houses were forbidding in the extreme. In these a huge portal, with
armorial bearings and massive pillars, defended by a stout iron-bound
door, opens into a dark porch, from which one enters the _patio_ through
an equally strong entrance. The windows that look on to the street are
heavily barred and none are within reach of the pedestrian. Its streets,
too narrow and steep for vehicular traffic, are as silent as the grave
(most Spaniards wear shoes made of esparto grass or soft leather), save
when a young cadet from the Alcázar passes along rattling his sword, and
attracts the attention of the señoritas who sit high up in those
inaccessible balconies. Built on the Moorish plan, these tortuous
thoroughfares twist and turn like a maze, and it seemed to me that the
sun never entered them.
Houses and streets, walls and towers, still remain as they were in the
great Cardinal's days, and stand, even now, as symbols of the iron rule
of the Church. The Cardinal's hat is to be found graved in stone over
many a door, and the "Sheaf of Arrows," the arms of the "Catholic
Kings," is still to be seen over the entrance of what was once the
palace of Pedro the Cruel.
Toledo blades are still made and proved in the ugly factory a mile
outside the city. Toledo ware (made in Germany) is sold by most of the
shops. The growing trade in liquorice is a modern industry, but if it
were not for another recent innovation, the Military Academy, it would
take no stretch of the imagination to carry one back again into the
Middle Ages and to sink one's individuality and become a human atom
under the rule of the great Church.
SALAMANCA
Before I ever thought that Fate would take me to Spain, I had formed in
my mind, as one is apt to do, a Spain of my own, a Spain of glorious
romance. I had been in many cities throughout the country, but it was
not until I reached Salamanca that, "Surely," thought I, "the Spain of
my imagination is now realised."
Here in the middle of the plain, with which one's thoughts are somehow
familiar, rises the great Cathedral, its towers are landmarks for miles
round. Here is a beautiful river winding through valleys deep cut in the
ochre-coloured soil, its banks are clad with verdure and it is spanned
by an ancient bridge. Away over the plain, just visible in the haze, are
the blue mountains of the south. In the midst of all, the dull mud and
yellow walls of the city, the many-hued roofs of red and brown, with
deep shadows under their eaves, rise tier above tier to the Cathedral
above. And this, the prototype of Spain's greatness, her Church, the
ever-present reminder that in days gone by its princes led her armies
to victory and placed her in the van of nations.
I am standing on the noble bridge, half of which is even now as it was
in the days of the Roman occupation. Those massive walls up there of
monasteries and convents always formed part of the picture of my
imagination. They bake under a September sun, just as all Spain ought to
do. A long string of heavily laden mules trots past, their bells
jingling merrily, their drivers shouting and cracking their whips. A
well set-up peasant with his head in a handkerchief and broad-brimmed
hat, cut-away tunic, red sash and tight knee breeches, canters by seated
on a high peaked saddle. His well-bred horse shows a good deal of the
Arab strain, across its quarters are a couple of rugs and its rider
carries an umbrella. A beggar stops before me, and prays that, for the
love of the Holy Mary, I will give him a _perro chico_. Two wizened old
cronies go by chattering about Manuelo's wife. One carries a couple of
fowls tied together by their legs, the poor birds are doing their best
to hold their heads in a natural position. Some little urchins are
throwing stones at the washerwomen by the riverside below. An old man
seated on a donkey's rump ambles past. Yes, this is what I imagined
Spain to be. I turn my steps towards the city. I wander by the Cathedral
and reach the great university of the middle ages. What would Salamanca
have been without its university! I pass many fine houses, with
coats-of-arms emblazoned over their portals. I gaze at their high walls
and windows barred to keep the intruder from the fair sex. Most of them
seem falling into decay, but this only adds to the romance. At length I
reach an arcaded square. The columns of the arcades are wooden, they are
at all sorts of angles, but the houses above still stand. The sun blazes
down on scores of picturesque market folk, who sell almost everything
from peaches and fowls to little tinsel images and double-pronged hoes.
