toledo under
Moorish rule. Furthermore, he bestowed on him farms and orchards outside
the town on the bank of the Tagus, and a residence within the walls near
his own Alcazar. At the Moorish court of Tolaitola, as the Arabs called
Toledo, the proscribed prince was granted all the honours of his rank.
Alcocer tells us that in return Alphonso swore to be loyal, not to leave
Toledo without permission, and to fight all men of the world for the
Moorish king. Almamon, on his side, swore to treat Alfonso well and
faithfully; to pay him and all his people. Alcocer, with quaint
garrulity, describes the king's fondness for hunting, and his delight in
fresh green places and luxuriant foliage, and his great sadness in
looking across from Brihuega to Toledo, and contemplating the
possibility of such a strong and beautiful town falling once more into
the hands of the Christians. The story runs that one day Almamon visited
his guest at Brihuega, and in the gardens the courtiers began to
discuss the marvels and attractions of Tolaitola, "that pearl placed in
the middle of the necklace, that highest tower of the empire."[10] From
this the talk fell upon the probabilities of its being attacked, and at
this point Alphonso, lounging beneath a tree, feigned sleep. The Moorish
prince described at length the only way of taking the town, and his plan
of siege was well remembered by his treacherous guest. The courtiers
glancing anxiously at the sleeping prince asked themselves if his sleep
were real, and to try him began to pierce one of his hands with shot.
Still unconvinced, they begged the king to order him to be killed, but,
says Alcocer naively: "Our lord kept him for his greater good, and would
not hear of this." When Sancho was murdered by Bellido Dolphos at the
foot of the walls of Zamora, Alphonso left this friendly court with the
blessings of its sovereign, who offered him money, arms, and horses, and
escorted him part of the way as far as Monuela, separating with embraces
and vows of eternal friendship on both sides. Both swore never under any
circumstances to war on opposite sides, but each to assist the other in
all difficulties with hostile powers. Alfonso returned to Toledo, and
sent messengers to invite his former host to dinner. The king came, and
found himself surrounded by armed men. Demanding the reason of such a
strange reception, Alfonso replied, "When you held me in your power you
made me swear to assist you against all men, and be your loyal friend."
The Moorish king assented, whereupon Alfonso sent for the gospels, and
swore upon them again, with Almanon in his power, never to fight against
him _or his son_, and to assist him against all the world. Alfonso's
word, it will be seen, was strangely flexible. This spontaneous and
solemn promise to a friend and ally could, with honour, be broken, while
elsewhere his word, compromised by wife and friend, demanded their
instant death by fire. Shortly after Almamon died, and Toledo returned
to its normal condition of disquiet. Flying kings, invading powers,
rivalries and skirmishes, overtures between Moor and Moor, and between
Moor and Christian, all terminated by Alphonso's deliberate baseness in
laying siege to the town ruled incapably by the incapable son, Yahya, of
his late friend and guest, who should have been sacred to him. He
followed the plan of siege so unguardedly suggested by Almanon in the
gardens of Brihuega, and took the town on the 20th May 1085. Yahya and
his court left Toledo, their hardly won and deeply loved Tolaitola, with
their treasure, and went towards Cuenca, mournful and silent, eaten by
regrets and humiliation.
So Toledo, after three and a half centuries of roughly and persistently
disputed Moslem sovereignty, returned to Christian rule. True, she was
always less of a Moorish centre than Cordova, Sevilla, Valencia and
Granada, and glowed less than these in the bloom of its brilliant
civilisation. Her temper was too obstinate and harsh for such flowery
development. But she had so far profited as to gather charm to her
austere beauty. The aspect of her walls had suffered modification and
improvement, and the Moors had built handsome bridges, which alas! have
since disappeared, both the bridge near Santa Leocadia, and that across
the old Roman waterway. In Dozy, a quotation from the Arabian chronicle,
Abou-l-Hasan, tells us how "Alphonso, the tyrant of the Galicians, that
infidel people (that God may cut it in pieces!), seized the town of
Toledo, that pearl of the necklace, that highest tower of the Empire in
this peninsula." He describes Toledo as "a softbed" for Alphonso, and
the people "henceforth resembling docile camels." For docility the
people were not more remarkable than before, and as for the softness of
Toledo as a royal bed, its quality of ease and security never wavered,
whoever wore the crown and wielded the sceptre. Alphonso residing "up
among her high walls," had his own troubles to face, just as had Cadir,
Yahya ibn-Dzin, who gave her up to him. "May God renew her past
splendour," cries the Arabian chronicler, "and write her name again on
the register of Mussulman towns!"
The weak and unfortunate Yahya accepted Valencia in exchange, which he
was not destined long to keep, thanks to that magnificent hero, el mio
Cid, the Campeador.
CHAPTER IV
_The Last Period of Toledo's Story_
The start of Spanish rule in Toledo was clouded and stormy. The Cid was
named the first Alcalde, and the Castillians expressed their
dissatisfaction with Mozarabe law, which was the Gothic law of Toledo.
They clamoured for Castillian Judges and the Castillian _fueros_ or
privileges. The King granted their request in all civil cases, but in
criminal cases decided that every citizen should be subject to the
Mozarabe Alcalde, and in case of death the first application for burial
had to be made to the Mozarabe authorities, who gave permission to the
Castillians to consult their own. But slowly the word Castillian came to
be employed in Toledo in place of the more picturesque designation
Mozarabe.
After the conquest, Alfonso left his French wife, Constance and the
French archbishop, Bernard of Cluny, as regents in Toledo, and hurried
off on the usual business of war to Leon. Now one of the conditions on
Yahya's surrender of the city was that the Mezquita, formerly the
Christian Cathedral, should remain in the hands of the Moors, as their
place of worship. But neither the queen nor the archbishop approved of
this clause, and could not conceive that a promise given to the
reprobate Moslem should be held as binding. So the King once gone, the
queen gave orders, and the archbishop headed his followers, and took
the mosque by force. Great, naturally, were Moorish outcries against
Christian perfidy, and word of the atrocious deed was instantly conveyed
to Alfonso, who hurried back from Leon, sending word before him that his
intention was nothing less than to burn alive the queen and the
archbishop. For a King who had scandalously broken the laws of
hospitality, and who had no intention of helping to maintain Yahya on
his throne in Valencia, according to his solemn engagement, this was
making a mighty mountain of a smaller offence, and placing a
disproportionate price on so fragile and fugitive a thing as his honour.
The Moors were so dismayed by this assurance, that their indignation
evaporated and gave way to pity and terror for the delinquents. The
Alfaqui went out beyond the city walls to meet the irate monarch, and
plead their cause. Seeing him from afar, Alfonso, misinterpreting his
purpose, cried out: "Friends, this injury is not done to you but to me,
since my word is compromised, which I have ever guarded with all my
power. But I will so act that neither she nor others will again dare to
commit such audacities." The Alfaqui, kneeling to the Spaniard,
exclaimed in the name of his co-religionists: "My lord, we well know
that the queen is your wife, and if she should die for our cause, we
should be abhorred of all men. And the same should the archbishop die,
who is the prince of your law. We of our will beseech you to forgive
them both, and we freely relieve you of the oath by which we hold you,
so that in all things else you are true to it." Thanks to Moorish
generosity, neither the queen nor the French archbishop was burnt alive,
and the Mezquita became the Christian Cathedral we may see to-day. As a
mark of gratitude, "the good Alfaqui's" statue was ordered to be placed
in the _Capilla Major_, an honour
[Illustration: THE CATHEDRAL]
shared with the mysterious pastor _de las Navas_, a shepherd, supposed
to be the instrument of that victory. The Church was solemnly
consecrated in 1087, and then it was that Toledo had the misfortune to
fall completely under French influence. To Bernard of Cluny's ill-judged
introduction of the Roman liturgy may be traced the Inquisition. The
quaint old Gothic rite was ordered to be abolished in favour of the
Roman Breviary. Aragon and Navarre yielded at once, but Castille held
out for the Isidorian ritual, and excitement ran high in Toledo, the
very heart and head of the Gothic rite. Nothing could make her willingly
faithless to the severe and simple Mozarabe service, inherited from the
early Christians. Hers was the primitive form of worship of Christians
when Christianity was still fresh and unformed, before Rome had
introduced its dazzling magnificences of ceremony. Both the clergy and
the people ignored the decree forbidding the Mozarabe ritual, and
steadily rejected the Latin. Then the French archbishop resolved to put
the matter to the test of the sword, and if that did not settle it, to
that of fire. He called these tests "the Judgment of God." A duel was
fought consequently, under the eyes of all Toledo, which left the
Judgment of God on the side of the Mozarabe ritual. This did not satisfy
the archbishop, who found that the Almighty had erred, so he lit a big
fire on the public place, the precursor of the terrible fires that were
to follow, in which Spain was to burn out all her glory and greatness.
The historians do not agree in their reports. The Archbishop Rodrigo
says, "_exustus ibi fuit liber Gallicus; rumansitque ibi toletanus
illæsus_." Alfonso the learned says: "both books were cast into the
flames, and the French office struggled with the fire that endeavoured
to devour it, and then gave a leap over all the flames, and jumped out
of the bonfire, seeing which, all gave praise to God for the great
miracle He had deigned to work; and the Toledan office fell into the
flames without any harm, so that no part of it was touched by the
flames, and no injury was done to any part of it." This appears to have
settled the dispute: the Toledans were allowed to preserve their ritual
in six parishes reduced now to two. Cisneros, a century later, founded
the Mozarabe Chapel of the Cathedral, and ordered the printing of the
ancient office with its queer primitive chaunt, and in the eighteenth
century, Cardinal Lorenzana had another edition of the text printed. The
traveller curious to know how the old Goths prayed in the days of
Recesvinthus and Wamba, of St Isidor and St Ildefonso, may hear the old
service any morning in the Mozarabe Chapel. The rite was probably more
impressive in the days of the great councils of Toledo than in ours.
Though first Castillian Alcalde of Toledo, the Cid is not associated
with the town by any picturesque or splendid deed. His great
achievements belong to the story of other towns. Here is only recorded
of him a sordid domestic quarrel. Alfonso convened the Cortes to
consider the Challenger's differences with his miserable sons-in-law,
the infantes of Carrion, and the meeting took place in the beautiful
palace of Galiana--
"La mora mas celebrada
De toda la moreria."
The Cid came with his kinsmen, Alvar Fañez, and twelve hundred
cavaliers. The king rode two leagues beyond the city gates to meet him,
and when the Cid had kissed his hand, embraced him. When informed that
he was to dwell in the royal palace, the Cid protested against the
excessive honour, and asked for himself and his suite the castle of San
Servando. The king and the Cid together rested at the posada, and then
rode on to the palace. Here carpets and gold brocade lay along the
walls, and in the middle of the great chamber the splendid and
richly-wrought throne; close by it was the Cid's celebrated marble bench
brought from Valencia, and round it a hundred shields of hidalgos. Day
and night, while the case lasted, this bench was guarded, and in the
_Cronica del Cid_, it is described as "a very noble and subtle work."
It was covered with the richest of gold cloth. When the king, followed
by the Infantes of Carrion, and all the court, entered the palace
chamber, the uncle of the Infantes began to cast ridicule upon the Cid's
famous bench, whereupon the king sternly rebuked him: "You who are
jeering, when have you ever sent me such a present?" Instead of wasting
their time in jealousy of the Challenger, why did not the rest of his
subjects accomplish such noble deeds as his, he wondered. The Cid was
then called, and when he entered the chamber, the king rose up and
welcomed him. Amidst profound attention, the Cid solemnly pleaded his
case. He demanded that the Infantes should give up to him their
dishonoured swords, Tolada and Tizona. This the Infantas haughtily
refused to do, upon which the king ordered the swords to be taken from
them, and given to the Cid. The Cid kissed the king's hand, and both sat
down, the king on his throne, and the Cid on his marble bench. The Cid
then, a passionate father, eloquently told the roll of his wrongs and
his daughters' injuries. He reminded the king that he it was who had
made these lamentable marriages. "It was you, señor, who married my
daughters, and not I, because I could not say you nay. But you did it
for their good, not for their doom." He demanded the return of his money
from the Infantes and an explanation of their evil conduct to his
daughters. He became so violent from grief and indignation that the king
thought fit to interfere, and while recognising the justice of his most
bitter complaints, urged him to respect his children in their husbands,
and, in a word, be less personal in public. He then commanded the
Infantes to salute their father-in-law, and the court to pronounce
sentence. The Infantes, worthless scamps, stood and insolently
proclaimed themselves the social superiors of their wives, whom the
choice of princes had inordinately honoured. "Then why," sensibly asks
the king, "did you press me to obtain for you their hands in marriage?"
and proceeds to give the ladies' pedigree to the affronted Cid's
delight. The wretched Infantes were very properly disgraced, when their
discomfort was accentuated by the appropriate arrival of hot messengers
from the kings of Aragon and Navarre, begging in marriage Doña Elvira
and Doña Sol for their sons, Don Sancho and Don Ramiro. In those odd and
delightful times, divorce seems to have been a matter of royal judgment
or caprice. Spanish sovereigns, unlike Henry VIII., never had any
difficulty in arranging those little affairs without scandal, or war, or
revolution, either in their own case or in that of their vassals.
Alfonso stoutly advised the Cid to accept proposals that gave his
outraged and forsaken daughters kingdoms instead of obscure retreats,
and bestowed the last affront on the miscreants who had offended him and
them. So the scandal terminated, and the chronicler tells us that "the
Infantes left the palace very sorrowful, and hastened with all speed
back to Carrion."
Alfonso's reign was no quiet one. He had to contend with the fierce
Yussuf and his son, and grief pierced him through his young son, Sancho,
whom he sent to war with Count Garcia of Cabra, when only eleven. Twenty
thousand Christians, along with the brave little prince, lay dead on the
battlefield, and the king's anguish, when the news reached Toledo, was
overpowering. He died soon afterwards, and his body was exposed for
twenty days, for the towns-people to come and gaze upon the remains of
the Christian monarch.
Toledo still remained the centre of Castillian rule. Here the Cortes
was held; here was each Christian monarch proclaimed in a quaint
ceremony that merits description, said to have been transmitted to the
Castillians by the Goths. As soon as the municipality received the new
king's letter, they announced that the royal standard would be raised,
and opened all the rooms of the town hall. Soon the building was crowded
with magistrates, jurors, pleaders, cavaliers and citizens. The streets
and the plazas overflowed with the people in holiday array, all laughing
and excited. The buildings were decorated, hung with beautiful silks and
stuffs, and illuminated pretty much as in our own days. Balconies were
covered with brocade, and from each window fell pieces of rare tapestry.
At eight o'clock in the morning the town was gathered near the
Ayuntamiento to hear the chief scriviner read the deposition, and watch
the lifting of the royal Standard and the new king's banner. The city
then named four commissioners, two officers and two juries, and
despatched them to the Ensign's house, telling him to bring instantly
the royal standard to the town hall. The Ensign took the standard and
went forth, followed by a large crowd of cavaliers, of archers and of
troops, all in full uniform, while the bells rang, and music played, and
the populace shouted. A joyous moment hugely enjoyed by this fierce,
excitable race of Toledans. At the town hall the standard was placed on
an altar, and the commissioners and jurors took their places. Then the
order of the day was read, and all swore allegiance to the new king as
loyal and faithful vassals, and in the kingdom's name the banners were
lifted. The magistrate then kissed the paper and put it on his head,
likewise the rest present, and all shouted response in a single voice.
The bells rang anew, the trumpets blew, and deafening roars of applause
rent the air. Then the chief magistrate thus addressed the citizens:
"Imperial and most illustrious city, kingdom of Toledo, seated at the
head of the monarchy of Spain, would that my brief eloquence could match
my desire--not to repeat your obligations to the king, our lord, since
you are better aware of them than I, which compels us to recognise in
him his most high father and grandfather, of eternal memory, most worthy
kings and our lords, whom your highness always canonised with your
tongue, and forced the remotest nations to obey, fearing your sword of
iron, which is the head of this spotless city, whose arts and letters
are of the first class, and whose cathedral is above all others. But to
be able to weigh and tell your highness on this occasion, that as thus,
by direct succession come to and remain with the king our lord, these
kingdoms and seigneuries, so by the same are due to him, and constitute
part of his heritage, obedience for being as he is, a prince of the best
promise any kingdom has ever had; affable, benign, generous, upright,
Catholic, and gifted with many other virtues. That all this your
highness deserves, and that you may enjoy much happiness, with all
prosperity. Such a king deserves such a kingdom, and such a city
deserves such a king. May his majesty live a thousand years and may your
highness live them with exceeding multiplication." When one remembers
such amiable sovereigns of Castille as Pedro the Cruel, who happily died
in the thirties, this hope of Toledo's chief magistrate seems a
peculiarly grim one. A thousand years of Pedro's reign would have
decimated the entire Spanish kingdom, and left none to-day to tell the
tale. The Alferez (ensign) then replied in the name of Toledo, and the
standard was lifted and carried to the Alferez, who received it
standing, while every head was uncovered. Then the Alferez carried the
standard, followed by a group of officers, and swung it flying from the
balcony, crying in a loud voice: "Hear, hear, hear! Know, know, know;
that this pendant and royal is raised for the king, Don ----, whom God
preserve many and happy years. Amen. Spain, Spain, Spain; Toledo,
Toledo, Toledo, for the king, Don ----, our lord, whom God keep many and
happy years. Amen." The populace shouted 'Amen'; the trumpets blew, and
shrill rough music rent the air. Three times was this address repeated,
the citizens each time shrieking 'Amen' with intervals of triumphant
music, and the banners remained waving until sunset, the Alferez and the
municipality all those long hours mounted guard over the royal and civic
colours. At sunset the standard was solemnly carried to the cathedral to
be blessed, and the entire city walked behind the Alferez and the
magistrates. Trumpeters, minstrels and archers went before, and awaited
the colours at the gate of Pardon, where all the dignitaries of the
church were gathered to receive them. The archbishop, the canons, the
dean, the chaplains and priests, in their richest brocades and lace
surplices, and all the representatives of the town parishes, were there
in state. The dean advanced outside the cathedral gates, surrounded by
deacons, and in a circle behind stood the chaplains and canons with
precious relics. After ceremonious salutations exchanged, the Alferez
followed the dean into the church, and then began the procession of the
chapter and the parishes up the immense central nave to the chapel of
Our Lady of the Star, while the organs rolled their thunderous sound and
the choir solemnly chanted. At the High Altar the dignitaries passed
inside, and Toledo, with the chief magistrate, remained in the wide
space between the altar and the choir, only the standard-bearer entering
the choir with the prelates. Here a chaplain offered him a brocaded
cushion, on which he knelt, while the choir chanted the psalm _Deus
Judicium tuum Regi da_. The standard was blessed, and then the Te Deum
was sung. With the same brilliancy and impressiveness of ceremony, the
standard was afterwards borne down to the brightly hung and festive
Zocodover, and then up the narrow hilly street to the imposing Alcazar.
All the balconies and windows were filled with lace-wreathed women's
heads, and the excitement and enthusiasm were intense. At the gates of
the Alcazar the standard-bearer knocked thrice loudly, and called out:
"Alcalde, Alcalde, Alcalde! are you there? Hear, hear, hear!" Within a
voice as loudly demanded: "Who calls without the gates of the royal
Alcazar?" To which the standard-bearer haughtily replied: "The king."
The gates were opened, revealing an immense and picturesque concourse of
splendidly apparelled knights and men in gleaming armour, a blaze of
brocade and damascene. The standard-bearer cried again: "Alcalde,
Alcalde, Alcalde; hear, hear, hear; Toledo to-day has lifted this royal
pennon for the king, Don ----, our lord, whom God preserve for many and
happy years. And, accompanied by its municipality, it has sent me, its
standard-bearer, to bring it to you as the Alcalde of those royal
palaces, that you may receive it in his majesty's name, and place it in
the tower, which is called the tower of the Atambor." The palace doors
were then closed, and as soon as the pennon floated above the high tower
wall, the Alcalde shouted thrice the same formula as that of the
standard-bearer when he raised the standard above the balcony of the
town hall, and the people below each time responded 'Amen.' The
procession returned to the town hall, and this ended the picturesque
ceremony.
The greatest Toledan figure of this period is the mitred figure of the
conqueror of the battle that virtually demolished the Moor in Spain, Las
Navas de la Tolosa. Rodrigo Jimenez de Rada was more than an
illustrious archbishop at a time when archbishops were rulers of men,
and when the archbishop of Toledo might be said to be the practical
sovereign of Spain. He was a valiant soldier, a commander of genius on
the battlefield, a zealous prelate and an erudite man of letters and
historian. Conqueror of _Las Navas de Tolosa_, no mean victory, since
the Moors were in tremendous excess, conqueror of Quezada, of Cazuola
and Cordova, the honoured friend and adviser of two kings, first of his
day in all things by right of genius, industry and merit, Toledo owes
him something more than Christian victory over the Moor, something far
more immortal and magnificent than that dull and prejudiced monument his
history, so often quoted--La Historia de España--which he wrote in 1215.
It owes him her great, her unique, her matchless cathedral. To have won
the most glorious of Spanish battles--a victory so stupendous,
considering the odds and the results that the great archbishop himself
insisted it was nothing less than due to the intervention of heaven--and
to have built the cathedral of Toledo! What epitaph needs a man who
accomplished two such deeds in a single life? His epitaph, as befits so
illustrious a personage, is simplicity itself:
_Mater Navarra, metrix Castilla Tolatum_
_Sedes Parisius studium, mons Rhodams Horta,_
_Mausoleum, coelum requies, nomen Rodericus._
What a dazzling achievement the lives of these Toledan archbishops,
martial, learned, literary, eloquent, and artistic; every facet of
multiple genius. Now they build ships, then cathedrals, colleges or
palaces. They print rare editions, collect rare MSS., debate in
councils, rule the land, vociferate magnificently from the pulpit,
decide on all questions of education and civil law, advise their
sovereign, guide foreign politics, voyage in foreign lands, win
glorious battles, and write histories and verse! What modern life can
match theirs? Even Mr Gladstone has neither built a great cathedral nor
won a great battle! This Archbishop of Toledo, a mighty chancellor of
Castille, was as charitable a pastor as Victor Hugo's bishop. Indeed,
nothing remains to his discredit as a great and simple nature, but the
unavoidable bigotry and injustice of his history. He died on his last
voyage back from Rome, and was buried, as his quoted epitaph indicates,
in the monastery of Huesta, June 10th, 1247.
Alfonso's crusade against the Moors was followed by dreadful dearth, by
famine and sickness, and the entire ruin of villages and farms. Public
misfortune habitually forges fresh unexpected miseries for man, and
bands of armed robbers and assassins, called _golfines_, descended in
hordes from the mountains of Toledo, of Ciudad Real and Talavera. They
pitched their tents in the outlying woods, and in self-defence the
Toledans formed their celebrated _Hermandad_, a brotherhood of citizens
sworn to persecute robbers and assassins. This brotherhood was so
successful that in 1223 it was qualified as "holy," and was conceded as
a right one head of every flock and cattle that crossed the mountains.
The Society held its feast on St Pedro Advinada's day, 1st August, and
consisted of sixty Toledan proprietors and hidalgoes, whose sons
inherited their office; two governors, a squadron, archers and minor
subalterns elected by the two alcaldes. The uniform was green, with
collar and cuffs of vivid scarlet trimmed with gold, and pointed caps.
The inferior officers wore a loose green garment suitable for the road,
and capes and bonnets of green, without the bright touch of scarlet and
gold, and their uniform may still be seen on a stone station above a
sixteenth century porch in a laneway opposite the Calle de la Tripería,
where the ancient prison of the Hermandad is. They rode in procession,
preceded by timbrals and clarinets, and carried a green banner with the
arms of Castille. It was this brotherhood that Philip II. presented with
a magnificent camp of green cloth which to-day may be seen in the Museum
of Artillery in Madrid, and here the Hermandad received their sovereigns
when they visited Toledo. The success of this brotherhood provoked the
creation of minor fraternities and another Toledan order was started
against robbers, _San Martin de la Montiña_, with similar privileges
granted by royal decree as those of the more famous _Hermandad_. Later,
the Catholic kings instituted the _Hermandad nueva_, of disastrous
memory, formed of one thousand horse and foot with a captain, general,
and a supreme council, whose duties and functions were multiplied and
extended beyond the province all over the unhappy Peninsula. This
brotherhood we know, alas! played a terrible part in the terrible
Inquisition, and hunted down bigger and more historic game than mere
robbers and assassins.
The hum of the Moorish wars ever accompanied the interior war of discord
and turbulent dissensions. When St Fernando entered Toledo as the new
sovereign, he found the town groaning under the tyranny of the wicked
governor, Fernandez Gonzalo. Two girls, one a young lady and the other a
girl of the people, flung themselves before the saintly young monarch to
complain of seduction under promise of marriage. San Fernando, who did
not trifle in these matters, expressed his horror and demanded the name
of the seducer. The instant the governor, Fernandez Gonzalo, was
mentioned, he turned furiously to his men and cried, "Cut me off that
rascal's head this very moment." Within an hour the gallant governor's
livid features were fixed above the Puerta del Sol. Here was a man
without any of the freemasonry of his sex. Death itself was the penalty
he unhesitatingly meted out without debate for wrong done to women. Not
a word of blame for the girls, no compliance to the conventional theory
of gallantry. The man who betrays a woman is a blackguard; then off with
his head, and space for cleaner souls. A little drastic, perhaps, but
conceive our civilised world in the eyes of a San Fernando. Conceive him
presiding over one of our Courts of Justice for the settlement of
breaches of promises! So wise his judgment in the esteem of Toledo that
to-day the historic scene is in relief on the glorious Puerta del Sol.
Under Castillian rule Toledo's supremacy could not continue without
rivalry. First, Santiago had disputed her right to hold her celebrated
councils, and a furious quarrel raged between the Pope, Calixtus, and
the King, Alfonso, as to whether the councils should be held at Toledo
or at Santiago in the north. The pope took the part of Diego the
Galician archbishop, and, for a while, Santiago was regarded as the
primacy of Spain. But, under Honorius, Toledo and her archbishop,
Raymond, recovered their prestige with this time the king against them.
In 1129 a council was held at Palencia. Here Toledo sat at the feet of
Compostella. Charlemagne, himself, is said to have broken a lance in
favour of Santiago which, one knows not by what right, he proclaimed the
head of Spain. Beside the question of the primacy, Burgos put in her
claim for the Cortes, which she held should meet within her walls, and
not on the banks of the Tagus. Here the king was the stout defender of
Toledo. At the great meeting convened to discuss this rivalry, the king
entered the Council Chamber, and haughtily cried: "Let Burgos speak, I
will reply for Toledo." The rivalry of the great families of the Castros
and Laras nearly became a civil war, Toledo fighting on the side of the
Laras, whose chief, Don Manrique, was a character after her heart:
intrepid, dominating and fierce, unequalled in war, untameable in peace.
The little king's uncle settled the dispute by killing Don Manrique de
Lara, and to avenge him Toledo violently conspired through her great
citizen, Stephen Illan, a descendant of the illustrious Byzantine
family, the Paleologos. These animosities were quieted for a while by
the terrible plague and famine that followed quick upon the heels of
victory, and avenged the defeated Moors of Las Navas de Tolosa. Misery
implacably stalked Castille. Seeds bore no fruit for one entire year;
trees were dead and leafless, the land was sterile and the people, wild
with hunger, forsook their dead, their orchards and meadowland.
Of Toledo's private story we get no glimpse. The thunder of battle and
strife roars ever down the pages of her history in the succeeding
centuries, and we continually hear of new breaches in her magnificent
walls, while the trumpets blow their noisy defiance from her mutinous
ramparts. That Toledo was no comfortable place to dwell in then (or now)
we gather from the acrid description of the streets, rivers of mud in
winter, and in summer, waves of dust, full of filth, evil odours, foul
sights and breathing mortal disease. Alfonso the Learned in 1278 ordered
the streets to be cleansed and the plazas to be kept free of dead
beasts. The chapter gave ten thousand ducats for paving the street, but
this was not done until Fernando the Catholic ordered the work in 1502.
Alas! these sanitary improvements heralded the hour of her decline. She
bartered her prestige for improved paths down to the river, and lost the
greater part of her greatness along with her rugged incivility. And for
all her progress she never shook off the old sway of Goth and Moor. She
built churches, but persistently gave them a quaint Moorish aspect, and
when she adopted printing, it was to print the Isidorian office. True,
she exhaled her martial contempt of women in her first profane print,
_El Tratado contra las mujeres_, by Alfonso Martinez de Toledo in 1499.
[Illustration: PUENTO S. MARTINO]
Nobody contributed more than the magnificent Cardinal Tenorio,
Commendador and Master of Santiago, to beautify the town. He built the
cathedral cloisters, and the chapel of St Blas, liberally endowed the
church, built the bridge of St Martin and the castle of San Servando as
well as several convents, the archbishop's bridge, the Hospital of St
Catherine, and a splendid palace at Talavera, which he gave to the monks
of St Hieronymo. He constructed several fortresses along the Moorish
frontiers. Of him is told the legend that once at Burgos he gave such a
princely feast to the nobles of that town, that when the king returned
from the chase there was nothing to be had to eat but a few quail and
bread and wine. The great Tenorio had cleared Burgos of all its
provisions for his banquet.
Toledan laws, which were stringent, were based upon the _fueros_, a
Castillian modification of the Gothic code. Nothing could be more
precise, more minute, more searching in detail of offence and
punishment of all that relates to private and civic life. The very dress
of women, Mozarabe and Castillian, was regulated according to their
social status, the expenses of marriages, baptisms, and funerals
regulated; the expenses of fathers and husbands limited by their income
to prevent injury to the family. The Moors and Jews had their own judges
unless Christian interests were at stake, when they were judged before
Mozarabe tribunals. The Mayor's jury consisted of five nobles and five
citizens. Each court had its magistrate and official staff, and the
municipality met twice a week, Tuesday and Friday, to judge the
decisions in block. The people might assist, but could not vote or
question. The magistrates were salaried, and could not leave the city
unless sent for by royal command. The municipal constitution was
composed of two bodies: _cabildo de regidores_, cavaliers and citizens,
to deliberate; the other, _cabildo de jurados_, sworn to observe the
_fueros_, and to administer justice. The privileges of nobles and
plebeians were distinctly defined and maintained. The _regidores_ were
paid annually 1000 maravedis, and the _jurados_ 1500. Assistance at the
councils was voluntary for the former, obligatory for the latter; a fine
of 20 maravedis being imposed in case of absence, which fines were at
the end of the year divided between the rest of the jurados who had not
once been fined. A juror could not be imprisoned for debt, nor forced to
lend his mules for public service, and his widow and children partook of
his privileges if he died in office. Toledo was always strongly
garrisoned, but its military decline began with the reign of Pedro the
Cruel.
The inexplicable and monstrous tale of Pedro's cruelties need not be
told here. He has become one of the legends of universal history, one of
the nursery terrors of civilisation. That such a monster ever lived out
of a fairy tale, where giants for pure pleasure spend their days
consuming human flesh and marrying wives for the gratification of
decorating secret chambers with hanging corpses, seems incredible. His
palace at Toledo is now a miserable ruin, near the ruin of the
Trastamare palace, of which now only remains the door with the huge
Toledan iron nails, so charming and distinctive a feature along the city
streets. Here was the theatre of many of his stupefying iniquities, as
well as of the single redeeming sentiment of a senseless life, his love
for the unfortunate and beautiful Maria de Padilla, the one pale flower
of romance in a stony and stormy period. Kings' mistresses are not
usually admirable or sympathetic figures, and their mission is not
infrequently fraught with direst results. But this pale little Maria,
with lovely hands and large sad eyes, is the one ray of light and
sweetness amidst violence, cruelty, and perfidy. Such good as love could
work amidst such elements she wrought. When she could she interposed
between Pedro and his victims, and even the outraged wife reveals no
traces of vindictiveness towards her. At the other side of the town, in
the big Alcázar, was imprisoned Blanche of Bourbon, under the care of
Maria's uncle, Juan Fernandez de Hinestrosa, and all that now remains of
her high chamber is the window overlooking a superb landscape. It is to
the credit of Toledo that the citizens were the first to rise up against
Pedro's iniquities. The queen, accompanied by Hinestrosa, entered the
cathedral to pray, and to the dismay of everyone called out "Sanctuary,"
and refused to leave it. Word flew round the town, and all the ladies
and women of the people gathered round the unhappy woman. The knights
and hidalgoes could do no less than follow the lead of their courageous
women folk. They drew their swords, made a circle round her, and walking
thus escorted the queen to the palace gates. The flag of revolt was
instantly raised, and the people called the infante, Don Fadique, to
come and take command. He came with 700 men, and Doña Blanca was
proclaimed free and sovereign. Toledo then sent a commission to the
king, bearing the town's orders: that Maria de Padilla and her relatives
should be banished, and the queen occupy her rightful place. The king
made short work of the commission, and laughed in the face of his
rebellious town. His morals were his own affair, and if they did not
suit his people they must hold their tongues until he had time to cut
off their heads. Meanwhile Henry of Trastamare and Don Fadique had taken
the town by the bridge of St Martin. They sacked and pillaged, robbed
Samuel Levi, Pedro's great and wealthy treasurer, and murdered 1200
Jews. Then came Pedro, and the Trastamares fled, leaving what remained
of the town to the mercies of the ruthless royal troops. Toledo paid a
heavy price for her chivalrous defence of the discarded queen. The
unhappy woman was again locked up in the Alcázar, and like the wicked
ogre of story, Pedro, entertained himself by hacking off the heads of
those around him. Twenty men were decapitated in a single day by this
mild monarch, whom Philip II. called _El justiciero_, and of whom the
_Cronica_ writes:
"El gran rey, Don Pedro, que el vulgo reprueva,
Pos serle enemigo quien hizo su historia,
Fue digno de clara y muy digna memoria."
These verses quotes the prelate of Jaen, Juan of Castro, who
rehabilitated Pedro, by asserting that he only "wrought justice upon
rebels," and who laments the baseness of his assassination at the hand
of the worthless Trastamare, a vile termination of a vile life, in
which one regrets to see as accomplice one of the old heroes of our
youth, Du Guesclin. The list of Pedro's cruelties and assassinations is
stupendous. He married women and cast them aside at will, without even
the troubles of our English Henry. Shortly after his marriage with the
unfortunate Blanche of France, he married Juana de Castro, sister of the
Portuguese King, yet neither France nor Portugal went to war, and the
Church did not interfere. He instantly abandoned Juana, and returned to
Maria de Padilla, whom he always acknowledged as his sole wife, and
whose children he named his heirs. There can be no doubt that he
passionately loved these little girls of Maria, taking them with him as
his most precious treasure when he travelled, and leaving in their
behalf a will, so tender and precise, so burthened with anxiety for
their welfare, that his life becomes a greater enigma than ever after
reading it. Beatrice he named queen, to the detriment of his legitimate
son by Juana de Castro. His love for Maria de Padilla was no less deep
and lasting. She was buried with royal honours, and at the Cortes
convened after her death, he publicly, and it must be admitted with a
manly devotion and courage that does him credit, acknowledged her as his
wife. Here his wilfulness becomes a virtue, and we are touched by his
unswerving love for the woman, of whom the churchman, Lozano, writes,
"in her little body heaven had placed great qualities and merits of the
highest order." His real love for Maria is all the more extraordinary,
since he was one of the vilest libertines, who burnt women alive for
refusing his addresses, and in his conduct to his unfortunate French
wife, he showed himself nothing less than insane. The hero of Mr
Meredith's modern novel, "The Amazing Marriage," is a model of
conventional behaviour to a bride beside Don Pedro the Cruel. After
torturing her he murdered her, which explains the attitude of France
towards him, and the sorry figure of the great Du Guesclin at the
tragedy of Montiel.
Toledo only roused herself out of stupor in the first gaieties of Juan
II.'s reign. This prince preferred song and dance to bloodshed. He heard
of the people of Toledo as insupportable, haughty and rebellious, and
came to conquer them by luth and feast. Never was Toledo so gay before.
The great Alvaro de Luna, the Constable of Castille, was beside him, and
the city danced and sang, and feasted itself into oblivion of terror and
disaster. Even a war with the Moors was an added and pleasurable
excitement. King John prayed and watched in the cathedral all night like
a knight, and there was a solemn ceremony next day, when Vasco de
Guzman, before the magnificently apparelled king and constable, kissed
the royal standard and banners. Still grander feasts on their return
fresh from conquests at Granada and Cordova; there was the great Te Deum
in the cathedral, and the bullfights by torchlight on the Zocodover, and
by day feasts and tourneys in the brilliant Vega. Here begins the
rivalry of the celebrated Toledan families, the Ayalas and the Silvas,
and the quarrels of the Constable of Castille and Pedro Sarmiento, in
which the meaner figure wins. The Jews, too, were persecuted in a
monstrous crusade provoked by the bigoted and atrociously unchristian
eloquence of that most unsympathetic of saints, Vicente Ferrer. Under
his lead, the Christians seized the beautiful little synagogue, Santa
Maria La Blanca, an act of injustice it would be difficult to explain by
any pronouncement of Christ, himself a Jew. But all was not black at
this period, despite perfidy, cowardice, betrayal and persecution. Juan
II. was fond of rivalry and bright apparel, and his splendid victim,
Alvaro de Luna, remains one of the finest figures of Castillian
history. John himself dabbled in poetry, and patronised letters. He
instituted a kind of Provençal Court, and one of his contemporaries was
the celebrated Marquis of Villena, Henry, the man in advance of his
time, man of science and scholar, mathematician and reader of the stars.
Later, alas, his valuable library and his writings, treasures of
erudition and memory, were publicly burnt at Madrid, by order of Fray
Lope Barriento, a Dominican, who accused him of witchcraft, and Juan de
Mena wrote his famous "Coplas" to the memory of the great and learned
marquis:
"Aquel que te ves estar contemplando
En el movimiento de tantas estrellas,
La fuerza, la bra, el orden de aquellas,
Que mide los cursos de cómo y de cuando,
Y ovo noticia filosofando
Del movedos, y de los comovidos
De fuego, de razos, de son de tronidos,
Y supo las causas del mundo velando:
Aquel claro padre, aquel dulce fuente,
Aquel que en el Cástalo monte resuena.
