The primitive plan of the church was doubtless Romanesque, of one nave and two{93} aisles. As in Mondoñedo and Lugo, the former is surmounted by an ogival vault, and the aisles, lower in height, are somewhat depressed by the use of Romanesque plein-cintré vaultings. The form of the building is that of a Roman cross with rather short arms; the apse consists of but one chapel, the lady-chapel. As regards the light, it is horrible, for the window in the west is insignificant and, what is more, has recently been blinded, though only Heaven knows why. The towers emerging from the western front are unmeaning, and not similar, which detracts from the harmony of the whole. As regards the different façades, the western has been spoilt quite recently; the northern and southern are, however, Romanesque, though not pure, as ogival arches are used in the decoration of the tympanum.

In other words, the Church of Santiago at Corunna is more important, from an archæological point of view, than the Colegiata. The fishing folk do not think so, however; they care but little for such secondary details, and their veneration is entirely centred in the suffragan church—"one of the three Virgins," as they call her to whom{94} it is dedicated. To them this particular Mary is the estrella del mar (sea star), and she is the principal object of their devotion. It is strange—be it said in parenthesis—how frequently in Galicia mention is made of stars: they form a most important feature of the country's superstitions. Blood will out—and Celtic mythology peeps through the Christian surface in spite of centuries of true belief.

{95}

III

To the north of Lugo, at a respectable distance from the railway which runs from the latter to Corunna, and reached either by means of a stage or on horseback, Mondoñedo passes a sleeping existence in a picturesque vale surrounded by the greenest of hills. Rarely bothered by the tourist who prefers the train to the stage, it procures for the art lover many moments of delight—that is, if he will but take the trouble to visit the cathedral, the two towers of which loom up in the vale, and though rather too stumpy to be able to lend elegance to the ensemble, add a poetic charm to the valley and to the village itself.{96}

How on earth did it ever occur to any one to raise the church at Mondoñedo to a bishopric? Surely the sees in Galicia were badly shuffled; and yet, where can a quieter spot be found in this wide world of ours for the contemplation of a cathedral—and a Romanesque one, to boot!

It is to the Norman vikings that is due the establishment of a see in this lonely valley. Until the sixth century it had been situated in Mindunietum of the Romans, when it was removed to Ribadeo, remaining there until late in the twelfth century. Both these towns were seaports, and both suffered from the cruel incursions and piratical expeditions of the vikings, and so after the total pillage of the church in Ribadeo, the see was removed inland out of harm's way, to a village known by the name of Villamayor or Mondoñedo. There it has remained till the present day, ignored by the tourist who "has no time," and who follows the beaten track established by Messrs. Cook and Company, in London.

As will have been seen, Mondoñedo is a city without history, and without a past; doubtless it will for ever remain a village without a future. Its doings, its raison{97} d'être, are summed up in the cathedral that stands in its centre, just as in Santiago, though from different motives.

It is, perhaps, the most picturesque spot in Galicia, a gently sloping landscape buried in a violet haze, reminding one of Swiss valleys in the quiet Jura. Besides, the streets are silent and often deserted, the village inn or fonda is neither excellent nor very bad, and as for the villagers, they are happy, simple, and hospitable dawdlers along the paths of this life.

According to a popular belief, the life of one man, a bishop named Don Martin (1219-48), is wrapped up in Mondoñedo's cathedral, so much so, in fact, that both their lives are one and the same. He began building his see; he saw it finished and consecrated it—construxit, consumavit et consacravit; then he died, but the church and his name lived on.

Modern art critics disagree with the above belief; the older or primitive part of the church dates from the twelfth and not from the thirteenth century. Originally, as can easily be seen upon examining the older part of the building, it was a pure Romanesque basilica, the nave and the two aisles running{98} up to the transept, where they were cut off, and immediately to the east of the latter came the apse with three chapels, the lady-chapel being slightly larger than the lateral ones.

In the primitive construction of the building—and excepting all later-date additions, of which there are more than enough—early Gothic and Romanesque elements are so closely intermingled that one is perforce obliged to consider the monument as belonging to the period of Transition, as being, perhaps, a unique example of this period to be met with in Galicia or even in Spain. Of course, as in the case of the other Galician cathedrals, the original character of the interior, which if it had remained unaltered would be both majestic and imposing, has been greatly deformed by the addition of posterior reforms. The form of the apse has been completely changed by the introduction of an ambulatory or circular apsidal aisle dating at least from the fifteenth century, as shown by the presence of the late Gothic and Renaissance elements.

