attached to Canterbury, and founded two chantries in the crypt or
undercroft. These now form the entrance to the French Church, where
the descendants of the Walloon and Huguenot refugees still worship
in the forms of their ancestors. The Prince had desired to be buried
below; but, partly from the special devotion which he had to the
Trinity, partly that so great a man might have the place of honour,
his tomb was erected at the side of Becket’s shrine. He left to the
Church of Canterbury his velvet coat embroidered with lions and lilies,
his ornamental shield, his lion-crested helmet, his sword and his
gauntlets, all of which still hang above his bronze effigy, except
the sword, which is said to have been removed by Cromwell, and of
which only part of the scabbard remains. The effigy is believed to
be a good likeness. It was placed upon the tomb where the body lies
soon after his death, which occurred on the 8th of June, 1376, the
feast of the Trinity, as recorded in the inscription in the French of
his own Aquitaine. The Prince of Wales’s feathers and the lions and
lilies, with the Prince’s two mottoes, “Ich diene,” (I serve), and
“Houmout,” (High Courage), form the ornaments of the tomb, which is
also surrounded by some French verses chosen by the Prince himself, and
describing the vanity of earthly glory....
And now we leave the Cathedral, and pass out of the precincts by
the Christ Church Gate, still beautiful even in its defacement, and
through the narrow Mercery Lane, where stood in old times the booths
for the sellers of relics and of the little leaden bottles supposed to
contain in their water some drops of St. Thomas’s blood; where also
stood the Chequers of the Hope, at which Chaucer’s pilgrims regaled
themselves, and of which one fragment, marked by the Black Prince’s
emblem of the lion with protruding tongue, may still be seen at the
corner of the lane; down the High Street, where we pass the old East
Bridge Hospital, founded by Lanfranc, endowed by Becket, and saved from
confiscation by Cranmer, with its low Norman doorway and the crypt
under its hall; and leave the city by the West Gate, which was erected
by Archbishop Sudbury on the line where the eastern wall ran along the
Stour; and past the Falstaff Inn, where the sign of the roystering old
knight hangs out on some beautiful ancient iron-work, and welcomes the
cyclists who specially affect his inn; and so on to the South Eastern
Railway Station.
We entered Canterbury on foot with Augustine, we leave it by a modern
railway.
Farrar, _Our English Minsters_ (London, 1893).
THE ALHAMBRA.
THÉOPHILE GAUTIER.
Having passed through the gate, you enter a large square called _Plaza
de las Algives_ in the centre of which you find a well whose curb is
surrounded by a kind of wooden shed covered with spartium matting and
where, for a _cuarto_, you can have a glass of water, as clear as a
diamond, as cold as ice, and of the most delicious flavour. The towers
of Quebrada, the Homenaga, the Armeria, and of the Vela, whose bell
announces the hours when the water is distributed, and stone-parapets,
on which you can lean to admire the marvellous view which unfolds
before you, surround one side of the square; the other is occupied
by the Palace of Charles V., an immense building of the Renaissance,
which you would admire anywhere else, but which you curse here when
you remember that it covers a space once occupied by a portion of the
Alhambra which was pulled down to make room for this heavy mass. This
Alcazar was, however, designed by Alonzo Berruguete; the trophies, the
bas-reliefs, and the medallions of its façade have been accumulated by
means of a proud, bold, and patient chisel; the circular court with its
marble columns, where, in all probability, the bull-fights took place,
is certainly a magnificent piece of architecture, but _non erat hic
locus_.
You enter the Alhambra through a corridor situated in an angle of the
Palace of Charles V., and, after several windings, you arrive in a
large court, designated indifferently under the names of _Patio de los
Arraynes_ (Court of Myrtles), of the _Alberca_ (of the Reservoir), or
of the _Mezouar_ (an Arabian word signifying bath for women).
When you issue from these dark passages into this large space flooded
with light, the effect is similar to that produced by a diorama. You
can almost fancy that an enchanter’s wand has transported you to the
Orient of four or five centuries ago. Time, which changes everything
in its flight, has altered nothing here, where the apparition of the
Sultana _Chaîne des cœurs_ and of the Moor _Tarfe_ in his white cloak
would not cause the least surprise....
