masters seems well-nigh incredible. He designed, and during his
activity there of nine years, raised the greater portions of Segovia in
an age when Gothic building was practically extinct, when Brunelleschi
was building Santa Maria del Fiore, and the classic revival was in full
march. Segovia and Spaniards were as tardy in forswearing their Gothic
allegiance as they had been their Romanesque. Not until the beginning of
the sixteenth century does the reborn classicism victoriously cross the
Pyrenees, and then only in minor domestic buildings. The last
manifestations of Gothic church-building in Spain were neither weak nor
decadent, but virile, impressive and logical. Segovia Cathedral may be
said to be the last great monument in Spain, not only of Gothic, but of
ecclesiastical art. Thereafter came the deluge of decadence or
petrification. What must not the power of the Church, as well as the
religious enthusiasm of the populace, have been during this
extraordinary sixteenth century! It is almost incredible that this tiny
city, in a weak little kingdom, and so few miles from Salamanca, had the
spirit for an undertaking of the size of this Cathedral church, so soon
after Salamanca had entered on her architectural enterprise. Either of
the two seems beyond the united power of the kingdom.
Even more remarkable than the starting of Segovia in the Gothic style at
so late a date, was the fact that the architects succeeding Juan Gil,
who were naturally tempted to embody their own ideas and to employ the
new style then in vogue, should nevertheless have faithfully adhered to
the original conception and completed in Gothic style all constructive
and ornamental details everywhere except in the final closing of the
dome and a few minor exterior features. Naturally the Gothic of the
sixteenth century was not that of the thirteenth,--not that of Leon or
Toledo, nor even of Burgos,--it had been modified and lost in spirit,
but still its origin was undeniable.
[Illustration: Photo by J. Lacoste, Madrid
CATHEDRAL OF SEGOVIA.
From the Plaza.]
In 1525 Segovia was fairly started. House after house that impeded the
progress of the work was destroyed, until up to a hundred of them had
been razed. Santa Clara was kept for the services until the very last
moment, when a sufficient portion of the new building was ready for
their proper celebration.
It was unusual to start with the western end, the apse and its
surrounding arches being the portion necessary for services. In Segovia,
however, as well as in the new Salamancan Cathedral, the great western
front was the earliest to rise. Gil did not live to finish it, but it is
evident that, as long as he directed, the work drew the attention of the
entire artistic fraternity of the Peninsula. We find constant mention in
old documents of the visits and the praise of illustrious architects,
among them Alfonso de Covarrubias, Juan de Alava, Enrique de Egas, and
Felipe de Borgoña. Gil's clerk-of-the-works, Cubillas, succeeded him as
"maestro," and under him the western front with its tower, the
cloisters, and the nave and aisles as far as the crossing, were
virtually completed by 1558. Aside from the manual labor, "it had taken
more than forty-eight collections of maravedis" to bring it to this
point. The magnificent old cloisters erected by Bishop Davila beside the
old Cathedral in 1470, had been spared the fury of the mob, and in 1524
they were moved stone by stone to the southern flank of the new
Cathedral. This would have been a remarkable feat of masonry in our
age, and, for the sixteenth century, it was astonishing. Not a stone was
chipped nor a piece of carving broken. Juan de Compero took the whole
fabric apart and put it together again, as a child does a box of wooden
blocks.
The 15th of August, 1558, when the first services were held in the
Cathedral, was the greatest day in Segovia's history. Quadrado, probably
quoting from old accounts, tells us, "The divine services were then held
in the new Temple. People came to the festival from all over Spain, and
music, from all Castile. At twilight on August 14th, 1558, the tower was
illuminated with fire-works, the great aqueduct, with two thousand
colored lights, and the reflection of the city's lights alarmed the
country-side for forty leagues round. The following day, the Assumption
of Our Lady, there was an astonishing procession, in which all the
parishes took part and the community offered prizes for the best
display. The procession went out by the gate of Saint Juan, and, after
going all around the city, returned to the plaza, where the sacrament
was being borne out of Santa Clara. There was a bull-fight,
pole-climbing, a poetical competition and comedies. The generosity of
the donations corresponded to the pomp of the occasion. Ten days
afterwards the bones were taken from the old church and reinterred in
the new one, among which were those of the Infante Don Pedro, Maria del
Salto, and different prelates."
