The Court of Oranges is shaded on one side by the oldest parts of the Mosque. It is much larger than the Orange Court, or Patio de los Naranjos, of the cathedral of Seville. Here was once the Court of Ablutions, the place where the faithful purified themselves before venturing within the Mezquita. The fountains, five in number, remain to remind us of the original character of the courtyard. Women come here to fetch water from the clear springs. They carry tall jars upon their hips, or upon their heads, and loiter by the fountain to gossip.
This quiet court invites the aged and the idler. It is cool and gratefully shaded, and when the orange-trees are in bloom a fragrance pervades the place. The priests who officiate in the cathedral spend the hours of leisure here, pacing in pairs up and down, as they smoke their cigarettes. Now and again, one notes the lover waiting for his fair one amid the fountains and the palms.
Once there were nineteen beautiful gateways leading into the Court of the Oranges, and these were uniform with the nineteen aisles. We enter by the Puerta de los Palmas, facing the Puerta del Perdon. The sumptuous Gate of Pardon at once attracts us. It is over twenty feet high, with the characteristic horseshoe arches and the elaborate Oriental ornamentation. But this is not the ancient gate; it dates from the Christian recapture of Cordova, and is constructed in imitation of the Arabian work. It is surmounted by a belfry. The upper part of the horseshoe arches is exceedingly ornate, and on either side are coats of arms. The structure is in the Estilo Sarraceno. There are massive doors, coated with copper, upon which are inscriptions. Above the door are poorly painted frescoes.
The Bell Tower erected in place of the old minaret of Abd-er-Rahman III. is not Moorish. It was designed by Hernan Ruiz, one of the Christian architects who planned the cathedral. This tower is interesting as a later monument, but it is not in harmony with the Mosque. It rises higher than the former minaret, is more pretentious, and is out of character with the surroundings. On the top is a figure of San Rafael.
The Court of Oranges is over four hundred feet long and more than two hundred feet in breadth. There was a destruction of many of the trees during a violent storm about seventy years ago, and some of the orange-trees were not replaced. The courtyard has quiet cloisters on three sides, with pillars and arches in the Gothic style.
One side of the Patio de los Naranjos is occupied by the Mosque, and it is here we see the finest exterior work of the time of Abd-er-Rahman I. and Hisham. The portions added by Almanzor are behind the altar to the left, when entering by the Gate of Pardon. In the main the impression that one gains in the Court of Oranges is distinctly Moorish. The fountains, the trees, the fine doors of the Mosque, the walls, the gate on the eastern side, and the inscriptions are purely Oriental. For the rest there has been tampering. The hand of the ‘restorer’ can be traced, and the Bell Tower is an affront upon the old edifice.
Four of the fountains were originally constructed by Hakem II., when he had spent his energy upon improving the interior of the Mezquita. The two founts in the east were for the ablution of the women; the two in the west for the purification of the men. The fountains were scooped out of single blocks of marble, brought from one quarry. To bring these huge masses of marble to their positions in the Court of Oranges, it was necessary to make a sloping road. The fountains were drawn by oxen, and borne upon heavy carts, and seventy beasts were required for each team. When the tanks were set in their places, the water streamed in through the great aqueduct of Abd-er-Rahman I., and the surplus went to fill other fountains in the city.
There was no sparing of the toil of man or beast in the days when the Omeyyads reigned in Cordova, for each Khalif seemed eager for the completion of his share of work upon the Mezquita. The army of Morisco labourers was augmented by a host of Christian captives, and we read that these unfortunates were employed to carry stone upon their heads. We can imagine the files of Christians, each man bending under his burden, compelled to toil in the upraising of a mighty temple to the glory of Islam. But the pendulum swings, and time brings its changes in the fortunes of Moor and Christian. At a later period it is the Mudejar, the ‘reconciled’ Moor, who supports the cumbrous loads upon his head, and does the bidding of the Catholic in the construction of the cathedral. And out of all this labour and sweat, hewing of stone, forging of metal, carving of wood and ivory, beating of gold and silver, and laying on of choice, imperishable colours, we have the composite fane of to-day—the Christian cathedral enfolded in the more wondrous structure of the Mohammedan Mosque. Surely there are questions that flash upon the mind as we sit in the Orange Court, and listen to the throb of the bell calling the Christians to prayer within the ancient Mezquita of the Omeyyads!
But the Cordovese do not appear to ponder upon Time’s fantastic transformations. They muse of other things—the affairs of the hour—and regard the Mezquita as an excellent asset to their slumbrous and impoverished city. Every stranger within their walls is looked upon as a sightseer; and what should he come to see but the famous Mosque? And so the boys in the street, offering their services as guides through the labyrinthine white alleys, point ahead and cry: ‘Mezquita, Mezquita.’ For the building is not known as the cathedral; it is still called the Mosque, although it has been reconsecrated and dedicated to the worship of God and the Virgin Mother.
Climb to the top of the tower and look around upon the bleached houses of the city, the curving river, the dull green of the olive thickets, the yellow grain fields, and the grey ridges of the mountains. Everything is sharp, clear-cut in the unpolluted air, and glowing in the brilliant sunshine of the south. The thoroughfares are like a network, tangled and mazy. Carthaginian hosts crossed those sierras to conquer this coveted territory from the Iberians. Then came the legions of Rome, to expel the settlers and to found Corduba. Here stood the great temple of Janus in the days of Seneca and Lucan, the arena, the schools, and the institutions of a powerful and cultured people. But all these fell with the inrush of the Goths from the north, those intrepid warriors, fanatical as they were fearless; and Cordova saw the ruin of the Roman civilisation, and the inception of a new faith and a new social order.
The scene changes constantly; the action of the drama is vivid. Again the invading flood sweeps over Andalusia. The swarthy Moors advance in battle array to the walls of the city, and the affrighted Cordovese fly to their churches for hiding. Again there sounds the clash of weapons and the shouts of combatants. And Islam prevails; the Christian cathedral is given to the Moors, and the Mezquita takes its place.
For centuries the Omeyyad rules in Cordova, and shapes the city to his fashion, obliterating almost every trace of the preceding orders, creeds, and customs. These are the palmy days, whose memorial lies below us in the Mosque, and the bridge over the Guadalquivir. These are the days that made Cordova a name familiar in the ears of the civilised nations, the days of power, splendour, and learning, whose glory shone throughout the world. The new Mecca arose; the creed of the East conquered, and Iberia was transformed to the guise of the Orient. And as the Moorish sway spread, and the conquered Christians conformed to the new traditions, and the country prospered, men thought that this state was sound and stable, and probably final and perfect.
