historians, and he has not been without his literary whitewashers, but
the “incidents” which illuminate his career do not place him in a
favourable light. His Bohemianism endeared him to the people, and a
certain sense of justice, in cases in which his own interests were not
concerned, has gained for him the title of “The Justiciary.” It may be
that the plottings of Albuquerque, his father’s chancellor, and the
perfidious behaviour of his relatives, including his own mother, served
to warp and embitter his nature; but he had no sooner, at the
instigation of his mistress, Maria de Padilla, taken up the reigns of
government, than he revealed the cruelty and malignity of his character.
Leonora de Guzmar, the mother of Alfonso’s illegitimate son, Enrique,
was done to death in his prisons; Abu Said, the King of Granada, was
seized by treachery, robbed, and executed; Urraca Osorio, for refusing
Pedro’s addresses, was burned to death in the market-square of Seville;
his wife, Blanche of Bourbon, was mysteriously murdered; Don Fadrique,
his half-brother, was assassinated with Pedro’s dagger; and he himself
was eventually defeated
[Illustration: SEVILLE
TOWER OF THE GIRALDA.]
[Illustration: SEVILLE
DETAILS OF THE GIRALDA TOWER.]
in battle by the troops of his brother Henry and Bertrand du Guesclin,
and killed in single combat by Henry.
Pedro wearied of his first wife, Blanche of Bourbon, in forty-eight
hours; and, having had his marriage annulled, he espoused the handsome
Juaña de Castro, only to desert her a few days later to return to his
beautiful mistress, Maria de Padilla. This woman appears to have been
the only person who inspired Pedro with more than a transitory passion,
and the courtiers testified to the power she wielded by chivalrously
drinking the waters of her bath in El Jardin del Crucero. But Pedro’s
passion for his mistress, though lasting, was not monopolising, and his
amours supply us with an incident which reveals at once the king’s
ferocity, his humour, and his alleged respect for justice. It was his
custom at night to muffle himself in a cloak and adventure alone into
the city in quest of entertainment. On one of these excursions he
encountered a hidalgo serenading a lady, whose favours he himself
coveted. Cloaked by the dim light, and made secure by the emptiness of
the street, the king fought and slew his rival, in defiance of his own
order, which made street fighting punishable upon the officers of the
city when they failed to bring the disturbers of the peace to justice.
He had not bargained for the noise to disturb the rest of an old lady in
the vicinity; he had not observed a venerable head protruding through an
upper window. Believing the incident to be “wrapped in mystery,” he
summoned the alcade of the city to his presence, acquainted him with the
fact that the body of a hidalgo, pierced to the heart, had been found in
the street, and gave him the option of discovering the murderer within
forty-eight hours, or of being hanged in his stead. And hanged he
doubtless would have been but for the timely confidence of the old lady
who had witnessed the fight. The alcade came again to the king with the
news that the murderer had been found, and would be on view upon the
gallows within the time specified by Pedro. Curious to see who had been
secured to expiate his sin, or eager to fasten a new dereliction of duty
upon the alcade, the king went to the place of execution and found,
suspended from the gallows, an effigy of himself. “Good,” said the king,
“justice has been done! I am satisfied.” There is a street in Seville
which is called the Calle della Cabeza del Rey Don Pedro, to commemorate
the duel; and the alley from which the old lady observed the issue is
known as the Calle del Candilejo, “the street of the candlestick.”
The alcazar extends along the river as far as the Golden Tower, built
during the reign of Yusuf Almotacid Ben Nasir, by the Almohadan governor
Abulala. The view of Seville, from the Christina promenade, the famous
thoroughfare, which extends from the palace of the Duke of Montpensier
to the Golden Tower, is a spectacle of which the Sevillians never tire,
and visitors are never weary of praising. The tower itself, which took
its present name either from the fact that it held the gold which the
Spanish ships brought from America, or because Don Pedro secreted his
treasures there, is octagonal in shape, with three receding floors,
crowned with battlements, and washed by the Guadalquivir. The shimmering
Torre del Oro, reflecting its light upon the broad bosom of the
rose-coloured river beneath the setting sun, has inspired poets and
painters of every age and nationality. George Borrow believes it
probable that it derived its name from the fact that the beams of the
setting sun focussed upon it makes it appear to be built of pure gold;
and then, carried away by the loveliness of the picture, he cries:
“Cold, cold must the heart be which can remain insensible to the
beauties of this magic
[Illustration: PLATE XXXVIII.