The general plan is rectangular, 120 feet long by seventy-one wide, and seen from the outside is solid rather than elegant,{99} a fortress rather than a temple. The height of the nave, crowned by a Gothic vaulting, is about forty-five feet; a triforium (ogival) runs around the top. The lateral aisles are slightly more than half as high and covered by a Romanesque vaulting reposing on capitals and shafts of the finest twelfth century execution.

The original basilica form of the church has, unluckily, been altered by the additional length given to the arms of the transept, and, as mentioned already, by the ambulatory walk characteristic of Spanish cathedrals; the workmanship of the latter, though lamentably out of tune in this old cathedral, is, taken by itself, better than many similar additions in other churches.

The western façade, which is the only one worthy of contemplation, is as good an example of Romanesque, spoilt by the addition at a recent date of grotesque and bizarre figures and monsters, as can be seen anywhere.

The buttresses are more developed than in either Lugo or Santiago, and though these bodies, from a decorative point of view, were evidently intended to give a certain seal of elegance to the ensemble, the stunted{100} towers and the few windows in the body of the church only help to heighten its fortress-like aspect.

In a previous paragraph it has been stated that this cathedral is perhaps a unique example of the period of Transition (Romanesque and early Gothic). It is an opinion shared by many art critics, but personally the author of these lines is inclined to consider it as an example of the Galician conservative spirit, and of the fight that was made in cathedral chapters against the introduction of early Gothic. For the temple at Santiago was Romanesque; therefore, according to the narrow reasoning peculiar to Galicia, that style was the best and consequently good enough for any other church. As a result, we have in this region of Spain a series of cathedrals which are practically Romanesque, but into the structure of which ogival elements have filtered. Further, as there is no existing example of a finished Gothic church in Galicia, it is rather difficult to speak of a period of Transition, by which is meant the period of passing from one style to another. In Galicia, there was no passing: the conservative spirit of the country, the poetry of the Celtic inhabitants,{101} and above all of their artists, found greater pleasure in Romanesque than in Gothic, and consequently the cathedrals are Romanesque, with slight Gothic additions, when these could combine or submit in arrangement to the heavier Romanesque principles of architecture.

Later, in other centuries, the spirit of architecture had completely died out in Spain, and the additions made in these days are so many lamentable signs of decadence. Not so the ogival introduction in Romanesque churches, which in many cases improved the Romanesque appearance.

{102}

IV

It first appears in history when the Romans conquered it from the Celts. It was their capital and their Holy City; in its centre was Lupa's Bower, where the Romans built a magnificent temple to Diana. Some mosaics of this edifice have been discovered recently, and the peculiar designs prove beyond a doubt that the mythological attributions of the Celts were made use of{103} and intermingled with those of the Latin race—not at all a strange occurrence, as Lupa and Diana seem to have enjoyed many common qualities.

Under the Roman rule, the city walls, remains of which are still standing in many places, were erected, and Locus Augusti became the capital of the northern provinces.

All through the middle ages, when really Oviedo had usurped its civil, and Santiago its religious significance, Lugo was still considered as being the capital of Galicia, a stronghold against Arab incursions, and a hotbed of unruly noblemen who lost no opportunity in striking a blow for liberty against the encroaching power of the neighbouring kingdom of Asturias, and later on of Leon. When at last the central power of the Christian kings was firmly established in Leon and Castile, in Lugo the famous message of adhesion to the dynasty of the Alfonsos was voted, and the kingdom of Galicia, like that of Asturias, faded away, the shadow of a name without even the right to have its coat of arms placed on the national escutcheon.

The ecclesiastical history of the city of Lugo is neither interesting nor does it differ{104} from that of other Galician towns. Erected to a see in the fifth century, its cathedral was a primitive basilica destroyed by the Moors in one of their powerful northern raids in the eighth century. The legendary bishop Odoario lost no time in building a second basilica, which met the same fate about two hundred years later, in the tenth century. Alfonso the Chaste, one of the few kings of Asturias to take a lively interest in Galician politics, ordered either the reconstruction of the old basilica or the erection of a new temple.