The bones of the two former were laid to rest under the arches of the
cloister. Don Pedro was a little son of King Henry II who had been
playing on one of the iron balconies in front of the Alcazar windows,
and, while his nurse's back was turned, pitched headlong over the
precipice into eternity and the poplar trees three hundred feet below.
The nurse, who knew full well it would be a question of only a few hours
before she followed her princely charge, anticipated her fate and jumped
after him. Maria del Salto ("of the leap") was a beautiful Jewess who,
having been taken in sin, was forced to jump from another of Segovia's
steep promontories. Bethinking herself of the Virgin Mary as a last
resource, she invoked her assistance while in mid-air, and the blessed
saint immediately responded, causing the Jewess to alight gently and
unharmed. It was naturally a great pious satisfaction to the Segovians
to carry to the new edifice such cherished bones.
With services in the church, the building was well under way. Juan Gil's
son, Rodrigo Gil, had worked on Salamanca as well as very ably assisted
Cubillas. Upon the latter's death, in 1560, Rodrigo became maestro
mayor. Three years later, when the corner stone of the apse was laid,
the Chapter seems to have seriously discussed the advisability of
finally deviating from the original Gothic plans and building a
Renaissance head. It was, however, left to Rodrigo, who loyally adhered
to his father's original designs, and when he died in 1577, there was
fortunately but little left to do. Indeed, most of what followed in
construction, repair or decoration was rather to the detriment than
embellishment of the church. It was consecrated in 1580. Chapels were
added to the trasaltar by Rodrigo's successor, Martin Ruiz de Chartudi;
the lantern above the crossing was raised by Juan de Mogaguren in 1615;
five years later, the northern porch was erected and Renaissance
features invaded the edifice. Like most Spanish churches, it has been
constantly worked upon and never completed.
The plan is admirable,--at once dignified and harmonious, and the
semicircular Romanesque termination is striking. The total length is
some 340 feet, its entire width, some 156; the nave is 43 and the side
aisles are 32 feet wide. It is thus logical, symmetrical, and fully
developed in all its members. Beyond the side aisles stretches a row of
chapels separated from each other by transverse walls. As the transepts,
which are of the same width as the nave, do not project beyond the
chapels of its outer aisles, the Latin cross disappears in plan. The
nave, aisles and chapels consist of five bays up to the crossing crowned
by the great dome. Beyond this comes the vault of the Capilla Mayor and
the semicircular apse surrounded by a seven-bayed ambulatory, or
"girola," and an equal number of radiating pentagonal chapels. The
chevet is clear in arrangement and noble in expression. Entrances lead
logically into the nave and side aisles of the western front and into
the centres of the northern and southern transepts, while cloisters
which abut to the south are entered through the fifth chapel. When
Segovia was built, Spaniards were thoroughly reconciled to the idea of
placing the choir west of the crossing and the Capilla Mayor east, and
consequently the latter was designed no larger than was requisite for
its offices, and a space was frankly screened off between it and the
choir for the use of the officiating clergy. The third and fourth bays
of the nave contained the choir.
As one enters the church, there is a consciousness of joy and order. The
stone surfaces are just sufficiently warmed and mellowed by the
glorious light from above. The piers are very massive and semicircular
in plan; the foliage at their heads underneath the vaulting is so
delicate and unpronounced that it scarcely counts as capitals. The walls
of the chapels in the outer aisles, as well as round the ambulatory, are
penetrated by narrow, round-headed windows, as timid and attenuated as
those of an early Romanesque edifice; the walls of the inner aisle, by
triple, lancet windows; and the clerestory of the nave, by triple,
round-headed ones. Under them, in the apse, is a second row of
round-headed blind windows. None of them have any tracery whatever. The
glass is of great brilliancy of coloring and exceptional beauty, but the
designs are as poor as the glazing is glorious. In the smaller windows,
the subjects represent events in the Old Testament; in the larger,
scenes from the New. Around the apse much of the old, stained glass has
been shamefully replaced by white, so as to admit more light into this
portion of the building.
There is no triforium, but a finely carved late Gothic balcony runs
around the nave and transepts below the clerestory. In the transepts,
this is surmounted by a second one underneath the small roses which
penetrate their upper wall surfaces. Both nave and side aisles are
lofty, the vaulting rising in the former to a height of about 100 feet
and, in the latter, to 80 feet, while the cupola soars 330 feet above.
