predominated; in Cordova he of no legs, who having marked down his prey,
displayed great agility as he scuttled across the street with the help
of little wooden hand-rests; but here not only were both combined, but
various horrors of crippled and disfigured humanity with open sores and
loathsome disease thrust themselves before me wherever I went. It was
disgusting--but oh! how picturesque! If only, my good _Pobres_, you
would not come so close to me!
They say Spain is the one unspoilt country in Europe. Personally I think
she is the one country that wants regenerating. Her girls are women at
sixteen, old at thirty, and aged ten years later. Her men take life as
it comes with very little initiative to better themselves. Very few
display any energy. Their chief thoughts are woman, and how to pass the
day at ease. Luckily for the country, at the age when good food and
clean living helps to make men, her youth is invigorated by army
service. True it is not popular. In the late war they died like flies
through fever and ill-feeding, and many were the sad tales I heard of
José and Pedro returning from the front with health ruined for life. It
was a sad blow to Spain, that war. Her navy demolished and her colonies
lost. It may be the regeneration of the nation, her well-wishers hope
so, but it is a difficult thing to change the leopard's spots. The
beggar being hungry begs, and well-nigh starves, his children follow his
example and probably his great grandchildren will be in the same line
of business a hundred years hence--_Quien sabe?_ who knows?
I still sit in the sun rolling cigarettes; it is extraordinary how soon
the custom becomes a habit, and think of all this. A string of donkeys
passes with baskets stuffed tight with half a dozen large long-funnelled
water cans. They have come in with fresh drinking water from the spring
up the Darro under the Alhambra hill, and a little later the
water-sellers will be offering glasses of the refreshingly cool contents
of their cans. Granada is a city running with water, but the pollution
from the drains and the never-ending ranks of women on their knees
wrinsing clothes in its two streams, into which, by the way, all dead
refuse is thrown, makes that which is fit to drink a purchasable
quantity only.
I watch the peasants from the Vega, who come in with empty panniers
slung across their donkeys, scraping up the dirt of the streets which
they take away to fertilise their cottage gardens. Herds of goats go by
muzzled until milking is over. They make for that bit of blank wall
opposite, and stand licking the saline moisture which oozes from the
plaster in the shade. The goats of Granada are reckoned the finest in
Spain, and, as is the custom throughout Andalusia, graze in the early
spring on the tender shoots of the young corn. This not only keeps them
in food, but improves the quality of that part of the crop which reaches
maturity. I could sit all day here if only the sun stood still. My
companion removed himself half an hour ago and it is getting chilly in
the shade, so up and on to the Cathedral.
What a huge Renaissance pile it is. Built on the Gothic plans of Diego
de Siloe it is undoubtedly the most imposing edifice of this style in
Spain. Fergusson considers its plan makes it one of the finest churches
in Europe. The western façade was erected by Alonso Cano and José
Granados, and does not follow Siloe's original design. The name of the
sculptor-painter is writ in big letters throughout the building. To him
are due the colossal heads of Adam and Eve, let into recesses above the
High Altar, and the seven pictures of the _Annunciation_, _Conception_,
_Presentation in the Temple_, _Visitation_, _Purification_ and
_Assumption_ in the Capilla Mayor. The two very fine colossal figures,
bronze gilt, which stand above the over-elaborated pulpits; a couple of
beautiful miniatures on copper in the Capilla de la Trinidad; a fine
Christ bearing the Cross and a head of S. Pedro over the altar of Jesus
Nazareno, are also by Cano. Many other examples from his carving tools
and brush are to be found in the Cathedral, of which he was made a
"Racione" or minor Canon, after fleeing from Valladolid when accused of
the murder of his wife. The little room he used as a workshop in the
Great Tower may still be visited and his remains lie tranquilly beneath
the floor of the _coro_.
[Illustration: GRANADA. EXTERIOR OF THE CATHEDRAL]
In the Capilla de la Antigua there is that curious little image which,
found in a cave, served Ferdinand as a battle banner; and also
contemporary (?) portraits of the King and his Queen.
To me the thing of surpassing interest, which ought to be the most
revered building in all Spain, was the Capilla Real and its contents.