The antechamber of the Hall of the Ambassadors is worthy of the purpose
for which it was intended: the boldness of its arches, the variety and
interlacing of its arabesques, the mosaics of its walls, and the work
on its stuccoed ceiling, crowded like the stalactite roof of a grotto
and painted with azure, green, and red, traces of which colours are
still visible, produce an effect both charming and bizarre.
On each side of the door which leads to the Hall of the Ambassadors,
in the jamb of the arch itself and where the facing of glazed tiles,
whose triangles of glaring colours adorn the lower portion of the
walls, are hollowed out, like little chapels, two niches of white
marble sculptured with an extreme delicacy. It was here that the
ancient Moors left their Turkish slippers before entering, as a mark
of deference, just as we remove our hats in places that demand this
respect.
[Illustration: THE ALHAMBRA.]
The Hall of the Ambassadors, one of the largest in the Alhambra, fills
the whole interior of the tower of Comares. The ceiling, composed of
cedar, shows those mathematical combinations so common to the Arabian
architect: all the bits are arranged in such a way that all their
converging or diverging angles form an infinite variety of designs; the
walls disappear under a network of ornaments, so packed together and
so inextricably interwoven that I can think of no better comparison
than pieces of lace placed one above the other. Gothic architecture,
with its stone lace-work and its perforated roses, cannot compare with
this. Fish-slices and the paper embroidery cut out with a punch, which
the confectioners use to decorate their sweets, can alone give you any
idea of it. One of the characteristics of the Moorish style is that
it offers very few projections and profiles. All the ornamentation is
developed on flat surfaces and is hardly ever more than four or five
inches in relief; it is really like a kind of tapestry worked on the
wall itself. One feature in particular distinguishes it--the employment
of writing as a motive of decoration; it is true that Arabian letters,
with their mysteriously winding forms, lend themselves remarkably to
this use. The inscriptions, which are almost always _suras_ of the
Koran, or eulogies to various princes who have built and decorated
these halls, unfold upon the friezes, on the jambs of the doors, and
round the arches of the windows interspersed with flowers, boughs,
network, and all the wealth of Arabian calligraphy. Those in the
Halls of the Ambassadors signify “Glory to God, power and wealth to
believers,” or consist of praises to Abu Nazar, who, “if he had been
taken into Heaven while living, would have diminished the brightness of
the stars and planets,” a hyperbolical assertion which seems to us a
little too Oriental.
Other bands are filled with eulogies to Abu Abd Allah, another Sultan
who ordered work upon this part of the Palace. The windows are
bedizened with verses in honour of the limpid waters of the reservoir,
of the freshness of the shrubbery, and the perfume of the flowers which
ornament the Court of the _Mezouar_, which in fact is seen, from the
Hall of the Ambassadors through the doors and little columns of the
gallery.
The loop-holes of the interior balcony, pierced at a great height from
the ground, and the ceiling of woodwork, devoid of ornaments except the
zig-zags and the interlacings formed by the joining of the pieces, give
the Hall of the Ambassadors a more severe aspect than any other halls
in the Palace, and more in harmony with its purpose. From the back
window you can enjoy a marvellous view over the ravine of the Darro....
From the Hall of the Ambassadors you go down a corridor of relatively
modern construction to the _tocador_, or dressing-room of the queen.
This is a small pavilion on the top of a tower used by the sultanas
as an oratory, and from which you can enjoy a wonderful panorama. You
notice at the entrance a slab of white marble perforated with little
holes in order to let the smoke of the perfumes burned beneath the
floor to pass through. You can still see on the walls the fantastic
frescoes of Bartholomew de Ragis, Alonzo Perez, and Juan de la Fuente.
Upon the frieze the ciphers of Isabella and Philip V. are intertwined
with groups of Cupids. It is difficult to imagine anything more
coquettish and charming than this room, with its small Moorish columns
and its surbased arches, overhanging an abyss of azure, the bottom of
which is studded with the roofs of Grenada and into which the breeze
brings the perfumes from the Generalife,--that enormous cluster of
oleanders blossoming in the foreground of the nearest hill,--and the
plaintive cry of the peacocks walking upon the dismantled walls.
