Another example of the same class, which in its original state must have been finer than San Millan, is to be seen in the church of San Martin. Here the cloister was carried not only along the sides, but across the west front also, with a bold projecting west porch, breaking its lines, and giving great character and dignity to the whole scheme. The west doorway of the porch has statues in its jambs, and the detail seems to me to be all genuine thirteenth century work. The illustration of one of the cloister capitals will, I think, prove this; for though the old favourite device of couples of birds is repeated here, the lines are all extremely fine and graceful, and the carving of the abacus of an advanced kind. This church is, unfortunately, very much modernized throughout. It seems to have had three parallel apses at the east end, and transepts, against which the side cloisters of the nave were stopped. There is a modern lantern over the old crossing, and a tower to the west of it rising from out of the centre of the nave, which seems to be in part old. There were northern and southern as well as western doors, and openings in the cloister opposite each of them.
San Roman, a desecrated church near the palace of the civil governor, has a short nave, chancel, and apse, with a tower on the south side of the chancel. The walls are very lofty, and are all finished with corbel-tables at the eaves. The apse has three round-headed windows, and there is a noble north door, similar in design to those of San Millan, and with the abaci and labels richly carved. The west end has a small doorway, and a circular window over it, the former certainly, and the latter probably, not original. The lower stage only of the tower remains. This church must be of about the same age as San Millan.
San Facundo is similar in plan to San Roman, and of the same date. The detail of the apse is precisely the same as that of San Millan. There is a large west door, modernized, and an open cloister seems to have been added at a later date to the side of the church, and is now walled up. This church is desecrated, and converted into a Museum of Paintings.
Santa Trinidad has a fine apse, and this is again of the San Millan pattern. It has carved stringcourses at the springing of the windows, and again just over their arches, and there are three-quarter engaged wall-shafts between the windows, and a richly sculptured eaves-cornice and corbel-table.
San Nicolas, close to Santa Trinidad, has two apses, each lighted with a single window, engaged wall-shafts, and the usual carved labels, abaci, and corbel-tables. The tower is on the north side, rises one stage above the roof, and is lighted with two round-arched belfry windows. A small apse was added rather later than the original fabric to the east of this tower, and before its erection the plan must have been almost the same as that of San Roman, but reversed. About a hundred yards from San Nicolas is another church which is almost an exact repetition of San Roman.
San Luine (?), in the Plazuela de Capuchinos, is of just the same class as the rest, with nave, chancel, and apse, and a second apse east of the tower on the south side. There are no side windows here, and only a single light at the east end.
Another church, in the Plaza de Isabel II., is of the same plan as the last, with a modernized tower. The carving on the string-courses here is of the same kind of natural foliage that I have described at San Millan.
Near the aqueduct are two churches. One of them, S. Antholin (I think), has a tower at the north-east of the nave; its two upper stages have on each face two round-arched shafted windows, and the angles are treated in a precisely similar way to those of San Esteban, having bold splays with engaged shafts in their centres. Another church close to this is modernized, but retains its old tower, with the angles treated in the same way.
The church of San Juan has remains of an external cloister on one side.
The last church of this long, and I fear very dry, catalogue, is that of San Miguel, which stands in the Plaza near the cathedral. It has four bays of nave, shallow transepts, and a very short choir, which is, I think, apsidal, but almost concealed by a pagan Retablo. The whole is of late fifteenth-century date, and must, I think, be the work of the same hand as the cathedral. Some figures at the west end, representing St. Michael and the Annunciation, have evidently been taken from some older building, and built into the walls here. There is a very beautiful triptych in the north transept, with a Descent from the Cross in the centre, which ought to be looked at. It is a fine work of, I suppose, the latter part of the sixteenth century.[194]
I have already mentioned the great Alcazar, and the old town walls and gateways. They are magnificent in their scale, and very picturesque. The Alcazar was burnt some two or three years ago, and is now roofless, and I was told that its interior had been completely destroyed. I foolishly omitted to verify this statement by personal inspection, and contented myself with the sight of the exterior. The walls of the front towards the city are all diapered in plaster, and here and there about the town several other examples of the same kind of work are to be seen. The patterns are generally tracery patterns of the latest Gothic, repeated over and over again, so as to produce a regular diaper throughout. I presume that it was executed with a frame cut out to the required pattern, so as to allow of the ground being cut back slightly, leaving the pattern lines formed in the original face of the plaster. This kind of decoration seems to be perfectly legitimate, and here, owing to the care with which the plaster has been made and used, it has stood remarkably well, though most of the patterns that I saw had evidently been executed in the fifteenth century.
In the front of the Alcazar these plaster patterns are carried not only all over the plain face of the walls, but also round the towers and turrets at the angles, so that the very smallest possible amount of wrought stone is introduced. The great tower or keep standing back a few feet only from the front is similarly ornamented, but has stone quoins bonded irregularly into the walls; in its upper stage it has windows surmounted by quaint stone canopies, and then a series of great circular turrets, corbelled boldly out from the face of the wall, and carried up a considerable height, give its extremely marked and Spanish air to this grand tower. These turrets are of stone, and between them is a parapet boldly corbelled out on machicoulis from the walls. With that contempt for uniformity which marks mediæval artists, the keep is more than twice as broad on one side as on the other, and the great mass of wall and turret, roofs and spirelets, which crowned the whole building before the fire, well sustained its picturesque irregularity of shape.