The vaulting itself is most elaborate and developed. While the early
Gothic edifices have only the requisite functional transverse, diagonal
and wall ribs, we now find every vault covered with intermediate ones of
most intricate designs. Especially over the Capilla Mayor in its
ambulatory chapels and around the lantern, this ornamentation becomes
profuse,--everywhere ribs are met by bosses and roses. The general
effect of the endless cutting up of the vaults into numberless
compartments by the complicated system of lierne ribs is one of
restlessness. One misses the logical simplicity of the thirteenth and
fourteenth centuries and is reminded of the decadent surfacing of late
German work and the ogee, lierne ribs of some of the late English, in
which the true ridges can no longer be distinguished from the false.
Looking up into the dome over the crossing, we see that the pendentives
do not rise directly above the four arches, but spring some fifteen feet
higher up above a Gothic balustrade which is surmounted by elliptical
arches pierced by circular windows. The dome, disembarrassed of the ribs
which still cling to some of its predecessors, is finely shaped,--a
thorough Renaissance piece of work. Light streams down through the
bull's eye under the lantern.
There is considerable difference in the design as well as workmanship ofthe many
rejas. Tremendous iron rails, surely not as fine as those of
Seville, Granada, or Toledo, but still very remarkable, close the three
sides of the Capilla Mayor and the front of the choir. The emblematical
lilies of the Cathedral rise in rows one beside the other, as one sees
them in a florist's Easter windows. Rejas close off similarly all the
outer chapels from the side aisles.
Among the very few portions of the old Cathedral which remained intact
after the fury of the Comunidades, were the choir stalls and an
exquisite door. The former were placed in the new choir and the latter
became an entrance to the transplanted cloisters. It was indeed
fortunate that these stalls were spared, for they are among the most
exquisite in Spain and excelled by few in either France or Germany.
Wood-carving had long been a favorite art in Spain, one in which the
Spaniards learned to excel under the skillful tutelage of the great
masters from Germany and Flanders. The foreign carvers settled
principally in Burgos, where there grew up around them apprentices eager
to fill the churches with statues, retablos, choir stalls, and organ
screens executed in wood. The art of carving became highly honored. An
early ordinance of Seville referring to wood-carving, masonry and
building, esteems it "a noble art and self-contained, that increaseth
the nobleness of the King and of his kingdom, that pacifieth the people
and spreadeth love among mankind conducing to much good." In the
numerous panels of cathedral choir stalls, there was a wonderful
opportunity for relief work and the play of the fertile imagination and
childlike expressiveness of the middle ages. Curious freaks of fancy,
their extraordinary conceptions of Biblical scenes, the events and
personages of their own day, could all be portrayed and even carved with
wonderful skill. Leonard Williams, in his "Art and Crafts of Older
Spain," tells us that "the silleria consists of two tiers, the _sellia_
or upper seats with high backs and a canopy, intended for the canons,
and the lower seats or _sub-sellia_ of simpler pattern with lower backs,
intended for the _beneficados_. At the head of all is placed the throne,
larger than the other stalls, and covered in many cases by a canopy
surmounted by a tall spire."
Few of the many Gothic stalls are finer than those of Segovia. The
contrast with the work above them, as well as with that which backs onto
them, is doubly distressing. The tremendous organs above are a mass of
gilding and restless Baroque ornamentation, while their rear is covered
by multicolored strips of stone which would have looked vulgar and gaudy
around a Punch and Judy show and here enframe the four Evangelists. The
chapels and high altar are uninteresting, decorated in later days in
offensive taste. Apart from these furnishings, which play but a small
part, it is rare and satisfying to survey an interior in which there has
been so much decorative restraint, in which the constructive and
architectural lines dominate the merely ornamental ones, and where
harmony, severity and excellent proportions go hand in hand. Were it not
for the cupola and a few minor details, there would be added to these
merits, unity of style.
The cloisters are rich and flamboyant, but nevertheless more restrained
than those of Salamanca. They are elaborately subdivided, carved and
festooned, and, in the bosses of the arches, they carry the arms of
their original builder, Bishop Arias Davila. Just inside their entrance
lie three of the old architects, Rodrigo Gil de Hontañon, Campo Aguero,
and Viadero. The old well in the centre is covered with a grapevine, and
nothing could be lovelier than the deep emerald leaves dotted with
purple fruit growing over the white and yellow stonework.