Dogs are sniffing about picking up stray scraps. Children run in and
out, fall down and get up laughing. Every one is busy. The animation of
this little square, as I suddenly come upon it out of a deeply shaded
and aristocratic street, is just the Spain I had always thought of--a
Spain of contrasts. Brilliant sun and grateful shade. Seclusion behind
high walls, and a strange medley of noisy folk, for ever bargaining,
buying and selling. Certainly in Salamanca it is all here. I hear the
click of the castanets and the sound of the guitar in the evening, I see
the ardent lover standing at those iron bars whispering soft raptures to
his mistress, and the picture is complete.
[Illustration: SALAMANCA]
Salamanca is a sleepy old city which the world seems to have left
behind. In the summer it is a veritable furnace, in the winter it is
swept by icy blasts. Before the Christian era it was known as
Salmantica. Hannibal came and captured it in B.C. 247 and under the
Romans it was the ninth military station on the great road which they
built connecting Cadiz and Merida with Astorga and Gijón. Alfonso IX. of
Leon founded the university, which reached its zenith as a seat of
learning during the sixteenth century. Philip II., having transferred
his Court from Valladolid to Toledo, made Salamanca's bishop suffragan
to that city's, since when it seems to have been left out in the cold
and slowly but surely proceeded down hill. This is the reason, I think,
why it attracted me so much. It is essentially a city with a Past and of
the Past. The French under Thiébaut pulled it to pieces and used the
material from its demolished buildings to fortify the place. This was in
1811. The following year saw Marmont's troops utterly routed by
Wellington, three miles south of the fortifications. It was this victory
that gained him his Marquisate and a grant from Parliament of £100,000.
Like Saragossa, Salamanca possesses two Cathedrals. The older intensely
interesting in every way, the later, a huge late Gothic pile begun in
1513 and finished in 1733. This immense structure affords a good study
of the changes of architectural taste spread over the years which
intervened between these two dates.
[Illustration: SALAMANCA. THE OLD CATHEDRAL]
The west façade is a marvel of intricate sculpture in the
richly-coloured soft stone that has been used as if it were plaster or
wax. Late Gothic predominates amidst a deal of Plateresque and Barroque
ornament. Despite its incongruities it is extremely fine, but would look
even better if some of the numerous niches had not lost their statues,
and if little boys did not find a pastime in lodging stones amongst
those that are left, greatly I fear to their detriment. Over the double
doorway are high reliefs of the Nativity and Adoration of the Magi, a
negro prince being an especially good figure in the latter subject.
Above is a Crucifixion.
The north porch is also very fine and gains in effect, as indeed does
the whole of this side of the Cathedral, by the raised piazza on which
it is built. The approach is up some dozen steps, the whole of the
piazza being surrounded by pillars as at Leon and Seville.
Juan Gil de Hontañon, who designed this and the sister Cathedral at
Segovia, surpassed himself with the Great Tower and its
finely-proportioned dome, the top of which is 360 feet high. The
crocketed pinnacles, the flying buttresses, the dome over the crossing,
and the wonderful deep yellow of this huge church, whatever may be
one's opinion about the architecture, make it one of the most
impressive of Spain's Cathedrals.
I was disappointed with the interior on first acquaintance, but it has
only to be known to be appreciated. The imposing proportions, it is 340
feet long, 158 feet wide and close on 100 feet high, gradually asserted
themselves, and before I left Salamanca I was much in love with
Hontañon's masterpiece. A pierced balustrade takes the place of a
triforium, flamboyant Renaissance in the aisles and classical in nave.
It runs round the whole church and in the transepts and choir these two
occur together. Medallions in the spandrils of the arches add to the
rich effect.
Many details in this interior I found to be worth a second and third
visit. The Chapel of Dorado, a veritable museum, contains the tomb of
the builder, Fransico de Palenzuela. Its walls are covered with a
profusion of coloured saints on gilt pedestals. There is a very curious
old organ, standing at the back of an also curious old minstrel's
gallery. A sad-looking skeleton, with "Memento Mori" cut on a slab at
his feet, occupies a dark hole in one of the walls. Fine _azulejos_
decorate the chapel, and many other antiquities too, which I cannot
enumerate.
In the Capilla del Carmen rest the remains of Gerómino, the Cid's bishop
and confessor. An ancient wooden crucifix stands over the altar, it is
the identical one carried by the bishop in the wars of the Cid. Another
relic of the great Campeador is to be seen in the Relicario. A small
Byzantine bronze, "el Crucifijo de las Batallas," studded with chequer
work--a fine specimen of early Limoges enamel.