Those were stormy times for the city: between the rise and stand of ambitious noblemen, who, pretending to fight for Galicia's freedom, fought for their own interests, and the continual encroachments of the proud prelates on the rights and privileges of the people, barely a year passed without Lugo being the scene of street fights or sieges. As in Santiago, one prince of the Church lost his life, murdered by the faithful (sic) flocks, and many, upon coming to take possession of their see, found the city gates locked in their faces, and were obliged to conquer the cathedral before entering their palace.{105}

The new basilica suffered in consequence, and had to be entirely rebuilt in the twelfth century. The new edifice is the one standing to-day, but how changed from the primitive building! Thanks to graceless additions in all possible styles and combinations of styles, the Romanesque origin is hardly recognizable. Consequently, the cathedral church of Lugo, which otherwise might have been an architectural jewel, does not inspire the visitor with any of those sentiments that ought to be the very essence of time-worn religious edifices of all kinds.

The general disposition of the church is Roman cruciform; the arms of the cross are exceedingly short, however, in comparison to their height; the croisée is surmounted by a semicircular vaulting (Spanish Romanesque).

The nave shows decided affinity to early Gothic, as shown by the ogival arches and vaulting. The presence of the ogival arches (as well as those of the handsome triforium, perhaps the most elegant in Galicia) shows this church to be the first in Galicia to have submitted to the infiltration of Gothic elements. This peculiarity is explained by the fact that, in 1129, the{106} erection of the cathedral was entrusted to one Maestro Raimundo, who stipulated that, in the case of his death before the completion of the church, his son should be commissioned to carry on the work. He died, and his son, a generation younger and imbued with the newer architectural theories, even went so far as to alter his father's plans; he built the nave higher than was customary in Romanesque churches, and gave elegance to the whole structure by employing the pointed arch even in the triforium, otherwise a copy of that of Santiago.

The most curious and impressive part of the building is that constructed by Maestro Raimundo, father, namely the aisles, especially that part of them to the right and left of the choir; they are, with the croisée, the best interior remains of the primitive Romanesque plans: short, even stumpy, rather dark it is true, for the light that comes in by the narrow windows is but poor at its best, they are, nevertheless, rich in decorative designs. The wealth of sculptural ornaments of pure Romanesque in these aisles is perhaps the cathedral's best claim to the tourist's admiration, and puts{107} it in a prominent place among the Romanesque cathedrals of Spain.

Not the same favourable opinion can be emitted when it is a question of the exterior. The towers are comparatively new; the apse—with the peculiar and salient addition of an octagonal body revealing Renaissance influence—is picturesque, it is true, but at the same time it has spoilt the architectural value of the cathedral as a Romanesque edifice.

The northern façade, preceded by an ogival porch so common in Galicia, contains a portal of greater beauty than the Puerta de la Plateria in Santiago, and stands forth in greater prominence than the other named example of twelfth-century art, by not being lost among or depressed by flanking bodies of greater height and mass. As regards the sculptural ornamentation of the door itself, it is felt and not only portrayed: the Christ standing between the immense valves of the vesica piscis which crowns the portal is an example of twelfth-century sculpture. The iron-studded panels of the doors have already been praised by Street, who placed their execution likewise in the twelfth century.{108}

Excepting this portal—a marvel in its class with its rounded tympanum richly ornamented—the portion of the building doubtless more strongly imbued than any other with the general spirit of the edifice is that part of the apse independent of the octagonal addition previously mentioned, and which is dedicated to "La Virgen de los Ojos Grandes"—the Virgin of the Large Eyes. (She must have been Andalusian!) Of the true apse, the lower part has ogival arched windows of singular elegance; the upper body, also semicircular in form, but slightly smaller, has round-headed windows. Both the ogival windows of the first and the Romanesque windows of the second harmonize wonderfully, thanks to the lesser height and width of the upper row. The buttresses, simple, and yet alive with a gently curving line, are well worth noticing. It is strange, nevertheless, that they should not reach the ground, but only support the upper body, and unite it with the lower, forming thus a sort of crown for the latter's benefit.

Personally—and the author must be excused if he emit his opinion—he considers the old apse of the cathedral in Lugo to be{109} one of the finest pieces of architecture to be met with in Galicia. It belongs to what has been called the period of Transition (compare previous remarks in another chapter concerning this style), and yet it has a character of its own not to be found elsewhere, and the harmony of ogival and Romanesque has been so artfully revealed that it cannot fail to appeal to the tourist who contemplates it carefully.

