Cordova—Moors of Barbary—The English—An Old Priest—The Roman Breviary—The
Dovecote—The Holy Office—Judaism—Desecration of Dovecotes—The Innkeeper’s
Proposal.
Little can be said with respect to the town of Cordova, which is a mean,
dark, gloomy place, full of narrow streets and alleys, without squares or
public buildings worthy of attention, save and except its far-famed
cathedral; its situation, however, is beautiful and picturesque. Before
it runs the Guadalquivir, which, though in this part shallow and full of
sandbanks, is still a delightful stream; whilst behind it rise the steep
sides of the Sierra Morena, planted up to the top with olive groves. The
town or city is surrounded on all sides by lofty Moorish walls, which may
measure about three-quarters of a league in circumference; unlike
Seville, and most other towns in Spain, it has no suburbs.
[Picture: Mosque at Cordova]
I have said that Cordova has no remarkable edifices, save its cathedral,
yet this is perhaps the most extraordinary place of worship in the world.
It was originally, as is well known, a mosque, built in the brightest
days of Arabian dominion in Spain. In shape it was quadrangular, with a
low roof, supported by an infinity of small and delicately rounded marble
pillars, many of which still remain, and present at first sight the
appearance of a marble grove; the greater part, however, were removed
when the Christians, after the expulsion of the Moslems, essayed to
convert the mosque into a cathedral, {239} which they effected in part by
the erection of a dome, and by clearing an open space for a choir. As it
at present exists, the temple appears to belong partly to Mahomet, and
partly to the Nazarene; and though this jumbling together of massive
Gothic architecture with the light and delicate style of the Arabians
produces an effect somewhat bizarre, it still remains a magnificent and
glorious edifice, and well calculated to excite feelings of awe and
veneration within the bosom of those who enter it.
The Moors of Barbary seem to care but little for the exploits of their
ancestors: their minds are centred in the things of the present day, and
only so far as those things regard themselves individually.
Disinterested enthusiasm, that truly distinguishing mark of a noble mind,
and admiration for what is great, good, and grand, they appear to be
totally incapable of feeling. It is astonishing with what indifference
they stray amongst the relics of ancient Moorish grandeur in Spain. No
feelings of exultation seem to be excited by the proof of what the Moor
once was, nor of regret at the consciousness of what he now is. More
interesting to them are their perfumes, their papouches, their dates, and
their silks of Fez and Maraks, {240a} to dispose of which they visit
Andalusia; and yet the generality of these men are far from being
ignorant, and have both heard and read of what was passing in Spain in
the old time. I was once conversing with a Moor at Madrid, with whom I
was very intimate, about the Alhambra of Granada, which he had visited.
“Did you not weep,” said I, “when you passed through the courts, and
thought of the Abencerrages?” {240b} “No,” said he, “I did not weep;
wherefore should I weep?” “And why did you visit the Alhambra?” I
demanded. “I visited it,” he replied, “because, being at Granada on my
own affairs, one of your countrymen requested me to accompany him
thither, that I might explain some of the inscriptions. I should
certainly not have gone of my own accord, for the hill on which it stands
is steep.” And yet this man could compose verses, and was by no means a
contemptible poet. Once at Cordova, whilst I was in the cathedral, three
Moors entered it, and proceeded slowly across its floor in the direction
of a gate, which stood at the opposite side. They took no farther notice
of what was around them than by slightly glancing once or twice at the
pillars, one of them exclaiming, “_Huáje __del Mselmeen_, _hudje del
Mselmeen_” (things of the Moors, things of the Moors), and showed no
other respect for the place where Abderrahman the Magnificent prostrated
himself of old, than facing about on arriving at the farther door and
making their egress backwards; yet these men were _hajis_ and _talibs_,
{241a} men likewise of much gold and silver—men who had read, who had
travelled, who had seen Mecca, and the great city of Negroland. {241b}
I remained in Cordova much longer than I had originally intended, owing
to the accounts which I was continually hearing of the unsafe state of
the roads to Madrid. I soon ransacked every nook and cranny of this
ancient town, formed various acquaintances amongst the populace, which is
my general practice on arriving at a strange place. I more than once
ascended the side of the Sierra Morena, in which excursions I was
accompanied by the son of my host, the tall lad of whom I have already
spoken. The people of the house, who had imbibed the idea that I was of
the same way of thinking as themselves, were exceedingly courteous; it is
true, that in return I was compelled to listen to a vast deal of Carlism,
in other words, high treason against the ruling powers in Spain, to
which, however, I submitted with patience. “_Don Jorgito_,” said the
landlord to me one day, “I love the English; they are my best customers.
