The form of the church is that of a basilica. Like the cathedral of Palencia, it lacks a western front; the apse is semicircular, strengthened by heavy leaning buttresses; the upper, towerless rim of this same body is decorated with an ogival festoon set off by means of the primitive pinnacles of the top of the buttresses. The northern (Renaissance or plateresque) front is, though beautiful and severe in itself, a calamity when compared with the Romanesque edifice, as is also the new and horrid clock-tower.
The view of the southern end of the transept, as seen from the left, is the most imposing to be obtained of the building. Two flights of steps lead up to the Romanesque portal, flanked by three simple pillars, which support three rounded arches deeply dentated(!). Blind windows, similar in structure to the portal, occupy the second body of the façade, and are surmounted in their turn by a simple row of inverted crenelated teeth, showing in their rounded edges the timid use of the horseshoe arc. The{240} superior body is formed by two concentric and slightly ogival arches embedded in the wall.
The greatest attraction, and that which above all gives a warlike aspect to the whole building, is the cimborio, or lantern of the croisée. Flanked by four circular turrets, which are pierced by round-topped windows and surmounted by Oriental domes that add a stunted, solid appearance to the whole, the principal cupola rises to the same height as the previously mentioned turrets. The whole is a marvel of simple architectural resource within the narrow limits of the round-arched style. What is more, though this cupola and that of Santiago belong to the same period, what a world of difference between the two! Seen as indicated above, the factura of the whole is intensely Oriental (excepting the addition of the triangular cornices emerging from beneath the cupola), and, it may be said in parenthesis, exceptionally fine. Besides, the high walls of the aisles, as compared with the stunted growth of the cimborio, and with the compact and slightly angular form of the entire building, lend an unrivalled aspect of solidity, strength, and resistance to the twelfth-century cathedral{241} church, so intrinsically different from that of Santiago.
The interior is no less peculiar, and particularly so beneath the lantern of the croisée. The latter is composed of more than a dozen windows, slightly ogival in shape, though from the outside the pillars of the flanking turrets support round-headed arches; these windows are separated from each other by simple columns or shafts. Again, what a difference between this solid and simple cimborio and the marvellous lantern of the cathedral at Burgos! Two ages, two generations, even two ideals, are represented in both; the earlier, the stronger, in Zamora; the later, the more aerial and elaborate, in Burgos.
Another Romanesque characteristic is the approximate height of nave and aisles. This circumstance examined from within or from without is one of the causes of the solid appearance of the church; the windows of the aisles—unimportant, it is true, from an artistic point of view—are slightly ogival; those of the nave are far more primitive and round-headed.
The transept, originally of the same length as the width of the church, was prolonged in{242} the fifteenth century. (On the south side also?... It is extremely doubtful, as the southern façade previously described is hardly a fifteenth-century construction; on the other hand, that on the north side is easily classified as posterior to the general construction of the building.)
Further, the western end, lacking a façade, is terminated by an apse, that is, each aisle and the central nave run into a chapel. The effect of this double apse is highly peculiar, especially as seen from within, with chapels to the east and chapels to the west.
The retablo is of indifferent workmanship; the choir stalls, on the other hand, are among the most exquisitely wrought—simple, sober, and natural—to be seen in Spain, especially those of the lower row.
The chapels are as usual in Spanish cathedrals, as different in style as they are in size; none of those in Zamora can be considered as artistic jewels. The best is doubtless that which terminates the southern aisles on the western end of the church, where the principal façade ought to have been placed. It is Gothic, rich in its decoration, but showing here and there the decadence of the northern style.{243}
The cloister—well, anywhere else it might have been praised for its plateresque simplicity and severity, but here!—it is out of date and place.
To conclude, the general characteristics of the cathedral of Zamora are such as justify the opinion that the edifice, especially as its Byzantine-Oriental and severe primitive structure is concerned, is one of the great churches that can still be admired in Spain, in spite of the reduced size and of the additions which have been introduced.
Note.—To the traveller interested in church architecture, the author wishes to draw attention to the parish church of La Magdalen in Zamora. The northern portal of the same is one of the most perfect—if not the most perfect—specimen of Byzantine-Romanesque decoration to be met with in Spain. It is perhaps unique in the world. At the same time, the severe Oriental appearance of the church, both from the outside and as seen from within, cannot fail to draw the attention of the most casual observer.
III
TORO
To the west of Valladolid, on the river Duero, Toro, the second of the two great fortress cities, uplifts its Alcázar to the blue sky; like Zamora, it owed its fame to its strategic position: first, as one of the Christian outposts to the north of the Duero against the Arab possessions to the south, and, secondly, as a link between Valladolid and Zamora, the latter being the bulwark of Christian opposition against the ever encroaching Portuguese.
Twin cities the fortresses have been called, and no better expression is at hand to denote at once the similarity of their history, their necessary origin, and their necessary decadence.
Nevertheless, Toro appears in history somewhat later than Zamora, having been erected either on virgin soil, or upon the ruins of a destroyed Arab fortress as late as{245} in the tenth century, by Garcia, son of Alfonso III. At any rate, it was not until a century later, in 1065, that the city attained any importance, when Fernando I. bequeathed it to his daughter Elvira, who, seeing her elder brother's impetuous ambitions, handed over the town and the citadel to him.