Es Don Enrique, Señor de Villena,
Honra de España y del siglo presente.
O inclito sabio, autor muy sciente!
Otra y aun otra vegado te lloro,
Porque Castillo perdio tal tesoro
No conveido delante la gente
Perdio los tus libros sin sea conveidos
Y como en exequias te fueron ya luego
Unos metidos al avido fuego,
Y otros sin orden no bien repartidos.
Cierto en Atenas los libros fingidos
Que de Protagoras se reprobaron
Con armenia mejor se quemaron
Cuando al senado le fueron leidos."
Here as elsewhere the nobles and people of Toledo were constantly at
loggerheads, though it would be difficult to say on which side reason
preponderated. Now it was the Silvas who sided with the rebels, then
the Ayalas who opened the city gates to them. One Ayala, mayor of the
town, rode to meet an invading infante; the infante reproached him
insolently, on which Ayala flung back his words, and turning rode into
Toledo to shut the gates in his face. They were not to be trifled with,
these haughty Toledans. In a measure their prince was their valet, and
was subject to insult upon provocation.
The same may be said of the artisans. There exists a Toledan proverb:
"Soplaré el odrero alborazarse ha Toledo." Let the ironmonger (or
pot-maker) blow and Toledo will rise up. This proverb dates from the
time of John II., who begged the Toledans to supply him with a certain
amount of maravedis towards the expenses of his wars with Aragon and
Navarre. The people indignantly refused, and the first to hiss the
Toledan note of revolt was a maker of iron pots. Previously someone had
discovered a Gothic inscription which proved that the ironmongers of
Gothic days were the centre of urban revolution, hence the proverb
proving their traditional contumelious disposition.
King John's love of poetry produced two Toledan poets, praised by Dr
Pisa, Antonio de Heredia, a poet who "added rare glory to the Castillian
muse" (probably an ancestor of the French academician, Jose Maria de
Heredia) and a woman, Aloysia de Sigea, whose portrait may be seen in
the Biblioteca provincial de Toledo. The fame of her erudition travelled
to Portugal, and she is said to have written fluently in Latin, Greek,
Hebrew, Syriac, and Arabian, though with so inconceivable a lack of
decency that her muse to-day is not translateable in modern tongue. Doña
Luisa Sigea of Toledo, and her witty daughter Doña Angela, were called
"women philosophers," and their depraved works are supposed to be
founded on the traditions of a mysterious association discovered under
John II. at Sevilla, "a bizarre school whose immorality is understood by
the terms of the law that prescribes it."[11]
Alvaro de Luna found the Toledans no easy subjects to deal with. Pedro
Sarmiento constituted himself chief of the revolution against the mighty
Constable, and instead of a great lord the people had to do with a mean
and avaricious hound. Don Alvaro appointed captains his sons, Pedro de
Luna and Fernando de Rivadeneira, and ordered them to cross the river
and besiege the town by the Puente de Alcantara. Sarmiento sent 50
horses and 500 foot out by the Puerta del Cambron under his son to
surprise the Constable's forces near the river. A fierce battle ensued,
and the King himself had to make conditions for the Constable with the
violent and haughty citizens. Sarmiento demanded that the Constable
should be given up or the King resign, and roundly accused his sovereign
of weakness and favouritism. The King demurred, upon which Sarmiento
invited his son to come and reign, but Henry soon found that he was only
a tool in Sarmiento's hands, and left the city in dudgeon, to return
speedily at the head of an army to crush the too powerful Sarmiento.
Ordered to leave Toledo, Sarmiento loaded two hundred beasts with gold,
silver, jewels, carpets, brocade, silk, and linen he had robbed of the
citizens he oppressed, and to the prince's shame the impudent thief was
permitted to carry off his treasure unmolested. The execution of the
great Constable, infamously abandoned by his friend and sovereign, did
not secure peace and content to rebel Toledo.
The state of the town in the succeeding years was so terrible that the
citizens sent the Bachelor Fernan Sanchez Calderon to supplicate the
king's interference, and enable them to possess in security their goods
and products of those who had beaten, robbed, and ruined the town. The
King declined to interfere himself, and expressed surprise that a man of
such marvellous learning and science as the bachelor should come on such
an errand. To the King's rebuke, the bachelor replied: "God forfend,
illustrious lord, that I should hold as worthy of your majesty's
attention such things, but I accepted this embassy to make manifest to
your excellency the evil things that are being done." The King retorted:
"It is my duty to punish evil, not to reward it."
Temporary peace came with the union of the two powerful houses of Ayala
and Silva, in the marriage of Doña Maria de Silva and Pero Lopez de
Ayala. But King Henry's entry into Toledo aroused the old lion. The
alarm bells rung, and the citizens rushed armed to the bishop's palace,
where the King was. Fearing bloodshed, a squadron of cavaliers rode hot
haste to the palace and begged the King to leave the city, and he went
forth surrounded by the reconciled Ayalas and Silvas. To all the
troubles that followed between Isabel and Henry, Toledo added more than
her share. One moment the nobles held the town, and then the people,
both parties ever opposed in interests, allegiance, and both in reality
caring greatly more for their own archbishop, their real sovereign, than
the throned king who ruled all Castille. With two parties contending for
the crown of Castille, Isabel and the _Beltranaje_, Henry's acknowledged
heiress, his wife's but not his own daughter, sympathy ran high in
Toledo on both sides. The Marquis of Villena attempted to capture the
Princess Isabel, but was defeated by the vigilant archbishop, who
collected a body of horse, and carried her off to Valladolid. Never were
betrothal and marriage solemnised under more romantic and thrilling
circumstances than were those of Isabel, Shakespeare's "queen of earthly
queens," the sole majestic and perfect sovereign of Spain, and Ferdinand
her unworthy husband, whose single virtue lay in the admirable way
during her lifetime in which he seconded her rule. In gratitude for
Toledo's sympathy, the great queen visited the town immediately after
her marriage, but the scenes of her triumphs and glory lie elsewhere.
There is but one blot on them, due to her husband and the terrible
Torquemado, the introduction of the Inquisition into Castille. This was
shortly before the great Cortes held at Toledo, 1480, where the salutary
measures of reform instituted by her were such to leave her subjects
awestruck in admiration of her genius. But there were the Portuguese and
the Moors calling her attention, with blare of trumpet and shock of
steel, while Toledo's true sovereign was the great Cardinal, the
Cardinal of Spain, Mendoza. Gallant, learned and liberal, a _grand
seigneur_, he was in every way in contrast with his austere successor,
Cisneros. He was not unfamiliar with illicit love and its complications,
and acknowledged two sons, Iñigo de Mendoza, and Diego, Count of Melito.
His gifts to various cities in the shape of palaces, churches, colleges,
jewels and rich church ornaments, were incredible, while Toledo
possesses his most beautiful Hospital of Santa Cruz. He left all his
wealth to this hospital, appointing Queen Isabel his executor. He it was
who waved the royal standard from the highest tower of the Alhambra
after the taking of Granada, and, better still, counselled Isabel to
lend a friendly and helpful hearing to Columbus. His library was the
most magnificent of mediæval Spain. Philip II. was in treaty to purchase
this rare collection for the Escorial, and a correspondence exists
between his secretary and the vicar of Toledo, Maese Alvar Gomez. It
afterwards fell into the hands of Cardinal Loaysa, and was valued at
twenty thousand ducats. Mendoza employed a staff of writers in copying
and transcribing rare MSS., the chief of whom was a Greek, Calosynas, a
pupil of Darmarius.
We approach the last hours of Toledan history. The great queen's death
revealed the worthlessness of her husband, and the unfortunate Juana
became the victim of the vilest conspiracy between the three men to whom
she should have been most sacred. First her father, not willing to step
down from the throne of Castille to make way for his daughter, decided
to proclaim her mad. Then her husband, won over by promises of Fernando,
consented to accept the situation, but was cut off suddenly, after the
agreement, poisoned it is said, by Fernando's orders. Then the heartless
young prince, her son, resolved to carry on the infamous persecution, in
order to reign in her stead, and kept the poor woman nearly fifty years
in a dark comfortless chamber, ill-treated by her keepers, the Marquis
and Marchioness of Denia, with no communication with the outer world.
The story of Juana _la Loca_, to whose perfect sanity Cisneros and her
confessor, Juan de Avila, testify, is one of the saddest of history.
In 1505, the Marquis of Villena received orders to place Toledo under
Flemish rule. The town murmured rebelliously, and as soon as Philip died
at Burgos, declared itself independent. The nobles, headed by Silva and
Ayala, met and swore that under no consideration should the sword or any
artillery be employed to keep the peace. The Silvas held the gates and
bridges, but the Ayalas, exasperated by the dominance of their old
rivals, talked the townspeople into a rising, and bloodshed ensued. The
Silvas conquered, flung the magistrate and his party out of the city,
and the streets were strewn with wounded and dead. On Fernando's death,
Cisneros became the regent of Castille, with Adriano of Utrecht and
Armestoff. Cisneros filled the town with militia, and the ramparts
glittered with steel. Now Toledo's pet aversion was a uniform. She liked
to fight, but in her own rough, free-lance style. So she rose up against
the cardinals, and after a futile rebellion, in which neighbouring towns
engaged, was speedily quelled. But the insurgents within her gates kept
muttering of treachery on Charles' side and of his unhappy mother. So
Toledo, "the crown of Spain and light of the whole world, ever free
since the high reign of the Goths," decided to fight for the queen, and
depose the tyrannical young Charles. Insolent verses rang round the
town, jeering at Xebres the favourite:--
"Doblon de à dos horabuena estedes,
Que con vos no topó Xebres."
"Señor ducado de à dos
No topó Xebres con vos."
"Salveos Dios, ducado de à dos
Que Monsieur de Xebres no topó con vos."
The favourite had to fly from the city, and when his nephew, William of
Croy, was appointed to the great see of Toledo, there was a frantic
explosion. Everything combined to excite indignation. Austrian fashions
were adopted to please Charles, goods were imported from every foreign
port to the detriment of home productions, and Toledo, that employed
over ten thousand workmen in silk factories, was nearly ruined by the
royal decree limiting the use of silk, and forbidding the use of Spanish
embroideries of gold, and silver, and rich brocade. This tyranny brought
about the famous rising of the _Comuneros_, under Juan de Padilla.
Padilla is the greatest figure of mediæval Toledo. Historians delight
in him as a true hero, brave, gallant, honourable, wise, a perfect
hidalgo, as romance paints him, punctillious, unaffected and pious. The
worst his bitterest enemies ever said of him was, that he played second
fiddle to his heroic wife, Maria de Pacheco, and coveted the mantle of
Master of Santiago. His influence over the citizens and people was
immense. For a single word of his, 20,000 workmen armed themselves, and
stood round him. They named him captain-general of the combined forces
of the _Comuneros_, with Francisco Maldonado in command at Salamanca,
and Juan Bravo in command at Segovia. Toledo seized all the outlying
towns and villages, and her voice of command reached to the Portuguese
frontier and as far north as Valladolid. The cruelty and treachery
practised by the Imperial army, with the prince of perfidy at its head,
were such to send all Castille vigorously marching behind the heroic
Padilla. War once set a-going, Padilla went down to Tordesillas to see
the queen. Toledo remembered that the outraged sovereign had been born
within her walls, and despatched her gallantest son with words of
sympathy and allegiance. At a sign from Juana, he was ready to translate
the junta from Toledo to Tordesillas, and make a rampart of his men for
her protection. He forced the gates, and learnt the miserable tale of
the queen's compulsory detention and sufferings, and found that "she was
in her right senses, and quite as capable of governing as her mother,
Isabel." To every urgent prayer to sign the decree proclaiming her
inviolable rights, and her son's base usurpation, she answered "that all
that she has is her son's." "The queen," wrote Hurtado de Mendoza to
Charles, "spoke nobly to the rebels," and adds that he regards her as
"perfectly sane."
While Padilla was being worshipped as a popular idol at Valladolid,
jealousy and disunion were working against him at Toledo. Great men had
joined the people and Padilla, the Duke of Infantado, the Marquis of
Villena, Juan de Avila, and many prelates and knights. They had
imprisoned the King's messengers and ministers in the Chapel of St Blas,
and forced the governor to swear fealty to the _Commindad_. The mayor
defending the Bridge of St Martin had fallen, and the Silvas, guarding
the Alcázar against 4000 men, were forced to evacuate when the
insurgents burnt down the gates and walls, and were masters of all the
fortifications. They made canons of the church bells, stopped up every
entrance by the river, and defied the Imperial army. Such a proud and
congenial hour for Toledo. All the citizens went about puffed up with
glory and addressed one another as "Brutus," swaggering abroad, and
ready to ring the bells as soon as word came from Tordesillas that the
queen had signed.[12] Padilla hurried back, hearing his wife was ill,
and in his absence the Imperial army sacked Tordesillas. Jealousy as
usual had weakened the force of the Comuneros, though Padilla's gallant
presence impelled them to some brilliant skirmishing. But their fate was
sealed at Villalar, where the Conde de Haro defeated them, and took
prisoners to the Castle of Villalar, the infamous Ulloa's property,
three noble gentlemen of old Castille, Padilla, Maldonado and Bravo,
whose names are writ upon the walls of the parliament house of Madrid,
and printed large upon the hideous page of Charles Quint's early reign.
Padilla's noble letters of farewell to his wife, Maria de Pacheco, and
to Toledo, may be seen in the archives of Simancas, letters full of
stately sentiment, of dignified tenderness and virile pathos. History
proudly records his rebuke to Bravo's last lament as they walked to the
gallows: "Señor Juan Bravo, yesterday it befitted us to fight like
cavaliers; to-day it befits us to die like Christians." Their heads were
exposed over the gates of Toledo, and then flung into the river.
Maria de Pacheco, "the great widow," as a Spanish poet calls her, still
held the town against the Imperial army. She was found praying at the
foot of the cross when her servants brought her the news of Padilla's
defeat and death. She rose, robed herself in black, and walked to the
Alcázar between her husband's lieutenants, Davalos and Acuña, who bore a
standard representing Padilla's execution. They named her captain of the
insurgents, and found her implacable and violent, but still a sovereign
commander. She took gold from the churches without any compunction,
ordered the massacre of her enemies and their bodies to be flung over
the castle walls, but could liberally admire gallantry in an enemy too.
Pedro de Guzman, wounded, was carried into her presence. He had fought
magnificently, and she ordered him to be treated well. When cured, she
offered him the command of the _Comuneros_ which he indignantly refused,
whereupon she gave him freedom and paid for his carriage, only asking
him to free any Toledan who should fall into his hands. A generous if a
ruthless enemy! Her influence over the town was extraordinary. The
Imperialists and _Comuneros_ met in a violent clash upon the Zocodover.
On one side shouts of _Viva el rey_; on the other, _Padilla y
Commindad_. Too ill to walk, Maria was carried out in a chair into the
midst of the conflict, and cried out loudly, "Peace! Peace!" Her cry was
enough. There was no need of eloquence, of menace, of adjuration. One
single word and a look, and swords were sheathed as by magic, and both
parties, in pacific rivalry, enthusiastically escorted her back to the
Alcázar where she was throned a queen. She it was who interposed between
Charles and Toledo, and obtained the town's pardon. But the dead
remained unforgiven, and Padilla's palace, by royal decree, was levelled
to the ground, and the place is now an ugly little square planted with
acacias, without even the tablet that used to mark the spot where the
house stood. The great widow died in exile in Portugal. Her flight from
Toledo was worthy of her romantic career. Dressed as a villager, by dead
of night, she stole out of the town to join her knights in the silent
Vega. Here a horse awaited her, and the little band, gallantly guarding
a brave woman and the baby son she clasped in her arms, Padilla's
proscribed heir, made for the Portuguese frontier. With this heroic
figure vanishes the last gleam of Toledo's greatness.
Charles V. came here, and had some liking for the town, since he rebuilt
the Alcázar with its magnificent staircase, but did not live to enjoy
it, and his wife, Doña Isabel, died here. To him Toledo owed the great
water works of Juanelo Turriano, the wonder of the times, a machine
composed of tin cases pinned together and rising in file from the river
to the castle. The water entering the first case was pushed into the
second by wheels, and thus up to the castle, where it fell into a
reservoir. This _artificio_ is written of in Paris in 1615 in
"L'Inventaire général des plus curieuses recherches des Royaumes
d'Espayne": "Là tu verras le grand, fort et mémorable Alcázar, où l'eau
monte en grande abondance par un artifice admirable, qui rejaillit de la
rivière du Tage. A ceste invention est semblable celle que fit faire
Henry le Grand d'heureu mémoire sur le Pont Neuf de cette bonne ville de
Paris où il y a deux belles figures de bronze, l'une de Jésus Christ, et
l'autre de la Samaritáine. Il n'y a que cette différence que l'eau de
Tolède monte deux fois plus haut que l'autre, et jette aussi gros que le
corps d'un boeuf."
But henceforth Toledo is an effaced figure among Spanish towns. She is
no longer the Imperial city or the Royal town, and is only a great
historic memory.
CHAPTER V
_The old Spanish Capital, once and now_
The tale of Toledo's rough and broken history, ending as I have shown
with the last struggle of the _Comuneros_, will have amply prepared the
reader for the town's present physiognomy. Few cities in Europe that for
so long were accustomed to opulence and power, have known a reverse so
instantaneous, so complete, an extinction against which all effort, all
hope, all aspiration have proved vain, as that which Toledo was crushed
beneath, when Felipe Segundo chose miserable, ugly, undistinguished
Madrid for his country's capital. Until then the vicissitudes, the
fortunes of Toledo were those of all Spain. Even now in her ruin, the
violent and imperious character of the race remains imperishably stamped
on the harsh, sad mixture of beauty and ugliness of her conservative
features. But the country itself takes no note of her. She has lived,
she lives no more, except in the memory of historians, for the fugitive
admiration of the traveller.
Unchanged I have said she is in all respects; a perfect mediæval picture
in high relief against the background of civilised Europe. Nothing less
civilised will you find along the least traversed byways of our modern
world. Of her ancient splendours she presents such vestiges as to shame
all that the ages have done for us. In beauty, alas, we have not
progressed. That remains behind along with many other divine things,
the portion of this sadly-used old world's bright morning. Such vast
centres as London and Paris are mean enough compared with what such a
town as Toledo must have been when her semi-royal archbishops flourished
and kings were proud and delighted if she but smiled upon them, more
used as they were to her frowns and her visage of haughty revolt; when
the Jews throve, great capitalists, and ruled the Exchange, when the
Muezzin was heard over her narrow streets and the crescent floated from
her towers, and her weekly markets in the Zocodover were so thronged
that magistrates had to preside at the coming and going of strangers,
such was the influx on all sides. If the town wears so unique and
imposing an aspect after centuries of silence and decay, what must it
not have been in each of its great hours of domination, under Goth,
Moor, and Christian?
Would that Toledo were but the mausoleum of regrets and memories. There
is a dignity and charm in noble widowhood, a grandeur in unobtrusive
poverty. But such is not her portion. She has become the home of the
most shameless and persecuting beggary it has been my lot to see. All
over Italy and Spain beggars thrive in the sun of winter and in the
shade of summer. But here they are worse than a plague of mosquitoes.
Castillian good-nature, a grand manner in money matters, and courtesy,
vanish at Toledo, where a sullen discourtesy and importunate mendicity
reign. The people reverse every notion travels in North Spain and Old
Castille had led me to form of the Spaniards, of their kindliness, of
distinguished honesty, and of disinterestedness. The Toledans regard the
foreigner with the eye of the bird of prey. The instant his foot touches
their ground they pounce upon him, and he knows neither rest nor
freedom from their mercenary and dishonest attentions till the train
carries him away from their mean little station. It is not safe to ask a
question of even a well-dressed Toledan. If he tells you to take the
right instead of the left, he is sure to ask you either for a tip or
alms. But you may rest assured he regards himself entitled to one or the
other. All the boys of whatever class, bourgeois or artizan, coming out
from the Institute with sachels slung over their shoulders, or running
errands, well-shod and clothed, along the streets, at the sight of a
foreigner shriek out "Un canki sou" if they imagine they know French,
and "cinco centimes" when they are content with Castillian. If you take
no notice, they will pursue you in a vituperative procession, and not
scruple to fling their caps, ay, even stones at you. Other Spanish towns
are proud and noble in their decay, Toledo is unhappily degraded and
brutalised. She has no commerce, no stir, no money. She has no
communication with the outer world except through the travellers who
briefly pass her way, and upon whose exploitation she lives. She has no
standard of civilisation. Her object is to make every foreigner pay for
every step he takes along her rude and inhospitable pavements. The
people have no desire whatever to make a good impression, no pride in
the hope that the stranger shall go away and speak them fair in remote
parts. They neither want his good opinion nor his sympathy; but they
want as much of his money as they can get. The ill-will is general.
Canons, citizens, sacristans, guides, interpreters--all appear to be in
a secret league to multiply difficulties and exact tips. Only the common
women, all over Spain the cream of the race, retain something of Spanish
good-nature and courtesy. If Spain should ever be redeemed and lifted
once again to her old position as a nation of the earth--for now she is
but a squalid and disorderly province--it will be due to the persistent
amiability and kindliness of the women of the people. These want nothing
but intelligence to make them the equals of the French, and here the
intelligence is only dormant. It would take so little to develop it, and
they are so unconsciously the better half, in such pathetic and humble
ignorance of their superiority to their pretentious mates. So little
love have the people for anything that is graceful, or charming or
pleasant, that the guitar-players would not dream, as they wander down
the dark romantic streets at night, of thrumming their guitar for mere
pleasure. They must be paid a real (2-1/2d.) before they will play a
single air, and then of the shortest, and if you wish them to continue
you must continue producing reals at intervals. I have not heard any
good playing here, and the music is of the vulgarest, but such as it is,
in a dead town without a single distraction or break in the night's
monotony, one would gladly pay a peseta to hear undisturbed a little
Toledan music. But no. They have no artistic desire to please before
receiving payment. Their mean terror is of playing a bar that shall go
unpaid for, and for this reason they stop in the middle of an air and
spoil their effect.
But perhaps we should not grumble, great a blot on an impressive
landscape and down streets that have not altered since the spurred and
belted centuries, as this grasping and mendicant race is.[13] With a
different people Toledo must surely have changed her physiognomy, and
taken on a more civilised and prosperous air. And though this would be
her gain, it would assuredly be our eternal loss. The city as it stands
is one of the oldest and most interesting of Europe. Coming straight to
it from Nuremberg, a painter has told me that Nuremberg seemed new and
artificial beside it. The streets, so terrible for the modern shod foot,
could not well be other than they are, taking into consideration the
fact that the town is built upon seven rocky peaks 1820 feet above the
sea. Perched so high, one has no right, even in the face of electric
light, with which we could better dispense, to expect comfortable
circulation. As a matter of fact, you do not circulate. You tumble down,
and you climb up; you twist round high-walled passages the natives call
streets and seem to understand, and your walk is little better than an
undignified limp. The feet of the people through the influence of
centuries, no doubt, appear to be impervious to the lacerating effect of
pointed stones, and you have nothing to do but rise superior to the
sensation of pain if you can; if not, to groan in private. But you are
so well repaid by every step you take, that you have no claim upon
sympathy.
Was ever city so strongly placed, so superbly fortressed as Toledo must
have been in Roman, Gothic and Moorish days? We need nothing but her
gates to tell us this, though all her great successive walls have been
thrown down. Let us gather from her historian of the beginning of the
last century, Dr Francisco Pisa, some idea of the town's features after
the Christian conquest, since we can only hope to seize fragmentary
notions of the splendours of Moorish rule, and the rudest suggestion of
Gothic sway. The life of the city then, as now, spread from the
Zocodover, word of inexplicable charm, said to be Arabian and to
signify "Place of the Beasts." To-day even it offers us quite a fresh
and startling study of the famous picaresca novel. Down the picturesque
archway, cut in deep yellow upon such a blue as only southern Europe can
show at all seasons, a few steps lead you to the squalid ruin where
Cervantes slept, ate and wrote the _Ilustre Fregona_. So exactly must it
have been in the days Cervantes suffered and smiled, offering to his
mild glance just such a wretched and romantic front. In the courtyard
muleteers and peasants sit about, and above runs a rude wooden balcony,
in the further corner of which was Cervantes' room, where he sat looking
down upon the beasts being fed and watered, cheerfully writing, we may
imagine, in the din of idle clatter, in the dense and evil atmosphere of
an age and land when the nose was not an inconvenience. If he were no
more comfortable than I presume the guests must be to-day, he cannot
have suffered more in the prison of Argamasilla, or in slavery to the
Turk. Stepping upon the Plaza, there would not now be much that is novel
to shock his eye beyond the dress. The Plaza has preserved its old
triangular form, two sides straight, and the third curved, with the
single broad path that leads to the Alcázar. The shops still run inside
the rough arcade that makes the circuit of the place, and loafers and
gossips loll upon the stone benches, while water-laden mules amble by,
and girls, effective and unimaginably graceful, with well-dressed heads
and brilliant eyes, in groups saunter into view, carrying on their hips
earthen amphoras, which they have filled at the public fountain. These
are features that have not changed since the grave sweet humourist trod
this broken pavement. Visit it in the dropping twilight, when the early
stars are out, and you will find it alive with promenaders, uniforms in
excess among the males. Priests, soldiers and beggars abound, and
dwelling on the dulness of Toledo, it can be no
[Illustration: MOORISH ARCH LEADING TO ZOCODOVER]
[Illustration: HOUSE CERVANTES STAYED IN, TOLEDO]
wonder to us that the spruce young officers of Madrid detest being
quartered here. What have they to do in a town where there is not even a
decent café, and social existence is not partially understood? And the
pleasures of walking round a romantic city cannot be offered them as
adequate distraction. For us, of course, it suffices as long as taste
keeps us at Toledo, and each walk has its fresh surprise, if not a fresh
enchantment. Impossible to find a more intricate, maze-like arrangement
of streets, and some of the passages behind the Alcázar, and round by
the Cathedral look so dreadful and perilous that the marvel is there are
to be found persons with sufficient courage to dwell in such places.
One is disposed to agree with Robida the French artist, who attributes
the excellence of Toledan steel in bygone ages to the desperate danger
of the streets, since nobody then but a citizen armed to the teeth would
be insane enough to leave his house.
But if the main features of the Zocodover have not changed, the fulness
of its life has diminished. In the sixteenth century the Tuesday markets
of the place were widely famous. Don Enrique IV. granted the citizens a
free market every Tuesday in return for Toledo's gracious reception of
him. For Toledo, as I have shown, did not spoil her rulers, and like all
ill-tempered persons, she received a disproportionate acknowledgment of
her rare soft moods. Fruit, flowers, provisions of every kind, birds,
fish, oil, honey, bacon and cheese were sold, and the exceeding
moderation of the prices, owing to the untaxed sales, attracted crowds
from all parts. The influx of trade even at this period, though the Jews
and Moors, source of her wealth, art and civilisation, had been
destituted and expelled, was enormous, so that the magistrates held
audience every Tuesday to judge the cases of purchase and sale, and see
that the peace was kept. Trade was then so important an affair in
Toledo, that priests and magistrates kept the interests of the traders
in view in the settlement of church and legal matters, and mass was
celebrated over the archway leading to Cervantes' inn and Cardinal
Mendoza's most beautiful hospital (see façade of Santa Cruz) in a little
chapel dedicated to The Precious Blood, expressly set aside for the
market people, at the earliest hour of day to suit them, and the
audience chamber timed its hearing of civil cases at an hour in the
interest of the same class, so that business should not be interfered
with. There was a smaller market up near Santo Tomé, ruled and protected
like that of the Zocodover, with also a high chapel for service for
[Illustration: THE ZOCODOVER]
the market folk. One side was given over to the butchers' shops, above
which was inscribed: "Reigning in Spain the most high and powerful
Felipe II., he has ordered in the town of Toledo these butchers' shops
with the concurrence of Perafande Ribera, his magistrate. Year
MDLXXXIX." There was another little meat market down in the old place of
Sanchez Minaya, near the hospital of the Misericordia. The
slaughter-houses were in the wide place close to the Puertas del
Cambron and San Martin, where, as Pisa says, "The air of the open
country came to cleanse away the evil odour of the dead remains." Grain
and wheat were sold near the Alcázar, down by the Cardinal's hospital.
The Exchange of Toledo was the most important of Spain. It was founded
by Martin Ramirez, in the parish of St Nicholas, near San José. Near
here the gilders and silversmiths worked, and their work was as prized
as it was costly; while the tanners, leather-cutters and dyers were
relegated to the barriers above the river, between the mills of the
Hierro and San Sebastian. The potters lived at the top of the town,
under San Isidro, and spread everywhere were countless weavers of cloth,
and silk and fine embroiderers. Running from the Zocodover to the Puerta
de Perpiñan was the famous street of arms where the sword-makers, the
armourers, the iron and damascene-workers lived, and in the wide street
opposite (now the _calle del Comercio_) the shoemakers and jewellers had
their shops. The Jews had their own barrier before their expulsion, one
of the wealthiest and most important of the city.
The four streets on the further side of the Cathedral were called the
_Alcayzerias_, and here dwelt the silk-sellers, the hosiers, the
linen-sellers, the clothiers and haberdashers. These shopkeepers did an
enormous trade with Valencia, Xativa, Murcia; with Medina del Campo,
Medina del Rioseca, Sevilla, Cádiz and Ecija, even as far as Portugal.
After the discovery of America all the ships that went out laden with
Spanish goods purchased these at Toledo. The scriveners dwelt round the
Ayuntamiento.
In early days the Ayuntamiento was an insignificant body, and all the
power lay between the sovereign and the mighty archbishop. But after the
conquest of the Saracens, the kings of Castille found their realm too
large and complicated for anything so minute as mere civic rule, and
gradually the magistrature increased in power, till this Ayuntamiento,
with its president, came to be the important body it was, and rivalled
the Archbishopric in semi-royal powers. Pedro the Cruel was the first to
grant it the privilege of the arms of Castille, and it was to the famous
Corregidor, Gomez Manrique, who had his namesake's famous inscription
painted on the staircase, that Isabel the Catholic, on her first visit,
gave the castles and gates of the city. Under the Corregidor were four
mayors, who judged civil cases, one of whom sat only in the Zocodover to
settle disputes between the traders. These magistrates were usually
powerful nobles, such as the Toledos--the present dukes of Alba--the
Castillas, the Silvas, the Ayalas, Montemayors and Fuensalidas, all
great historic names. The city jury, half Latin, half Mozarabe, in
religion, was furnished by all the parishes. As well as the
Ayuntamiento, there was the Santa Hermandad behind the Plaza Mayor, with
its prison and officers. To-day it is a muleteer's inn, the _Posada de
la Hermandad_, and the big kitchen, once the judgment chamber of the
Inquisition, and the wooden benches around have not been changed, nor
the dark-beamed ceiling within the Gothic façade, with the royal arms
and the statues of the archers and members of the brotherhood.
The town prison was situated at San Roman, and was rebuilt and improved
in 1575 by one of Toledo's most enlightened corregidors, Juan Guttierrez
Tello. Less joyous and profitable than the Tuesday fairs of the
Zocodover were the terrible autos-da-fé, and, indeed, so agreeably
wedded is the memory of this quaint little triangular plaza to the
picture of heroes of _capa_ and _espada_, to betitled loafers and
dinnerless dons, that the mind with difficulty conceives it made over to
gloomy and flaming images of the most solemn and atrocious hour of
Spanish cruelty. More in keeping with the bright and busy scene are the
bull-fights that used to be held here, when there were no seats or trees
in the middle as now.
A curious document is the charter to Toledo of Alfonso the Emperor,
after the conquest of the Moors: "In the name of God and His Grace, I,
Aldefonso, by the will of God, Emperor of Spain, conjointly with my
wife, the Empress, Doña Berenguela, with an agreeable spirit, and of our
own will, without being forced by anyone, give this letter of donation
and confirmation to all Christians who to this day have come to people
Toledo, or will come, Mozarabe, Castillian and French, that they may pay
toll neither on entering nor on leaving the city, nor in any part of my
lands. They shall be free of duty on all the things they purchase and
sell, except those who carry to or bring from the land of the Moors
articles of trade, which shall be taxed according to their weight and
value." This little touch of spite against the vanquished Moor is the
more intolerable when we remember the old relations of Alfonso's
predecessor with that same generous enemy; remember that the man he had
conquered and exiled was the son of his benefactor and host when he was
himself conquered and exiled by an unnatural brother; that the king, on
whose throne he sat, had been his loyal and kindly comrade, and that the
conquest his successor so grandiloquently recalls in this charter was
the basest act of ingratitude perpetrated in the record of Castillian
treachery.
From such slight indications it will be seen that the commerce of Toledo
flourished upon a large scale. There is something stately and commanding
about this method of confining each trade and business to its own
quarter. How dearly now one would like to evoke the street of arms, and
follow some slim young knight down from the royal Alcázar on the higher
hill-point, with slashed sleeves, cloak flung jauntily from shoulder,
and plumed cap, on his way to this deadly and interesting street to
purchase a "trusty Toledo," and linger over an exquisitely-wrought
poniard. Or earlier still, and more delightful, accompany a turbaned
Turk, wonderfully arrayed, and gaze with him in ecstasy upon the rows of
damascened scimitars.
Toledo was used to travellers in the days of her greatness for, near all
the gates, Pisa tells us, there were inns for strangers. Not strangers
only, but the bishops and great lords, and sovereigns even, seem to have
patronised the inns of Toledo. Alfonso the Perfidious stayed at a posada
near the town gates when he came to visit his old protector and host,
Almenor, whom he invited to dinner here. More astonishing still than
this hospitable provision for travellers, is the fact we learn that
there was not only a foundling hospital for unclaimed children, but also
several homes for lost or strayed animals. Spain was more advanced in
this respect centuries ago than now, for it is pretty certain the race
shows no concern that we know of on behalf of forlorn and unprotected
brutes.
If you would have some dim notion of the castellated and walled aspect
of Toledo in Pisa's days, you have only to thread your way through his
prolix geographical history of the town. He begins with the magnificent
Puerta de Visagra, and when we examine this double gate in its present
battered and defaced condition, we cannot carp at the word "sumptuous"
which he applies to it. Sumptuous it must have been then, if now it is
magnificent. It holds the imperial arms, two eagles and a crown, with
castles and lions of middle size gilt, and an inscription. Outside this
gate, which, Pisa tells us, was shut at night, there was a broad space,
and another entrance without. Entering the city on this side, you came
by the parish of Santiago and San Isidro, and the barrier of La Granja.
The ascent was made by the old hermitage of the Cross to the Zocodover.
Here were two gates in a strong wall, probably half Roman and half
Gothic, and this was the entrance to the town. Pisa calls these gates
intermediary. Between the Puerta de Visagra and this latter gate in the
great tower, he describes another, smaller and less important, which was
always closed, and was called the gate of Almohada. Beyond this was
another called the gate of the twelve stones, descending from the
monastery of the Carmen by the Bridge of Alcántara. Before Pisa's time,
this gate was lower, and the twelve stones around obtained it the odd
name of _Doce Cantos_, there being supposed twelve fountains once here.
Another gate anciently called _Adabazim_, and afterwards _Hierro_, was
near the bridge and the mills, on the limits of the lovely gardens of
Alcurnia. Above the old hermitage of the Cross were the tower and gate
of King Aquila, and above Santo Domingo el Real, the tower of Alarcon,
with another intermediate between it and the Zocodover. From this ran
round a castellated wall, and here you entered the street of arms by the
Puerta de Perpiñan.
The gardens of the Alcurnia were famed all over Spain, as beautiful as
any of Valencia or Granada, or Cordova, laid down by the Moors between
the bridges of St Martin and Alcántara. The Tagus was used here as the
Turia is used still at Valencia, for purposes of irrigation, so that
fruit and flowers and trees abounded. At the time of the conquest, these
lovely grounds became the property of the Christian monarchs, until King
Alonso the Good, in 1158, granted them to the Archbishop Rodrigo, who
built the mills and greatly improved the grounds. The name is said to
signify "horn-shaped," on account of the curves the river takes as it
runs under the bridge of Alcántara. But a fierce inundation swept away
all this loveliness from the eyes of the dismayed Toledans in Cardinal
Tavera's time. The ungrateful waters of the Tagus laid waste this green
and flowery paradise upon a burnt and rocky hill-side, and Tavera died
before he could carry out his project of restoring it.
True, even then, the Cigarrales beyond the town walls were noted spots
of refreshment, whither the jaded citizens and nobles betook themselves
to their country houses for the enjoyment of orchards, gardens and
trees. The apricots of the Cigarrales have always been famous. But they
constituted small comfort for the loss of such radiance and perfume,
such oriental splendour as the _Huerta de Alcurnia_. They spread still
from the river bank up among the cool hill breezes, and make a charming
walk towards sunset. In the huerta del Rey was one of the palacios de
Galiana, known through the legend of Galafre's fair daughter and
Charlemagne, the other having served as Wamba's palace or _prætorium_,
and later still as the palace in which the Cortes sat to judge the case
between the immortal Cid and his wretched sons-in-law. Westward from
Santa Leocadia ran a long, broad space of foliaged and flowered land,
vines, and pleasant country houses. The rich cigarrel of Cardinal
Quiroga was here, and the dean and chapter of the Cathedral possessed on
the other side gardens and orchards nearly as beautiful.
When you left all this cultivated brilliance of nature, that showed the
passage of the Moors, narrow and stony streets and lanes confronted you
in your upward road from the bridges and gates. Then as now! _Cuestas_
and harsh passages, built upon peaks of rock and iron, Pisa calls them;
twisted and narrow laneways. He accuses the Moors of having spoiled the
town, of having obliterated the lustre and loveliness Roman and Goth
bestowed upon it. This is an ill-tempered charge. The Moors gave in
Spain everywhere more than the Christians lost, and the trial is, seeing
the sad use the Christians made of what they received, to hold one's
soul in patience, and not cry out against their philistinism. He
believes that in Christian hands, "fine places, wide and noble streets,
churches and hospitals will spread." Churches and convents, yes. But the
streets remain the same, an expiation of the sins of civilisation, as
twisted, as narrow, as stony as ever, good Dr Pisa, after eight
centuries of Christian rule.