It is a pity that there is not greater union between Spain and England,
and that more English do not visit us. Why should there not be a
marriage? The king will speedily be at Madrid. Why should there not be
_bodas_ between the son of Don Carlos and the heiress of England?”
“It would certainly tend to bring a considerable number of English to
Spain,” said I, “and it would not be the first time that the son of a
Carlos has married a Princess of England.” {242a}
The host mused for a moment, and then exclaimed, “_Carracho_, _Don
Jorgito_, if this marriage could be brought about, both the king and
myself should have cause to fling our caps in the air.”
The house or _posada_ in which I had taken up my abode was exceedingly
spacious, containing an infinity of apartments, both large and small, the
greater part of which were, however, unfurnished. The chamber in which I
was lodged stood at the end of an immensely long corridor, of the kind so
admirably described in the wondrous tale of Udolfo. {242b} For a day or
two after my arrival I believed myself to be the only lodger in the
house. One morning, however, I beheld a strange-looking old man seated
in the corridor, by one of the windows, reading intently in a small thick
volume. He was clad in garments of coarse blue cloth, and wore a loose
spencer over a waistcoat adorned with various rows of small buttons of
mother of pearl; he had spectacles upon his nose. I could perceive,
notwithstanding he was seated, that his stature bordered upon the
gigantic. “Who is that person?” said I to the landlord, whom I presently
met; “is he also a guest of yours?” “Not exactly, _Don Jorge de mi
alma_,” {243a} replied he. “I can scarcely call him a guest, inasmuch as
I gain nothing by him, though he is staying at my house. You must know,
_Don Jorge_, that he is one of two priests who officiate at a large
village {243b} at some slight distance from this place. So it came to
pass, that when the soldiers of Gomez entered the village, his reverence
went to meet them, dressed in full canonicals, with a book in his hand,
and he, at their bidding, proclaimed Carlos Quinto {243c} in the
market-place. The other priest, however, was a desperate liberal, a
downright _negro_, and upon him the royalists laid their hands, and were
proceeding to hang him. His reverence, however, interfered, and obtained
mercy for his colleague, on condition that he should cry _Viva Carlos
Quinto_! which the latter did in order to save his life. Well, no sooner
had the royalists departed from these parts than the black priest mounts
his mule, comes to Cordova, and informs against his reverence,
notwithstanding that he had saved his life. So his reverence was seized
and brought hither to Cordova, and would assuredly have been thrown into
the common prison as a Carlist, had I not stepped forward and offered to
be surety that he should not quit the place, but should come forward at
any time to answer whatever charge might be brought against him; and he
is now in my house, though guest I cannot call him, for he is not of the
slightest advantage to me, as his very food is daily brought from the
country, and that consists only of a few eggs and a little milk and
bread. As for his money, I have never seen the colour of it,
notwithstanding they tell me that he has _buenas pesetas_. However, he
is a holy man, is continually reading and praying, and is, moreover, of
the right opinion. I therefore keep him in my house, and would be bail
for him were he twenty times more of a skinflint than he seems to be.”
The next day, as I was again passing through the corridor, I observed the
old man in the same place, and saluted him. He returned my salutation
with much courtesy, and closing the book, placed it upon his knee, as if
willing to enter into conversation. After exchanging a word or two, I
took up the book for the purpose of inspecting it.
“You will hardly derive much instruction from that book, _Don Jorge_,”
said the old man; “you cannot understand it, for it is not written in
English.”
“Nor in Spanish,” I replied. “But with respect to understanding the
book, I cannot see what difficulty there can be in a thing so simple; it
is only the Roman breviary written in the Latin tongue.”
“Do the English understand Latin?” exclaimed he. “_Vaya_! Who would
have thought that it was possible for Lutherans to understand the
language of the church? _Vaya_! the longer one lives the more one
learns.”
“How old may your reverence be?” I inquired.
“I am eighty years, _Don Jorge_; eighty years, and somewhat more.”
Such was the first conversation which passed between his reverence and
myself. He soon conceived no inconsiderable liking for me, and favoured
me with no little of his company. Unlike our friend the landlord, I
found him by no means inclined to talk politics, which the more surprised
me, knowing, as I did, the decided and hazardous part which he had taken
on the late Carlist irruption into the neighbourhood. He took, however,
great delight in discoursing on ecclesiastical subjects and the writings
of the fathers.