The front of a private house near the walls, not far from San Esteban, is another capital example of the same kind of plaster-work. Here the façade is a perfectly smooth and unbroken surface, pierced for doors and windows, which are set in square panels of stone, and with a regular and straight line of stone quoining at the angles. At one end a low tower is carried up a few feet above the general line of the building. The windows are generally mere plain square openings; but two set side by side in the principal stage have delicate ajimez windows of two lights, with elaborately traceried heads. The patterns in the plaster are three in number: the first carried from the stone plinth up to the sills of the principal windows, where it is cut by a narrow band of ornament, acting as a stringcourse to divide it from the second pattern, which is carried up to the eaves, the tower being covered with a third diaper, rather less intricate than the others.
Near this house is a tower in the walls even more worthy of notice. It is of very considerable height, quite plain in outline, and pierced with only one or two square-headed windows, but surmounted by a fine parapet supported on machicoulis. The whole tower is built with bold stone quoins and horizontal bands of brickwork, each band two courses in height, at intervals of about three feet. Between these bands the walls are plastered and diapered. Here, as in the other house, only two or three patterns are used, but I think great judgment is shown in the repetition for the greater part of the height of the same pattern, which is changed at last near the top, where it was desirable to emphasize the work. Most men having three patterns to use would have divided them equally, but the real artist gives all their value to his simple materials by not doing so. The construction of this tower led naturally to its decoration. The wrought stone at the angles, the rough stonework of the walls, and the occasional bonding-courses of brick, were all used simply as the best materials for their respective parts; and the rough stonework being plastered and diapered, gave a richness and polish to the whole work which it would otherwise have wanted, whilst it in no degree destroyed the air of stability of the wall, which is secured by the obviously constructional arrangement of the stone and brick.
The Moors were always distinguished by the beautiful use they made of plaster; and whether or no these Segovian buildings were executed by Moorish architects, it is quite certain that at any rate we owe them to their influence and example. The patterns used are generally such as in stone-work would be unhesitatingly attributed to the end of the fifteenth or first half of the sixteenth century, and to this period no doubt the works I have been describing belong. They deserve a detailed notice because they prove, as do most Moorish works, that plaster may be used truthfully and artistically, and that without any approach to the contemptible effect which the imbecility and dishonesty of the nineteenth-century designers of plaster-work have contrived to impress on almost all their productions.
My last work in Segovia was to go to the Alcazar to get a sketch of the town, with the cathedral rising in a noble mass in its very centre, backed by the line of the Guadarrama mountains, looking black and angry with the storm-clouds which swept over the sky and around their summits at sunset; and then strolling quietly back into the town, I went into the cathedral, to be impressed, as one always must be in such a place, by the aweful solemnity which even the latest Gothic architects in Spain knew how to impart to their buildings.
[larger view]
[largest view]
SEGOVIA:—Ground Plan of the Cathedral: Plate XII. W. West, Lithr. Published by John Murray, Albemarle St. 1865.
ON my first journey to Madrid I travelled most of the way from Valladolid by diligence, and though the way was long and weary, the passage of the Sierra de Guadarrama was very fine, and I remember few pictures more lovely than that which we saw at sunrise, as we climbed the northern side of the mountains amid groups of stone-pines; whilst the steep descent to the village of Guadarrama, on the south, with a slight distant view of Madrid, and a near view of the Escorial, was quite a thing to be remembered with pleasure. Now, however, instead of arriving at Madrid hot, dusty, and sore with a diligence journey, the railway is completed, and the line of country it takes is so beautiful between Avila and Madrid as to leave no room for regrets for the old passage of the mountains by road.
The entrance to Madrid is not very striking. For the last three or four miles the road passes by a fair amount of planted woods, but the river by its side is dry and dreary, and every one in the hot season at which I arrived seemed to be gasping for breath. A very small suburb only is passed before the Queen’s palace is reached: this is built on the edge of a steep hill overhanging the river, and commands a grand view of the Sierra de Guadarrama. This is indeed the one and only glory of such a site as that of Madrid, for were it not for this distant view, I know nothing more dreary and unhappy than the country with which it is surrounded. At the same time, partly owing to the great height above the sea, and partly, probably, to the neighbourhood of this mountain range, the climate here is most treacherous, changing rapidly from the most violent heat in the daytime, to what seems by contrast to be icy chilliness at night.
A garden with statues is laid out in front of the palace, and beyond this, passing some narrow streets, one soon reaches the Puerta del Sol, a fine irregular space in the centre of the city, with a fountain in the centre which is always playing pleasantly, and on great occasions sends up a jet to an unusual height. The Puerta del Sol is very irregular, and on sloping ground, and hence it has a certain pleasing picturesqueness, which probably accounts for the reputation it has achieved.
There is one great attraction to me in Madrid, and only one—the Picture Gallery. And it is as well for travellers to take up their quarters in one of the hotels near the Puerta del Sol, where they are within a walk of it, rather than in the respectable Fonda de Ynglaterra, where I found myself quite too far from everything that I wanted to see.