Throughout the middle ages the name of Toro is foremost among the important fortresses of Castile, and many an event—generally tragic and bloody—took place behind its walls. Here Alfonso XI. murdered his uncle in cold blood, and Don Pedro el Cruel, after besieging the town and the citadel held in opposition to him by his mother, allowed her a free exit with the gentlemen defenders of the place, but broke his word when they were on the bridge, and murdered all excepting his widowed mother!
In the days of Isabel the Catholic, Toro was taken by the kings of Portugal, who upheld the claims of Enrique IV's illegitimate daughter, Juana la Beltranaja. In the vicinity of the town, the great battle of Pelea Gonzalo was fought, which gave the western part of Castile to the rightful{246} sovereigns. This battle is famous for the many prelates and curates who, armed,—and wearing trousers and not frocks!—fought like Christians (!) in the ranks.
In Toro, Cortes was assembled in 1505 to open Queen Isabel's testament, and to promulgate those laws which have gone down in Spanish history as the Leyes de Toro; this was the last spark of Toro's fame, for since then its fate has been identical with that of Zamora, forty miles away.
Strictly speaking, it is doubtful if Toro ever was a city; at one time it seems to have possessed an ephemeral bishop,—at least such is the popular belief,—who must have reigned in his see but a short time, as at an early date the city was submitted to the ecclesiastical jurisdiction of Astorga. Later, when the see was reëstablished in Zamora, the latter's twin sister, Toro, was definitely included in the new episcopal diocese.
Be that as it may, the Catholic kings raised the church at Toro to a collegiate in the sixteenth century (1500?) because they were anxious to gain the good-will of the inhabitants after the Portuguese invasion.
Built either toward the end of the twelfth or the beginning of the thirteenth century,{247} Santa Maria la Mayor, popularly called la catedral, closely resembles the cathedral church at Zamora. The style is the same (Byzantine-Romanesque), and the impression of strength and solidity produced by the warlike aspect of the building is even more pronounced than in the case of the sister church.
The general plan is that of a basilica, rectangular in shape, with a three-lobed apse, the central lobe being by far the largest in size, and a transept which protrudes slightly beyond the width of the church. This transept is situated immediately in front of the apse; the croisée is surmounted by the handsome cimborio, larger than that at Zamora, pierced by twice as many round-topped windows, but lacking a cupola, as do also the flanking towers, which are flat-topped. Above and between these latter, the cone-shaped roof of the cimborio, properly speaking, is sloping and triangular in its cross-section.
This body, less Oriental in appearance than the one in Zamora, impresses one with a feeling of greater awe, thanks to the great diameter as compared with the foreshortened height. Crowning as it does the apse (from{248} the proximity of the transept to the head of the church), the croisée, and the two wings of the transept, the cupola in question produces a weird and incomprehensible effect on the spectator viewing it from the southeast. The more modern tower, which backs the cimborio, lends, it is true, a certain elegance to the edifice that the early builders were not willing to impart. The ensemble is, nevertheless, peculiarly Byzantine, and, with the mother-church in Zamora, which it resembles without copying, it stands almost unique in the history of art.
The lateral doors, not situated in the transept, are located near the foot of the church. The southern portal is the larger, but the most simple; the arch which crowns it shows a decided ogival tendency, a circumstance which need not necessarily be attributed to Gothic influence, as in many churches prior to the introduction of the ogival arch the pointed top was known, and in isolated cases it was made use of, though purely by accident, and not as a constructive element.
The northern door is smaller, but a hundred times richer in sculptural design. It shows Byzantine influence in the decoration,{249} and as a Byzantine-Romanesque portal can figure among the best in Spain.
It has been supposed that the western front of the building possessed at one time a narthex, like the cathedral Tuy, for instance. Nothing remains of it, however, as the portal which used to be here was done away with, and in its place a modern chapel with a fine Gothic retablo was consecrated.
Seen from the interior, the almost similar height of the nave and aisles, leaves, as in Zamora, a somewhat stern and depressing impression on the visitor; the light which enters is also feeble, excepting beneath the linterna, where "the difficulty of placing a circular body on a square without the aid of supports (pechinas) has been so naturally and perfectly overcome that we are obliged to doubt of its ever having existed."
Gothic elements, more so than in Zamora, mix with the Romanesque traditions in the decoration of the nave and aisles; nevertheless, the elements of construction are purely Romanesque, excepting the central apsidal chapel which contains the high altar. Restored by the Fonseca family in the sixteenth century, it is ogival in conception and execution, and contains some fine tombs of the{250} above named aristocratic family. But the chapel passes unnoticed in this peculiarly exotic building, where solidity and not grace was the object sought and obtained.
IV
SALAMANCA
The very position of Salamanca, immediately to the north of the chain of mountains which served for many a century as a rough frontier wall between Christians and Moors, was bound to ensure the city's importance and fame. Its history is consequently unique, grander and more exciting than that of any other city; the universal name it acquired in the fourteenth century, thanks to its university, can only be compared with that of Bologna, Paris, and Oxford.
Consequently its fall from past renown to present insignificance was tremendous, and to-day, a heap of ruins, boasting of traditions like Toledo and Burgos, of two cathedrals and twenty-four parish churches, of twice as many convents and palaces, of a one-time glorious university and half a hundred colleges,—Salamanca sleeps away a useless existence from which it will never awaken.{252}
Its history has still to be penned. What an exciting and stirring account of middle age life in Spain it would be!
