Cordova: A city of the Moors

by Albert Frederick Calvert; Walter M. Gallichan

The Court of Oranges is over four hundred feet long and more than two hundred feet in breadth. There was a destruction of many of the trees during a violent storm about seventy years ago, and some of the orange-trees were not replaced. The courtyard has quiet cloisters on three sides, with pillars and arches in the Gothic style.

One side of the Patio de los Naranjos is occupied by the Mosque, and it is here we see the finest exterior work of the time of Abd-er-Rahman I. and Hisham. The portions added by Almanzor are behind the altar to the left, when entering by the Gate of Pardon. In the main the impression that one gains in the Court of Oranges is distinctly Moorish. The fountains, the trees, the fine doors of the Mosque, the walls, the gate on the eastern side, and the inscriptions are purely Oriental. For the rest there has been tampering. The hand of the ‘restorer’ can be traced, and the Bell Tower is an affront upon the old edifice.

Four of the fountains were originally constructed by Hakem II., when he had spent his energy upon improving the interior of the Mezquita. The two founts in the east were for the ablution of the women; the two in the west for the purification of the men. The fountains were scooped out of single blocks of marble, brought from one quarry. To bring these huge masses of marble to their positions in the Court of Oranges, it was necessary to make a sloping road. The fountains were drawn by oxen, and borne upon heavy carts, and seventy beasts were required for each team. When the tanks were set in their places, the water streamed in through the great aqueduct of Abd-er-Rahman I., and the surplus went to fill other fountains in the city.

There was no sparing of the toil of man or beast in the days when the Omeyyads reigned in Cordova, for each Khalif seemed eager for the completion of his share of work upon the Mezquita. The army of Morisco labourers was augmented by a host of Christian captives, and we read that these unfortunates were employed to carry stone upon their heads. We can imagine the files of Christians, each man bending under his burden, compelled to toil in the upraising of a mighty temple to the glory of Islam. But the pendulum swings, and time brings its changes in the fortunes of Moor and Christian. At a later period it is the Mudejar, the ‘reconciled’ Moor, who supports the cumbrous loads upon his head, and does the bidding of the Catholic in the construction of the cathedral. And out of all this labour and sweat, hewing of stone, forging of metal, carving of wood and ivory, beating of gold and silver, and laying on of choice, imperishable colours, we have the composite fane of to-day—the Christian cathedral enfolded in the more wondrous structure of the Mohammedan Mosque. Surely there are questions that flash upon the mind as we sit in the Orange Court, and listen to the throb of the bell calling the Christians to prayer within the ancient Mezquita of the Omeyyads!

But the Cordovese do not appear to ponder upon Time’s fantastic transformations. They muse of other things—the affairs of the hour—and regard the Mezquita as an excellent asset to their slumbrous and impoverished city. Every stranger within their walls is looked upon as a sightseer; and what should he come to see but the famous Mosque? And so the boys in the street, offering their services as guides through the labyrinthine white alleys, point ahead and cry: ‘Mezquita, Mezquita.’ For the building is not known as the cathedral; it is still called the Mosque, although it has been reconsecrated and dedicated to the worship of God and the Virgin Mother.

Climb to the top of the tower and look around upon the bleached houses of the city, the curving river, the dull green of the olive thickets, the yellow grain fields, and the grey ridges of the mountains. Everything is sharp, clear-cut in the unpolluted air, and glowing in the brilliant sunshine of the south. The thoroughfares are like a network, tangled and mazy. Carthaginian hosts crossed those sierras to conquer this coveted territory from the Iberians. Then came the legions of Rome, to expel the settlers and to found Corduba. Here stood the great temple of Janus in the days of Seneca and Lucan, the arena, the schools, and the institutions of a powerful and cultured people. But all these fell with the inrush of the Goths from the north, those intrepid warriors, fanatical as they were fearless; and Cordova saw the ruin of the Roman civilisation, and the inception of a new faith and a new social order.

The scene changes constantly; the action of the drama is vivid. Again the invading flood sweeps over Andalusia. The swarthy Moors advance in battle array to the walls of the city, and the affrighted Cordovese fly to their churches for hiding. Again there sounds the clash of weapons and the shouts of combatants. And Islam prevails; the Christian cathedral is given to the Moors, and the Mezquita takes its place.

For centuries the Omeyyad rules in Cordova, and shapes the city to his fashion, obliterating almost every trace of the preceding orders, creeds, and customs. These are the palmy days, whose memorial lies below us in the Mosque, and the bridge over the Guadalquivir. These are the days that made Cordova a name familiar in the ears of the civilised nations, the days of power, splendour, and learning, whose glory shone throughout the world. The new Mecca arose; the creed of the East conquered, and Iberia was transformed to the guise of the Orient. And as the Moorish sway spread, and the conquered Christians conformed to the new traditions, and the country prospered, men thought that this state was sound and stable, and probably final and perfect.

But the pendulum swung again; the dominion of Islam was threatened by enemies within and without. History repeated itself; Time worked its inevitable revenge, and a lustier race made profit from the decadence of the Morisco civilisation. Spain arose and turned upon her oppressor, and the streets of Cordova were once more drenched with the blood of Moor and Christian. This proud Bell Tower stands as a symbol of the reconquest, and of the decline of Cordova.

Christian Spain rejoiced in her change of fortune. The crusaders set themselves to demolish and to upheave. They abandoned the wholesome habits of the Moors; the baths were destroyed by the hundred as useless relics of the detested Mohammedan. Temples, colleges, and palaces were thrown down. Science, the arts, and letters were neglected. We have read how trade forsook Cordova, and how the light of learning was almost extinguished. Gone were the cultured days of Abd-er-Rahman III., and the resplendent pomp of Almanzor. The Mecca of the West had fallen; the fate of Roman Corduba had come upon it. There was no revival, no uprising of the ruins from the ashes that could remake Cordova in the semblance of its old self. Vestiges alone remained to remind the beholder of the grandeur and the glory of the Mohammedan domination. A misdirected imperialism, an irrational conception of greatness, wrought the wreckage of the ‘Bride of Andalus’ after her recapture by the Christian Spaniards.