{110}

V

The history of the town is as agitated as any in Galicia and shows the same general happenings. The Romans appreciated it for its sulphur baths and called it Auria (golden) from the colour of the soil, of the{111} water, and perhaps also on account of certain grains of gold discovered in the sands of the Miño.

The Suevos, who dominated Galicia and proved so beneficial to Tuy, did not ignore the importance of Orense: one of the first bishoprics, if not the first historical one in Galicia, was that of Orense, dating from before the fourth century, at least such is the opinion of to-day.

More than any other Galician city, excepting Tuy, it suffered from the Arab invasions. Entirely destroyed, razed to the ground upon two occasions, it was ever being rebuilt by the returning inhabitants who had fled. Previous to these Arab incursions the cathedral had been dedicated to St. Martin de Tours (France), and yearly pilgrimages took place to the Galician shrine, where some relics belonging to the saint were revered. But with the infidels these relics, or whatever they were, were dispersed, and the next century (the eleventh) saw the new cathedral dedicated to the Virgin Mother (?). Besides, the inhabitants seemed to have forgotten the patronage of St. Martin, he who protects the vine-grower's métier—and this in spite of{112} the fact that the valley of Orense is and was famous above all Galician regions for the cultivation of vines. Even Froissart, the French historian, could not speak of the town without mentioning its wine. He passed a season in the valley, accompanying, I believe, the Duke of Lancaster and his English soldiers. The wine was so good and strong, wrote the historian, that the soldiers clamoured for it; after they had drunk a little they toppled over like ninepins.

The Arabs defeated and thrown out of the peninsula, the vikings' last business trip to Galicia over, and the Portuguese arms driven to the valley of Braga beyond the Miño, Orense settled down to a peaceful life, the monotony of which was broken now and again—as it usually was in this part of the country—by squabbles between noblemen, prelates, and the bons bourgeois. If no prince of the Church was killed here, as happened in Lugo, one at least died mysteriously in the hands of his enemies. Not that it seemed to have mattered much, for said bishop appears to have been a peculiar sort of spiritual shepherd, full of vice, and devoid of virtue, some of whose doings have been caricatured—according to the popular belief{113}—in the cornices and friezes of the convent of San Francisco.

Otherwise, peace reigned in the land, and Orense passed a quiet existence, a circumstance that did not in the slightest add to its importance, either as an art, commercial, or industrial centre. To-day, full of strangers in summer, who visit the sulphurous baths as did the Romans, and empty in winter, it exists without living, as does so many a Spanish town.

Nevertheless, with Vigo and Corunna, it is one of the cities with a future still before it. At least, its situation is bound to call attention as soon as ever the country is opened up to progress and commerce.

The cathedral of Orense, like those of Tuy, Santiago, and Lugo, was erected in a castro. These castros were circular dips in the ground, surrounded by a low wall, which served the druids as their place of worship. The erection of Christian churches in these sacred spots proves beyond a doubt that the new religion became amalgamated with the old, and even laid its foundations on the latter's most hallowed castros.

Perhaps the question presents itself as to why a cathedral was erected in Orense previous{114} to any other city. From a legend it would appear that the king of the Suevos, Carrarick, had a son who was dying; thanks to the advice of a Christian monk, a disciple of St. Martin, and, one is inclined to think, fresh from Tours, the king dipped his son in the baths of Orense, invoking at the same time the help of St. Martin. Upon pulling his offspring out of the water, he discovered that he had been miraculously cured. The grateful monarch immediately became a stout Christian, and erected a basilica—destroyed and rebuilt many a time during the dark ages of feudalism and Arab invasion—in honour of his son's saviour. What is more wonderful still is that, soon afterward, the relics of the French saint were cherished in Orense without its being positively known whence they came!

The present cathedral, the date of the erection of which is a point of discussion to-day, is generally believed to have been built on the spot occupied by the primitive basilica. It is dedicated to Santa Maria la Madre according to the official (doubtful?) statement, and to St. Martin of Tours, Apostle of Gaul, according to the popular version.{115}

The general appearance of the cathedral proclaims it to have been begun, or at least planned, in the twelfth century, and not, as Baedeker states, in 1220. As a twelfth-century church we are not obliged to consider it for more reasons than one, and especially because, as we have seen, the twelfth century was the great period of Galician church-building. It was in this century that the northwest shone forth in the history of Spain as it had not done before, nor has done since.

