barrels on their way to Covent Garden. Later on, it will be the peach
and apricot crops that are gathered for exportation. Later still,
apples, walnuts, and pears; the village not far from our own sends fruit
to the Paris markets valued at one million francs annually, and the
entire valley of the Marne is unequalled throughout France for
fruitfulness and abundance.
But the traveller must settle down in some delicious retreat in the
valley of the Marne to realize the interest and charm of such a country
as this. And he must above all things be a fairly good pedestrian, for,
though a land of Goshen flowing with milk and honey, it is not a land
of luxuries, and carriages, good, bad, or indifferent, are difficult to
be got. A countless succession of delightful prospects is offered to the
persevering explorer who, each day, strikes out in an entirely different
direction. I have always been of the opinion that the best way to see
a country is to make a halt in some good central point for weeks at a
time, and from thence "excursionize." By these means much fatigue is
avoided, and the two chief drawbacks to the pleasure of travel, namely,
hotels and perpetual railway travel, are avoided as much as possible.
Seine et Marne, if not one of the most picturesque regions in France,
abounds in those quiet charms which grow upon the sympathetic traveller.
It is not a land of marvels and pictorial attractions like Brittany.
There is no costume, no legendary romance, no stone array of Carnac to
entice the stranger, but, on the other hand, the lover of nature in her
more subdued aspects, and the archaeologist also, will find ample to
repay them....
[Illustration: THE LUMINOUS PALACE
CHAMP DE MARS, PARIS, 1900]
My rallying-point was a pleasant country house at Couilly, offering easy
opportunity of studying agriculture and rural life, as well as of making
excursions by road and rail. Couilly itself is charming. The canal,
winding its way between thick lines of poplar-trees towards Meaux, you
may follow in the hottest day of summer without fatigue. The river,
narrow and sleepy, yet so picturesquely curling amid green slopes and
tangled woods, is another delightful stroll; then there are broad,
richly-wooded hills rising above these, and shady side-paths leading
from hill to valley, with alternating vineyards, orchards, pastures,
and cornfields on either side. Couilly lies in the heart of the
cheese-making country, part of the ancient province of Brie, from
which this famous cheese is named.
[The French _departement_ of Seine et Marne possesses but two
important historical monuments, the Chateau of Fontainebleau
and the Cathedral of Meaux, though it contains archaeological
remains from the Mediaeval to the Celtic Age. Fontainebleau is
too well known to need description here, so we shall conclude
by following our traveller to Meaux.]
The diligence passes our garden gate early in the morning, and in an
hour and a half takes us to Meaux, former capital of the province of La
Brie, bishopric of the famous Bossuet, and one of the early strongholds
of the Reformation. The neighboring country, _pays Meldois_ as it is
called, is one vast fruit and vegetable garden, bringing in enormous
returns. From our vantage-ground--for, of course, we get outside the
vehicle--we survey the shifting landscape, wood and valley and plain,
soon seeing the city with its imposing Cathedral, flashing like marble,
high above the winding river and fields of green and gold on either
side. I know nothing that gives the mind an idea of fertility and wealth
more than this scene, and it is no wonder that the Prussians, in 1871,
here levied a heavy toll; their sojourn at Meaux having cost the
inhabitants not less than a million and a half of francs. All now is
peace and prosperity, and here, as in the neighboring towns, rags, want,
and beggary are not found. The evident well-being of all classes is
delightful to behold.
Meaux, with its shady boulevards and pleasant public gardens, must be an
agreeable place to live in, nor would intellectual resources be wanting.
We strolled into the spacious town library, open, of course, to all
strangers, and could wish for no better occupation than to con the
curious old books and the manuscripts that it contains. One incident
amused me greatly. The employe, having shown me the busts adorning the
walls of the principal rooms, took me into a side closet, where,
ignominiously put out of sight, were the busts of Charles the Tenth and
Louis Philippe.
"But," said our informant, "we have more busts in the garret,--the
Emperor Napoleon III., the Empress, and the Prince Imperial."
Naturally enough, on the proclamation of the republic, these busts were
considered at least supererogatory, and it is to be hoped they will stay
where they are.
