In Roman times the Guadalquivir was navigable as far as Cordova, but to-day the channels have silted up. A few salt pools in the plains show that the sea once covered large tracts of this part of Andalusia. The river is now tidal for some miles above Seville, and ships of heavy tonnage can reach that port. In the middle and upper reaches the river is unfrequented; it waters grassy wastes and fertile vegas, and murmurs by groves of olives in its course by Andujar and Cordova.
Antillon, a Spanish writer, accuses the Cordovese of ignorance and coarse manners. We encountered neither of these qualities during our stay in the old town. Cordova has its mendicants, whose eyes are keen for the advent of visitors, and the boys are somewhat troublesome in their voluntary capacity as guides to the sights of the place. But the natives of Cordova are sedate, picturesque folk, showing no discourtesy to the stranger, but rather a disposition to assist him.
There are three principal hostelries—the Suiza and the Oriente are the visitors’ houses; but those who desire a purely Spanish environment may find quarters at the little Victoria, which has a very charming patio, gay with flowers. There are several good cafés. For amusement there is the Grand Teatro, a large house, in which we saw The Barber of Seville performed. There is, of course, a bull-ring, the Plaza de Toros of every town in Spain. The chief fights are held during the ferias of May and September.
But Cordova is the town of dreams, memories, and meditations rather than of exuberant gaiety. It is a Mecca of the artistic and the studious. For garish pleasure, sparkling society, and excitement one must go to Seville, Malaga, or Cadiz. There is a serene solemnity in Cordova, though it is by no means a gloomy city. The mosque is the attraction and the wonder of the city, and sacred temples do not dispose to hilarity. Cordova is eloquent of the gorgeous, heroic past, and its stones contain sermons upon human destiny and the insecurity of empires. It is a garden city, antiquated, improgressive, tenacious of the ancient spirit, and abounding in beauty of form and colour.
Cordova contains only the remnants of its pristine magnificence, but these are marvellous and precious. The city once boasted of fifty thousand resplendent palaces, and a hundred thousand inferior houses. Its mosques numbered seven hundred, and the cleanly Moors built nine hundred public baths. The city stretched for ten miles along the banks of the Guadalquivir, flanked with walls, battlements, and towers, and approached by guarded gates. The common folk spoke in phrases of poetry; there were no illiterates. Art in every branch flourished in the city; there were hosts of craftsmen working in brass, gold, and clay. The libraries were huge, and hither came men of science, philosophers, poets, and students of all subjects to glean from the store of the world’s accumulated thought.
Throughout Europe the mention of Cordova brought yearning to the hearts of the cultured and studious, and men suffered hardship and stress to pay pilgrimages to this source of learning. Many who journeyed hither echoed the words of Ibn Sareh, the poet, which he uttered upon entering the seat of wisdom: ‘God be praised; I am in Cordova, the abode of science, the throne of the Sultans!’ Seville was ‘the gem,’ ‘the pearl’ of Andalusia; Cordova was called ‘the Bride.’ El-Makkari, the Moorish chronicler, rehearses many of the poetical tributes paid by Moslem writers to the splendid city. Setting forth the culture of the city, he adds, in one place: ‘The Cordovans were further celebrated for the elegance and richness of their dress, their attention to religious duties, their strict observance of the hours of prayer, the high respect and veneration in which they held their mosque, their aversion to wine and their destruction of wine-vases wherever they found any, their abhorrence of every illicit practice, their glory in nobility of descent and military enterprise, and their success in every department of the sciences.’
Such were the inhabitants of Cordova at the time when the city was the great capital of the Mohammedan empire. Seville and Toledo yielded pre-eminence to Cordova, and men spoke in veneration of its four great wonders: the immense and gorgeous mosque, the bridge over the Guadalquivir, the city of Ez-Zahra, situated in the suburbs, and the sciences which were studied in the colleges.
When we read the ancient annals and grow absorbed by the story of Cordova’s past, we can scarcely realise that the town and its inmates were real things. The place and the people seem to belong to the realm of fairy romance; the city seems one of dreams, and the natives pass as in a pageant of the imagination. And yet we may enter the sacred mih-rab, commune with the ghosts of warrior and philosopher, and stand where Tarik stood when he wrested the prized capital from the Goths.
Tangible evidence of a superb civilisation surrounds us in Cordova. We see examples of early Moorish architecture brought to its highest artistic manifestation in the mosque. We listen in vain for the voices of teachers, the song of the singers and poets, and the call of the muezzin to devotion; but we tread in the footsteps of the long-vanished Moor, and read his story in the noble lines, chaste embellishments, and gorgeous details which his skilful hands produced.