Ornaments on Panels.]
[Illustration: SEVILLE
COURT OF THE HOUSE OF PILATOS.]
[Illustration: SEVILLE
COURT OF THE HOUSE OF PILATOS.]
scene, to do justice to which the pencil of Claude himself were barely
equal. Often have I shed tears of rapture whilst I beheld it, and
listened to the thrush and the nightingale piping forth their melodious
songs in the woods, and inhaled the breeze laden with the perfume of the
thousand orange gardens of Seville.”
Of the great mosque of Seville, which was built by Abu Yakub Yusuf in
1171, and completed by the addition of the tower in 1196 by his son,
only the barest traces now remain. It is impossible to determine who
really designed the famous Tower, now called the Giralda; but historians
favour the claims of the renowned architect, whose name is variously
spelt Gever, Hever, or Djabir, and who is erroneously supposed to have
been the inventor of algebra. In its original state this structure was
an immense and stately pile, planned on the model of the mosque of
Cordova, and decorated with lavish magnificence. In 1235 it was
dedicated to the service of God and the Virgin, but it retained all its
Moorish characteristics until 1401. The Moors would have destroyed the
building and the beautiful Muezzin tower before it fell into the hands
of San Fernando’s soldiers, and thus save their sacred temple from
desecration by the “infidels,” but the king’s son, Alonso “el Sabio,”
threatened to visit such spoliation upon the garrison by sacking the
city. This threat had the desired effect, and for nearly two centuries
the religious spirit of Seville found expression in a temple which had
been built to the glory of Allah. But at the beginning of the fifteenth
century the mosque was razed to the ground, and Seville cathedral began
to take that huge and splendid form which, in the words of the pious
originators, was to inspire succeeding generations with the idea that
its designers were mad. It was to be the greatest cathedral in Spain,
and it ended in being second only to that of Cordova, but still the
third largest Christian church in the world. Its area of 125,000 square
feet is 35,000 square feet less than Cordova cathedral, and 105,000
square feet less than St. Peter’s at Rome; but it is 15,000 square feet
greater than that of Milan Cathedral, and greater by 41,000 square feet
than St. Paul’s in London.
The Moors, in building their mosque, employed the remains of ruined
Roman and Gothic structures, and the Spaniards in 1401 used the Arab
foundations in the construction of their cathedral, while the Moorish
tower was preserved to do duty as a spire. In its original form the
Giralda was only 250 feet high, the additional 100 feet which forms the
belfry being added by Fernando Ruiz in 1567. In 1506 the cathedral was
completed. Five years later the dome collapsed, and was re-erected by
Juan Gil de Hontanon. Extensive restoration work was carried out in
1882, under the superintendence of Cassova; but six years after this
work was completed, the dome again gave way, and workmen have been
constantly employed ever since in reconstructing this part of the vast
building.
According to Contreras, the Giralda is the most expressive monument of
the Mohammedan dominion; and, despite all that has been said of its
Moorish structure and primitive African style, it is in his opinion a
perfect work of Arab art. The construction is anterior by four
centuries, at least, to that of any tower of Granadian architecture such
as that which to-day belongs to the Church of St. John of the Kings, but
there is not the slightest difference in the manner of their
ornamentation, and the rhomboids of painted bricks, the festoons of
terra cotta, the windows with double arches, following the segments of a
circle, present all the variety of the alcazar of Granada.
[Illustration: PLATE XXXIX.
Ornaments on Panels.]
[Illustration: SEVILLE
HOUSE OF PILATOS--VIEW IN THE COURT BY THE DOOR OF THE CHAPEL.]