“I have got a small library at home, _Don Jorge_, which consists of all
the volumes of the fathers which I have been able to pick up, and I find
the perusal of them a source of great amusement and comfort. Should
these dark days pass by, _Don Jorge_, and you should be in these parts, I
hope you will look in upon me, and I will show you my little library of
the fathers, and likewise my dovecote, where I rear numerous broods of
pigeons, which are also a source of much solace, and at the same time of
profit.”
“I suppose by your dovecote,” said I, “you mean your parish, and by
rearing broods of pigeons, you allude to the care you take of the souls
of your people, instilling therein the fear of God and obedience to his
revealed law, which occupation must of course afford you much solace and
spiritual profit.”
“I was not speaking metaphorically, _Don Jorge_,” replied my companion;
“and by rearing doves, I mean neither more nor less than that I supply
the market of Cordova with pigeons, and occasionally that of Seville; for
my birds are very celebrated, and plumper or fatter flesh than theirs I
believe cannot be found in the whole kingdom. Should you come to my
village, you will doubtless taste them, _Don Jorge_, at the _venta_ where
you will put up, for I suffer no dovecotes but my own within my district.
With respect to the souls of my parishioners, I trust I do my duty—I
trust I do, as far as in my power lies. I always took great pleasure in
these spiritual matters, and it was on that account that I attached
myself to the _Santa Casa_ {246} of Cordova, the duties of which I
assisted to perform for a long period.”
“Your reverence has been an inquisitor?” I exclaimed, somewhat startled.
“From my thirtieth year until the time of the suppression of the holy
office in these afflicted kingdoms.”
“You both surprise and delight me,” I exclaimed. “Nothing could have
afforded me greater pleasure than to find myself conversing with a father
formerly attached to the holy house of Cordova.”
The old man looked at me steadfastly. “I understand you, _Don Jorge_. I
have long seen that you are one of us. You are a learned and holy man;
and though you think fit to call yourself a Lutheran and an Englishman, I
have dived into your real condition. No Lutheran would take the interest
in church matters which you do, and with respect to your being an
Englishman, none of that nation can speak Castilian, much less Latin. I
believe you to be one of us—a missionary priest; and I am especially
confirmed in that idea by your frequent conversation and interviews with
the _Gitanos_; you appear to be labouring among them. Be, however, on
your guard, _Don Jorge_; trust not to Egyptian faith; they are evil
penitents, whom I like not. I would not advise you to trust them.”
“I do not intend,” I replied; “especially with money. But to return to
more important matters:—of what crimes did this holy house of Cordova
take cognizance?”
“You are of course aware of the matters on which the holy office
exercises its functions. I need scarcely mention sorcery, Judaism, and
certain carnal misdemeanours.”
“With respect to sorcery,” said I, “what is your opinion of it? Is there
in reality such a crime?”
“_Que sé yo_?” {247} said the old man, shrugging up his shoulders. “How
should I know? The church has power, _Don Jorge_, or at least it had
power, to punish for anything, real or unreal; and, as it was necessary
to punish in order to prove that it had the power of punishing, of what
consequence whether it punished for sorcery or any other crime?”
“Did many cases of sorcery occur within your own sphere of knowledge?”
“One or two, _Don Jorge_: they were by no means frequent. The last that
I remember was a case which occurred in a convent at Seville. A certain
nun was in the habit of flying through the windows and about the garden
over the tops of the orange-trees. Declarations of various witnesses
were taken, and the process was arranged with much formality: the fact, I
believe, was satisfactorily proved. Of one thing I am certain, that the
nun was punished.”
“Were you troubled with much Judaism in these parts?”
“Wooh! Nothing gave so much trouble to the _Santa Casa_ as this same
Judaism. Its shoots and ramifications are numerous, not only in these
parts, but in all Spain; and it is singular enough, that, even among the
priesthood, instances of Judaism of both kinds were continually coming to
our knowledge, which it was of course our duty to punish.”
“Is there more than one species of Judaism?” I demanded.
“I have always arranged Judaism under two heads,” said the old man, “the
black and the white: by the black, I mean the observance of the law of
Moses in preference to the precepts of the church; then there is the
white Judaism, which includes all kinds of heresy, such as Lutheranism,
freemasonry, and the like.”