The _reja_, which separates the choir from the rest of the chapel, is a
magnificent piece of work, coloured and gilded, by Bartolomé. As the
verger unlocked the great gate he drew my attention to the box
containing the lock with its three beautifully wrought little iron
figures and intricate pattern. We passed in, the gate swung to with a
click, the lock was as good as if it had but recently been placed there.
These _rejas_ throughout the country are all in splendid condition. A
dry climate no doubt preserves them as it has preserved everything else,
and I very seldom detected rust on any iron work. The humidity of the
winter atmosphere is insufficient, I suppose, to set up much decay in
metal, and certainly the only decay in Spain is where inferior material
has been used in construction, or the negligence of man has left things
to rot.
With the gate locked behind me I stood in front of the two marble
monuments, the one of the recumbent figures of Ferdinand and Isabella,
the other of Philip and Juana la Loca--crazy Jane. Beyond rose the steps
up to the High Altar, close at my side those--a short flight--that led
to the crypt where the coffins of these four rest. I felt surrounded by
the Great of this Earth, and certainly a feeling of awe took hold of me
as their deeds passed through my mind and I realised that here lay the
remains of those who had turned out the Moor, bidden God-speed to
Columbus, and instituted the Inquisition.
They are wonderful tombs these two. Ferdinand wears the order of St.
George, the ribbon of the Garter, Isabella that of the Cross of
Santiago, Philip and his wife the Insignia of the order of the Golden
Fleece. Four doctors of the church occupy the corners of the first tomb,
with the twelve Apostles at the sides. The other has figures of SS.
Michael, Andrew, and John the Baptist, and the Evangelist. Both tombs
are elaborately carved, the medallions in _alto-relievo_ being of very
delicate work. Next to that magnificent tomb in the Cartuja de
Miraflores at Burgos, these are the finest monuments in all Spain.
Above the High Altar is a florid _Retablo_ with not much artistic merit.
My interest was entirely centred in the two portrait figures of
Ferdinand and Isabella. They each kneel at a Prie-Dieu facing one
another on either side of the altar--the King to the north, the Queen to
the south. Below them in double sections are four wooden panels in
bas-relief, to which I turned after a long examination of these
authentic and contemporary portraits. These panels are unsurpassed as
records of the costume of the day and a faithful representation of their
subject. On the left is the mournful figure of Boabdil giving up the key
of the Alhambra to Cardinal Mendoza, who seated on his mule between the
King and Queen, alone wears gloves. Surrounding them are knights,
courtiers and the victorious soldiery. In the background are the towers
of the Alhambra. To the right is seen the wholesale conversion by
Baptism of the Infidel, the principal figures being monks who are very
busy over their work, inducing the reluctant Moor to enter an alien
Faith.
There is something very impressive about these panels, they render so
well and in such a naïve manner the history they record. The surrender
of the Moor after 750 years' rule, the end of his dreams, the final
triumph of the King and Queen, who devoted the first portion of their
reign to driving him out of the country, and the great church receiving
the token of submission at the end of last act, they are all here.--The
verger touched my arm, my reverie of those stirring times was broken, he
had other things to show and noon was fast approaching. Pointing to
three iron plates let into the floor of the chapel, he inquired if I
would like to see the spot where rest the coffins of these great makers
of history. Certainly; I could not leave the Cathedral without a silent
homage to those who placed Spain first among the nations. He lifted the
plates, and lighting a small taper which he thrust into the end of a
long pole, disappeared down the steps, with a warning to mind my head
for the entry was very low. I followed, stooping. At the bottom of the
steps was a small opening heavily barred. The verger pushed his lighted
taper and pole through the bars, and beckoned to me to look. I peered
into the dark chamber, there resting on a marble slab were the rough
iron-bound coffins of the "Catholic Kings." The taper flickered and cast
long shadows in the gloom, discovering the coffins of Philip and Juana.
It was all very eerie, a fitting climax in its simplicity to the
magnificent monuments above and to the history writ on the walls of the
Capilla Real. I shall never forget it.