I discovered no old churches here. Madrid is, in fact, a thoroughly modern city, and is remarkable as not being the see of a bishop, the Archbishops of Toledo having succeeded in retaining it in their diocese.
I found, therefore, nothing whatever to do in the way of ecclesiologizing; and yet, on the whole, having formed a very low estimate of the place beforehand, I was rather agreeably disappointed. The situation is unquestionably fine, the views of the mountains beautiful, the streets busy and smart, and the fountains, which seem to be innumerable, are on a scale which would astonish our London authorities. The evenings are always deliciously cool, and then all Madrid is on the move; the very well laid out and planted Prado is thronged with smart people on foot, and smarter people in carriages; and until one has suffered as one does from the extreme heat of the day, it is hardly possible to imagine the luxurious freshness of the cool night. It is said, however, to be a dangerous pleasure, pulmonary complaints being very common.
The two great sights are the Museo and the Armeria; the latter is said to be the best collection of arms in Europe, but somehow I always managed to want to go there too early or too late, and, after divers mistakes, in the end did not see it at all. Of the Museo it is difficult to speak with too much enthusiasm: the number of pictures is enormous, and it seemed to me that there was a larger proportion than is usual of very first-rate works. Its deficiency is mainly in early pictures—Italian, German, and Spanish. The early Italian schools are represented by one Angelico da Fiesole only: this is a beautiful example; an Annunciation, with the expulsion of Adam and Eve from Eden on the left of the picture, and five subjects from the life of the Blessed Virgin in the predella. Among these, the Marriage of the Blessed Virgin has a close resemblance to Perugino’s and Raffaelle’s celebrated pictures. I could see no examples of Francia or Perugino, not to speak of earlier men; whilst the few early German works were none of them of any great interest.
On the other hand, the pictures by Titian, Velasquez, Raffaelle, Veronese, Tintoret, Murillo, and others of the great masters of their age, are numerous and magnificent beyond description.
Velasquez and Titian are both so grand that I hardly knew which to admire the most; of the former, perhaps on the whole the most charming work is the portrait of Prince Balthazar, a noble boy, galloping forward gallantly on his pony; whilst of the Titians, I think the most striking was a weird-looking portrait of Charles V. in armour on horseback. Murillo of course is in great force; he has frequent representations of the Assumption, always treated in the same way: his work has a religious spirit wanting in the manlier work of Titian and Veronese, but yet not the true religious spirit so much as a sentimental affectation of it. Of Ribera—better known in England as Spagnoletto—there are a great many examples, generally disagreeable portraits of emaciated saints in distorted attitudes, and a horrible elaboration of ghastliness. Juan Juanes, an earlier Spanish painter, is much more agreeable, and he seems to have been largely inspired by Perugino and his school; a series of five subjects from the life of St. Stephen are perhaps the most interesting of his works here.
The room in which the greatest treasures of the Gallery are collected is called the Salon de la Reyna Isabel. Unfortunately a large opening in the floor, to give light to a gallery of sculpture below, makes it a little difficult to see some of the pictures at all well. At its upper end is the famous Spasimo de Sicilia, a noble work, but spoilt by the awkward and distorted drawing of the soldiers on the left. Near it is a very fine Giovanni Bellini, the Delivery of the Keys to St. Peter; and by its side a Giorgione, with a man in armour, as fine as anything I know,—the subject, the Virgin and Saints. By Bronzino there is a violin-player, a lad with a face beyond measure loveable. But it were endless to go on through a list even of the chefs-d’œuvre in such a collection; and it is the less necessary to say much more than generally to praise the whole Gallery as one of the first, if not the first, in Europe, because, now that railways make the journey thither so much more easy, some, no doubt, of our thousands of annual travellers will make their way to Madrid, to make lists for themselves of the best of its pictures.
There is as little interest in modern as in earlier architecture here; the only development that struck me being a fashion the people have of diapering houses all over with a kind of thirteenth-century painting on plaster; but I was not struck with the beauty of the development. The best street is the Calle de Alcalá, leading from the Puerta del Sol to the Prado. It is of great width, rising from the Puerta del Sol and falling to the Prado, and not straight, all which points are much in its favour: but the houses on either side are not generally so fine as they should be, and there is consequently a slightly faded look about it, which is not otherwise characteristic of Madrid. To see the Calle de Alcalá to advantage, the day of a bull-fight should be selected. Then from half-past three to four all the world streams along it to the arena, excited, running, pushing, buying red and yellow paper fans for the seats in the sun, and as noisy, boisterous, and enthusiastic as all the world at any of our own national gatherings. The picadors in their quaint dresses come galloping along on their sorry steeds, each attended by a man in a blouse riding on the same horse, and whose office it is afterwards to make the poor wretch face the bull by beating him with a long stick. Omnibuses and vehicles of all kinds bring their share of the mob; and when I took my seat, I believe there were not less than twelve thousand people assembled, every seat in the rather shabby but vast arena being full. Women formed a very small proportion only of the whole number, and I noticed that a lady who sat near me seemed as much shocked as I was at the brutal parts of the exhibition; for all parts of it are by no means brutal, and, indeed, I should be inclined to limit the term to those parts in which horses are introduced. It would be quite as pleasant to indulge oneself by an occasional visit to a knacker’s yard, as to sit quietly looking on whilst a furious bull rips up a miserable beast, usually blindfolded, in order that it may not move from the spot at which the picador chooses to receive the attack; but this part of the performance over, there is little that is disgusting, and a great deal that is singularly exciting and skilful. The men seldom seem to be in any real danger of being caught by the bull, and nothing can be cleverer than the way in which one of the chulos will dance before him half across the arena, always avoiding his charge by a hair’s-breadth only, or in which one of the banderilleros, seated in a chair, will plant his two arrows exactly on each side of the bull just as he stoops to toss him, and the next instant jump out of his seat, whilst the chair is dashed to atoms by the furious beast.
