After the return of Witiza to Toledo, the city slowly lost its importance, and since then she has never recovered her ancient fame.
Like the remaining seaports of Galicia,—or such cities as were situated near the ocean,—Tuy was sacked and pillaged by Arabs and vikings alike. The times were extremely warlike, and Galicia, from her position, and on account of the independent spirit of the noblemen, was called upon to suffer more than any other region, and Tuy, near the ocean, and a frontier town to boot, underwent greater hardships than any other Galician city. Of an admirable natural position, it would have been able to resist the attacks of Gudroed and Olaf, of the Portuguese noblemen and of Arab armies, had it been but decently fortified. The lack of such fortifications, however, and the neglect and indifference with which it was, as a rule, regarded by the kings of Asturias, easily account for its having fallen into the hands of enemies, of having been razed more than once to the ground, of having been the seat of ambitious and conspiring noblemen who were only bent on thrashing their neighbours, Christians and infidels alike.[{124}]
In the sixth century Tuy had already been raised to the dignity of a city, but until after the eleventh century the prelates of the church, tyrants when the times were propitious, but cowardly when danger was at hand, were continually removing their see to the neighbouring villages and mountains to the rear. They left their church with surprising alacrity and ease to the mercy of warriors and enemies, to such an extent, in fact, that neither are documents at hand to tell us what happened exactly in the darker ages of mediæval history, nor are the existing monuments in themselves sufficient to convince us of the vicissitudes which befell the city, its see, and the latter's flocks.
Since the last Arab and Norseman raid, matters seemed to have gone better with fair Tuy, for, excepting the continual strife between Portuguese and Galician noblemen, who were for ever gaining and losing the city on the Miño, neither infidels nor pirates visited its wharves. It was then that the foundations of the present cathedral were laid, but not without disputes between the prelates (one of whom was taken prisoner, and had to give a handsome ransom to be released) and the noblemen who called themselves[{125}] seigneurs of the city. Between the claims and struggles of these two factions, those who suffered most were the citizens themselves, who had nothing to gain and everything to lose. Between the bishops who pretended to possess the whole city, and the noblemen who endeavoured to leave the prelates without a groat, the ignored inhabitants of the poorer quarters of the town passed a miserable life.
Since the middle ages, or better still, since the time when the Miño became definitely the frontier line between Spain and Portugal, the city of Tuy has been heard of but little. Few art students visit it to-day, and yet it is one of the most picturesquely situated cities in Galicia, or even in Spain. Its cathedral, as well as the Pre-Roman, Roman, Gothic, and middle age remains,—most of them covered over with heaps of dust and earth,—are well worth a visit, being highly interesting both to artists and to archæological students.
In short, Tuy on her hill beside the Miño, glaring across an iron bridge at Portugal, is a city rich in traditions and legends of faded hopes and past glories. Unluckily for her,[{126}] cities of less historical fame are better known and more admired.
As has already been mentioned, the cathedral crowns the hill, upon the slopes of which the city descends to the river; moreover, the edifice occupies the summit only,—a castro, as explained in a previous chapter. Therefore, for proofs are lacking both ways, it is probable that the present building was erected on the same spot where the many basilicas which we know existed and were destroyed in one or another of the many sieges, stood in bygone days.
The present cathedral dedicated to the Virgin Mary, like that in Orense, was most likely begun in the first half of the twelfth century; successive earthquakes suffered by the city, especially that felt in Lisbon in 1755, obliged the edifice to be repaired more than once, which accounts for many of the base additions which spoil the ensemble.
From the general disposition of the building, which is similar in many details to the cathedral at Lugo, it has been thought probable that Maestro Raimundo (father?) was the builder of the church; definite proofs are, however, lacking.
The ground-plan is rectangular, with a[{127}] square apse; the interior is Roman cruciform, consisting of a nave and two aisles; the transept, like that of Santiago, is also composed of a nave and two aisles; the four arms of the cross are all of them very short, and almost all are of the same length. Were it not for the height of the nave, crowned by a Romanesque triforium of blinded arches, the interior would be decidedly ugly. However, the height attained gives a noble aspect to the whole, and what is more, renders the ensemble curious rather than beautiful.