The church is another Romanesque specimen, but less pure in its style than any of the others mentioned so far: the ogival arch is prevalent, but rather as a decorative than as an essentially constructive element. As it is, it was commenced at least fifty years after the cathedral of Lugo, and though both are twelfth-century churches, the one is an early and the other presumably a late one; the employment of the ogival arch to a greater degree in Orense than in Lugo is thus easily explained.

In short, the cathedral of Orense is another example of the peculiar Romanesque of Galicia, which, withstanding the invasion of Gothic, created a school of its own, pretty{116} in details, bold in harmony, though it be a hybrid school after all.

The influence of the cathedral of Santiago is self-evident in the cathedral of Orense. How could it be otherwise, when the bishop Don Diego, who sat on the chair, was a great friend and a continual visitor of that other Don Diego in Santiago who erected the primate cathedral of Galicia?

This influence is above all to be seen in the Portico del Paraiso, an interior narthex leading from the western front to the body of the church. It is a handsome area of Romanesque sculpture covered by an ogival vaulting, and would be an important monument if its rival and prototype in Santiago were not greater, both as regards its perfection of design, and the grand idea which inspired it.

Of the three doors which lead into the cathedral, the western is crowned by three rounded arches reposing on simple columns. The tympanum as a decorative element is lacking, as is also the low relief, which is usually superimposed above the upper arches. The latter are, however, carved in the most elaborate manner. As regards the other two portals, the northern and southern, their composition, as far as generalities are concerned,{117} is the same as the western, excepting that they are surrounded by a depressed semicircular arch in relief, the whole of a primitive design.

The towers of the cathedral are not old. The general impression of the building from the outside—unluckily it cannot be contemplated from any distance, as the surrounding houses impede it—is agreeable. To be especially observed are some fine fourteenth-century (?) windows which show ogival pattern, but either of timid execution or else of a bold endeavour on the artist's part to subdue solemn Gothic to the Romanesque traditions of the country.

The interior has been restored and changed many a time. In its original plan it consisted of two aisles and a nave with a one-aisled transept, and, just as in Lugo, an apse formed by three semicircles, of which the central was the largest, and contained the high altar. To-day, though the general appearance or disposition of the church (Roman cruciform with exceedingly short lateral arms) is the same, an ambulatory walk surrounds the high altar, which has been moved nearer the transept in the principal nave. The vaulting is ogival, reposing on solid and{118} severe shafts; the aisles are slightly lower than the central nave, and the croisée is surmounted, as in Santiago, by a handsome cupola similar in construction to that of Valencia, though more reduced in size, and of a less elegant pattern.

The lack of triforium is to be noted, and its want is felt.

The northern aisle has no chapels let into its exterior wall, but a long row of sepulchres and sepulchral reliefs to replace them. Some of them are severe and beautiful. The choir has finely carved stalls, and the Gothic retablo is the only one of its kind in Galicia, and one of the best in Spain.

Many more details could be given concerning the worthy cathedral of Orense, second only in richness of certain elements to that of Santiago. The additions, both in Romanesque and ogival styles, are better than in most other cathedrals in Galicia, though, as far as Renaissance is concerned, Galicia showed but little love for Italia's art. This was due to the regional Celtic taste of the inhabitants, or else to the marked signs of art decadence in this part of Spain, when the Renaissance was introduced into the country.{119}

As regards the cloister,—small and rather compact in its composition,—it is held by many to be a jewel of the fifteenth century in the ogival style, handsome in its general outlines, and beautiful in its wealth of sculptural decoration.

{120}

VI

Tuy sits on her hill, and gazes across the river at Valença do Minho, the rival fortress opposite, and the first town in Portugal. A handsome bridge unites the enemies—{121}friends to-day. Nevertheless, the cannons' mouths of the glaring strongholds are for ever pointed toward each other, as though wishing to recall those days of the middle ages when Tuy was the goal of Portuguese ambitions and the last Spanish town in Galicia.

Before the Romans conquered Iberia, Tuy, which is evidently a Celtic name, was a most important town. This is easily explained by its position, a sort of inland Gibraltar, backed by the Sierra to the rear, and crowning the river which brought ships from the ocean to its wharves. The city's future was brilliant.

