_Minor Churches, Hospitals, and Convents_
To write of all the churches and convents of Toledo would be to burthen
the reader with a needless and confusing fatigue. It is enough to know
that the city was pre-eminently a hieratic centre to understand that
both were once innumerable. To-day they are still too many to remember
and certainly more than are worth visiting. Some, like San José, are of
no architectural value whatever, only known as a poor little hall which
contains some of El Greco's finest pictures. The fame of others, like
San Roman, rests upon their mudejar towers, which give so quaint and
individual an air to the general aspect of Toledo from the hills or the
river. Others again, like San Tomé, combine both attractions in a pure
mudejar tower and El Greco's most wonderful masterpiece, the Burial of
Count Ruiz de Orgaz, as well as Alonzo Cano's Prophet Elia in sculptured
wood, a marvellous specimen of Spanish wood-sculpture. Of _Santo Domingo
el Antiguo_ nothing here need be said since I have already written about
it in my chapter on El Greco. Perhaps one of the finest of the minor
churches is San Andrès. It was transformed after the conquest by order
of Alonso VI. from a mosque into a Christian church as the remains of
Moorish inscriptions as late as the sixteenth century would indicate. In
the lateral nave above the transept there
[Illustration: SAN TOMÉ]
are still traces of Arabian architecture in the vaults and stucco
ornamentation of the same period. But the general appearance of the
edifice is more modern, of a sober Gothic style, less highly decorated,
but to my thinking more graceful in form than San Juan de los Reyes. The
three long naves appear to be of a more recent date than the transept
and _capilla major_. The pillars that sustain the dome are extremely
graceful, and there is a bold freshness about the arches between that
give the whole an air of distinction which none of the other minor
churches of Toledo possess. The general effect is delightfully
harmonious. In each of the chapels of the aisles there is something to
examine. The founder of the restored temple, as the long inscription in
Gothic letters along the friezes of the transept tells us, was Francisco
de Rojas, commendador and ambassador at the court of Maximilian I.,
buried here in 1523. The high altar is of wrought wood of the sixteenth
century, with paintings of that period of some merit. The shafts of the
transept are in excellent taste, and on one of the lateral altars, under
the retablo of painted wood, is a little sculptured Mater Dolorosa by an
unknown artist, exquisitely touching and life-like. It has the beauty of
a profound and tremulous sensibility and a vivid sweetness that reminded
me of a lovely St Scholastica of painted wood by Pereira I saw at
Santiago de Compostello, but the Spanish painter who accompanied me to
San Andrès assures me that it is not a Pereira. The hand that wrought
this symbol of gracious grief remains unknown to fame like that which
sculptured the symbol of divine sweetness in the head of St Francis of
Assisi above the cloister door of Burgos Cathedral. There are two Grecos
here badly placed. With the aid of a chair and a candle even in the
early afternoon you can barely distinguish them, so high do they hang in
the dim light. One is St Peter of Alcántara and the other St Francis.
Visibly Grecos, but of their merits it would be impossible to write,
because of the squinting view you get of them. There is a Calvary of the
Genoese painter, Semini, and an Adoration of the Kings by Antonio
Vanderpere, with the unedifying legend of Lot and his daughters, a copy
of Guido.