The present Alcázar, which dominates the city, was first built by the
Cid's sovereign, Alfonso, while the Moorish palace stood on the site of
the monastery of St Augustine. In the parish of San Martin was the
Alcázar of the infante Fadique, Sancho the Brave's uncle, within a
magnificent view of the river and the Vega, its walls running as far as
the Puerta del Cambron. It fell into the hands of Maria de Molina,
Sancho's widow, and she gave the property to Gonzalo Ruiz de Toledo,
lord of Orgaz, tutor of King Alonso and the infanta Beatrix. Gonzalo
Ruiz, on his death, bequeathed it to the Augustines. In the time of
Gothic rule the councils of Toledo were held in this Alcázar. A wall ran
then from the Alcázar to the Palacio de Galiana, and continued from the
Zocodover to the gate of Perpignan to separate the dwellings of the
Moors from those of their conquerors. The Christians lived between the
arch under the Chapel of the Precious Blood and the bridge of Alcántara.
Later on Isabel and Fernando embellished the royal Alcázar, which was
guarded by a thousand castillian hidalgoes, and Carlos V. built the
great staircase, one of the most regal of the world, while a superb
salon, richly wrought in arabesque, was the introduction of the
Constable of Castillo, Alvaro de Luna, at an earlier period. All these
glories are departed, negligently burnt. The first subject to occupy the
Alcázar in state was the Cid, Ruiz Diaz, whom Alfonso named first
governor of Toledo after its capture from the Moors. But the Cid chose
to build his own house near it, and installed a cavalier therein in his
place. The Cid's house is now San Juan de los Caballeros. True, Rasis el
Moro, in the beautiful copy of his Arabian manuscript,[14] translated
into Castillian by Ambrosio de Morales from the Portuguese translation
ordered by King Denys of Portugal, of Maestre Mahomed and Gil Perez,
says that Caesar was the first governor of Toledo, and built the bridge
over the Tagus, and Caesar, he tells us, came hither upon his tour in
Spain, and in a quarrel with the praetor, Aulus, was beaten and departed
"feeling a great weight on his heart, and longed for great power to come
back and vanquish Aulus, and revenge himself of his wrongs." Rasis also
mentions "the marvellous bridge of Toledo" at the time of the Moorish
conquest, "most subtly wrought, that in truth he saw nothing to equal it
in all Spain." The town he describes as "a very good city, extremely
pleasant, and very strong and well fortified." Every man was well off,
and the workmen were paid. The air was so sanative and dry that wheat
could remain ten years in cover without rotting.
Alcocer describes Toledo, the head of Spain, as a town mightily
privileged by nature, placed in the centre of the land "like the heart
in the human body"; a city, "high, rough, most firm and inexpugnable,
founded upon a high mountain and on brave and hard rocks, round which
turns the most famous Tagus, which forms a horse shoe, the town thus
being nearly an island." He waxes eloquent on the theme of the land's
fertility and freshness, the abundance of fruit trees, the mines of
various metals, the quantities of stone, lime, wood, and every facility
for building. Theodoric, the King of Italy, he tells us, came to Toledo
to see for himself if report had not exaggerated its wonders, if it
really were the strong and noble city rumour described it. So delighted
with both town and people was this Ostrogothic sovereign that he took
for second wife a wealthy lady of Toledo, Sancha, and was married in
great pomp in the city. But we are less inclined to believe Alcocer when
he assures us that Toledo declined from the hour of Moorish conquest,
"for those barbarians knew nothing of architecture(!), and laid out
narrow, little streets, and built vile little houses, no less ugly and
filthy." O worthy Alcocer, if he could but know that now the very
Spaniards themselves, in the interests of art and loveliness, lament the
expulsion of the Moors, and humbly admit that all they learnt of
civilisation came from those same adorable "barbarians!"
The Tagus then, as now, was always the great natural charm of the town.
Like the Arno, it takes on every hue; some mornings just after dawn, it
is the palest blue, again is a still sleepy jade, or silver like a
curled mirror, and as stirless as it gives back the ardent flash of the
sunrays; or after sunset, when all the rich hues have faded from sky and
earth, and crimson and russet gold have waved into an indigo dusk, you
will see a white mist rise and travel in flakes from the bosom of the
enazured water over the dim landscape. Capricious as these cold or
fervent hours may be, the permanent colour of the tranquil untravelled
Tagus is yellow. All poets and writers see but the yellow in it, as in
the Tiber, though its blue and green and silvered hours are much more
beautiful. "Del dorado Tago ausente," sings the old _Romancero General_,
as far back as 1605, and continues to describe Toledo above her golden
river:
"Dize ay cristal del Tago
Que con murmurio entre arenas
Vais regando amenos sotos
de Agradable primavera.
[Illustration: THE TAGUS]
Hasto do bates los muros
de aquella cuidad soberbio,
tans alebrada en el mundo
Por tu artífio y nobleza.
Que entre peñas levantada
de inexpugnable firmeza,
Y de torres coronada
compitos con las estrellas.
Y luego vañas los prados
de tu elana y ancha vega,
Que de ninfas adornada
es nueva gloria en la tierra."
The most witching element in the enchantment of this river is its
stillness, its unfathomable, unbroken quietude. In the sixteenth century
it was navigable as far as Toledo, but the mills upon its banks are now
for ever silent; no traffic has deflowered its legendary charms; neither
boat nor barge cuts a way along its inactive waters. In an age when
every resource of nature is feverishly applied to the service of
commerce or luxury, there is something majestic in such uselessness.
When the wherry that plies sleepily from bank to bank floats into view,
the sight is a positive shock to artistic sensibilities. It seems an
idle desecration. Only the gold-seekers--symbol of eternal illusion,
ever nourished and ever elusive to the grasp of man, who builds fresh
illusions of the ashes of past deceptions--may continue to trouble its
wild untamed depths. So from time to time these children of tradition,
believing in the tale of its golden sands, go down to the reedy banks,
after an inundation, with sifters, and industriously gather up the sand
the river has flung from its bottom. They pour water over it, shake it
well, and then hungrily examine the grains that remain in the vain hope
of finding gold. Before Ponz's time the dean of the Church of the
Infantas was said to possess a piece of gold cast up by the Tagus, and
the complaint then was that many another piece had been carelessly
broken and scattered by the silversmiths. But Ponz doubts the golden
legend even so early as the last century. To explain the undoubted fact
that the river had at different times cast up treasure, he assumes that
in each reversal and exodus of race brought about by the evolution of
Toledo's history, Roman, Gothic, Moorish, Hebrew, and Christian, the
fugitives had the habit of burying near the river treasure in provision
for the expected return. Even this is no supposition to be scorned, and
adds to the romantic interest of the deserted Tagus.
[Illustration: MILL ON THE TAGUS]
Garcilaso de la Vega has chanted the golden charms of the Tagus, and
Cervantes writes of "the delicate works wrought by the four nymphs who,
from their crystal dwelling, lifted their heads above the waves of the
Tagus, and sat on the green meadow to work at those rich stuffs which
the ingenious poet paints for us, and which were fashioned of gold and
silk and pearls." Now, as then, like Lope the Asturian, aquadores
descend to the river-brink with their donkeys laden with water-jars,
which they fill below, and bridge the upward rocky paths shouting: _Agua
fresca_. The plays of Cervantes were acted at Toledo, which permitted
Lope de Vega, who lived then in the royal city, to make an ill-natured
reference to the great biographer of the ingenious Hidalgo in his
correspondence, and jeering at his plays, call him a "nescio."[15] Lope
little dreamed in his bitterness and jealousy that the "nescio" would
forever stand before posterity as the sole representative of Castillian
genius, and that the miserable little inn he dwelt in at Toledo would be
forever a spot of pious pilgrimage.
A more substantial source of wealth than the gold of Tagus was the
valuable lead and mineral mines of the Montes de Toledo, forty leagues
distance. In the bright days of civic power they belonged to the
municipality. King Fernando, the saint, sold them to the town for the
sum of 400,000 golden ducats, but the city little by little disposed of
a considerable part of this property to private individuals for
exploitation, and, like everything else, here the mines to-day have lost
in value.
In his few succinct pages on Toledo, Mr Street gives us a very excellent
bit of sober impressionism, which merits quotation: "The road from the
famous bridge of Alcántara, passing under the gateway which guards it
into a small walled courtyard, turns sharply to the right under another
archway, and then rises slowly below the walls until, with another sharp
turn, it passes under the magnificent Moorish Puerta del Sol, and so on
into the heart of the city.
"The Alcázar is the only important building seen on entering on this
side; but from the other side of the city, where the bridge of San
Martin crosses the Tagus, the cathedral is a feature in the view, though
it never seems to be so prominent as might be expected with a church of
its grand scale.[16] From both these points of view, indeed, it must be
remembered that the effect is not produced by the beauty or grandeur of
any one building; it is the desolate sublimity of the dark rocks that
bound the river; the serried phalanx of wall, and town, and house that
line the cliffs; the tropical colour of sky and earth, and masonry; and
finally the forlorn, decaying and deserted aspect of the whole that
makes the views so impressive and so unusual. Looking away from the city
walls towards the north, the view is much more _riant_, for there the
Tagus, escaping from its rocky defile, meanders across a fertile vega,
and long lines of trees, with here a ruined castle, and there the repose
of the curious Church of the Cristo de la Vega, and there again the
famous factory of arms, give colour and incident to a view which would
anywhere be thought beautiful, but is doubly grateful by comparison with
the sad dignity of the forlorn old city."
Toledo's finest hour is at sunset, especially in the month of October.
Nowhere have I seen the setting sun cast such a rich and lovely flush
over the earth. The brown visage of the town for one intense moment is
made radiant by the deep crimson flames, and the red light sheds a
glorious beauty upon empty hill-sides and river-washed plains. Magic
enfolds city and land, and space is so abridged by the matchless purity
of the atmosphere that the eye is tricked into the belief that distant
objects are quite close. Painters complain of this singular deception,
which makes it so difficult to seize and reproduce the features of town
and landscape. But the mere observer will naturally rejoice in an
attraction the more.
Sunset is the hour for a divine walk along the jagged and broken
precipices above the river. You follow the steep Calle de la Barca
behind the Cathedral down to the ferry, where a few lazy oar strokes
take you across the narrow Tagus. The effect midway is surprising.
Looking towards the bridge of Alcántara and San Servando, the waters
seem to force their way between the immense brown rocks from the castle
ruins, and lie steep and still like a mountain tarn. Little splashes of
green and flowery bloom high up among the rocks give a pretty touch to
the grim picture, and over the harsh remains of the city walls you will
note a common but bright little suggestion of garden life. On the road
above, rounding the superb curve of Antiquerela, a boy on mule-back is a
slight silhouette of vanishing grace, and the evening bells in the upper
air sound thin and ethereal above the sea-like roar of the water breaks
below the silent Moorish mills. Not even the modern hint of existence
and the squalid little galleries, with linen hanging out to dry over a
broken bit of castellated wall, will disturb your feeling of reverie
among the forgotten ages. Nor will the living light upon the trees,
flashing rose and yellow through their branches and across the reeds
along the river, nor the quaint figures moving lazily up the mule-path
that cuts its crooked way over the naked rocks to the Valle, in the
least disturb your bemused sensation of enchanted negation. The beauty
of the hour and scene will trouble you less than its strangeness and
quietude. Go further up, until you reach Nuestra Señora de la Valle, and
from this point the old city will show you its most admirable grouping.
At your feet, far down the precipitous shore line, a broken mirror of
jade or muddy gold, zig-zagged by lines of foam along the breakwaters,
and above the opposite bank, mapped upward, roof against roof, in
[Illustration: TOLEDO FROM LEFT BANK OF TAGUS]
pale brown, with spaces of green here and there where the gardens show,
the town reveals itself in all its magnificent eccentricity. Here some
notion of the Cathedral from outside may be gathered. The Gate of Lions
directly fronts you, and the apse stands out from its crowd of
buildings, while the bell tower dominates the scene in all its majestic
isolation. From the flat roofs rise a mass of upper domes and mudejar
towers that add an Arabian note to the great Gothic picture, and the
immense square of the Alcázar with its three towers, bold, undecorated,
and monotonous, is perched in odd supremacy above the girdling path that
now runs under the mutilated wall. The hills lie backward,
reddish-purple, silent, perfumed, and sombre, and the Vega with its
broad bright smile of verdure and bloom travels beyond the famous bridge
of San Martin. Between the rocky shore and the ruins of a Roman bridge
are big sandy reaches, and every step you take among the brushwood
scents the air with the strong aromatic odours of the herbs. About here
Perez Bayen tells us,[17] the Roman Cañeria ran, carrying water from San
Servando by the bridge of San Martin. The little tower, _el horno del
Vidro_, near the monastery of La Sisla, he suggests, was a Roman
_Castellum Aquarium_. The steep waterway of La Sisla, called the Valle
de la Desgollada (in honour of the customary legend of a lover's broken
neck for love's sake), was probably used for the aqueduct, as the ruins
of the arches below, along the old road of La Plata, indicate. The water
must have been conducted into the city by the gate of the twelve stones,
where the bridge was high. Now, alas, the aqueduct, like the wonderful
artifice of Juanelo Turriano of Cremona, in Charles V.'s reign, has
vanished. The water-works of Toledo nowadays are sadly deficient after
the Roman, Moor, and even early Castillian, though the glory of this
period belongs to Lombardy and not to Castille. Juanelo, as well as
giving his name to his famous "artifice," was the means of bestowing a
quaint and striking name on a street below the cathedral, so-called
to-day, _Hombre de Palo_ (man of wood) where he lived. He fabricated a
wooden statue that went from his house to the archbishop's for bread and
meat, bowing and nodding, first in gracious overtures and then in
obsequious thanks, and carried back the offerings to Juanelo's house.
Few Toledanos, dawdling in and out of this little curved street, now
remember why it is so oddly named, or bestow a thought upon the
ingenious Italian who dwelt there in the sixteenth century, and whose
fame drew admiring travellers even from remote Oxford.
[Illustration: FUENTE S. MARTINO OF BANO DE LA CAVA]
Entering the city by the striking bridge of San Martin, you pass the
picturesque ruin of the _Baño de la Cava_, where the too charming
Florinda is supposed to have bathed for the doom of Don Rodrigo and the
ruin of Gothic Spain. Rodrigo's castle, of which not a trace now
remains, was built on the high rock above, and indiscreet eyeshot sent
down upon this sacred spot is said to have revealed to him a seductive
vision of a beautiful bare limb. The ruin is probably that of a towered
bridge, suggested by the big grey stone on the opposite bank. The spot
is, however, romantic enough for any legend, and those who prefer
tradition to fact will say, if Florinda did not bathe there, she ought
to have done so. The view on this side is more beautiful than even on
the other. A Spanish friend, whose privilege it is to paint Toledo in
all her wild and sad enchantment, in a big house above the Puerta del
Cambron, overlooking the wavy water-line from the bridge of San Martin
and the exquisite diversity of orchard and meadow-land, has offered me
many delightful moments of contemplation of this unique view from his
broad terrace. It combines in the rarest form a light and smiling charm
with a superb and matchless melancholy. From this point of entrance you
twist up and down through the most mysterious streets of the world. Who
designed them, who fashioned them? How came any town to be so built?
Streets so narrow that hand may touch hand from either side, and soft
converse be held through opposite windows; so rounded that an enemy
advancing might fall upon you unperceived. How many lovely façades,
alas! eaten away, a sullen magnificent protest against modern times,
with divine arches showing here and there through miserable plaster!
Everywhere Moorish faience, and curious Toledan doors in Arabian or
Gothic porches, for all the world like the doors of palaces in
fairyland, ornamented with huge carved iron nails. And when the doors
stand open, glimpses of bright clean patios, with their gleaming bands
of _azulejos_, their centre well and little stunted trees. All so dull,
so still, so silent. Now and then you may chance to meet a woman
following a mule laden with fruit and vegetable, which she sells from
house to house, or a water-carrier, or an itinerant pedlar shouting the
value and nature of his wares up to the balconies. Some of the street
effects of grouping and colouring are of an indescribable witchery.
Where will you match such a corner as that of the old palace of the
Cardinal D. Pascual de Aragon, now a convent? Words are useless to
convey an idea of its quaintness, the effect of pink and green, of iron
balcony, of wrought stone, of broken façade and charming variety of
line. These are things that even a painter can hardly hope to reproduce.
And such corners abound in Toledo. The foot treads the very pavement of
romance and legend, where everything is a gratification for the eye, and
the dream of the mourner of departed centuries is remorselessly
realised. Of commerce hardly a hint. Here and there an offer to supply
daily wants of the simplest kind, and, in the Calle del Comercio, a few
shop-fronts with belated appointments. The most interesting is that of
Alvarez, the best maker of damascene. Murray's guide-book recommends
travellers to purchase this famous Toledo work at the Fabrica de Armas,
the Government enterprise. This is wrong advice. The Fabrica produces
inferior work, and charges twenty-five per cent. more than the private
factories. Some of the work in Alvarez's shop is exquisite, and, when
you have entered his workshop behind, and watched the men slowly and
carefully produce this minute art,
[Illustration: A STREET CORNER, TOLEDO]
the wonder is not that it should be so expensive, but that it should not
cost more. The Fabrica outside the town is only interesting to the
lovers of steel. It is quite a vulgar and modern institution, dating
from the days of Charles III., the bourgeois monarch, whom a Spanish
writer contemptuously described as "an excellent mayor." In the middle
ages, the armourers worked in their own houses, and each master had a
band of apprentices. They formed a corporation, and were exempt from
taxes and duties in the purchase of materials for this art. The
sword-makers of Toledo were a company of European importance, and even
the mere sellers of daggers and blades were privileged citizens, whom
the very sovereigns and archbishops respected. Toledan steel was
renowned in France and England, as well as in Italy. On his way to
captivity in Madrid, Francis of France cried, seeing beardless boys with
swords at their sides, "Oh! most happy Spain, that brings forth and
brings up men already armed." The steel used by the _espaderos_ of
Toledo came from the iron mines of Mondragon in the Basque provinces.
Palomario explains its peculiar excellence by the virtues of the sand
and water of the Tagus. When the metal was red-hot, it was covered with
sand, and, the blade then formed, it was placed in a hollow of sixty
centimetres, and red-hot, was plunged into a wooden tank full of Tagus
water. The most celebrated _espadero_ of Toledo was _Guiliano el Moro_,
a native of Granada, in the fifteenth century. He became converted after
the surrender of Boabdil, and King Ferdinand being his sponsor, was also
called Guiliano _el rey_. Cervantes mentions his mark, which was a
little dog. Other great _espaderos_ were--Joannes de la Horta, Tomás de
Ayala, Sagahun, Dionisio Corrientes, Miguel Cantera, whose motto was
_opus laudat artificem_, Tomás Ghya, Hortensio de Aguerre and Menchaca
Sebastian Hernandez. The decline of Toledan steel is traced to the
introduction of French costume; and though attempts have been made to
revive it, the old art, in all its unrivalled beauty, has forever
vanished.
Gone forever, too, all traces of the great Toledan palaces, except a
wall, a doorway here and there, or maybe the degraded remains of a
beautiful chamber or courtyard, or, as in the case of the house of the
great family of the Toledos (to-day, the Dukes of Alba), just an
impressive façade. But of the Villena palace nothing, of the Fuensalida
nothing to give us to-day a definite notion of its former splendour.
Nothing of the great houses of the Montemayors, the Ayalas, the Silvas,
Maqueda, Cifuentes, Count Orgaz, and so many others who rivalled the
mighty archbishops in power, and whose followers clashed steel so
noisily once in these dim, deserted streets. Sadder still, beyond what
remains of the Palacios de Galiana, in the king's garden, little of
Moorish beauty, nothing of their sway but floating, vaporous impressions
and cherished suggestions, never absent, though ever vague and full of
the mystery and charm of the uncertain and the elusive.
CHAPTER VI
_The Cathedral_
The monument which dominates Toledo, and which is not only the most
prominent feature in a town whose every feature is so marked and
significant, so unlike all the travelled eye is most familiar with, but
is the centre of its changes and vicissitudes, of its triumphs and
humiliations, is the Cathedral. Writing of the high terrace on which it
stands, M. Maurice Barrès says: "c'était toujours le même sublime qui
jamais ne rassasie les âmes, car en même temps qu'elles s'en remplissent
il les dilate à l'infini." Who is to seize and express with any adequacy
or even coherence the first swift and stupefying impression of this
superb edifice? There are many things in this world more beautiful--no
one for instance would dream of speaking of it in the same breath as the
Parthenon--but nothing more sumptuous; nothing in all the treasures of
Spain to match its magnificence. It is simpler and more majestic than
that of Burgos, and before heeding the instinct of examination, or
noting its mass of detail, the first imperious command is to yield in
charmed surrender to its spirit. We are silenced and held by the general
effect long before we come to admire the exquisite sculpture of
Berruguete and of Philip of Burgundy, and the splendours of chapels and
treasury. And should time be short for detailed inspection, it is this
general effect of immense naves, of a forest of columns and of jewelled
windows that we carry away, feeling too small amidst such greatness of
form and incomparable loveliness of lights for the mere expression of
admiration. At sunset, should you have the fortune to be alone among its
pillars and stained-glass windows, you will find nothing on earth to
compare with the mysterious eloquence of its silence; you will feel it a
place not for prayer but for a salutary conception of man's
insignificance.
Castillian genius has nowhere imprinted a haughtier effigy of its
invincible pride and fanaticism, insusceptible to the humiliations of
decay and defeat, impervious to the encroachments of progress and
enlightenment. It is the vast monumental note of Spanish character and
Spanish history. It tells the eternal tale of ecclesiastical domination
and triumph, and is the fitting home of portraits of warlike cardinals
and armoured bishops, of princes of the Church who wore the purple and
ruled with the sword. It is a superb and majestic harmony of marvellous
stone-work and painted glass.
The foundation of this most gorgeous temple is attributed to Saint
Eugenius, the first bishop of Toledo, and on the conversion of Recaredo
from Arianism, was dedicated to the Virgin Mary, April 12th, 587. When
the Moors took Toledo, the Cathedral was converted into a mosque, which
it remained for nearly three centuries. Then when Alfonso VI. won back
the town from the Moors, one of the conditions we know in the treaty for
surrender was that the Cathedral should continue as a mosque, and remain
in the hands of the conquered, upon which stipulation, solemnly
ratified, the Moors gave up the Alcázar, the city gates and bridges.
Alfonso intended that this condition should be fulfilled, but the queen
and the French archbishop, sorely troubled by the monstrous continuance
of heretical service in the consecrated temple of St Eugenius, decided
to cast out the Saracen, which injustice furnishes us with a pretty
evidence of Moorish magnanimity. Alfonso's was an exceedingly grim
interpretation of the chivalrous sentiment, "I could not love thee,
dear, so much, loved I not honour more." However, the Moors gallantly
tore up the treaty and resigned all right to the Cathedral. The least
they might have expected from their enemies is a full and fine
recognition of their generosity, first in pleading for those who had
insulted them, and then in foregoing their own advantage in order to
procure the pardon of their insulters. But no. The Moors, in this
matter, are regarded as having simply done their duty. One would
hesitate to credit their conquerors with a like behaviour in similar
circumstances. The Alfaqui's statue in the Capilla Major is regarded as
adequate thanks, and perhaps it is.
In the thirteenth century, Ferdinand III. and the Archbishop Rodrigo
Jimenez de Rada, decided to rebuild the Cathedral and efface all
remembrance of Saracen occupation. Pedro Perez was chosen for the
immense work, which he continued for forty-nine years, beginning in
1227. The names of his successors have not reached us. It took two and a
half centuries to conclude, and as the building went on, naturally
gathered into its entire expression more than one mood of Spanish
history and art. One needs only to contrast the rudeness of the _Puerta
de la Feria_, built in the thirteenth century, with the finish and grace
of the _Puerta de los Leones_, one of the most beautiful specimens of
Gothic architecture, the work of the fifteenth century. Egas, Fernandez
and Juan Aleman wrought it, and in 1776 Salvatierra restored part of it.
The temple stands upon eighty-eight pillars, each one composed of
sixteen light columns, and seventy-two vaults above the five wide naves,
forming a cross over the centre nave which is higher than the rest. The
side aisles rise gradually to
[Illustration: INTERIOR OF CATHEDRAL]
the height of 160 feet, the height of the central nave. Its length is
404 feet, its width 204. The whole is lit up by 750 glorious stained
windows, whose effect is best seized just before sunset. Broad patches
of ruby, amethyst, emerald, topaz, and sapphire lie upon the pillars and
flags, and above the light seems to strike through irridescent flashes
of jewels. How fresh and full imagination must have been in those grand
ages of art to have devised such permanent triumphs of colours, such
witchery of hue upon such majesty of form, the greatness of the one
tempered by the delightful loveliness of the other. The patient uplifted
glance will at length be rewarded by learning to decipher from such a
distance the legend of these matchless windows, which are wonderfully
vivid scenes from the New Testament. A Spanish painter, who has devoted
his life to the study of his beloved Toledo, tells me that when you
penetrate up to these far-off heights, you will find the scenes in
finish and detail and drawing as perfect as paintings, some of the
German and Flemish school, some of the richer and suaver Italian. The
principal artists were Dolfin, Alberto de Holanda, Maestro Christobal,
Juan de Campos, Luis, Pedro Francès, and Vasco Troya. Dolfin's work,
begun in 1418, was continued after his death by Nicolás de Vergara,
assisted by his two sons.
The principal façade on the west side is composed of three doors,
diversely named _del Infierno_ or _de la Torre_; _del Perdon_, and _de
Escribanos_ or _del Juicio_. The middle door is the Pardon, the largest
and richest of the three. It forms a magnificent arch, covered with
Gothic ornaments and figures, and is divided in two smaller arches by a
column on which rests the figure of Christ, while above are twelve
statues of the apostles. In the centre of the arch a fine bas-relief
represents the Virgin in the act of bestowing the chasuble on St
Ildefonso, who is kneeling at her feet. It is an imposing specimen of
Renaissance work. Amador de los Rios complains that there is too much of
the stiffness of Dürer in the studied attitudes, while Antonio Ponz
remarks that the statues and the folds have that excellence and
largeness of treatment so often lacking even in the best Renaissance
work. The two other doors on either side are smaller and of equal size.
They are formed of a single, undivided arch, delicately sculptured, rich
in figures of angels and patriarchs in mediæval costume, which belong to
a later date than the principal work. Seven steps lead down to the
church, and above the arch of the _Torre_ is a painting of the
Resurrection of some merit, and above the _Escribanos_ is a long
inscription commemorating the taking of Granada by the Catholic
sovereigns, Cardinal Mendoza being then archbishop of the Cathedral, and
the expulsion of the Jews from the kingdoms of Castille, Aragon, and
Sicily. Over the _Pardon_ is a splendid rose window, with glazed arcade
beneath. The façade was restored, and not too well, by Durango, a
Toledan artist, during the last century. The little square towers that
separate the doors are chiselled like jewels, but the effect of the
whole is perhaps effaced by the more insistent beauty of the great
tower.
The south door, _Los Leones_, is a particularly beautiful piece of
Gothic work, of finished elegance and profusion of detail. Ponz
describes the statues and ornaments as the most perfect of their kind.
The portal forms a deep recess richly sculptured, full of delicate fancy
in figure and leafage. The Assumption is by Salvatierra of the last
century, inferior to the rest of the façade, and below it are two
bas-reliefs with charming little figures representing scenes from the
Old Testament. The six columns of the atrium, on which are seated six
carved lions, give its name to the door. Each lion holds a shield. On
the centre shields are repeated in bas-relief the eternal legend of Our
Lady and St Ildefonso, while the four others show sculptural crosses and
eagles. The bronze doors, attributed by Ponz to Berreguete, because they
recall the work of his master, Michael Angelo, were wrought by Francisco
Villalpando and Ruy Diaz del Corral in 1559, the carving having been
done by the famous sculptor, Aleas Copin. Their great artistic work is
sufficiently indicated by Ponz's error in attributing them to the
magnificent genius of Berreguete. As a fact, many masters were engaged
upon these bronze gates: Velasco, Troyas, Lebin, Cantala, the two Copins
as well as Villalpando, and Diaz del Corral, the payment divided between
all being 68,672 maravedis. It would seem that the supreme excellence of
artistic achievement in those days was due to the modesty of
remuneration, if we are to judge by the results of exorbitant payment
to-day.
In his accurate (if for the general reader perhaps somewhat technical)
pages on the interior, Street says: "The original scheme of the church
is only to be seen now in the choir and its aisles. These are arranged
in three gradations of height--the choir being upwards of a hundred
feet, the aisle round it about sixty feet, and the outer aisle about
thirty-five feet in height. The outer wall of the aisle is pierced with
arches for the small chapels between the buttresses. The intermediate
aisle has in its outer wall a triforium, formed by an arcade of cusped
arches, and above this quite close to the point of the vault, a rose
window in each bay. It is in this triforium that the first evidence of
any knowledge on the part of the architect of Moorish architecture
strikes the eye. The cusping of the arcade is not enclosed within an
arch, and takes a distinctly horse-shoe outline, the lowest cusp near to
the cap spreading inwards at the base. Now it would be impossible to
imagine any circumstances which could afford better evidence of the
foreign origin of the first design than this slight concession to the
customs of the place in a slightly later portion of the works. An
architect who came from France, bent on designing nothing but a French
church, would be very likely, after a few years' residence in Toledo,
somewhat to change in his views, and to attempt something in which the
Moorish work, which he was in the habit of seeing, would have its
influence. The detail of this triforium is, notwithstanding, all pure
and good. The foliage of the capitals is partly conventional, and in
part a stiff imitation of natural foliage, somewhat after the fashion of
the work in the Chapter House at Southwell; the abaci are all square;
there is a profusion of nail-head used in the labels; and well-carved
heads are placed in each of the spandrels of the arcade. The circular
windows above the triforium are filled in with cusping of various
patterns. The main arches of the innermost arcade (between the choir and
its aisle) are of course much higher than the others. The space above
them is occupied by an arcaded triforium reaching to the springing of
the main vault. This arcade consists of a series of trefoil-headed
arches on detached shafts, with sculptured figures, more than life-size,
standing in each division; in the spandrels above the arches are heads
looking out from moulded circular openings, and above these again, small
pointed arches are pierced, which have labels enriched with the
nail-head ornament. The effect of the whole of this upper part of the
design is unlike that of northern work, though the detail is all pure
and good. The clerestory occupies the height of the vault and consists
of a row of lancets (there are five in the widest bay, and three in each
of the five bays of the apse) rising gradually to the centre, with a
small circular opening above them. The vaulting-ribs in the central
division of the apse are chevroned and increased in number, this being
the only portion of the early work in which any, beyond transverse and
diagonal ribs, are introduced. There is a weakness and want of purpose
about the treatment of this highest portion of the wall that seems to
make it probable that the work, when it reached this height, had passed
out of the hands of the original architect. In the nave the original
design (if it was ever completed) has been altered. There is now no
trace of the original clerestory and triforium which are still seen in
the choir, and in their place the outer aisle has fourteenth century
windows of six lights with geometrical tracery, and the clerestory of
the nave and transepts great windows, also of six lights, with very
elaborate traceries. They have transomes (which in some degree preserve
the recollection of the old structural divisions) at the level of the
springing of the groining. The groining throughout the greater part of
the church seems to be of the original thirteenth century work, with
ribs finely moulded, and vaulting cells slightly domical in section. The
capitals of the columns are all set in the direction of the arches and
ribs they carry, and their abaci and bases are all square in plan."
Street is of the opinion, based upon the singular purity of this
vigorous specimen of Gothic of the thirteenth century, that the
architect must have been French, or at least a Spaniard who had lived
for years in France, and studied the best French churches. The
architect, we learn, was Pedro Perez, whose name we gather from the
Latin epitaph:
_Aqui: jacet: Petrus Petri: magister_
_Eclesia: Sete: Marie: Toletani: fama:_
_Per exemplum: pro more_: huic: bona:
_Crescit: qui presens: templem: construxit:_
_Et hic quies cit: quod: quia: tan: mire:_
_Fecit_: vili: sentiat: ire: ante: Dei:
_Vultum: pro: quo: nil: restat: inultum:_
_Et sibi: sis: merce: qui solus: cuncta:_
_Coherce: obiit: X dias de Novembris:_
_Era: de m: et CCCXXVIII._ (_A.D. 1290_).
Street suggests that Petrus Petro may more probably have meant the
French Pierre, son of Pierre, than the Spanish translation of Pedro
Perez, but putting one uncertainty against another, the Toledans are
perfectly right to hold out for their dubious compatriot, Pedro Perez.
[Illustration: NORTH TRANSEPT DOOR OF CATHEDRAL]
In spite of the enormous height of the Cathedral, the spectator is not
at first impressed with this fact, owing to the immensity of its
dimensions and the vastness of the columns that support the vaults. But
the impression of spaciousness is, on the contrary, insistent, and this
by the beautiful simplicity and classical uniformity of the whole. When
you have recovered the first stupendous shock of admiration, you will
wonder where to begin in your exploration. If you enter by the north
door, which is the first you will meet coming from the Zocodover, you
will at once be confronted with the wonderfully wrought screen of the
Coro. Inside and out this choir is rich in interest. First there is the
railed entrance to examine. Before the Napoleonic war, this railing, as
well as the _Reja_ of the Capilla Major, opposite, was silver-plated and
heavily gilt, but at the time of the French invasion, it was designed to
save it from ruthless hands by concealing its value under an iron
coating. The inventor of this stain succeeded so well that never since
has anyone been able to clean the railings, which now only show here and
there a gleam of the covered plate. Domingo de Céspedes, aided by
Fernando Bravo, designed this handsome work. Nothing finer than the
ornamentation could be imagined. The arms of Cardinal Siliceo and those
of Diego Lopez de Ayala, one of the great Toledan families of the Middle
Ages, are worked into the design, along with the inscriptions: _Pro cul
esto prophani_ and _Psale et psile_. To attempt anything like a detailed
description of so much elaborate work as the impressive screen round the
choir, or the interior multiplied creations of Berruguete and Philip of
Burgundy, of Vergara and Rodrigo, would demand an entire book upon the
Cathedral alone. The sculptures of the screen are most varied and
beautiful, and repay careful study. The subjects are separated by light
arches and supported on jasper columns. Above are fifty-eight reliefs of
biblical scenes, and the whole forms an admirable combination of
decorative richness and delicacy, unfortunately spoiled by later and
incongruous additions and improvements. Of the famous choir seats
everybody has heard. The thirty-five upper seats on the gospel side are
the work of Philip of Burgundy, the seats on the epistle side are
Berruguete's work. It is a matter of taste which of the two is the
better. Some foreign critics prefer Vigarny's sculpture as more delicate
and more finished; while all Spaniards give their preference to
Berruguete, one of the national idols, and delight in his more exuberant
genius. Writing of the three ranks of stalls of this truly marvellous
choir, Théophile Gautier says: "l'art Gothique, sur les confins de la
Renaissance, n'a rien produit de plus parfait ni de mieux dessiné."
Antonio Ponz in the last century wrote of it: "The sculpture of the
choir has been and always will be the great admiration of the
intelligent and those who understand this noble art, as much for the
quantities of figures and adornments, which seem innumerable, as for the
elegance, taste, and greatness of the style with which Alonzo Berruguete
and Philip of Burgundy have executed them." In his _Toledo Pintoresca_,
Amador de los Rios thus begins his description of the stalls: "Portent
of Spanish art, in which two great geniuses of our golden century
competed, the victory to our own times, remaining undecided; and
astounded the judges who have endeavoured to give their opinion on this
matter."
The stalls are of two ranks, upper and lower, both of different periods,
fifty years lying between the work of each rank. The upper stalls are
unquestionably more beautiful and of a purer style. The rich and
splendid influence of Italian art is visible in all Berruguete's work,
who himself was a disciple of Michael Angelo. He has something of the
large and virile touch of his master, something of his nervous strength,
of his intensity. But he lacks the exquisite grace and soft, subtle
finish of Philip Vigarny. So that in the eternal rivalry of these great
artists, hand-in-hand, as it were before posterity, with the unsolved
question
[Illustration: INTERIOR OF CATHEDRAL
CORO FROM S. AISLE]
of superiority upon their combined production of the best wood sculpture
of Spain, it will always be in the spectators' choice a matter of
temperament and tendency. The more delicate art of Vigarny will appeal
to one, while another will unhesitatingly pronounce for the sweep and
force of Berruguete's touch. The reliefs represent scenes from the Old
and New Testament, and the single statues are prophets and saints. The
stalls are of walnut, separated by jasper and alabaster pillars. In the
middle is the arch-episcopal throne. The lower portion is formed of
seventy-one arches, supported by seventy-two columns of red jasper, with
white marble capitals; within each arch is a vault of red jasper with
gilt decorations. In the panels above are sixty-eight superbly
sculptured figures. The lower stalls are fifty years earlier and less
beautiful work. They were wrought under the direction of Maese Rodrígo
in the time of Cardinal Mendoza. They are composed of fifty stalls, with
three stairs, two of which are used by the canons and the third only by
the archbishop, the dean of the chapter, and the high priest. The
reliefs are none the less remarkable and interesting because of their
inferiority to those of the upper stalls. They tell with delightful and
seizing brevity the romantic, if deplorable, tale of the Conquest of
Granada, from the taking of Alhama by Rodrigo Ponce de Leon to the
surrender of the Moorish citadel. They belong to a less finished school;
reveal an imagination more simple and limited, with a certain naïve
stiffness and monotony of line that provoke contrast with the finer work
above. Battles, assaults, armed knights, Moors, horses, fortresses and
fanciful introductions of inappropriate animals are repeated in each
relief. Street prefers them to Berruguete's work, which he abhors, but
in this he is alone. It is a prejudice with him. The reading-desks are
most lovely, the work of the two Vergaras, father and son, who finished
them in 1570. The ornamented friezes of gilt bronze are things to marvel
at. Each desk possesses three bas-relief exquisitely wrought. On the
epistle side are the stories of David and Saul, the Virgin bestowing the
chasuble on St Ildefonso, and the Seven Seals and Lake of Fire of the
Apocalypse; on the Gospel side, St Ildefonso, the Holy Ark carried by
the priests behind David, and other figures dancing and playing various
instruments, and the crossing of the Red Sea. There is not anything
among the extraordinary splendours of this Cathedral more perfect and
remarkable than these two masterpieces of the Vergaras. The great eagle
on its pinnacled pedestal is truly a magnificent work. The Gothic
pedestal was wrought in 1425, and the eagle and desk in 1646 by Vicente
Salinas. When you leave the Cora, you naturally cross the space in front
to the Capilla Major. Portion of this chapel was originally the _capilla
de los reyes viejos_, and the rest was added by the great Cardinal,
Cisneros. The railing, one of the best specimens of Spanish wrought
iron, is the work of Francisco Villalpando. Gorgeous is the adjective
that best describes it. Exquisite chiselling, capricious and varied
designs, gilt and plated portions here and there showing out from the
more sombre whole, make this _grilla_ one of the striking objects among
massed treasures. To Villalpando also are due the rich gilt pulpits
beside it, made from the bronze tomb the Constable of Castille, Alvazo
de Luna, had fashioned for himself and his wife before his death. In a
less sumptuous setting, these pulpits would excite enthusiastic
admiration, but the whole here is so great that it takes days for the
blunted senses to realise the full value of details. The reliefs are
admirable, and give a
[Illustration: DETAIL OF REJA, CATHEDRAL, TOLEDO]
brilliant note to the resplendent face of the chapel. All inside
maintains the same insistent look of artistic wealth. The marble altar
shines like a gigantic agathe, the highly-wrought tabernacle, the bronze
candlesticks, the jasper and the marvellous _retablo_ are, to my poor
thinking, excessive claims upon attention. So many masters co-operated
in the production of all this accumulated art that the effect of excess
is not surprising: Philip and John of Burgundy, Maestre Petit Jean,
Egas, Pedro Gumiel, Copin of Holland, Sebastian de Almonacid, all
sculptors and artists of renown; Francisco of Antwerp and Fernando del
Rincòn, famous painters and gilders. The details are innumerable, and
elsewhere would merit separate and full attention. The scenes are mostly
taken from the New Testament, terminating with a colossal Calvary. The
fine tombs on either side are the work of Copin of Holland (1507), and
the gilding and painting were done by Juan de Arevalo. They were erected
by order of Cisneros for the kings buried in the old chapel. They are
highly decorated and imposing monuments, worthy of the great man who
commanded them and of the great artists who wrought them under his
inspiration, worthy of century and temple that created and shelter them.