CORDOVA AND ITS MOSQUE.
S. P. SCOTT.
[The following selection we owe to Scott's "Through Spain: A
Narrative of Travel and Adventure in the Peninsula," a work of
unusual interest, and which reproduces in picturesque language
most of the attractions of that favored peninsula. The Moorish
inhabitants of Spain have left in that country numerous
monuments of their graceful architecture, notably the Alhambra
of Granada and the Mosque of Cordova. The latter, to the
description of which this selection is mainly devoted, is one
of the most magnificent examples of Saracenic architecture
extant, and despite the efforts of ecclesiastics to ruin it,
still remains a worthy object of pilgrimage for the lovers of
art.]
Once more we turn our faces southward over the bleak and lifeless
plains. Estremadura and La Mancha are soon left behind, as the flying
train darts through the passes of the Sierra Morena, and descends into
the beautiful province of Andalusia. It is almost like another world.
The country is thickly settled, green fields take the place of the
barren steppes, hedges of aloe and cactus enclose the extensive olive
plantations, and, here and there, overtopping the orange groves, are
seen the feathery branches of the palm. The costumes grow bright and
odd, and the people become more swarthy in complexion.
The water-carrier, with her Arab alcarazza lightly poised upon her
head, approaches the car window, and deals out the crystal fluid to the
thirsty traveller at the moderate price of one-fifth of a cent a drink.
A few miles farther, and, entering a long and irregular city, with
tortuous streets reeking with villanous smells--each of which seems
considerably worse than the one you have just escaped--and squares
overrun with indefatigable beggars, all startling specimens of horrible
and loathsome deformity, we are informed that this is at last the
renowned capital of the Khalifs.
If Cordova at first sight is so unprepossessing, a better acquaintance
is hardly calculated to produce a more favorable impression upon the
stranger. It is a sleepy old town, substantially paved with stone blocks
laid down by the Moors, whose notions of comfort and taste are further
manifested in the shady courts, surrounded by latticed galleries resting
upon graceful horseshoe arches,--peculiarities of the Arab style of
architecture. The innumerable canals, aqueducts, and fountains that
embellish the various squares reveal the predilection of its ancient
citizens for an abundant supply of water, an advantage not recognized by
the present inhabitants. The streets are so crooked, and pay such a
disregard to the points of the compass, that three minutes after you
have left the hotel you are helplessly lost, and wonder whether you
will be able to find any one of whom to ask the way. You approach one
of the houses that, barred like so many castles, line the streets, and
knock. After some delay the gate opens, and discloses the leather-clad
_portero_ rubbing his eyes, and half asleep. You explain your
misfortune; he laughs, and with a volubility that is perfectly amazing
delivers himself of a string of directions intended to be explicit,
but which soon involve you more deeply in the labyrinth than before.
Then you commit yourself to the tender mercies of a boy who has
providentially appeared, and who knows nothing of what you wish to see,
but will gladly repel the attacks of the beggars, a service which no one
who has had the benefit of it will be disposed to underrate.
The bigoted character of the people of Cordova is betrayed by the number
of shrines, and the swarms of well-fed priests that congregate in the
neighborhood of the Cathedral and the parish churches. In the Jewish
quarter--where the Hebrews, persecuted by other nations, enjoyed
complete liberty of worship, as well as the confidence of their Saracen
rulers--stands the mosque. It is on the shore of the Guadalquivir, and
opposite the Alcazar of the Khalifs, which is now a military prison, and
destitute of even a suspicion of its ancient grandeur. It is impossible
to realize that this spot, now steaming with noxious vapors, smeared
with filth of every description, and haunted by ghastly representatives
of vice and misery, was once the abode of science and art, the seat of
the wealthiest court of mediaeval Europe, the refuge of the oppressed of
every creed in Christendom, and the home of the most polished society of
the age.
