As in all other Spanish cities, after their reacquisition by the Christians, in Toledo, for many, many years, Moorish architects and masons continued to be employed even in the construction of sacred edifices. This accounts for the mixed Christian and Saracenic style of several of the churches, even where these had not originally been mosques. The interesting church of San Román had been a Mohammedan temple remodelled to the requirements of Christian worship, while the tower or steeple is a Mudejar work added by Esteban Illán, and (to quote Mr. Street), “the finest example of its class to be seen here.” The steeple is of rough stone and brick, of a warm brown tone, and quite plain for more than half its height. The upper stages are pierced with windows which exhibit a very ungraceful trefoiled variation of the horseshoe arch—then fast dying out. Notwithstanding, the steeple has a noble and rugged appearance, like most things Toledan. The church itself has been so often restored, that it is hard to assign it to any one epoch. The Capilla Mayor is of the sixteenth century, and of the plateresque style. One of the altars has a front of black stone, carved at the edges in imitation of an altar-cloth with embroidery and lace. Here and there traces may be detected of the original mosque. The steeples of the churches of Santa Magdalena, Santo Tomé, San Pedro Martir, San Miguel, Santa Leocadia, and La Concepcion, resemble that of San Román, but differ greatly in size.
The minor churches of Toledo are not specially interesting. Without the walls, however, is one with noteworthy characteristics. The little “basilica” of the Cristo de la Vega occupies the site of the famous church of St. Leocadia, built by the Visigothic King, Sisebuth, in the seventh century, to mark the place of the virgin saint’s martyrdom. Several of the great councils were held here. The story is told that the saint appeared in person here to St. Ildefonso, in the presence of King Recceswinth, and having expressed her satisfaction at the theologian’s masterly defence of the virginity of the Blessed Virgin, allowed him, with the royal dagger, to cut off a piece of her veil as a souvenir of her visit. This event naturally raised the “basilica” in the estimation of the devout. It was demolished by the Moors, and restored in 1162. It underwent many restorations and was finally ruined by the French during the War of Independence. The present edifice represents little more than the apse of the chapel of the Cristo de la Vega. There was a miraculous crucifix, attached to which is a particularly silly legend. Two lovers had plighted their troth before the image, and the man afterwards denied the promise. The girl adjured the Christ to bear witness to the truth of her statement, and the figure obligingly extended a wooden arm while a voice from on high proclaimed, “I testify.” Another version has it that the figure testified in favour of a Christian who (mirabile dictu) had lent money to a Jew; and yet another, that it expressed approbation of the magnanimity of a cavalier who had pardoned his enemy under extraordinary circumstances. Whatever it may have done, the crucifix has long since disappeared. An Arabic inscription deduces that Mohammed ben Rahman, first King of Toledo, was buried here, A.D. 743. As there was no king in the city of that year, and as the first independent sovereign was otherwise named, the inscription must be apocryphal or else the word “king” must signify in the original merely Vali or governor.
A legend, better known and rather less silly than that of the Cristo de la Vega, deals with the love affairs of an imaginary Moorish princess, called Galiana “la mora mas celebrada de toda la moreria,” the daughter of an equally mythical king, called Galafre. He is linked up with history by some writers alleging him to have been the nephew of the wicked Count Julian, Galiana was the apple of her parent’s eye, and for her delectation he built a palace abounding in all conceivable delights. The young lady had, in some way, compromised herself with a gigantic Moor, Bradamante by name; and to rid her of this truculent wooer, no less a personage than Charlemagne appeared on the scene. All, of course, ended happily (except for Bradamante) by the conversion of the lovely princess and her marriage to the gallant Frank. In the Puerta del Rey, outside the town, may still be seen a building dilapidated, let out in tenements, which is pointed out as the Palace of Galiana. The place was a mansion of the great Guzman family and exhibits traces of fine Moorish work—horseshoe arches, twin-windows, a defaced inscription or two, some tiling, and arabesques—enough, in short, to conjure up a splendid Moorish palace, which, however, need not have antedated the Reconquest.
The building is the property of H.I.M. the Empress Eugénie, and it is somewhat to be regretted that her attention has not been directed to its present condition and to the chance here presented of retarding the decay of a valuable monument of antiquity.