[Illustration: SEVILLE
HOUSE OF PILATOS--CHAPEL.]
“Here one sees plainly,” Contreras says, “the origin of the superposed
arch of the belvedere of Lindaraja of the Alhambra, of the hanging arch
of the three entrances of the Lions’ Court, of the festoons of the Court
of the Fountain, and of all those forms, so delicate and so luxurious,
that they are without equal in architecture. It is in the Giralda that
one finds the beginning of truly decorative art. Built of varnished
bricks, with a stout construction, as is demanded by the façade of a
very high tower, it is to be regretted that such a beautiful edifice
should be crowned by so strange a body as its gilded frontages and
painted porcelains.”
With the exception of the Giralda, and part of the lower portions of the
walls, the Moorish remains that are to be recognised in the cathedral
are few and not remarkable. The Puerta del Perdon in the Calle de
Alemanes was reconstructed by Alfonso XI., after the victory of Salado,
and the plateresque ornamentations were added by Bartolome Lopez about
1522. But although the bronze-covered doors have been disfigured by
paint, their Moorish character is still distinctly traceable. Through
the gateway we enter the old Moorish courtyard, the Patio de los
Naranjas (Court of Oranges), robbed of its former grandeur, but still
distinguished by its beautiful Arabic fountain, with an octagonal basin,
which occupies the centre of the court. From this spot we get a splendid
view of the cathedral and the massive yet delicate Giralda tower, which
has been declared to be even more to Seville than Giotto’s Campanile is
to Florence, or that of St. Mark’s to Venice. “Long before the traveller
reaches the city,” writes an imaginative admirer, “the Giralda seems to
beckon him onwards to his promised land; during all his peregrinations
through the intricate streets and lanes it is his trusted guide, always
ready to serve him, soaring as it does far above all surroundings, it is
a thing of unfailing beauty and interest as day by day he passes and
repasses it, or wanders about its precincts; it tells him even afar off,
how the day moves on, and how the night; and it dwells in his thoughts
the fairest memory of his sojournings in the queen of the Southern
cities.”
From the Court of Oranges to the Giralda the way leads through the
Capilla de la Granada of the cathedral. A solitary horseshoe arch
reminds us of the Moorish origin of the building; and the huge
elephant’s tusk suspended from the roof, a bridle that tradition
declares belonged to the Cid’s steed, and a stuffed crocodile, are
Oriental rather than Christian relics. And the Giralda, in spite of its
added belfry--its surmounting figure symbolic of the Christian
faith--and the fact that it is under the special patronage of the two
Santas Justa and Rufina, “who are much revered at Seville,” is still a
Moorish monument. At its base the tower is a square of fifty feet, and
it rises by a series of stages, or cuerpos, which are named after the
architecture, decoration or use for which they are designed. At the
Cuerpo de Campanas is hung a peal of bells, of which the largest, Santa
Maria, eighteen tons in weight, and referred to in the vernacular as
“the plump,” was set up in 1588 by the order of the Archbishop Don
Gonzola de Mena, at a cost of ten thousand ducats. Above, we come to the
cuerpo of the Azucenas, or white lilies, with which it is embellished;
and, going still higher, we reach El Cuerpo del Reloj, the clock-tower,
in which was erected, in 1400, the first tower-clock ever made in Spain.
Portions of this old timepiece were employed by the Monk Jose Cordero in
making, in 1765, the clock which is working to this day. The belfry,
which is the home of a colony of pigeons and hawks, is girdled with a
motto from the proverb, “Nomen Domini fortissima turris”--(“The name of
the Lord is a strong tower.”) The
[Illustration: SEVILLE
GALLERY OF THE HOUSE OF PILATOS.]
[Illustration: SEVILLE
GALLERY OF THE COURT OF THE HOUSE OF PILATOS.]
[Illustration: PLATE XL.
Ornaments on Panels.]