The city contains but little to attest its former greatness, whose story
reads like an exaggerated romance of the Orient. The mosque remains,
indeed, sadly defaced by the hand of religious fanaticism; a few of the
baths are intact, though long disused and abandoned; the wheels of the
primitive stone mills are still turned by the rapid current of the
Guadalquivir; and the venerable bridge erected by Augustus has survived
the uninterrupted traffic and strange vicissitudes of nearly twenty
centuries. There are a few handsome palaces, once curious on account of
their minute and grotesque ornamentation, but now weather-beaten and
decayed. The orphan asylum, built in the sixteenth century, offers the
best example of the Gothic, but the churches are abominable, with the
exception of San Nicolas, which possesses the only minaret left out of
the seven hundred that once adorned the Saracen metropolis. The sight
of the crumbling relics of an empire which once overshadowed all Europe
with its power naturally recalls the circumstances under which that
power was obtained, and suggests a brief notice of the wonderful
civilization that, emanating from a people but a few removes from the
Bedouins, communicated new life to the nations brought within the sphere
of its authority, contributing so much of value to the common stock of
human knowledge, and imparting an extraordinary impulse to scientific
thought.
[This historical notice we omit, and proceed with a description
of the celebrated mosque of Cordova.]
There has probably never been an edifice erected by the piety of any
sect whose materials were gathered in as many different countries, or
which could boast such a variety of superb decorations, as the _Djalma_
of Cordova. The stones for its foundations were transported upon the
shoulders of Christian captives from Narbonne in France. Pagan altars
and Romish churches were alike despoiled of their precious marbles.
Barbary gave her odoriferous woods, Egypt her ivory, Syria her stuccoes,
Persia her tapestry, Constantinople her elegant mosaics.
The expenses of construction were defrayed by the appropriation of
one-fifth of the spoils of battle, which amount, important in itself,
was from time to time largely increased by contributions from the
wealthy, tribute of conquered nations and munificent gifts from the
royal treasury. The building measured six hundred and forty-two feet
from north to south by four hundred and sixty-two feet from east to
west; the walls were generally thirty-five feet high, except on the side
towards the river, where they reached an altitude of seventy feet and a
thickness of nearly twenty. They were strengthened by buttresses and
crowned by battlements painted in brilliant colors. Over all towered the
shapely minaret of Abderrahman III., inlaid with sculptured stone-work
and enamelled tiles, and bearing upon its summit three huge gilded
apples of bronze rising from the petals of silver lilies, the whole
surrounded by a pomegranate of massy gold.
There were twenty-one entrances, encircled by legends from the Koran,
interspersed with scarlet and gilded arabesques; the doors were very
heavy, and covered with plates of polished brass. A subdued light
came through the interstices of marble lattices, carved in fantastic
patterns, imparting a mystic solemnity to the vast interior.
A spacious garden or court, called then, as now, the Court of the
Oranges, planted with choice exotics and tropical trees, contained the
fountains where the Moor performed the ablutions prescribed by his
religion. One of these basins, still perfect, is a monolith hewn in the
quarries of the distant sierra, and requiring the combined efforts of
seventy oxen and hundreds of men to convey it to its present position.
The nineteen naves of the mosque opened upon the court,--none of them
had doors,--and through the fretted arcades were wafted odors of rose
and jasmine, which, mingling with incense and the smoke of perfumed
tapers, gave to the fanatic believer a reminiscence of Araby the Blest.
Some of these tapers weighed sixty pounds, and the largest chandelier,
used only during the feast of Ramadan, held fourteen hundred and
fifty-four lights. Lamps of gold and silver were suspended from the
richly-ornamented ceiling, and among them, memorable trophies of the
conquest of Galicia, swung the bells of the church of Santiago.
Stretching around on every side was an endless forest of columns, the
horseshoe arches arranged in tiers increasing the resemblance to a grove
of palms,--that most primitive of temples,--which evidently served as a
model for the interior of the mosque. Not far from the centre was the
tribune, where, on Fridays, the Imam called the worshippers to prayer.
Elevated a few feet above the floor, it was surrounded by engrailed,
interlacing arches, and stood opposite the Kiblah, or point facing
Mecca. The latter was indicated by three chapels, the Mihrab being
placed in the central one.
The Byzantine mosaics, with which both walls and domes are incrusted,
give to this part of the mosque an indescribably gorgeous appearance.