The church of San Pedro Martir, attached to the monastery of that order,
and affiliated to St John of Latran in Rome since 1773, is as black and
chill as a colossal vault. Señor Parro in _Toledo en la Mano_ writes of
this dull and unbeautiful edifice in terms of flatulent praise, several
pages long. He calls it the Pantheon of Toledan glory. It is certainly
an excellent tomb if nothing else. The coldest churches I have ever set
foot in are this and San Benito of Valladolid, both warranted to provoke
pneumonia on a summer's day. In winter I should imagine the rash
traveller would remain therein embalmed in ice. The architecture is of
the Greco-Roman style, bewilderingly spacious without any majesty of
effect in its immense proportions. Señor Parro tells us that the façade
is "most lovely." My expectations were not realised. I found the
corinthian columns, the cornices, the "grandiose" central arch, the
pilasters perfectly insignificant, but there are two marble statues on
either side, sometimes mistakenly attributed to Berruguete, extremely
fine, and also a life-size statue of St Peter effective in a lesser
degree. The frescoes have disappeared, and the high altar is now defaced
with commonplace modern pictures of no value whatever. But the gilt wood
and sculpture remain. Once the degraded squares were filled with
paintings of Fray Bautista Maino, the distinguished master of Felipe
IV., Velasquez's friend and patron. These vanished pictures were
excellent imitations of Paul Veronese, so good that they were seized for
the Musée of Madrid, and to fill up the horrid vacancy modern
monstrosities, mere daubs, were ordered, which to-day grotesquely offend
the eye. The celebrated _Virgen del Rosario_, an object of special
devotion to the Toledans, may be seen in one of the chapels. The
_plateresca_ iron-railing of the sanctuary would be remarkable in any
other land, but the railings of Spain are so sumptuous that one hardly
notices this one. Still it is worth inspection, being a rich and
profusely gilt specimen of that special work, with a fine centre cross
and a rich frieze. Attached to the cross is the standard of the great
Cardinal of Spain, Pedro Gonzalez de Mendoza, pale blue damask, with
four Jerusalem crosses in each corner, and in the centre an oval figure
of St Helena holding the cross, before which kneels the great Cardinals.
At the foot of the middle nave, below the choir, are a group of wooden
statues representing the saints of the preaching orders and a scarce
distinguishable fresco of Maino. The choir is large and free, with a
fine reading-desk and sculptured seats, an inferior imitation of those
of the Cathedral. Off the sacristy, a large but insignificant chamber,
with an imposing marble table worthy a nobler setting, there is a little
Gothic chapel dedicated to St Agnes, part of the primitive building, and
here you may see an ancient retablo of extreme interest. Alonzo Carrillo
of Toledo and Don Alvaro de Guzman were buried here as early as 1303, as
the half-effaced Gothic characters tell us.
Among the great men of Toledo buried in the church are the Counts of
Cifuentes, above whose arms Fray Maino painted a fresco. In the chapel
of the Virgin of the Rosary is buried the famous poet Garcilaso de la
Vega, whose statue, life-size in marble kneeling, is encased in armour,
interesting rather as an historic figure than for any intrinsic merit of
art. The Fiscal of Holy Office and Prior of Santillana, Pedro Soto
Cameno, has also his statue as founder of the chapel; he was buried in
1583. In this same chapel is the impressive Gothic tomb of the
_Malograda_, a surpassingly beautiful young woman, magnificently
apparelled, lying upon a marble couch above the funeral urn that
contains her ashes. Historians disagree as to the identity of this
romantic figure. Some say she was Doña Maria, the bride of Don Lorenzo
Suarez de Figueroa, Master of Santiago in 1389, whose despair on losing
a loved young wife is thus immortalised. Others identify the
_Malograda_ with Doña Estefania de Castro, mysteriously done to death in
the days of Alonso the Emperor. The tomb rests on superb marble lions,
and angels as usual hold the shields, in Gothic fashion. The ample folds
of the dead girl's garments are charmingly graceful, and to the beauty
of art is added the mystery of romance. Bride or mistress, this fair
girl, asleep for six centuries, holds in the stillness of her delicate
sculptured visage the enigma of her broken destiny. Sorrow or remorse
built her splendid monument.
The tombs of the Fuensalidas in the transept are notable works of art.
The statues representing the mighty and turbulent Ayalas and their wives
are of alabaster, and close by, brought from ruins of the Augustine
Convent, is a double tomb of _plateresca_ style, highly sculptured and
divided by two arches on delicate pillars, crowned with an intricate
frieze in really fine relief, belonging to Diego de Mendoza, a great
figure in the sixteenth century, and his wife, Ana de la Cerda. A niece
of St Theresa also is buried here, Doña Marina de Rivadeneira y Cepeda.