I felt, however, that one bull-fight was enough for me; the treatment of each bull is of necessity the same, and the mules have no sooner galloped out of one door trailing the dead bull and his victims out of the arena, than another dashes in from the opposite side, only to meet the same fate. The way in which the bulls come in is very striking: they rush in madly like wild beasts, and generally charge rapidly at one of the picadors or chulos. I asked a Spaniard how this was managed, and he explained that in the den from which they emerge they are goaded with sharp-pointed spears just before the doors are opened, and of course come into the arena mad with rage!
The object of bull-fights seems to be generally charitable—in the sense that charity bazaars are so. At Valencia, where they have recently erected an arena which almost rivals in size the Roman amphitheatres, the work has been done by the trustees of the hospitals, and this seemed to be usually the destination of the receipts whenever I saw them advertized. That it is possible to have a bull-fight of even a worse kind than the Spanish I learnt at Nîmes, where the cicerone showing me the amphitheatre explained that they had a bull-fight every Sunday, but never killed their bulls—only goaded them week after week!
Whilst I was at Madrid I made an excursion to Alcalá de Henares, the seat of Cardinal Ximenes’ famous university, under the impression that I should find a good deal to reward me. In this, however, I was disappointed, as the churches are mostly works of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, and the whole place is decayed, unprosperous, and uncared for, without being picturesque and venerable.
The principal church, “El Magistral,” of SS. Just y Pastor—the tutelars of the city—is a large, late church of poor style. It has a nave and aisles of five bays, transepts and choir of one bay, and an apse of three sides. The aisle round the apse is contrived with three square bays and four triangular, and is evidently founded on the beautiful plan of the chevet of Toledo cathedral; but I must say that Pedro Gumiel “el Honrado,” Regidor of Alcalá, and architect of this church, has perfectly succeeded in avoiding any repetition of the beauties of Toledo; his work being thoroughly uninteresting and poor. The three western bays of the nave are open; the two eastern enclosed with screens and stalled for the Coro. A bronze railing under the Crossing connects the Coro with the Capilla mayor. There are no less than six pulpits here! two at the entrance to the choir for the Epistoler and Gospeller, two on the west of the Crossing, and two more opposite each other against the second column from the west in the nave. It looks just as though they had ordered a pair of pulpits as they did a pair of organs; and as preaching does not seem to be much the fashion now in Spain, I had no opportunity of learning how these many pulpits were to be used. There are two organs, one on each side over the Coro; that on the south so picturesque as to be worthy of illustration.
Organ, Alcalá.
Organ, Alcalá.
Two great monuments—one in the nave, and one under the Crossing—are remarkable for the position of the effigies with their feet to the west. On the south side of the south transept is a small chapel roofed with a most rich and delicate Moorish plaster ceiling; the whole was richly coloured. It did not appear to be earlier than the church, which is said to have been constructed between the years 1497 and 1509.
The University founded by Ximenes is in a wretched state of dilapidation; it is said to have been designed by the same Pedro Gumiel who built SS. Just y Pastor, but the work, so far as I saw it, was all Renaissance. The façade and court behind it were the work of Rodrigo Gil de Hontañon, between A.D. 1550 and 1553, and he destroyed Pedro Gumiel’s work in order to erect it. By the side of the college stands the church of San Ildefonso, which I suppose must be the chapel built by Pedro Gumiel. It is, I believe, desecrated, and no one could tell me where the key was to be found, so that I was unable to do more than get a note of the curious Cimborio from the exterior. It is not a lantern, but rather a raising of the whole centre of the church above the remainder. It is constructed of brick and stone, and is evidently of late date. Under this Cimborio, I believe, is the monument of the great Cardinal.
There are considerable remains of the old walls, with circular towers rather closely set around them. The bishop’s palace retains a fine tower, which seems to have been connected with the town walls. It is plain below, but has turrets picturesquely corbelled out on machicoulis over the centre of each side and at each angle. A wing of the palace which joins this tower has some very remarkable domestic windows, which deserve illustration. The shafts are of marble, the tracery and the wall below the sill of stone, but the wall of brick. The shafts are set behind each other, there is a good ball-flower enrichment in the label, and the mouldings are rich and good of their kind. Such a window seems to unite the characteristics of two or three countries, and is, indeed, in this, an epitome of Spanish art, which borrowed freely from other lands, and often imported foreign architects, yet, in spite of all this, is still almost always national in its character.