The Romans knew Salamantia, and the first notice handed down to us of the city reads like a fairy story, as though predicting future events.
According to Plutarch, the town was besieged by Hannibal, and had to surrender. The inhabitants were allowed to leave, unarmed, and taking away with them only their clothes; the men were searched as they passed out, but not so the women.
Together men and women left the town. A mile away they halted, and the women drew forth from beneath their robes concealed weapons. Together the men and the women returned to their town and stealthily fell upon their foes, slaughtering them in considerable numbers. Hannibal was so "enchanted" (!) with the bravery displayed by the women, that he drew away his army from the town, leaving the patriotic inhabitants to settle again their beloved Salamanca.
The Western Goths, upon their arrival in Spain, found Salamanca in a flourishing state, and respected its episcopal see, the origin of which is ignored. The first bishop we{253} have any record of is Eleuterio, who signed the third Council of Toledo in 589.
The Arabs treated the city more harshly; it was in turn taken and destroyed by infidels and Christians; the former sacking frontier towns, the latter destroying all fortresses they could not hold.
In the eighth century no bishop seems to have existed in Salamanca; in the tenth, date of a partial reëstablishment of the see, seven prelates are mentioned; these did not, however, risk their skins by taking possession of their chair, but lived quietly in the north, either in Santiago—farther north they could not go!—or else in Leon and Burgos. The eleventh century is again devoid of any ecclesiastical news connected with the see of Salamanca; what is more, the very name of the city is forgotten until Alfonso VI. crossed the Guaderrama and fixed his court in Toledo. This bold step, taken in a hostile country far from the centre of the kingdom and from his base of operations, obliged the monarch to erect with all speed a series of fortresses to the north; as a result, Salamanca, Segovia, and Avila, beyond the Guaderrama Mountains, and Madrid to the south, were quickly populated by Christians.{254}
This occurred in 1102; the first bishop de modernis was Jeronimo, a French warrior-monk, who had accompanied his bosom friend el Cid to Valencia, had fought beside him, and had been appointed bishop of the conquered see. Not for any length of time, however, for as soon as el Cid died, the Moors drove the Christians out of the new kingdom, and the bishop came to Leon with the Cristo de las Batallas,—a miraculous cross of old Byzantine workmanship, supposed to have aided the Cid in many a battle,—as the only souvenir of his stay in the Valencian see.
The next four or five bishops fought among themselves. At one time the city had no fewer than two, a usurper, and another who was not much better; the Pope deprived one of his dignity, the king another, the influential Archbishop of Santiago chose a third, who was also deposed—the good old times!—until at last one Berengario was appointed, and the ignominious conflict was peacefully settled.
The inhabitants of the city at the beginning were a strong, warlike medley of Jews (these were doubtless the least warlike!), Arabs, Aragonese, Castilian, French, and{255} Leonese. Bands of these without a commander invaded Moorish territory, sacking and pillaging where they could. On one occasion they were pursued by an Arab army, whose general asked to speak with the captain of the Salamantinos. The answer was, "Each of us is his own captain!" words that can be considered typical of the anarchy which reigned in Spain until the advent of Isabel and Ferdinand in the fifteenth century.
If the bishops fought among themselves, and if the low class people lived in a state of utter anarchy, the same spirit spread to—or emanated from—the nobility, of whom Salamanca had more than its share, especially as soon as the university was founded. The annals of no other city are so replete with family traditions and feuds, which were not only restricted to the original disputers, to their families and acquaintances, but became generalized among the inhabitants themselves, who took part in the feud. Thus it often happened that the city was divided into two camps, separated by an imaginary line, and woe betide the daring or careless individual who crossed it!
One of the most dramatic of these feuds—a {256}savage species of vendetta—was the following:
Doña Maria Perez, a Plasencian dame of noble birth, had married one of the most powerful noblemen in Salamanca, Monroy by name, and upon the latter's death remained a widowed mother of two sons. One of them asked and obtained in marriage the hand of a noble lady who had refused a similar proposition made by one Enriquez, son of a Sevillan aristocrat. The youth's jealousy and anger was therefore bitterly aroused, and he and his brother waited for a suitable opportunity in which to avenge themselves. It soon came: they were playing Spanish ball, pelota, one day with the accepted suitor, when a dispute arose as to who was the better player; the two brothers fell upon their victim and foully murdered him. But afraid lest his brother should venge the latter's death, they lay in wait for him behind a street corner, and as he came along they rapidly killed him as they had his brother. Then they fled across the frontier to Portugal.
The two corpses had in the meantime been carried on a bier by the crowds and laid down in front of Doña Maria's house; the latter{257} stepped out on the balcony, with dishevelled hair; an angry murmur went from one end of the crowd to the other, and a universal clamour arose: vengeance was on every one's lips. But Doña Maria commanded silence.
"Be calm," she said, "and take these bodies to the cathedral. Vengeance? Fear not, I shall venge myself."
An hour later she left the town with an escort, apparently with a view to retire to her estates near Plasencia. Once well away from the city, she divulged her plan to the escort and asked if they were willing to follow her. Receiving an affirmative reply, she tore off her woman's clothes and appeared dressed in full armour; placing a helmet on her head, she took the lead of her troops again, and set out for the Portuguese frontier.