All this interested me muchly, but the "Catedral Vieja," a grand example
of late Romanesque style, interested me more. Fortis Salmantica, as it
was called, on account of the thickness of its walls, has not been used
for service since its huge neighbour was erected.
I made a drawing of the only view which can be obtained of the exterior
from the Plazuela chica. The central lantern is surmounted by the emblem
of nobility, a cock, and is formed by an octagonal tower with a stone
dome. The tower is arcaded and has four domed turrets and dormers at the
corners similar to those at Zamora. Street considers that he has "never
seen any central lantern more thoroughly good and effective from every
point of view than this is."
To reach the interior one has to retrace one's steps to the "Catedral
Nueva" and from its south aisle pass through a doorway into the other
building. This was erected on a lower level than its big neighbour and
with the attendant verger I descended ten steps and found myself in a
very beautiful mellow-coloured church. The arches of the nave and aisles
are pointed, but the windows and arcading are round. The capitals of the
columns are a museum of carved fantasies, imps, animals, birds, &c. On
the wall of the north aisle, which was partly demolished when the
"Catedral Nueva" was built, are some very curious frescoes; the church
has a clerestory of single lights but no triforium.
There is a wonderful _retablo_ in the Capilla Mayor by an Italian,
Nicolas Florentino. It is still in perfect preservation, and the
fifty-five frescoes set in white and gold of which it is composed have a
beautiful effect in the semi-gloom of the dark chapel. The Mozárabic
Ritual is celebrated six times a year in another chapel, La Capilla de
Talavera. The groining of its roof is the only one of the sort I have
seen, it is composed of parallel ribs which cross one another. In the
Capilla de San Bartolomé lies Bishop Diego de Anaya. His tomb is
surrounded by one of the finest examples of wrought and hammered iron
work in the whole of Spain. Some other members of this family are also
interred in the chapel, which contains a mediæval organ covered by a
screen of coloured Moorish arabesques.
[Illustration: SALAMANCA. AN OLD STREET.]
The cloisters were built in 1170, but have been partly modernised and
totally disfigured by a coat of whitewash. An uncared-for garden filled
with rubbish occupies the centre. Surely some one might be found to tend
this little secluded patch of quietness and make it a place for
delightful repose instead of the disgrace it now is!
Before the French occupation Salamanca was a city of churches and
monastic buildings. To build their fortifications they destroyed
thirteen convents and twenty colleges besides many churches. The
south-west corner of the city is still an empty desert full of rubble
and stone strewn about everywhere, the remains of the now dismantled
fortress which overlooked the valley of the Tormes.
Among the churches left, that attached to the now suppressed Dominican
Convent of San Estéban is by far the finest. It is a miniature Cathedral
in itself. The Gothic exterior is extremely good. The great west façade
is highly enriched with Plateresque ornament. An elliptical arch of
great dimensions roofs the porch. Below it is a realistic group
illustrating the martyrdom of St. Stephen, with the date 1610 cut upon a
stone which one of the figures is picking up to hurl at the saint. The
_coro_ is over the west end, and for once the whole of the interior is
visible. This is very lofty, and the view up to the immense High Altar,
executed by Chirriguera himself, superb. There are two more altars in
the church by the same hand, and although his flamboyant style is not to
my liking, I could not help admiring the way in which he had evidently
allowed himself all the licence he was capable of in their sumptuous
design.
To the south of the little _plaza_ in which San Estéban stands are the
cloisters of the convent, in the upper storey of which is Salamanca's
museum. Unfortunately it contains nothing of interest. Columbus was
lodged by the Dominicans in this convent, and propounded those schemes
to the monks, which the learned members of the university had pronounced
worthless and crack-brained. He found in Fray Diego de Deza and the
other brothers warm supporters.
The once magnificent Convent of las Agustinas Recoletas, founded by the
Count of Monterey, has a beautiful church in the shape of a Latin Cross.
Over the High Altar is one of Ribera's masterpieces--_The Immaculate
Conception_. Monterey was known as "the good slow man" and was Viceroy
of Naples in Philip IV.'s reign. He accumulated great wealth during his
Viceroyalty and built himself the fine palace which stands close to the
convent. There is an anecdote current in Salamanca that when a peasant
woman craved an audience of the King, which he granted, she prayed "God
might make him also Viceroy of Naples."