Moorish summit was crowned with four brazen balls, so large that in
order to get them into the building it was necessary to remove the
keystone of a door called the Gate of the Muezzin, leading from the
mosque to the interior of the tower. The iron bar, which supported the
balls, weighed about ten cwt., and the whole was cast by a celebrated
alchemist, a Sicilian, named Abu Leyth, at a cost of £50,000 sterling.
These particulars were set down by a Mohammedan writer of the period,
and their accuracy was proved in 1395 (157 years after the overthrow of
the Arab dominion), when the earthquake threw the entire mechanism,
balls and supports, to the ground, where they were weighed, and the
figures were found to be absolutely correct. The figure of La Fé, “The
Faith,” which now tops the Giralda, was cast by Bartolomé Morel in 1568.
It stands fourteen feet high, and weighs twenty-five cwts., yet so
wonderful is the workmanship that it turns with every breath of the
wind. The head of the female figure is crowned with a Roman helmet, the
right hand bears the Labaro, or banner, of Constantine, and in the left
it holds out a palm branch, symbolical of conquest.
But when we return from this “strange composite fane,” with its
Christian summit surmounting a Moslem tower, which again has its
foundations in a Roman temple, when we re-cross the Court of Oranges,
with its Moorish fountain, flanked by a Christian pulpit, and enter the
cathedral, the mind is transported at a bound from the fairy-like
beauties of Morisco ornamentation to the sombre, awe-inspiring majesty,
which prompted Theophile Gautier to the reflection that “the most
extravagant and monstrously prodigious Hindoo pagodas are not to be
mentioned in the same century as the Cathedral of Seville. It is a
mountain scooped out, a valley turned topsy-turvy; Notre Dame, at
Paris, might walk erect in the middle nave, which is of frightful
height; pillars as large round as towers, and which appear so slender
that they make you shudder, rise out of the ground, or descend from the
vaulted roof, like stalactites in a giant’s grotto.” Lomas, who finds
the exterior of the cathedral “simply beneath criticism,” and deplores
that “age after age a great band of glorifiers of self, through self’s
handiwork, should have been employed in producing what they determined
should be a world’s marvel,” is compelled to admit that “the first view
of the interior is one of the supreme moments of a lifetime. The glory
and majesty of it are almost terrible. No other building, surely, is so
fortunate as this in what may be called its presence.” Even George
Borrow, who thought more of his beloved testaments than of Spanish
monuments erected to “the spiritual tyranny of the Court of Rome,” was
feign to declare that it is impossible to wander through the cathedral
of Seville “without experiencing sensations of sacred awe and deep
astonishment”; and Caveda describes the general effect as “truly
majestic.”
The Italian rhapsodist, Edmondo de Amicis, who always succeeds in
conveying a strikingly convincing impression of the spectacles that
fascinate his sensitive mind, is at his best in his description of
Seville cathedral. “At your first entrance,” he says, “you are
bewildered, you feel as if you are wandering in an abyss, and for
several moments you do nothing but glance around you in that immense
space, almost as if to assure yourself that your eyes are not deceiving
you, nor your fancy playing you some trick. Then you approach one of the
pillars, measure it, and look at the more distant ones, which, though as
large as towers, appear so slender that it makes you tremble to think
that the building is resting upon them. You traverse them with
[Illustration: PLATE XLI.
Ornaments on Panels.]
[Illustration: SEVILLE
COURT OF THE PALACE OF MEDINA-CŒLI.]
a glance from floor to ceiling, and it seems as if you could almost
count the moments it would take for the eye to climb them. There are
five aisles, each one of which might form a church. In the centre one,
another cathedral, with its cupola and bell tower, could easily stand.