How many hours have I passed there in that serene melancholy, so
different from the melancholy of the North, with one leg hanging over
the precipice and charging my eyes to photograph every form and every
outline of this beautiful picture unfolded before them, and which, in
all probability, they will never behold again! No description in words,
or colours, can give the slightest hint of this brilliancy, this light,
and these vivid tints. The most ordinary tones acquire the worth of
jewels and everything else is on a corresponding scale. Towards the
close of day, when the sun’s rays are oblique, the most inconceivable
effects are produced: the mountains sparkle like heaps of rubies,
topazes, and carbuncles; a golden dust bathes the ravines; and if, as
is frequent in the summer, the labourers are burning stubble in the
field, the wreaths of smoke, which rise slowly towards the sky, borrow
the most magical reflections from the fires of the setting sun....
The Court of Lions is 120 feet long and 73 feet wide, while the
surrounding galleries do not exceed 20 feet in height. These are
formed by 128 columns of white marble, arranged in a symmetrical
disorder of groups of fours and groups of threes; these columns, whose
highly-worked capitals retain traces of gold and colour, support arches
of extreme elegance and of a very unique form....
To the left and midway up the long side of the gallery, you come
to the Hall of the Two Sisters, the _pendant_ to the Hall of the
Abencerrages. The name of _las Dos Hermanas_ is given to it on account
of two immense flag-stones of white Macael marble of equal size and
exactly alike which you notice at once in the pavement. The vaulted
roof, or cupola, which the Spanish very expressively call _media
naranja_ (half an orange), is a miracle of work and patience. It is
something like a honey-comb, or the stalactites of a grotto, or the
soapy grape-bubbles which children blow through a pipe. These myriads
of little vaults, or domes, three or four feet high, which grow out of
one another, intersecting and constantly breaking their corners, seem
rather the product of fortuitous crystallization than the work of human
hands; the blue, the red, and the green still shine in the hollows of
the mouldings as brilliantly as if they had just been laid on. The
walls, like those in the Hall of the Ambassadors, are covered from the
frieze to the height of a man with the most delicate embroideries in
stucco and of an incredible intricacy. The lower part of the walls is
faced with square blocks of glazed clay, whose black, green and yellow
angles form a mosaic upon the white background. The centre of the room,
according to the invariable custom of the Arabs, whose habitations
seem to be nothing but great ornamental fountains, is occupied by a
basin and a jet of water. There are four fountains under the Gate of
Justice, as many under the entrance-gate, and another in the Hall of
the Abencerrages, without counting the _Taza de los Leones_, which, not
content with vomiting water through the mouths of its twelve monsters,
tosses a jet towards the sky through the mushroom-cap which surmounts
it. All this water flows through small trenches in the floors of the
hall and pavements of the court to the foot of the Fountain of Lions,
where it is swallowed up in a subterranean conduit. Certainly this is
a species of dwelling which would never be incommoded with dust, but
you ask how could these halls have been tenanted during the winter.
Doubtless the large cedar doors were then shut and the marble floors
were covered with thick carpets, while the inhabitants lighted fires of
fruit-stones and odoriferous woods in the _braseros_, and waited for
the return of the fine season, which soon comes in Grenada.
We will not describe the Hall of the Abencerrages, which is precisely
like that of the Two Sisters and contains nothing in particular except
its antique door of wood, arranged in lozenges, which dates from the
time of the Moors. In the Alcazar of Seville you can find another one
of exactly the same style.
The _Taza de los Leones_ enjoys a wonderful reputation in Arabian
poetry: no eulogy is considered too extravagant for these superb
animals. I must confess, however, that it would be hard to find
anything which less resembles lions than these productions of Arabian
fantasy; the paws are simple stakes like those shapeless pieces of
wood which one thrusts into the bellies of pasteboard dogs to make
them keep their equilibrium; their muzzles streaked with transverse
lines, very likely intended for whiskers, are exactly like the snout
of a hippopotamus, and the eyes are so primitive in design that they
recall the crude attempts of children. However, if you consider these
twelve monsters as chimeræ and not lions, and as a fine caprice in
ornamentation, producing in combination with the basin they support
a picturesque and elegant effect, you will then understand their
reputation and the praises contained in this Arabian inscription of
twenty-four verses and twenty-four syllables engraved on the sides
of the lower basin into which the waters fall from the upper basin.