Matters changed soon, however. The Romans drew away much of its power to cities further inland, as was their wont. The castle remained standing, as did the walls, which reached on the northern shores of the river down to Guardia, situated in the delta about thirty miles away. Remains of the cyclopean walls which crown the mountain chain on the Spanish side of the Miño are still to be seen to-day, yet they give but a feeble idea of the city's former strength.

After the Romans had been defeated by the invasion of savage tribes from the north,{122} Tuy became the capital of the Suevos, a tribe opposed to the Visigoths, who settled in the rest of Spain, and for centuries waged a cruel war against the kings whose subjects had settled principally in Galicia and in the north of Portugal.

The power of the Suevos, who were seated firmly in Tuy, was at last completely broken, and the capital, its inhabitants fighting energetically to the end, was at length conquered. It was the last stronghold to fall into the hands of the conquerors. A century later Witiza, the sovereign of the Visigoths, made Tuy his capital for some length of time, and the district round about is full of the traditions of the doings of this monarch. Most of these legends denigrate his character, and make him appear cruel, wilful, and false. One of them, concerning Duke Favila and Doña Luz, is perhaps the most popular. According to it, Witiza fell in love with the former's wife, Doña Luz, and, to remove the husband, he heartlessly had his eyes put out, on the charge of being ambitious, and of having conspired against the throne. The fate that awaited Doña Luz, who defended her honour, was no better, according to this legend.{123}

After the return of Witiza to Toledo, the city slowly lost its importance, and since then she has never recovered her ancient fame.

Like the remaining seaports of Galicia,—or such cities as were situated near the ocean,—Tuy was sacked and pillaged by Arabs and vikings alike. The times were extremely warlike, and Galicia, from her position, and on account of the independent spirit of the noblemen, was called upon to suffer more than any other region, and Tuy, near the ocean, and a frontier town to boot, underwent greater hardships than any other Galician city. Of an admirable natural position, it would have been able to resist the attacks of Gudroed and Olaf, of the Portuguese noblemen and of Arab armies, had it been but decently fortified. The lack of such fortifications, however, and the neglect and indifference with which it was, as a rule, regarded by the kings of Asturias, easily account for its having fallen into the hands of enemies, of having been razed more than once to the ground, of having been the seat of ambitious and conspiring noblemen who were only bent on thrashing their neighbours, Christians and infidels alike.{124}

In the sixth century Tuy had already been raised to the dignity of a city, but until after the eleventh century the prelates of the church, tyrants when the times were propitious, but cowardly when danger was at hand, were continually removing their see to the neighbouring villages and mountains to the rear. They left their church with surprising alacrity and ease to the mercy of warriors and enemies, to such an extent, in fact, that neither are documents at hand to tell us what happened exactly in the darker ages of mediæval history, nor are the existing monuments in themselves sufficient to convince us of the vicissitudes which befell the city, its see, and the latter's flocks.

Since the last Arab and Norseman raid, matters seemed to have gone better with fair Tuy, for, excepting the continual strife between Portuguese and Galician noblemen, who were for ever gaining and losing the city on the Miño, neither infidels nor pirates visited its wharves. It was then that the foundations of the present cathedral were laid, but not without disputes between the prelates (one of whom was taken prisoner, and had to give a handsome ransom to be released) and the noblemen who called themselves{125} seigneurs of the city. Between the claims and struggles of these two factions, those who suffered most were the citizens themselves, who had nothing to gain and everything to lose. Between the bishops who pretended to possess the whole city, and the noblemen who endeavoured to leave the prelates without a groat, the ignored inhabitants of the poorer quarters of the town passed a miserable life.

Since the middle ages, or better still, since the time when the Miño became definitely the frontier line between Spain and Portugal, the city of Tuy has been heard of but little. Few art students visit it to-day, and yet it is one of the most picturesquely situated cities in Galicia, or even in Spain. Its cathedral, as well as the Pre-Roman, Roman, Gothic, and middle age remains,—most of them covered over with heaps of dust and earth,—are well worth a visit, being highly interesting both to artists and to archæological students.

In short, Tuy on her hill beside the Miño, glaring across an iron bridge at Portugal, is a city rich in traditions and legends of faded hopes and past glories. Unluckily for her,{126} cities of less historical fame are better known and more admired.