The strange company arrived on the third day at a Portuguese frontier town, where they were told that two foreigners had arrived the night before. By the description of the two Spaniards, Doña Maria felt sure they were her sons' murderers, and consequently she and her escort approached the house where the fugitives were passing the night. Placing the escort beneath the window,{258} she stealthily entered the house and stole to the brothers' room; then she slew them whilst they were sleeping, and, rushing to the window, threw it open, and, spearing the heads of her enemies on her lance, she showed them to her retinue, with the words:
"I'm venged! Back to Salamanca."
Silently, at the head of her troops, and bearing the two heads on her lance, Doña Maria returned to Salamanca. Entering the cathedral, she threw them on the newly raised slabs which covered her sons' remains.
Ever after she was known as Doña Maria la brava, and is as celebrated to-day as she was in the fifteenth century, during the abominable reign of Henry IV. And so great was the feud which divided the city into two camps, that it lasted many years, and many were the victims of the gigantic vendetta.
The city's greatest fame lay in its university, founded toward 1215, by Alfonso IX. of Leon, who was jealous of his cousin Alfonso VIII. of Castile, the founder of the luckless university of Palencia.
The fate of the last named university has been duly mentioned elsewhere; that of Salamanca was far different. In 1255 the{259} Pope called it one of the four lamps of the world; strangers—students from all corners of Europe—flocked to the city to study. Perhaps its greatest merit was the study of Arabic and Arabian letters, and it has been said that the study of the Orient penetrated into Europe through Salamanca alone.
What a glorious life must have been the university city's during the apogee of her fame! Students from all European lands, dressed in the picturesque costume worn by those who attended the university, wended their way through the streets, singing and playing the guitar or the mandolin; they mingled with dusky noblemen, richly dressed in satins and silks, and wearing the rapier hanging by their sides; they flirted with the beautiful daughters of Spain, and gravely saluted the bishop when he was carried along in his chair, or rode a quiet palfrey. At one time the court was established in the university city, lending a still more brilliant lustre to the every-day life of the inhabitants, and to the sombre streets lined with palaces, churches, colleges, convents, and monasteries.
Gone! To-day the city lies beneath an immense weight of ruins of all kinds, that{260} chain her down to the past which was her glory, and impede her from looking ahead into her future with ambitions and hopes.
The cathedrals Salamanca can boast of to-day are two, an old one and a comparatively new one; the latter was built beside the former, a praiseworthy and exceptional proceeding, for, instead of pulling down the old to make room for the new, as happens throughout the world, the cathedral chapter convocated an assembly of architects, and was intelligent enough—another wonder!—to accept the verdict that the old building, a Romanesque-Byzantine edifice of exceptional value, should not be demolished. The new temple was therefore erected beside the former, and, obeying the art impulses of the centuries which witnessed its construction, is an ogival church spoilt—or bettered—by Renaissance, plateresque, and grotesque decorative elements.
The Old Cathedral.—The exact date of the erection of the old see is not known; toward 1152 it was already in construction, and 150 years later, in 1299, it was not concluded. Consequently, and more than in the case of Zamora and Toro, the upper{261} part of the building shows decided ogival tendencies; yet in spite of these evident signs of transition, the ensemble, the spirit of the building, is, beyond a doubt, Romanesque-Byzantine, and not Gothic.
The plan of the church is the same as those of Zamora, Toro, and Coria: a nave and two aisles cut short at the transept, which is slightly prolonged beyond the width of the body of the church; there is no ambulatory walk, but to the east of the transept are three chapels in a three-lobed apse, the central lobe larger than the others and containing the high altar; the choir was placed (originally) in the centre of the nave, and a cimborio crowns the croisée, this latter being a peculiarity of the three cathedral churches of Zamora, Toro, and Salamanca.
Unluckily, the erection of the new building as an annex of the old one required (as in Plasencia, though from different reasons) the demolition of certain parts of the latter; as, for instance, the two towers of the western front, the northern portal as well as the northern half of the apse, and the corresponding part of the transept. Parts of these have either been surrounded or replaced by the new building.{262}
The narthex and the western end are still preserved. They are of the same width as the nave, for, beneath the towers, of which one seems to have been far higher than the other, each of the aisles terminates in a chapel. Byzantine in appearance, the two western doors are, nevertheless, crowned by an ogival arch, and flanked by statuettes of the same style. The façade, repaired and spoilt, is of Renaissance severity.
The interior of the building is more impressive than that of either Zamora or Toro; this is due to the absence of the choir,—removed to the new cathedral,—which permits an uninterrupted view of the whole church, which does not occur in any other temple throughout Spain. Romanesque strength and gloominess is clearly discernible, whereas the height of the central nave (sixty feet) is rendered stumpy in appearance by the almost equal height of the aisles. The strength and solidity of the pillars and columns, supporting capitals and friezes of a peculiar and decided Byzantine taste (animals, dragons, etc.), show more keenly than in Galicia the Oriental influence which helped so thoroughly to shape Central Spanish Romanesque.{263}
Of the chapels, but one deserves special mention, both as seen from without and from within, namely, the high altar, or central apsidal chapel. Seen from without, it is of perfect Romanesque construction, excepting the upper row of rose windows, which are ogival in their traceries; inside, it contains a mural painting of an exceedingly primitive design, and a retablo in low reliefs enchased in ogival arches; it is of Italian workmanship.
