out the details of a very small and curious structure. Again to quote
Mr. Street, the nave is only “21 ft. 7¼ in. by 20 ft. 2 in., and this
space is subdivided into nine compartments by four very low circular
columns, which are about a foot in diameter. Their capitals are all
different. The arches, of which four spring from each capital, are all
of the round horseshoe form; above them is a string-course, and all the
intermediate walls are carried up to the same height as the main walls.
They are all pierced above the arches with arcades of varied design,
generally cusped in very Moorish fashion, and supported on shafts; and
above these each of the nine divisions is crowned with a little vault,
formed by intersecting cusped ribs, thrown in the most fantastic way
across each other, and varied in each compartment. The scale of the
whole work is so diminutive that it is difficult, no doubt, to
understand how so much is done in so small a space; but looking to the
early date of the work it is impossible not to feel very great respect
for the workmen who built it, and for the ingenious intricacy which has
made their work look so much larger and important than it really is.”
After the Reconquest, the loftier portion of the temple, consisting of
apse and transept, and containing the altar, was added. Looking closer
into the details of the Moorish portion, one is struck by the contrast
presented by rude shafts and capitals, evidently of Visigothic
workmanship, with the general elegance and delicacy of the whole. On
making a careful study of these features, it is difficult to resist the
conclusion (supported, indeed, by tradition) that they formed part of an
earlier and less skilfully constructed mosque, itself merely a
restoration or adaptation of a Visigothic church. Señor Amador de los
Rios is of opinion that the existing structure constituted only the
inner portion or _maksurah_ of the temple, and believes that the
southern wall is the only part of the outer or enclosing _enceinte_
remaining. In this he finds traces of the _kiblah_ or sanctuary,
_membar_, and other features peculiar to Mohammedan worship. The mosque
consisted originally, in all probability, in addition to the fabric we
now see, of naves extending on each side of those still standing, from
north-east to south-west. Even thus the mosque must have been very
small. The exact configuration and plan of the original building is
still a matter of great perplexity to archæologists, and a great many
more discoveries remain to be made before anything can be positively
stated under this head.
The newer, or Christian, portion of the mosque contains some remarkable
mural paintings, discovered in 1871. They date from about the close of
the twelfth century, and exhibit pronounced Byzantine influence. It
seems satisfactorily established that two of the four female figures
represent Saints Eulalia and Martiana; and the other two, in all
probability, the martyrs Leocadia and Obdulia. The fifth figure--that of
a man--represents a prelate. It may be, as Mr. Leonard Williams thinks,
the Archbishop Bernardo, who figures largely in the annals of the
Reconquest; or the prelate’s patron saint. It is not to that archbishop,
however, but to one of his successors--possibly Don Gonzalo Perez
(1182-1193)--that the remodelling of the building into a Christian place
of worship should be ascribed.
This intensely interesting monument is the subject of several curious
and entertaining legends. In the days of Athanagild (and it is not
impossible, as we know, that the church may have existed at that time) a
crucifix, greatly venerated by the citizens, hung over the door. Two
evil-minded Jews, Sacao and Abishai by name, to express their hatred for
Christianity, drove a lance into the side of the figure. Instantly blood
gushed forth. The terrified Israelites hid the miraculous object in
their own home, but were traced by the stains of blood, and (it is
hardly necessary to add) torn to pieces. This irritated their
co-religionists, who, to avenge them, poisoned the feet of the statue.
This resulted in a second miracle, for when a devout woman was about to
kiss the feet, they were withdrawn--to the discovery and undoing, once
more, of the villainous Jews. The right foot of the image remains
withdrawn to the present day, that all men may know the truth of the
story.
