The oratory was built by order of Ferdinand and Isabella in 1504. It contains an admirable retablo in blue glazed tiles—probably the finest work of the kind in Spain—designed by an Italian, Francesco Niculoso. The centre-piece represents the Visitation. It is believed that some parts of the work were drawn by Pedro Millán, a sculptor of Seville.
The oratory is on the upper floor of the palace. On the same storey is the Comedor, or dining-hall, a long, narrow room with a fine fifteenth-century ceiling, and good tapestries on the walls. A more interesting apartment is the bed-chamber of Don Pedro, which has a good carved roof and dados of azulejos and stucco. Over the door four heads may be seen painted. They represent the skulls of the corrupt judges on whom the unjust king executed summary justice. The decoration of this chamber is of the sixteenth century.
The royal apartments on this floor contain several important works of art. In the room of the Infantes is a portrait of Maria Luisa by Goya. The Salón Azul (Blue Room), so-called from the colour of its tapestries, contains some fine pastel paintings by Muraton, and some notable miniatures on ivory. The portraits of the family of Isabel II. by Bartolomé López are worthy of inspection.
Returning to the ground floor, we enter the spacious Salón de Carlos V., occupying one side of the Patio de las Doncellas. Here, it is asserted, St Ferdinand died; but it is more probable that he expired in the old Moorish Alcazar. The fine ceiling, decorated with the heads of warriors and ladies, was built by the Emperor after whom the hall is named. The stucco and the work are very beautiful.
An uninteresting apartment was erected by Ferdinand VI. over the famous Baths of Maria de Padilla, which are approached through an arched entrance, and, surrounded by thick walls, have more the appearance of a dungeon than of a resort of Love and Beauty. The pool still remains where the lovely favourite bathed her fair limbs. In her time it had no other roof than the blue sky of Andalusia, and no further protection from prying eyes than that afforded by the orange and lemon trees. At Pedro’s court it was esteemed a mark of gallantry and loyalty to drink the waters of the bath, after Maria had performed her ablutions. Observing that one of his knights refrained from this act of homage, the king questioned him and elicited the reply, “I dare not drink of the water, lest, having tasted the sauce, I should covet the partridge.” These baths were no doubt used by the ladies of the harem in Moorish days.
The gardens of the Alcazar form a delicious pleasaunce, where the orange and the citron diffuse their fragrance, and fairy-like fountains spring up suddenly beneath the unwary passenger’s feet, sprinkling him with a cooling and perhaps not unwelcome dew. But this paradise has its serpent, and that is the truculent shade of the cruel king, which for ever seems to haunt the Alcazar. Here Pedro prowled one day, when four candidates for the office of judge presented themselves before him. To test their fitness for the post, the king pointed to an orange floating on the surface of a pool close by. He asked each of the lawyers in succession what the floating object was. The three first replied without consideration, “An orange, sire.” But the fourth drew the fruit from the water with his staff, glanced at it, and replied with absolute accuracy, “Half an orange, sire.” He was appointed to the vacant magistracy.
Before leaving the Alcazar, we will briefly summarise the history of its transformations and reconstructions. As we have seen, the palace generally may be considered the work of Don Pedro. In the reign of Juan II., the Salón de los Embajadores was enriched with its fine cupola. A tablet, discovered in 1843, testifies that the architect was Don Diego Roiz, and that the artisans employed in the work were made freemen of the city.
Various parts of the building were built or reconstructed by order of Ferdinand and Isabella. The architects were for the most part Christianised Moors, among whom are mentioned Maestre Mohammed Agudo (1479), Juan Fernandez (1479), Diego Fernandez (1496), and Francisco Fernandez. The latter was appointed Master of the Alcazar in 1502, and previous to his adoption of Catholicism was named Hamet Kubeji. According to Gestoso y Perez, a surprising number of artificers and craftsmen were engaged about the Alcazar at this time, a powerful inducement being exemption from taxes and military service. The names of Juan and Francisco de Limpias (1479-1540) have been preserved among the carpenters; and Diego Sanchez (1437), Alfonso Ruiz (1479), and the two Sanchez de Castro (1500), among the painters.
Several improvements were carried out under Charles V. and Philip II., and a great deal of restoration was unfortunately necessitated by the fires which seemed to break out with increasing frequency during the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. Still more disastrous was the effect of the great earthquake of 1755. Then began the reign of the vandal, which did more damage to the palace than time, fire, and earthquake combined.
In 1762, the minister Wall ordered the Alcazar to be repaired in “the modern manner.” The ceilings which had been destroyed by fire were replaced by others much too low, and valuable arabesques were recklessly sacrificed. In 1805, some director with a genius for transmogrification whitewashed the fine stucco work in the Salon del Principe, and altered the main entrance. He also substituted a plaster ceiling for the bowl-shaped Arab roofing, and made strenuous efforts to impair the beauty of the Ambassadors’ Hall. In 1833 a reaction took place. Don Joaquin Cortes and Señor Raso effected an artistic and sympathetic restoration both of the Prince’s Hall and the Patio de las Muñecas. A more serious restoration was begun in 1842, at the instance of the administrator, Don Domingo de Alcega. The artist Becquer contributed materially to the success of the work. In the ’fifties, the task of replacing and restoring the stucco ornamentation was completed; and under Isabel II. the thirty-six arches of the Patio de las Doncellas were restored. Since that date the reconstructions have not always displayed good taste; but the revival of interest in her ancient monuments which has taken place in Spain of late years encourages us to hope, at least, that the appalling blunders of the early nineteenth century will never be repeated.