Of the remaining chapels, that of San Bartolomé contains an alabaster sepulchre of the Bishop Diego de Anaya—one of the many prelates of those times who was the possessor of illegitimate sons; the bodies of most of the latter lie within this chapel, which can be regarded not only as a family pantheon, but as a symbol of ecclesiastical greatness and human weakness.
The windows which light up the nave are round-headed, and yet they are delicately decorated, as is rarely to be seen in the Romanesque type. The aisles, on the contrary, are not lit up by any windows.
Like the churches of Zamora and Toro, the whole cathedral resembles a fortress rather than a place of worship. The simplicity{264} of the general structure, the rounded turrets buried in the walls, serving as leaning buttresses, the narrow slits in the walls instead of windows, lend an indisputable aspect of strength. The beautiful, the really beautiful lantern, situated above the croisée, with its turrets, its niches, its thirty odd windows, and its elegant cupola, is an architectural body that wins the admiration of all who behold it, either from within the church or from without, and which, strictly Byzantine in conception (though rendered peculiarly Spanish by the addition of certain elements which pertain rather to Gothic military art than to church architecture), is unique—to the author's knowledge—in all Europe. Less pure in style, and less Oriental in appearance than that of Zamora, it was nevertheless, created more perfect by the artistic conception of the architect, and consequently more finished or developed than those of Toro and Zamora. Without hesitation, it can claim to be one of Salamanca's chief attractions.
The thickness of the walls (ten feet!), the admirable simpleness of the vaulting, and the general aspect from the exterior, have won{265} for the church the name of fortis Salamantini.
The New Cathedral.—It was begun in 1513, the old temple having been judged too small, and above all too narrow for a city of the importance of Salamanca.
Over two hundred years did the building of the present edifice last; at times all work was stopped for years, no funds being at hand to pay either artists or masons.
The primitive plan of the church, as proposed by the congress of architects, was Gothic of the second period, with an octagonal apse; the lower part of the church, from the foot to the transept, was the first to be constructed.
The upper part of the apse was not begun until the year 1588, and the artist, imbued with the beauty of Herrero's Escorial, squared the apse with the evident intention of constructing turrets on the exterior angles, which would have rendered the building symmetrical: two towers on the western front, a cupola on the croisée, and two smaller turrets on the eastern end.
The building as it stands to-day is a perfect rectangle cut in its length by a nave (containing{266} the choir and the high altar), and by two aisles, lower than the nave and continued in an ambulatory walk behind the high altar.
The same symmetry is visible in the lateral chapels: eight square huecos on the exterior walls of the aisles, five to the west, and three to the east of the transept, and three in the extreme eastern wall of the apse.
Magnificence rather than beauty is the characteristic note of the new cathedral. The primitive part—pure ogival with but little mixture—contrasts with the eastern end, which is covered over with the most glaring grotesque decoration; most of the chapels are spoiled by the same shocking profusion of super-ornamentation; the otherwise majestic cupola, the high altar, and the choir—all suffer from the same defect.
The double triforium—one higher than the other—in the clerestory produces a most favourable impression; this is heightened by the wealth of light, which, entering by two rows of windows and by the cimborio, falls upon the rich decoration of friezes and capitals. The general view of the whole building is also freer than in most Spanish{267} cathedrals, and this harmony existing in the proportions of the different parts strikes the visitor more favourably, perhaps, than in the severer cathedral at Burgos.
The exterior of the building reflects more truthfully than the interior the different art waves which spread over Spain during the centuries of the temple's erection. In the western front, the rich Gothic portal of the third period, the richest perhaps in sculptural variety of any on the peninsula, contrasts with the high mongrel tower, a true example of the composite towers so frequently met with in certain Spanish regions. The second body of the same façade (western) is highly interesting, not on account of its ornamentation, which is simple, but because of the solid, frank structure, and the curious fortress-like turrets embedded in the angles.
The flank of the building, seen from the north—for on the south side stand the ruins of the old cathedral—is none too homogeneous, thanks to the different styles in which the three piers of windows—of chapels, aisles, and clerestory—have been constructed. The ensemble is picturesque, nevertheless: the three rows of windows,{268} surmounted by the huge cupola and half-lost among the buttresses, certainly contribute toward the general elegance of the granite structure.
V
CIUDAD RODRIGO
In the times of the Romans, the country to the west of Salamanca seems to have been thickly populated. Calabria, situated between the Agueda and Coa Rivers, was an episcopal see; in its vicinity Augustábriga and Miróbriga were two other important towns.
Of these three Roman fortresses, and perhaps native towns, before the invasion, not as much as a stone or a legend remains to relate the tale of their existence and death.
Toward 1150, Fernando II. of Castile, obeying the military requirements of the Reconquest, and at the same time wishing to erect a fortress-town, which, together with Zamora to the north, Salamanca to the west, and Coria to the south, could resist the invasion of Spain by Portuguese armies, founded Ciudad Rodrigo, and twenty years later raised the church to an episcopal see,{270} a practical means of attracting God-fearing settlers. Consequently, the twelfth-century town, inheriting the ecclesiastical dignity of Calabria, if the latter ever possessed it, besides being situated in the same region as the three Roman cities previously mentioned, can claim to have been born a city.
One of the early bishops (the first was a certain Domingo) was the famous Pedro Diaz, about whom a legend has been handed down to us. This legend has also been graphically illustrated by an artist of the sixteenth century; his painting is to be seen to the right of the northern transept door in the cathedral.