Now we come to the explanation of the name “Cristo de la Luz.” When the
Moors were about to take the city, the Christians walled up the
miraculous crucifix, with a lamp burning before it. Three hundred and
seventy years passed; and on the glorious May 25, 1085, Alfonso VI. and
his Christian chivalry came riding into reconquered Toledo. Among the
cavaliers was the Cid, Ruy Diaz de Bivar. The warrior’s horse, on
passing the mosque, stumbled, or, as others have it, knelt. With
preternatural acuteness, the Cid suspected some unusual circumstance,
and had the adjacent wall broken down. Then was discovered the crucifix
with the lamp still burning brightly, as when placed there nearly four
centuries before. The mosque was reconsecrated on the spot; and the King
left his shield as a memento. There it hangs to-day, above the central
arch, bearing a white cross on a crimson ground. Whether it is authentic
or not, we cannot say, but below it one may read: _Esto es el escudo que
dejo en esta ermita el Rey Don Alfonso VI., cuando ganó á Toledo y se
dijo aqui la primera misa._
The Cristo de la Luz is no longer a church, and is now classed among the
national monuments of Spain.
Hardly less interesting, but very far from being as well known, is the
ancient mosque in the Calle de las Tornerias. It is contained in the
upper part of the private houses numbered 27, 29, and 31. The mosque
having been built against a steep incline, it was raised on a
substructure of galleries, which now form the ground floor of the modern
houses. The mosque was never converted to Christian uses, and retains
its original physiognomy almost unimpaired. In the opinion of Spanish
archæologists, it belongs to the same period as the Cristo de la Luz;
but Street does not share this view, and thinks it a later work. Like
the other mosque, it is built more or less in the form of a square, and
has likewise Visigothic columns and capitals, pointing to the existence
of a previous structure. Here, also, we find the horseshoe arch and the
cupola, and evidences of the position of the kiblah. Recent restorations
have shown that the walls are composed of the finest brickwork,
unsurpassed for smoothness and regularity. But so far no trace has been
revealed of any texts from the Koran, or inscription commemorating the
architect’s name, such as were usual in the Mohammedan temples of Spain.
The Puerta Antigua de Bisagra, or ancient gate of Bisagra--not to be
confounded with the new gate of the same name built by Charles V.--is
dilapidated and falling to pieces. In Moorish times it was the principal
entrance to the city. The name was probably originally Bib-Sahla. It
dates from about the beginning of the tenth century, but to the
primitive structure only the foundations of the gate belong. A
reconstruction seems to have been carried out at the time of the
Reconquest, and to that epoch the arch, or gate, properly speaking, may
be assigned. The upper portion of the time-worn fabric belongs to a
still later period. This is the only one remaining of the fifteen gates
with which the walls of Toledo appear to have been furnished during the
Mohammedan occupation.
The celebrated Puente de Alcantara, as it exists to-day, must be
regarded as the work of the Christians. It took the place of a
structure, built or restored by the Musulmans, and regarded by the
writers of their time and nation as one of the wonders of Spain.
According to an inscription on the bridge tower, the work dated from the
year 997 A.D., and was built by “Alif, son of Mohammed Al Ameri,
Governor of Toledo, under the great Wizir, Al Mansûr.” With it, no
doubt, were incorporated the remains of previous Gothic and Roman
constructions. It was almost entirely swept away in a great flood in the
year 1258, after having already undergone extensive repairs and
restorations since the Reconquest. Thus we may conclude that there can
be few if any traces of the Moorish bridge in the actual Puente de
Alcantara. On the other side of the town there was probably a wooden
bridge or bridge of boats, where the Puente de San Martin now spans the
river. A little below it is a brick tower, with open arches, the
horseshoe curve of which, and other features, bespeak its Moorish
origin. Legend places here the incident of the Bath of Florinda. In
later times the work was believed to be the remains of a bridge. But an
Arabic inscription, recently redeciphered and translated, goes to prove
that the tower formed part of a very different monument: “In the Name of
God, the Merciful, the Compassionate! Oh, men, believe that the promises
of God are certain and let not yourselves be seduced by the flattery of
the world, nor be lured away from God by the deceits of the Evil One!
This is the tomb of Hosàm (?)-ben-Abd ... [He confessed that there is no
other God but] God. He died [may God have mercy on him] ... the year
eight ... and four hundred.” The Baños de la Cava may now be safely
regarded as a Musulman sepulchral monument of the fifth century after
the Hegira.
We have now briefly considered the only monuments of interest to any but
the most ardent archæologists that can be ascribed, so far as their
general structure is concerned, to the Moslem lords of Toledo. Admitting
that the most important buildings of that time have long since
disappeared, it remains clear that the city could never have presented
the Oriental aspect of the Andalusian seats of Islam.