Few Spanish cathedrals can be seen to such advantage as Segovia, its
situation is so unusual and fortunate. In mediæval towns closely packed
within their city walls, there could be but little room or breathing
space either for palace or hovel, and the buildings adjacent to a
cathedral generally nestled close to its sides. The plaza of Segovia is
unusually large compared to the area of the little city. The clearing
away of Santa Clara and San Miguel and all the smaller surrounding
edifices condemned for the Cathedral site, left much room also in front
of the western entrance for a fine broad platform as well as an
unobstructed view from the opposite side of the square. Most of the
flights of granite steps leading to it from the streets below are now
closed by iron gates and overgrown with grass and weeds. The days of the
great processions are past, when the various trades, led by their bands
of musicians, filed up to deliver their offerings towards the
construction, and the staircases are no longer thronged by devout
Segovian citizens anxious to see the daily progress of the work. The
platform is paved with innumerable granite slabs which in the old
Cathedral covered the tombs of the city's illustrious citizens, whose
names may still be easily deciphered.
Taken as a whole, the façade is bald and void of charm. It is neither
good nor especially faulty, of a certain strength, but without interest
or merit. It is logically subdivided by five pronounced buttresses
marking the nave, side aisles and outer row of chapels. Their relative
heights and the lines of their roofing are clearly defined. To the
north, a rather insignificant turret terminates the façade, while to the
south rises the lofty tower, three hundred and forty-five feet above the
whole mountain of masonry, the most conspicuous landmark in the
landscape of Segovia. It consists of a square base of sides thirty-five
feet wide, broken by six rows of twin arches; the first, the third and
the sixth are open, the last is a belfry. The present dome curves from
an octagonal Renaissance base, the transitional corners being filled
with crocketed pyramids similar to the many crowning buttresses and
piers at all angles of the church below. The dome and lantern are almost
exact smaller counterparts of those crowning the crossing. They were put
up by the same architect, Mogaguren, who certainly could not have been
over-gifted with artistic imagination. The tower had varying
fortunes,--much to the distress of the citizens, it has been twice
struck by lightning. The wooden structure and lead covering were burned
and melted by the fire which followed the first catastrophe, but
fortunately it was soon put out by the rain which saved the Cathedral
and city. After the second thunderbolt, in 1809, the surmounting cross
was replaced by a lightning-rod.
The nave is entered by the Perdon portal, which, under a Gothic arch, is
subdivided into two elliptical openings. Peculiarly late Gothic railings
here, as elsewhere, crown the masonry and conceal the tiling of the
sloping roofs.
Rounding the church to the south, we find the view obstructed by the
cloisters and sacristy; only the façade of the transept, ascended from
the lower ground by a flight of steps, remains visible. The southern
doorway is quite denuded, and even its buttresses rise without as much
as a corbel to soften their lines. When one has, however, dodged through
the tortuous, narrow, malodorous streets and come out opposite the apse
and northern flank, the whole bulk of the logical organic body of the
church becomes visible with its larger squat and higher lofty domes
towering into the blue. To the same Renaissance period as the two domes
belongs the classical portal of Pedro Brizuela, leading to the northern
transept. The view from the northeast is particularly fine. Every
portion of the structure is expressed by the exterior lines. One above
the other rise chapels, ambulatory, apse, transepts and lanterns, each
level crowned by its sparkling balustrade. The sky is jagged by the
crocketed spires which terminate the flying buttresses, the piers and
the angles of the wall surface. Here the Latin cross may be seen, and
the sub-divisions of every portion of the interior. There is no
deception nor trickery. It is simple and straightforward. Its artistic
merits may be small, the forest of carved turrets rising all around the
apse, tiresome, but this final impression of Spanish Gothic was
thoroughly sincere.
VII
SEVILLE
[Illustration: Photo by J. Lacoste, Madrid
CATHEDRAL OF SEVILLE
The Giralda, from the Orange Tree Court]
"Wen Gott lieb hat, dem giebt er ein Haus in Sevilla."
Seville is ever youthful, for the blood which courses in her veins
absorbs the sunlight. Venice is the city of dreamy love, Naples, of
indolence, Rome, of everlasting age, but Seville keeps an eternal youth.