Pedro Diaz seems to have been a worldly priest, "fond of the sins of the flesh and of good eating," who fell ill in the third year of his reign. His secretary, a pious servant of the Lord, dreamt he saw his master's soul devoured by demons, and persuaded him to confess his sins. It was too late, for a few days later he died; his death was, however, kept a secret by his menials, who wished to have plenty of time to make a generous division of his fortune. When all had been settled to their liking, the funeral procession moved through the streets of the city, and,{271} to the surprise of all, the dead bishop, resurrected by St. Francis of Assisi, at the time in Ciudad Rodrigo, opened the coffin and stood upon the hearse. He accused his servants of their greed, and at the same time made certain revelations concerning the life hereafter. His experiences must have been rather pessimistic, to judge by the bishop's later deeds, for, having been granted a respite of twenty days upon this earth, he "fasted and made penitence," doubtless eager to escape a second time the tortures of the other world.
Other traditions concerning the lives and doings of the noblemen who disputed the feudal right or señorio over the town, are as numerous as in Plasencia, with which city Ciudad Rodrigo has certain historical affinities. The story of the Virgen Coronada, who, though poor, did not hesitate in killing a powerful and wealthy libertine nobleman whom she was serving; the no less stirring account of Doña Maria Adan's vow that she would give her fair daughter's hand to whomsoever venged her wrongs on the five sons of her husband's murderer, are among the most tragic and thrilling. There are many other traditions beside, which constitute{272} the past's legacy to the solitary city near the Portuguese frontier.
It was in the nineteenth century that Ciudad Rodrigo earned fame as a brave city. The Spanish war for independence had broken out against the French, who overran the country, and passed from Bayonne in the Gascogne to Lisbon in Portugal. Ciudad Rodrigo lay on the shortest route for the French army, and had to suffer two sieges, one in 1810 and the second in 1812. In the latter, Wellington was the commander of the English forces who had come to help the Spanish chase the French out of the peninsula; the siege of the town and the battle which ensued were long and terrible, but at last the allied English and Spanish won, with the loss of two English generals. The Iron Duke was rewarded by Spanish Cortes, with the title of Duke of Ciudad Rodrigo, together with the honours of grandee of Spain, which are still retained by Wellington's descendants.
The cathedral church of Ciudad Rodrigo is a twelfth-century building, in which the Romanesque style, similar to those of Zamora and Toro, fights with the nascent ogival style. Notwithstanding these remarks, however,{273} the building does not pertain to the Transition period, but rather to the second or last period of Spanish Romanesque. This is easily seen by the basilica form of the church, the three-lobed apse, the lack of an ambulatory walk, and the apparently similar height of nave and aisles.
The square tower, surmounted by a cupola, at the foot of the church, as well as the entire western front, dates from the eighteenth century; it is cold, anti-artistic, utterly unable to appeal to the poetic instincts of the spectator.
Behind the western front, and leading directly into the body of the church, is a delightful Romanesque narthex which doubtlessly served as the western façade prior to the eighteenth-century additions. It is separated from the principal nave by a door divided into two by a solid pediment, upon which is encrusted a statue of the Virgin with Child in her arms. The semicircular arches which surmount the door are finely executed, and the columns which support them are decorated with handsome twelfth-century statuettes. There is a great similarity between this portal and the principal one (del Obispo) in Toro: it almost seems{274} as though the same hand had chiselled both, or at least traced the plan of their decoration.
Of the two doors which lead, one on the south and the other on the north, into the transept, the former is perhaps the more perfect specimen of the primitive style. Both are richly decorated; unluckily, in both portals, the rounded arches have been crowned in more recent times by an ogival arch, which certainly mars the pureness of the style, though not the harmony of the ensemble.
To the left of these doors, a niche has been carved into the wall to contain a full-length statue of the Virgin; this is an unusual arrangement in Spanish churches.
The exterior of the apse retains its primitive cachet; the central chapel, where the high altar is placed, was, however, rebuilt in the sixteenth century by Tavera, the Cardinal-Archbishop of Toledo, who had at one time occupied the see of Ciudad Rodrigo. It is a peculiar mixture of Gothic and Romanesque, of pointed windows and heavy buttresses; the flat roof is decorated by means of a low stone railing or balustrade composed of elegantly carved pinnacles.{275}
To conclude: excepting the western front and the central lobe of the apse, the tower and the ogival arch surmounting the northern and southern portals, the cathedral of Ciudad Rodrigo is one of the most perfectly preserved Romanesque buildings to the south of Zamora and Toro. It is less grim and warlike than the two last-named edifices, and yet it is also a fair example of severe and gloomy (though not less artistic!) Castilian Romanesque. Its croisée is not surmounted by the heavy cupola as in Salamanca and elsewhere, and it is perhaps just this suppression or omission which gives the whole building a far less Oriental appearance than the others mentioned heretofore.
In the inside, the choir occupies its usual place. Its stalls, it is believed, were carved by Alemán, the same who probably wrought those superb seats at Plasencia. It is doubtful if the same master carved both, however, but were it so, the stalls at Ciudad Rodrigo would have to be classified as older, executed before those we shall examine in a future chapter.
The nave and two aisles, pierced by ogival windows in the clerestory and round-headed windows in the aisles, constitute the church;{276} the croisée is covered by means of a simple ogival vaulting; the arches separating the nave from the aisles are Romanesque, as is the vaulting of the former. It was originally the intention of the chapter to beautify the solemn appearance of the interior by means of a triforium or running gallery. Unluckily, perhaps because of lack of funds, the triforium was never begun excepting that here and there are seen remnants of the primitive tracing.