It is an easy journey from Alcalá to Guadalajara; and though the latter place disappointed me much, it is still worthy of a few hours’ delay to those who pass by it on the Madrid and Zaragoza railway. Seen from the distance it is an imposing city, and if it be seen as I saw it during fair time, full of peasants in gay costume, the general impression may be not unpleasant; but unfortunately, the early architectural remains are few and generally insignificant.
The church of Sta. Maria is the subject of a picturesque view in Villa Amil’s book, and he deserves great praise for the skill with which he has created something out of nothing. I could find no feature worth recording save its two Moresque doorways, in one of which—that at the west end—the arch is of the pointed horseshoe form, and the archivolt is built of bricks, some of which are set forward from the face of the wall in the fashion of the rustic work in the execution of which certain schools of architects everywhere seem to take a grave pleasure, of which, perhaps, it would be unkind to wish to deprive them.
The church of San Miguel has a portion of the exterior built in a rich nondescript style—debased Moresque is, perhaps, the right term for it—in the year 1540, as an inscription on the church records. The lower part of the only original portion remaining is built of rough stone, the upper of brick; and it is argued by some, I believe, that the use of the two materials proves that the work was executed at different epochs. To me it seemed that the whole was uniform in style, and evidently the work of sixteenth-century builders. It has large circular projections at the angles, which are finished with fantastic cappings, and sham machicoulis below the ponderous overhanging cornices which ornament the walls both at the end and sides. These cornices have deep brick consoles at intervals, the spaces between them filled with crosses on panels of terracotta. The rest of the church seems to be modernized. Both here and at Sta. Maria there are external cloister passages outside the church walls, modern in style and date, but similar in object to those of Segovia and Valladolid already described. Another little church, called La Antigua, has an eastern apse of brick and stone, with window openings of many cusps formed very simply with bricks of various lengths. This work is similar to much of the Moresque work at Toledo, and it is rather remarkable how continuous the line of Moresque buildings from Toledo to Zaragoza seems to be.
No. 27. GUADALAJARA. p. 203. PALACE OF THE DUKE DEL INFANTADO.
No. 27.
GUADALAJARA. p. 203.
PALACE OF THE DUKE DEL INFANTADO.
I saw no other old church here; but the very fine late Gothic palace del Infantado is well worth a visit. It is like so much Spanish work, a strange jumble of Gothic and Pagan, slightly dashed perhaps with Moorish sentiment, and with the somewhat strange feature that the most Gothic portion is above, and the most Pagan below. The façade has a rich late Gothic doorway, and the face of the wall is diapered all over with what look like pointed nail-heads. The two lower stages have windows of the commonest type, with pediments, whilst the upper stage has a rich open arcade, every third division of which has a picturesque projecting oriel, boldly corbelled forward from the face of the wall. Some Pagan windows have evidently been inserted here; and it is possible that some of the other details have been, but if so the work has been done so neatly that it is difficult to detect the alteration. The courtyard or patio has seven open divisions on two sides, and five divisions on the others, and is of two stages in height. The lower range of columns has evidently been modernized, but in the upper they are very richly carved and twisted. The arches are ogee trefoils cusped, and their spandrels are clumsily filled with enormous lions cut in deep relief, and boldly standing on nothing, whilst they manage to hold up a diminutive coat of arms as a sort of finial to the arch. In the upper arcades griffins take the place of the lions, and the arches are again richly cusped. I noticed the date of A.D. 1570 on the capital of one of the columns, but this I have no doubt was the date of the Pagan alterations, and not that of the original fabric, which is said to have been erected in the year 1461.[195]
The Dukes del Infantado had a grand palace in this building, and though it has long been neglected and disused, it seems as if it were again about to be occupied, as I found workmen busily engaged in a sort of restoration of the sculptures in the patio, which they were repairing, if I remember right, with plaster.
The sight of a river is always pleasant in this part of Spain, and so, though there is not much water in the Henares, I looked gratefully at it, and at the trees growing by its banks, as I sauntered down to the railway station after a rather weary day spent in vainly trying to find enough to occupy my time and my pencil.
A railway journey of two or three hours carries one hence to a far pleasanter and more profitable city, Sigüenza, whose cathedral is of first-rate interest, and, generally speaking, well preserved. It is, like so many of the Spanish churches, unusually complete in its dependent building’s; and though these sometimes obscure parts of the building which one would like to examine, they always add greatly to the general interest. The plan[196] here consists of a nave and aisles of only four bays in length, but the dimensions are so considerable that the interior does not look short. Two western towers are placed at the angles, touching the main walls only at one corner, and giving consequently great breadth to the façade. There are transepts and an apsidal choir, with an aisle, or procession-path—and no chapels—all round it. The choir is old, the procession-path of Renaissance character, and it is clear that when first built this church had no choir-aisle with surrounding chapels, and it was, I have no doubt, terminated in the usual early Spanish fashion, with three eastern apsidal chapels.
I have not met with any notice of the foundation of this church, save that given by Gil Gonzalez Dávila.[197] He says that the king Don Alonso, after having gained Toledo from the Moors, and appointed Bernardo archbishop, took Sigüenza, Al-maçan, Medina Celi, and other places of importance. He then restored the cathedral here, which was dedicated on June 19th, 1102, and appointed as first bishop Don Bernardo, a Benedictine monk, who had taken the habit at Cluny, and who was a native of France. The Archbishop of Toledo was his patron, and he was one of the many French bishops appointed at this time to Spanish sees through his great influence. The epitaph of D. Bernardo, given by Dávila, records that he rebuilt this church, and consecrated it on the day of St. Stephen in the year 1123. This inscription, however, is not of much value, as it was written after the translation of the bishop’s body in 1598. The second bishop was also a Frenchman, and a native of Poitiers.
