In the great Sacristy is preserved the "treasury" of the Cathedral. It includes a wonderful monstrance by that prince of goldsmiths, Juan de Arfe; and something more interesting in the shape of keys presented to St. Ferdinand on the surrender of the city. The key presented by the Jews is iron-gilt and bears the inscription in Hebrew: "The King of Kings will open, the King of all earth will enter." The key offered by the Moors is silver-gilt, and the Arabic inscription reads: "May Allah render eternal the dominion of Islam in this city."
Attached to many (if not to all) Spanish cathedrals, one finds large chapels which are the official parish churches of the cities—the parochial clergy being distinct from the diocesan chapter. At Seville, as at Granada, this chapel is called the "Sagrario," and is built at the west end of the Patio de los Naranjos and entered from a door in the north aisle of the Cathedral, near the Capilla del Bautisterio. Built between 1618 and 1662 by Miguel Zumarraga and Fernando de Iglesias, the church is in the Baroque style, and roofed with a single and very daring arch. The rich statues that adorn the interior are by Dayne and Jose de Arce. There is a notable retablo by Pedro Roldán that came from a Franciscan convent now suppressed. In one of the side chapels is a fine "Virgin" by Montañez. Beneath this church the Archbishops of Seville are now buried.
As we emerge from this vast temple, we remain for a few seconds dazzled by the sunlight. Then as we turn to the left we notice a rectangular, classic-looking building, standing between the Cathedral and the walls of the Alcazar. This is one of the numerous deserted Lonjas or Exchanges of Spain. The Patio de los Naranjos was formerly infested by the merchants and brokers of the city, to the great scandal of the devout. Archbishop de Rojas prevailed upon Philip II. to erect an Exchange or Casa de Contratacion, as Sir Thomas Gresham had just done in London. The building was begun in 1598, at precisely the moment when the commerce of Seville began to decline. It reflects the spirit of Philip II. and of his architect, Herrera—stern, sober, simple. There is a fine inner court, with Doric and Ionic columns. Here the South American archives are deposited, a rich mine for some future historian who shall have the patience to examine them. As an exchange, the Lonja soon proved a failure. It was early deserted by business men, and is best remembered as the seat of Murillo's Academy of Painters.
The spacious days of Charles V. and Philip II. were productive of innumerable public buildings, mostly in a quasi-Roman style and all very pompous and oppressive. The Town-hall or Ayuntamiento of Seville is an extremely ornate structure, in what is called the plateresque or Spanish Renaissance style. It stands in the Plaza de la Constitucion, where the electric cars perform intricate evolutions. Its effect is lost through its being placed on the ground level, without terrace, steps, or approach, or even railings to prevent inquisitive urchins staring in at the windows. The building is long and remarkably narrow, and of two storeys. I have seldom seen a public building more elaborately adorned or more badly placed. The interior is more satisfactory. The lower council chamber is a magnificent hall, worthy, as a Spanish writer remarks, of the Senate of a great republic. A noble staircase, with a fine ceiling, leads to the upper council chamber, which has some splendid artesonado work. Opposite—that is, on the east side of—this building is the Audiencia or Court-house, where I whiled away a hot afternoon by assisting at a Spanish trial. The case was of no particular interest, but the differences in the procedure and constitution of the court from our own were worth noting. There were three judges, who wore black silk gowns, without wigs or bands. Over their heads was the arms of Spain, and on the desk, facing the president, a large crucifix. The jury sat on chairs on each side of the judges. A desk was reserved for the public prosecutor, another for the prisoner's advocate. The judges took far less part in the proceedings than they do in France. The case seemed to be left entirely to the public prosecutor, who, it is just to say, allowed the accused to make long rambling statements, without the least attempt to interrupt or confuse him. The public at the rear of the court appeared to take far more interest in the proceedings than any immediately concerned in them.
The Plaza de la Constitucion, outside the court, is the place of execution. But the death penalty is very rarely inflicted in Spain. Two or three years ago the Crown could find no pretext for pardoning two particularly atrocious murderers, who were accordingly put to death by the garrote in this square. The people of Seville, not being accustomed like the more enlightened Britons to some two dozen executions a year, showed their sense of the awful occurrence and of the disgrace to their city by donning the deepest mourning.
But the stranger does not come to Seville to visit courts or to hear about public executions—unless these happened two or three centuries ago, when as Sir W. S. Gilbert somewhere observes, they are looked at through the glamour of romance. The searcher for the beautiful is usually rewarded here by finding it in unexpected corners of the monotonous labyrinth of lanes and alleys. Plunging into the maze of white-walled dwellings in the north-eastern quarter of the city, a minaret only less beautiful than the Giralda seems to beckon us from afar. It appears and reappears, and we lose our way a dozen times before we stand at its foot. It is a beautiful tower in the purest Almohade or Mauritanian style, without any features borrowed from Christian architecture. The highest edifice, this, in Seville, except the Giralda. From its summit Cervantes used to scan the streets below, at certain hours of the day, for the form of a local beauty of whom he was enamoured. Here, of course, stood a mosque in Mussulman days, on the site of the adjacent church of San Marcos. The portal is very fine, but the Moorish features are the work of Mudejar and not Almohade artisans.
We wander on, and are presently surprised by the superb frontal of the convent church of Santa Paula. It is faced with white and blue azulejos, the work of Francesco of Pisa and Pedro Millán. Over the arch are disposed seven medallions illustrating the birth of Christ and the life of St. Paul, the figures white on a blue ground. On the tympanum of the arch is displayed the Spanish coat of arms in white marble, flanked by the escutcheons of the inevitable and ubiquitous Ferdinand and Isabella. Having seen this, it is hardly worth our while to enter the church, which contains the tombs of the founders, Dom Joao de Henriquez, Constable of Portugal, and his wife Donha Isabel. In the same quarter of the city, though some distance away, is a monument of some interest—the church of Omnium Sanctorum, built in 1356 on the site of a Roman temple. Here again there is a tower graceful enough, in its lower storey recalling the Giralda. The church exhibits a rather happy combination of the Moorish and Gothic styles. On one of the doors is the coat of arms of Portugal, commemorating the pious generosity of Diniz, king of that country. This must have belonged to the earlier structure.