But the pendulum swung again; the dominion of Islam was threatened by enemies within and without. History repeated itself; Time worked its inevitable revenge, and a lustier race made profit from the decadence of the Morisco civilisation. Spain arose and turned upon her oppressor, and the streets of Cordova were once more drenched with the blood of Moor and Christian. This proud Bell Tower stands as a symbol of the reconquest, and of the decline of Cordova.
Christian Spain rejoiced in her change of fortune. The crusaders set themselves to demolish and to upheave. They abandoned the wholesome habits of the Moors; the baths were destroyed by the hundred as useless relics of the detested Mohammedan. Temples, colleges, and palaces were thrown down. Science, the arts, and letters were neglected. We have read how trade forsook Cordova, and how the light of learning was almost extinguished. Gone were the cultured days of Abd-er-Rahman III., and the resplendent pomp of Almanzor. The Mecca of the West had fallen; the fate of Roman Corduba had come upon it. There was no revival, no uprising of the ruins from the ashes that could remake Cordova in the semblance of its old self. Vestiges alone remained to remind the beholder of the grandeur and the glory of the Mohammedan domination. A misdirected imperialism, an irrational conception of greatness, wrought the wreckage of the ‘Bride of Andalus’ after her recapture by the Christian Spaniards.
Before the rise of Mahomet, the architecture of the Arabs was almost devoid of those specific characters that we find in the later work of Omeyyad designers and artists. The pristine Arabian edifices were built as though the tent served as the model for the architects of this nomadic race. But in the great Mosque of Omar at Jerusalem we have the first example of a new and vigorous development of the art of architecture. The minaret, or praying-tower, was invented by Alwalid, and other distinctive features of the Moorish or Saracenic style were introduced in religious buildings.
In the earliest Morisco-Spanish edifices there was not much original work. The Visigothic temples were reconsecrated to the new faith and adapted to the plans of the primitive Mohammedan mosques, but the designs and style of decoration were not purely Morisco. The work was probably influenced by Persian and ancient Egyptian art, and according to Señor F. M. Tubino it contained Semitic elements. We shall also note the incorporation of the Corinthian capital with the slender Moorish column of marbles of various colours. The characteristic horseshoe arch, with its delicate columns, was one of the earliest manifestations of the developing art of the Moors. There has been much discussion concerning the introduction of the pointed arch, which is so often claimed as ‘Gothic.’ The arch in architecture was no doubt copied from the curved interlacing of the branches of trees, and the wide, flat arch was succeeded by models of a more pointed type. In the thirteenth century the pointed arch was a comparatively common form, and it is fairly evident that its origin was in the East.
In the Mosque of Jerusalem, and of Amrou, in Cairo, there were early examples of the pointed arch. The contrary flexure is a form of pointed arch, and it was used by the Moors. Sir Christopher Wren, and other authorities upon architectural art, lean to the opinion that the so-called Gothic arch is of Oriental origin. There are, however, a number of students who have endeavoured to disprove the Moorish genesis of the narrow arch.
In the First Period of Morisco architecture, the talent and the energy of the designers were chiefly applied to the planning of military defences, towers, walls, and embattlements. The Second Period was one of greater security from the alarms of wars, and the architects devoted their art to devising religious structures and noble mosques. In the Third Period we see the upraising of fine secular buildings, palaces, dwelling-houses, with their courts and colonnades, and the erection of sumptuous marble baths.
From the eighth to the eleventh century the style in Spain is known as the Arab-Spanish, and is sometimes called the Estilo Califato. This style is ‘Saracenic,’ with Jewish features. In the next period, from the twelfth to the thirteenth century, we have the Almohade development of Arabian architecture, whose examples may be seen in most of the Moorish cities of Spain. The last period—from the fourteenth to the fifteenth century—which marks the decline of the pure Morisco designs, is sometimes described as the Alhamares.
The salient characteristics of Moorish architecture are the groves of slender columns, the interlacing horseshoe arches in bewildering profusion, the minaret, with its gradually inclined path in lieu of steps for the ascent, the gorgeous colouring of flat surfaces, the mosaics, dazzling gildings, and decorations of precious stones and jewels. It was the Moor who discovered the art of preserving colour and rendering his adornments imperishable. The flat illuminations were probably imitations of Egyptian decoration, but it is not certain that the secret of preserving the lavish and brilliant colours was derived from Egypt.
In selecting his woods for the purposes of decorating the Mosque of Cordova, the Moor employed those of the most durable texture, so durable, indeed, that age has scarcely left its mark upon them. The bricks and stones are equally lasting, as may be proved by an inspection of the walls of the Mezquita. There was no hasty work in the construction of the temple of Allah. Nothing was used except material of a permanent quality. The treasure of the earth, its forests and its mountains, was employed in the great labour of duty and devotion.
It has been suggested that the horseshoe arch has a very ancient symbolic meaning of a Phallic origin. This is, perhaps, not the occasion for discussing this theory. It is apparent that the Moors employed this form of decoration upon every opportunity and complicated it in a variety of styles. They used it in their doorways, aisles, cloisters, and windows. The Ajimez window is typically Morisco. It has usually from two to three arches, supported on fine columns, and is exceedingly graceful in design. Ajimez signifies a window through which the sun or light shines. For effects of light in the interiors of their fanes the Morisco architects designed several ingenious apertures, such as the star-shaped window, through which the daylight peers with singular weirdness.
The defect of the Mosque of Cordova is in a want of space above the naves. We lack the grandeur of height within the building. Loftiness does not seem to have appealed to the designers. The average height of the columns is about sixteen feet. Length and breadth have, however, been carefully considered in the construction of the temple, and the long arched aisles are like forest avenues. There were once one thousand and twelve columns in the building, but many of these were removed when San Fernando commanded that the Mezquita should be adapted as a Christian cathedral.
The Vizier, Almanzor, removed the eastern wall of the Mosque and extended the building in order to add eight new naves. These naves had the same number of arches as those already standing, and they were intersected at right angles with lesser naves, thirty-five in number. At this period a lack of space necessitated a narrowing of some of the arches, and the curves were made more pointed. Every conceivable ornamentation was introduced in the beautifying of these arches.