They contain no piece larger than the top of a lead-pencil, and, being
coated with glass like those of the church of St. Mark at Venice, which
are of about the same date, have been preserved in all their original
beauty. A noble horseshoe arch, opening in the mosaic, forms the
entrance to the Mihrab, a little grotto faced with marble slabs, towards
which the Moslem always turned to pray, and then made its circuit seven
times upon his knees; the evidences of this act of devotion remaining,
deeply furrowed in the pavement, after the lapse of six centuries. The
Mihrab is hexagonal in shape, and twelve feet in diameter. Exquisitely
carved, as became its sacred character, and the reverence with which it
was universally regarded, the skill of its architects was exhausted upon
its panels and its vaulted ceiling, cut from a single block of snowy
marble in the exact representation of a shell. Here was kept the most
precious relic of Mohammedan Spain, the Koran written by the Khalif
Othman, which he was reading when assassinated. It was studded with
jewels of immense value, and was so heavy that it required four men to
lift it.
Great and important are the changes that have taken place in the
arrangements of the mosque since the Spanish domination.
It was first purged of its heretical pollutions by the assembled clergy,
and then lined with chapels presided over by ugly idols glittering with
tinsel.
The marble pavement was next removed and replaced by coarse red tiles.
The minaret, damaged by a storm in the sixteenth century, has been
metamorphosed into an ordinary spire; thirteen of the exterior
entrances, and sixteen of those in the Court of the Oranges, have been
walled up; and many of the mosaics and stuccoes have been so daubed
with whitewash that both colors and designs have disappeared. The
carved ceiling was long since removed, and sold to guitar-makers
and carpenters; the balustrades, inlaid with mother-of-pearl and
tortoise-shell, were utilized as fuel. The outside has suffered less,
and there still remain numerous tokens of its Oriental origin,--the
flame-shaped battlements of Persia, typical of the adoration of fire;
the Syrian ornamentation of the door-ways, where can also be traced
familiar symbols of ancient Egypt; and the suastika, or Indian cross, a
mysterious emblem of the highest antiquity, which Layard found upon the
palaces of Nineveh, Cesnola in the tombs of Cyprus, and Schliemann on
the walls of Troy.
But even these "purifications" were not sufficient to satisfy the
demands of an orthodox and iconoclastic priesthood. In 1523 a zealous
bishop of Cordova, named Manriquez, wishing to distinguish himself,
determined to build a cathedral in the very centre of the mosque. The
people in vain protested against this outrage; the bishop appealed to
the emperor, who sustained him; and though Charles afterwards, when
visiting Cordova for the first time, sharply criticised the action of
the prelate, the remonstrance came with a bad grace from one who had
wrought such irreparable mischief in the Alhambra. The church was built,
and, though in itself elegant, has destroyed the proportions of the
unique structure, once the model of Saracen architecture and the pride
of all Islam....
The Moorish city of Cordova was divided into five wards, each isolated
by a fortified wall. Beyond these were the twenty-one suburbs, which--as
well as the central part of the capital, where were located the palace
and the Djalma--were paved and lighted, and furnished with mosques and
markets. To accommodate a population that exceeded a million there were
nine hundred public baths, more than are now to be found in all Europe.
Of the suburbs, that of Medina-Azzahra was the most celebrated. It
enclosed a palace built by An-Nassir for a favorite of his harem, and
we are told that its decorations surpassed those of the mosque at the
period of its greatest magnificence. The most expensive marbles and
jaspers were used in its construction; Byzantine mosaics covered its
walls; the ceilings of its pavilions were composed of alternate plates
of gold and silver. In the principal hall stood a porphyry basin full of
quicksilver, so contrived that it could be agitated by hidden mechanism,
reflecting the rays of the sun with dazzling brilliancy, and striking
with terror the mystified beholders. Over this curious toy was a
miniature temple, with a dome of ebony and ivory, incrusted with pearls
and rubies, and sustained by columns of polished crystal. Attached to
the palace were delightful flower-gardens, orchards, labyrinths, lakes,
and fountains. There were six thousand three hundred women of all
ranks in An-Nassir's harem, who were guarded by an army of twelve
thousand eunuchs clothed in silk, and wearing girdles of gold. In the
neighborhood of the Khalif's residence stood the villas of the nobility,
which, with the houses of their slaves and retainers, constituted of
themselves a town of no inconsiderable dimensions.