The purest mudejar steeple of Toledo is that of San Roman. This Moorish
steeple, with its arcaded windows and ingenious brickwork, was erected
by the famous Esteban de Illan, chief of the Toledos. Formerly the
church was a mosque remodelled from the original Gothic chapel, as the
remains of Arabic inscriptions indicate. After the Conquest it was
refashioned again into a Christian temple, and has since undergone
frequent restoration. Here St Ildefonso, after St Leocadia, the patron
of Toledo, was baptised in remoter centuries. In the sixteenth century
the _plateresca_ capilla major was built. Four wide arches, the two in
front of the central nave open, and the others wrought into the lateral
walls, with their graceful pillars and reliefs are extremely effective,
and are regarded, with the florid sculpture and half-orange cupola, as
constituting one of the finest specimens of plateresca architecture of
Toledo. The light, however, is imperfect for full inspection. The
retablo belongs to the same debased form of renaissance, an excess in
sculpture, legends in relief and medallion, every kind of architectural
fancy a combination of Gothic and classic could suggest. Nearly all
evidence of its earlier form has vanished, but for a defaced Arabian
inscription and a few horse-shoe arches, and a line of blocked arcades
with the cusped arches above, bold and large, while a simple ceiling
covers the primitive artesonado. In a little chapel on the Epistle side,
are a few forsaken specimens of old Spanish painting, before it
blossomed out into our European school. They are stiff and dull enough,
and their subject the conventional scenes from the New Testament, but
interesting as a development of Spanish art.
[Illustration: SANTIAGO, TOLEDO]
From the Moorish windows of its tower the flag of Castille waved in
1166, while the little king downstairs, in the safe keeping of the
mighty Illans was proclaimed, _Toledo, Toledo, Toledo por el rey Don
Alonso VIII._, and the town, in one of its customary phases of turbulent
revolt, was divided between the followers of the great families of the
Illans, the Laras, and the Castros. The tower is of plain reddish-brown
stone, the brick-work rough and unmoulded of a supremely singular and
distinguished effect, in perfect keeping with the rude, strange aspect
of the city. Among the smaller mudejar steeples is a good example in
that of Santa Magdalena. This is rougher and simpler than the rest. It
has only two arched windows above, while the lower part is perfectly
plain and solid. The bells hang in the window, adding thus to the
picturesque rudeness of the general effect, so unfamiliar to the
northern eye, so quaintly barbaric, so distinguished in its freedom from
the curse of modern banality or vulgarity.
[Illustration: SANTO PABLO]
A double interest is attached to the little church between the _Puerta
del Sol_ and the _Puerta Bisagra_, the _Cristo de la Luz_. It remains
still a perfect mosque, where to-day a Mohammedan might pray and
proclaim Allah the only God and Mohammed his prophet, and here the
conquering Castillian, entering the city, stopped and ordered mass to be
said, hanging up his shield upon the wall in memory of the first mass
celebrated after the defeat of the Moors, 1035. There are traces of
anterior occupation in Visi-Gothic days, and nothing more quaint, more
curious, exists in Toledo. Legends are naturally attached to it. In the
time of Atanagildo, there hung over the door a crucifix much venerated
by the Toledanos, and it entered the minds of two foolish Jews, Sacao
and Abisain, to outrage it. They pricked a lancet hole in the side, and
instantly blood gushed forth. In consternation they carried off the
cross to hide it in their dwelling, and the Christians, hunting
everywhere for their stolen crucifix, traced it by the blood-marks to
the house of these stupid Jews. The Jews were torn to pieces, of course,
and a solemn procession led back the insulted image to its revered spot.
Then the incorrigible Jews, to avenge the deaths of Sacao and Abisain,
are said to have poisoned the feet of the statue, so that the Christians
prompted to kiss them should be destroyed. A woman knelt to perform this
pious action, when to her surprise and terror, the statue withdrew its
foot from her kiss. The name Christ of the light comes from Moorish
days. When the Moors took Toledo, the sacred image was hidden by an
outer wall, with space enough to permit of a burning lamp being placed
before it. This lamp, unreplenished, burnt the entire 370 years of
Moorish dominion, and was discovered still aflame on May 25th, when
Alonso VI. entered the town. Passing the hidden spot as he rode along
the Valmardones, the king's horse suddenly knelt, some say; some say it
was the Cid's. A warrior's horse that performed such an action nowadays
would receive the whip. In those days, everyone seems to have been on
the look-out for miracles as natural events. The king and the Cid
dismounted, the wall was instantly broken down, and discovered the
crucifix and the burning lamp fixed in the wall of a Moorish mosque.
Mass was said on the spot by the Archbishop Bernardo, and there being no
cross above the altar, the king offered his shield, on which a large
cross was painted, and there it hangs to-day, a fine martial offering.