Classical elegance and Gothic fancy, exuberant imagination and austere
repose, are the complex qualities of these superb tombs. There are two
figures among those of the lateral pillars that divide the vaults it is
customary to bestow extra attention upon: the Alfaqui, who went out to
meet Alfonso VI. on his furious return to Toledo to burn his wife and
the French archbishop, to intercede on behalf of those who had so
grievously injured his people, and who, in order to obtain their pardon,
resigned Moorish rights to the Cathedral; and the _Pastor de las Navas_,
a legendary shepherd who is supposed to have indicated to Alfonso VIII.
the way of winning the battle of Navas de Tolosa. The sculpture is
coarse and heavy, and indicates an earlier period than the rest of the
work, Alfonso himself supposed to have been the designer of his shepherd
assistant in war. The Cardinal of Spain, as Mendoza was called, won the
distinction of a place in the royal chapel by order of Isabel, his
friend and sovereign. To make room for his tomb, she had the wall
between the two pillars near it knocked down. Ponz calls this tomb a
_maquina suntuosa_, but where there is so much to admire, it may be
passed by with merely a nod.
[Illustration: DETAIL, TOMB OF KING, GOSPEL SIDE OF HIGH ALTAR,
CATHEDRAL, TOLEDO]
[Illustration: TOMB OF CARDINAL MENDOZA]
Not so the too famous and too horrible _Trasparente_ behind the High
Altar. What such a thing can possibly mean surpasses the average
understanding. In the midst of all that one must venerate, in the home
of majesty and loveliness, where beauty in stone and wood and colour
takes its supreme form and hues, what effect but that of artistic
scandal can such a monstrous creation have? One stares, one wonders, one
could even weep for such inexplicable desecration, but one remains
mystified and disheartened. Ponz a century ago wrote: "It is marble, an
enormous affair in which it would have been better to have forever in
the bowels of the hills of Carrara than to have brought it here to be a
real blot in the Cathedral." This celebrated atrocity is the work of
Narciso Tomé, a native of Toledo, who, if he were useful for nothing
else to posterity, offers an exceptional opportunity of measuring the
frightful depths into which the dignity of Spanish art was plunged in
the beginning of the last century. The degraded art of Churriguera may
be bad enough elsewhere; here only does it stand out a gilt, magnificent
marble nightmare, which cannot even be criticised, so awed is
imagination by an ugliness that defies classification and repels reason.
The man who paid 200,000 ducats for this blot upon a perfect temple,
were he pope or bishop, merited at least a strait-waistcoat. Instead, he
and the artist, and the thing itself, evoked, on its conclusion,
national triumph and rejoicings, processions, illuminations, fire-works
and bull-fights. Consistency is not a virtue we have a right to expect
from races any more than from persons, so the massacre of horses and the
idle torture of bulls, the encouragement of the brute instinct of
cruelty, the destruction of which is admittedly the object of the mild
and tolerant religion of Christ, may be regarded as nothing inordinately
outrageous in ecclesiastical feastings. A modern Spanish critic is proud
to own that for his part "he would not touch a hair of the smallest
statue of this sumptuous fabrication," and regards it as an interesting
page in the history of Spanish architecture. There are of course curious
natures who find interest in corruption and a certain majesty in
madness. To these Churrigueresque masterpieces may be left, and with so
many stupendous demands upon our admiration as the Cathedral holds, such
a flaunting provocation of the contrary feeling may by the wise and
grateful be accepted as a pause, a rest in interjectional contentment.
In the dim subterranean chapel of the sepulchre, there are sculptures
and paintings worthy of inspection if there were light enough to see
them by. One can see, however, that the sculptural group representing
the burial of Christ by Copin of Holland is remarkable, but the
paintings remain vague and blurred in the partially illuminated
obscurity.
But however interesting each of the chapels may be, it is the general
view that remains the loveliest thing about the Cathedral. Before you
enter the space between the Coro and the Capilla Major, on looking up to
the circular pierced arches between the curving line of columns, you
will perceive a clear and charming evidence of Moorish influence in the
architecture. The delicate pillars and horse-shoe arcade are familiar
and welcome, and may again be seen running across the outer aisles.
Nothing more graceful could be imagined than this light foreign touch in
the sombre austerity of Gothic art. Again you are reminded of the Moors
by a rich arch covered with lace-work in the chapel of Santa Lucia,
mudejar rather than wholly Moorish, which looks quite oriental in front
of the Renaissance arch of the other side of the chapel. It is such a
variety in beauty that lends perpetual freshness to this monumental
glory of Toledo. It has a face for every tone of reverie and musing. The
light is always softly brilliant, and shadow not dense but suggestive;
the very silence has the penetrative quality of mysticism, so that
already on your second visit you will have ceased to feel a mere
tourist, so intimate and instantaneous is its possession of you. Each
day I have dwelt in the old imperial city, I have unconsciously wended
my way to its doors. No matter what direction I started to take, it
almost became a necessity to begin or end my daily wanderings by a
pause in this spiritualised immensity of stone. I have never found its
wonderful charm diminished by familiarity; on the contrary, the coloured
rays of light from above, striking upon the brown shade of stone, seem
ever more and more witching; the delicate tones of shadow more and more
mysterious, and the unrivalled grandeur of long forested perspectives of
aisles and of spacious naves, with the multiplicity of arches and
windows, ever a greater testimony of Toledo's departed glory.
Space forbids anything like a detailed account of the chapels and
cloisters of the Cathedral. These latter are not to be compared with
most of the other Spanish cloisters,--with, for instance, those of
Segovia, of Santiago, of Burgos or Oviedo. There is the inevitable
felicitous contrast of foliage and columned arch, and here, certainly,
the note is more joyous than elsewhere, with the deep yellow light
striking radiantly upon this large, airy square of sun-shot leafage open
to the heavens. The cloisters were built by Cardinal Tenorio, and Blas
Ortiz, a contemporary Toledan of Philip II. describes them in his
beautiful caligraphy, preserved in the _Biblioteca Provinciale_, as
"sumptuous." This is a favourite adjective with the Spaniards who write
about Toledo. It saves a multiplicity of explanations. The frescoes on
the walls, painted by Bayeu after the manner of Vanloo, represent scenes
from the life of St Eugenius and the famous legend of the _Niño
perdido_. They are decorative but not interesting, and Gautier
pronounces them out of keeping with the austere elegance of the
architecture. It must be earlier paintings, since effaced, that Blas
Ortiz describes as _perfectissime_. The fine door of the Presentation, a
good specimen of _plateresca_ work, was wrought by Pedro Castañeda, Juan
Vasquez, Toribio Rodriguez, Juan Manzano, and Andréz Hernandez. The
design and the reliefs are well worth careful examination. The _portada
de Santa Catalina_ commands attention. It is excessively decorated, and
bears the arms of Spain and of the Tenorios; one of the finest details
of the façade is the statue of St Catherine holding in one hand the
wheel and in the other the sword, emblems of her martyrdom. Historical
value is attached to Bayeu's frescoe representing the reception at
Toledo of the bones of St Eugenius, 1565. Philip II. and his son are
there, as well as the archdukes Rudolph and Ernest, and there is a view
of the Puerta Visagra through which the procession entered. Other
frescoes treat of the Moorish saint Casilda, and on the north side is
the chapel of St Blaise, built also by Tenorio as his coat of arms
indicates. On a pedestal within a railing is a fragment found near St
John of the Penetencia testifying to the date of the consecration of the
Cathedral.
Near the cloister entrance is the chapel of St John or the Canons, as
mass can only be said here by the chapter. The old Tower chapel here
used to be called the _Quo Vadis_, and was dedicated to St Peter.
Cardinal Tavera, designing it for his sepulchre, consecrated it to St
John. The fine _artesonado_ ceiling is picked out in gold and black,
with carved flowers and figures; the altars are richly wrought and
painted. Antonio Ponz in the last century greatly praises Luiz Velasco's
three pictures here. On the opposite side of the great gates is the
Mozarabe chapel, set apart by Cisneros for the famous Gothic rite; the
porch is Gothic; the doors of good renaissance style, were wrought in
1524 by Juan Frances; and the frescoes, painted by John of Burgundy,
representing the conquest of Oran and triumph of the founder have no
great value. There is a retablo of St Francis placed by Dr Francisco of
Pisa, the historian of Toledo, who is buried outside. The chief
interest of the Mozarabe chapel is centred in its quaint old ritual
which may be heard here every morning at 9 A.M., and will be found
extremely puzzling to follow. The canons behind, in a sombre, flat
monotone, chant responses to the officiating priest at the altar. The
sound combines the enervating effect of the hum of wings, whirr of
looms, wooden thud of pedals, the boom and rush of immense wings
circling round and round. After the first stupefaction, I have never
heard anything more calculated to produce headache, nervous irritation,
or the contrary soporific effect. In summer it must be terrible. In an
old MS. of the Biblioteca in the last century there is a grave complaint
made that the Gothic Mozarabe rite had already fallen from its beautiful
solemnity, and that it was to be deplored that it should now be
performed with such little decency and so little in accord with the
founder's idea. The writer naïvely hopes that the advent of Carlos III.,
which promised such general reform, would lift up again a degraded
ritual and "that it would be placed in the rank of decency and splendour
that a vestige so singular and worthy of appreciation deserves." A hope
not realised if I may judge from my assistance at the service. There was
neither quaintness nor piety that I could see, but the canons looked and
gabbled as if their thoughts were several miles away, staring roundly at
the foreigners, and exchanging smiles as they altered their places.
There are many minor chapels and offices one must overlook in a general
description. The wood-work of the _Sala capitular_ and the _Anté sala_
was wrought by Copin of Holland and Antonio Gutierrez. The ceiling of
the _Anté sala_ is most charming, a brilliant moresque style, admirably
painted and of quite regal magnificence, one of the best specimens of
artesonada. The long carved
[Illustration: CAPITULAR DOOR IN TOLEDO CATHEDRAL]
cupboards on either side are Copin's and Durango's work. Copin's
especially is delightful, simple, dignified, not over elaborated. Both
are divided in panels which are covered with reliefs, exquisitely
designed. Vases, heads, figures, masks, and every kind of mediaeval
fancy abound. A Moorish doorway executed by Bonéfacio in 1510, leads
into the _Sala capitular_, one of the loveliest of Spain. The doors are
of a rich renaissance, full of busts, leafage, and gilt reliefs. The
painted arms of Cisneros and of Lopez de Ayala are worked into the
garlands above, and the archiepiscopal choir below is another good
specimen of Copin of Holland, who did so much for this cathedral. Round
the walls are the portraits of the archbishops, beginning with St
Eugenius. The old series ends with Cisneros, and the second begins with
William of Croy. Most of the recent portraits are wretched daubs. There
are paintings here by John of Burgundy on a level with those of the
Mozarabe chapel, while the effect of the Giordano ceiling is striking.
The light seems to fall in perpendicular rays. In the matter of
paintings the Cathedral would be poor enough but for a Titian and the
splendid picture of El Greco in the sacristy. When you have gazed at
that virile, majestic figure of Christ, felt the charm of its lofty
expression, of its wonderful suggestion of aloofness and fatality,
marvelled at the colouring, the splendid boldness of design and
grouping, the vigour and naturalness of the figure of the first plan
bent forward to bore a hole in the cross at his feet previous to
inserting the nails, you may ask yourself in dismay what gave rise to
the legend of El Greco's madness. Stay a moment. This is unfortunately
not the last word of El Greco. This grave and lovely _Expolio de Jesus_,
hardly second to that other astounding masterpiece, "The burial of Count
Orgaz" in Santo Tomé, has its lamentable sequel in the St John the
Baptist of the _Hospital de Afuera_, which lets you into the secret.
Whether or no El Greco ever went mad we have no means now of knowing,
though he undoubtedly gives the impression in the St John of genius
labouring under some wild and extraordinary influence. But the Expolio
is as perfect and sane a masterpiece as artist ever produced. All the
tones are cold and subdued, as if a brilliant imagination purposely
steadied and held itself in check to realise the highest and simplest
expression of repose. The agony is past, transient revolt is over, and
here stands the Son of Man in the hands of his ruthless enemies,
insusceptible to personal indignity, greater than death, the supreme
ideal of resignation, of its majesty rather than its sweetness. No
wonder the lovers of El Greco regard him as the precursor of Velasquez,
and will have it that Velasquez studied him as master, and from him
learned the secret of his own immortal dignity and cold majestic grace.
When you look long at this great picture, you wonder how an artist like
Théophile Gautier came to write the flippant nonsense he did about El
Greco. Even if the legend of the painter's madness were true, it is
certainly not apparent in this canvas. What is apparent is a complete
want, felt everywhere in El Greco's work, of sensibility of the more
subtle and penetrative kind, an inaptitude that made the limitation of
his art to conceive or paint emotion on a woman's face. The three Maries
are present, so close as to touch the robe of Jesus. Well, the three
faces express nothing stronger in feeling than curiosity, in the case of
the middle figure more slightly depressed by a vague instinct of passive
grief; in the case of the younger women such a curiosity as a passing
incident might excite, with neither a touch of terror nor abhorrence
much less that of martyred love. The dark and lovely head behind of the
third woman, said to be the painter's daughter, with the superb hand and
arm, is that of a young Toledan girl placidly watching some street
procession and looking for the appearance of her lover. The smile is not
far from the shadowed eyes and sweet, grave mouth, and the whole
suggests soft, young romance. A rash youth, passing at that moment, if
his eyes fell first upon her in the tragic scene, would greet her with
an eloquent smile, and probably fling her a kiss through the air, but he
would never suppose she was looking on at barbarous men as they bored
holes in a cross and tore the garments from the form of her Lord and
Saviour about to be crucified.
The same curious indifference to appropriate form and expression is
shown in his St John the Evangelist. The last of the row of apostles on
the right of the sacristy, a pallid, lean young man enveloped in the
peculiar tints of dull green and faded pink, one soon learns to
recognise as El Greco's hues of predilection, which are more than once
reproduced elsewhere in the figures of St Joseph, the infant Jesus and
Mary. This is not the dreamy and loving youth of the New Testament, full
of tenderness and mystical reverie. The face is delicately hard, long,
pointed and intellectual, its cold ardour clouded with a suggestion of
impatience and contempt.
Opposite the _Trasparente_ is the chapel of San Ildephonso. Painted on a
vault outside is an armed cavalier bearing a standard in one hand and an
emblazoned shield in the other. This is the famous Estevan Illan,
descended as we have seen from Don Pedro Paleologus, of imperial Greek
origin, and founder of the powerful family of the Toledos, since the
Dukes of Alba. The general effect of this chapel is costly rather than
beautiful. It is impossible not to be oppressed by the sensation of
display, not that it is in the least gaudy; it is too solidly wealthy
and artistic in its elaboration for that. The mouldings are rich, the
decorations are rich, and rich beyond calculation are the tombs. Grander
and less elaborate is the really great chapel of Santiago, better known
perhaps as the Constable's Chapel. This was built by Alvaro de Luna as a
vast mausoleum for himself and his wife. It is astonishingly bright when
you remember its dimensions and its imposing height; of sober taste
notwithstanding its flowered ogival style, subdued, while what the
Spaniards delight to call everything here, "sumptuous." The word indeed
may not be grudged in this instance, where it is sonorous and
appropriate. To do honour to this edifice, Don Alvaro de Luna commanded
truly miraculous tombs for himself and his wife, on which lay their
full-length figures in gilt-bronze, so fashioned that whenever mass was
recited, these life-sized figures rose from their recumbent attitudes,
and knelt during the service. On its conclusion, they quietly lay down
again. Such tombstones, had they remained, would speedily have turned
into a form of local entertainment for the townsfolk. But the great
Constable fell into his sovereign's disgrace, he poor, sorry, feeble
king, hounded into the basest ingratitude by the clamouring populace and
the Constable's jealous foes. So in the hour of his fall, the infante,
Don Enrique of Aragon, had the wonderful tombs with the gilt moving
statues, broken up, on which the Constable sarcastically addressed him
in verse:
"Si flota vos combatió
En verdad, señor infante
Mi bulto non vos prendió
Cuando fuistes mareante;
Porque ficiesedes nada
A una semblante figura,
Que estaba en mi sepultura
Para mi fui ordenada."
[Illustration: TOMBS OF COUNT ALVARO DE LUNA AND WIFE, THE CATHEDRAL,
TOLEDO]
The tombs that have replaced these were ordered by the Constable's
daughter, and erected, with Queen Isabel's permission, in 1489, to the
memory of a king's great servant and friend scandalously abandoned by
his master. For this Isabel had nearly all the virtues, barring, alas!
religious tolerance. She could be trusted to prove true to her own
friends, and not meanly condone betrayal of a subject in a
fellow-sovereign. But the Constable has fared all the better because of
the Infante's petty spite. I doubt if we should have been much
impressed--except as children are by dolls that squeak and walk, or as
the child in most of us is delighted with every kind of mechanical
spring, from the wheels of watches to cuckoo clocks and German
town-clocks, that send dear, quaint little men and women in and out with
the day's revolution--by these gilt tombs, and they serve a wiser and
nobler purpose as the exquisitely-wrought pulpits of Villalpando,
outside the _reja_ of the Capilla Major. Now Don Alvaro and Doña Juana
repose in sculptured marble between life-size kneeling figures of
singular impressiveness. Nothing could be grander and more massive than
the simple effect of both tombs. There are more beautiful ones, even in
Spain--the splendid Italian tomb of Cisneros at Alcala de Henares, tombs
in the Cathedral and Cartuja of Burgos, the grand and lovely tomb of
Tavera, Berruguete's last work, in the _Hospital de Afuera_--but,
nevertheless, these great sculptures of an obscure artist, Pablo Ortiz,
are worthy of the crowned and castellated mausoleum built for them. The
reliefs are gracious, the treatment fluent, large and sober. The noble
statues are unfortunately much mutilated, but the flow of folds, the
finish and delicacy of detail, are quite Italian. In the retablo are the
painted portraits of Don Alvaro and Doña Juana, painted by Juan of
Segovia, and on either side of the altar, under canopied tombs, lie
other figures.
The _artesonado_ ceiling of the Chapel of the New Kings is similar to
that of St John the Baptist. The Gothic retablo is one of the best of
the Cathedral. A passage leads to it, and the interior is extremely gilt
and ornate. The sovereigns are buried on either side of the chapter, the
first being Henry of Trastamare, the founder of the chapel. Rich as it
is in gilding, wrought-iron, marble and paintings, it looks small and
unimposing after the great chapel of St Jago. Mass is celebrated here
every morning at nine. An official in ragged and embroidered finery, at
the end of the chapter, stands, holding the crowned and jewelled mace
with the arms of Spain.
There is small space to dwell upon the incredible value of the church
treasures, only shown at stated periods. Seven canons open the seven
doors, each with a separate key. The hour for showing these matchless
splendours is 3 P.M., a bad one on account of the light, and the
miserable candle the sacristan carries is of small use. Here will you
see pearl and precious stones, embroidered mantles, such jewels and gold
and silver brocade as surely the eye of man never elsewhere beheld--the
rarest of wrought cloaks and robes and laces--all royal presents, or the
gifts of cardinals to the Virgin of the Sagrario. The Custodia is, for
sheer magnificence, a thing to gape at. It is the work, rather the
monument, of a German silver-smith, Henry of Arfe, and his son and
grandson. The guide-book describes it as of an unheard-of wealth in
jewels, gold work and chiselling. To attempt its description would
involve me in another chapter on the Cathedral. Perhaps the most
precious thing of all among so many treasures is the sad and mystical
wood statue of St Francis of Assisi, by Alonso Cano, some say, by his
pupil, Pedro de Mena, later critics aver. Unfortunately, it is vilely
placed in a corner, and as well, just in the middle of the face, the
glass cover is broken, so that it is difficult to obtain a real view of
the head without some portion of the features distorted.
The object of the devotion of the Chapel of the Treasury is a statue of
the Virgin, which Our Lady is said to have kissed on her descent from
heaven to bestow the chasuble on St Ildefonso. Hence the astounding
mantle embroidered by Felipe Corral, made of gold, pearls, rubies,
sapphires and emeralds. Other notable treasures are the charming
specimens of silver repoussé--one, the Rape of the Sabines, so
beautifully wrought as for years to have been attributed to Benvenuto
Cellini. To-day, the Flemish artist, Mathias Méline, is recognised as
the creator. It was the gift to the church of Cardinal Lorenzana. The
big silver figures on four globes, with belts and sandals all gleaming
with jewels, belong to the time of Felipe II. They command attention,
even in all this magnificence of precious metal, precious stones, silk,
lace and art; but I do not know who made these statues that represent
the four parts of the world.
Two hundred and fifty ounces of seed pearls, 85,000 pearls, as immense a
number of diamonds, rubies and amethysts, were expended alone on the
Virgin's celebrated mantle. As for the reliquaries of gold, silver and
rock-crystal, the church plate, the incensors, only an auctioneer's list
could do them justice. One hails them marvels of their kind, and passes
by. In staring, with an abashed modern gaze, unfamiliar with such
sights, at Arfe's masterpiece, the Custodio, that weighs its weight in
precious metal over 10,900 ounces, note the gold cross on the top, said
to have been wrought of the first piece of gold brought from America by
Columbus, and was raised by Mendoza over the surrendered walls of the
Alhambra in the same year.[18]
Historic interest is still more attached to the modest sword shown as
that of Alphonso VI., worn by this monarch on his triumphal entry into
Toledo, and to the original letter in Latin of St Louis of France to the
chapter of Toledo, on sending some sacred relics for the church. It
runs: "Luys, by the grace of God, King of the French, to his beloved in
Christ, the canons and all the clergy and church of Toledo, salutations
and love. Desiring to adorn your church with a precious gift, by the
hand of our beloved John, the venerable archbishop of Toledo, and at his
prayer, we send to you some precious parts of our venerable and
excellent sanctuaries that we had from the treasure of the Empire of
Constantinople as follows: some wood of our Lord's cross, a thorn of our
Lord's holy crown, some of the glorious Virgin's milk, some of our
Lord's crimson garment, worn by Him; of the napkin He wound round Him
when He washed His disciples' feet, of the sheet in which His body was
wrapped in the sepulchre, and some of the Saviour's swaddling clothes.
We beg and pray of your friendship in the Lord to accept and guard these
sacred relics, and in your masses and offices to keep us in benign
memory. Given at Etampes, the year of our Lord, 1248, month of May."
This document is stamped with a golden seal.
The _Ochavo_ is like everything here, an impressive chamber, the home of
vast treasure. It is a monument of bronze and marble, containing massive
silver coffins wonderfully wrought for the bones of St Leocadia and St
Eugenius, statues of silver and ivory, and priceless reliquaries. Behind
are guarded the church vestments. Nowhere are such embroideries and
brocades to be seen. The hundred altar-pieces are works of art to set
the mouth of the collector awatering. The older they are the more
lovely, and beside the early Gothic brocade-embroidery, the finest
effort of the last century seems poor and vulgar, though seen apart
would cause the beholder to exclaim at its loveliness. Whence did these
rude Goths obtain their secret of such exquisite work? and how has it
died from amongst us? Were the sacristan willing, and human nature
capable of such a prolonged effort of admiration, one might spend days
among these gold and silver embroidered brocades, and complacently dream
of impossible times. But when the sacristan has shown you a dozen
chasubles and a dozen altar-pieces, he thinks it quite enough--and so do
you, wearied from excess of strain upon admiration and ravenous envy.
The beautiful and massive tower which lends majesty to an exterior not
nearly so impressive as the interior of the Cathedral, was begun by
Rodrigo Alfonso in 1380, but the work went on very slowly until the
Archbishop Contreras put it into the hands of the architect, Alvar
Gomez, who finished it (1440). There have been changes since, especially
in 1660, when the capital was burnt and rebuilt. It is worth while to
ascend the interminable stairs to the belfry, not to marvel at the
largest bell, I believe, of the world, whose terrible note reaches as
far as Madrid, but to revel in the view. You seem to look down upon the
earth from Alpine heights. Below, through incredible depths of space,
flows the Tagus, with its broad horse-shoe curve that makes almost an
island of the town, and with charming little breaks in joyous verdure
and soft little dashes of blue shade and white mist, the sombre and
austere hills of Toledo make an upper and more violent rampart against
the world beyond. Such is the sense of imprisonment here, that the eye
instinctively seeks, as a chance of escape, the long white way of
Madrid. It is good to breathe a moment in so exalted an atmosphere, to
behold so vast and wonderful a scene, in which all remembrance of human
miseries vanishes, and our very joys drop into relative significance.
Nature has nowhere else attained a note of beauty harsher, more intense,
more indifferently sublime. Elsewhere you feel that an effort has been
made to captivate you, a deliberate combination of effects to win your
admiration. Not so here. The Moors never succeeded, during their long
sovereignty, in stamping the place with their voluptuous charm, as they
did in Granada, Cordova, and Valencia. They left it as they found it,
the stern home of revolt, the nest of mailed warriors and hardy
artisans, so hard and quarrelsome that not even their loves furnish us
with a soft legend, nor their literature a witching profile, or any hint
of seductive grace in their womanhood.
[Illustration: THE CATHEDRAL TOWER]
CHAPTER VII
_Domenico Theotocopulos_ El Greco
There is but one great painter permanently and almost exclusively
associated with Toledo, _El Greco_. All the notable pictures of the town
are his, and so vast is his work here, that the Toledan churches possess
at least fifty pictures of his, a dozen of which are nothing less than
masterpieces, and the rest the work of a master in weaker and more
erratic moments.
Masters are so rare in the history of this world that one would gladly
know something of this tardily recognised great one; learn the secret of
his preposterous defects in the second stage of his development, and the
no less enigmatic secret of his occasional reach to supreme perfection.
How came the man who could paint the glorious under picture of the
Burial of Count Orgaz (see illustration), to draw and paint the
inconceivable picture of St John the Baptist in the _hospital de
Afuera_? How, in fact, rose the absurd legend of his madness, since no
details of the man's life has reached us on which to base such an idea?
Théophile Gautier, with lamentable flippancy, gives echo in France to
the ill-natured supposition of Palomino, the least trustworthy of
guides. Nearly every fact given by Palomino concerning _El Greco_ is
false. He states the painter's age, though no mortal being, contemporary
of _El Greco_, or researcher of our own times, has the faintest ground
for any such statement. The registrar of his death, which a Spanish
painter, an impassioned student of all that concerns _El Greco_, has
seen, proves that the artist's age was uncertain, since nobody about him
knew the date of his birth. Furthermore, Palomino tells us triumphantly
that _El Greco_ was buried in the parish of San Bartolomé, "and instead
of a slab they placed a railing over his grave to indicate that nobody
else should be buried there." The church fell down years afterwards, he
assures us, and the place of _El Greco's_ burial was no longer known.
This is all mere supposition, just as Palomino's statement of _El
Greco's_ age, seventy-seven, and more innocent in the way of loose
statements than his information that Theotocopulos went mad with rage
from hearing himself compared with Titian, and purposely distorted his
work to extinguish a similarity that did him honour. Such is the flimsy
tale so genial and witty a writer as Gautier lightly spreads.
To begin with, it is now denied that _El Greco_ ever was Titian's pupil.
It is admitted that he studied under Tintoretto, and however much he may
preserve (and wisely!) of the noble Italian school, there can be no
doubt to the least discerning that he has brought to its interpretation
his own forcible individuality and cold temperament. Great he often is,
supreme sometimes, but never voluptuous or charming. You admire him with
your head; your heart he leaves always untouched, unless we make an
exception in the solitary instance of the delightful figure of St Martin
in the Chapel of San José. Here you have a touch of romantic pathos and
charm in the slim young knight, which evokes reverie and remembrance of
warm soft legendary love such as _El Greco_ is elsewhere persistently
blind to. We accept his own word for it, that he came from Crete, but
when, why, how, we know not. We hear of him in Italy, but at no fixed
spot, and he blazes unexplained upon the horizon of Spanish art, first
known by one of the masterpieces of Spain. Pacheco, earlier than
Palomino, tells us that he was a curious student, a philosopher, an
architect, a sculptor, as well as a painter. Of his studies, his
philosophy, no proof has come down to us; but of his sculpture, his
wood-carving, his architecture, Toledo possesses many a sample as
evidence of the man's versatility. He is said to have left behind him,
as a monument of industry in a life so full and varied, a complete copy
in clay of everything he wrought or painted. The only faint hint of the
man himself that we get is a reference Pacheco makes to a conversation
he had with _El Greco_ in Toledo, when the great painter told him that
in his opinion colour alone was of value, and form and drawing quite
secondary considerations in the art of painting. It was this feeling
that made El Greco so persistently cold to the work of Michael Angelo,
says Palomino. Michael Angelo, he said to Pacheco, was a very good
fellow, but a very poor painter.
Beyond two legal squabbles, we learn nothing of the man's life at
Toledo. He is said to have painted his own visage in the Burial of Count
Orgaz: lean, hard, nervous, exceedingly dark and striking, the face of a
man in whom energy was an unsleeping disease, who worked with his mind
concentrated upon the accomplishment of an ideal achievement, not as an
idealist, as a materialist rather with an ideal object in view. There is
the same curious modern expression in this dark, impassioned face that I
noticed in the desperate portrait of the Italian novelist, M. Gabriel
d'Annunzio, whom the face strangely resembles; an eager, ravenous, cruel
sensuality which knows neither rest nor satiety, and which gives meaning
to the charge of habits of harsh gallantry and deliberate ostentation.
He is said to have kept a band of musicians to play during his
carefully-prepared and selected repasts. Yet nothing could be less
sensual than the work of El Greco. He is colder than Velasquez, and only
understands feminine emotion in a certain austere intensity, passion fed
upon the perfume of incense and saintly legend, as in the striking head
of St Agnes in his great Virgin and Child of San José.
But this statement also is untrustworthy. It is incredible that a man,
who left so much behind him, whose life was so active, and whose
achievement was so important for a town in which he lived for so many
years, should be merely a name, leaving no evidence of social or civic
existence, no word of friend or foe in the annals of that town, nothing
in its contemporary letters to guide us to any knowledge of the man
himself. Pacheco in three lines reports a conversation with him, that is
all. We do not know even where he lived in Toledo, how he lived, who his
wife was, if he loved her, who his friends were, what manner of father
and citizen he was. We know that he painted pictures, that he built
churches, carved statues, and, since he was well paid for his work, that
he must have possessed considerable means, and was probably an
influential personage as well as a great master. Sir William Stirling
Maxwell possesses a portrait said to be that of El Greco's daughter by
him, but this, too, is regarded as doubtful. Of a son's existence,
however, we are certain, and the charming figure of the delicate and
pensive St Martin on horseback, as well as that of the dreamy youth in
the plan of Toledo of the Museum, are the portraits of George Manuel
Theotocopulos, architect, like his father. It is now certified that he
was buried in the church, built by himself, of the Dominican convent,
_Santo Domingo el Antiguo_.
I have said that an impenetrable obscurity lies upon the personal life
of El Greco, though here his artistic existence is one of the most
insistent facts about us. He seems first to have come to Toledo about
1575 to build the church of _Santo Domingo el Antiguo_, and paint the
fine Assumption, the original of which was bought by Don Sebastian de
Bourbon, and is now the property of the Infanta Cristina, the picture of
the Retablo being only a copy, from which we may infer that his name in
the world of Italian art was already known. How else could he have come
to Toledo upon direct invitation, unless he came upon chance, hearing of
Toledo as a flourishing city, where art was more appreciated and better
remunerated than anywhere else in Spain. Then the chapter of the
Cathedral ordered the most beautiful Expolio of the sacristy. When the
ordered picture was painted, with the group of three women in the
foreground, the canons were shocked by the audacious innovation, sent it
back to the painter, and refused to pay for it. There was no
justification, they asserted, for the presence of the three Maries at
the Crucifixion, and they could only consent to receive it if the
figures were rubbed out. This El Greco haughtily and properly declined
to do. Having painted his picture, he announced himself ready to stand
by it, good or ill, as it was, without the slightest alteration. But he
demanded his money, whether the chapter took the picture or not. This,
too, the chapter refused, whereupon the irate and humiliated artist went
to law. It was a long case, lasting for years, during which time El
Greco whiled away his enforced leisure at Toledo by marching off to
Illescas, where he found time to build the church and paint some noble
pictures. His defence against the chapter was a naïve and lame one. He
asserted that the presence of the women did not matter, "as they were a
long way off," which is not true. But the main fact was true, "it did
not matter," any more than radically matters the mediaeval knight in
armour behind them. Such inaccuracies and discrepancies leave the
artist's genius undiminished. So apparently thought the judges and jury,
for El Greco won his case, gained his price, and maintained his artistic
dignity without offensive concession to his pride. The women remained,
the picture was hung in a frame of jasper and marble, the wood-work
wrought by El Greco, which cost the chapter considerably more than the
painting, and El Greco himself lived to die an old man in the town he
had started in so stormily.
His next proceedings were at Illescas where, having built the Church of
Our Lady of Charity, painted retablos and carved statues, it was
seriously proposed to tax his pictures as common merchandise. El Greco
went to law again, and this time, too, won his case. Only this was not
merely a personal triumph, it was a big justice wrung in these far-off
days from the stupid bourgeois to art. Palomino, commenting on it,
writes: "Immortal thanks are due to El Greco for having broken a lance
for art and thus forced the proclamation of its immunities." He
compelled the court to accept his theory that art was a thing apart from
merchandise, not like mere fabrications, subject to the control of taxes
or to the law of duty. While the process went on, El Greco refused to
sell any of his pictures, but simply hired them out for a certain sum,
as the good counsellors of Illescas only proposed to tax _sold_
pictures. As the case with the chapter of Toledo was concluded before
that of Illescas, he only accepted a loan on account of the future sum,
from the canons for the Expolio.
His fame now was spreading through Spain, and that on no common
unattuned voice. His superb portrait of the monk, Felix de Artiaga, won
from that distinguished poet the first of the two celebrated sonnets to
El Greco.
"Divino Griego de tu obrar yo admira
Que en la imagen exceda a el ser el arte"
it begins, and having descanted on the superiority of the artist's
creature to God's, wittily ends:
"Y contra veinte y nueve años de trato
Entre tu mano y la de Dios, perplexa
Qual es el cuerpo, en que ha de vivir duda."
The second sonnet was brought forth by El Greco's tomb of Queen
Margarita, when Fray Felix de Artiaga addresses him:
_Huesped curioso, a qui la pompa admira_
_De este aparato real_, MILAGRO GRIEGO!
_No lugubres Exequias Juzgues ciego,_
_Ni marmol fiel en venerable pyra_
_El sol que Margarita estable mira_
_Le arraneo del fatal desassossiego_
_De esta vana Region, y en puro fuego_
_Vibrantes luces de su rostro aspira_
_A el Nacer que vistió candido, pone_
_Toledo agradecido_ POR VALIENTE
MANO _en aquesta caxa peregrina._
_Tosca piedra la maquina compone_
_Que ya su grande Margarita ausente_
_No le ha quedado si España piedra fria_.
We know that El Greco had disciples, since his two most famous, Fray
Bautista Maino and Luis Tristan, were considerable artistes, whose work
in Toledo is only second to his own. But had he a school such as had the
great Italian masters? Was he beloved, admired, followed through the
town? What was his influence upon the young men around him? Was his
personality intense and commanding? Strong, yes, else he would never
have dabbled in litigation. We may imagine too some intemperateness of
character to explain the intemperate blemishes of his work. The strange
obscurity of so successful a career as his must have been, if the most
important commissions of the time mean anything, leaves us in doubt of
the man's personal attractiveness. He can scarcely have formed strong
friendships, or some testimony, some facts would have reached us through
these. A wilful, obstinate, self-centred nature is revealed in all his
works, and a curious lack of temperament and charm in it would explain
to some extent the man's lack of personal magnetism and influence to
account for the century's indifference to the creator of work it seems
to have appreciated so thoroughly.
We find him again at loggerheads with Felipe Segundo. The Escorial was
built, and the morose Philip ordered El Greco to paint a picture of the
martyrdom of St Maurice for the chapel. He had by this entered into his
last period of accentuated eccentricity, of which the St John the
Baptist of the _Hospital de Afuera_, beyond the Puerta de Visagra, is a
sufficiently exasperating example. The St Maurice I have not seen, but
if the saint's legs in any way resembled those of St John the Baptist,
small blame to the astounded king when he refused to accept the picture.