Having read much of Medina-Azzahra, I was naturally desirous to visit
the site of this luxurious retreat of the Khalifs, which is known as
"Cordoba la Vieja," or Old Cordova; and taking a carriage, the driver of
which assured me he was perfectly familiar with the locality, I rode out
to the mountains, a distance of about three miles. The carriage stopped;
I got out, and, seeing a few steps away a low wall of masonry, evidently
the enclosure of a pasture, I asked the driver what place this was.
Touching his hat, he replied, "This, senor, is Cordoba la Vieja."
"But the ruins you promised to show me,--where are they?"
"The ruins, senor--yes--there they are!" And he pointed to a row of
dilapidated stables in the centre of the pasture, not far from where a
herd of fierce Andalusian bulls were grazing. I would not have crossed
that field for all the antiquities in Spain.
"And this is all that is to be seen here?"
"Yes, senor, this is all."
Re-entering the carriage, I returned to the city, with a feeling of
disgust, which was not diminished by my honest coachman's demanding an
exorbitant fee for his services as guide....
Among the many revolutions which have affected the manners and formed
the society of Europe, none is entitled to more credit, or has been more
completely ignored, than the occupation of Spain by the Saracens. This
neglect is almost inexplicable, considering the prestige the invaders
acquired by their extensive conquests, long a menace to the peace of
Christendom, as well as by their invaluable services to literature,
whose influence is even now to be traced in the language, the theology,
the science, and the laws of distant countries, loath to acknowledge the
debt they owe to this most ingenious and polished people. For the
ambition and versatility of the Moor were boundless, and he labored
with the same persevering energy in the solution of some abstruse
mathematical problem as in the prosecution of every useful discovery
and the encouragement of every branch of trade.
The importance of his foreign commerce is shown by the wealth and size
of his seaports. Of these Almeria stood first in rank; its merchants
not only maintained the closest intimacy with the nations of the
Mediterranean, but penetrated as far as Persia and China. It employed
three thousand eight hundred looms in the fabrication of damasks and
brocades; the gardens and plantations of its environs embraced an area
of four hundred square miles. Each city had its specialty: Baeza was
famous for woollens, Murcia for coats of mail, Valencia for perfumes,
Malaga for pottery and glass, Xativa for paper, Toledo and Seville for
swords of perfect temper. In the early part of the twelfth century there
were six hundred villages engaged in the manufacture of silk. Granada
was the chief mart of this industry, and soon after the accession of
Charles Fifth, when the Inquisition had already driven thousands of
skilful artisans into exile, the crown revenues from this source alone
amounted annually to one hundred and eighty-one thousand five hundred
gold ducats, or seven hundred and twenty-six thousand dollars of our
money.
The luxurious tastes of the East caused the introduction of many useful
plants and fruits, among them the buckwheat, the sugar-cane, the peach,
and the pomegranate, and the first palm ever seen in Andalusia was
brought from Damascus by Abderrahman, in memory of his native land. In
his control over water, the most valuable treasure of his forefathers,
the Moor displayed a power little short of marvellous, and a reverence
as for something peculiarly sacred. Every drop of the precious fluid
was utilized, and its distribution protected by a code of stringent
regulations, causing its benefits to be felt in the remotest hamlets of
the kingdom. This code is still in force in Valencia, and the ancient
tribunal of seven judges, chosen from the farmers of the province, holds
its sessions in that city every Thursday, the last day of the Mohammedan
week, to hear and decide without appeal all questions involving the laws
of irrigation.
The rapid progress made by the Spanish Arabs in those arts that tend to
diminish the burdens and increase the enjoyments of life, unexampled as
it was in history, was not more remarkable than the diligence with which
they applied themselves to literary and scientific pursuits, studies
destined to exert such lasting effects upon the happiness and well-being
of mankind....