At that time the church lay beyond the town walls, at the vanished gate
of Valmardon, whereas now the town entrance from the Vega begins at the
Puerta Bisagra. The architecture is Moorish-Byzantine, quite the oldest
and most perfect specimen of Moorish architecture in Spain, and, for
that reason, one of the most interesting monuments of the Peninsula. The
body of the church is 22 feet by 25, while the outside is 22 by 19 only.
The whole building is white-washed, and gives an amazing impression of
strength for so limited a space. It looks so small and simple, and yet
is so fantastic, of an Oriental art so complete and finished. The six
short naves cross each other under nine vaults, and in the middle are
four strong low columns with sculptured capitals and twelve heavy
horse-shoe arches. The walls above are pierced with arcades cusped in
Moorish fashion and supported on shafts, each division crowned with a
little vault. The forest of naves and arches of the mosque of Cordova is
an enlarged and magnificent reproduction of this Oriental style. Above
are smaller semicircular arches, some double resting on smaller pillars.
Varied little cupolas complete the design, with the centre inevitable
half-orange, and above the central arch is the shield of Don Alfonso
(which may or may not be authentic) a white cross on a crimson ground
with the inscription below: _Esto es el escudo que dejo en esta ermita
el Rey Don Alonso VI. cuando ganó à Toledo y se dijo aqui la primera
misa_. The Cristo de la Luz makes an admirable contrast with the later
Arabian work, the more decorative period of the brilliant Morisco
Granadian architecture of which it is a foil.
Another notable church is the oldest and most celebrated of Toledo, the
basilica of Santa Leocadia, now called the Cristo de la Vega. Before
King Sisebuth's days it was a prætorian temple, and this monarch
converted it into a Christian chapel in the sixteenth century. Here
prelates and monarchs met to hold the earlier of the famous Councils of
Toledo. It is said, I know not if upon authentic fact, that some of the
wealth of this ancient church has been carried off to adorn the
Cathedral choir, some to the School of Infantry which now oddly
desecrates the Hospital of Santa Cruz. As early as the eleventh Council,
an abbot of Santa Leocadia was named, which proves its early importance;
and consecration for ever came with the apparition of the saint, in the
reign of Recesvinthus. Juana le loca carried part of the body of the
saint to Flanders, to a monastery in Hainault. The Archbishop of Sevilla
paid 1000 ducats to the Flemish monastery for the return of these
relics, which, in an explosion of universal joy, occurred in 1583.
Philip II. sent troops to Cambrai under Miguel Hernandez, where they
were met by a procession of abbesses and holy persons. Letters went
between Cardinal Quiroga and Alexander Farnese, Prince of Parma, on the
subject, and the matter was almost one of European importance. The
relics were said to have been stolen by the Count of Hainault when he
came to Spain to
[Illustration: CHRISTO DE LA LUZ]
help the Castillians against the Moors; but Ambrosio de Morales is of
opinion that they were taken to Oviedo, which would have been at the
date of the Moorish conquest, when Favila and Pelayo, with their
Asturian followers, were at Rodrigo's court. For their reception at
Toledo, all the town went out in procession under triumphal arches,
banners flying, trumpets blowing. A throne was erected at the Puerta
Bisagra, and a chapel, where eight dignitaries and canons received the
relics; and the procession turned back, with music, singing and dancing.