The sacristan of the _Hospital de Afuera_ explains the outrageous
anatomical contortions in the blunt good-natured fashion of the people:
"Picture by El Greco when he went mad." But as El Greco never went mad,
we rest dissatisfied with the information. There can be no doubt that
every strongly-marked nature reveals excess of some sort in whatever
direction development may tend. Neither men nor things, nor colour nor
line, can appear the same to all. The same sex and nation produced
Rossetti's women and Romney's. Greuze and Puvis de Chavannes see
Frenchwomen with a different eye, though woman herself is the eternally
unchanged, the same variously-imaged enigma of the beginning, rather
reflected and modified through the glance that scans her than seriously
altered or influenced by environment and impression. Humanity was not an
elegant affair for Hogarth, and viewed through El Greco's imagination,
it ceased to possess proportion, and man became absurdly tall and
grotesquely contorted. He bestows the finished hand of twenty on a child
of ten, and shoots his saints up to such a height as would make them
ridiculous in Frederick's famous Potsdam regiment of giants. But this is
no indication of madness, any more than any other exaggeration of a
natural tendency. Even in the _Expolio_, his first known great picture,
painted when he was a young man, his predilection for excessive height
is visible in the tall figure of Christ, and as the years go on this
predilection accentuates itself, till his figures cease to be natural.
The same tendency to distort the human limbs reveals itself in his
magnificent picture in the little church of Santo Tomé, in the upper
portion of which one notes extraordinary figures of angels out of
drawing, with twisted limbs over clouds.
Philip, in his dissatisfaction with his bargain was, however, as befits
a prince, more honourable than the chapter of Toledo. He paid El Greco
the price of his work, and only with difficulty did the unhappy artist
obtain, for his reputation's sake, a grudging admission of the picture
into the _Sala de Capitular_, while Philip ordered for the chapel, in
its stead, another picture of Romulo Cincinnato.
But these rebuffs were few in a truly brilliant career. The wonder is
how he found time, as well as physical strength, for all the commissions
he received. He built the extremely elegant façade of the Ayuntamiento,
which makes an odd and formal note in its Gothic and semi-Moorish
environment, in Greco-Roman style, but has a fine and dignified effect
against an appropriate depth of azure to carry out the classical
intention of a son of Greece. The side towers give lightness to the
solidity of the immense base, and if the columns and arches do not
succeed in producing a general impression of grace--a quality absent in
nearly all El Greco's work--there is no sin anywhere against harmony.
The interior is worth a visit if it were only for the pleasure of
reading on stone Manrique's sententious and noble lines, with their
indubitable ring of the plumed, dramatic ages and the hidalgo's studious
search for the fitting word, the fitting gesture, that shall send him
down to posterity in the worthiest form:
"Nobles, discretos varones,
Que gobernais à Toledo,
En aquestas escalones
Desechad las aficiones,
Codicio, temor, y miedo.
Por los comunes provechos
Dejad los particulares;
Pues vos fizo Dios pilares
De tan riquisimos techos,
Estad firmes y derechos."
When the Toledans wore their famed steel, and damascene armour was the
fashion and not a curiosity, the "discreet and noble males" Manrique so
magnificently addresses, may have lived up to the high civic ideal of
these verses, but it is much to be doubted if the modern Toledans, who
no longer seek distraction in the excitement of excellent steel, and
fashion paper-knives for books they never read, of damascene instead of
exquisite armour, maintain this level of austere civic virtue.
To our lasting gratitude, Cardinal Quiroga, at the instance of the
Augustines, ordered El Greco's immortal and glorious picture of the
"Burial of Gonzalo Ruiz, Count of Orgaz." It is no exaggeration to
describe this picture as one of the greatest of Spain. One puts it only
immediately below the
[Illustration: THE BURIAL OF THE COUNT OF ORGAZ]
masterpieces of Velasquez. The Toledans went wild with admiration, and
writing of it a century ago, Antonio Ponz describes their admiration as
still unabated. At the time part of the excitement was due to the superb
portraits of well-known personages, which the townspeople contemplated
with ever fresh delight. We, who have not this interest in the picture,
may wisely, nay, must enforcedly, follow their example to-day. "Since
its appearance," writes Ponz, "the city has never tired of admiring it,
visiting it continually, always finding new beauties in it, and
contemplating the life-like portraits of the great men of Toledo."
How modern, how seizing, what a subtle, magnificent impressionist the
man was! is the first surprised exclamation when confronted with all
these living, speaking faces of old Spain. Faces so Spanish, so
delicately and forcibly varied and individual in their maintenance of a
rigid, racial type. Every shade of national character stands out
separate and in union with the general expression: harsh pride, insane
wilfulness, stupendous fanaticism, exalted and untender mysticism, a
sensuality so dominant as to tread on cruelty, a delicate humour, an
inflated self-consciousness, exquisite kindliness, morose indifference,
the very genius of selfishness and a sterile sensibility. Did ever a
canvas before so perfectly gather all the fugitive moods, all the
underlying currents, all the grace and charm, the vices and defects of a
single race, and give them complete stability in their wavering
expression? This is to carry portraiture to the rarest perfection. Among
these twenty or so living faces, there is not one that is insignificant
or mediocre, not one that apart would not make a superb picture, not one
that does not carry the enveloping stamp of moment, race and
environment. In some the type is so unchanged that to-day in Spain such
faces may be seen looking precisely as they did then; unaltered even by
costume, so marked is the individuality, so seemingly imperishable the
large strong utterance of the Castillian physiognomy. This picture has
something of the eternal freshness of "Don Quixote." There is the
simple, unconscious stroke of Cervantes in the fashioning of these
hidalgoes' heads, something of his mild incomparable humour, something
of his nobility and the underlying depth of sadness in his easy wit. No
painter who was not both witty and humorous could observe so deeply, so
wisely, with such an obvious kindliness of regard; could accentuate so
suggestively, so delicately, national traits, and yet not break the
consistent harmony of a solemn scene; could tell posterity so much with
the most charming air of telling it nothing. "The Burial of the Count of
Orgaz" proves El Greco something more than a complete artist; it proves
his intellectual force, for here he brings all the distinguished
qualities of the brain to the very different qualities of the painter's
eye and hand.
Of these latter it would be difficult to say too much. Look at the
wonderful shadow of death in the livid grey of the corpse, and then at
the brilliance of St Augustine's episcopal robes! Examine above all the
lovely head of the boy, St Stephen, not in the least Spanish, a dream of
sweet and stainless youth, with warm-hued beauty to thrill the glance,
and just enough of heaven about the young brown head to suggest the
absent aureole. And from these fresh-tinted cheeks, so purely rounded,
look at the two emaciated and pallid monks behind, and then down at
little Acolyte, who has much more of the air of a proud and charming
little princess, with a practised grace of gesture and an inherited
dignity of glance than a church lad. Is it possible to paint more
supremely four such different hours and moods of life--dawn, radiant
morning, dull twilight, and cold night,--to unite in a higher degree
the skill and power of a master? No wonder the enthusiastic sonneteer
addressed him as "Miraculous Greek" and "Divine Greek." This picture has
indeed genius's rare and inimitable touch of divinity. All else, with
patience and talent, may be acquired but this, and had El Greco never
painted anything else, by the "Burial" of Santo Tomé alone he would
stand apart in the history of Spanish art, with the world's select few.
It is a singular fact, as I have pointed out, that such a painter's
influence on the town he lived in should not be more marked in every way
than references to the period would lead us to assume. He had pupils
certainly, but we only hear of two, Luis Tristan, his favourite, and
Fray Bautista Maino. Tristan has left a good deal of work in Toledo
which is often taken to be El Greco's in decline. Apart from the
master's, it is notable in its way, still and rather colourless; but a
story told of master and pupil bears retelling as an excellent trait in
El Greco. The one characteristic we are permitted to gather from the
obscurity that envelopes the man, is a haughty conviction of the value
of his art. There was no lack of confidence here, no feeble
self-depreciation, no meek concern for the judgment of others. In all
altercations between him and the purchasers, the purchasers were
naturally the blockheads, and in no circumstance whatever could he
possibly err, not even when he was convicted of wilfully contorting and
dislocating the human body. He only went on seeing more and more crooked
by a natural perversity. Now, not content to worship art and its rights
in his own emphatic work, he taught his disciples to do likewise in
theirs. This is his uncompromising method of teaching such a lesson.
The monks of La Sisla, a vanished powerful monastery of the middle
ages, ordered of young Tristan a picture for their chapel. Tristan
painted the picture and brought it to the abbot, claiming in payment two
hundred dollars. The abbot, noting the painter's youth, objected to the
price, and said it was far too high. Tristan modestly protested, and
referred the abbot to his master, who shortly called on El Greco at an
hour when Tristan was working in his studio. He opened the interview by
remarking that he believed there was a mistake in the terms demanded by
Tristan. "What were they?" dryly asked El Greco. The abbot blandly named
two hundred dollars. "A mistake," cried El Greco, "I should think so
indeed." He jumped up and flung himself violently on the astounded
youth, and began to thump him. "How comes it, you rascal, you could make
such a mistake? How dare you ask such a sum as two hundred dollars for a
picture worth five hundred? This will teach you to go about the world
asking such prices and proving yourself an ass." Thump, thump, and the
unfortunate abbot looked on while the blows hailed on the shoulders of
the too humble artist. "I buy that picture for five hundred dollars,"
said El Greco to the abbot, when he had finished Tristan's castigation,
whereupon the abbot, who knew his man and was glad enough to get off
quietly by the immediate payment to Tristan of five hundred instead of
two, politely requested permission to keep the picture. Here was a
master worth having. If he did use physical violence to his pupils, he
paid a lordly price for the privilege, and in the reckoning it may be
said the pupils were more than compensated for affront or wound.
In space so limited, it is not to be hoped to find room for mention of
all El Greco's pictures in Toledo. All I can endeavour to do is to
indicate the best, and thus, perhaps, provoke in the reader by whom his
work is ignored, a desire for fuller knowledge than I am able to impart.
The first picture he painted here, the "Assumption" of _Santo Domingo el
Antiguo_, was purchased by Don Sebastian of Bourbon, and though the copy
in its place is not good, a fair idea of the picture might be obtained
if the nuns had not the bad taste to place a large and unutterable
atrocity in the shape of a hideous tabernacle in front of it. Whatever
virtues the ladies of St Dominick may possess, an understanding of art
is not among them. Before all their painted retablos, they place
offensive dressed statues and tawdry ornaments, out of keeping with the
cold severity of this beautiful church of El Greco's. The pictures on
either side of the "Assumption," all Greco's, are fine; St John the
Baptist and St Paul below, St Benedict and St Bernard above. The
Annunciation at the end of the church is by Carducci, and the St
Ildefonso opposite by Luis Tristan, neither equal to the master's
strong, harmonious work, which they show out in greater relief.
Interest is attached to this church by the curious fact that not only
did El Greco build it, and build it so well with such cold and classical
correctness and simplicity, but here he lies at rest forever in his own
large temple. The precise spot of his grave is not known, and it is
quite an accident that such indication has been found. All the writers
have been content with the loose statement that he was buried either in
Santo Tomé or San Bartolomé, without a word of regret that he who
wrought such lasting monuments with his hand has found no reverent hand
to carve a slab above his dust. It was only quite lately that the
Spanish landscape painter, Señor de Berruete, to whose kindness I owe
the information and a copy of the registrar of the death, by sheer dint
of perseverance and conviction, brought to light the definite and
correct knowledge at last of El Greco's resting-place. He lies in some
obscure corner of this church, forgotten by the nuns on whose business
he first came to Toledo, and the record of his death and burial dryly
runs:--_Libro de entierros de Santo Tomé de 1601-1614, en siete del
Abril del 1614 falescio Dominico Greco. No hizo testamento, recibio los
sacramentos, enterose en Santo Domingo el Antiguo. Dio velas._
And that is all we know of his illness and death. He made no will, he
received the sacraments, he died on the 7th of April 1614, and left
tapers for his funeral. Under some stone of Santo Domingo he lies
forever ignored and unhonoured!
Many of the convents that possessed pictures of El Greco have
disappeared, amongst them the old convent of the Visitation called the
Queen's, which contained a superb Crucifixion. Of the figures at the
foot of the cross, Palomino wrote: "They are very Titian-like, and how
superior to anything else here!" We are told of a certain Magdalen, a
lovely bit of colouring, painted while the influence of the Venetian
school was still marked in his work, but this has become private
property. Some of his best pictures were painted for the little town of
Bayona near Cienpozuelos. The scenes from the dramatic life of Magdalen
were so beautiful that Cardinal Portocarrero offered 5000 pesos (about a
crown piece) and the same quantity of Giordanos to replace them to the
church, which were indignantly refused. In the College of Atocha and the
monastery of La Sisla there were considerable collections of some of the
best Grecos. Into whose hands have they since passed? and in how many
obscure parts of Spain may not these treasures lie hidden and
unrecognised? Palomino tells us of "an unapproachable Judgment." Alas!
nobody to-day knows anything about it.
Three other great pictures, however, remain. In the little chapel of San
José, opposite the Exchange of Carlos III., a painted insignificant
edifice that has fallen into deserved decay, there are five or six
Grecos, two of which arrest immediate attention. On the left is the
singularly beautiful figure of St Martin, a portrait of the painter's
son, a delicate high-bred and dreamy young knight in armour,
inappropriately cutting his mantle in two with Toledan steel to bestow
half on the beggar standing beside his white horse. No Roman soldier
this conception of Martin of Tours, making a gift of half of his single
cloak, but a charming youth who is playing at charity as he rides out
beyond the town, while above the river, in some Gothic-Arabian palace,
he has his choice of variously-hued satin cloaks as well as damascene
armour, and as he cuts his mantle, he has the dainty and sentimental air
of one who muses tristefully on the absent or perfidious beloved, and
hugs despair as the more graceful part of passion, the while anxiously
asking himself if he shall meet her glance as he rides past her lattice.
Except the lovely girl's head of the _Expolio_, also said to be a family
portrait, and if so proving, along with the St Martin, that El Greco was
the father of beautiful children, El Greco has done no more witching and
romantic work than this boyish figure of St Martin. The colouring is
extraordinarily cold, and grey of an exquisite tone, with shadows of a
dull silvered blue. It suggests the pale borderland where dream and
reality meet and merge. When El Greco first came to Spain, he was fresh
from the warm voluptuous school of Venice. Nothing proves more than the
rapid alteration of his style, the invading influence of atmosphere. The
austere and hieratic capital of Spain developed a racial coldness, till
his art became like the city that remained its temple, something aloof
from and above the gusts of temperament, an art unmoved by passion or
the senses, too violent to be called serene, too reflective and
intellectual to touch the heart. One would look in vain for the
exquisite sweetness of Andrea del Sarto, for a particle of the delight
and radiance the Italians had the secret of gathering into their
canvases, for any of the superlative charm of da Vinci or the surpassing
tenderness of Raphael. El Greco has much of the modern hardness, much of
its quick impressionability, much of its accentuated indifference to
mere loveliness, much of its cold force and deliberate self-cultivation.
Instead of learning from error, he cultivated error as part of his
individuality, a thing that was right in him since it defined his
peculiar perception of things. Even in this fine picture, the horse is
out of drawing, since it is a settled thing that no large work of his
can utterly satisfy, can come to us without some distinguished blemish
and oddness by which we recognise our Greco all in greeting him.
Opposite the St Martin is a Virgin and child, with two angels on either
side, and below two saints. The angel, on the left hand, almost
confronts me with inaccuracy in denying El Greco warmth. Nothing could
be warmer, even on a Murillo canvas, than the soft brown head and
shadowed cheek and eyes bent over the infant with an ineffable inward
curve that suggests, but does not reveal, the hidden smile. There is a
melting sweetness about this drooped visage that El Greco has not
accustomed us to expect from him. Underneath, St Agnes strains upwards a
very different cast of countenance: dark, severely outlined, intense,
and full of pain and yearning, the brows are tragically marked, and the
expression of the mouth is that of scornful resignation. By no means the
legendary Saint Agnes, meek and mild, but vigorously individual and
passionate, with a soul and intellect inconveniently above the little
joys of maidenhood. The Virgin, too, as are all El Greco's Madonnas, is
off the beaten track. This maiden-mother has none of the bland and
unintelligent sweetness of the Italian Madonna. The face is long and
pointed, and about the brow and eyes there is something Greek, a scarce
perceptible imperiousness, an intellectual quality in the expression of
reverie, more marked still in the Virgin of San Vicente. As a whole, the
picture is one of commanding interest.
The sacristan will assure you, despite the conviction of your eyes and
senses, that the altar picture is a Murillo. Nowhere have I found
sacristans so stupid and so ignorant as in Toledo. For that matter,
stupidity reigns over the town. For a home of relics, never were relics
more densely guarded, and there is not a single intelligent or
recommendable guide to be had. One remembers a delicate little
masterpiece of sensibility and pathos by Mr Henry James, "The Madonna of
the Future," with yearning, and wishes some learned monomaniac would
start across one's path, like the neo-Florentine hero of that story, to
guide one wisely through Toledo's forlorn treasures. But Toledo does not
seem to have inspired disinterested love in any human breast. Those who
know her decline to share their knowledge, and those in care of her
inheritance, from the canons of the Cathedral to the sacristans and
keepers of the Museum, are, without exception, wrapped in an
impenetrable fog of ignorance, accentuated by indifference. The Murillo
of the sacristan of San José is a very striking Greco--one would
recognise it a long way off by the stupendous height of St Joseph, the
hand of twenty of the infant Jesus, and the flowing wealth of drapery in
dull green, dim yellow, and faded pink, with the big deep folds so
peculiarly the master's. The sacristan also denied El Greco to be the
painter of a grey mystical St Francis, an emaciated, spiritualised
head, in a dim twilight, livid grey, half shadow, and ghostly white,
blurred with faint yellow. The hands show out whitely in the intensity
of gloom, and the expression in this grey atmosphere is mystic and
serene. Not one of the best examples, but good enough to suggest that
there may be some truth in the supposition that El Greco was the
sculptor of the famous little statue of St Francis of Assisi in the
Cathedral Treasury, and not Alonzo Cano or Pedro de Mena. But doubtful
of my sacristan's knowledge, I struck a match, mounted a chair, and
convinced him by reading out the half obliterated Greek letters of
Theotocopulos's signature. Nothing but the patronymic could be
deciphered, but the signature of the picture of the Escorial M.
Demetrius Bikelas deciphered more fully: [**Greek: Domênichos
Theotochoulos Kpês, 'epoíe], which is our sole assurance of his
birthplace.
There remains another great picture of El Greco to draw attention to,
overlooking, as I am compelled to, the very names of so many others. The
Assumption of San Vicente is no less magnificent than singular. Most
rare is its realistic impression of a scene mid air. You feel about it
the very hurricane of the upper air, the dizzy velocity of flight. This
is no image of calm soaring through space, the idea of dreamy swim most
painters of the Assumption are content to convey. The very modernity and
the violent realism of El Greco's genius forced him to forsake in all
things the notion of simple reverie. He seeks to convey distinct
impressions; veracity as far as possible must stamp these. He does not
delight in pampering the spectator with sentimental musings or the
inanely beautiful. Ugliness, too, has its beauty when accompanied by
strength. You must understand to enjoy, must bring the brain as well as
the senses to the contemplation of his work. Like all preoccupied
artists, he inevitably sins by excess, and overtaxes the bewildered
spectator. Something of his spirit went into our own Browning. His
drawing is often like Browning's verse, inexplicably rough and out of
gear. But nothing could change either genius. One leaves you to make
what you can of his volumes; the other leaves you for ever exasperated
by eccentricities of pencil and brush it is now no use seeking to
understand. For instance, in this picture, shocking and glorious at the
same time, who is to account for the profile of the angel in yellow with
the grand beating wings of shaded purple and grey that support the
lifted Virgin through the rushing air? The limbs are grotesque, the
pointed nose almost stands away from the face, the ears protrude in
graceless deformity, and the chin is nearly rugged in its absurd upward
curve. A more painful presentment of an angel sane man never painted.
Yet look away, and you will see two exquisite slender limbs and feet,
pointed downward in the air, to show that El Greco knew a lovely thing
as well as any other painter. And yet higher still, examine the Virgin
with her dark, oval, intellectual, modern visage, beautiful with the
beauty of our own troubled and eager times, half spiritual, half
poetical, but partaking not in the least of the old-fashioned ideal of
maiden-mother, the mild benignant Madonna of Italy, the soulless Virgin
of Spain, Eastern peasant women painted from the mistresses of Italian
artists or from the pretty dancing girls of the Spanish people. Here is
an innovation, here is originality: a mournful Mary, leaving earth with
doubt and pain in her expression rather than rapture; with small refined
face and intense brows; a Mary who bears the mark of our fugitive common
suffering, the deep, enigmatic impress of life accompanied by thought,
and not the stereotyped dolorous brand of the seven times stabbed
mother Catholic art accepts. He boldly rejects the old ideal both in
maiden and in mother, and paints a Mary who is neither sweet nor quiet.
How tall she is too, and slenderly outlined beneath the superb
green-blue drapery that bears her on its floating folds, as it waves
down from the rich pink garment that covers the slim bust. Surely, in
spite of defects so monstrous as to provoke laughter, angel's limbs like
gnarled trees, such biceps as no athlete ever possessed, hands to fell
the heaviest beast, this picture for composition, for the vivid
impression of intense velocity of upward flight, for the grand treatment
of drapery and colour, for the vigorous reality of those outspread
wings, and above all for that beautiful, delicately-strong grieved face
of Mary, with the soft dark cloud of hair marking its most charming
oval, this original conception of the Assumption may be reckoned as one
of El Greco's triumphs of art. It does not enchant, or captivate, but it
seizes. Elsewhere you must look for delight. Here your satisfaction is
disturbed by deliberate and deplorable defections, but you have
boundless compensations.
El Greco's portraits have none of the defects of his large compositions.
The best perhaps is the admirable portrait of Cardinal Tavera in the
_Hospital de Afuera_. This is in the full sense of the word a
masterpiece. No blemish to irritate, no deliberate eccentricity to
recall his wrong-headed theory that in painting colour alone is of
importance and drawing of no value whatever. Here is a square of canvas
of sober and solid worth, which might be the work of any of the best
Italian masters for suavity and restraint, and has no fraternity
whatever with the extraordinary St John the Baptist so near it, and so
preposterously offensive. The other superb portraits by El Greco that
Toledo holds are those of Antonio Covarrubias and Juan de Alava in the
Provincial Museum at San Juan de los Reyes. The rest are chiefly at
Madrid, and hold no inferior place in that glorious assembly. They stand
out, individual, insistent, and seem to assure you with all the
eloquence of so violent and marked a personality as El Greco's, that in
spite of the general Venetian tone that so vividly recalls Titian and
Tintoretto, with whom proximity invites contrast, it is no imitator who
has painted these magnificent portraits of lean Castillian gentlemen,
with their austere pride of regard, their air of imperturbable breeding
and beautiful hands. They are the work of one of the world's masters,
who himself created a school to which we owe Velasquez.
CHAPTER VIII
_San Juan de los Reyes, Santa Marta la Blanca, El Transito_
RELIGION and revolt are the chief features in Toledo's story. When her
sons were not quarrelling within or warring without, they were building
churches and convents, and none more famous than San Juan de los Reyes,
built in fulfilment of a vow by the Catholic kings after the victory of
Toro, gained over the Portuguese sympathisers with the _Beltraneja_,
Henry's luckless heiress. The architect was Juan Guas, master builder of
the Cathedral, and the church was finished in 1476, and given over by
Isabel to the order of St Francis, magnificently endowed. It stands high
above the bridge of San Martin and the Puerta del Cambron, the portico
facing north and the lovely cloisters south. Writing of it, Señor Amador
de los Rios in his _Toledo Pintoresca_, says: "This sumptuous monument
belongs to the class of architecture known as _gotica-gentil_, and is
indubitably one of the most famous of Toledo. Raised at the most
flourishing period of the Castillian monarchy, it awakens before the
vision of the enthusiastic traveller, memories of lofty and difficult
enterprises, happily concluded by our elders, so that the vandalism of
the present century stands sharply out with all its rubbish, and still
more the envy of a neighbouring nation, that, while it was in the act of
flinging the most unjust charges at the Spanish people, destroyed with
steel and fire the most precious jewels of its art. I refer to the
burning of San Juan de los Reyes by the French on their invasion. It
would seem false that the armies of the Marshals, whose culture and
value nobody may dare doubt, could display such rage against a few
edifices, whose only wrong in their estimation was that they were
erected by the victors of Cirinola and Pavia; false would it seem that
Napoleon's soldiers came to Spain to react the scenes of Attila and
Genserico. But for our misfortune it is only too true." One cannot blame
the Spaniards for their bitterness towards the French. No invading
nation ever behaved more shamelessly, comported itself with a more
inexcusable barbarity than the French in the Peninsula. But on the other
hand, the Spaniards themselves in reality care so little about the
beautiful things they have inherited from bygone times, are so
calamitously indifferent to their own historic glories, that we may well
hesitate to credit the French with all the ruin we see about us in
Spain. An archaeological body was appointed for the maintenance of
public monuments, and see for yourself in Toledo and elsewhere what
these gentlemen have been able to achieve. It is not money alone that is
lacking, but competence and the great important instinct _that it
matters_. The canons, those hopeless autocrats of ruined Toledo, who
stand so deliberately on the brink of oblivion and the dark abyss of
ignorance, have covered the beautiful bronze doors of the cathedral
_Puerta del Reloj_ with a hideous wooden screen. When I asked one of
them the meaning of this disfigurement, he blandly assured me that it
was to ward off draughts in winter, when the big stone forest is mighty
cold. And so the lovely works of Zurreño and Dominguez might just as
well have been riddled with French shot for all the pleasure they are
permitted to give us to-day. So with everything in the hands of these
terrible canons, who care for nothing on earth but their ease and their
leisure. The famous archiepiscopal library which the Republic had wisely
made state property, was given back to the canons by Alfonso XII., on
the distinct understanding that it should remain open to the public. But
the canons locked the doors, and whenever you ask to see it, you are
informed that the librarian has the keys and is away at Madrid, where he
expects to remain another fortnight. During the month I stayed at
Toledo, to collect material for this volume, I was sent from one canon
to another, all of whom "deeply sympathised," but assured me in dull,
indifferent tones that it was impossible for me to see the library. The
Penetenciario was at Madrid. And for anything the canons cared, he might
stay away six months, and keep the library keys with him all that time.
I asked one canon what the rest did, if in the absence of their singular
librarian, there happened to present itself a rare necessity for the
chapter to open this hermetically sealed door. He smiled deprecatingly,
but did not enlighten me. Not requiring information themselves, the
search for it is a form of insanity not to be encouraged in others. And
Señor Amador de los Rios and all other Spanish writers lament, and
justly, the French invasion, but forget to note their own cruel inertia,
the disastrous results of indifference and indolence.
There is nothing remarkable about the exterior of San Juan de los Reyes.
Alonso de Covarrubias completed the portico in 1610. The effect of the
rusty chains, the famous chains of the Christians of Granada round the
walls, is hideous. The Spaniards are extremely moved by the sight of
this queer ornament, one wonders why, and Amador de los Rios nearly
weeps with rage because some of them have been removed. He solaces
himself with drawing an elaborate picture of the awed and reverential
attitude of emotional foreigners gazing upon them. The sculpture outside
is very rough. Many will find the interior of this renowned edifice a
distinct disappointment. One misses the mystery, the charm of aisled
perspectives. There are here no long reaches of shadow and brilliant
variations of light. The effect is bold, free, ample, but curiously
short. The altar recess is shallow, the nave is broad and open, ending
in a semi-circle and six lateral arches. The body of the church is
divided by two light pillars, richly decorated. The beauty of the church
consists in the extraordinary magnificence of its sculpture. Pillars and
walls are extravagantly overlaid with the richest Gothic ornamentation,
and the impression is rather bewildering than beautiful. It seems a bold
thing to say of one of the most admired and renowned monuments of
Toledo, that it is ugly from excess of sculptural splendour. It is too
wide, too short, too solid and heavy, too open, above all too florid. I
can think of no fitter comparison than a stout, low-sized, middle-aged
woman, excessively bejewelled, carrying gracelessly garments too heavy
and too gorgeous. It lacks the elusive charm of shadow, the subtlety of
simplicity. San Juan de los Reyes is a church to visit and to wonder at,
but not a place to muse in. You will admire the octagonal vault, the
pinnacles, the gallery running out of the clerestory in front of the
south window, pierced parapet and highly-wrought choir; you will marvel
at the statues, the foliage, the rich Gothic fancies, the shields, all
the magnificent elaboration of detail, the rarest to be found anywhere,
and still will all this leave you cold and unimpressed. It is like an
admirably finished poem, that appeals to the head and leaves the heart
untouched.
From immemorial time the principal entrance has been covered with
plaster, which only permits us to see the great Gothic window in the
centre. The workmanship of the interior of the church leads us to infer
that this entrance was more in keeping with the whole than the present
façade of Covarrubias, which is decadent Gothic, constructed many years
later, and only finished in the reign of Philip III. The length of this
single nave is 200 feet, its width in the transept is over 70, and in
the body of the church 43. There are seven chapels, four on one side and
three on the other, all insignificant. The tomb of Don Pedro de Ayala,
bishop of the Canaries, is a fine specimen of renaissance sculpture. The
cupola rests on four admirably wrought pillars, its form is octagon,
with an ogival dome and a window in each face. Nothing could be richer
or more effective than the elaborately decorated sides of the transept.
Such a splendid prodigality of Gothic sculpture was surely never
lavished on so small a space. To give anything like a detailed account
of it would require an art and a knowledge nothing less stupendous than
the imagination that devised such work. The retablo, painted by Francis
of Antwerp in the sixteenth century, that Ponz praised so
enthusiastically, disappeared in the time of the fatal French
occupation, when the church was the stables of Napoleon's soldiers, and
along with it the life-sized portraits of the founders, Fernando and
Isabel. Hardly any of the old stainglass remains, to which fact is due
the glaring effect of crude light upon the white stone. But this light
permits you to examine at ease the superlative magnificence of the
transept sides and the sculptured pillars. Everywhere the initials F and
I, with the yoke and the arrows of both sovereigns. Letters and
inscriptions are exquisitely finished, and nothing could be more
graceful than the general effect of arches and capitals. The high broad
nave forms a Latin cross, composed of apse, transept and the body of the
church, all the most prodigious and exuberant specimen of florid
renaissance. The choir is situated over a low, broad, painted vault. The
pillars that support the four domes of the naves are richly sculptured
and adorned with statues, and a fine frieze runs above the chapels on
either side, with a window above each arch divided by graceful Gothic
pillars. The inscriptions are many, and surprisingly clear and beautiful
in finish. Here is one of the most elaborate in Gothic letters:
[Illustration: DETAIL OF ORNAMENT, INTERIOR OF S. JUAN DE LOS REYES]
"Este monasterio è églesia mandaron hacer los muy esclarecidos Principes
è señores D. Hernando è Doña Isabel, Rey y Reina de Castilla, de Leon,
de Aragon, de Sicilia, los cuales señores por bienaventurado matrimonio
y untaron los dichos Reinos, seyendo el dicho rey y señor natural de los
reinos de Aragon y Sicilia, y seyendo la dicha señora Reina y señora
natural de los Reinos de Castilla y Leon; el cual fundaron à gloria de
nuestro señor Dios, y de la bienaventurado Madre suya Nuestra señora la
Virgin Maria, y por especial devocion que le ovieron."
The few pictures are quite worthless, but pictures are not needed in
such a wealth of stone-work. What are needed to make San Juan de los
Reyes less crude in its frank over-decoration are, shadow, the dim
luminosity of stained glass, the softened glow of bejewelled light, the
tender mystery and charm of pillared aisle, the grace of length to give
majesty to solidity. It totally lacks the essential quality of
reverence, that elusive and unanalysable suggestion of the beyond, the
supreme, the intangible, of that inexplicable aspiration that ever stirs
the soul of primitive and civilised man, and has taught him to seek its
expression in the building of church and temple; in the white splendour
of the Parthenon, the very soul of Greek genius in stone, in the grey
dimness of Gothic cathedral, in which Christian fervour finds almost an
immaterial beauty of definition, the quality of lofty distinction which
belongs to the highest poetry and eloquence. Here you are not assailed
by a sense of the melancholy loveliness of death, as when you stand
beside some canopied tomb of greatness in the softened gloom of an old
cathedral. There is none of the lingering charm of legend and peopled
shade, none of the obscurity of deep recess, the chill shiver of vaulted
solitude, the vibrant ache of other days, that serene and bewitching
[Illustration: CLOISTER, S. JUAN DE LOS REYES]
misery we feel whenever we travel backward by the road of strange and
wonderful experience that has moulded and developed humanity. For San
Juan de los Reyes reveals to us nothing of that past whose enigma
forever tortures the curious mind, nothing but the admirable skill of
some unknown sculptors, provokes neither musing nor aspiration, nor
instils the poisonous enchantment of artistic sadness.
For this reason the lovely cloisters, despite the defacing stamp of
restoration and the preposterous glare of white plaster, win you to
fervour and lure you to reverie. Ruined, monstrously ill-treated, they
yet preserve a delicate freshness, an incomparable grace that give us
some notion of the mediaeval paradise they must have been when flower
and verdure bloomed between their fretted arches, and the statues in
their canopied niches stood fresh from each master's hands. Not
melancholy cloisters these, but gay and charming, with their supreme
elegance, their matchless distinction, an airiness and lightness, a
gaiety not in the least ecclesiastical or claustral. They were built to
harbour the measured mirth of breeding, the sweet and elegant piety of
romance, the charity, the contentment that knows naught of suffering or
revolt, all the placid and decorous joys of religion. Beautiful flowers
and delicate foliage grew thickly in the broad sunny space between the
double row of exquisite galleries, and branches spread and swayed
against the arched columns of the upper cloisters. Truly it must have
been delightful to have worn the habit of the Franciscan monk in the
days of Isabella the Catholic, and the great Cisneros, the first novice
of this convent, can have found no more vivid satisfaction in the hours
he was busy making Spanish history than in the radiant peace of these
most beautiful cloisters.
The architecture is superb; the richest specimen of florid ogival with
twenty-four vaults, windows cut and chiselled with the fine perfection
of the sonnet, pillars delicate enough and daintily wrought for some
vision of dreamland, with once fifty-six statues of Franciscan monks
between (the number now is sadly diminished, and some of the statues
that have not been rashly replaced are in a state of most lamentable
mutilation), and charming friezes. The whole effect is that of an
exquisite harmony, a harmony that not even the profane and degrading
hand of the modern restorer has been able to obliterate. Vulgarised
certainly, since vulgarity is, alas! the fatal, the inevitable price we
must pay for modern comforts and improvements, for the refining process
of our material progress and the pleasures of civilisation.
The cloisters are composed of four double galleries, supported on
twenty-four vaults between the upper and lower cloisters and a flat roof
above. The pillars, like those of the church, are miraculously
sculptured; not a space an inch big, without its Gothic fancy of animal
and leaf, its finely-wrought crowd in flowing fold, grotesque and lovely
forms and multiplied foliage of every kind. The pillars spread like
palms above to sustain the arches that divide the vaults, with an
indescribable grace of effect. Inscriptions vary the legend of frieze
and ornament. Gothic windows between frail arches look into the airy and
delightful gardens, where green southern growths have the curled droop
of plumes and the very grass seems to smile through the golden wave
along its green. If only the restorers had spared the white-wash. If
only this joyous little poem of Gothic architecture were less vulgarly,
remorselessly white; less, as Murray's guide-book aptly remarks, like
the frosted top of wedding-cake.
In a corner, fastened into the wall, is a fragment
[Illustration: S. LUKE ANGLE OF CLOISTER, S. JUAN DE LOS REYES]
of stucco arabesque from the ancient palace of King Rodrigo, restored by
the Moors, afterwards given by Maria de Molino, the widow of Sancho el
Bravo, to Gonzalo de Ruiz, Count of Orgaz. I have never seen a more
beautiful specimen of azulejo. This vanished palace of King Rodrigo is
one of the few the Moors deemed worthy of preservation. Very little of
the Visigothic remains, for the Moors had no fancy to profit by what
they found after their conquest, and what has been left us is rude and
unimportant enough to make their sparing use of Visigothic inspiration
no matter of regret. The capitals of the Cristo de la Luz, the arcades
of San Roman, and some fragments of the patio of Santa Cruz, are the
most notable examples, and are only of significance as a slight
indication of the transitional period between two great civilisations,
the Roman and Saracen. All over Toledo, in the twelfth, thirteenth, and
fourteenth centuries, the Moorish note in architecture prevailed, and,
except Granada and Cordova, no other town of Spain possesses so much of
the work of the Moors, is so strongly stamped with their individuality.
This is due to the fact that even after the Christian Conquest most of
the workmen employed were Moors, for the tolerance between Moors and
Christians in Toledo under both rules seems to have been admirable. They
fraternised here on both sides, whether Khalif or Castillian sovereign
wielded the sceptre, hence the undisputed preponderance of mudejar
architecture in the hieratic city of the Goths.
On the east side a portion of the monastery has been converted into a
museum. Never was a collection more insignificant than that of the
_Museo Provincial_ of Toledo. The ground floor displays a quantity of
wood carvings, of Moorish azulejo, which is always a delight for the
eye, of bits of ancient monuments, of inscriptions, Arabic brims of
walls, with inscriptions and Moorish work, ever worth examining. Most of
the pictures and statues are exceedingly mediocre. But there is a superb
bust of Juanelo by Berruguete, and two portraits of El Greco, Juan de
Alava and Covarrubias, as well as his famous plan of Toledo, with the
slim and musing youth, his poetic-looking son, who was the charming
model of his St Martin as well. There is a Holy Family by Spagnoletto,
St Vicente Ferrer by Giordano, some saints by Carreño, and an original
canvas of Juan de Sevilla. Here, by examination of fourteen pictures of
Luis Tristan, you may test the absurdity of the statement by more than
one foreign art critic, that the disciple was greater than the master.