The foseyfasa, or enamel-work of the Moors, is seen in its brilliant examples in the Mosque. This enamel, called foseyfasa by the Arabs, is composed of crushed glass and small pebbles baked together with gorgeous colours, and sometimes containing an admixture of gold and silver. It was used at Damascus, in the great Mosque, and at Constantinople. According to Gayangos, this mosaic enamel was set in its place by Greek mechanics imported by Abd-er-Rahman. This work is finely exampled upon the entrance to the sanctuary, and throughout the Mosque there are specimens of this wondrous art of embellishment.
The principal nave of the Mezquita has huge arches on stone columns, with finely carved capitals, and a large number of minor arches in the Estilo del Califato. Most of these columns were made from the stone of Spanish quarries. They are of jasper, marble, and other stone, and number nearly nine hundred. Narrow avenues run transversely through the grand aisles. We are lost in them; these passages appear interminable, and their ribbon decorations bewilder the eyes.
We approach the sacred mih-rab, the receptacle of the Koran, the holiest of holies of the temple. The façade is exceedingly beautiful, in the later style of decoration, and the arcades of the vestibule of the sanctuary have fine triple arches and interlacing curves of exquisite design. The dome is cone-shaped.
The door is in the Estilo del Califato, dazzling in the wealth of its colouring, marvellous in the grace and symmetry of its main arch, trefoil arches, and delicate frets. The mih-rab is seven-sided, with a cupola of extraordinary richness of hue, and details of the greatest interest. One is baffled in attempting to describe this sanctuary. The technical terms of architecture do not convey a conception of its beauty to the lay mind. In the days of its glory, the mih-rab was illuminated by an enormous lamp and huge candles. El-Makkari, the Arab, says that the great lantern had nearly fifteen hundred lights, and that the total number of lights was over ten thousand. The enamels shone with their brilliant hues in the rays of these lamp-lights and candles until the eye could scarcely rest upon the walls and the cupola. Here the khalifs came in pomp to worship, and to scan reverently the pages of the costly Koran.
The hollowed roof of the mih-rab and the floor are of white marble. We may see the marks worn by the knees of the faithful who came hither to pay their devotions to the Father of Islam. The mosaics of the walls exhibit the finest designs and richest tones of the foseyfasa work. This is the third mih-rab, the production of Hakem, and it is a retreat that speaks eloquently of that piety which seeks to glorify a deity by the erection and adornment of a temple. It is resplendent beyond compare.
This chamber was the repository of the famous nimbar, a pulpit on wheels, which had seven steps, and could be moved to any part of the Mosque. When the Christians regained power in the city, this highly ornamented pulpit was cut into pieces, and portions of it were used in the construction of the altar. The superb copy of the Koran, to which we have referred before, was kept in a golden case, mounted with precious stones. It was so heavy that two men were required to carry it.
Upon the ceiling of the Mezquita there were formerly inscriptions. Among them were the command: ‘Be not one of the negligent,’ and the dictum: ‘There is no God but Allah, to whom all beings address themselves in their need.’ The Christians effaced these inscriptions when the Mosque was purified and consecrated to the Virgin Mother.
In the Capilla de Villaviciosa we shall see the Arab-Byzantine crossed arches on decorated columns. This was the retreat of the Khalif, and it was once lined with silver. The chapel is the only one of Moorish interest. There are forty-five Christian chapels, but these scarcely demand inspection. In front of the Capilla of San Pablo is the tomb of Pablo de Céspedes, the Cordovese painter. This chapel has a horseshoe arch with sharp points. The Capilla de la Cena contains ‘The Last Supper,’ painted by Céspedes. And in the Sala Capitular were statues by Alonso Cano and de Mora.
The chapels were constructed from the side aisles of the Mezquita when the building was dedicated to the Christian faith. After the capture of Cordova by San Fernando, the original work of the Moorish builders was spoiled in many parts of the Mezquita. Large surfaces, beautifully designed and coloured, were removed by the innovators, columns were pulled down, and screens destroyed. ‘The gold lavished on the panelled ceilings,’ so praised by an Arab poet, was obliterated in many places; the Christian architects wrought havoc in almost every part of the structure. No doubt the pious reconstructors were unconscious of their vandalism. They sought to improve upon the art of the Mohammedans, and to build a worthier edifice. But their failure is only too apparent, and it has been admitted by Spanish writers. Charles V. expressed sorrow at the garish and meagre innovations, saying that the designers and craftsmen had destroyed a great and unique work of art in their endeavour to improve upon the design of the Moriscos.
From the time of the taking of Cordova by the sainted King Ferdinand, Spanish architects and artificers designed and constructed additions to the interior and exterior of the beautiful Mezquita. We have already described these additions as often incongruous and for a great part unlovely. San Fernando caused the erection of the first Christian chapel within the Mosque, and it occupied a position by the south wall, covering three naves from east to west, and four transverse naves from north to south. The chapel, which was dedicated to St. Clement, enclosed two Moorish arches.
Following the example of the sovereign, several noblemen erected chapels in the Mezquita. In 1250 Don Diaz de Haro built the chapel of Santa Inez, and later Domingo Muñoz erected that of San Bartolomé. Enriched by donations from the pious, the Chapter of the Cathedral undertook to transform the building, and even sought to improve upon the work of the Mohammedans. They removed the apartment of the Kadi, destroyed the chamber of the Khalif, known as the maksurrah, and in its place reared the Grand Chapel. The chapels of St. John and of Santiago were built between 1260 and 1265.
At this time four Mudejares, or reconciled Moors, were employed upon the work of altering the Mosque. It was evidently the wish of the improvers that the Arabic tradition should be followed in the construction of the arches and the plan of the decorations; but already the Moorish art was declining, and these latest examples of Morisco design and ornamentation do not display that wealth of imagination and high skill which characterised the Omeyyad craftsmanship. Hence the work in the Cathedral became more ‘Gothic’ and less Arab-Byzantine, as piece by piece the chapels were added to the structure of Abd-er-Rahman, Hakem II., and Almanzor.
The worst vandalism was wrought when the great Choir was made under the sanction of Charles V., who afterwards regretted that he had consented to the alterations. In order to erect the Coro, with its high roof, the old Moorish ceiling was destroyed. The architect originally employed upon the Grand Chapel and Choir was the celebrated Hernan Ruiz, who achieved some notable designs in the Plateresque style. The retablo, or high altar, is by Alonso Matias, and the painting is the work of Palomino.
In the Coro the seats are beautifully carved by Pedro Cornejo. The Capilla de Nuestra Señora de Villaviciosa is perhaps the most interesting of the many Christian chapels erected within the Mezquita. It is in the later Moorish style. Céspedes’ painting of ‘The Last Supper’ is in the Capilla de la Cena; and the tomb of this artist, who was a native of the city, is near the Capilla de San Pablo.