In the sacristy I was shown the identical banner which floated from the
Torre de la Vela when the Alhambra had surrendered. Isabella herself had
worked this for the very object to which it was put. Next to it hangs
Ferdinand's sword, with a remarkably small handle. I had thought, from
the kneeling effigy in the Capilla Real, that both he and Isabella must
have been small-made and this verified my guess. Many other personal
relics of the two were shown me. The Queen's own missal, a beautiful
embroidered chasuble from her industrious fingers, an exquisitely
enamelled viril, &c. Time was short, my verger wanted his dinner, and I
had seen enough for one morning. He let me out through the closed door
into the Placeta de la Lonja and in a sort of dream I carried away all I
had seen.
The next morning I returned to the Placeta and stood in the doorway of
the old Royal Palace, now used as a drapery warehouse, and commenced the
drawing figured in the illustration. The rich late Gothic ornament of
the exterior of the Capilla Real is well balanced by the Lonja which
backs on to the sacristy. Here Pradas's work has been much mutilated and
the lower stage of the arcading built up. The twisted columns of the
gallery and its original wooden roof remain to tell us what this fine
façade once was.
There is a great deal of interest in this huge Cathedral, which to the
tourist is quite overshadowed by the Alhambra. In the north-west corner
of the Segrario which adjoins the building on the south, is the Capilla
de Pulgar. Herman Perez del Pulgar was a knight serving under
Ferdinand's banner. Filled with holy zeal, he entered Granada one stormy
night in December 1490 by the Darro conduit, and making his way to the
Mosque which then stood where the Segrario now is, pinned a scroll
bearing the words Ave Maria to its principal door with his dagger. This
daring deed was not discovered until the next morning, by which time the
intrepid knight was safe back in camp. His courage was rewarded by a
seat in the _coro_ of the Cathedral, and at his death his body was
interred in the chapel which bears his name.
Nearly all the churches of Granada occupy the sites of Mosques. Santa
Anna, like San Nicolás, has a most beautiful wooden roof. San Juan de
los Reyes contains portraits of Ferdinand and Isabella; its tower is the
minaret of what was once a Mosque.
The Cathedral itself is so crowded in by other buildings, that no
comprehensive view of the fabric is possible. Unfortunately this is the
case, with one or two notable exceptions, throughout the country. Its
fine proportions are thus lost, and it is only the interior with its
great length and breath, its lofty arches and fine Corinthian pilasters
that serve to dignify this House of God.
Taking a morning off, I walked out to the Cartuja Convent. The Gran
Capitan, Gonzalo de Cordoba, at one time granted an estate to the
Carthusians and on it they erected the convent to which I turned my
steps. The Order about this time was immensely wealthy and they spent
money with reckless lavishness on the interior of their church.
Mother-of-pearl, tortoiseshell, ebony and cedar-wood entered largely
into their decorations, as well as ivory and silver. But perhaps the
marbles in the church are the most remarkable part of their scheme.
These were chosen for the wonderful patterns of the sections, and with a
little stretch of the imagination I could trace well-composed
landscapes, human and animal forms in a great many of the slabs. The
overdone chirrugueresque work, to which add these fantastic wall
decorations, makes this interior positively scream. It is nothing more
nor less than a vulgar display of wealth. The cloisters of the convent
also attest the bad taste of the Carthusians, they contain a series of
pictures which represent the most repugnant and bloodthirsty scenes of
persecutions and martyrdoms of the Order.
In another convent, San Gerónimo, was buried the Gran Capitan. A slab
marks the spot, but his poor bones were exhumed and carried off to
Madrid in 1868 to form the nucleus of a Spanish Pantheon. Needless to
say, like so many other great ideas in Spain, nothing further was done,
and Gonzalo's remains still await a last resting-place.
One more fact before I reach the Alhambra. In the church of San Juan de
Dios you may see the cage in which the founder, Juan de Robles, was shut
up as a lunatic. What do you think his lunacy was? Having the infirm and
the poor always before him, this tender-hearted man went about preaching
the necessity of hospitals to alleviate their distress. Aye, he was a
hundred years and more before his time, so they shut him up in a cage
and there let him rot and die. Those that came after in more enlightened
days valued the good man's crusade at its proper price, and he was
eventually canonised, and his supposed remains now rest in an _urna_.