Every parish had its banner wrought for the occasion, and each child
carried a flag. More than a thousand monks walked behind; and, as well
as fifteen hundred priests of the town, there were all the canons, the
Brotherhood of the Hermandad, foreign priests, and every order of the
Catholic Church was present. Then came all the officers and ministry of
the Inquisition, more than seven hundred and forty doctors and masters,
fifty-five juries, thirty-three magistrates, the mayor, the Duke of
Maqueda, the Count of Fuensalida and Pedro de Silva, the city
standard-bearer. All the grandees of Castille followed--six dukes, nine
marquises, six counts, quantities of minor noblemen, and a regiment of
cavaliers and lords. The procession went by all the principal streets
from the Puerta Bisagra to the Cathedral. All were gaily decorated with
tapestries and silks, and arches were built everywhere, with Latin
inscriptions and elegant verses among their bright flowers. At the
Cathedral doors, Philip II., his two children, Don Carlos and Doña
Ysabel Clara, his sister, Doña Maria de Austria, and the Princes Rodolph
and Ernest of Hapsburg stood in the porch to receive the relics. The
majesty of the ceremony here becomes so dazzling that our prolix friend,
Dr Pisa, lays down his pen and weeps from emotion. He cannot hope to
trace such a picture, nor can we. But we strive to imagine the splendour
of Cardinal Quiroga in his sumptuous pontifical robes, a blaze of gold,
brocade and jewels, such as not to be beheld out of Eastern legend; the
dignitaries with their jewelled mitres; the King, infantas and princes,
all hardly less resplendent, and the laity rivalling them as far as
possible, in the gemmed lights of Toledo's glorious cathedral. A picture
one would gladly have seen, if it could be seen at a price less terrible
than that of Philip's contemporary or subject.
The church is situated under the ruins of the old city walls, below the
Puerta del Cambron. It is rough and simple enough, and derives its name
from the wooden crucifix over the altar, to which legend attaches a
romantic interest. Becquer and Zorilla have told the tale in thin and
sentimental prose, and in thinner and more sentimental verse. A gallant
pledged his word to marry a maid within sight of this crucifix:
afterwards he forgot his promise and denied the pledge, on which the
broken-hearted maid flung herself at the foot of the crucifix, and
addressed it as the witness of violated vows. The crucified held out a
wooden arm, and a voice from above exclaimed, "_I testify_." There is
one lovely thing in this quaint old basilica, the statue of St Leocadia
by Berruguete, originally sculptured for the gate of Cambron. Nothing
more sweet and delicate was ever wrought by that famous hand; no more
fitting expression of brave and beautiful maidenhood was ever conceived
in stone; and Italian influence in its best form is here visible, and
Berruguete's strength is subtilised by an exquisite and penetrative
charm. As well as St Leocadia and St Ildefonso, an Arabian inscription
in relief tells us that the first Moorish King of Toledo, Mahomad
Ben-Raman, was buried here.
Some of the convents of Toledo have been famous. That of San Pedro de
las Dueñas, in the reign of Henry the Impotent, created quite a
scandalous interest. Tired of his mistress, Doña Catalina de Sandoval,
he insisted on naming her abbess of this convent, and with this object
ordered the public expulsion of the abbess, the Marquesa de Guzman. In
his pretence lies the humour of the situation: he found the convent
needed a purifying influence, and that the ladies were not sufficiently
scrupulous in the maintenance of their vows. Spanish convents, before St
Theresa's time, were not harsh abodes. Indeed, I fancy they were freer
and pleasanter dwellings than the home of father or husband. Cavaliers
thronged the parlours, and there was much thrumming of lute and guitar,
much singing of soft sequidilla between belted knights and veiled
ladies, who only left off these gentle recreations when the bell
summoned them to meal or prayer. However, St Pedro so exceeded the limit
of ecclesiastical tolerance that the Archbishop Alonzo of Carrillo
placed it under interdict, and forbade any priest to cross its
threshold. The scandal only ended with the austere and lofty presence of
Queen Isabel upon the scene.
Santa Fé was originally a royal Moorish palace beautifully situated on
the north edge of the Zocodover, which Alonso VI., the conqueror, at the
instance of his French queen Constance, bestowed upon a French order for
noble ladies. A charming and perfect suggestion of its antique moresque
beauty may be had from the view of its wall in an old garden above the
river where you see the Moorish apse and brick arcading. The ground
covered by the palace must have been enormous, since in the time of
Alfonso VIII. the priory of the Knights of Calatrara was established
here. Nothing now remains but the Moorish choir and arcaded wall, and
the best of it is to be seen from the wild patch of garden outside the
convent walls. It is another case of senseless destruction, a monument
we are only permitted to rebuild in imagination with the help of a few
Moorish arches and brown brickwork half-hidden by exuberant foliage. A
stately dream, if mournful and evanescent, San Juan de la Penitencia
ineffectively situated below the Cathedral in a broken and dilapidated
quarter, is a Franciscan convent founded by Cisneros for poor girls,
where after six years' free schooling they may remain as nuns, and if
they prefer marriage the convent dowers them with about £15, with a
life-seat in the choir. The church is one of the minor sights of Toledo.