No. 28 SIGÜENZA CATHEDRAL p. 304. INTERIOR OF NAVE AND AISLES LOOKING NORTH EAST
No. 28
SIGÜENZA CATHEDRAL p. 304.
INTERIOR OF NAVE AND AISLES LOOKING NORTH EAST
A very small portion—if indeed any—of the work of the first bishop now remains. There is one fragment of early Romanesque work to the east of the cloister, which no doubt formed part of it; and it is just possible that the three enormous cylindrical columns, which still remain in the nave, are of the same age. If this be so, I should be inclined to assume that the choir only was consecrated in A.D. 1123, and that the nave was commenced and carried on very slowly, until, as the style developed, the simple cylindrical columns were abandoned for the fine groups of clustered shafts which are elsewhere used. The general style of the church is a very grand and vigorous first-pointed, early in the style, but still not at all Romanesque in character; and I know few interiors which have impressed me more with their extreme grandeur and stability than this. The truth is, that the somewhat excessive solidity of the work—as heavy and ponderous in substance as the grandest Romanesque—is singularly noble when combined as it is here with very considerable height in the columns and walls, and with fine pointed arches, early traceried windows, and good sculpture. Unfortunately this massive grandeur is only a matter of envy to a wretched architect in the nineteenth century, whose main triumph, if he would prosper, must be to use as few bricks and as small fragments of stone as he can, to the intent that his work should certainly be cheap, and in forgetfulness, if possible, that it will also certainly be bad! Here, however, the architect wrought for eternity as far as was possible, and with a success which admits of no doubt and no cavil. He has been singularly fortunate, too, in the comparative freedom from subsequent alterations which his work has enjoyed. The Renaissance procession-path round the choir, which is the most important addition, certainly spoils the external effect; but it is hardly noticed in the interior, until you find yourself under its heavy and tame panelled roof, and outside the solid wall which still encircles the ancient apse.
The groining of the choir and transepts is sexpartite, but everywhere else it is quadripartite; and the ribs, which are very bold in their dimensions, are generally moulded, but over the crossing are enriched with the dog-tooth ornament. The same decoration is also carved on the clerestory windows of the choir and transepts.
The original windows generally still remain. Those in the aisles are single round-headed lights of grand size, with double engaged shafts, both inside and outside: those in the clerestory are of more advanced character, some being of two and some of four lights, of the best early plate tracery, with pointed enclosing arches. The western bay of the choir has lancet clerestory windows, and the apse of seven sides has also a lancet in each face, with a sort of triforium below, which is now closed, but which before the addition of the procession-path was probably pierced. Below this quasi-triforium the wall of the apse is circular in plan, whilst above it is polygonal, and the difference shows the very gradual way in which the building was erected, one of the most usual points of distinction between the Romanesque and the early-pointed planning of an apse being that in the former it is circular, and in the latter polygonal.
In speaking of the windows, I have omitted to mention the finest, which are undoubtedly the roses in the principal gables. That in the south transept is one of the finest I know;[198] and whilst it is remarkable for the vigorous character of its design it is also to be noted for a peculiarity which I have before observed in early Spanish traceries. This is the mode in which the traceries are, as it were, packed against each other. It is especially noticeable in the outer line of circles which are inserted like so many wheels abutting against each other, and without the continuous central moulding to which we are generally accustomed. Here, as well as in the interior, the dog-tooth ornament is freely used; and the outer mouldings of the circle are of good character.
The exterior of this church is of as great interest as the interior. The two western steeples are of the very plainest possible character, pierced merely with narrow slits, which light the small chambers in the interior of the tower.
The buttresses are of enormous size; and in the angles between them and the walls are set engaged shafts, which run up to and finish under the arcaded eaves-cornices with which the walls are finished under the roof. At the west end these shafts are carried up to a greater height, and support three bold arches, one in each division of the façade, corresponding in height pretty nearly with the groining inside. I find, on looking at my notes on this church, that I observed upon this as a feature which I recollected at Notre Dame, Poitiers; and there is some significance, therefore, in the record of the fact that the second bishop, in whose time probably this part of the church was built, was a native of that city.
The western door is round-arched, but the cornice over it has been destroyed; and the finish of the buttresses and whole upper part of the west front have been modernized. The transept doors are not old, but seem to be in their old places, placed close to the western side, so as not to interfere with the placing of an altar against the eastern wall. At Tudela cathedral the old doorways still remain just in the same place; and viewed in regard to convenience, and not with a view to making the most important and regular architectural elevation, there is no doubt as to the advantage of the plan.