As has already been mentioned, the cathedral crowns the hill, upon the slopes of which the city descends to the river; moreover, the edifice occupies the summit only,—a castro, as explained in a previous chapter. Therefore, for proofs are lacking both ways, it is probable that the present building was erected on the same spot where the many basilicas which we know existed and were destroyed in one or another of the many sieges, stood in bygone days.

The present cathedral dedicated to the Virgin Mary, like that in Orense, was most likely begun in the first half of the twelfth century; successive earthquakes suffered by the city, especially that felt in Lisbon in 1755, obliged the edifice to be repaired more than once, which accounts for many of the base additions which spoil the ensemble.

From the general disposition of the building, which is similar in many details to the cathedral at Lugo, it has been thought probable that Maestro Raimundo (father?) was the builder of the church; definite proofs are, however, lacking.

The ground-plan is rectangular, with a{127} square apse; the interior is Roman cruciform, consisting of a nave and two aisles; the transept, like that of Santiago, is also composed of a nave and two aisles; the four arms of the cross are all of them very short, and almost all are of the same length. Were it not for the height of the nave, crowned by a Romanesque triforium of blinded arches, the interior would be decidedly ugly. However, the height attained gives a noble aspect to the whole, and what is more, renders the ensemble curious rather than beautiful.

The large and ungainly choir spoils the general view of the nave, whereas the continuation of the aisles, broad and light to the very apse, where, facing each aisle, there is a handsome rose window which throws a flood of coloured light into the building, cannot be too highly praised.

The walls are devoid of all decoration, and if it were not for the chapels, some of which in default of pure workmanship are richly ornamented, this see of Tuy would have to pass as a very poor one indeed.

The roof of the building has been added lately, doubtless after one of the many earthquakes. It is of a simple execution, neither good nor bad, composed of a series of{128} slightly rounded arches with pronounced ribs.

It is outside, however, that the tourist will pass the greater part of his time. Unluckily, the houses which closely surround the building forbid a general view from being obtained of any but the western front, yet this is perhaps a blessing, for none of the other sides are worthy of special notice.

As mentioned, the appearance of the church is that of a fortress rather than of a temple, or better still, is that of a feudal castle. The crenelated square tower on the western front is heavy, and no higher than the peaked and simple crowning of the handsome Romanesque window above the narthex; the general impression is that of resistance rather than of faith, and the lack of all decoration has caused the temple to be called sombre.

The handsome narthex, the summit of which is crenelated like the tower, is the simplest and noblest to be found in Galicia, and is really beautiful in its original severity. Though dating from a time when florid ogival had taken possession of Spain, the artist who erected it (it is posterior to the rest of the building—early fifteenth century{129}) had the good taste to complete it simply, without decoration, so as to render it homogeneous with the rest of the building. It is also possible that there were no funds at hand for him to erect it otherwise!

The doors stand immediately behind this narthex. The portal is carved or decorated in an elaborate late Romanesque style, one of the most richly ornamented porticos belonging to this school in Spain, and a handsome page in the history of Galician art in the twelfth century. The low reliefs above the door and in the tympanum of the richly carved arcade, are felt and are admirably executed.

The northern entrance to the building is another fine example of twelfth-century Spanish, or Galician Romanesque. Though simpler in execution than the western front, it nevertheless is by some critics considered purer in style (earlier?) than the first mentioned.

The tower which stands to the left of the northern entrance is one of the few in the Romanesque style to be seen in northern Spain; it is severe in its structure and pierced by a series of round-headed windows.

The cloister dating from the fourteenth{130} and fifteenth centuries is another of Galicia's monuments well worth a visit, which proves the local mixture of Romanesque and ogival, and is, perhaps, the last example on record, as toward the fifteenth century Renaissance elements had completely captured all art monuments.

Such is the cathedral of Tuy, a unique example of Galician Romanesque in certain details, an edifice that really ought to be better known than it is.

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VII

Here, until quite recently, stood for an unknown length of time the suffragan church which has now been removed to Vigo. But Bayona, once upon a time the most important{132} seaport in Galicia, is a ruin to-day, a delightful ruin, and one of the prettiest in its ensemble, thanks to the beautiful and weird surroundings.

Its history extends from the times of the Phœnicians, Greeks, and Romans,—even earlier, as remains of lake-dwellers have been found. This statement is not an exaggeration, though it may appear to be one, for the bay is as quiet as a lake.