In the Christian Cathedral there are many examples of the composite Moorish and Gothic architecture, which is known in Spain as the Estilo Mudejar. Portraits of saints and paintings of living things were introduced later, in contravention of the Mohammedan law forbidding such representations in the decoration of holy buildings. Statues were also placed in the Cathedral. The brilliant Plateresque style eventually succeeded the later Mudejar work; the decorations were fanciful and flamboyant, and not always inspired by the highest æsthetic sense. Finally, in the seventeenth century, the Baroque style became the fashion of the hour, and the arts of pictorial embellishment and of carving degenerated often into the bizarre and the theatrical. Wood was used in place of stone for statuary, and many of the fine old altar-pieces in the Spanish churches were destroyed to give place to grotesque and more ‘realistic’ conceptions.
As early as 1278 the minaret of Abd-er-Rahman III. was crowned with the Christian figure of Saint Raphael, and at the time of the alterations under the direction of Hernan Ruiz the bulk of the Moorish praying-tower was removed, and the much loftier belfry erected. Most of the beautiful doors of the Mosque were blocked up during the progress of the reconstruction. The door of the Gate of Pardon was decorated by Henry II., and is in the later Mudejar style, with Christian images above it. Such are among the many examples of the curious blending of Moorish and Christian forms of design and styles of ornamentation within and without the Mosque.
For further examples of Mudejar architecture we may visit the Hospital del Cardinal, where there is a fine chapel dedicated to San Bartolomé. The Church of Santa Marina was originally Moorish, but it is now modern. Relatives of the Gran Capitan Gonsalvo are buried in the San Hipolito.
Very little of the ancient Moorish Alcazar remains. On the south side there are a bath and some towers, and the plot by the river is beautifully shady with semi-tropical foliage and fruit-trees. The old Alcazar was originally the Palace of the Khalifs, and it covered a large area. It contained huge and sumptuous chambers and several handsome baths, which were destroyed during the reign of Isabella. The northern part of the building was erected in the time of Alfonso XI., about a century after the recapture of Cordova by San Fernando.
The gate leading to the bridge is no longer Moorish. It was designed by a Christian architect. We gain a glimpse of the sierras through the portal, and passing through, reach the many-arched bridge, leading to the Campo de la Verdad. The foundations are Roman, and it was probably built in the time of Cæsar. At the far end is the Calahorra, a picturesque tower. In the centre stands the shrine of the patron saint of Cordova, St. Raphael, the archangel.
This bridge was the scene of many conflicts during the Moorish occupancy of the city. Long before it was built, when Cæsar came to attack Cordova, he constructed a temporary bridge across the Guadalquivir, by placing large baskets of stones in the river and laying timber upon them.
The Moorish water-mills, which can be seen from the bridge, are interesting relics. The river, the mills, the bell-tower of the Mosque, and the walls form a picture which lives in the memory. The view lacks the stern grandeur of that from the Bridge of Toledo, but it is nevertheless beautiful. In flood-time the river seethes by the buttresses, and tumbles through the arches to spend itself below in a wide and imposing stream. And at night, when the moon gleams on the Guadalquivir, and lights the Mosque, and lingers upon the ancient walls and towers, the scene is one of fairy-like enchantment.
Men fish above and below the bridge, employing curious lever nets and other quaint tackle for the capture of shad and eels. Along the verge of the swirling stream busy women kneel to rinse and wring their linen, and to spread the garments upon the green banks to dry in the hot sun. The devout pause before the shrine in the centre of the bridge, and pay their reverence to St. Raphael. Here, too, loiter the idlers of Cordova; they lounge and blink at the water, and smoke their cigarettes in the sunshine. And on market-days there is a stream of pack-mules and asses, heavy wains with teams of horses, and droves of cattle across the long Puente.
The spell of Cordova holds one long after leaving the city. One recalls the white, tortuous alleys, and the luminous blue shadows of the Mosque at noonday. The odours of orange-bloom and of roses are wafted to the nostrils, as one thinks of the silent patios, where the footstep echoes, and the huerta by the river, where there are trees and plants of the tropics. One hears the rattle of the mule-wagon upon the stony thoroughfares, the first streets that were ever paved in Spain; the nightly cry of the watchman, in his mediæval garb; the jangling of church bells the call of the water-seller, carrying his tall Oriental jar; the rich liquid tones of the nightingales in the gardens and the thickets of the Guadalquivir; the early morning scream of the hawk floating over the bell-tower, and the bleating of the wandering herds of goats. Cordova is Moorish, Spanish, Andalusian, but, still more than all, Oriental. Wonderful Moors! Marvellous city of light, colour, beauty, and romantic memories!
The ‘holy and learned’ city of Cordova has ever produced sons worthy of its renown. There were, no doubt, many philosophers, teachers, and poets during the Mohammedan dominion, whose names have not been preserved, and whose works have perished. Corduba was the birthplace of Seneca, the relative and the contemporary of Lucan, and one of the greatest men that the city produced.
The moralist and philosopher was a delicate, ailing child, and throughout his life he suffered from ill-health, which was increased by his severe studies, and possibly by his asceticism. Seneca was one of the first strenuous advocates of the vegetarian diet and ‘the simple life.’ It is said that he subsisted upon the plainest fare and practised rigorous self-denial.
There is much that is admirable in the character of Seneca, but there are also traits that appear extremely incompatible with his constant insistence upon right conduct and purity of life.
The genius of Seneca was soon recognised by the rulers in Cordova, and his fame reached Rome, whither he went, and where he was received with the respect that his deep learning merited. His career was, however, checked by his unfortunate intrigue with Julia, the married sister of the Emperor Caligula. As a punishment for his adultery he was sent to Corsica, where he lived in banishment for eight years.
During this long spell of solitude Seneca mused and studied, and found the period of exile one of fruitfulness to the mind. Yet when he was recalled to Rome, at the intercession of Agrippina, the philosopher exhibited a keen desire for wealth, which is scarcely reconcilable with his affirmations concerning the life of simplicity and self-denial. In order to make money, he did not hesitate to lend sums at an exorbitant interest. He became a courtier, and was the confidential tutor of Nero; but at the height of his fortune he conspired against the emperor. His condonation of Nero’s murder of his mother was an elaborate piece of casuistry, devised for no other reason than the desire to retain the royal patronage. In this and in other episodes, the career of Seneca bewilders us, and provides matter for reflection upon the inconsistency of human nature and the fallibility of even the greatest ethicists.