In addition to the two western steeples there is also one of more modern erection and smaller dimensions on the east side of the south transept. The other late additions to the church are some chapels on the south side of the choir, a grand sacristy on its north side, some small chapels between the buttresses on the north side, and the Parroquia of San Pedro, running north and south, near the west end. This and the chapel on the south side of the choir are of late Gothic date, and of very uninteresting character. Indeed it is remarkable how little the work of the later Spanish architects ordinarily has in it that is of much real value. The early works always have something of that air of mystery and sublimity which is the true mark of all good architecture, whilst the later have generally too much evidence of being mere professional cut-and-dried works, lifeless and tame, like the large majority of the works to which a vicious system of practice has reduced us at the present day.
The cloister, to which also the same remark will apply, was finished in A.D. 1507 by Cardinal Mendoza, as we learn from an inscription in Roman letters with a Renaissance frame round them, which is let into the wall on the south side;[199] and I noticed that the very florid early Renaissance altar-tomb and door to the cloister, which fills a great part of the inside of the north transept, is inscribed to the memory of the same cardinal.[200]
The buildings round the cloister are not remarkable. The summer Chapter-house is of grand size, with a rather good flat painted ceiling, and pictures of the Sibyls against the walls. At the south end is a chapel with an altar, divided by an iron Reja from the Chapter-room.
A Renaissance doorway to another room on the east side of the cloister has the inscription, Musis. sacra. domus. hec, and leads to the practising-room for the choir.
The ritual arrangements here are of the usual kind. The bishop’s stall is in the centre of the west end, and was made for its place; but the whole of the woodwork is of the latest Gothic, and proves nothing as to the primitive arrangement. Gil Gonzalez Dávila[201] gives an inscription from the tomb of Simon de Cisneros, who died in 1326, and who is there said to be the bishop: “Qui hanc ecclesiam authoritate apostolica ex regulari in secularem reduxit ac multis ædificiis exornavit.” I hardly know what buildings still remaining can be exactly of this date; but it is evident that the statement refers to subordinate buildings and not to the main fabric of the church.
The people of Siguëuza seem to be more successful than is usual in Spain in the cultivation of green things. The cloister garden is prettily planted, and has the usual fountain in the centre. There is a grove of trees in the Plaza, on the south side of the church; and a public garden to the north is really kept in very fair order, and looks pleasantly shady.
I saw no other old building here except a castle on the hill above the town, with square towers projecting at intervals from the outer wall; but it seemed to have been much modernized, and I did not go into it.
[larger view]
[largest view]
SIGÜENZA: Ground Plan of the Cathedral &c. Plate XIII. Published by John Murray. Albemarle Street 1865
TOLEDO is now extremely easy of access from Madrid, a branch from the main line of the Alicante railway turning off at Castellejon, and reducing the journey to one of about two or three hours only, from the capital. Of old the road passed through Illescas, and the picturesque church there, illustrated by Villa Amil, made me regret that the less interesting railroad rendered the journey by road out of the question.
The country traversed by the railway is very uninteresting, and generally looks parched and arid to a degree. Near Aranjuez the waters of the Tagus have been so assiduously and profitably used, that a great change comes over the scene, and the train passes through woods where elms and other forest trees seem to thrive almost as well as they do in damp England; and one can easily understand how this artificial verdure in the plain must delight the Castilian, who otherwise, if he wishes to enjoy such sights, must leave the heat of the plain for the cold winds of the mountain ranges of the Guadarrama. Aranjuez is, however, but an oasis in this Castilian desert, and the railway, soon leaving it behind, wends its way along the treeless, leafless plain to the ecclesiastical capital of the kingdom. On the opposite or right bank of the Tagus, the hills rise to a considerable height, and here and there their dull brown outlines are marked, though hardly relieved, by large clusters of houses surrounding the lofty and apparently uninteresting churches which mark the villages, whose tout ensemble seems everywhere on nearer inspection most uninviting to the eye. The banks of the Tagus are more refreshing, for here the water-wheels for raising water, which line the margin of the stream, suggest some desire on the part of the people to make the most of their opportunities, and they are rewarded by the luxuriant growth which always attends irrigation in Spain.
I looked out long and anxiously for the first view of Toledo, but the hills, which nearly surround it, conceal it altogether until one has arrived within about two or three miles distance; and here, with the Tagus meandering through its vega in the foreground, the great mass of the hospital outside and below the city to the right hand, and the wall-encircled rock on which the city is perched, crowned by the vast mass of the Alcazar to the left, the view is certainly fine and impressive.
From most points of view, both within and without the city, the cathedral is seldom well, and sometimes not at all, seen, standing as it does on much lower ground on the side of the rock which slopes towards the least accessible part of the river gorge, and much surrounded by other buildings, whilst the Alcazar, which occupies the highest ground in the whole city, is so vast and square a block of prodigiously lofty walls (old in plan, but modern in most of their details), as to command attention everywhere. The other side of the river is edged by bold hills, and all along its banks are to be seen water-wheels so placed as to raise the water for the irrigation of the land on either side. It is not, however, until after more intimate knowledge of the city has been gained, that its extreme picturesqueness and interest are discovered. The situation is, indeed, most wild and striking. The Tagus, winding almost all round the city, confines it much in the fashion in which the Wear surrounds Durham. But here the town is far larger, the river banks are more rocky, precipitous, and wild than at Durham: whilst the space enclosed within them is a confused heap of rough and uneven ground, well covered with houses, churches, and monasteries, and intersected everywhere by narrow, Eastern, and Moorish-looking streets and alleys, most of which afford no passage-room for any kind of carriage, and but scanty room for foot passengers. It is, consequently, without exception, the most difficult city to find one’s way in that I have ever seen, and the only one in which I have ever found myself obliged to confess a commissionaire[202] or guide of some sort to be an absolute necessity, if one would not waste half one’s time in trying to find the way from one place to another.