The University which made Salamanca famous was united with that of
Palencia by Ferdinand, and very soon took the foremost rank as a seat of
learning in Europe, though at the Council of Constance in the year 1414,
Oxford was given precedence, a ruling which much disgusted the patriotic
Spaniard.
The building was entirely altered by the "Catholic Kings," who erected
the marvellous west façade, one of the best examples of Plateresque work
in the country. Like that of the Cathedral and San Estèban, it is a
wonderful example of what can be done with soft stone, and how well the
most delicate modelling has survived in this dry climate. Some of the
Moorish ceilings of the interior have been restored. The grand staircase
leading to the upper floors and cloister is especially well carved with
dancers and foliage. Over the door of each _aula_, or lecture room, is a
tablet denoting the science taught within. The fine library is rich in
theological lore and early editions of Aristotle, &c.
The little square on to which the west façade opens also leads through a
good doorway into the Grammar School, with a delicious cloister and
shady garden.
The four sides of the square and the walls of the Cathedral are covered
with numerous hieroglyphics and names in Roman characters. They are the
initials, signs, and names of the numerous scholars who have
distinguished themselves in different walks of life. A custom now
followed in all our own schools on boards of honour.
The Collegio Mayor de Santiago Apostol is a seminary for Irish priests.
The number in training is generally about twenty. This building,
originally founded in 1592 by Philip II. and dedicated to St. Patrick,
is a very good example of cinquecento architecture.
Among the many fine houses still left after French depredations, that of
La Casa de las Conchas is the most celebrated. It dates from 1512, and
is so named on account of the scallop shells which decorate the exterior
walls. The window grilles are exceptionally fine. The Spanish proverb
"La mujer y el vidrio siempre estan en peligro"--"a woman and glass are
always in danger," evidently held good when these intricate and
beautiful guards were let into the stone. The house has a lovely _patio_
and a very fine staircase. La Casa de Sal is another house with a good
court, the gallery above being supported by life-size figures. La Casa
de las Duendes, or Ghosts, built by Archbishop Fonseca, was supposed to
be haunted, hence the name. The Torre del Clavero is a good specimen of
the Castilian keep. It was built in 1488 by a Sotomayer who was Clavero
or Key-bearer to the Alcántara Order, and is still in the possession of
this noble family.
Throughout the churches, in these houses, and the convents which remain
unsuppressed are many fine pictures, and except for Seville, I found
here more of interest than in any other city of Spain. In the convents
of course mortal man is forbidden entrance, and I could only look at
their lofty walls and wish myself a nearer acquaintance with the
artistic treasures which I was told lay buried behind them.
Perhaps the best example of a square in the whole of the country is the
Plaza Mayor. A lofty colonnade runs around the four sides and every
evening the beauties and others of Salamanca make it their promenade.
The men stroll round in one direction and the women in the opposite. The
social life of a Spanish town passed in view before me, with all its fan
and language of the eyes, as I sat at one of the small tables of a café
and got this cheap and harmless entertainment for one _real_. The square
dates from 1720; the houses are four storeys high and on the north and
south sides bear medallions of kings and celebrated men. The
Ayuntamiento, with its chirrigueresque façade, occupies the centre of
the north side and adds greatly to the appearance of this fine Plaza
where up to fifty years ago bull fights took place.
My work over, I nearly always found myself wandering on to the desert
created by the French at the south-west angle of the city, and with my
pipe spending half an hour or so meditating on the Salamanca of the Past
and its contrast with the Present. The rock stands high here over the
road and river below, and there is a drop of 100 feet or more down on to
the former. It is but a narrow lane hedged in by a high wall and this
forbidding-looking rock. When walking along this lane one day I noticed
many crosses cut in the wall and chalked red. On inquiry I was told that
each cross represented a suicide. From the height above, those tired of
life or disappointed in love hurl themselves down and it is the
unwritten law or prerogative of him who finds the mutilated body to
carve a little cross on the wall at the spot where the unhappy mortal
has ended his days. But it was not to prevent suicides that I wandered
there and sat smoking my afternoon pipe. No, I fear it was something
inglorious, it was to get away from the stenches and filth of the town
and breathe the fresh air of the plain. I do not think that anywhere,
unless it be in Tarragona, were my olfactory nerves so insulted as in
Salamanca. Flies in thousands settled on my colour box and paper
wherever I sat sketching. I can now appreciate fully the torture of the
Egyptians during the plague.