THE CATHEDRAL
Transcending in importance all the other monuments of Toledo and, indeed, of Castile, is the Cathedral—one of the noblest specimens of Gothic architecture the world affords. The metropolitan church of Spain, it is sumptuous without gaudiness, austere without gloominess, admirably interpreting the spirit of Spanish Catholicism before it withered under the chilling influence of Philip II. and the Inquisition. The Cathedral of Toledo does not impress the foreigner as typically national. Indeed it corresponds no longer to the temper of the nation. And it was raised as a protest against those Moorish influences which have passed into the life and art of Spain, and without which nothing can be taken as representatively Spanish.
The Cathedral of Toledo, then, is Gothic, and may be said to embody the ideals of old Spain—of the young fighting nation that looked forward, not backward. Splendid as the Mosque seized by Archbishop Bernard and converted to Christian uses may have been, it was the work of the infidel. In 1227 King Ferdinand III. and the Archbishop Don Rodrigo de Rada were able at last to give effect to a determination arrived at some years before; and on August 14 the first stone of a new temple, which should never have been contaminated by Muslim rites, was laid with solemn ceremony. The name of the architect continues to be a matter of controversy. An epitaph in the sacristy of the Capilla de los Doctores affords some clue to his identity. It runs as follows:
Agni: jacet: Petrus Petri: magister
Eclesia: Scte: Marie: Toletani: fama:
Per exemplum: pro more: huic: bona:
Crescit: qui presens: templum: construxit
Et hic quiescit: quod: quia: tan: mire:
Fecit: vili: sentat: ire: ante: Dei:
Vultum: pro: quo: nil: restat: multum:
Et sibi: sis: merce: qui solus: cuncta:
Coherce: obiit: x dias de Novembris:
Era: de M: et CCCXXVIII (A.D. 1290).
“Petrus Petri” is interpreted by Spanish writers “Pedro Perez,” but we incline to Mr. Street’s view that the correct rendering is probably Pierre le Pierre, the architect having been, as the name implies, a Frenchman. “This, at any rate,” continues Mr. Street, “is certain: the first architect of Toledo, whether he were French or Spanish, was thoroughly well acquainted with the best French churches, and could not otherwise have done what he did. In Spain, there was nothing to lead gradually to the full development of the Pointed style. We find, on the contrary, buildings, planned evidently by foreign hands, rising suddenly without any connection with other buildings in their own district, and yet with most obvious features of similarity to works in other countries erected just before them. Such is the case with the cathedrals at Burgos, at Leon, and at Santiago, and such even more decidedly is the case here. Moreover, in Toledo, if anywhere, was such a circumstance to be expected. In this part of Spain there was in the thirteenth century no trained school of native artists. Even after the conquest the Moors continued to act as architects for Christian buildings whether secular or ecclesiastical, and, indeed, to monopolise all the art and science of the country which they no longer ruled. In such a state of things I can imagine nothing more natural than that, though the Toledans may have been well content to employ Mohammedan art in their ordinary works, yet, when it came to be a question of rebuilding their cathedral on a scale vaster than anything which had as yet been attempted, they would be anxious to adopt some distinctly Christian form of art; and lacking entirely any school of their own, would be more likely to secure the services of a Frenchman than one of any other nation.... But however this may have been, the church is thoroughly French in its ground-plan and equally French in all its details for some height from the ground; and it is not until we reach the triforium of the Choir that any other influence is visible; but even here the work is French work, only slightly modified by some acquaintance with Moorish art....”
The stupendous fabric, once begun, whether by French or Spanish hands, took two hundred and sixty-six years to finish. From the death of the first architect in 1270 to the year 1425 the names of the architects have been lost. During this period, the successive styles of architecture naturally influenced the original scheme and found expression in the building. It was in January 1493 that the roof was finished and the main structure completed. Certain chapels, such as the Reyes Nuevos, Sagrario, &c., were later additions. Among the later architects we find Rodrigo Alfonso, Alvar Gomez, Martin Sanchez, and Juan Guas. The stone employed inside (according to O’Shea) was quarried at Oliguelas, some nine miles from the city. It becomes harder with age. “The external portion is all of Berroqueña stone, save the ornamentation of the portals, which is also of Oliguelas white stone.”