It was finished by the secretary of Cisneros, who lies buried here,
Francisco Ruiz, Bishop of Avila. About the convent halls and corridors
are still traces of Moorish ornamentation in which the Castillian
conquerors delighted quite as much as the Moslem. The chapel ceiling is
a good specimen of artesonado in terrible decay alas, and the
architecture is a medley of Gothic, Moorish, and renaissance. Above the
porch are the arms of Cisneros. Within it is of a gloomy and depressing
simplicity: a single nave, a high altar, a tribune. True the plateresca
frieze of the tribune is graceful, and the iron railing of the high
altar is quite the best of the minor churches, and admirably decorative,
while the tomb of the Bishop of Avila brought from Palermo is a most
beautiful work of art. Writing of it, Ponz says:--"Above a large stone
divided by three pilasters to form three pedestals, there are an equal
number of statues seated, almost life-size, representing Faith, Hope,
and Charity. Between the pilasters are the arms of the Bishop, five
castles. In a framed niche are contained the urn, couch, and recumbent
statue. In front of the urn there are two weeping children, and in the
depths of the niche four angels hold up the curtains. On either side are
two Doric pillars sustaining the architecture, frieze, and cornices,
and along the frieze runs: _Beato mortui, qui in Domino moriuntur_. On
the edge are two wrought columns of a very antique taste, excellently
executed.... Between these columns and pilasters on either side is a
statue, St James and St Andrew, and above the figures of children. Over
the whole is a bas-relief of the Annunciation, with the statues of St
John the Baptist and St John the Evangelist, half the size of the
Virtues below." Ponz is of opinion that this magnificent work of art is
of two distinct periods, the frame work having been wrought later by
Toledan sculptures after the tomb within had been brought from Palermo,
and revealing the delicacy, the finish and unerring taste of the finer
Italian school. Nothing could be more graceful, more effective than the
curtains held apart by the angels, or more delightfully touching than
the slight shadow thus cast upon the recumbent statue, lending it
something of the immediate stillness and impressiveness of recent death.
Santa Isabel is worth a visit. Some good azulejo and the artesonado
ceiling testify to Moorish influences and a queen and a royal princess,
daughter of Isabel the Glorious, were buried here, and the whole forms
an agreeable note of quaintness and dimness without however any special
attraction in architecture or decoration or art. Not so San Clemente.
The façade is what my Spanish friends call _una preciosidad_, the strong
and beautiful work of Berruguete. The architecture rests on two Ionic
pillars, and above is the statue of the titular saint. The reliefs of
the porch are exquisite, and the frieze abounds in all the wild and
exuberant fancies of the Spanish renaissance, every caprice in figure,
in leafage, in image, and phantasmal suggestion. Like Santa Fé the
convent prides itself upon aristocratic traditions. In the church is
buried the infante, Don Fernando, son of the founder, Alonso VII., the
emperor, the tomb a restoration by order of Felipe II. in 1570. The
interior is pleasing with an air of sober wealth, but has nothing to
show in the way of art that can compare with the noble façade. It is
stated that the archives contain 500 Arabian manuscripts, but these
statements the intelligent foreigner must take on trust.
_Santo Domingo el Real_ is another aristocratic convent of historical
interest. It was founded by an illegitimate daughter of Pedro the Cruel,
Doña Maria de Castilla, who was its first abbess. Two sons of Pedro were
buried here, results of the thousand vagabond caprices of this crowned
Blue-Beard; the infanta of Aragon, Queen of Portugal, hence the
qualification, St Dominick the Royal, the Guzmans, the Silvas, and
Ayalas reconciled first by marriage and then by death. There is a fine
retablo if there were only light enough to see it by.