The history of the city as an independent State is soon told. Under
Ismail and his son Al Mamûn, Toledo became the most powerful Musulman
State in Spain. The lesser principalities having been disposed of, a
fierce struggle for supremacy was waged between Al Mamûn and the Amir
of Seville. A desperate battle before the walls of Murcia decided the
issue in favour of the Toledan, and gave Valencia into his hands. But,
as is often the case with men of all ranks, Al Mamûn’s strength and
wisdom were undone and rendered unavailing by his fatal trait of
magnanimity.
Alfonso of Leon, dispossessed of his kingdom by his brother, threw
himself upon the protection of the Amir of Tolaitola. The noble Muslim
bestowed upon the fugitive prince a palace near his own, an oratory, and
a garden “wherein to recreate himself”; and allowed him to establish a
miniature Court for himself and his followers at Brihuega. Lands were
assigned to him as a source of revenue, and he became the most intimate
and honoured friend of the Amir. It is said that in return an oath was
exacted of Alfonso that he would assist his host against all men, and
never war upon him or his son. That some such pledge should have been
asked for in return for such magnificent hospitality seems very
probable. The Archbishop Don Rodrigo relates that one day Al Mamûn found
himself with his most trusty counsellors in a wood from which a full
view of the city could be obtained. The Moorish sovereign fell to
discoursing upon the defences of the place and the best means of
attacking it. These words were overheard by Alfonso, who chanced to be
by, and who at once feigned sleep beneath a tree. Here he was presently
discovered by the Moors, to their great dismay. Some among them asked
leave of Al Mamûn to slay him. On this permission being indignantly
refused, they dropped hot lead on the Leonese prince’s hand to see if he
were really asleep. Alfonso did not stir, which would have convinced
most people that he was feigning sleep. The Muslims, on the contrary,
retired, satisfied that he had heard nothing and seen nothing.
Before returning to his kingdom, the Christian prince renewed his vows
of loyalty and friendship to Al Mamûn, with whom personally, indeed, he
never broke faith. The Moor’s son, Yahya, reaped the reward of the
father’s generosity. A weak and incapable sovereign, addicted to luxury
and despised for his devotion to superstitious practices, he was
detested by his own subjects, who on one occasion drove him out of the
city, to take refuge at Cuenca. His authority was restored only with the
help of his natural foes, the Castilians. Alfonso, unmindful of his vow,
forgetful of the dead Al Mamûn’s princely generosity, could not resist
this opportunity of adding to his dominions the old capital of the Kings
of Spain. For six years he laid waste the frontiers of the Amirate, and
in the seventh year--carefully availing himself, no doubt, of the
information unwittingly communicated by his old benefactor--invested
Toledo itself. Famine accomplished what arms could not, Yahya asked for
terms. They were onerous enough. They involved the cession of all the
Moorish King’s dominions, except Valencia, the Muslims who elected to
remain in Toledo being guaranteed the free exercise of their religion,
their property, and liberty. They were to be subject to their own laws
and tribunals and to retain their mosques. The terms, as remarks
Quadrado, were, in fact, almost the same as those granted to the
Christians by the Arabs three hundred and seventy years before. Only the
Alcazar, the bridges, gates, and the garden called the Huerta del Rey,
were reserved to Alfonso himself. The capitulation completed, Yahya and
his court took the road to Valencia, and Alfonso VI. entered Toledo by
the Bib-el-Mardom on Sunday, May 25, 1085.
“May God renew her past splendour, and inscribe once more the name of
Toledo on the list of the cities of Islâm!” This was the devout
aspiration of a Muslim chronicler, but in neither particular has it ever
been fulfilled.