The last pages in the life of the philosopher are sad. He was condemned to death as a traitor, and he had married a young wife. When he heard that the guards were on their way to arrest him, Seneca resolved to open one of his veins and to bleed to death. His loyal and loving wife begged to share his fate, and at her request he cut one of her veins. But Seneca was old, seventy years of age, and his blood flowed so slowly that he could not die. In his desperation he drank a cup of hemlock, hoping to poison himself, and by that means put an end to his anguish. Yet even the hemlock potion failed. Asphyxiation in a heated chamber at last brought death to the aged sage, and by timely attention the life of his young wife was saved.
Marcus Annæus Lucanus, or Lucan, was born in Cordova in the year A.D. 38 or 39. He was the nephew of Seneca, and his father was a public servant held in esteem in the city. Our data for a biography of Lucanus are very scanty. He wrote poems before he left Cordova, and encouraged the writing of Latin verse among the Spanish residents. His great work, the Pharsalia, was left unfinished.
Lucan was lauded by Tacitus as a poet. He went to Rome, and it is recorded that he vanquished Nero in one of the poetical tournaments in which that monarch delighted. The egotistic emperor never forgave Lucan for beating him in this literary contest. He vindictively forbade the poet to write any more poems or to recite to audiences. We need not be surprised that the aggrieved poet rebelled against this attempt to utterly silence his song, to deprive him of the exercise of his art, and to crush him. Lucan was aroused. He became one of the conspirators of Piso, and plotted against the power of Nero.
When he was arrested, and offered pardon if he would name his accomplices in the plot, Lucan falsely accused his mother Atilia of complicity. This cowardly resort was, however, of no avail. He was not spared by the vengeful Nero, who gave the poet his choice of death. Lucan chose the usual Roman mode of opening a vein in a bath. He is said to have recited one of his poems as he died.
Ibn-Roshid Averroes, the most renowned of the Arabian philosophers, was born in Cordova in A.D. 1120. He came of a high-born family held in honour in the city. His grandfather was a Kadi of Cordova. In his youth Averroes learned law, mathematics, theology, and the practice of medicine. His reputation as a man of erudition and of force of intellect caused Almanzor to grant him privileges. He was appointed Kadi of the city of Seville.
The story of the life of Averroes is an example of the eternal conflict between the reformer of thought and morals and the mass of the people of his age. Averroes was misunderstood, impeached as a dangerous heretic, and condemned as an enemy of humanity. The Moors, in spite of their culture, could manifest rank fanaticism when they encountered any teaching that seemed to contradict the writings of the Koran, or the traditional piety. Averroes was a follower of Aristotle, although he remained a Mohammedan, and as the Greek philosophy did not accord completely with the dogmas of Mohammed, the teacher was arraigned as an assailant of religion and a foe to morality. His ostracism was thorough. The noble man was pelted with stones by boys in the street, and scorned by the whole city.
Shrinking from this terrible spectacle of the humiliation and cruelty heaped upon the innocent head of his revered tutor, the young Maimonides, a diligent pupil of Averroes, fled from Cordova. Averroes soon after left the city, and wandered in Morocco. But he was not allowed to roam unmolested. At Fez the populace treated him with gross inhumanity. He was forced to stand on the step of the mosque, and every one who passed into the House of Allah spat in the philosopher’s face. Hunted, despised, and bereft of the opportunity for using his learning for the good of humanity, Averroes dissembled and professed to repent of his heresies. We can hardly experience surprise at this. His humiliation and his trials had been such that few men could endure without a loss of reason or a total paralysis of aspiration.
Averroes returned to Cordova. But he was still avoided and looked upon as a felon, and his poverty and miserable state continued. Eventually he was reinstated. There was a reaction of feeling; bigotry was wearing out, and the virtues and attainments of the great thinker were recognised at their worth. The chief work of Averroes was his philosophy, compounded of Aristotle and the teaching of Neo-Platonism. His writings upon Aristotle are not of the highest value, for he was unversed in the Greek language.
Like Seneca, the Arab teacher Averroes was a rigidly plain liver. He contented himself with common raiment, slept on hard couches, and made only one meal in twenty-four hours. Averroes was not only reputed for his culture and his philosophical treatises; he bore the character of amiability, simplicity of manner, and extreme courteousness. He rises far above Seneca in the conduct of life and the application of his principles to actions. He was a true moral philosopher. Cordova has produced many illustrious sons, but certainly not a greater man since his day.
For some time the philosophy of Averroes was regarded as highly dangerous among the Moors of Cordova. It was considered equally injurious to the Christian faith, for all the works of the Arab doctor were placed upon the Catholic Index.
Cordova gave many valiant soldiers to the world, but none more brave than the Gran Capitan. The hero’s name was Fernandez Gonsalvo, or Hernandez de Cordova. He was born in 1453, and arose to fame about 1495. ‘Nursed amid the din of battle,’ Gonsalvo accompanied his father to the courts of Alfonso and Isabella. He fought in Portugal, showing remarkable intrepidity at the great battle of Albuera. At Monte Frio the Great Captain led the besiegers in scaling the ramparts. At Granada his horse was killed beneath him, but he mounted that of his attendant, who lost his life in the encounter. In the Calabrian campaign, Gonsalvo led the army. For his prowess he was made Viceroy of Naples.
The life of the Gran Capitan is a chapter of moving romance. In the Spanish estimation he is almost as mighty and adorable as the Cid. Gonsalvo was over sixty when he died. He was a born commander, capable of judging character and of leading men, and possessed of extraordinary bravery and coolness in action. His manners were urbane and pleasing.
The city is associated with at least three famous painters of the Andalusian school: Pedro de Cordova, Pablo de Céspedes, and Juan Valdés Leal. The Museo of Cordova is not a very important collection of paintings, but it contains some works of Céspedes, Zurbarán, and Ribera. Zurbarán’s best work is not to be seen in Cordova. Ribera’s ‘Rest on the Flight into Egypt,’ in the Museo, is a fine picture, but it is injured by the state into which it has fallen through neglect. It is deplorable that so many of the paintings in the collection at Cordova are in a condition of decay. During our visit to the city we were appalled at the indifference exhibited by those in charge of the pictures.