* * * * *
Of the many hospitals of Toledo, two alone are famous, one what the
Spanish guides very properly call "a sumptuous work of art." Descending
the steps through the Moorish archway of the Zocodover, you leave
Cervantes' inn on the right, and a little lower down on the left is the
Hospital of Santa Cruz, the hospital of Mendoza, "The Cardinal of
Spain," now incongruously enough a school of infantry. The traveller,
enamoured of the picturesque, in awed surrender to the charm of noble
ruins, grows to loathe the military all over Europe. They take up their
quarters so profanely in monuments one hardly dares to lift one's voice
in. They sprawl in their motley uniforms over the loveliest homes of
romance and memories, and burthen the silence with their futile
miseries, labours, and tyrannies. In times of war the army makes a
gallant figure. Then each man is a hero, and we willingly tend his
wounds. But in times of
[Illustration: DOOR OF SANTA CRUZ]
peace the soldier is frankly an anachronism and a nuisance. He
desecrates ruins and spoils the view; he vulgarises the atmosphere of
legend, and cheapens the majesty of dismantled walls. There is, of
course, no reason but a sentimental one why the sabred heroes of Spain
should not sleep within the walls of a magnificent monument, and
exercise their muscles in the lovely chapel of Mendoza, now their
gymnasium, but what will you?--a traveller is necessarily sentimental.
The great cardinal of Spain designed to build an hospital for
foundlings, and had engaged the architect, Enrique Egas, and with him
traced the plan, when death overtook him at Guadalajara in 1495, and he
bequeathed his idea, with over 75,000 ducats for its completion, to
Queen Isabel and his relative the Duke of Infantado. The Queen chose the
spot on account of the wide view of the hills rolling upward from the
opposite river banks, and the hospital was called Santa Cruz because of
the founder's devotion to the Holy Cross. It was originally a royal
Gothic palace, converted later into a Moorish palace, it is said, the
town residence of Galiana's father, Galafré. Possibly here may have
dwelt Casilda, the King's daughter, who from her earliest years, loved
the Christians and pitied them, and carried food to the Christian
prisoners. She vowed to devote herself to the poor and live a maid, to
King Almenor's dismay, who proposed one after another brilliant match to
her in vain. Standing at the palace gate one day he found her carrying a
basket of provisions to the prisoners, and asked her what the basket
contained. "Roses," said Casilda like St Elisabeth of Hungary, and
opening the basket, to her surprise discovered it full of red and white
roses. There, too, may have taken place that strange bridal of Doña
Theresa, sister of the King of Leon and the Moorish king Abdallah, when,
it is said, an angel interposed to prevent the union of Christian
princess and Moorish monarch, and the King thus convinced of the
sacrilege, sent his bride away with camels loaded with gold and silver
and jewels, which she carried to the convent of St Pelayo, where she
became abbess. When Alfonso reigned over Toledo, he gave the property to
the nuns of San Pedro de las Dueñas, and in 1504 the building of the
cardinal's hospital was begun. It is the first sample of plateresque
architecture then introduced into Spain by Covarrubias. The façade is
superb, one of the many glories of Toledo. Impossible to conceive
anything more charming than all this wonder of chiselled stone, with its
delicate arches and most exquisite reliefs. One represents St Helena
holding the cross, and kneeling in front of her, Cardinal Mendoza;
behind the cardinal is St Peter, and behind the empress is St Paul; a
suite of pages hold mitre and hat. The decoration of leafage, flower and
cross is rich and fanciful. One particularly lovely relief represents
Charity, with statues on either side, while the architecture, the
friezes and cornices are elaborately wrought in every Gothic fancy,
bucklers, arms, and armour mingling with flower and foliage, and the
cardinal's arms held reverently by little angels. Between the
magnificent columns are the four cardinal virtues, and above are other
reliefs whose general effect is beautiful enough, but whose details it
is difficult to follow at such a height (one is supposed to represent St
Joachim and St Anne embracing, and is somewhat crudely defined by the
Spanish guidebooks), while the whole is surmounted by the cardinal's
favourite Jerusalem cross. The large windows are extremely harmonious,
with their Toledan railings so grimly artistic, with all the sombre
beauty of a taste more largely decorative than prettily fanciful. On
entering you face three sculptured doors leading to the chapel, now the
gymnasium, and to the splendid patios, to-day fallen into a scandalous
state of neglect and decay. The superb staircase, despite the fact that
all the wealth of its beautiful ornamentation is half defaced, gives
some indication of what a work of art it once was in its mingling of
arabesque and plateresque note, and something of the delicate finish of
details may still be seized. The chapel forms a Greek cross, degraded,
too, like the rest of the edifice, showing remains of what was once a
singularly fine specimen of the artesonado ceiling. The heavy Gothic
pillars are richly wrought in an incredible variety of reliefs, and we
have no difficulty in believing that this was once one of the
architectural gems of the Gothic capital. But what is still more
impressive, as unique as the great staircase, is the immense empty
patio, with its long galleries and pillars of Italian marble, its
reliefs and armorial bearings. I know nothing in Toledo that seizes the
imagination so vividly with the tragic sensation of vanished
magnificence as this great courtyard. Not a courtyard surely, but an
esplanade enclosed within arcaded marble galleries, where a prince might
hold a review for his private satisfaction.