TOLEDO THE CAPITAL OF CASTILE
The incorporation of the haughty city of the Visigoths with the kingdom
of Castile was, when the first wave of enthusiasm had subsided, regarded
with coldness and misgiving by its people. The Toledans were as
tenacious as ever of their peculiar customs and privileges which they
had hoped to maintain intact. Even with the powerful assistance of the
Cid, whom he appointed Alcalde, Alfonso found the ordering of the
affairs of his new capital a difficult and dangerous task. The
population included (remarks Don Jose Quadrado) “the conquered and
resigned Musulman, the Israelite ever submissive and industrious, the
Mozarabe ennobled by his ancient lineage and constancy in his faith, the
Castilian, proud of his conquests, the foreigner rewarded for his
prowess, or attracted from remote countries by signal privileges; and
this multiplicity of races and diversity of creeds demanded as many
separate systems of law and administrations.” The Jews, Musulmans and
foreigners continued subject to their own codes and tribunals; but while
the Mozarabe or native of Toledo clung to the old Fuero Juzgo or
Visigothic law, inherited from his fathers, the Castilians and Leonese
expected to be ruled according to the ruder, rougher code of their
warrior counts and kings. Alfonso dealt with these two peoples of common
race and language as with the other more widely distinct races. Each had
an Alcalde of its own, subject, however, to the Alcalde Mayor named by
the king. A compromise, too, was arrived at, the Castilians being
subject to their own law in civil cases, and to the Mozarabe in criminal
matters. On the whole, the tendency of these measures was to conciliate
the Toledans. But we find evidence of jealousies between them and their
conquerors or deliverers from the North for many years afterwards.
Alfonso’s honour had not gone unstained in regard to his taking the city
of his old friend and benefactor, and the Moors must have been sanguine
indeed if they looked forward to a scrupulous fulfilment of the pledges
given them by the conqueror while he was _outside_ the walls. The clause
that entitled the Muslims to the free and exclusive use of their mosques
was particularly obnoxious to the rabid ecclesiastics and crusaders who
accompanied the king. With increasing irritation they compared the noble
proportions of the Mohammedan mezquita with those of the humble
provisional Catholic Cathedral of Santa Maria de Alficem. While Alfonso
was absent in Leon, he left the city in charge of his queen, Constancia,
a Frenchwoman, and of her countryman, Bernard, now bishop, and formerly
a monk of Cluny. This prelate took advantage of his sovereign’s absence
to burst one night into the coveted mosque with an armed party, and
having “purified” it, suspended bells in the minarets, which announced
at dawn the celebration of the Christian rite. When word was brought to
the King of this infamous violation of the treaty, he set out for
Toledo, announcing his intention of burning the bishop alive. Moved
either by that magnanimity which in the person of Al Mamûn had
contributed to their downfall, or, as Spanish writers say, by a
far-seeing prudence, the Moors went out in a body to meet the monarch,
and besought him to forgive the highly placed thieves. Alfonso, with a
show of reluctance, acquiesced in their prayer, and the Christians were
most undeservedly confirmed in the possession of a church they had no
hand in creating. The Alfaqui, or headman of the Muslims, was
munificently rewarded for his generosity, his statue being placed in the
Capilla Mayor of the new cathedral, which was solemnly consecrated in
1087. No nation has shown a very nice sense of honesty in respect of
church property, yet it needs no subtle intelligence to perceive that a
church is as much the property of the particular sect for whose special
use it was designed by members of that sect, as any private house is of
its private owner.
The sturdy Toledans were attached, not only to their laws and customs,
but (which was of more importance in those days) to their own Gothic or
Mozarabic ritual. This differs in what are considered important
particulars from the Roman. The host is divided into nine parts,
representing the Incarnation, Epiphany, Circumcision, Passion, Death,
Resurrection, Ascension, and Eternal Kingdom of Christ. Of these
fragments, seven are arranged to form a cross. Because it is not Roman,
English writers are fond of extolling the beauty and simplicity of this
liturgy. It was a stumbling-block to Queen Constance and the zealous
French bishop, who were anxious to reduce all things in Spain to
Catholic uniformity. The King ordered the question to be decided by
ordeal of single combat. The Mozarabic champion remained the victor. The
bishop then demanded the ordeal of fire. The two missals were
accordingly thrown into a great blazing pile, and the local favourite,
having probably been saturated with some incombustible preparation,
remained unconsumed. Another version has it that neither book was
injured by the flames. Alfonso, after his fashion, clinched the
controversy by ordering the Mozarabic ritual to be confined to the two
parish churches allotted to the Christians by their Moorish rulers,
whilst everywhere else Mass was to be celebrated according to the Roman
office.
Alfonso VI. had to fight hard to keep possession of Toledo. The
Almoravide invasion had burst like a tidal wave over Southern Spain.