There is evidence that Cordova under the Moors contained some works of the early Spanish schools of painting. Pablo de Céspedes, in an essay, states: ‘In the parish church of San Pedro, in our city of Cordova, on the right wall, there are many paintings of those times which escaped the barbarous fury of the Moors when they held that place, though they have not escaped the ravages of time and the neglect of those intrusted with the care of the church. The consequence is, they are scarcely intelligible from the injury which they have received and the dust which has accumulated upon them. This sort of painting, rude and savage as it is, appears to have been the ashes whence was destined to spring that fairest Phœnix of modern art which has since burst forth in such splendour and riches.’
The first painter of Cordova of whom we have a brief record is Pedro de Cordoba. In 1475 he painted the Annunciation, which is still to be seen in the Capilla del Santo Cristo of the Mezquita. The picture is representative of Gothic art; but it is in a poor light, and the canvas is in a condition of neglect.
Cordova was ranked as the second centre of art in Andalusia; and the Italian influence, which succeeded the Gothic, was exemplified in the productions of the cultured and versatile Pablo de Céspedes, who was born in the city in 1538. This artist, who wrote a celebrated poem on the art of painting, is ranked among the writers as well as the painters of his nation. He studied in Italy, and became one of the canons of the Cathedral of Cordova. In Rome he painted frescoes after the manner of Correggio. ‘The Last Supper,’ and two pictures of ‘St. John’ and ‘St. Andrew,’ are in the Mezquita, and in these we see the intellectual quality of this painter’s art. Cean Bermudez, the Spanish critic, ranked Pablo de Céspedes high as a colourist, and especially in flesh-tints. Most of the pictures by Céspedes have perished.
Juan de Valdés Leal was born in Cordova in 1630. Most of the painter’s life was spent in Seville, where he was regarded as the rival of Murillo. His most sincere, and one of his earliest compositions is in Cordova, in the Church of the Carmen. This work is interesting because it instances the dramatic qualities of the painter. The retablo is painted in eleven different parts, representing the life of the prophet Elijah. Most of the work of Valdés Leal is to be seen in Seville.
Antonio de Castillo y Saavedra, born in Cordova in 1603, revived the best traditions of Céspedes. Castillo was one of the first of the Spanish landscape-painters, but his strength lay in the presentment of figures. His colour is not his forte, as will be seen from a study of his pictures in the Museo. Perhaps his most admirable work is the ‘Denial of St. Peter.’ Castillo unfortunately attempted to imitate Murillo, and it is said that he was envious of the reputation of that more popular painter. This artist seems to have spent most of his time in Cordova, where he died in 1667.
The poet Luis de Gongora was born in the city in 1561. His first studies were at the University of Salamanca, whither he was sent at the age of fifteen, to learn law. While at the College he became exceedingly worn in health, but his disease was not mortal, and his recovery was accounted miraculous. While still a youth Gongora wrote poetry. He showed but little aptitude for the profession of lawyer, and upon his return to Cordova he cultivated his bent for poetry.
In person Luis de Gongora was tall and powerfully built. He was a caustic writer, and in his first period his style was simple and delightful. But he became more mannered and affected as he grew older, and his later work was marred by pomposity, extravagance, and often by sheer absurdity. His mannerisms were, however, regarded as the fruit of rare genius by his host of disciples and imitators. Gongorism became the fashion among poetasters in Spain, and the followers of this master of eccentricity were slavish flatterers and fanatical worshippers.
At forty-five Gongora left Cordova and entered the Church. He afterwards lived in Madrid. In the capital he was under the patronage of influential hidalgos and nobles, and Philip III. made him his honorary chaplain. Gongora eventually returned to his native place, where he died at the age of sixty-six, in the year 1627.
In spite of his stilted style and metrical defects, Gongora was endowed with true poetic talent. Writing of him, Lope de Vega said: ‘I have known this gentleman for eight-and-twenty years, and I hold him to be possessed of the rarest and most excellent talent of any in Cordova, so that he need not yield even to Seneca or Lucan, who were natives of the same town.’
It is not a little singular that the present Cathedral of Cordova is better known to the inhabitants of the city as La Mezquita, or Mosque, than by its Christian designation; which circumstance may be taken as a proof of the great influence exerted over Spanish thought and feeling by the Moorish occupation of the Peninsula.
The truth is that Spanish and Moorish interests had much in common, and both nations had equal pride in the celebration of notable deeds performed by Mussulman or Christian. The mingling of the two peoples after the conquest of Granada gave, at least to the commonalty of both nations, a spirit of charity which it had been better to foster than to extinguish.
This gentle sentiment is well expressed in a lament by Amados de los Rios, a great Spanish antiquary and Orientalist, who sings a mournful requiem over the departed glories of the Mosque, once the model of Arab architecture, and the pride of Islam:—
‘Neither the sumptuous Christian fabric that to-day rises in the midst of those countless columns, nor all the treasures of art lavished upon it by the celebrated artists of the sixteenth century who erected it, nor that interminable series of chapels of every epoch which, resting against the walls of the Mosque, disfigure it; nor the clumsy angels that seem to suspend their flight to shed glory over the divine service, nor the words of the Evangelist sounding from the seat of the Holy Spirit, can dispel or banish in the slightest degree the majesty of those wandering shades, that in vain seek in the sanctuary the sacred volume whose leaves, according to tradition, were enamelled with the blood of the Khalif Othman, martyr to the faith. A world of souvenirs here enthralls the mind of the traveller as he gazes with a feeling of sorrow upon these profanations,—works dictated by the intolerant yet sincere faith of our ancestors, impelled by the desire of banishing for ever from that spot consecrated to the law of Jesus, the spirit of Mohammed and the ghosts of his slaves that haunt it, and will for ever haunt it while it exists. For, in spite of the mutilations it has endured, and of the changes it has undergone, there is impressed upon it, by a superior ineradicable law, the seal of the art that inspired it, and the character of the people by whom it was planned and erected.’
Don Amados is not alone in his eloquent, if unavailing protest. When Charles V., in 1526, visited Cordova, and observed St. Peter’s (the Coro) rising out of the very centre of the Mosque, he rebuked the Bishop, Alonso Manriquez, who had erected the incongruous edifice, in no measured terms. When the king saw the extent of the mischief, he said: ‘You have built here what you or any one might have built elsewhere; but you have spoilt what was unique in the world.’ Alas! the monarch had forgotten, or did not choose to remember, that the declaration came with a very bad grace from one who, for his never-completed palace at Granada, had torn down whole Courts and Halls of the Alhambra.
Like most Moorish buildings, the exterior of the Great Mosque of Cordova has a somewhat forbidding aspect, and rises before one much unlike a house of prayer.