The Hospital of San Juan Bautista or Afuera is another remarkable
building it behoves us to mention. This was founded by one of the
noblest of Toledo's archbishops, Tavera, who died after his journey to
Valladolid to baptise the infant, Prince Carlos, of unfortunate renown,
and to bury the queen, and was buried here. Berruguete wrought his tomb
in the chapel, a monument as noble as the cardinal it honours. The
hospital lies beyond the Puerta de Bisagra in the Covachuelas, with a
little public garden in front, and a view of all the Vega on either
side. The spot takes its name, Plazuela de Marchan, from one of the
earliest Corregidors, Pedro de Navarra, marshal and marques de Cortes,
who owned it. The Emperor Charles Quint bestowed it on Tavera for his
hospital in 1540. The primitive plan was Bustamente's, but the building
was concluded by the two Vergaras. Many grandees and bishops were
connected with the work before its termination in 1599, while the outer
portal dates from the eighteenth century. The two patios are superb, and
the general effect of the building is imposing. In one of the south
rooms, under the big clock, Berruguete died in 1561, after having
finished Cardinal Tavera's tomb, his last work, the fitting termination
of a fruitful and laborious existence. Not a Spanish town, hardly a
church, but has something from the hand of this stupendous worker, who
seems to have crowded as much production into a single lifetime as might
easily have supported an entire century. His death is dryly recorded,
without any details, and of the man himself we are not permitted to
gather any impression. We obtain no glimpse of him at work, or abroad
taking his pleasures. Like El Greco, he is a name without any distinct
personality for us, attached to Toledo in glowing evidence.
If there were nothing else in Toledo but this monument of Cardinal
Tavera in the hospital chapel, it would be worth while to travel from
remote parts to see it. The church is fine, composed of a single large
and lofty nave, paved with white and black marble, and the impression it
makes is one of seizing quietude. Here you may examine El Greco at his
worst and best: the appalling eccentricities of vision and manner
revealed in the St John the Baptist, lurid, livid, with gnarled limbs
and swollen muscles, and the noble and dignified portrait of Cardinal
Tavera,
[Illustration: TOMB OF CARDINAL TAVERA]
one of the most beautiful portraits El Greco ever painted. But all your
admiration is claimed by Berruguete's monument before the altar. As the
work of an old and dying man, it confounds minute and modern talent. It
has the virility, the freshness, the superb strength of youth; it has
the serenity, the stillness, the awful majesty of death. Mount the steps
beside this marble tomb, and you will look on such a picture of death in
all its restful sublimity as the hand, the imagination of man have
rarely seized. Nothing like that old man's head under the mitre has
Berruguete himself ever done. It is the supreme attainment of genius on
the eve of eternal night, the culmination of a magnificent art, when the
great strong hand is about to lay down the chisel forever, and gathers
in a supreme moment all that is best in a life's work, to give it a
noble ending. You should examine all the splendid details, the large
gracious statues at either corner, the shields, the eagles, the urns and
masterly mouldings, before looking at the dead cardinal's visage, for
after that you will have no mind left for any emotion but awe. Here so
cheap a thing as praise melts into stupefied silence. The aged sculptor
began this monument in 1559 and finished it in 1561, the year of his
death, and it was his sons who received the payment due to him, 993,764
maravedis. It seems extraordinary that anyone should dare to put a price
on such work, or even offer vulgar coin for it. There are things that
lie without the radius of commerce and competition, and this is surely
one of them. One is almost content to think that Berruguete was never
actually paid for such an inspiration, but dropped into immortality
before the revolting 993,764 maravedis unworthily touched a hand so
honoured.