A most beautiful specimen of azulejo work has been built into the north-west wall. It comes from the suppressed monastery of the Calced Augustines, and is said to have been a part of the ornamentation of the ancient palace of Don Rodrigo—wherever that may have been situated.
Before the finishing touches had been put to San Juan de los Reyes, the last important Gothic work of Toledo, the erection of one of the two earliest examples of the Renaissance style in Spain had been begun. The hospital of Santa Cruz was built between the years 1494 and 1514 by Enrique de Egas, of Brussels, some ten years after he had completed the college of the same name at Valladolid. The hospital was designed by the founder, the mighty Cardinal Mendoza, as an asylum for foundlings. He died in 1495, and left 75,000 ducats to the queen for the completion of the work. Isabel it was who chose the site overlooking the bridge of Alcantara, where formerly the palace of the legendary King Galafre is fabled to have stood. Among other stories connected with the spot is that of a Leonese princess wedded against her will to a Moorish prince, her union with whom was prevented by the intervention of an angel. As in all the early specimens of Spanish Renaissance architecture, the groundwork of the building approximates to the Gothic, the new ideas manifesting themselves in the decoration and carving. The portal is superb. The reliefs represent the Adoration of the Cross by St. Helena, St. Peter, St. Paul, and the founder, Cardinal Mendoza, two pages also appearing, bearing mitre and helmet. Other reliefs, exquisitely chiselled, have for subjects the espousals of St. Joachim and St. Anne, and Charity. The four cardinal virtues are shown, and everywhere, amidst a maze of ornamentation, occur Mendoza’s arms and device. The plateresque windows, with their rejas in the local style, are deserving of admiration. Entering, we find a vast patio, enclosed by a double arcaded gallery of marble, and, crossing it, ascend a grand staircase with a fine ceiling of the artesonado kind. The chapel, in the form of a Maltese cross, has also a fine ceiling, and Gothic pillars, beautifully carved, that attest the splendid appearance once presented by this dismantled building. Some of the columns adorning Santa Cruz were brought from the Visigothic church of Santa Leocadia.
To the same period belongs the Franciscan convent and church of San Juan de la Penitencia, begun by order of Cisneros in 1514, and finished by his secretary, Fray Francisco Ruiz, Bishop of Avila. The semi-Moorish palace of the Pantojas was utilised in its construction, and the whole building bears traces of Arabic, or rather Mudejar, workmanship. Entering the chapel by a porch adorned with the great Cardinal’s arms and foliations in the Gothic style, we find ourselves in a sombre edifice of a single nave, revealing a curious medley of styles. The roof is a fine example of the artesonado. Over the transept, which is divided from the nave by a plateresque reja, is a cupola with a stalactite roof of the Moorish pattern. The principal retablo is early Renaissance, and several of the altars may be classed as Baroque. The most interesting feature of the church is the tomb of the Bishop of Avila, who died in 1528. It is in the Renaissance style, and was the work of a Lombard artist. It is wrought in Sicilian marble, and is thus described by Ponz: “Above a large stone divided by three pilasters to form three pedestals there are an equal number of statues seated, representing Faith, Hope, and Charity. Between the pilasters are the arms of the Bishop—five castles. In a framed recess are the urn, couch, and recumbent figure. In front of the urn are seen two weeping children, and within the recess four angels draw aside the curtains. On either side are two Doric pillars supporting the frieze, which is inscribed, ‘Beati mortui qui in Domino moriantur.’ On the edge are two antique columns admirably executed. Between these columns and pilasters are statues, St. James and St. Andrew, and above, the figures of children. Over all is a bas-relief of the Annunciation, with the statues of St. John the Divine and St. John Baptist, one-half the size of the Virtues below.”
The Emperor-King Charles V. had, as we have seen, small reason to love Toledo, but he did something for the permanent embellishment of the city, and the last architectural monuments reared on its craggy peninsula belong to his era.