Add to the flies beggars innumerable, with horrible sores, offal and
filth in the streets and some of the romance vanishes. Yet Salamanca
still remains the Spain of my imagination, for was not all this part and
parcel of my dream?
AVILA
Avila is one of the most perfectly preserved towns in Spain. It gave me
the impression of having been dropped from the sky,--complete as it
is--so desolate and barren is the boulder-strewn waste that surrounds
it. A sort of suburb pushes its mean houses straggling beyond the walls,
but Avila itself lies snugly within them. They are perfect--these walls
that entirely encircle the old portion of the town. Forty feet high,
twelve thick, with eighty-six defensive towers and bastions, and ten
gates, they are constructed of slabs of granite set end upwards, and
were always a hard nut for invaders to crack.
The Roman Avela afterwards fell into the hands of the Moors, who for
long held it as a fortress of the first class. Alfonso VI., the
conqueror of Toledo, drove them out after a lengthy siege, and Avila was
rebuilt by his son Ramon of Burgundy. It was then that the present walls
were built, being erected under the supervision of two foreigners, a
Frenchman and an Italian, Florian de Pituenga and Cassandro. Since their
day Avila has played an important _rôle_ in the history of the country
and witnessed many strange events.
In 1465 an extraordinary scene took place on the plain outside the city.
That unpopular king, Enrique IV., was reigning at the time, and the
hatred of the people towards him reached its height when his effigy was
dragged from the city and set upon a throne which had been prepared for
the ceremony of degradation. The Archbishop of Toledo having recounted
the people's grievances, removed the crown from the effigy's head,
others high in the land insulted it and at length pushed it off the
throne, the people then kicked it about and a game of "socker" ensued.
Prince Alfonso, a mere boy, was raised to the unoccupied seat, and
hailed King by the Archbishop, nobles and people, amidst a blare of
trumpets and general rejoicing.
Avila is an intensely cold place, frosts often occur here in May, but
the summer months are delightful. Every street, every house almost is of
interest, and in the old days of its importance there could have been
few strongholds in the country so safe as this.
The Cathedral is almost a fort in itself. The east end forms part of the
city walls, the apse abutting in line with the next two towers on either
side forms part of the defensive works.
[Illustration: AVILA]
Commenced at the end of the eleventh century by Alva Garcia, a native of
Navarre, this early Gothic building is still unfinished. Not much is,
however, of this early date, for the general style of the building is of
the end of the next century, and many alterations have followed this in
later years.
The west front has but one tower, the north--the other, the south, does
not rise above the roof. The favourite ball decoration of late Gothic
Spain is in evidence, and guarding the doorway are a couple of uncouth
mace-bearers. Very terrible are these hairy granite men, but not so
dangerous looking as the two lions which stand on pedestals and are
chained to the Cathedral walls. Always on guard, these four strange
figures have no doubt many a time struck a holy terror into the hearts
of would-be evil-doers as they entered the church, and I daresay kept
the thoughts of others in the straight line.
The north door is early pointed and carries figures in each jamb, the
tympanum is decorated with reliefs of the Betrayal and Last Supper, but
all the figures are sadly mutilated.
The third entrance is at the south-east corner of the Cathedral, and is
a later addition, opening outside the walls of the city on to the Calle
de S. Segundo.
The interior of the Cathedral is very simple and massive, partaking more
of strength than elegance. It is a fitting inside to the severity of the
fortress-like exterior. The nave is narrow and lofty, and so are the
aisles. The large clerestory windows have their tracery above blocked
up, and the lower lights have been treated in the same way, thus giving
a certain resemblance to a triforium, a feature the church does not
possess.
The aisles in the apse are double, like those at Tortosa, and although
the single columns in the centre are very beautiful, these aisles have
not the elegance of those in the other Cathedral. The apse is very dark,
the stone work at one time was painted red and the little that remains
of this colour adds to the religious gloom of its double aisles.