I ask the reader’s pardon for the rather barbarous fidelity of the
translation:
“O thou, who lookest upon the lions fixed in their place! remark
that they only lack life to be perfect. And you to whom will fall
the inheritance of this Alcazar and Kingdom, take them from the
noble hands of those who have governed them without displeasure
and resistance. May God preserve you for the work, which you will
accomplish, and protect you forever from the vengeance of your enemy!
Honour and glory be thine, O Mohammed! our King, endowed with the
high virtues, with whose aid thou hast conquered everything. May God
never permit this beautiful garden, the image of thy virtues, to be
surpassed by any rival. The material which covers the substance of
this basin is like mother-of-pearl beneath the shimmering waters;
this sheet of water is like melted silver, for the limpidity of the
water and the whiteness of the stone are unequalled; it might be
called a drop of transparent essence upon a face of alabaster. It
would be difficult to follow its course. Look at the water and look
at the basin, and you will not be able to tell if it is the water
that is motionless, or the marble which ripples. Like the prisoner of
love whose face is full of trouble and fear when under the gaze of
the envious, so the jealous water is indignant at the marble and the
marble is envious of the water. To this inexhaustible stream we may
compare the hand of our King which is as liberal and generous as the
lion is strong and valiant.”
Into the basin of the Fountain of Lions fell the heads of the
thirty-six Abencerrages, drawn there by the stratagem of the Zegris.
The other Abencerrages would have shared the same fate if it had not
been for the devotion of a little page who, at the risk of his own
life, ran to warn the survivors from entering the fatal court. Your
attention will be attracted by some large red spots at the bottom of
the basin--an indelible accusation left by the victims against the
cruelty of their murderers. Unfortunately, the learned declare that
neither the Abencerrages nor the Zegris existed. Regarding this fact, I
am entirely guided by romances, popular traditions, and Chateaubriand’s
novel, and I solemnly believe that these crimson stains are blood and
not rust.
We established our headquarters in the Court of the Lions; our
furniture consisted of two mattresses which were rolled up in a corner
during the day, a copper lamp, an earthenware jar, and a few bottles of
sherry which we placed in the fountain to cool. Sometimes we slept in
the Hall of the Two Sisters, and sometimes in that of the Abencerrages,
and it was not without some slight fear that I, stretched out upon my
cloak, looked at the white rays of the moon which fell through the
openings of the roof into the water of the basin quite astonished to
mingle with the yellow, trembling flame of a lamp.
The popular traditions collected by Washington Irving in his _Tales of
the Alhambra_ came into my memory; the story of the _Headless Horse_
and of the _Hairy Phantom_ solemnly related by Father Echeverria seemed
very probable to me, especially when the light was out. The truth of
legends always appears much greater at night when these dark places
are filled with weird reflections which give a fantastic appearance to
all objects of a vague outline: Doubt is the son of day, Faith is the
daughter of the night, and it astonishes me to think that St. Thomas
believed in Christ after having thrust his finger into his wounds. I
am not sure that I did not see the Abencerrages walking through the
moonlit galleries carrying their heads under their arms: anyhow the
shadows of the columns always assumed forms that were diabolically
suspicious, and the breeze as it passed through the arches made me
wonder if it was not a human breath.
_Voyage en Espagne_ (Paris, new ed., 1865).
FOOTNOTES
[1] The outside of Notre-Dame has been restored since Victor Hugo wrote
his famous romance.--E. S.
[2] I scarcely know how to trust myself with the mention of that most
appalling, unprecedented, act of a one-third madman and two-thirds
rogue--Jonathan Martin by name--who set fire to the choir of York
Minster: a fire which was almost miraculously stopt in its progress
towards the destruction of the entire Cathedral. This had been a result
which Martin would have rejoiced to have seen effected. This horrid
deed, at the very thought of which the heart sickens, took place on the
2d of February, 1829.