The railway station is outside the city, which is entered from it by the famous bridge of Alcantara, which has a single wide and lofty arch above the stream, guarded on the further side by a gateway of the time of Charles V., and on the town side by one of semi-Moorish character. Above it are seen, as one enters, the picturesque apses of the old church of Santiago, and the tolerably perfect remains of the double enceinte of the city walls; whilst on the opposite side of the river, as a further guard to the well-protected city, was the Castle of San Cervantes[203] (properly San Servando), of which nothing now remains but a few rugged towers and walls crowning the equally rugged rocks.[204]
The road from the bridge, passing under the gateway which guards it into a small walled courtyard, turns sharply to the right under another archway, and then rises slowly below the walls until, with another sharp turn, it passes under the magnificent Moorish Puerta del Sol, and so on into the heart of the city.
The Alcazar is the only important building seen in entering on this side; but from the other side of the city where the bridge of San Martin crosses the Tagus, the cathedral is a feature in the view, though it never seems to be so prominent as might be expected with a church of its grand scale. From both these points of view, indeed, it must be remembered that the effect is not produced by the beauty or grandeur of any one building; it is the desolate sublimity of the dark rocks that bound the river; the serried phalanx of wall, and town, and house, that line the cliffs; the tropical colour of sky, and earth, and masonry; and, finally, the forlorn decaying and deserted aspect of the whole, that makes the views so impressive and so unusual. Looking away from the city walls towards the north, the view is much more riant, for there the Tagus, escaping from its rocky defile, meanders across a fertile vega, and long lines of trees, with here a ruined castle, and there the apse of the curious church of the Cristo de la Vega, and there again the famous factory of arms, give colour and incident to a view which would anywhere be thought beautiful, but is doubly grateful by comparison with the sad dignity of the forlorn old city.
The buildings to be studied here are of singular interest, inasmuch as they reflect in a great degree the striking history of the city itself, as well as of the kingdom of which it was so long the capital. There is no doubt that there was a cathedral, as well as some churches,[205] here before the conquest of this part of Spain, in A.D. 711, by the Moors; and in the course of the long period of nearly four centuries during which the Mahomedan rule lasted, many buildings were erected, and a Moorish population was firmly planted, which, when Alonso VI. regained the city in 1085, was still protected, and continued to live in it as before. The Moors had, indeed, set an example of toleration[206] worthy of imitation by their Christian conquerors; for though it is true that they converted the old cathedral into their principal mosque, they still allowed the Christians to celebrate their services in some other churches[207] which existed at the time of the Conquest; and during the greater part of the Christian rule, their tolerant example was so far followed, that the Moors seem to have enjoyed the same freedom, and to have lived there unmolested, whilst they built everywhere, and acted, in fact, as architects, in the old city, not only for themselves, but also for the Christians and the Jews, down to the establishment of the Inquisition. It is a very remarkable fact, indeed, that with one grand exception nearly all the buildings of the twelfth, thirteenth, and fourteenth centuries, which are to be seen here, are more or less Moorish in their character;[208] and though the cathedral, which is the one exception, is an example of thoroughly pure Gothic work almost from first to last, there never seems to have been any other attempt to imitate the Christian architectural idea of which it was so grand an exponent. I have purposely avoided going to those parts of Spain in which the Moors were undisputed masters during the middle ages; but here it is impossible to dismiss what they did without proper notice, seeing that, after Granada and Cordoba, perhaps nowhere is there so much to be seen of their work as in Toledo.
The buildings to be examined will be best described under certain heads, reserving the cathedral for the last, because some of the Moorish buildings are the oldest in the city, and these lead naturally on to the in which I shall attempt to take them will be therefore as follows:—
| I. | The Moorish mosque; |
| II. | The Jewish synagogues; |
| III. | The Moorish houses; |
| IV. | The Moorish work in churches; |
| V. | The gateways, walls, and bridges; |
| VI. | The cathedral and other examples of Christian art. |
There are, indeed, some works anterior to the rule of the Moors, for below the walls, in the vega, are said to be some slight remains of a Roman amphitheatre;[209] in addition to which there are still some fragments of work possibly Visigothic, and anterior therefore to the Moorish Conquest of 711. These are confined to a few capitals which have some appearance of having been re-used by the Moors in their own constructions, such e.g. as the capitals of the Mosque now called the “Cristo de la Luz,” and those of the arcades on either side of the church of San Roman, together with some fragments preserved in the court of the hospital of Sta. Cruz. They are very rudely sculptured, and bear so slight a resemblance to the early Romanesque work of the same period, that it is difficult, I think, to decide positively as to their age. It is certain, however, that the earliest distinctly Moorish capitals are entirely unlike them in their character, and quite original in their conception; and it is, of course, very possible that the Moors, pressed by the necessity of the case, would, after their conquest, not only have retained some of the existing buildings, but also have re-used the best of their materials in their new works.