The vast interior of the Mosque may be likened to a petrified grove of palm-trees, their stems strangely varied in colour, and in amazing perspective to all points of the compass. Marble columns of every hue, from pure white and translucent alabaster, through the intervening red, the precious verde antique, jasper, porphyry, all shades, to the deepest black; the variety only to be explained by the fact that the great builders Abd-er-Rahman I., together with his son and successor, Hisham I., procured their materials whenever and wherever they could ‘acquire’ them. Many of the columns being too tall, were ‘topped’ to supply a deficiency in the length of another—a process eloquent of the pillage of many a distant city.[1]
All historians agree that the great Mosque of Cordova owes its inception to Abd-er-Rahman I., the first sovereign to reign independently over Andalus. Directly the Sultan found himself comparatively free from his turbulent rivals, and firmly established on the throne, he began the building of his royal palace—that of the pleasure-house called Rissafah, and of the great Mosque. The circumstances which led to the erection of the Mosque are thus related:—
When a city surrendered to the Moors by capitulation, it was their custom to divide with the Christians the principal temple of that city. So, for instance, when Damascus was taken, the principal temple was divided, half of it remaining in the hands of the inhabitants for their form of worship, while the other half was appropriated to the use of the Moslems, who forthwith converted their moiety into a Mosque.
According to this usage, when the Arabs entered Cordova they divided with the Christians their principal place of worship, all other churches, both within and without the city, being immediately pulled down. The Moslems remained for a long time satisfied with this state of affairs, until their number increased, and Cordova became a very populous city, owing to the Arabian Amirs having taken up their abode in it, and made it the seat of Government. The Mosque could then no longer contain the worshippers, and roof after roof was added to accommodate them, the roof of each successive addition being inferior in height to the preceding structure, until the roof of the latest addition was so low as to be but a few feet from the floor, preventing the people from standing with any comfort under it.
Upon the consolidation of the Omeyyah dynasty, Abd-er-Rahman at once turned his attention to the enlargement of the Mosque. He sent for the chiefs of the Christian Church, and proposed to purchase from them that part of the building which remained in their hands, in order that he might utilise the space for the better observance of the religion of the Prophet.
After much negotiation, the Christians agreed to relinquish their moiety, on condition of being allowed to rebuild or repair a church outside the walls, and of holding it independently of the Moslems. The church of the Christians was consecrated wholly to the worship of their God.[2] This being granted by Abd-er-Rahman, and the Christians having received the sum agreed upon, the Sultan demolished the old place of worship (A.D. 784-5), and laid upon its site the foundations of the great Mosque, which became one of the wonders of the world.
The building was carried on with incredible activity during the whole of his reign, for the Sultan begrudged no expenditure that could add to its magnificence; yet it was not until nine years after the death of Abd-er-Rahman that the Mosque was completed according to the original plan. The design was accomplished by the Sultan Hisham I. in the years 794-5, and the Mosque received considerable improvements at the hands of his successors; indeed, it can be safely said that none of the Sultans of the illustrious family of Omeyyah who reigned in Cordova failed to make some estimable addition, or contributed in some way to the decoration of the sumptuous building. Hisham’s son, Abd-er-Rahman II. (A.D. 822-852), ordered much ‘gilt work’ (Zak-hrafah) to be made, but died before the work was carried out. Mohammed, his son and successor (A.D. 852-886), continued the work begun by his father, and brought it to a close. Mohammed’s son, Mundhir, in a short reign (A.D. 886-888), is recorded as having made improvements in the building. The great Khalif, An-nassir (Abd-er-Rahman III., A.D. 912-961), caused the old minaret to be pulled down and a more magnificent one to be erected. Al-hakem Al-mustanser-billah (Hakem II., A.D. 961-976) made important additions. Seeing, on his accession, that Cordova was every day increasing in extent, and the population rapidly growing, he directed his attention to the enlargement of the Mosque, and completed the additional building known by his name, by which the structure, already gorgeous, reached the highest perfection, the work of his time being executed in a manner that bewilders by its excellence.
Lastly, in the reign of his successor Hisham II. (A.D. 976-1009), and under the administration of his famous Hajib (Lord Chamberlain and Prime Minister) Al-Mansur, or Almanzor, as he is more commonly called, an addition was made which almost doubled the capacity of the building. A vast number of houses were pulled down, the sites and the lands belonging to them appropriated for the extension of the Mosque; the addition falling nowise short, in respect of solidity, beauty of design, and boldness of execution, of those of any of his predecessors, unless we except the transcendent work of Hakem II.
The grace and purity of construction and decoration in Cordova reached their zenith during the reign of Hakem II. He it was who built the maksurrah [3] within the Mosque, a production that has been described by contemporary writers as one of the most exquisite fabrics ever raised by man. In the two jambs of the arch forming the entrance to the mih-rab[4] were four columns of great value: two were made of green marble, the other two of lapis-lazuli.[5]
Near the mih-rab there once stood a pulpit constructed by Hakem II., equalled by none other in the world for workmanship and materials. It was built of ivory and the rarest woods, such as ebony, sandal, almond, Indian plantain, citron, aloe, and so forth. This beautiful object was to be seen in the Cathedral of Cordova as late as the middle of the sixteenth century, when it was dismembered and its materials employed in the construction of a Christian altar. It was known to the Spaniards under the name of carro de Almanzor, the chariot of Al-mansur—probably because it stood upon wheels.
Not only did the Khalif Hakem II. make many additions to the great Mosque of Cordova, but improvements which greatly benefited the city. In place of the old reservoir for purification in the Court of the Mosque, he built four others at two sides of the Mosque, and these he filled by means of a canal which, taking the water from the hills of Cordova, poured it into an immense reservoir of marble which fed the four minor cisterns. These marble receptacles for water may yet be seen in the Mezquita of Cordova; the quarry whence they were extracted is likewise indicated by the peasants at a few miles from the city. The water, running constantly, after supplying the needs of the Mosque, was distributed into three conduits parting from three sides of the Mosque, East, North, and West, thus supplying the city and suburbs.
The actual dimensions of the Mosque are difficult to establish. An excellent authority says that in length from North to South, the Mosque measures six hundred and twenty feet, in width four hundred and forty feet. Mr. Waring, in his Notes of an Architect in Spain says the Mosque is an oblong of three hundred and ninety-four feet by three hundred and sixty feet. The famous Orange Court is in length two hundred and twenty feet, and, being within the boundary walls of the Mosque, is probably included in the first measurement given.