With the lady-chapel profusely and lavishly ornamented, and quite out of place in this solemn building, there are five chapels, one at the foot of each aisle and two in the apse, to the right and left of the lady-chapel. They all lack art interest, however, as does the actual retablo, which replaces the one destroyed by the French; remnants of the latter are to be seen patched up on the cloister walls.
This cloister to the north of the church is a historical monument, for each of the four sides of the square edifice is an architectural page differing from its companions. Studying first the western, then the southern, and lastly the two remaining sides, the student can obtain an idea of how Romanesque principles{277} struggled with Gothic before dying completely out, and how the latter, having reached its apogee, deteriorated into the most lamentable superdecoration before fading away into the naked, straight-lined features of the Renaissance so little compatible with Christian ideals.
VI
CORIA
To the west of Toledo and to the south of the Sierra de Gata, which, with the mountains of Gredo and the Guaderrama, formed in the middle ages a natural frontier between Christians and Moors, lies, in a picturesque and fertile vale about twenty miles distant from the nearest railway station, the little known cathedral town of Coria. It is situated on the northern shores of the Alagón, a river flowing about ten miles farther west into the Tago, near where the latter leaves Spanish territory and enters that of Portugal.
Caurium, or Curia Vetona, was its name when the Romans held Extremadura, and it was in this town, or in its vicinity, that Viriato, the Spanish hero, destroyed four Roman armies sent to conquer his wild hordes. He never lost a single battle or skirmish, and might possibly have dealt a{279} death-blow to Roman plans of domination in the peninsula, had not the traitor's knife ended his noble career.
Their enemy dead, the Romans entered the city of Coria, which they immediately surrounded by a circular wall half a mile in length, and twenty-six feet thick (!). This Roman wall, considered by many to be the most perfectly preserved in Europe, is severely simple in structure, and flanked by square towers; it constitutes the city's one great attraction.
The episcopal see was erected in 338. The names of the first bishops have long been forgotten, the first mentioned being one Laquinto, who signed the third Toledo Council in 589.
Two centuries later the Moors raised Al-Kárica to one of their capitals; in 854 Zeth, an ambitious Saracen warrior, freed it from the yoke of Cordoba, and reigned in the city as an independent sovereign.
Like Zamora and Toro, Coria was continually being lost and won by Christians and Moors, with this difference, that whereas the first two can be looked upon as the last Christian outposts to the north of the Duero,{280} Coria was the last Arab stronghold to the north of the Tago.
Toward the beginning of the thirteenth century, the strong fortress on the Alagón was definitely torn from the hands of its independent sovereign by Alfonso VIII., after the battle of Las Navas de Tolosa. A bishop was immediately reinstated in the see, and after five centuries of Mussulman domination, Coria saw the standard of Castile waving from its citadel.
As happened with so many other provincial towns in Spain, the centralization of power to the north of Toledo shoved Coria into the background; to-day it is a cathedral village forgotten or completely ignored by the rest of Spain. Really, it might perhaps have been better for the Arabs to have preserved it, for under their rule it flourished.
It is picturesque, this village on the banks of the Alagón: a heap or bundle of red bricks surrounded by grim stone walls, over-topped by a cathedral tower and citadel,—the whole picture emerging from a prairie and thrown against a background formed by the mountains to the north and the bright blue sky in the distance.
Arab influence is only too evident in the{281} buildings and houses, in the Alcázar, and in the streets; unluckily, these remembrances of a happy past depress the dreamy visitor obliged to recognize the infinite sadness which accompanied the expulsion of the Moors by intolerant tyrants from the land they had inhabited, formed, and moulded to their taste. Nowhere is this so evident as in Coria, a forgotten bit of mediæval Moor-land. The poet's exclamation is full of bitterness and resignation when he exclaims:
"Is it possible that this heap of ruins should have been in other times the splendid court of Zeth and Mondhir!"
As an architectural building, the cathedral of Coria is a parish church, which, removed to any other town, would be devoid of any and all beauty. In other words, the impressions it produces are entirely dependent upon its local surroundings; eliminate these, and the temple is worthless from an artistic or poetical point of view.
It was begun in 1120, most likely by Arab workmen; it was finished toward the beginning of the sixteenth century. Honestly speaking, it is a puzzle what the artisans did in all those long years; doubtless they{282} slept at their task, or else decades passed away without work of any kind being done, or again, perhaps only one mason was employed at a time.
The interior is that of a simple Gothic church of one aisle, 150 feet long by fifty-two wide and eighty-four high; the high altar is situated in the rounded apse; in the centre of the church the choir stalls of the fifteenth century obstruct the view of the walls, decorated only by means of pilasters which pretend to support the Gothic vaulting.
To the right, in the altar chapel, is a fine marble sepulchre of the sixteenth century, in which the chasuble of the kneeling bishop portrayed is among the best pieces of imitative sculpture to be seen in Spain.
To the right of the high altar, and buried in the cathedral wall, a door leads out into the paseo,—a walk on the broad walls of the city, with a delightful view southwards across the river to the prairie in the distance. Where can a prettier and more natural cloister be found?