If Tristan was more sane and sound than _El Greco_, he was certainly
less distinguished and less great. There is a crucifix of Ribalta, a St
Jerome of Carducci, some fine subjects from Holy Scripture by Frank, and
a remarkable Christ of Morales, and a number of Flemish imitations. The
saloon above, where most of these pictures are preserved, was the cell
of the great Cisneros. The most interesting relic of all the collection
of inscriptions and stones is the mutilated slab taken from the roof of
the church of the Capucine Friars near the Alcázar, and found among the
materials used for building the patio of this palace, whose broken
letters show it to be a fragment of King Wamba's tomb:
VS Rex Wamba
LXX
LXXXIIIIIII
HUNC
EGIONIS
IV
which Antonio Ponz recomposes thus:
En tumulatus jacet inclitus Rex Wamba;
Regnum contempsit anno DCLXXX
Monachus obiit anno DCLXXXIIIIIII
A Cænobio translatus in Hunc locum
Ab Alphonsus X. Legionis Castellae autem IV. Reye.
In the now forsaken ghetto, where, in King Wamba's days, stood a strong
fortress called the _Castillo de la Juderia_, and which then was the
centre of Toledo's wealth and commerce, a flourishing quarter, full of
the activities of business, of intelligence, of industry, where riches
and science and the treasures of the King were gathered, where the
money-changers clinked golden promise in the face of reckless and needy
nobles, and rabbis read out the law in their beautiful temples to the
prosperous and numerous descendants of the exiles of Babylon, to-day may
be seen the lovely little synagogues, _El Transito_ and _Santa Maria La
Blanca_.
Writing several centuries ago to his fellow-Jews of Amsterdam,
Hassadrin, a Jewish traveller, thus mentions _El Transito_, one of the
marvels of Toledo: "I find in this town, with other antiquities, Roman,
Gothic and Arabian, a spacious temple which, since 1355, with King
Pedro's permission, was built in this town for the Jewish people by
Samuel Levi, his treasurer and private friend, which temple remains
substantially intact, with all the early ornamentation seen on its four
principal walls since its foundation, and thus its two atriums, its
temple for women and other corresponding offices. All this I have drawn
with as much care as possible, and with the expression of the smallest
ornamentation, and have even copied three lines of Hebrew, which run
along each of the walls, south, north, and west, without interruption;
and here also four Hebrew inscriptions, the shortest in verse and
rhythm, the two longest in prose; six others on the east wall." But he
bitterly complains that "they have white-washed the temple so thickly
that, even though the letters were originally in relief, they are
entirely obliterated, and much of the ornamentation remains hopelessly
confused." Those unwhitened above, that are left coloured and solid, he
describes as "most beautiful."[19]
When Samuel Levi built this lovely temple of semi-Moorish design, which
the restorers are slowly relieving of its execrable load of whitewash
that the venerable Hassadrin complained of to his fellow-townspeople of
Amsterdam, the Jews were at their highest point of fortune in Toledo.
They stood at the bedside of the sovereign in sickness, they counselled
him in all difficulties; they filled his purse, kept his city
flourishing. They might have known that they would soon pay dearly for
all this power and glory. The anti-Semitic feeling has ever been the
same, since the first Christian days to our own time. It breaks out in
waves, like an epidemic, and always, it must be remarked, when the Jews
are most prosperous and wealthy. So it has broken out in France at the
end of this enlightened century, with all the virulence and spite and
shameless injustice of the primitive centuries. It is no exaggeration to
say, in the year 1898, that the French, if they dared, would gladly
wreck--as, in the days of Samuel Levi, the Spaniards wrecked Levi's
palace and all the great Jewish houses of the Toledan ghetto--the Jewish
centre, if the Jews still congregated in any particular part of Paris.
It is not unjust to say that it is Jewish gold, Jewish power, Jewish
subtlety and intelligence that inspire to-day, as then, this bitter and
vindictive hate. For if the Jews remained poor, insignificant, ignorant,
they would never have suffered persecution, which is proof sufficient
that the war is rather one of race than of religion, rather one of base
and brutal envy
[Illustration: DETAIL OF ORNAMENT, EL TRANSITO]
on the Christian side than of anything resembling a religious crusade.
In all periods of its history, Toledo was subject to these sudden and
inexplicable outbursts against the Jews, in spite of the historic legend
that Toledo was first peopled and created by the Jews sent adrift by
Nebuchadnezzar--a legend that should have entitled the unfortunates to
regard themselves as at home upon her seven hills. Not so at any time.
First the Carthaginians, then the Romans, then the Arians, the
Christians, the Saracens, again, the Christians. Hideous persecution,
continually and intermittently, of the chosen people, the followers of
Moses and the prophets, the brethren of Christ, the apostles and Mary!
One Toledan law against the Jews was a righteous one: the money-lenders
were not allowed to exceed thirty-five per cent. on monies lent. Many a
beggared scamp and spendthrift to-day would be the better off if such a
law in usury had always existed. But there was no inducement to
conversion, for the converted Jew was never recognised by his adopted
brethren. He always wore a piece of coloured stuff on his shoulder as
the _señal de Judio_. The Inquisition started the final and worst
persecution of all, and the Catholic Isabel publicly banished them from
the kingdom. Abhorrence of the race has never died, never even
diminished, in the Peninsula. A grandee once married the granddaughter
of a converted Jew, and, even a hundred and fifty years later, his
descendants could not hope to marry into their own rank. He might have
hoped for pardon and oblivion if he had married a ballet-dancer or a
courtesan. In the Cathedral, a host is preserved, supposed to have been
traversed by a Jewish spear which pierced it in three places, the
sacrilege having taken place in Holland. The legend runs that the light
from the holes was so intense that the Jew instantly became converted.
There is also a legend of a highroad cross near the town having been
struck by a Jewish sword, bleeding humanly as it fell upon the
sacrilegious slayer, the drops of blood as he carried it home revealing
to the Toledans his crime, which was naturally the motive of a fresh
persecution of the race. So that God, finding the Christians too pacific
and lukewarm, used this dumb instrument of painted wood to provoke an
onslaught, and redden the streets of Toledo with Hebrew blood. These
things you must read seriously when you take to study of the Spanish
historians. So they explain to you the legend of the Cathedral gate, the
_Puerta del Niño perdido_. In 1490, a Jew of Quintana went to Toledo to
witness the edifying sight of an _auto-da-fé_. He stood on the brilliant
and thronged little Zocodover, and watched the sombre flare of the
torches, listened to the lugubrious chants. Turning to a neighbour, he
exclaimed: "I know something that will drive these people wild, and
will, at the same time, proclaim the triumph of the law of Moses." He
appointed a meeting with his neighbour at Tembleque, and settled to
carry off a child of three or four. He stole the child from Toledo, and
brought it to the village of La Guardia. At Passiontide, they met at a
grotto outside La Guardia, and submitted the baby to a repetition of the
insults and outrages Christ had endured; then lanced him, tore out his
heart, and buried the little body. The child's mother was blind, and at
this instant miraculously recovered her sight. Not content with this,
they bribed a recently converted Jew, Juan Gomez, to steal a host,
paying him thirty reals for the sacrilege, and sent him off with the
child's heart to Zamora. Thus the crime was traced to Juan Gomez, who,
opening his prayer-book in the cathedral of Avila, on his return,
attracted attention by the wonderful projection of bright rays from the
leaves. He was instantly seized, examined, papers were found on him, and
he and the gang of Jewish torturers of babies were burnt by the
Inquisition.
This charming little temple was built for Levi by the Jew, D. Meir
Abdeli, a rabbi to whom an elaborate Hebrew inscription on one wall does
honour as a man of transcendent virtue. The architecture is _Morisco_.
Slowly the restorers are unveiling the admirably-wrought stucco walls,
where the sculpture is as fine and delicate as the most exquisite lace,
and has lain for centuries under a degrading coat of whitewash. You must
mount the high scaffolding with lighted wax or lamp, and here you may
examine at your leisure the inexhaustible delights of the
Moorish-Andalusian style in its most florid period. The prodigality of
ornament is as amazing as the Gothic wealth of sculpture of San Juan de
los Reyes, but I confess this pleases far more. It is much more
charming, more fairy-like, with that delicately-sensual note which forms
the eternal witchery of the East. The friezes are magnificent, and
nothing could be prettier than the effect of the semi-horseshoe windows
and their frail pillars and arches. Above the famous Hebrew
inscriptions, quotations from the Psalms mostly, run a row of arches,
highly decorated, resting on slim columns fancifully wrought. Here the
extreme elegance of design and finish touches upon preciosity. The
Moorish windows are most lovely, perfect little poems in stone, of a
marvellous fragility and grace. From their dainty lines and traceries,
you look in stupor up at the massive _artesonado_ ceiling, with its
geometrical figures, its infinitude of design carven in heavy
wood--blurred, it is true, and brutally defaced by time and neglect.
Here and there the woodwork is discoloured, here and there hopelessly
degraded; but some notion of its pristine magnificence may be gathered
even yet.
_El Transito_ was seized by Isabel the Catholic, on her expulsion of the
Jews from her kingdom, and handed over to the Knights of Calatrava,
whose arms are stamped on every corner of the temple. The Knights did
what every other religious body in all ages and lands has done on taking
possession of the temple of the dethroned gods. They marred the harmony
of Eastern architecture by the erection of Christian altars, less
flagrantly, of course, than the great Mosque of Cordova was marred. But
still the false note is there: it greets us with singular bad taste in
the fifteenth century retablo, in a _plateresca_ altar, in mediocre
sixteenth century paintings that represent scenes from the New
Testament, oddly unsuitable to the walls of a synagogue, and out of
keeping with the long Hebrew inscriptions in relief above the frieze.
Some of these meritless canvases are attributed to John of Burgundy.
There is a choir neither decorative nor impressive, and a plateresca
door, a tolerable specimen of that Spanish architecture. These are mere
blots upon a graceful whole. The Jews under Moorish influence, built
this lovely little temple, and its spirit, its essence, its genius,
remain Jewish after more than four centuries of dispossession.
The origin of the name _Santa Maria la Blanca_ dates from the fourth
century, when Our Lady, in a miraculous vision, is said to have chosen
the spot for the erection of a church in her honour, which was covered
with snow. Pope Liberius then ordered the church to be built and
consecrated to the White Lady--_Nuestra Señora la Blanca_. Later, the
church became the property of the Jews, who rebuilt above its ruins the
imposing synagogue we see to-day, in the Moorish ninth century style.
Unhappily for them St Vicente Ferrer, a mediaeval fanatic who to-day
would be called a demagogue, came to Toledo in 1405, on his famous
crusade against the unfortunate race. You may see the highly sculptured
pulpit half Moorish, half Gothic, he preached his frantic sermons from
to the inflammatory Toledans in the little church of Santiago below the
Puerta del Sol, now closed up with a wooden statue of the saint in the
middle, holding in one hand a wooden crucifix, and flourishing the other
in exhortation to the populace to destruction and cruelty. The Man of
Sorrow, who preached peace and goodwill to all men, love of enemies,
forgiveness of injuries, himself a Jew, son of a Jewess, is held up to
excite the furious passions of the mob, to urge them to crime and
infamous injustice. How much fatal misery humanity in all ages, even in
our own, might have been spared by the prevalence of so small a quality
as a sense of humour! The Valencian saint himself died in bleak far-off
Vannes, in Brittany.
But there was no humour then in grim and blood-saturated Toledo. The mob
rushed from the church to the synagogue, tore the obnoxious Jews limb
from limb, thrust them into the streets and the highways, robbed,
tortured, wounded, took possession of their beautiful temple, sacked
their houses, carried off their money-bags, (naturally), hooted, hissed,
and kicked them precisely as it would to-day in Paris, for all our
enlightenment and progress, if it dared. All this in the pacific name of
Christ! Centuries after the synagogue became a Magdalen's Asylum, under
Cardinal Siliceo, until 1791, when it was converted into a barrack and
military stores. It was only rescued from this ignoble use thirty years
ago, and restored by public subscription.
Nothing could be more miserable than the exterior of _Santa Maria la
Blanca_; nothing more squalid than its surroundings. A deserted quarter,
mean little laneways, towzled babies, unfortunate beggars. "As soon as
you descend the steps that lead to it," writes Quadrado, "you are
arrested by the surprise of this singular mingling of magnificence and
nakedness, of capricious strangeness of lines, the exquisite taste of
the ornaments; you fancy yourself transported to a fantastic pagoda. The
glance is lost in the midst of this forest of great octagonal pillars,
which from the point of view of proportion, lack half of their height.
They are seven in a line, forming five naves, and holding Moorish arches
of a bold curve. The capitals in stucco are of different forms, composed
of branches, of leaves and garlands, mixed with fir-cones, reminiscences
of the old Byzantine style. Varied ornaments, arabesques, lovely rose
windows along with arches, and prominent above the central nave a frieze
in slight relief, formed of lines crosswise and intermingling, and even
still of a remarkable precision and purity. No dome, not even a ceiling;
a roof of wood, of miserable aspect, descending from the height of the
central nave to the two lateral extremities, gives to the whole edifice
an appearance of ruin and abandonment." The restorers, with customary
clumsiness, have coated the whole temple in plaster, like the cloisters
of San Juan de los Reyes, with a result almost facetious, taking into
consideration the name of the building. It is now white with a sorry
vengeance. The ceiling is said to have been made from beams of the
cedars of Lebanon, and the soil the synagogue is built upon to have been
brought from Mount Zion. The Moorish and Byzantine style mingle most
artistically, with the accumulated delicate and artistic effects of both
and the enchanting azulejos, here of an admirable beauty of colour and
design; but arabesque, tiles and horse-shoe arches are sadly out of
harmony with the Gothic altars of the chancel. One finely sculptured, is
supposed to be by Berruguete or one of his pupils. Elsewhere it would
show to better advantage than here. Curious detail, the wells may still
be seen where the Jews and Jewesses performed their ablutions.
[Illustration: SANTA MARIA LA BLANCA]
For grace and a certain note of distinction and wealth in its beauty,
_Santa Maria la Blanca_ cannot compare with _El Transito_, which in the
days of its splendour, must have been a gem of the most delicate
perfection. But as a religious temple, as the expression of solemn
worship rooted in the strange and mysterious East, the former is by far
the more imposing, the more earnest and harmonious. Prayer in the
_Transito_ seems a matter of graceful and artistic dilletantism; here it
appears a great racial cry of the soul.
CHAPTER IX
_Vanished Palaces_
Coming out from the station, instead of taking the road up to the town,
you may cross the fields, and thus into the famous _Huerta del Rey_,
where old Arabian splendours and romance once were castled in the
legendary palace of Galiana. Now alas! beauty and legend in disgraceful
abandonment. All this rich land of the Vega is the property of the
ex-Empress of the French, Doña Eugenia de Guzman and Condesa de Teba. To
bear a glorious name (beside which the title of French Empress is but a
trumpery decoration) and inherit land so crowded with historic
interests, inherit above all the ruins of a palace of fairyland, and
treat her inheritance as the Empress Eugenie has done, is adequately to
explain the reason of Spain's irretrievable decadence and slow death.
The palace of legend is let out in miserable tenements to muleteers and
peasants, who little heed the damage done to wrought Arabian wall and
ceiling by their smoky lamps, wood fires in unventilated chambers, by
beasts and meal-bags housed in a princess's boudoir, in a dismantled
reception chamber. The Empress Eugenie may receive a few pesetas
quarterly for this desecration, and we lose a few hours of inestimable
musing, while the entire world is the poorer by a dainty monument the
less. Even thirty years ago the palace of Galiana was still a
constructable dream. The lovely staircase was half preserved, the
lace-work was less and less obliterated, the arches still undegraded.
But Mlle. de Montijo, seated afar on a foreign throne, was too busy with
intrigues destined to ruin France less permanently than her neglect of
property she never visits has ruined an historic poem.
Calderon, in his drama, _Cado uno por se_, speaks of this palace, and
its heroine has been immortalised by Moratin in verses forever quoted:
"Galiana de Toledo
Muy hermosa y maravilla!
La Mora la mas celebrada
De toda la Moreria.
Boca de claveles rojas,
Alto pecho que palpita,
Frente eburnea que adorno
Oro flamante de Tyras."[20]
The story runs that Galafre, the kingling of Toledo, under the great
Khalif of Cordova, Abd-er-Rahman I., built a wonder of human dwelling
for his beautiful and bewitching daughter, the infanta Galiana. Part of
the palace already existed in the eighth century, and was Visigothic. To
this he added the ineffaceable Moorish note, the horse-shoe arches, the
ajimez windows, still admirably defined despite decay, the Moorish
trickery of brickwood, the arabesques and tiled roofs and the square
towers of the East. To-day we can trace the ajimez windows, the
horse-shoe arches, and even the beautiful arabesques of the walls are
faintly discernible through their deplorable coating of smoke-stain. But
within the past thirty years the exquisite tiled roof of the tower has
disappeared, along with the lovely staircase. The degradation of the
Moorish patio, which must have been a thing divine, leaves us in our
vulgar modern days, stupefied by man's indifference to the eternal
eloquence of beauty. The mystery of this Arabian genius is forever
sealed. Nothing we can strive, nothing we can hope to do, will reveal it
to us, will unlock the doors of an enchanted past. Whence it sprung is
just as inexplicable to us as how it vanished, but alas! vanished it is
like the mysterious city of enchantment and of a civilisation that since
has never been equalled--the outlying town of Cordova, built by a mighty
Moorish emperor in honour of a loved wife, and but a memory of
superlative witchery and delight.
In those days the waters of the Tagus ran high, and water here was
abundant. The Moors, those subtle hydraulists, alone possessed the
secret of drawing from river and well their full value, and irrigating
plentifully a thirsty land. To this day Valencia is a garden of flowers
and an orchard of fruit, because the Moors passed by there. Of all this
Toledan Vega they made a paradise of leaf and bloom and rill. It
sparkled and scented the air afar, and such was the over-powering beauty
of the gardens of Galiana that Lozano, in his _Reyes Nuevos_, forgets
that he is writing of the nameless one, and bursts into high-phrased
enthusiasm. One would think the learned doctor of the church was
describing the conventional heaven of his imagination. The river then
flowed further inward than it does now, and ran along one side of the
palace, forming a broad moat. The gardens were a spiced and many-hued
paradise, and the palace a wonder of terraces and arches, with halls of
arabesques and Moorish inscriptions, pillared patios and dainty
boudoirs, with broad-beamed ceilings. Imagination easily fills in all
the omitted details of silks and couches, and marble and silver and
gold, of flowing water and music, of musked solitude and towered
reverie, of the glamour of guarded romance peeping through high arched
windows over the silence of the flowery Vega, and adown the quiet course
of the curved Tagus. No wonder legend makes Charlemagne, from the
blighting disasters of Roncevalles, pass down to this magic spot to fall
enamoured of the lovely Galiana, _la Mora la mas celebrada de toda la
Moreria_, and on her behalf challenge the Moorish prince Bradamante, who
persecuted her with his addresses, cut off his head in a single-handed
encounter, and carry away to France the exquisite creature, when she was
baptised, and reigned picturesquely over a grateful and admiring France.
Spanish legend is not awed by Charlemagne's fame. Either it blows his
armies to pieces at Roncevalles, or it lures him beyond the Guadarrama,
like a mere knight errant in the protection of damsels, caught by
ordinary love, and riveted to its chain.
Under Castillian rule, the Palace of Galiana became the property of the
Guzmans, whose arms may be seen upon its dismantled front, and who, like
most Spaniards, have so ill appreciated a priceless inheritance. One of
the most famous attractions of this palace in olden times was the
_clepsydras_, or water-clocks, made by the celebrated astronomer,
Abou-l'-Casem, Abdo-er-Rahman, better known as Az-Zarcal. In a
description of Toledo a curious Arabian document gives us a quaintly
vague idea of these clepsydras, or ponds, whose waters rose and fell
with the moon. "One of the greatest towns of Spain is Toledo, and Toledo
is a large and well-populated city. On all sides it is washed by a
splendid river called the Tagus.... Among the rare and notable things of
Toledo is that wheat may be kept more than seventy years without
rotting, which is a great advantage, as all the land abounds in grain
and seed of all kinds. But what is still more marvellous and surprising
in Toledo, and what we believe no other inhabited town of all the world
has anything to equal, are some clepsydras or water-clocks. It is said
that Az-Zarcal, hearing of a certain talisman, which is in the city of
Arin, of Eastern India, and which Masudi says shows the hours by means
of _aspas_ or hands, from the time the sun rises till it sets,
determined to fabricate an artifice by means of which people could know
the hour of day or night, and calculate the day of the moon. He made two
great ponds in a house on the bank of the Tagus, not far from the gate
of the tanners, making them so that they should be filled with water or
emptied according to the rise and fall of the moon." We are told that
the movements of these clepsydras were thus regulated, that as soon as
the moon became visible by means of invisible conducts, the waters began
to flow into the ponds, and by day-rise the ponds were filled
four-sevenths. At night another seventh was added, so that by day or
night the ponds continued to increase in water a seventh every
twenty-four hours, and were quite full by the time the moon was full. On
the 14th of the month, when the moon began to fall, the ponds fell too
in like proportion. On the 21st of the month they were half empty, and
on the 29th completely so. King Alfonso the Learned, desiring to master
the secret of these clepsydras, sent one of his bungling astronomers to
examine them, which he did so well, that he broke the delicate
machinery, and the Moors, to comfort their wounded pride in the loss of
so unique a Moorish monument, called the bungler a Jew, one
Houayn-Ben-Rabia.
Another palace in ruins belonging to the ex-Empress of the French is all
that remains to-day of the magnificent _Casa de Vargas_. It was built by
the celebrated architect, Juan de Herrera, and Antonio Ponz describes
it at length as one of the architectural splendours of Toledo, as late
as the War of Independence, when Bonaparte's soldiers laid it waste with
shot and shell. "The façade," writes Ponz, "is perfect Doric, of
exquisite marble, with fluted columns on either side, and the pedestals
have military emblems in bas-relief. The frieze consists of helmets,
heads of bulls and goblets. The coat-of-arms above the cornice is most
beautiful, and the women's forms seated on each side are life-size.
Nothing could be finer than the details as well as the whole of this
façade, and for sure it is the most serious, the most lovely, and most
finished of all I have seen in Toledo. You enter a spacious courtyard,
with lofty galleries running round it, above and below, the lower
gallery sustained by Doric pillars, and by the upper Ionic columns. The
staircase is truly regal, and likewise the various inner chambers. They
contain different chimney-pieces, ornamented with graceful fancies,
executed in bas-relief; and thus in the lower quarters as in the
principal, are other galleries with columns like those of the courtyard,
with delicious views of the meadows and the Tagus." Nothing of all this
remains but a mere unsightly ruin called the _Casa de la Direccion_, the
property of the Counts of Mora.
The list of these vanished palaces of Toledo is a long one, and is the
subject of most melancholy musing. In the old forsaken quarter once
known as the _Juderia_, the prosperous and magnificent ghetto of
mediaeval Toledo, where the Transito, Samuel Levi's synagogue, stands,
was the great palace of the Villenas. Henry of Aragon, lord of Villena,
was a famous figure in those remote ages. Of royal blood, uncle of King
Juan II., he was an erudite scholar, a mathematician, a man of science
in advance of his times, a splendid prince, a collector of books, the
possessor of a library as famous as Mendoza's, a wizard, a man of evil
odour, of the black craft, who was gravely charged with putting his
enemies alive into bottles, and of holding intercourse with the Evil
One. All his valuable library, and in special his own manuscript tomes,
for he was an indefatigable writer, were publicly burnt at Madrid by
order of Fray Lope Barrientos, a Dominican, on the solemn accusation of
witchcraft. Juan de Mena, in his celebrated _coplas_, protested against
ecclesiastical iniquity, and lifted his voice in the learned prince's
glory:
"Aquel que tu ves estar contemplando
En el movimento de tantas estrellas,
La fuerza, la obra, el orden de aquellas
Que mide los cursos de cómo, y de quando,
Y ovo noticia filosofando
Del movedor, y de los comovidos,
De fuego, de razos, de son de tronidos,
Y supo las causas del mundo velando:
"Aquel claro padre, aquel dulce fuente,
Aquel que en el Castalo monte resuena
Es don Enrique, Señor de Villena,
Honra de España, y del siglo presente.
O inclito sabio, autor muy sciente,
Otra y aun otra vegada te lloro,
Porque Castilla perdio tal tesoro
No conveido delante la gente.
"Perdio los tus libros sin sea conveidos
Y como en exeginas le fueron ya luego,
Unos metidos al avido fuego,
Y otros sin orden no bien repartidos.
Cierto en Atenas los libros fingidos
Que de Protagoras se reprobaron
Con armonia mejor se quemaron
Cuando el senado le fueron leidos."
The quantity of subterranean chambers and passages of this immense
palace were supposed to have been used by Don Enrique for his
parliaments of witches and wizards, and his awful meetings with the
Horned One and his sulphureous satellites. Afterwards the palace fell
into the hands of Samuel Levi, Pedro the Cruel's treasurer, the wealthy
Jew who built the Transito close by. Then the Master of Santiago's
haunts of witchcraft were used as Levi's treasury, until Pedro, in want
of money, seized his treasurer's person, and the town sacked his palace.
Henry IV. afterwards gave the palace to his minion, Juan Pacheco, with
the titles of Duke of Escalona and Marquis of Villena. Neither title nor
palace now exist. In a miserable part of the town, high up above the
river, you may see a few broken arches and formless vaults and great
blocks of stone. That is all. It was destroyed by fire in the reign of
Charles Quint under circumstances of exceptional and romantic interest.
Charles appointed the Casa de Villena as the residence of the great
Constable of France, the treacherous Bourbon. The second Duke of
Escalona, indignant at the thought that the French traitor should cross
the threshold of his house, informed his sovereign that a house so
polluted should prove the grave of such an insult to his family, and
threatened to burn it in the event of the Constable's visit. Charles
never believed in such an extravagant menace, and the Constable arrived.
Diego Lopez de Pacheco, with all his family and servants, left Toledo
for ever, and in a few days the stained house was burned to the ground
as henceforth unworthy the habitation of honest men.
In the little plaza of Santa Isabel there is another, supposed to have
been one of the palaces of King Pedro, now the property of the Duke of
Frias. One of the half-obliterated Arabian inscriptions has been traced
by the late D. Pascual de Gallangos as meaning: "Lasting prosperity and
perpetual glory to the master of this edifice." There are many Moorish
[Illustration: REMAINS OF PALACE SAID TO BE THAT OF DON PEDRO EL
CRUEL]
traces about it, the highly decorated wall-work, the horse-shoe arches
and fine relief. Of the palace of the Trastarmares little now remains
but the door with the big Toledan nails. Somewhere about here was the
house Hernan Cortes was married from, when the bride's page stabbed
himself at her feet as the procession left the courtyard for the church.
I cannot indicate the precise spot, as I was shown it vaguely one lovely
moonlit night, when Toledo takes on its spectral and fantastic aspect of
white shadow-worked dream, a thing of elusive radiance, wherein reality
is lost in mysterious beauty. One walks knee-deep in the sadness and
enchantment of "old, unhappy, far-off things," and the petulant little
page, stabbing himself in the folds of the bride's white satin, as she
crosses the threshold of her father's house, is just the kind of picture
one is prompted to evoke. Alas, and alas! if we were only so fortunate
as to possess some clue by which we could hope to evoke the bride's
face, some faint perfumed trace of Toledan dame and damsel of those
days. But the Toledan school of painters has only left us an
interminable gallery of cavaliers, proud austere heads, with the mild,
cold and implacable regard of Spain. Of poetry, of womanhood, of soft
sensuous charm, not a hint. The exquisite Maria de Padilla, with her
little white visage and passionate, sad eyes, is only a name now; but
such was her gentle sorcery that she is still a dominating memory. We
cling to her the more as she is the single woman's form that floats
above this past of hard-featured and imperious knights, who ever jostled
and fought in these murderous streets and lanes, conspired, rebelled and
fashioned the roughest and strangest history written.
Near Santa Ursula is the façade of the famous house of the Toledos. The
founder of this great family, since known in history as the Dukes of
Alva, was a member of the Imperial house of Paleologus, Pedro, a
Byzantine prince of the days of Gothic rule. His immediate descendants
were the Illans; Stephen Illan, for whom was built the beautiful Casa de
Mesa, and whose portrait on horseback may be seen in the Cathedral,
behind the hideous _Trasparente_, was one of the greatest figures of
mediaeval Toledo, great citizen, unruly noble, defender of the town, and
lord of the people. It was after his day that the family was honoured
with the significant private name of Toledo, the present family name of
the house of Alva. The palace of the Toledos was like that of Villena,
an immense edifice covering all the square. Now only the façade remains
as a triumphal assertion of vanished splendour; a disfigured Gothic
porch and a couple of ajimez windows in the north wall in front of Santa
Ursula. Time has laid a heavy hand on the arches, the slim columns, the
cornices, the shields, the stone sculptures and friezes; but the Latin
inscription is still visible:
_Dominus custodiat introitum tuum et exitum tuum_
_Ex hox nunc et usque in sæculum._
We need only look at the single chamber of the _Casa de Mesa_ to
reconstruct the interior of this dismantled palace, its exquisite
Moorish walls and azulejos or tile-work, its arches, ajimez windows and
lofty galleries, its sumptuous _artesonado_ ceilings. The house itself
began to decline with the disgrace of the great Duke of Alva, whom
Philip struck so brutally on the trivial pretext of his son's love
affairs. Don Fadique, the heir of the house of the Toledos, fell in love
with the daughter of the Guzmans, the unfortunate Magdalena. They became
engaged without Philip's permission, and instantly both were imprisoned,
Don Fadique at Medina del Campo, Magdalena in the Convent of Santa Fé
at Toledo (also known as Santiago). On his release, the Duke of Alva
decided to marry Don Fadique to his cousin, Maria de Toledo. The King
feigned to approve of the marriage, and afterwards made it a pretext of
persecution. Magdalena de Guzman, from her conventual retreat, was
summoned to lay her claim to Don Fadique's hand; the Duke and Duchess of
Alva were exiled, and Don Fadique and his bride were literally ruined.
The Toledos once humiliated, Magdalena de Guzman was ordered back to her
convent and to silence, Philip's minister advising her to write no more
letters to the King. "What would you do at Court?" he asks Philip's
unhappy victim, who, at a king's extraordinary caprice, had wasted
twelve years in the cloisters. "You are too young to be a duenna, too
old to be a maid of honour. Since you have spent twelve years in the
convent, stay there altogether." And to the King he writes: "May God
give her good sense. One can't make a step without finding a letter from
her." A melancholy time for youth and romance, when a vicious and
sour-tempered old king and his corrupt ministers pulled the strings that
made its amiable puppets dance. A man with the care of the two Spains,
the Netherlands, and all the intrigues of Europe, finds time to glance
down at Toledo, and enter into miserable battle with innocent young
hearts, mar and make marriages for their doom!
The palace of Fuensalida, the property of the Duke of Frias, never seems
to have been an edifice of any particular architectural claim. All
history records of it is the fact that Charles Quint's wife, the Empress
Isabel, died here while Charles was building the Alcázar for her
reception. The house was built by Lopez de Ayala early in the fifteenth
century, whose tomb may be admired in the Church of San Pedro Martir.
The origin of the famous _Casa de las Tornerias_ is disputed. Some
regard it as an ancient mosque, because of its emphatic mark of Saracen
architecture, contemporaneous with that of the little mosque, _El Cristo
de la Luz_. The whole is now too hopelessly built round with vulgar
stone and too terribly dilapidated and mutilated for a proper estimate
to be formed of its earliest origin and form. It is still, and must
always be, mere matter of conjecture whether it was originally built for
a mesquita or a Moorish palace.
[Illustration: CASA FUENSALIDA]
In the Calle del Barco, which runs from the Cathedral down by a
breakneck slant to the river (here you can take the ferry for Our Lady
_del Valle_) is the Casa de Munarriz, so called from a canon who a
century ago dwelt there a full hundred years. In the days of Toledo's
greatness it was a fine mansion of some importance with double galleries
round the immense courtyard, a handsome staircase of beautifully wrought
stone, each storey supported by sixteen arches and thirty-two delicate
marble columns with graceful capitals, shields, and sculptured subjects
in frieze. The windows are half Arabian, and the emblazoned doorway,
between its huge columns, is most imposing. Here and there quantities of
beautifully wrought façades speak eloquently of departed days, but it is
not possible now to discover the forgotten history of these signs of
degraded palaces. The Gothic ornamentation will guide you as to date, or
mayhap an exquisitely carven Moorish inscription in the wood-work of a
half-ruined wall. Ponz called Toledo the city of fine inscriptions, and
Latin and Moorish inscriptions everywhere abound. Here is one still
quite distinct in the old House of the Templars, near San Miguel:
"Blessings come from God. Let us adore Him. Power is God's the only one.
Abundance, wealth, and perfect security assist the master of this house.
Power is God's. Let God's blessing complete it. God is eternal. His is
power. Blessing." Round these walls are verses from the Koran.
In close neighbourhood were two historic and important palaces, that of
Juan de Padilla, which occupied the whole ugly square to-day of his
name, and down the steps which lead to it by a narrow street, the palace
of Garcilaso de la Vega. To-day we have no means of forming the faintest
notion of what these famous houses were like. Juan de Padilla's was
razed to the ground by order of Charles Quint after the unfortunate
hero's execution. We judge it to have been large from the size of the
empty square it stood upon above the Puerta del Cambron, commanding a
full view of the Vega and the river; and necessarily splendid from the
fact that Isabel and Fernando occupied it as guests at the time of their
daughter's marriage with the King of Portugal. Garcilaso de la Vega's
mansion is now a mere mud wall sheltering several tenement houses. Here
the King of Portugal stayed, and with royal guests in such close
vicinity, it is easy to imagine the picturesque hum of life in this now
silent and insignificant quarter four centuries ago. Alas! not a stone,
not a page to help us to reconstrue one bright scene, to relive one
vivid hour. Humble walls below the pretty modern little garden of the
Miradero, as you approach from the Puente de Alcántara, indicate where
Gerardo Lobo, _el Capitan Coplero_, so nick-named by Philip V. to avenge
a satire on the French, lived and wrote _El Triunfo de las Mugeres_, and
in the Calle del Refugo, near the hospital of that name, dwelt the poet
Moreto.
I have left for the last the two most important remains of mudejar
palaces in Toledo: the Casa de Mesa, the mansion of Estevan de Illan,
and the _Taller del Moro_, supposed to have been the palace where the
terrible massacre of the _Noche Toledana_ took place. All that remains
of the Casa de Mesa is a single chamber with a charming little boudoir
at the top. It is Granadine-Arabian style, highly and marvellously
ornamented; quite the most beautiful specimen of mudejar architecture of
Toledo. The chamber is sixty feet by twenty-two, and thirty-six in
height, and every detail of its delicate and complicated Moorish
decoration is a delight. One hardly knows what to marvel most at, the
fineness or the extraordinary wealth of relief upon the walls, which is
the most enchanting kind of lace-work imaginable. Fairies seem to have
wrought it, and its perfection even to-day is nothing less than a
mystery and a miracle. And then the arches, the foliage, the
inscriptions, the lovely ajimez windows, the friezes and gorgeous
_artesonado_ ceilings of chamber and boudoir, stellar-shaped to recall
the stars of heaven. Here are points of exclamation and pain enough to
think that the secret of so much beauty is lost to us forever. The
Christian arms everywhere on the azulejo border
[Illustration: MOORISH WINDOW IN CASA DE MESA]
demonstrate that the house was built after the Christian Conquest by
Moorish builders, but one may ask oneself, was the rest of the mansion
in keeping with this glorious chamber? Who designed it, wrought it? What
sort of life was lived therein? What the fashion of the garments that
swept it, the dreams dreamed within its fabulous walls? Why should this
single jewel remain in a sordid setting, and nothing to tell us how the
rest came to vanish, why this alone was preserved? All we know is that
Cardinal Siliceo turned the house into a college for young ladies in the
sixteenth century, and placed his own arms above the exquisite ajimez
window between the chamber and the boudoir, and the chamber served the
Carmelites as a chapel for many years.
The _Taller del Moro_ is probably earlier by four centuries than the
_Casa de Mesa_. Here we have the influence of the Cordovese-Arabian
architecture, of an art less delicate and fairy-like than the
Granadine-Arabian. There is every reason to believe that this palace was
built after the Gothic downfall for a Saracen magnate. The street was
called the Street of the Moor to prove that an illustrious Moor dwelt
there, and its resemblance to the Alcázar of Sevilla indicates that the
owner was in every probability a ruler of some kind, a governor or
viceroy. It may be on this slight ground that it has been hinted it was
here all the nobles of Toledo were invited to a banquet to meet the
Khalif's son, and as each one entered the dusky garden, his head, with a
single stroke, was sent rolling into the ditch near the gate. There is
nothing now about it to bear out this shuddering suggestion. The long
Moorish chamber is turned into a vulgar workshop. The wooden door from
the street opens into a squalid yard, with carts and wheelbarrows about,
and placid Christians, for a couple of pence, receive you without any
hint of knife or blood, or lugubrious ditch. Not even the ghost of a
turbaned Moor to disturb your musing as you stand in the degraded
workshop, where the light is dim, and vex your soul with mutterings
against the damp and smoke. The chamber is a hundred feet long by
twenty-four. It is of a singularly rich and splendid design, with
Moorish inscriptions running along the walls, with delicate friezes, and
all the Oriental luxury of red and gold and blue. The artesonado ceiling
is superb, and it requires no very violent effort of imagination to
evoke a vague picture of this banqueting hall in the days of Moorish
revelry, when passion and policy wrapped themselves in the magic charm
of colour, and mere civilisation was an inexhaustible enchantment, a
pure and indolent delight.
The _Corral_ of Don Diego is an extensive courtyard near the church of
the Magdalena, said to have been the property called the _Barrio del
Rey_, which Alfonso, after the Conquest, gave to Don Pedro Paleologus,
who came to Toledo to fight the Moor, and remained to found the great
house of the Toledos. The arms of the Toledos may still be seen above
the gates, and Henry of Trastamare, we are told, bestowed the palace
upon his auxiliary, Bertrand de Guesclin, with the title of Trastamare,
which has since fallen to the Duke of Montemar. Nothing now remains of
the palace but the courtyard, and a magnificent Moorish archway of
horse-shoe shape, and arabesques recalling the style of the Alcázar of
Seville, but we may gather some notion of its size and importance from
the ruin. There are indications miserably faint and buried away under
plaster, that the palace was richly ornamented in the mudejar style.