[3] I gather the following from the abridged English version (1693)
of _Dugdale’s Monasticon_ as quoted by Drake. Where is even the
Protestant bosom that does not heave heavily as it reads it? “To this
Cathedral did belong abundance of jewels, vessels of gold and silver,
and other ornaments; rich vestments and books,--amongst which were
ten mitres of great value, and one small mitre set with stones for
the ‘_Boy Bishop_.’ One silver and gilt pastoral staff, many pastoral
rings, amongst which one for the bishop of the boys. Chalices, viols,
pots, basons, candlesticks, thuribles, holy-water pots, crosses of
silver--one of which weighed eight pounds, six ounces. Images of gold
and silver; relicts in cases extremely rich; great bowls of silver;
an unicorn’s horn; a table of silver and gilt, with the image of the
Virgin enamelled thereon, weighing nine pounds, eight ounces, and
a half. Several Gospellaries and Epistolaries, richly adorned with
silver, gold, and precious stones. Jewels, affixed to shrines and
tombs, of an almost inestimable value. Altar cloths and hangings, very
rich; copes of tissue, damask, and velvet, white, red, blue, green,
black, and purple. Besides this, there was a great treasure, deposited
in the common chest in gold chains, collars of the Order of the Garter,
with large sums of old gold and silver.”
[4] The spires of the Cathedral were finished in 1880, and the
completion of the edifice was celebrated before the Emperor William I.
on October 15th of that year.--E. S.
[5] Remigius was a monk of Fescamp in Normandy, and brought over here
by William the Conqueror. He was worthy of all promotion. Brompton
tells us that he began to build the Cathedral in 1088, and finished it
in 1092, when it was consecrated; but the founder died two days before
its consecration.
[6] This must have been “Great Tom,” the _First_, cast in 1610;
preceded probably by one or more Great Toms, to the time of Geoffrey
Plantagenet. “Great Tom,” the _Second_, was cast by Mr. Mears of
Whitechapel in 1834, and was hung in the central tower in 1835. Its
weight is 5 tons, 8 cwt.; being one ton heavier than the great bell
of St. Paul’s Cathedral.... “Great Tom,” the First, was hung in the
north-west tower.
[7] Robert Bloet was a worthy successor of Remigius, the founder.
Bloet was thirty years a bishop of this see--largely endowing it with
prebendal stalls, and with rich gifts of palls, hoods, and silver
crosses. He completed the western front--and, perhaps, finished the
Norman portion of the nave, now replaced by the Early English....
Geoffrey Plantagenet was a natural son of Henry II., and was elected in
1173.... The latter years of his life seem to be involved in mystery,
for he fled the kingdom five years before his death, which happened at
Grosmont, near Rouen, in 1212.
[8] It has been estimated that every stone of these huge Pharaonic
temples cost, at least, one human life.
[9] The arms of Cœur were what are called _parlantes_: azure, fess
_or_, charged with three shells _or_ (recalling those of St. James his
patron), accompanied by three hearts, _gules_, in allusion to his name.
[10] The fortune of Jacques Cœur became proverbial: they said: “_Riche
comme Jacques Cœur._”
[11] The word _cœurs_ is indicated by hearts.
[12] Chateaubriand, _La Vie de Rancé_.
[13] Pliny xxxv. 15.
[14] Tac. Ann. xv. 44.
[15] See Rio.
[16] Arnold Boulin, master-joiner (_menuisier_) at Amiens, solicited
the enterprise, and obtained it in the first months of the year
1508. A contract was drawn and an agreement made with him for the
construction of one hundred and twenty stalls with historical subjects,
high backings, crownings, and pyramidal canopies. It was agreed that
the principal executor should have seven sous of Tournay (a little
less than the son of France) a day, for himself and his apprentice,
(threepence a day the two--say a shilling a week the master, and
sixpence a week the man,) and for the superintendence of the whole
work, twelve crowns a year, at the rate of twenty-four sous the crown;
(i. e. twelve shillings a year). The salary of the simple workman was
only to be three sous a day. For the sculptures and histories of the
seats, the bargain was made separately with Antoine Avernier, image
cutter, residing at Amiens, at the rate of thirty-two sous (sixteen
pence), the piece. Most of the wood came from Clermont en Beauvoisis,
near Amiens; the finest, for the bas-reliefs from Holland, by St.
Valery and Abbeville.
[17] The ravages committed by the Calvinists throughout nearly the
whole of the towns of Normandy, and especially in the Cathedrals
towards the year 1560, afford a melancholy proof of the effects of
_religious animosity_. But the Calvinists were bitter and ferocious
persecutors. Pommeraye in his quarto volume Histoire de l’Église
Cathedrale de Rouen (1686) has devoted nearly one hundred pages to an
account of Calvinistic depredations.
[18] M. Licquet says each clustered pillar contains thirty-one columns.