What picturesqueness, what color, what passion blend with memories of
Andalusia!
All sunny land of love!
When I forget you, may I fail To ... say my prayers!
And Seville is the queen of Andalusia, of noble birth, proud and
beautiful. Distinctly feminine in her subtle, indefinable charm, like a
woman she changes with her surroundings, and her mutability adds to her
fascination. We never fathom nor quite know her, for she is one being as
she slumbers in the first chalky light of morning, another, in the
resplendent nakedness of noontide, overarched by the indigo firmament,
and yet another, in the happy laughter of evening when her mantle has
turned purple and her throbbing life is more felt than seen. The roses,
hyacinths and crocuses have closed in sleep, but the orange groves, the
acacia, and eucalyptus, jasmine, lemon, and palm trees and hedges of box
fill the air with heavy, aromatic perfume. To the exiled Moors she was
so sweet in all her moods that they said, "God in His justice, having
denied to the Christians a heavenly paradise, has given them in exchange
an earthly one." With the oriental languor of her ancestors, she keeps
the freshness and sparkle of the dewy morn. She is as gay and full of
youthful vitality as her Toledan sister is old and worn and haggard.
While Toledo is sombre and funereal, Seville is alive with the tinkling
of silver fountains, the strumming of guitars and mandolins, and the
songs of her women. She lies rich and splendid on the bosom of the
campagna, fruitfulness and plenty within her embattled walls. "She is a
strange, sweet sorceress, a little wise perhaps, in whom love has
degenerated into desire; but she offers her lovers sleep, and in her
arms you will forget everything but the entrancing life of dreams."
Andalusia and Seville justly claim an ancient and royal pedigree, which
through all the vicissitudes of centuries has still left its stamp upon
them. Andalusia was the Tarshish of the Bible, whither Jonah rose to
flee. Her commerce is spoken of in Jeremiah, Isaiah, the Psalms, and the
Chronicles: "Tarshish was thy merchant by reason of the multitude of all
kind of riches, with silver, iron, tin, and lead they traded in thy
fairs" (Ezekiel xxvii, 12).
In passing the Straits of Hercules, Seville and Ceuta alone caught
Odysseus' eye:--
Tardy with age
Were I and my companions, when we came
To the Strait pass, where Hercules ordain'd
The bound'ries not to be o'erstepp'd by man.
The walls of Seville to my right I left,
On th' other hand already Ceuta past.
_Inferno_, xxvi. 106-110.
The honor of founding the city of Seville seems to be shared by Hercules
and Julius Cæsar. In the popular mind of the Sevillians, as well as
through an unbroken chain of mediæval historians and ballad-makers,
Hercules is called its father. Monuments throughout the city bear
witness to its founders. On one of the gates recently demolished the
inscription ran,--
Condidit Alcides, Renovavit Julius urbem.
Restituit Christo Fernandus tertius heros.
The Latin verses were later paraphrased in the Castilian tongue over the
Gate of Zeres:--
Hercules me edifico,
Julio Cesar me cerco,
de meno y torres altes
y el rey santo me ganó,
Con Garci Perez de Vargas.
"Hercules built me, Julius Cæsar surrounded me with walls and high
towers, the Holy King conquered me by Garcia Perez de Vargas." Statues
of the founder and protector still stand in various parts of the city.
In the second century B. C., the shipping of Seville made it one of the
most important trade centres of the Mediterranean. Phœnicians and
Greeks stopped here to barter. In 45 B. C., Rome stretched forth her
greedy hand, and Cæsar entered the town at the head of his victorious
legion. Eighty-two years later the Romans formed the whole of southern
Spain into the "Provincia Bætica." With its formation into a Roman
colony, Seville's historical background begins to stand out clearly and
its riches are sung by the ancients. "Fair art thou, Bætis," says
Martial, "with thine olive crown and thy limpid waters, with the fleece
stains of a brilliant gold." The whole province contained what later
became Sevilla, Huelva, Cadiz, Cordova, Jaen, Granada and Almeria.
Seville, or Hispalis, became the capital and was accordingly fortified
with walls and towers, garrisoned and supplied with water from aqueducts
and adorned with Roman works of art. After the spread of Christianity
during the later Emperors, Seville was important enough to be made the
seat of a bishop.