Inscriptions, Moorish arches, and ajimez windows are dimly discoverable
beneath the broken plaster-work and the primitive roughness of modern
repairs. An impression of splendid halls and chambers, of delicately
ornamented Moorish alcoves and boudoirs and inscriptions, of artesonado
ceilings and emblazoned doors, is seized under the frost of neglect,
through the mildew of centuries, the wood-work, design, and gilt of the
octagonal ceilings now almost hopelessly obliterated, and the friezes
mere shapeless dilapidation.
The Castillo de San Servando or Cervantes, just outside the Bridge of
Alcántara, is an impressive looking ruin, that seems mysteriously to
have become inter-penetrated with the burnt and arid tones of the
landscape. It has no historic or architectural interest whatever, is not
even beautiful, but impresses the eye in its decay, with its rough,
battlemented, and scarred visage, the ancient note of its barbican and
square rude towers. It is indubitably Mozarabe, built by the Moors as a
fortress, and employed as such by Alfonso after the Conquest. Calderon
makes mention of it in _Cado uno por se_, and in the civil war of Pedro
and Henry of Trastamare, having been abandoned by the Knights Templars,
whose property it had become, it resumed its use as a strong place. The
Archbishop Tenorio ordered its repair, and many of the arches and vaults
date from this period. Tramps now sleep comfortably in its shadow, and
scare you in your moonlit walks by midnight.
Though the Alcázar can by no means be described as a _vanished_ palace,
since it is the most substantial and dominating feature of the town, as
an illusion it may be classed with these. A wide pathway leads to it
from the Zocodover. It was twice burnt, and now all that remains of it
are the imposing facades, the three towers, the glorious patio, large
enough to hold an army, and the magnificent staircase, up which an army
might march abreast. It stands upon the ruins of Wamba's walls, in full
command of the city, and in Roman days was the prison where St Leocadia
suffered martyrdom. Under Alfonso VI. it was a strong fortress, guarded
by the Cid. Don Alvaro de Luna first, and the Catholic kings afterwards,
had some hand in adorning it, but Charles Quint, designing to reside in
Toledo, may be said to have rebuilt it altogether. He gave the
commission to the best Spanish architects of the century--Covarrubias,
Vergara, Villalpando, Jaspar de Vega, Gonzalez de Lara, and the great
Herrera, with a host
[Illustration: THE CASTLE OF SAN SERVANDO]
of minor artists. He built it for the empress, who, like himself, died
before it was finished. Philip II. sent to Brussels, to London and
Italy, in search of other artists to help to complete the colossal
edifice, and it stood for long the most splendid palace of Spain. Came
Staremberg and his troops in 1710, who turned it into a barrack, burnt
the superb woodwork as fuel, broke the windows, tore down the
_artesonado_ ceilings, the carved doors, and set fire to the palace on
leaving it. Spain has never been fortunate in her allies--English,
French, or Austrian; they invariably found their entertainment in
spreading ruin among her grandeurs. Carlos III. attempted to restore the
Alcázar, but the French then came in 1810 and set fire to it again. The
fire lasted three days, and now only the walls remain. The regal
staircase, surely the widest of the world, ends in the void. You are
shown the window at which the unfortunate Blanche sat in her solitary
misery, but there are no walls to indicate the size of the chamber. You
can see the lovely view from the window by picking your way across the
scaffolding, but there is nothing else to see. For years the restorers
have been busy with the roof of the galleries that run round the immense
patio, only the _artesonado_ will be reproduced in iron instead of wood,
and the imitation is good. It may be completed, at the rate of modern
work in Spain, in a couple of hundred years. The façade is _plateresca_,
sober, and cold. Indeed, I cannot say that there is anything about this
palace except its immensity calculated to provoke admiration. It towers
imperiously above the town, crowded beneath it--a gigantic illusion;
substantial without, void within; dreary and featureless in all its
futile ostentation of measureless space.
CHAPTER X
_Minor Churches, Hospitals, and Convents_
To write of all the churches and convents of Toledo would be to burthen
the reader with a needless and confusing fatigue. It is enough to know
that the city was pre-eminently a hieratic centre to understand that
both were once innumerable. To-day they are still too many to remember
and certainly more than are worth visiting. Some, like San José, are of
no architectural value whatever, only known as a poor little hall which
contains some of El Greco's finest pictures. The fame of others, like
San Roman, rests upon their mudejar towers, which give so quaint and
individual an air to the general aspect of Toledo from the hills or the
river. Others again, like San Tomé, combine both attractions in a pure
mudejar tower and El Greco's most wonderful masterpiece, the Burial of
Count Ruiz de Orgaz, as well as Alonzo Cano's Prophet Elia in sculptured
wood, a marvellous specimen of Spanish wood-sculpture. Of _Santo Domingo
el Antiguo_ nothing here need be said since I have already written about
it in my chapter on El Greco. Perhaps one of the finest of the minor
churches is San Andrès. It was transformed after the conquest by order
of Alonso VI. from a mosque into a Christian church as the remains of
Moorish inscriptions as late as the sixteenth century would indicate. In
the lateral nave above the transept there
[Illustration: SAN TOMÉ]
are still traces of Arabian architecture in the vaults and stucco
ornamentation of the same period. But the general appearance of the
edifice is more modern, of a sober Gothic style, less highly decorated,
but to my thinking more graceful in form than San Juan de los Reyes. The
three long naves appear to be of a more recent date than the transept
and _capilla major_. The pillars that sustain the dome are extremely
graceful, and there is a bold freshness about the arches between that
give the whole an air of distinction which none of the other minor
churches of Toledo possess. The general effect is delightfully
harmonious. In each of the chapels of the aisles there is something to
examine. The founder of the restored temple, as the long inscription in
Gothic letters along the friezes of the transept tells us, was Francisco
de Rojas, commendador and ambassador at the court of Maximilian I.,
buried here in 1523. The high altar is of wrought wood of the sixteenth
century, with paintings of that period of some merit. The shafts of the
transept are in excellent taste, and on one of the lateral altars, under
the retablo of painted wood, is a little sculptured Mater Dolorosa by an
unknown artist, exquisitely touching and life-like. It has the beauty of
a profound and tremulous sensibility and a vivid sweetness that reminded
me of a lovely St Scholastica of painted wood by Pereira I saw at
Santiago de Compostello, but the Spanish painter who accompanied me to
San Andrès assures me that it is not a Pereira. The hand that wrought
this symbol of gracious grief remains unknown to fame like that which
sculptured the symbol of divine sweetness in the head of St Francis of
Assisi above the cloister door of Burgos Cathedral. There are two Grecos
here badly placed. With the aid of a chair and a candle even in the
early afternoon you can barely distinguish them, so high do they hang in
the dim light. One is St Peter of Alcántara and the other St Francis.
Visibly Grecos, but of their merits it would be impossible to write,
because of the squinting view you get of them. There is a Calvary of the
Genoese painter, Semini, and an Adoration of the Kings by Antonio
Vanderpere, with the unedifying legend of Lot and his daughters, a copy
of Guido.
The church of San Pedro Martir, attached to the monastery of that order,
and affiliated to St John of Latran in Rome since 1773, is as black and
chill as a colossal vault. Señor Parro in _Toledo en la Mano_ writes of
this dull and unbeautiful edifice in terms of flatulent praise, several
pages long. He calls it the Pantheon of Toledan glory. It is certainly
an excellent tomb if nothing else. The coldest churches I have ever set
foot in are this and San Benito of Valladolid, both warranted to provoke
pneumonia on a summer's day. In winter I should imagine the rash
traveller would remain therein embalmed in ice. The architecture is of
the Greco-Roman style, bewilderingly spacious without any majesty of
effect in its immense proportions. Señor Parro tells us that the façade
is "most lovely." My expectations were not realised. I found the
corinthian columns, the cornices, the "grandiose" central arch, the
pilasters perfectly insignificant, but there are two marble statues on
either side, sometimes mistakenly attributed to Berruguete, extremely
fine, and also a life-size statue of St Peter effective in a lesser
degree. The frescoes have disappeared, and the high altar is now defaced
with commonplace modern pictures of no value whatever. But the gilt wood
and sculpture remain. Once the degraded squares were filled with
paintings of Fray Bautista Maino, the distinguished master of Felipe
IV., Velasquez's friend and patron. These vanished pictures were
excellent imitations of Paul Veronese, so good that they were seized for
the Musée of Madrid, and to fill up the horrid vacancy modern
monstrosities, mere daubs, were ordered, which to-day grotesquely offend
the eye. The celebrated _Virgen del Rosario_, an object of special
devotion to the Toledans, may be seen in one of the chapels. The
_plateresca_ iron-railing of the sanctuary would be remarkable in any
other land, but the railings of Spain are so sumptuous that one hardly
notices this one. Still it is worth inspection, being a rich and
profusely gilt specimen of that special work, with a fine centre cross
and a rich frieze. Attached to the cross is the standard of the great
Cardinal of Spain, Pedro Gonzalez de Mendoza, pale blue damask, with
four Jerusalem crosses in each corner, and in the centre an oval figure
of St Helena holding the cross, before which kneels the great Cardinals.
At the foot of the middle nave, below the choir, are a group of wooden
statues representing the saints of the preaching orders and a scarce
distinguishable fresco of Maino. The choir is large and free, with a
fine reading-desk and sculptured seats, an inferior imitation of those
of the Cathedral. Off the sacristy, a large but insignificant chamber,
with an imposing marble table worthy a nobler setting, there is a little
Gothic chapel dedicated to St Agnes, part of the primitive building, and
here you may see an ancient retablo of extreme interest. Alonzo Carrillo
of Toledo and Don Alvaro de Guzman were buried here as early as 1303, as
the half-effaced Gothic characters tell us.
Among the great men of Toledo buried in the church are the Counts of
Cifuentes, above whose arms Fray Maino painted a fresco. In the chapel
of the Virgin of the Rosary is buried the famous poet Garcilaso de la
Vega, whose statue, life-size in marble kneeling, is encased in armour,
interesting rather as an historic figure than for any intrinsic merit of
art. The Fiscal of Holy Office and Prior of Santillana, Pedro Soto
Cameno, has also his statue as founder of the chapel; he was buried in
1583. In this same chapel is the impressive Gothic tomb of the
_Malograda_, a surpassingly beautiful young woman, magnificently
apparelled, lying upon a marble couch above the funeral urn that
contains her ashes. Historians disagree as to the identity of this
romantic figure. Some say she was Doña Maria, the bride of Don Lorenzo
Suarez de Figueroa, Master of Santiago in 1389, whose despair on losing
a loved young wife is thus immortalised. Others identify the
_Malograda_ with Doña Estefania de Castro, mysteriously done to death in
the days of Alonso the Emperor. The tomb rests on superb marble lions,
and angels as usual hold the shields, in Gothic fashion. The ample folds
of the dead girl's garments are charmingly graceful, and to the beauty
of art is added the mystery of romance. Bride or mistress, this fair
girl, asleep for six centuries, holds in the stillness of her delicate
sculptured visage the enigma of her broken destiny. Sorrow or remorse
built her splendid monument.
The tombs of the Fuensalidas in the transept are notable works of art.
The statues representing the mighty and turbulent Ayalas and their wives
are of alabaster, and close by, brought from ruins of the Augustine
Convent, is a double tomb of _plateresca_ style, highly sculptured and
divided by two arches on delicate pillars, crowned with an intricate
frieze in really fine relief, belonging to Diego de Mendoza, a great
figure in the sixteenth century, and his wife, Ana de la Cerda. A niece
of St Theresa also is buried here, Doña Marina de Rivadeneira y Cepeda.
The purest mudejar steeple of Toledo is that of San Roman. This Moorish
steeple, with its arcaded windows and ingenious brickwork, was erected
by the famous Esteban de Illan, chief of the Toledos. Formerly the
church was a mosque remodelled from the original Gothic chapel, as the
remains of Arabic inscriptions indicate. After the Conquest it was
refashioned again into a Christian temple, and has since undergone
frequent restoration. Here St Ildefonso, after St Leocadia, the patron
of Toledo, was baptised in remoter centuries. In the sixteenth century
the _plateresca_ capilla major was built. Four wide arches, the two in
front of the central nave open, and the others wrought into the lateral
walls, with their graceful pillars and reliefs are extremely effective,
and are regarded, with the florid sculpture and half-orange cupola, as
constituting one of the finest specimens of plateresca architecture of
Toledo. The light, however, is imperfect for full inspection. The
retablo belongs to the same debased form of renaissance, an excess in
sculpture, legends in relief and medallion, every kind of architectural
fancy a combination of Gothic and classic could suggest. Nearly all
evidence of its earlier form has vanished, but for a defaced Arabian
inscription and a few horse-shoe arches, and a line of blocked arcades
with the cusped arches above, bold and large, while a simple ceiling
covers the primitive artesonado. In a little chapel on the Epistle side,
are a few forsaken specimens of old Spanish painting, before it
blossomed out into our European school. They are stiff and dull enough,
and their subject the conventional scenes from the New Testament, but
interesting as a development of Spanish art.
[Illustration: SANTIAGO, TOLEDO]
From the Moorish windows of its tower the flag of Castille waved in
1166, while the little king downstairs, in the safe keeping of the
mighty Illans was proclaimed, _Toledo, Toledo, Toledo por el rey Don
Alonso VIII._, and the town, in one of its customary phases of turbulent
revolt, was divided between the followers of the great families of the
Illans, the Laras, and the Castros. The tower is of plain reddish-brown
stone, the brick-work rough and unmoulded of a supremely singular and
distinguished effect, in perfect keeping with the rude, strange aspect
of the city. Among the smaller mudejar steeples is a good example in
that of Santa Magdalena. This is rougher and simpler than the rest. It
has only two arched windows above, while the lower part is perfectly
plain and solid. The bells hang in the window, adding thus to the
picturesque rudeness of the general effect, so unfamiliar to the
northern eye, so quaintly barbaric, so distinguished in its freedom from
the curse of modern banality or vulgarity.
[Illustration: SANTO PABLO]
A double interest is attached to the little church between the _Puerta
del Sol_ and the _Puerta Bisagra_, the _Cristo de la Luz_. It remains
still a perfect mosque, where to-day a Mohammedan might pray and
proclaim Allah the only God and Mohammed his prophet, and here the
conquering Castillian, entering the city, stopped and ordered mass to be
said, hanging up his shield upon the wall in memory of the first mass
celebrated after the defeat of the Moors, 1035. There are traces of
anterior occupation in Visi-Gothic days, and nothing more quaint, more
curious, exists in Toledo. Legends are naturally attached to it. In the
time of Atanagildo, there hung over the door a crucifix much venerated
by the Toledanos, and it entered the minds of two foolish Jews, Sacao
and Abisain, to outrage it. They pricked a lancet hole in the side, and
instantly blood gushed forth. In consternation they carried off the
cross to hide it in their dwelling, and the Christians, hunting
everywhere for their stolen crucifix, traced it by the blood-marks to
the house of these stupid Jews. The Jews were torn to pieces, of course,
and a solemn procession led back the insulted image to its revered spot.
Then the incorrigible Jews, to avenge the deaths of Sacao and Abisain,
are said to have poisoned the feet of the statue, so that the Christians
prompted to kiss them should be destroyed. A woman knelt to perform this
pious action, when to her surprise and terror, the statue withdrew its
foot from her kiss. The name Christ of the light comes from Moorish
days. When the Moors took Toledo, the sacred image was hidden by an
outer wall, with space enough to permit of a burning lamp being placed
before it. This lamp, unreplenished, burnt the entire 370 years of
Moorish dominion, and was discovered still aflame on May 25th, when
Alonso VI. entered the town. Passing the hidden spot as he rode along
the Valmardones, the king's horse suddenly knelt, some say; some say it
was the Cid's. A warrior's horse that performed such an action nowadays
would receive the whip. In those days, everyone seems to have been on
the look-out for miracles as natural events. The king and the Cid
dismounted, the wall was instantly broken down, and discovered the
crucifix and the burning lamp fixed in the wall of a Moorish mosque.
Mass was said on the spot by the Archbishop Bernardo, and there being no
cross above the altar, the king offered his shield, on which a large
cross was painted, and there it hangs to-day, a fine martial offering.
At that time the church lay beyond the town walls, at the vanished gate
of Valmardon, whereas now the town entrance from the Vega begins at the
Puerta Bisagra. The architecture is Moorish-Byzantine, quite the oldest
and most perfect specimen of Moorish architecture in Spain, and, for
that reason, one of the most interesting monuments of the Peninsula. The
body of the church is 22 feet by 25, while the outside is 22 by 19 only.
The whole building is white-washed, and gives an amazing impression of
strength for so limited a space. It looks so small and simple, and yet
is so fantastic, of an Oriental art so complete and finished. The six
short naves cross each other under nine vaults, and in the middle are
four strong low columns with sculptured capitals and twelve heavy
horse-shoe arches. The walls above are pierced with arcades cusped in
Moorish fashion and supported on shafts, each division crowned with a
little vault. The forest of naves and arches of the mosque of Cordova is
an enlarged and magnificent reproduction of this Oriental style. Above
are smaller semicircular arches, some double resting on smaller pillars.
Varied little cupolas complete the design, with the centre inevitable
half-orange, and above the central arch is the shield of Don Alfonso
(which may or may not be authentic) a white cross on a crimson ground
with the inscription below: _Esto es el escudo que dejo en esta ermita
el Rey Don Alonso VI. cuando ganó à Toledo y se dijo aqui la primera
misa_. The Cristo de la Luz makes an admirable contrast with the later
Arabian work, the more decorative period of the brilliant Morisco
Granadian architecture of which it is a foil.
Another notable church is the oldest and most celebrated of Toledo, the
basilica of Santa Leocadia, now called the Cristo de la Vega. Before
King Sisebuth's days it was a prætorian temple, and this monarch
converted it into a Christian chapel in the sixteenth century. Here
prelates and monarchs met to hold the earlier of the famous Councils of
Toledo. It is said, I know not if upon authentic fact, that some of the
wealth of this ancient church has been carried off to adorn the
Cathedral choir, some to the School of Infantry which now oddly
desecrates the Hospital of Santa Cruz. As early as the eleventh Council,
an abbot of Santa Leocadia was named, which proves its early importance;
and consecration for ever came with the apparition of the saint, in the
reign of Recesvinthus. Juana le loca carried part of the body of the
saint to Flanders, to a monastery in Hainault. The Archbishop of Sevilla
paid 1000 ducats to the Flemish monastery for the return of these
relics, which, in an explosion of universal joy, occurred in 1583.
Philip II. sent troops to Cambrai under Miguel Hernandez, where they
were met by a procession of abbesses and holy persons. Letters went
between Cardinal Quiroga and Alexander Farnese, Prince of Parma, on the
subject, and the matter was almost one of European importance. The
relics were said to have been stolen by the Count of Hainault when he
came to Spain to
[Illustration: CHRISTO DE LA LUZ]
help the Castillians against the Moors; but Ambrosio de Morales is of
opinion that they were taken to Oviedo, which would have been at the
date of the Moorish conquest, when Favila and Pelayo, with their
Asturian followers, were at Rodrigo's court. For their reception at
Toledo, all the town went out in procession under triumphal arches,
banners flying, trumpets blowing. A throne was erected at the Puerta
Bisagra, and a chapel, where eight dignitaries and canons received the
relics; and the procession turned back, with music, singing and dancing.
Every parish had its banner wrought for the occasion, and each child
carried a flag. More than a thousand monks walked behind; and, as well
as fifteen hundred priests of the town, there were all the canons, the
Brotherhood of the Hermandad, foreign priests, and every order of the
Catholic Church was present. Then came all the officers and ministry of
the Inquisition, more than seven hundred and forty doctors and masters,
fifty-five juries, thirty-three magistrates, the mayor, the Duke of
Maqueda, the Count of Fuensalida and Pedro de Silva, the city
standard-bearer. All the grandees of Castille followed--six dukes, nine
marquises, six counts, quantities of minor noblemen, and a regiment of
cavaliers and lords. The procession went by all the principal streets
from the Puerta Bisagra to the Cathedral. All were gaily decorated with
tapestries and silks, and arches were built everywhere, with Latin
inscriptions and elegant verses among their bright flowers. At the
Cathedral doors, Philip II., his two children, Don Carlos and Doña
Ysabel Clara, his sister, Doña Maria de Austria, and the Princes Rodolph
and Ernest of Hapsburg stood in the porch to receive the relics. The
majesty of the ceremony here becomes so dazzling that our prolix friend,
Dr Pisa, lays down his pen and weeps from emotion. He cannot hope to
trace such a picture, nor can we. But we strive to imagine the splendour
of Cardinal Quiroga in his sumptuous pontifical robes, a blaze of gold,
brocade and jewels, such as not to be beheld out of Eastern legend; the
dignitaries with their jewelled mitres; the King, infantas and princes,
all hardly less resplendent, and the laity rivalling them as far as
possible, in the gemmed lights of Toledo's glorious cathedral. A picture
one would gladly have seen, if it could be seen at a price less terrible
than that of Philip's contemporary or subject.
The church is situated under the ruins of the old city walls, below the
Puerta del Cambron. It is rough and simple enough, and derives its name
from the wooden crucifix over the altar, to which legend attaches a
romantic interest. Becquer and Zorilla have told the tale in thin and
sentimental prose, and in thinner and more sentimental verse. A gallant
pledged his word to marry a maid within sight of this crucifix:
afterwards he forgot his promise and denied the pledge, on which the
broken-hearted maid flung herself at the foot of the crucifix, and
addressed it as the witness of violated vows. The crucified held out a
wooden arm, and a voice from above exclaimed, "_I testify_." There is
one lovely thing in this quaint old basilica, the statue of St Leocadia
by Berruguete, originally sculptured for the gate of Cambron. Nothing
more sweet and delicate was ever wrought by that famous hand; no more
fitting expression of brave and beautiful maidenhood was ever conceived
in stone; and Italian influence in its best form is here visible, and
Berruguete's strength is subtilised by an exquisite and penetrative
charm. As well as St Leocadia and St Ildefonso, an Arabian inscription
in relief tells us that the first Moorish King of Toledo, Mahomad
Ben-Raman, was buried here.
Some of the convents of Toledo have been famous. That of San Pedro de
las Dueñas, in the reign of Henry the Impotent, created quite a
scandalous interest. Tired of his mistress, Doña Catalina de Sandoval,
he insisted on naming her abbess of this convent, and with this object
ordered the public expulsion of the abbess, the Marquesa de Guzman. In
his pretence lies the humour of the situation: he found the convent
needed a purifying influence, and that the ladies were not sufficiently
scrupulous in the maintenance of their vows. Spanish convents, before St
Theresa's time, were not harsh abodes. Indeed, I fancy they were freer
and pleasanter dwellings than the home of father or husband. Cavaliers
thronged the parlours, and there was much thrumming of lute and guitar,
much singing of soft sequidilla between belted knights and veiled
ladies, who only left off these gentle recreations when the bell
summoned them to meal or prayer. However, St Pedro so exceeded the limit
of ecclesiastical tolerance that the Archbishop Alonzo of Carrillo
placed it under interdict, and forbade any priest to cross its
threshold. The scandal only ended with the austere and lofty presence of
Queen Isabel upon the scene.
Santa Fé was originally a royal Moorish palace beautifully situated on
the north edge of the Zocodover, which Alonso VI., the conqueror, at the
instance of his French queen Constance, bestowed upon a French order for
noble ladies. A charming and perfect suggestion of its antique moresque
beauty may be had from the view of its wall in an old garden above the
river where you see the Moorish apse and brick arcading. The ground
covered by the palace must have been enormous, since in the time of
Alfonso VIII. the priory of the Knights of Calatrara was established
here. Nothing now remains but the Moorish choir and arcaded wall, and
the best of it is to be seen from the wild patch of garden outside the
convent walls. It is another case of senseless destruction, a monument
we are only permitted to rebuild in imagination with the help of a few
Moorish arches and brown brickwork half-hidden by exuberant foliage. A
stately dream, if mournful and evanescent, San Juan de la Penitencia
ineffectively situated below the Cathedral in a broken and dilapidated
quarter, is a Franciscan convent founded by Cisneros for poor girls,
where after six years' free schooling they may remain as nuns, and if
they prefer marriage the convent dowers them with about £15, with a
life-seat in the choir. The church is one of the minor sights of Toledo.
It was finished by the secretary of Cisneros, who lies buried here,
Francisco Ruiz, Bishop of Avila. About the convent halls and corridors
are still traces of Moorish ornamentation in which the Castillian
conquerors delighted quite as much as the Moslem. The chapel ceiling is
a good specimen of artesonado in terrible decay alas, and the
architecture is a medley of Gothic, Moorish, and renaissance. Above the
porch are the arms of Cisneros. Within it is of a gloomy and depressing
simplicity: a single nave, a high altar, a tribune. True the plateresca
frieze of the tribune is graceful, and the iron railing of the high
altar is quite the best of the minor churches, and admirably decorative,
while the tomb of the Bishop of Avila brought from Palermo is a most
beautiful work of art. Writing of it, Ponz says:--"Above a large stone
divided by three pilasters to form three pedestals, there are an equal
number of statues seated, almost life-size, representing Faith, Hope,
and Charity. Between the pilasters are the arms of the Bishop, five
castles. In a framed niche are contained the urn, couch, and recumbent
statue. In front of the urn there are two weeping children, and in the
depths of the niche four angels hold up the curtains. On either side are
two Doric pillars sustaining the architecture, frieze, and cornices,
and along the frieze runs: _Beato mortui, qui in Domino moriuntur_. On
the edge are two wrought columns of a very antique taste, excellently
executed.... Between these columns and pilasters on either side is a
statue, St James and St Andrew, and above the figures of children. Over
the whole is a bas-relief of the Annunciation, with the statues of St
John the Baptist and St John the Evangelist, half the size of the
Virtues below." Ponz is of opinion that this magnificent work of art is
of two distinct periods, the frame work having been wrought later by
Toledan sculptures after the tomb within had been brought from Palermo,
and revealing the delicacy, the finish and unerring taste of the finer
Italian school. Nothing could be more graceful, more effective than the
curtains held apart by the angels, or more delightfully touching than
the slight shadow thus cast upon the recumbent statue, lending it
something of the immediate stillness and impressiveness of recent death.
Santa Isabel is worth a visit. Some good azulejo and the artesonado
ceiling testify to Moorish influences and a queen and a royal princess,
daughter of Isabel the Glorious, were buried here, and the whole forms
an agreeable note of quaintness and dimness without however any special
attraction in architecture or decoration or art. Not so San Clemente.
The façade is what my Spanish friends call _una preciosidad_, the strong
and beautiful work of Berruguete. The architecture rests on two Ionic
pillars, and above is the statue of the titular saint. The reliefs of
the porch are exquisite, and the frieze abounds in all the wild and
exuberant fancies of the Spanish renaissance, every caprice in figure,
in leafage, in image, and phantasmal suggestion. Like Santa Fé the
convent prides itself upon aristocratic traditions. In the church is
buried the infante, Don Fernando, son of the founder, Alonso VII., the
emperor, the tomb a restoration by order of Felipe II. in 1570. The
interior is pleasing with an air of sober wealth, but has nothing to
show in the way of art that can compare with the noble façade. It is
stated that the archives contain 500 Arabian manuscripts, but these
statements the intelligent foreigner must take on trust.
_Santo Domingo el Real_ is another aristocratic convent of historical
interest. It was founded by an illegitimate daughter of Pedro the Cruel,
Doña Maria de Castilla, who was its first abbess. Two sons of Pedro were
buried here, results of the thousand vagabond caprices of this crowned
Blue-Beard; the infanta of Aragon, Queen of Portugal, hence the
qualification, St Dominick the Royal, the Guzmans, the Silvas, and
Ayalas reconciled first by marriage and then by death. There is a fine
retablo if there were only light enough to see it by.
* * * * *
Of the many hospitals of Toledo, two alone are famous, one what the
Spanish guides very properly call "a sumptuous work of art." Descending
the steps through the Moorish archway of the Zocodover, you leave
Cervantes' inn on the right, and a little lower down on the left is the
Hospital of Santa Cruz, the hospital of Mendoza, "The Cardinal of
Spain," now incongruously enough a school of infantry. The traveller,
enamoured of the picturesque, in awed surrender to the charm of noble
ruins, grows to loathe the military all over Europe. They take up their
quarters so profanely in monuments one hardly dares to lift one's voice
in. They sprawl in their motley uniforms over the loveliest homes of
romance and memories, and burthen the silence with their futile
miseries, labours, and tyrannies. In times of war the army makes a
gallant figure. Then each man is a hero, and we willingly tend his
wounds. But in times of
[Illustration: DOOR OF SANTA CRUZ]
peace the soldier is frankly an anachronism and a nuisance. He
desecrates ruins and spoils the view; he vulgarises the atmosphere of
legend, and cheapens the majesty of dismantled walls. There is, of
course, no reason but a sentimental one why the sabred heroes of Spain
should not sleep within the walls of a magnificent monument, and
exercise their muscles in the lovely chapel of Mendoza, now their
gymnasium, but what will you?--a traveller is necessarily sentimental.
The great cardinal of Spain designed to build an hospital for
foundlings, and had engaged the architect, Enrique Egas, and with him
traced the plan, when death overtook him at Guadalajara in 1495, and he
bequeathed his idea, with over 75,000 ducats for its completion, to
Queen Isabel and his relative the Duke of Infantado. The Queen chose the
spot on account of the wide view of the hills rolling upward from the
opposite river banks, and the hospital was called Santa Cruz because of
the founder's devotion to the Holy Cross. It was originally a royal
Gothic palace, converted later into a Moorish palace, it is said, the
town residence of Galiana's father, Galafré. Possibly here may have
dwelt Casilda, the King's daughter, who from her earliest years, loved
the Christians and pitied them, and carried food to the Christian
prisoners. She vowed to devote herself to the poor and live a maid, to
King Almenor's dismay, who proposed one after another brilliant match to
her in vain. Standing at the palace gate one day he found her carrying a
basket of provisions to the prisoners, and asked her what the basket
contained. "Roses," said Casilda like St Elisabeth of Hungary, and
opening the basket, to her surprise discovered it full of red and white
roses. There, too, may have taken place that strange bridal of Doña
Theresa, sister of the King of Leon and the Moorish king Abdallah, when,
it is said, an angel interposed to prevent the union of Christian
princess and Moorish monarch, and the King thus convinced of the
sacrilege, sent his bride away with camels loaded with gold and silver
and jewels, which she carried to the convent of St Pelayo, where she
became abbess. When Alfonso reigned over Toledo, he gave the property to
the nuns of San Pedro de las Dueñas, and in 1504 the building of the
cardinal's hospital was begun. It is the first sample of plateresque
architecture then introduced into Spain by Covarrubias. The façade is
superb, one of the many glories of Toledo. Impossible to conceive
anything more charming than all this wonder of chiselled stone, with its
delicate arches and most exquisite reliefs. One represents St Helena
holding the cross, and kneeling in front of her, Cardinal Mendoza;
behind the cardinal is St Peter, and behind the empress is St Paul; a
suite of pages hold mitre and hat. The decoration of leafage, flower and
cross is rich and fanciful. One particularly lovely relief represents
Charity, with statues on either side, while the architecture, the
friezes and cornices are elaborately wrought in every Gothic fancy,
bucklers, arms, and armour mingling with flower and foliage, and the
cardinal's arms held reverently by little angels. Between the
magnificent columns are the four cardinal virtues, and above are other
reliefs whose general effect is beautiful enough, but whose details it
is difficult to follow at such a height (one is supposed to represent St
Joachim and St Anne embracing, and is somewhat crudely defined by the
Spanish guidebooks), while the whole is surmounted by the cardinal's
favourite Jerusalem cross. The large windows are extremely harmonious,
with their Toledan railings so grimly artistic, with all the sombre
beauty of a taste more largely decorative than prettily fanciful. On
entering you face three sculptured doors leading to the chapel, now the
gymnasium, and to the splendid patios, to-day fallen into a scandalous
state of neglect and decay. The superb staircase, despite the fact that
all the wealth of its beautiful ornamentation is half defaced, gives
some indication of what a work of art it once was in its mingling of
arabesque and plateresque note, and something of the delicate finish of
details may still be seized. The chapel forms a Greek cross, degraded,
too, like the rest of the edifice, showing remains of what was once a
singularly fine specimen of the artesonado ceiling. The heavy Gothic
pillars are richly wrought in an incredible variety of reliefs, and we
have no difficulty in believing that this was once one of the
architectural gems of the Gothic capital. But what is still more
impressive, as unique as the great staircase, is the immense empty
patio, with its long galleries and pillars of Italian marble, its
reliefs and armorial bearings. I know nothing in Toledo that seizes the
imagination so vividly with the tragic sensation of vanished
magnificence as this great courtyard. Not a courtyard surely, but an
esplanade enclosed within arcaded marble galleries, where a prince might
hold a review for his private satisfaction.
The Hospital of San Juan Bautista or Afuera is another remarkable
building it behoves us to mention. This was founded by one of the
noblest of Toledo's archbishops, Tavera, who died after his journey to
Valladolid to baptise the infant, Prince Carlos, of unfortunate renown,
and to bury the queen, and was buried here. Berruguete wrought his tomb
in the chapel, a monument as noble as the cardinal it honours. The
hospital lies beyond the Puerta de Bisagra in the Covachuelas, with a
little public garden in front, and a view of all the Vega on either
side. The spot takes its name, Plazuela de Marchan, from one of the
earliest Corregidors, Pedro de Navarra, marshal and marques de Cortes,
who owned it. The Emperor Charles Quint bestowed it on Tavera for his
hospital in 1540. The primitive plan was Bustamente's, but the building
was concluded by the two Vergaras. Many grandees and bishops were
connected with the work before its termination in 1599, while the outer
portal dates from the eighteenth century. The two patios are superb, and
the general effect of the building is imposing. In one of the south
rooms, under the big clock, Berruguete died in 1561, after having
finished Cardinal Tavera's tomb, his last work, the fitting termination
of a fruitful and laborious existence. Not a Spanish town, hardly a
church, but has something from the hand of this stupendous worker, who
seems to have crowded as much production into a single lifetime as might
easily have supported an entire century. His death is dryly recorded,
without any details, and of the man himself we are not permitted to
gather any impression. We obtain no glimpse of him at work, or abroad
taking his pleasures. Like El Greco, he is a name without any distinct
personality for us, attached to Toledo in glowing evidence.
If there were nothing else in Toledo but this monument of Cardinal
Tavera in the hospital chapel, it would be worth while to travel from
remote parts to see it. The church is fine, composed of a single large
and lofty nave, paved with white and black marble, and the impression it
makes is one of seizing quietude. Here you may examine El Greco at his
worst and best: the appalling eccentricities of vision and manner
revealed in the St John the Baptist, lurid, livid, with gnarled limbs
and swollen muscles, and the noble and dignified portrait of Cardinal
Tavera,
[Illustration: TOMB OF CARDINAL TAVERA]
one of the most beautiful portraits El Greco ever painted. But all your
admiration is claimed by Berruguete's monument before the altar. As the
work of an old and dying man, it confounds minute and modern talent. It
has the virility, the freshness, the superb strength of youth; it has
the serenity, the stillness, the awful majesty of death. Mount the steps
beside this marble tomb, and you will look on such a picture of death in
all its restful sublimity as the hand, the imagination of man have
rarely seized. Nothing like that old man's head under the mitre has
Berruguete himself ever done. It is the supreme attainment of genius on
the eve of eternal night, the culmination of a magnificent art, when the
great strong hand is about to lay down the chisel forever, and gathers
in a supreme moment all that is best in a life's work, to give it a
noble ending. You should examine all the splendid details, the large
gracious statues at either corner, the shields, the eagles, the urns and
masterly mouldings, before looking at the dead cardinal's visage, for
after that you will have no mind left for any emotion but awe. Here so
cheap a thing as praise melts into stupefied silence. The aged sculptor
began this monument in 1559 and finished it in 1561, the year of his
death, and it was his sons who received the payment due to him, 993,764
maravedis. It seems extraordinary that anyone should dare to put a price
on such work, or even offer vulgar coin for it. There are things that
lie without the radius of commerce and competition, and this is surely
one of them. One is almost content to think that Berruguete was never
actually paid for such an inspiration, but dropped into immortality
before the revolting 993,764 maravedis unworthily touched a hand so
honoured.
CHAPTER XI
_Bridges and Gates of Toledo_
I have said there are but two bridges guarding the wide sweep of the
Tagus round Toledo, the Puente de Alcántara and the Puente de San
Martin. These bridges are unimaginably picturesque and fine. The first
you enter from the railway station, with an excellent view of the double
line of walls, broken by towers built upon the rugged rocks. No more
superb and impressive scene is to be found elsewhere than that the old
city makes behind this castellated bridge. The bridge in its actual
state was built by Alfonso X., on the ruins of the Moorish bridge, of
which Rasis el Moro wrote: "It was such a rich and marvellous work and
so subtly wrought, that never man with truth could believe there was any
other such fine work in Spain." The Moors in 866 constructed this in
turn upon the ruins of the old Roman bridge, of which some traces still
remain, and which the Goths repaired in 687, and it was destroyed in
1257. Since Alfonso's time, the vicissitudes of Spanish history have
wrought damage enough to this noble monument. In 1380 Tenorio restored
it, and in 1484 the interior arch was repaired at the town's cost by
Andrès Manrique, in 1575 the entrance from the city was repaired, in
1721 the outer towers had to be restored, and in 1786, as well as in
1836, the entire bridge was submitted to general repairs. These
alterations are all carefully noted by various inscriptions. In Philip
II.'s reign was placed under the statue of St Ildefonso by Berruguete--
S. ILDEFONSO DIVO TUTELARI TOLET, D.D.,
ANNO DOM. MDLXXV., PHILIPPO II., HISP. REGE.