Up a toilsome approach, splashing through the mud, I drove on the night
I reached Granada. As the horses slowed up, I put my head out of the
carriage window, we were passing under an archway and I knew that at
last one of the dreams of my life was realised. I was in the Alhambra. I
became conscious of rows and rows of tall trees swaying in the wind. I
smelt the delicious scent of damp earth, and could just distinguish, as
the carriage crawled up the steep ascent, in the lulls of the storm, the
sound of running water. It was fairyland, it was peace. After that long,
tedious journey and the glare of the electric lit streets I had just
passed through, I sank back on the cushions and felt my reward had
come.
[Illustration: GRANADA. THE ALHAMBRA]
How is it possible to describe the Alhambra? It has been done so often
and so well. Every one has read Washington Irving, and most of us know
Victor Hugo's eulogy. I had better begin at the beginning, which is the
gateway erected by Charles V. under which I passed with such a happy
consciousness. Further up the hill, through which only pedestrians can
go, is the Gate of Judgment, the first gateway into the Moorish
fortress. Above it is the Torre de Justicia erected by Yusuf I. in 1348.
On the external keystone is cut a hand, on the inner a key. Much
controversy rages round these two signs and I leave it to others to find
a solution. In old days the Kadi sat in this gateway dispensing justice.
The massive doors still turn on their vertical pivots, the spear rests
of the Moorish guard are still attached to the wall, and you must enter,
as the Moors did, by the three turns in the dark passage beyond the
gate. A narrow lane leads to the Plaza de las Algibes, under the level
of which are the old Moorish cisterns. To the right is the Torre del
Vino, and on the left the Acazaba.
Come with me up the short flight of steps into the little strip of
garden. Let us lean over the wall and look out on to the Vega. Is there
anywhere so grand and varied an outline of plain and mountain? Do you
wonder at the tears that suffused the eyes of Boabdil as he turned for a
last look at this incomparable spot? The brown roofs of Granada lie at
our feet. Far away through the levels of the green plain, the Vega, I
can see the winding of many silver streams. Beyond those rugged peaks to
the south lies the Alpujarras district, the last abiding place of the
conquered Moor. Further on the mass of the Sierra Aburijara bounds the
horizon, west of it is the town of Loja, thirty miles away, buried in
the dip towards Antequerra. To the north is Mount Parapanda, the
barometer of the Vega, always covered with mist when rain is at hand.
Nearer in is the Sierra de Elvira, spread out below which are the dark
woods of the Duke of Wellington's property--he is known in Spain as
Duque de Ciudad Rodriguez. It is clear enough for us to see the blue
haze of the mountains round Jaen, and the rocky defile of Mochin. The
Torre de la Vela shuts out the rest of the view. There is a bell hanging
in this tower which can be heard as far away as Loja. Now turn and look
behind. Right up into the blue sky rise the snow peaks of the Sierra
Nevada. Mulhacen, the highest point in all Spain, is not visible, but
we can see Veleta which is but a few feet lower. The whole range
glistens in the afternoon sun, but it is the evening hour that brings
such wonderful changes of colour over these great snowfields, and, after
the sun is down, such a pale mother-of-pearl grey silhouetted against
the purple sky.
The entrance into what we call the Alhambra is hidden away behind the
unfinished Palace of Charles V. The low door admits us directly in the
Patio de los Arrayanes, or court of the Myrtles. Running north and south
it gets more sun than any other court of the Alhambra. What a revelation
it is! In the centre is an oblong tank full of golden carp. The neatly
kept myrtle hedges encircle this, reflected in the clear water they add
refreshing charm to a first impression of the Moorish Palace. On the
north rises the Torre de Comares, the approach to which is through a
beautifully proportioned chamber, the roof of which was unfortunately
destroyed by fire in 1890. The whole of the ground-floor of this tower
is known as the Hall of the Ambassadors. The monarch's throne occupied a
space opposite the entrance and it was here that the last meeting to
consider the surrender was held by Boabdil. The elaborate domed roof of
this magnificent chamber is of larch wood, but the semi-darkness
prevents one realising to the full extent its beauties. From the
windows, which almost form small rooms, so thick are the walls of the
Tower of Comares, fine views over the roofs of the city and the Albaicin
hill are obtained.
The Court of the Lions, so called from the central fountain upheld by
marble representations of the kingly beast, is surrounded by a beautiful
arcade. At either end this is thrown out, forming a couple of extremely
elegant pavilions. Fairy columns support a massive roof, the woodwork of
which is carved with the pomegranate of Granada. Intricate fret-work is
arranged to break the monotony of strong sunlight on a flat surface.