Everywhere the Musulmans were recovering their spirits and their
strength. The Castilian king fled, wounded, from the bloody field of
Zalaca, with only five hundred followers, leaving behind him twenty
thousand slain. Toledo could have had no pleasant associations for its
latest conqueror. Here died three of his _six_ wives--Constancia of
Burgundy, Isabel of France, and Zayda of Seville. At Ucles was slain his
only son, while yet a mere child. “Where is your prince?” asked the
unhappy father of the warriors escaped from the rout. “Where is the
light of my eyes and the staff of my age?” All were silent. “He is dead
and you live!” bitterly exclaimed the king. “Yes,” replied Alvar Fañez
sternly, “we live to save the throne, the country, and the lands
acquired with our blood and sweat.” But the Alcazar re-echoed to the
mournful plaint, “Sancho! Sancho, my son!” till Alfonso VI. passed away
in July 1109. The stones of which the church altars were built had
miraculously distilled tears in token of his approaching death. Before a
year had passed the Vega was blackened by the advancing hordes of Islam.
The Castle of Azeca, the monastery of San Servando, fell into their
hands; but the City of the Goths, thanks to the leadership of Archbishop
Bernard and of Alvar Fañez, hurled back the hosts of Ali and was held
fast for Spain.
The accession of Alfonso VII. el Batallador brought brighter days to his
capital, but it was assailed during the twelfth century with a
succession of calamities that might have broken down the patience of
Job. The year 1113 was marked by an earthquake and disastrous
overflowing of the Tagus; 1116, by a fire on a large scale; in 1117, the
price of wheat rose, to fourteen soldos the bushel; in 1168, the Tagus
was again in flood; again in 1181 and 1200; between 1187 and 1200, all
the grocery stores were burnt (how or why, we are not told), the Tagus
was frozen over in 1191, and there was a famine the following year.
Eclipses of the sun were of the commonest occurrence: we hear of them in
1114, 1162, 1177, 1191, and 1207. We can easily imagine the Mohammedan
denizens shaking their heads and ascribing these phenomena, especially
the last, to the change of government, and extolling the good old times
of Al Mamûn when earth, river, and sun kept their places and behaved
according to rule.
Yet Toledo flourished, and her citizens were never more in their element
than in the spring of the year 1212, when their town became the
rallying-point and base of the great crusading army, destined to achieve
the crowning mercy of the Navas de Tolosa. The dominant personality of
that time was the Archbishop Rodrigo Jimenez de Rada. A writer of
history, a valiant soldier, a sagacious statesman, princely in his
magnificence, and angelic in his charity, he was a tower of strength in
Spain, and especially for Toledo, in the dreadful years of famine and
brigandage that followed the victory over the Moor. His name will be for
ever remembered as practically the founder of the great cathedral which
is the city’s crowning glory and title to fame.
The century of floods, earthquakes, and eclipses passed away, and found
Toledo a hotbed of civil strife and internecine discord. As in Italian
cities at the same time, rival families and factions fought in the
streets, turned their houses into fortresses, and set the civic
authorities at defiance. The hidalgos of Toledo would hurry home from
warring with the infidel to plunge their swords into the bosoms of their
fellow townsmen. Laras and Castros waged pitched battles for the
possession of the capital of Castile. At last the royal power asserted
itself, and with terrible effect. We read that “the King Ferdinand came
to Toledo, and hanged many men and boiled others alive in cauldrons.
Era MCCLXII. (1224).” This boiler of his fellow men is known as _Saint_
Ferdinand. His father, Alfonso IX. of Leon, is also mentioned as having
broiled his rebellious subjects, and flayed others alive. But such
performances are not considered by a certain class of writers even now
to argue any real depravity of character.
The sainted king’s severity on another occasion is more creditable to
him. On his entry into the town, two young women threw themselves at his
feet and implored vengeance on their betrayer, Fernandez Gonzalo--the
Alcalde himself. The high rank of the offender did not save him from
instant decapitation, and his head was within an hour gazing down on the
scene of his amours from the Puerta del Sol. Whether the betrayed
damsels or any one else were benefited by these drastic measures, the
panegyrists of the righteous king forgot to tell us.