A longer one of that period was: _Año DCLXXIIII._ _Wamba Rey godo
restauró los muros des esta cuidad y los ofreció en versos latinos a
Dios y los santos patrones de ella_: _los Moros los quitaron y pusieron
letreros_ arabigos de blasfemias _y errores_--_el rey D. Felipe II._ con
zelo de religion y de conservas las memorias de los reyes pasados,
mandó, a Jo. Gutierrez Tello, Corregidor de la cuidad los quitase y
pusiere como antes estaten los santos patrones con los versos del Rey
Wamba. Ano de MDLXX.[21]
Another tells us of a great deluge that lasted for five months, from
August to December, and carried off portions of the bridge, which was
rebuilt by Alef, son of Mohamed Alameri, Mayor of Toledo, in the time of
Almanzor. On one of the inner vaults are sculptured the arms of the
Catholic Kings, Isabella and Fernando, and the inevitable relief of St
Ildefonso receiving the chasuble from Our Lady. The entrance arch was
constructed under Felipe V. instead of the Moorish tower that stood
there. These restorations are insignificant. What one notes is the
general impression, which is magnificent.
The bridge of San Martin is early thirteenth century work, built in
1203 after a terrible inundation that carried off the old bridge, which
was probably a little lower down, where the _Baño de la Cava_, as this
broken tower and the broken pillar opposite would indicate. In the Civil
War of Pedro the Cruel and Henry of Trastamare, the principal arch was
cut in two, and the Archbishop Tenorio had to restore the whole bridge
almost in order to repair the damage. One of the legends of Toledo
relates to this restoration. The architect to whom Tenorio confided the
work miscalculated, and while the woodwork and scaffolding still
enveloped the central arch, he discovered to his horror that the instant
these supports were removed the bridge would fall. This would mean
nothing less than ruin and disgrace, and the unfortunate architect
confided his despair to his wife. Without a word, at the dead of night,
she went down to the bridge and set the scaffolding on fire. Nobody saw
her, and the accident was believed in and deplored. While the arch was
being rebuilt, this time happily with the error rectified, the woman,
finding the burden of remorse greater than she could bear, went to the
Archbishop and told her tale. Tenorio was so delighted with her
ingeniousness that he congratulated her fortunate husband and ordered
her figure to be sculptured on the keystone of the central arch. Señor
Parro doubts if the little figure on the north side is that of a woman,
and after careful examination is inclined to believe that it is meant
for a bishop, probably Tenorio himself. One would prefer to believe in
the woman, of course, as legends are always pretty and graceful, but
facts are facts, and if the headgear be really a mutilated mitre and not
a woman's cap?
The bridge is narrow and extremely high above the river, as here the
thunderous rush of water down the rocky gorge comes often with the
menace of flood, and beside this splendid central arch that gave rise
to the legend Tenorio's arch, 140 feet wide and 95 above the water
level, most lofty and grand, there are four smaller arches. At either
end, like the Alcántara Bridge, there is a tower and gateway, with
Moorish arches and battlements, and vaulted arches for the passengers;
inscriptions and reliefs abound, a statue of St Julian by Monegro and of
Alfonso VII. the Emperor. Across the southern hills, among their bare
scented folds, beyond silent gorge and wild waterway, lie the famous
Cigarrales, the villas, the gardens, the orchards, where the apricots
grow as they grow nowhere else. Tirso de Molina sings their charms, and
the aubergines of the Cigarrales were famous even in the days of Guzman
de Alfarache. Here towards evening the townsfolk wander out to taste the
air of the hills and revel in cool leafage, and the walk back in the
gathering shade, when the town is getting ready its feeble electric
illumination, and the stars are out, and the streets are dim and silent.
Then more than ever will Toledo appear to you as something too beautiful
for reality, the imagined city of wild romantic legend, an intangible
evocation that surely the morning lights must disperse, that the reality
of day must vulgarise. It is not in the nature of modern eyes to gaze
with security upon a picture so mysteriously strange, so solemnly sad in
its grandeur, so complete a surprise.
To-day there are three gates in the outer walls of Toledo, the _Puerta
Visagra_, the _Puerta del Cambron_ and the _Puerta Nueva_. Entering the
city by the Bridge of San Martin, you front the gate of the Cambron
here, so called from the brambles that grew about that small, charming,
pinnacled edifice, built upon the spot of Wamba's old gate in Alfonso
VI.'s time, and was then completely Moorish in style. In 1576 it was
restored and took on its present half renaissance, half classical
aspect, with its four towers, its centre court and columns. Berruguete's
lovely statue of St Leocadia used to stand in the niche above the lines
in her honour from the Mozarabe ritual sculptured below:
_In Nostra civis inclita_
_Tu es patrona vernul[ae]_
_Ab urbis hujus termino_
_Procul reptile tedium._
Gutierrez Tello, we know, was ordered by Philip II., iniquitous Vandal,
to break up all the beautiful Moorish inscriptions on the bridges and
gates, but one of these inscriptions still remains on the fragment of a
column; the finest have disappeared. This was one: "There is but one God
on earth, and Mohamad is his messenger. All the faithful who believe in
our prophet, Mohamad, and continue to kiss the hands and feet of
Murabito Muley abda Alcadar every day, will be without stain, will not
be blind, nor deaf, nor lame, nor wounded; and receiving his
benediction, when the time of his death comes, will only be three days
ill, and dying, will go with open eyes to Paradise forgiven of all
sins." Who would not willingly kiss the hands and feet of Murabito Muley
every day in return for such promises? There was another interesting
inscription to the same Muley on an old gateway: "Prayer and peace over
our Lord and Prophet Mohamad. All the faithful, when they went to lie
down in their beds, mentioning the Alfaqui Murabito Abdala, and
recommending themselves to him, will enter no battle out of which they
will not come victorious, and in whatever battle against Christians they
may stain their lances with Christian blood, dying that same day, will
go alive and whole with eyes open to Paradise, and his descendants will
remain till the fourth generation forgiven." Evidently a man to have on
one's side in the struggle for existence and in the hope of joys to
come in a better world. Small wonder Ponz called Toledo the city of
magnificent inscriptions. You are greeted everywhere with grandiloquent
or heroic utterances.
[Illustration: PUERTA VISAGRA (ANTIGUA)]
The old Puerta Visagra is now blocked up. Through it Alphonso VI.
entered Toledo. The work is entirely Moorish, of the first period, heavy
and simple, with the triple arches so delightfully curved in horseshoe
shape, and the upper crenelated apertures. The meaning of the name is
still disputed. Some give it a Latin origin, signifying _Via-Sacra_,
others an Arabian origin, _Bab_, gate, and _Shara_, meadow, as it leads
into the stony fields without, in the Vega. This seems to be the more
probable one, since the _Puerta Visagra_ distinctly dates from the time
of the Moors. The new gate faces the highroad of Estremadura, and was
built under Charles Quint, 1550. It forms two edifices, joined by a
large square courtyard with high turreted walls on either side. The
outer arch and tower are magnificent; the whole is impressive. On the
south front is the shield with the arms of Spain, and the Emperor's
eagles, in sculptured granite, with a Latin inscription below. There is
another front behind the vaulted entrance, with two graceful square
towers, adorned with balconies and elegant capitals narrowing to a
pyramidal point, roofed with white and green tiles, which make an odd
and not-unpleasing note against the brown rampart running upward. These
gleaming _azulejo_ tower-roofs dominate the plain, and, seen from above,
the effect of this little dash of brightness amidst all these brown
tones of earth and stone is indescribably gay. Within, on the doorway,
is the inscription of the Senate's dedication of the gate to Charles
Quint, and beyond the patio, in a niche in the central arch, is an
exceedingly fine statue of St Eugenio, either by Berruguete or Monegro.
Both these artists were engaged by Toledo to make statues for the gates
and bridges, and confusion now rests upon all the statues except that of
St Leocadia (now in the Hermitage of the Cristo de la Vega), which is
assuredly a Berruguete, and perhaps the most exquisite thing he has ever
done. Monegro's work will be sufficiently appreciated by the fact of
this confusion. Here, again, are finely sculptured, in large relief, the
arms of the Emperor, and a life-size angel guards the city with
unsheathed sword. This statue and the shield were originally gilt, but
time has worn the gilt away; in either tower-front, on both sides of the
shield, are two statues of Gothic kings. But a mere description of the
details of this splendid gate can really give no impression of its
general effect. If there were not the _Puerta del Sol_--one of the
world's masterpieces--so near, one would be tempted to call it the
finest on earth.
But to write of the _Puerta del Sol_--Moorish gem against a Spanish sky,
miracle of loveliness upon a rough and naked rampart! A thing of
bewildering beauty, even among crowded enchantments! It is to pick one's
way through superlatives and points of exclamation, and call in vain on
the goddess of sobriety to subdue our tendency to excess and
incoherence. Put this matchless gate in the middle of the desert of
Sahara: it would then be worth while making the frightful voyage alone
to look at it. However far you may have journeyed, you would still be
forever thankful to have seen such a masterpiece--incontestably a work
of supreme art, perhaps the rarest thing of the world. Is there a flaw
in it? Mine were not the eyes to detect it. I could only look on and
worship. The last evening of my stay in Toledo, I went out to make my
farewell visits by dusk to the town, accompanied by my friend, the
Spanish painter. Into that lovely walk I gathered too many impressions
to disengage them, but I still see the _Puerta del Sol_ in the blue
twilight, with a big star--like a lamp--trembling on the edge of it, in
the fluid luminosity of a fading sunset. "_Una preciocedad_," murmured
my Spanish friend, familiar with its witchery for more than fifteen
years; and we stood there for a half hour in dead silence, making our
prayer of thanks to the strong, great hands, the commanding genius, that
wrought for our delight, so long ago, a work which defies the banality
of description.
This impressive Moorish monument is fashioned of rough stone, above the
brilliant Vega, with the arid hills around. The towers are of brown
granite, and above span the vaulted entrance. The sides form a
semi-circular and a half square tower, and the interior is divided into
three compartments. There is a great centre ogival arch, resting on two
columns with Moorish
[Illustration: PUERTA DEL SOL]
inscriptions; from the zones of ornamental arches enlaced, bayed above
and horseshoe-shaped beneath, break away other architectural flourishes
of raised ogival, the zones divided by angles with the points inward.
Behind the great arch, there is another horseshoe arch, and above it is
a round medallion, with a relief, of the Virgin offering the chasuble to
St Ildefonso; beyond are two simple ogival arches, united to form the
rising line of the portcullis, and then another horseshoe arch in the
back façade forms the same design. Above are three similar little
arches, with railings, and in the semi-circular tower below are three
apertures for barbaric hostilities, in each façade joining the central
compartment. Each aperture, in front, has an ornamental bayed arch,
placed above three corbels crowned with towers turreted in pyramidal
capitals. Within, a series of Arabian arches--the quadrangular tower
only adorned with little Moorish arches. The age of this most exquisite
gate is uncertain. It is believed to be of the second period of Moorish
architecture in Toledo, that is, tenth century, with alterations as far
as the thirteenth. While the architecture is perfectly Moorish, there is
some indication of Christian influence--in the use of a stone not
generally used by the Moors, and also in the reliefs of the Virgin and
St Ildefonso, and in the little marble relief of the two women and the
man, supposed to perpetuate the tale of the Governor Fernando Gonzalez,
Lord of Yegros, whom San Fernando, that uncompromising king, sentenced
to death for betraying two women: by some believed to represent St John
the Baptist, Herodias and her mother. The simple traveller, who loves
righteousness and truth, will stick to the avenging sovereign sentencing
thus summarily the rascal governor. But it is like the figure in the
central arch of the Bridge of San Martin. Believe what you like best.
Fernando may have boiled his enemies in pots of water over huge logs, or
roasted them alive before roaring fires. He himself was such an
admirable fellow in his private life that we are constrained to believe
his enemies merited such treatment. He died during the third period of
Moorish architecture in Spain, and left all he possessed to the Hospital
of Santiago. It was perhaps a little excessive on the part of St
Fernando, after chopping off the governor's perfidious head, to
confiscate all his property and bestow it on the poor. The governor's
relations might justly have regarded themselves as defrauded. But those
were the happy days when subjects had no rights, and only breathed by
divine permission of the sovereign. Young people who fell in love
without the king's leave were dispatched to prison or a nunnery. In the
leisure that war and revolt occasionally allowed him, the king made and
unmade marriages; and if, glancing from his palace windows, he chanced
to see a man pass by who looked as if, at some future date, he might be
tempted to commit a crime, he ordered his instant execution, in the
interests of humanity. Sure, indeed was it worth while to be a King in
those delightful days, a life never monotonous for the lack of
surprises, never empty of vicissitudes and every odd and stupendous
stroke of fortune.
A word must be said about the legendary _Baño de la Cava_. The
probability is that this celebrated and picturesque ruin was portion of
a turreted bridge that existed before the construction of San Martin,
and was swept away in one of the inundations that wrought at periods so
much damage to the town. The ruin is undoubtedly Moorish, and Moorish
letters may be traced on one of the broken columns, which would prove it
posterior to the Berber invasion under Tarik. The height of the old
bridge is sufficiently indicated to show us that a wild rush of water
from the upper rocky defile as it thunders down the gorge would quickly
carry off the stoutest construction so lowly placed, hence the exceeding
height of the central arch of Tenorio's bridge, through which the Tagus
in its most turbulent hour can gush at will. The ruin is a delightful
one, and nothing could be more romantic than its situation. Graceless
facts that so ruthlessly demolish poetic legends!
The walls and ramparts are dismantled now, but there are considerable
traces of the Visigothic walls of 711, while the twelfth century walls
of Alfonso, the conqueror, are naturally more distinct. Quite recent is
the easy sloping road that winds up from the bridge of Alcántara to the
Zocodover. If one regrets the old double walls that used to guard the
city on this side, it must be admitted that there are agreeable
compensations. The town is more open to the breezes of the Vega; the new
road itself is a comfortable invention as a substitute for the
battlemented and rocky altitude it was once to climb, and the pretty
_Miradero_ makes a graceful modern note in a mediæval picture. But
giving your back to San Servando, and mounting the road of _Nuestra
Señora de la Valle_, you may trace on the other side the broken ramparts
in their extreme age and admirable preservation. And leaving the town by
the _Puerta de Visagra_, wander round by the Vega, and here beyond the
_Puerta Lodada_, you will admire the martial aspect of what remains of
Wamba's jagged walls within and the outer walls of Alfonso that run from
the Puerta Nueva to the Lunatic Asylum.
_Appendix_
The traveller to Toledo will be glad, perhaps, of some practical
information. A guide for a short stay is indispensable. I did not claim
the services of any, so cannot speak from personal experience, but the
proprietor of the Hotel Castilla assures me that his German guide can be
recommended. His charge is ten pesetas a day, nominally eight shillings,
but often considerably less owing to the rate of change. My friend and
guide, the Spanish painter, who came fifteen years ago to Toledo lo
sketch and has since never been able to leave the witching city, highly
recommends a young Italian guide, G. Borraino, who speaks several
languages and knows his Toledo to the last stone. His charge, I imagine,
is less, and he dwells up in the little Plaza de las Carmelitas, above
the Puerta del Cambron, with amiable Italians who make and sell plaster
casts.
There are four hotels in Toledo; the Castilla, the Norte, the Lina, and
the Imperial. The Castilla is the best hotel of Spain, admirably
situated, overlooking, behind, the broad Vega and the long serpentine
Tagus curled upon the landscape. The table is French and good, the rooms
are fine, the service quite modern, the whole fitted up with luxury and
taste. The building is extremely handsome and spacious, with every
modern comfort, and cost the marquis who built it a fortune. He rashly
spent his money, but he is the benefactor of travellers to Toledo, and
such is now the reputation of this first-class hotel that newly married
couples from Madrid, and embassadors in search of distraction, come
here instead of going abroad. Murray's guide-book describes it as dear,
which is not true, for such accommodation and service are cheap enough
at fifteen pesetas a day. Older travellers who have had to put up with
the older hotels give appalling accounts of their experience, so that
for the sake of a few shillings it is the height of folly to be
miserable while sight-seeing, when for very little more, you may enjoy
comfort, harmony, and an excellent table, with the most scrupulous
cleanliness.
The churches should be visited early; tips are everywhere indispensable
but small. A plan of Toledo will be found very useful.
[Illustration: TOLEDO
1 _Santiago Apostolo del Arrabal._
2 _Domingo el Real (Sto) Dominicas._
3 _Domingo el Antiguo._
4 _San Vicente_: _Anejo_.
5 _San Juan Bautista._
6 _Pantheon Provincial._
7 _Biblioteca Publica._
8 _Palazio Arzobiscal._
9 _San Marcos_: _Muzarabe_.
10 _Fabricia de Utensilios Militaires._
11 _Santo Tomé._
12 _Casos de los Templarios._
13 _El Salvador_: _Anejo_.
14 _Taller del Moro._ (_Palacio Arabe_)
15 _San Andrés._
16 _Posada de la Sangre_ (_donde residio Cervantes_)
17 _Plazueta Santa Isabel._
18 _San Clemente._
19 _San Pedro._
20 _San Roman._
21 _Santa Fé._
22 _San Pablo._
]
INDEX
A
ABDERRAMAN, Moorish sovereign, 67.
ABD-AR-RAHMAN III., the Great Khalif, 75, 76.
ABDULLA, 288.
ABEN-EN-NOGUAIRI, 58.
ALCÁZAR, 91, 100, 112, 113, 132, 133, 262.
ALCOCER, historian, 10, 77, 133, 134.
ALCURNIA, 130.
ALFAQUI, the generous Moor who pleaded for his Christian enemies and
whose memory is honoured by a statue in the Cathedral,
Ayuntamiento, 82, 88, 89, 90, 126, 202.
ALFONSO, the Learned, _Cronica General_, origin of Toledo, 6, 76.
ALFONSO VI., 77, 78, 79, 81, 82, 85, 86, 87, 151, 152, 262, 266, 274.
ALFONSO VII., 19, 93, 283.
ALFONSO VIII., 95, 96, 128.
ALFONSO MARTINEZ DE TOLEDO, 97.
ALMAMON, Toledan king, 77, 78, 79.
ALOYSIA DE SIGEA, woman poet of Toledo, 104.
ALVARO DE LUNA. Great Constable, 102, 105, 182, 262.
ALVAR GOMEZ, Chronicler of Cisneros, 13, 108.
ALVAREZ, modern damascene worker, 146.
AMADOR DE LOS RIOS, 162, 216.
AMBROSIA DE MORALES, 279.
AMRON, of Huesca, slaughter of the terrible _Day of the Foss_, 68, 69, 70.
ANGELA SIGEA, woman philosopher, 104.
ANTONIO DE HEREDIA, Toledan poet, 104.
ATANAGILDO, first Gothic sovereign of Toledo, 25, 274.
AUGUSTUS, 15.
AVIENO, 8.
AYALA, great Toledan family, rival of the Silvas, 103, 104, 106, 108.
B
BADDO, Gothic Queen, renounces Arianism, 31.
BAÑO DE LA CAVA, 302.
BAYEU, Spanish painter, 19, 174.
BELACIN, Mûsa's son, who married Rodrigo's widow after the Conquest, 66.
BELTRANAJE, illegitimate daughter of Henry the Impotent, cause of
Portuguese War with Isabel, 106.
BERNARD OF CLUNY, French archbishop of Toledo, who took the
Cathedral from the Moors and introduced the Latin rite, 84.
BERRUGUETE, 150, 161, 162, 280, 290, 291, 293, 296, 298.
BLANCHE, Rodrigo's widow, 66.
BLANCHE OF BOURBON, Pedro the Cruel's ill-treated wife, 99, 100.
BLAZ ORTIZ, 174.
BRISTES, legend of Doña Luz, 49.
BURIAL OF COUNT ORGAZ, El Greco's masterpiece, 203.
C
CAIUS PLANCIUS, 12.
CALDERON, 244, 262.
CARLOS III., 263.
CASA de Mesa, 254, 258.
CASA de las Tornerias, 256.
CASILDA, 287.
CASSIM, Toledan Moorish ruler, 67.
CATHEDRAL, 81, 83, 90, 91, 150, 275.
CAVA, origin of the word, 58.
CERVANTES, 120, 138.
CHARLES QUINT, 108, 109, 113, 262, 290.
CHAPEL of the New Kings, 186.
CHILDE PELAYO, conqueror of Covadonga, and son of Doña Luz, 50.
CHINDASVINTHE, Gothic King, 35.
CHRONIQUE rimée des rois de Tolède, 38, 53.
CID, el Campeador, 81, 85, 86, 87, 133.
CIGARRALES, 131, 295.
CISNEROS' great Cardinal, 107, 108, 109, 282.
CLEPSYDRAS of Az-Zarcal, 247.
CLOISTERS of Cathedral, 174.
CLOISTERS of San Juan de los Reyes, 225.
COMUNEROS, the rising under Juan de Padilla, 110.
COPIN of Holland, 169, 173, 176, 179.
CORO of Cathedral, 161, 162.
CORRAL of Don Diego, 261.
CORTES of Toledo, 107.
COUNCILS of Toledo, 22.
CREDO of Toledo, 23.
CRISTO de la Luz, 274.
CRISTO de la Vega, 276.
D
DACIAN, persecution and death of Leocadia, 19, 20, 21.
DIEGO MOSSEM VALERA, historian, 6.
DOZY, historian, 79.
DENIS, ST, 18, 19.
E
EGICA, 47.
EL GRECO, 193;
his quarrel with the Chapter of Toledo, 197;
his quarrel with Philip II, 201;
his "Assumption," 212.
ENRIQUE of Aragon, 182.
EUGENIUS, first bishop of Toledo, 18, 35, 151.
EXPOLIO of El Greco, 179, 197.
F
FABRICA DE ARMAS, 146.
FAUSTINA DE BOURBON, historian, 60.
FAVILA, 47, 48, 49, 50.
FELIX DE ARTIAGA, sonnets on El Greco, 199.
FERECIO, one of the many supposed Greek founders of Toledo, 8.
FERNANDO of Aragon, husband of Isabel and unnatural father of
Juana, called _La Loca_, 106, 108.
FERNANDO GONZALEZ, 53.
FERNANDO, ST, Castillian monarch, 94, 95, 301.
FERNAN SANCHEZ CALDERON, 105, 106.
FLORINDA, 43, 55, 58.
FRANCISCO DE ROJAS, 267.
FRANCISCO RUIZ, bishop of Avila, 282.
FRAY BAUTISTA MAINO, 199, 269, 270.
FRÊDÉGAIRE, annalist, 33.
FUENSALIDAS, 271.
FUENTE DE GUARRAZAZ, where the famous Gothic votive crowns
were discovered, 44.
G
GALAFRE, 244, 287.
GAMERO, historian, 18, 20, 28, 58, 59.
GARCILASO DE LA VEGA, 137.
GATON, Toledan ally sent by Ordoño, King of Leon,
against the Sultan in 854, 74.
GERARDO LOBO, 258.
GHARBIB, revolutionary poet, 67.
GOSUINDA, wife of Atanagildo, 25.
GOSVINTHA, widow of Leovigildo, who revolts
against her step-son, Recaredo, 30.
GOTHIC Tournament, 55, 56.
GOTHIC votive crowns, 44, 45, 46.
GRACIA DEI, chronicler of Don Pedro; note, 6.
GRAFESES, 47, 50.
GUADALETE, famous battle, 26, 61, 62.
GUNDMAR, 33.
GUTIERREZ TELLO, 293, 296.
H
HACAM, Moorish sovereign, 68.
HACAM, _El Durrete_, insurgent, 72, 73.
HANNIBAL, conquers Toledo, 11.
HASDRUBAL, 10;
his assassination, 11.
HASSADRIN, Jewish writer, 231.
HENRY THE IMPOTENT, 105, 106, 124.
HENRY of Trastamare, 100.
HENRY of Villena, 249.
HERMANDAD, famous brotherhood founded 1223, 93, 94, 129.
HERMENGILDO, prince and martyr, 26, 27, 28, 29.
HILERMO, King of Carpetania, 11.
HINESTROSA, uncle of Maria de Padilla, 99, 100.
HOSPITAL of Santa Cruz, 107, 284.
HOSPITAL of San Juan Bautista or Afuera, 289.
HOTEL CASTILLA, 305.
HUERTA DEL REY, 243.
I
ILDEPHONSO, St, 35.
ISABEL, the great Queen, 106, 107, 185.
ISIDOR, St, 32, 35.
J
JOSÉ GODOZ ALCÁNTARA, 53.
JUAN II., 102, 104.
JUAN GUTTIERREZ TELLO, Toledan Magistrate, 127.
JUANA, unfortunate daughter of Isabel the Catholic, 108, 110, 111.
JUANA DE CASTRO, one of Pedro the Cruel's wives, 101.
JUAN DE MENA, poet; _see_ his famous _Coplas_ on Henry of Villena, 103.
JUAN DE PADILLA, 109, 110, 111, 112.
JUANELO TURRIANO, _see_ description of his _artificio_, 113, 143, 144.
JULIAN, Archbishop, 51.
JULIAN, Florinda's father, and Governor of Ceuta, 58, 60.
L
LEANDER of Seville, 26, 29.
LEGEND of Puerta del Niño Perdido, 236.
LEMBROT, _see_ great tournament, 57.
LEOCADIA, St, 19, 20, 21, 37, 38, 296.
LEOCADIA, St, basilica, 34, 52.
LEOVIGILDO, 26, 27, 28, 29, 30.
LOAYSA, Cardinal, 108.
LOPE DE VEGA, 39, 138.
LORENZANA, Cardinal, 85.
LOUIS, St, of France, 19.
LOZANO, author of the _Reyes Nueves de Toledo_,
15, 16, 17, 18, 47, 48, 49, 50, 101, 245.
LUCY, mother of San Ildephonso, 34.
LUISA SIGEA, woman philosopher, 104.
LUIVA, 32.
LUZ, DOÑA, 47, 48, 49, 50.
M
MAESE RODRIGO, 163.
MAGDALENA, 273.
MAISARA, Spanish renegade, 73.
MALOGRADA, 270.
MARCUS FULVIUS NOBILIOR, 11, 12.
MARCUS JULIUS PHILIPPICUS, 13.
MARIA DE MOLINA, widow of Sancho el Bravo, 132.
MARIA DE PADILLA, 99, 100, 101.
MARIANA, historian, 53.
MARIA PACHECO, the great widow, 110, 112, 113.
MELANCIUS, Bishop of Toledo, 19, 21.
MELIAS, _see_ tale of Doña Luz, 48.
MENDOZA, Cardinal of Spain, 107, 108, 270, 287.
MIRADERO, 303.
MOHAMMED, Sultan, 74.
MONTIEL, tragedy of Pedro Cruel's death, 102.
MORATIN, 244.
MORETO, 258.
MOZARABE chapel, 175.
MUSA, 61, 62, 63.
MUSEO PROVINCIAL, 229.
N
NARCISO TOMÉ, author of celebrated _Trasparente_, 172.
NUESTRA, Señora de la Valle, 140, 303.
O
OCHAVO, 188.
OPPAS, _see_ battle of Guadalete, 61.
P
PACHECO, 195.
PALACE of Fuensalida, 255.
PALACE of Galiana, 243.
PALACE of Garcilaso de la Vega, 257.
PALACE of Juan de Padilla, 257.
PALACE of King Pedro, 250.
PALAZUELOS (Viscount), modern historian of Toledo, 60.
PALOMINO, 193, 194, 198, 208.
PARRO, _Toledo en la Mano_, 269, 294.
PASCUAL DE GALLANGOS, 250.
PAUL, rebel under Wamba, 39, 40.
PEDRO THE CRUEL, 98, 99, 100, 101, 281.
PEDRO DE LAS DUEÑAS, 281, 284.
PEDRO DE NAVARRE, 290.
PEDRO PEREZ, 152, 159.
PEREZ BAYEU, 143.
PERSECUTION of the Jews, 232.
PHILIP II., 19, 107, 263, 276, 284, 293.
PHILIP of Burgundy, 161, 162.
PISA, historian, 19, 20, 129, 131, 279.
PLAZUELA DE MARCHAN, 290.
PONZ, traveller in the last century, 18, 136,
156, 162, 170, 172, 203, 230, 248, 282.
PRISCILIANISTS, 22.
PUENTE DE ALCÁNTARA, 3, 14, 40, 105, 130, 292.
PUERTA DEL CAMBRON, 144, 295.
PUERTA DE SANS MARTIN, 58, 144, 292, 293.
PUERTA DEL SOL, 95, 299.
PUERTA VISAGRA, 129, 279, 289, 295, 297.
PYRRHUS, 6, 35.
Q
QUADRADO, 240.
QUIRICUS, Bishop, 38.
QUIROGA, 276, 280.
QUIROGA, Archbishop, 131.
QUO VADIS chapel, 175.
R
RASIS EL MORO, 57, 133, 292.
RECAREDO, 30, 31, 32.
RECESVINTHUS, 35.
RETABLO of Cathedral, 169.
RIVERA, choir-master of Toledo, 19.
RODRIGO, last of Gothic Kings, 16,, 40, 51, 55, 56, 57, 58, 60, 61, 62.
RODRIGO JIMENEZ DE RADA, 9, 54, 84, 91, 92, 93, 130, 152.
S
SALA CAPITULAR, 179.
SAMUEL LEVI, 250.
SAN ANDRÈS, 266.
SAN CLEMENTE, 283.
SAN GENES, church, 43.
SAN ILDEPHONSO (chapel), 182.
SAN JOSÉ, 209.
SAN JUAN DE LA PENITENCIA, 282.
SAN JUAN DE LOS REYES, 216.
SAN PEDRO MARTIR, 267.
SAN ROMAN, 266, 271.
SAN SERVANDO, 261.
SAN TOMÉ, 266.
SAN VICENTE, 212.
SANCHO, Alfonso VI.'s little son, died on the battlefield at eleven, 87.
SANTA CRUZ, 284.
SANTO DOMINGO EL ANTIGUO, 207.
SANTO DOMINGO EL REAL, 284.
SANTA FÉ, 281.
SANTA ISABEL, 283.
SANTA MARIA LA BLANCA, 238.
SANTIAGO (chapel), 182.
SARMIENTO, revolutionary chief and tyrant, 105.
SERTORIUS, 12.
SILICEO, Cardinal, 17.
SILVAS, great Toledan family, 103, 106, 108.
SISEBUTH, 33.
SOLOMON'S table, 65.
STAREMBERG, 265.
STEPHEN, father of San Ildephonso, 34.
ST JOHN THE BAPTIST of El Greco, 180, 291.
ST JOHN THE EVANGELIST of El Greco, 181.
ST MARTIN by El Greco, 209.
ST VICENTE FERRER, 239.
STREET quoted in chapter on the Cathedral, 157, 158, 159, 160.
SUINTHILA, 34.
SWORD makers of Toledo, 148.
T
TAGO, Governor of Toledo, 10, 11.
TAILHAN, the _père_, 53, 61.
TALLER DEL MORO, Moorish palace, said to be where
the tragic _day of the Foss_ took place, 70, 260.
TARIK, 61, 62, 65.
TAVERA, Cardinal, 131, 289, 290.
TENORIO, Cardinal, 97, 174, 262, 294.
TOLEDAN laws, 97, 98.
TOWER, 189.
TRANSITO, 231.
TRASPARENTE, 171.
TREASURY, 186.
TRISTAN, El Greco's favourite pupil, 199, 205.
V
VALLE DE LA DESGOLLADA, 143.
VERGARA, 161, 166.
VILLALAR, where the great _Comuneros_, Juan de
Padilla, Maldonado, and Bravo were taken and beheaded, 111, 112.
VLLLALPANDO, 166.
VILLENA, Marquis of, astronomer and celebrated scholar, 103.
VIRGEN DEL ROSARIO, 269.
VIRIATE, 12, 14.
VITERICO, 32.
W
WALLS of Toledo, 302.
WAMBA, the greatest Gothic King, 38, 39, 40, 41, 46, 293.
WITIZA, 51, 52, 53, 54.
Y
YAHYA, the last Moorish sovereign of Toledo, 80.
Z
ZOCODOVER, 57, 112, 116, 119, 120, 127, 281, 284.
ZORILLA, 280.
PRINTED BY
TURNBULL AND SPEARS,
EDINBURGH
FOOTNOTES:
[1] Tubal, grandson of Noah, son of Japhet his son, peopled Spain,
that I know for sure. And he was the first King from whom the name of
Tubalia. And this first King through fright, made his seat in Toledo,
because of the waters he did not dare to settle in the plain, but
chose the rocky heights. This was forty and three and a hundred years
more after the great and savage deluge. And after Tubal reigned Ibero,
from whom is said Iberia. Entered Tago with courage, who peopled the
South, and much enlarged Toledo and the Tagus, and in conclusion, to
his kingdom gave the name of Taja.
Hijo, de Japhet su hijo,
Poblo à España, cierto sé,
Y es el primer rey que fué,
Por quien Tubalia se dijo.
Y esto primer rey de miedo
Hizo su assiento en Toledo
Que pon las aguas no ha ossado
En lo llano hacer poblado
Sino en alto y en roquedo.
"Esto fué a quarenta y tres
Y mas cien años despues
Del diluvio grande, y fiero,
Y tras Tubal reyno Ibero,
Por quien dicha Iberia es,
Entra Tajo, con denuedo,
Que poblo en el meridion,
Y aumento mucho a Toledo,
Y al Tajo y su reyna ledo
Nombro Taga en conclusion."
[2] A document exists purporting to be the original letter sent by the
Jews of Toledo to their co-religionists of Jerusalem at the time of
the Crucifixion. It is addressed: _Levi archisinagogo é Samuel Joseph,
omes bonos de la aljama de Toledo à Eleazar mint gran sacerdote é à
Samuel Ecaniet, Annas y Caiphas, omes bones de la aljama de la terra
sancta, salud en el Dios de Israel_. It is signed: De Toledo à XIV.
dais del mes de Nizan era del César XVIII. y de Augusto Octaviano LXX.
But the "omes bonos" of the Holy Land had settled the question before
the lengthy epistle of the "good men" of Toledo reached them.
[3] Conde de Mora: "Historia de Toledo."
[4] "Bib. Nat.," p. 16, v. 21
[5] It was chiefly in other Gothic towns that Wamba's fortifications
were demolished. Toledo comparatively escaped.
[6] My notes from the Chronicle says _a hundred thousand workshops_,
but this in revision seems a slip of the pen. Such a number of
workshops even at so flourishing an hour would have encumbered Toledo
very seriously, I imagine.
[7] Dozy regards Count Julian as an authentic historical figure though
both his rank and authority are undefined. He believes he was neither
a vassal nor a Spanish subject, and consequently no traitor. But was
he a Berber, a Greek, an independent prince or tributary of Spain or
of the Emperor of Constantinople? Dozy suggests he may have been an
Arabian governor of Ceuta, under the Byzantine emperor, while Arabian
authors describe him as a mere merchant.
[8] Mr Stanley Lane Poole in his "Moors in Spain" (wherein he accepts
the old-fashioned but improbable legend of Julian or Florinda as
history) suggests that Rodrigo was drowned and washed out by the great
ocean, and describes the last of the Goths as a kind of legendary
Arthur, enfolded in mystery and awaited by his mourning subjects like
the Irish Knights who in mediæval times were expected to return from
some dim region of rest to take up again the burden of our life, and
lead their followers to victory and prosperity.
[9] Rasis el Moro, Spain, MS. Bib. Pro.--Toledo.
[10] Abou-l-Hasan: Dozy, _Recherches sur l'histoire et la littérature
d'Espagna_.
[11] "Histoire de Philippe II." by H. Fornaron.
[12] The Archbishop of Zamora, Antonio de Acuña, a fierce _comunero_,
commanded in the absence of Padilla, and was mighty profane in his
method of war for an archbishop. After leading his troops against the
King's Castle of Aguila, he resolutely stormed the Cathedral gates and
maltreated the resident canons. The insurgents held the cloisters and
prevented the celebration of any church office during their stay. The
unfortunate chapter was kept for three entire days and nights from
sleeping or eating. What an incredible scandal in hieratic Toledo!
[13] Complaining at the Hotel Castilla to a Spanish painter of my
daily persecution at the hands of the beggars of Toledo, I threatened
to visit the Governor and make my plaint. The artist, something of a
humorist, gravely said, "His Excellency the Governor will listen to
you with all courtesy and attention, and when you have finished, he
will hold out his hand with a graceful gesture, and say: _Da mi una
limosna tambien_ (Give me also alms).
[14] Bibliotica provincial de Toledo.
[15] MS. correspondence of Lope de Vega in possession of Señor
Menendez y Pelayo.
[16] Street's visit to Toledo was unfortunately hurried, or he
would have been forced to change many of his views. Had he seen the
cathedral from Nuestra Señora de la Valle, considerably above the
bridge of San Martin, he would have found it prominent.
[17] _De Toletano Hebraeorum Templo_, MS. Bib. Pro. Toledo.
[18] MS. correspondence of Lope de Vega, in possession of Señor
Menendez y Pelayo.
[19] MS. _De Toletano Hebraeorum Templo_, Bib. Provincial, Toledo.
[20]
Galiana of Toledo
Most beautiful and marvellous!
The Moor the most celebrated
Of all the Moorish race.
Mouth of rosy pinks,
High bosom that palpitates,
Ivory forehead adorned with
The flaming gold of Tyre.
[21] Wamba, Gothic King, restored the walls of this city, and offered
them in Latin verses to God and the saints, its patrons; the Moors
effaced them and placed instead blasphemies and errors in Arabian
letters. King Philip II., in religious zeal and to preserve the memory
of the departed Kings, ordered Gutierrez Tello, city magistrate, to
efface them and place, along with the patron saints, the verses of
King Wamba.
* * * * *
Typographical errors corrected by the etext transcriber:
Gamera=> Gamero {pg 18}
Toleda is mournful=> Toledo is mournful {pg 74}
Almamon=> Almanon {pg 79}
Abon l. Hasan=> Abou-l-Hasan {pg 79}
Gonzala Ruiz=> Gonzalo Ruiz {pg 132}
Toribio Rodrignez=> Toribio Rodriguez {pg 174}
fomnder's=> founder's {pg 176}
Hospital de Afuero=> Hospital de Afuera {pg 200}
The facade=> The façade {pg 245}
vegado te lloro=> vegada te lloro {pg 249}
ofrció en versos latinos=> ofreció en versos latinos {pg 293}
ALFONSO VII., 19.
ALFONSO VII., 93, 283.=> ALFONSO VII., 19, 93, 283. {pg 307}
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