All of them together form sixty-eight bold vaulted ceilings, which seem
to expand and rise slowly as you look at them. Every thing is enormous
in this cathedral. The principal chapel, placed in the centre of the
great nave, and almost high enough to touch the ceiling, looks like a
chapel built for giant priests, to whose knees the ordinary altars would
not reach. The paschal candle seems like the mast of a ship, and the
bronze candlestick which holds it, like the pillars of a church. The
choir is a museum of sculpture and chiselling. The chapels are worthy of
the church, for they contain the masterpieces of sixty-seven sculptors
and thirty-eight painters.... The chapel of San Ferdinand, which
contains the sepulchres of this king and his wife Beatrice, of Alonso
the Wise, the celebrated minister, Florida Blanca, and other illustrious
personages, is one of the richest and most beautiful of all. The body of
Ferdinand, who redeemed Seville from the dominion of the Arabs, clothed
in his uniform, with crown and mantle, rests in a crystal casket,
covered with a veil. On one side, is his sword which he carried on the
day of his entrance into Seville; on the other, a staff of cane, an
emblem of command. In that same chapel is preserved a little ivory
Virgin, which the holy king carried to war with him, and other relics of
great value.” And here also, although De Amicis makes no mention of
them, are the keys of Seville which Abdul Hassan handed to Ferdinand at
the surrender of the city. One key is of silver, and bears the
inscription, “May Allah grant that Islam may rule for ever in this
city.” The other key is made of iron gilt, and is of Mudejar
workmanship. It is inscribed, “The King of Kings will open; the King of
the Earth will enter.”
In its churches and its old houses, Seville is rich in Moorish
influences, and exhibits abundant traces of Morisco art, which prevailed
against the material dominancy of the Christian conquerors. The
reconciled Arabs who remained as subjects of Ferdinand became the chief
of the most lavishly-remunerated artisans of the city. They pursued
their craft in the dwellings of the rich; and in the churches of the
“infidel.” Untrammelled by religion and uninspired by faith, they worked
for art’s sake, and the substantial pecuniary award that sweetened their
labours. The church of San Marco has a beautiful Moorish tower built in
imitation of the Giralda, and second only to the minaret tower of the
cathedral in point of height; San Gil is a Christianised Mezquita; Santa
Catalina reveals the survival of Moorish art in its façade, while its
principal chapel is Gothic. In nearly all the sacred edifices of
antiquity the combination of Moorish and Renaissance architecture
betrays an incongruity of style and sentiment which is only to be found
among the Christian churches of Spain. And if the Catholic kings, who
were sworn to the extirpation of the Moslems, allowed the Moors to build
their churches in the style of temples devoted to Allah, it is not
surprising that many of the finest private residences of the city retain
a Moorish design, and possess a distinctly Oriental atmosphere.
The Casa de Pilatos, which has been pronounced the fourth great monument
of older Seville, was commenced in 1500 by Don Pedro Enriquez, in the
then popular decadent Saracenic style, and was completed by his son,
Fadrique, in imitation of Pilate’s palace at Jerusalem. In accordance
with this scheme, he fashioned a reception-hall, called the
[Illustration: PLATE XLII.
Frieze in the Upper Chamber, House of Sanchez.]
Prætorium, erected an upright column--a gift of Pope Pius V.--copied
from the pillar at which Christ was scourged, and made a replica of the
basin into which the thirty pieces of silver were counted. When the
house came into the possession of the first Duke of Alcalá, he was
acting as the Spanish viceroy at Naples, and he filled the rooms and
corridors with Roman busts and statuary, gathered from Italy and the
ruins of Italica. On every side the art treasures of the Romans adorn
the perfect Moorish colonnades, and the shadows of Roman sculptures are
thrown upon diapered marble pavements from light that enters through
Arab lattices and ajimez windows. It has been described as a great
curiosity shop, but to the art lover it is a treasure house of almost
infinite beauty and variety.
The Moorish palace of the Duke de Alba, in the Calle de las Dueñas, once
consisted of eleven courtyards, nine fountains, and more than a hundred
marble pillars, and was surrounded by a garden, which is a forest of
orange trees and myrtles. In Seville one wanders through streets which
are redolent of Arabia, and peep into countless Oriental patios, cool
with fountains, and shaded by palms and Eastern canopies. One “feels the
East a-calling”--the colour, the scent, the witchery of it gets into
one’s blood--and one recognises the truth that inspired the old Spanish
saying: “To whom God loves He gives a house in Seville.”
TOLEDO