Arabesques and inscriptions, stamped with an iron mould on the wet clay,
repeat themselves all round the frieze. Orange trees at one time adorned
the court and cast gracious shade on its surface. The fountain threw up
jets of splashing water, the musical sound harmonising with the
wonderful arrangement of light and shade. I tried to picture all this as
I sat making my sketch, but even in April, though hot in the sun, I
required an overcoat in the shadow, and I must own that the ever-present
tourist with his kodak sadly disturbed all mental attempts at the
reconstruction of Moorish life.
[Illustration: GRANADA. THE ALHAMBRA, COURT OF LIONS]
On the south side of the court is the hall of the Abencerrages, named
after that noble family. The massive wooden doors, which shut it off
from the arcade, are of most beautiful design. The hall is rectangular
and has a fine star-shaped stalactite dome. The _azulejos_, or tiles,
are the oldest that remain in the Alhambra. A passage leads to what was
once the Royal Sepulchral Chamber.
On the east side is the so-called Sala de la Justicia divided into
several recesses and running the whole length of this portion of the
court. The central recess was used by Ferdinand and Isabella when they
held the first Mass after the surrender of the Moors. The chief interest
of the Sala I found to be in a study of the paintings on the
semicircular domed roofs. They portray the Moor of the period. The
middle one, that in the chapel-recess, no doubt contains portraits of
Granada's rulers in council. The other two represent hunting scenes and
deeds of chivalry. It is supposed that the Koran forbids the delineation
of any living thing. The Moor got over this difficulty by portraying
animal life in as grotesque a manner as possible, or by employing
foreign captives to do this for him. One theory of the origin of the
Lion Fountain is that a captive Christian carved the lions and gave his
best--or his worst--as the price of his liberation. Personally I think
they are of Phoenician origin. Animals and birds in decoration reached
the Moor from Persia, where from unknown ages they had always been
employed in this way; and the Môsil style of hammered metal work is
replete with this feature.
On the north side of the court lies the Room of the Two Sisters, with
others opening out from it, which seems to point to the probability that
this was the suite occupied by the Sultana herself. Moorish art has here
reached its highest phase. The honeycomb roof contains nearly five
thousand cells, all are different, yet all combine to form a
marvellously symmetrical whole. Fancy ran free with the architect who
piled one tiny cell upon another and on these supported a third. Pendant
pyramids cluster everywhere and hang suspended apparently from nothing.
In the fertility of his imagination the designer surpassed anything of
the kind that went before or has since been attempted. Truly the verses
of a poem copied on to the _azulejos_ are well set. "Look well at my
elegance, and reap the benefit of a commentary on decoration. Here are
columns ornamented with every perfection, the beauty of which has become
proverbial."
Beyond this entrancing suite of rooms is the Miradoro de Daraxa with
three tall windows overlooking that little gem of a garden the Patio de
Daraxa. It was here that Washington Irving lodged when dreaming away
those delicious days in the Alhambra.
The old Council Chamber of the Moors, the Meshwâr, is reached through
the Patio de Mexuar. Charles V. turned this chamber into a chapel, and
the hideous decorations he put up are still extant. An underground
passage, which leads to the baths, ran from the _patio_ and gave access
to the battlements and galleries of the fortress as well as forming a
connecting link between each tower.
The baths are most interesting, but to me were pervaded by a deadly
chill. I felt sorry for the guardian who spends his days down in such
damp, icy quarters. A remark I made to him inquiring how long his duty
kept him in so cold a spot, called forth so terrible a fit of coughing
that I got no reply. I was told afterwards that he was only placed there
as he was too ill for other duty, and it was expected he would not live
much longer! There are two baths of full size and one for children. The
_azulejos_ in them are very beautiful, as they also are in the disrobing
room and chamber for rest.
An open corridor leads from the Hall of the Ambassadors to the Torre del
Peinador which Yusuf I. built. The small Tocador de la Reina, or Queen's
dressing-room, with its quaint frescoes, was modernised by Charles V.
Let into the floor is a marble slab drilled with holes, through which
perfumes found their way from a room below while the Queen was
dressing.