After the defeat of the Armada, Bayona was left a prey to Drake and his worthy companions. They dealt the city a death-blow from which it has never recovered, and Vigo, the new, the commercial, has usurped its importance, as it did its church, which once upon a time, as is generally believed, was a bishopric.

The present ruinous edifice of Bayona is peculiarly Galician and shows the same characteristics as the remaining cathedrals we have spoken about so far. It was ordained in 1482 by the Bishop of Tuy. The windows of the nave (clerestory) are decidedly pointed or ogival; those of the aisles are pure Romanesque. The peculiar feature is the use of animal designs in the decorative elements of the capitals,—a unique example{133} in Galicia, where only floral or leaf motives were used in the best period of Romanesque. The design to be noticed here on one of the capitals is a bird devouring a toad, and it is so crudely and rustically carved that one is almost inclined to believe that a native of the country conceived and executed it. {134}

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PART III

The North

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I

In the valley adjoining Cangas, in the eighth century, the most important village in Asturias, a religious sect erected a monastery. Froila or Froela, one of the early noblemen (now called a king, though he was no king in those days) who fought against the Moors, erected in the same century a church in the vicinity of Cangas (in Oviedo?), dedicating it to the Saviour; he also built a palace near the same spot. His son, Alfonso the Chaste, born in this palace, was brought up in a convent near Lugo in Galicia. Upon becoming king he hesitated whether to establish his court in Lugo, or in the new village which had been his birthplace, namely Oviedo. At length, remembering{138} perhaps his father's love for the country near Cangas, he established it in the latter place in the ninth century, and formed the kingdom of Asturias as opposed to that of Galicia; the capital of the new kingdom was Oviedo.

"The king gave the city to the Saviour and to the venerable church built by his father, and which, like a sun surrounded by its planets, he placed within a circle of other temples.

"He convocated an ecclesiastical council with a view to establish a primate see in Oviedo; he maintained an assembly of prelates who lent lustre to the church, and he gave each a particular residence; the spiritual splendour of Oviedo eclipsed even the brilliancy of the throne."

This was in 812, and the first bishop consecrated was one Adulfo.

The subsequent reign of Alfonso was signalized by the discovery in Galicia of the corpse of St. James the Apostle. The sovereign, it appears, showed great interest in the discovery, established a church on the sacred spot, and generously donated the nascent town. Not without reason did posterity{139} celebrate his many Christian virtues by calling him the Chaste, el Casto.

Two hundred years only did Oviedo play an important part in the history of Spain as capital of the Christian Kingdom. In 1020 its civil dignities were removed by Alfonso V. to Leon in the south. From then on the city remained important only as the alleged cradle of the new dynasty, and its church—that of the Salvador—was used as the pantheon of the kings.

In the twelfth century the basilica was in a ruinous state, and almost completely destroyed. The fate of the Romanesque edifice which was then built was as short as the city's glory had been ephemeral, for in 1380 it was destroyed by flames, and in its place the first stone of the present building was laid by one Bishop Gutierre. One hundred and seventy years later the then reigning prelate placed his coat of arms on the spire, and the Gothic monument which is to-day admired by all who visit it was completed.

The history of the city—an ecclesiastical and civil metropolis—is devoid of interest since the tenth century. It was as though the streets were too crowded with the legends of the fictitious kingdom of Asturias, to be{140} enabled to shake off the depression which little by little spread over the whole town.

Apart from its cathedral, Oviedo and the surrounding country possesses many of the earliest religious monuments in Spain, dating from the eighth century. These, on account of their primary Romanesque and basilica style, form a chapter apart in the history of ecclesiastical architecture, and ought to be thoroughly studied. This is not the place, however, to speak about them, in spite of their extreme age and the great interest they awaken.

Nothing could be more graceful than the famous tower of the cathedral of Oviedo, which is a superb Gothic flèche of well-proportioned elements, and literally covered over and encrusted with tiny pinnacles. Slender and tapering, it rises to a height of about 280 feet. It is composed of five distinct bodies, of which the penultimate betrays certain Renaissance influences in the triangular cornices of the windows, etc.; this passes, however, entirely unperceived from a certain distance. The angles formed by the sides of the tower are flanked by a pair of slender shafts in high relief, which tend to{141} give it an even more majestic impression than would be the case without them.