It is difficult to ascribe the Alcazar, to which reference has so often been made, to any one epoch. It has undergone so many vicissitudes, so many reconstructions, that the name, as we have employed it, must be understood to represent a site rather than the actual palace. A stronghold of some sort has always been here—possibly, in Roman times, the Arx, where tradition avers the martyr Leocadia suffered death. The Arabian geographer, Jerif al Edris, writing in 1154, describes Toledo as “a town great in extent and population, extremely strong, with fine ramparts, and an Alcazaba, fortified and impregnable.” This citadel was doubtless the Alcazar, which was strengthened and rebuilt by successive Castilian kings, and is said to have been the residence of the Cid, the first Christian Alcaide. Added to, reconstructed, partially demolished and repeatedly restored, it must have presented an aspect rude and heterogeneous enough when, in 1538, Charles V. ordered Alonso de Covarrubias and Luis de Vega to rebuild the palace entirely on the lines of the new Alcazar of Granada. The Flemish Emperor may, then, fairly be considered the founder of the present fortress-palace, though it has since his time undergone radical transformations. It was burnt down during the War of Succession in 1710, restored sixty years later, destroyed again by the French in 1810, and devastated by a third conflagration as late as 1887. Since 1882 it has been the seat of the Royal Military Academy.
The northern façade was constructed after the designs of Covarrubias, and looks on the square created by Ferdinand and Isabel in 1502. The reconstruction was so complete that probably no stone of the older façade was left in its place. The façade is severe and majestic, revealing classical influence, though not without important traces of the plateresque. It is flanked by towers, and adorned with a handsome portal—the work of Enrique de Egas, brother-in-law of Covarrubias. Over the door are the Imperial arms, supported by the figures of two heralds or mace-bearers. The fortress-like eastern façade is believed to be a part of the original Alcazar as restored by Alfonso X.; the western side of the building dates from the reign of the Catholic sovereigns, and the southern, with massive Doric pillars and square turrets, was built after designs by Juan de Herrera.
The inner court, or patio, is described by a Spanish writer as “solemn, grandiose, full of majesty ... constructed for the dwelling-place of the August Cæsar.” It forms a spacious parallelogram and is enclosed by an arcade in two storeys with columns of the Corinthian order. Above the capitals are displayed the escutcheons of the various kingdoms ruled over by Charles. The modern restorers of the palace have adorned the court with a statue of the Emperor in the Roman costume in which he was so fond of being represented.
The finest feature of the palace must have been the staircase, designed by Villalpando and Herrera, which has been to some extent restored after its destruction by Stahremberg in 1710. One of the widest staircases in the world, “it ends,” says Miss Hannah Lynch “in the void!” In truth, the Alcazar is not to-day a very interesting building. It is, in reality, quite impossible to identify the scenes of the romantic and historical episodes which we know occurred in one or other of the successive Alcazars. But the room in which Alfonso VI. died and the window at which the hapless Blanche de Bourbon wept, pace the local guides, must have disappeared to the last stone and fragment ages ago. All that can be said of the palace to-day is that it forms an imposing landmark, and affords from its northern terrace one of the finest views of Toledo.
To the age of Charles V. (or Carlos I. as in Spain he would properly be called) belongs the Hospital de San Juan Bautista, styled the Hospital de Afuera (outside) in the suburb of Covachuelas. The building was begun in 1541 by order of Archbishop Juan de Tavera, who died on his return from the baptism of Prince Carlos at Valladolid. The building was carried on after Bustamente’s death by the two Vergaras, and completed about 1600. The façade dates from the eighteenth century and is still unfinished. The courtyard, spacious and imposing, is divided into two and enclosed by colonnades. A fine Renaissance portal by Berruguete leads into the large chapel, which is in the form of a cross and surmounted by a dome. The pavement is of black and white marble. Before the altar is the tomb of Archbishop Tavera by Berruguete. This is one of the finest monuments in Spain. It was finished by Berruguete when he was over eighty years old, in 1561, his death taking place the same year in one of the rooms under the great clock. His sons received nearly a million maravedis for the work. “The Cardinal,” says Théophile Gautier, “is stretched out upon his tomb in his pontifical habit. Death has pinched his nose with its strong fingers, and the last contraction of the muscles, in their endeavour to retain the soul about to leave the body for ever, puckers up the corners of the mouth and lengthens the chin; never was there a cast taken after death more horribly true; and yet the beauty of the work is such, that you forget any amount of repulsiveness that the subject may possess. Little children in attitudes of grief support the plinth and the Cardinal’s coat of arms. The most supple and softest clay could not be more easy or more pliant; it is not carved, it is kneaded!”
The hospital contains some of El Greco’s most notable work, which will be noticed in the chapter on that master.