The western façade is never used, and is surrounded by the old cemetery,—a rather peculiar place for a cemetery in a cathedral church; the northern façade is anti-artistic,{283} but the tower to the right has one great virtue, that of comparative height. Though evidently intended to be Gothic, the Arab taste, so pronounced throughout this region, got the better of the architect, and he erected a square steeple crowned by a cupola.
Yet, and in spite of criticism which can hardly find an element worthy of praise in the whole cathedral building, the tourist should not hesitate in visiting the city. Besides, the whole region of Northern Extremadura, in which Coria and Plasencia lie, is historically most interesting: Yuste, where Charles-Quint spent the last years of his life, is not far off; neither is the Convent of Guadalupe, famous for its pictures by the great Zurbaran.
As for Coria itself, it is a forgotten corner of Moor-land.
VII
PLASENCIA
The foundation of Plasencia by King Alfonso VIII. in 1178, and the erection of a new episcopal see twelve years later, can be regarded as the coup de grâce given to the importance of Coria, the twin sister forty miles away. Nevertheless, the Royal City, as Plasencia was called, which ended by burying its older rival in the most shocking oblivion, was not able to acquire a name in history. Founded by a king, and handed over to a bishop and to favourite courtiers, who ruled it indifferently well, not to say badly, it grew up to be an aristocratic town without a bourgeoisie. Its history in the middle ages is consequently one long series of family feuds, duels, and tragedies, the record of bloody happenings, and acts of heroic brutality and bravery.
In 1233 a Moorish army conquered it, shortly after the battle of Alarcos was lost{285} to Alfonso VIII., at that time blindly in love with his beautiful Jewish mistress, Rachel of Toledo. But the infidels did not remain master of the situation, far less of the city, for any length of time, as within the next year or so it fell again into the hands of its founder, who strengthened the walls still standing to-day, and completed the citadel.
The population of the city, like that of Toledo, was mixed. Christians, Jews, and Moors lived together, each in their quarter, and together they used the fertile vegas, which surround the town. The Jews and Moors were, in the fifteenth century, about ten thousand in number; in 1492 the former were expelled by the Catholic kings, and in 1609 Philip III. signed a decree expelling the Moors. Since then Plasencia has lost its municipal wealth and importance, and the see, from being one of the richest in Spain, rapidly sank until to-day it drags along a weary life, impoverished and unimportant.
The Jewish cemetery is still to be seen in the outskirts of the town; Arab remains, both architectural and irrigatory, are everywhere present, and the quarter inhabited by{286} them, the most picturesque in Plasencia, is a Moorish village.
The city itself, crowning a hill beside the rushing Ierte, is a small Toledo; its streets are narrow and winding; its church towers are numerous, and the red brick houses warmly reflect the brilliancy of the southern atmosphere. The same death, however, the same inactivity and lack of movement, which characterize Toledo and other cities, hover in the alleys and in the public squares, in the fertile vegas and silent patios of Plasencia.
The history of the feuds between the great Castilian families who lived here is tragically interesting: Hernan Perez killed by Diego Alvarez, the son of one of the former's victims; the family of Monroye pitched against the Zuñigas and other noblemen,—these and many other traditions are among the most stirring of the events that happened in Spain in the middle ages.
Even the bishops called upon to occupy the see seem to have been slaves to the warlike spirit that hovered, as it were, in the very atmosphere of the town. The first prelate, Don Domingo, won the battle of Navas de Tolosa for his protector, Alfonso VIII.{287} When the Christian army was wavering, he rushed to the front (with his naked sword, the cross having been left at home), at the head of his soldiers, and drove the already triumphant Moors back until they broke their ranks and fled. The same bishop carried the Christian sword to the very heart of the Moorish dominions, to Granada, and conquered neighbouring Loja. The next prelate, Don Adán, was one of the leaders of the army that conquered Cordoba in 1236, and, entering the celebrated mezquita, sanctified its use as a Christian church.
The history of the cathedral church is no less interesting. The primitive see was temporarily placed in a church on a hill near the fortress; this building was pulled down in the fifteenth century, and replaced by a Jesuit college.
Toward the beginning of the fourteenth century a cathedral church was inaugurated. Its life was short, however, for in 1498 it was partially pulled down to make way for a newer and larger edifice, which is to-day the unfinished Renaissance cathedral visited by the tourist.
Parts of the old cathedral are, however, still standing. Between the tower of the new{288} temple and the episcopal palace, but unluckily weighted down by modern superstructures, stands the old façade, almost intact. The grossness of the structural work, the timid use of the ogival arch, the primitive rose window, and the general heaviness of the structure, show it to belong to the decadent period of the Romanesque style, when the artists were attempting something new and forgetting the lessons of the past.
The new cathedral is a complicated Gothic-Renaissance building of a nave and two aisles, with an ambulatory behind the high altar. Not a square inch but what has been hollowed out into a niche or covered over with sculptural designs; the Gothic plan is anything but pure Gothic, and the Renaissance style has been so overwrought that it is anything but Italian Renaissance.
The façade of the building is imposing, if not artistic; it is composed of four bodies, each supported laterally by pillars and columns of different shapes and orders, and possessing a hueco or hollow in the centre, the lowest being the door, the highest a stained glass window, and the two central ones blind windows, which spoil the whole. The floral and Byzantine (Arab?) decoration{289} of pillars and friezes is of a great wealth of varied designs; statuettes are missing in the niches, proving the unfinished state of the church.