It is impossible to fix with any degree of certainty the number of columns contained in the Mosque during the time of Mohammedan supremacy. Ambrosio de Morales and the Infante Don Juan Manuel, both of whom described the Mosque before the columns were reduced in number by the unnecessary, not to say barbarous, alterations to which the building has been subjected, estimate the figures at one thousand and twelve; but it is only too certain that when the Mosque was converted into a Christian Church very many columns were removed to make room for altars, chapels, and the like.
No less than one hundred columns were comprised within the maksurrah, which was further provided with three doors of exquisite workmanship, one of which was covered with pure gold, as were the walls of the mih-rab. The floor of the maksurrah, it is said, was paved with silver, and that the pavements adjacent to it were covered with sofeysafa, an obscure word which Don Pascual de Gayangos believes to be a transposition of the Arabic word foseyfasa,[6] signifying enamel work of exceptional brilliancy, laid down by Greek workmen whom Abd-er-Rahman had brought to Cordova for the task.
The ceiling of the Mosque was formerly covered with oval cartouches bearing appropriate monitory inscriptions and pious sentences, such as ‘Be not one of the negligent,’ ‘Felicity,’ ‘Blessing,’ ‘There is no God but God, to whom all beings address themselves in their need,’ thus inciting the minds of the faithful to contemplation and prayer. Some few of the cartouches are still remaining, but the inscriptions were carefully effaced at the time when the Mosque was transformed into a Christian temple. Those in the mih-rab, and in the angles near the tower, were spared.
The number of brazen chandeliers of different sizes in the Mosque is computed at upwards of two hundred, and the number of cups attached and containing oil, at upwards of seven thousand. Some of the oil-reservoirs for the great lamps were Christian bells deprived of their clappers, afterwards inverted, and suspended from the roof. It is known that in the many expeditions against the Christian, bells were frequently removed from their churches and brought to Cordova. Sometimes the metal of the bells was recast into forms more in accordance with the Moorish style of ornament.
The most elegant description of Cordova is that contained in the epistle of Ash-shakandi, a native of Shakandah, a town close to Cordova, on the southern bank of the Guadalquivir. He calls Cordova ‘the repository of science, the minaret of piety and devotion, the abode of magnificence, superiority, and elegance: neither Baghdad nor Damascus can compete with it. An idea of its worth can only be arrived at by comparing the city to a beautiful bride of whose dower it should form part. Cordova may be properly called the military camp of Andalus, the common rendezvous of those splendid armies which, with the help of Allah, defeated at every encounter the worshippers of the Crucified. Its great Mosque, lighted with bronze lamps made from Christian bells, had its foundations formed of the materials of demolished churches brought to Cordova by Christian captives.’
During the reigns of the monarchs of Gothic descent, Cordova cannot be said to have been the capital of Andalus, for although it served as a place of temporary residence for some of their kings, it was not, properly speaking, the court of the empire. By the establishment of Islam within it, its importance increased; the city became the capital of the Mohammedan empire in Spain and the stronghold of the family of Merwan,[7] the two important cities of Seville and Toledo quickly acknowledging its pre-eminence.
Upon the coming of the Beni Omeyyah, its Sultans exalted Cordova above any city of Andalus, by reason of its convenient situation and delightful temperature. In course of time Cordova became, says El-Makkari, ‘the meeting-place of the learned from all countries, and owing to the power and splendour of the mighty dynasty that ruled over it, it contained more excellences than any other city on the face of the earth.’
There is a highly characteristic anecdote of the relative merits of Cordova and Seville, the refined society of the one city being devoted to literature, while that of the other was dedicated to music. ‘When a rich man dies at Seville,’ says a native writer, ‘and his heirs desire to sell his library, it is sent to Cordova for disposal; when, on the other hand, a musician dies at Cordova and his instruments are to be sold, the custom is to send them to Seville.’
A Mohammedan author of the twelfth century of our era, Al-hijárí, Abu Mohammed, wrote a description of Cordova in a volume called Al-mishab, ‘The Chatterer,’ in which he describes the glories of the city. ‘Cordova,’ says he, ‘was, during the reign of the Beni-Merwan, the cupola of Islam, the convocation of scholars, the court of the Sultans of the family of Omeyyah, and the residence of the most illustrious tribes of Yemen. Students from all parts of the world flocked thither at all times to learn the sciences of which Cordova was the most noble repository, and to derive knowledge from the mouths of the doctors and ulemas who swarmed in it. Cordova is to Andalus what the head is to the body. Its river is one of the finest in the world, now gliding slowly through level lawns, or winding softly across emerald fields sprinkled with flowers, and serving it for robes; now flowing through thickly planted groves, where the song of birds resounds perpetually in the air, and now widening into a majestic stream to impart its waters to the numerous wheels constructed on its banks, communicating fresh vigour to the land.’
The extent of ancient Cordova has been differently stated, owing, no doubt, to the rapid increase of its population and the expansion of the buildings under the Sultans of the dynasty of Merwan on the one hand, and on the other, to the calamities and disasters by which it was afflicted under the last sovereigns of that house. Cordova is further described by Mohammedan writers as a city which never ceased augmenting in size, and increasing in importance from the time of its subjugation by the Moslems until A.D. 1009-10, when, civil war breaking out within it, the capital fell from its ancient splendour, gradually decaying and losing its former magnificence until its final destruction A.D. 1236, when it fell into the hands of the Christians.
PLATE 1
View of the City and the Bridge South of the Guadalquivir.
PLATE 3
View of Mosque and Bridge.
PLATE 4
The Iron Mill on the Guadalquivir.
PLATE 5
Promenade of “Grand Capitaine”.
PLATE 6
Market Street or Calle de la Feria.
PLATE 7
Plaza del Triunfo and Exterior of the Mosque.
PLATE 8
Entrance Gate of the City, the Column of Triumph, and the Mosque from
the Bridge.
PLATE 9
The Column of Triumph.
PLATE 10
Ancient Arab Tower, Now the Church of St Nicholas de la Villa.
PLATE 11
The Tower of San Nicolas.
PLATE 12
Tower of the Cathedral and Patio de Los Naranjos.
PLATE 13
View of the Patio de los Naranjos.
PLATE 14
The Tower of the Cathedral.
PLATE 15
Entrance to the City from the Bridge.
PLATE 16
Public Fountain in the Patio de Los Naranjos.
PLATE 18
Spring in the Patio de los Naranjos.