“I can easily conceive,” said I, “that many of the priesthood favoured
the principles of the Reformation, and that the minds of not a few had
been led astray by the deceitful lights of modern philosophy, but it is
almost inconceivable to me that there should be Jews amongst the
priesthood who follow in secret the rites and observances of the old law,
though I confess that I have been assured of the fact ere now.”
“Plenty of Judaism amongst the priesthood, whether of the black or white
species; no lack of it, I assure you, _Don Jorge_. I remember once
searching the house of an ecclesiastic who was accused of the black
Judaism, and, after much investigation, we discovered beneath the floor a
wooden chest, in which was a small shrine of silver, inclosing three
books in black hog-skin, which, on being opened, were found to be books
of Jewish devotion, written in Hebrew characters, and of great antiquity;
and on being questioned, the culprit made no secret of his guilt, but
rather gloried in it, saying that there was no God but one, and
denouncing the adoration of _Maria Santísima_ as rank idolatry.”
“And between ourselves, what is your own opinion of the adoration of this
same _Maria Santísima_?”
“What is my opinion! _Que sé yo_?” said the old man, shrugging up his
shoulders still higher than on the former occasion; “but I will tell you.
I think, on consideration, that it is quite right and proper; why not?
Let any one pay a visit to my church, and look at her as she stands
there, _tan bonita_, _tan guapita_ {249a}—so well dressed and so
genteel—with such pretty colours, such red and white, and he would
scarcely ask me why _Maria Santísima_ should not be adored. Moreover,
_Don Jorgito mio_, this is a church matter, and forms an important part
of the church system.”
“And now, with respect to carnal misdemeanours. Did you take much
cognizance of them?”
“Amongst the laity, not much; we, however, kept a vigilant eye upon our
own body; but, upon the whole, were rather tolerant in these matters,
knowing that the infirmities of human nature are very great indeed. We
rarely punished, save in cases where the glory of the church and loyalty
to _Maria Santísima_ made punishment absolutely imperative.”
“And what cases might those be?” I demanded.
“I allude to the desecration of dovecotes, _Don Jorge_, and the
introduction therein of strange flesh, for purposes neither seemly nor
convenient.”
“Your reverence will excuse me for not yet perfectly understanding.”
“I mean, _Don Jorge_, certain acts of flagitiousness practised by the
clergy in lone and remote _palomares_ in olive-grounds and gardens;
actions denounced, I believe, by the holy Pablo in his first letter to
Pope Sixtus. {249b} You understand me now, _Don Jorge_, for you are
learned in church matters.”
“I think I understand you,” I replied.
After remaining several days more at Cordova, I determined to proceed on
my journey to Madrid, though the roads were still said to be highly
insecure. I, however, saw but little utility in tarrying and awaiting a
more tranquil state of affairs, which might never arrive. I therefore
consulted with the landlord respecting the best means of making the
journey. “_Don Jorgito_,” he replied, “I think I can tell you. You say
you are anxious to depart, and I never wish to keep guests in my house
longer than is agreeable to them; to do so would not become a Christian
innkeeper. I leave such conduct to Moors, _Cristinos_, and _Negros_. I
will further you on your journey, _Don Jorge_: I have a plan in my head
which I had resolved to propose to you before you questioned me. There
is my wife’s brother, who has two horses which he occasionally lets out
for hire; you shall hire them, _Don Jorge_, and he himself shall attend
you to take care of you and to comfort you, and to talk to you, and you
shall pay him forty dollars for the journey. Moreover, as there are
thieves upon the route, and _malos sujetos_ {250} such as Palillos and
his family, you shall make an engagement and a covenant, _Don Jorge_,
that provided you are robbed and stripped on the route, and the horses of
my wife’s brother are taken from him by the thieves, you shall, on
arriving at Madrid, make good any losses to which my wife’s brother may
be subject in following you. This is my plan, _Don Jorge_, which no
doubt will meet with your worship’s approbation, as it is devised solely
for your benefit, and not with any view of lucre or interest either to me
or mine. You will find my wife’s brother pleasant company on the route;
he is a very respectable man, and one of the right opinion, and has
likewise travelled much; for between ourselves, _Don Jorge_, he is
something of a _contrabandista_, and frequently smuggles diamonds and
precious stones from Portugal, which he disposes of sometimes in Cordova
and sometimes at Madrid. He is acquainted with all the short cuts, all
the _atajos_, _Don Jorge_, and is much respected in all the _ventas_ and
_posadas_ on the way. So now give me your hand upon the bargain, and I
will forthwith repair to my wife’s brother to tell him to get ready to
set out with your worship the day after to-morrow.”