Spain, v. 2 (of 2)

by Edmondo De Amicis

A young priest who was standing near, and who had divined the cause of his words, cast a piercing glance at me, and went off in an opposite direction, muttering I know not what.

The chapels correspond in style with that of the church: almost all of them contain some fine monuments. In the chapel of Santiago, behind the high altar, are two magnificent tombs of alabaster which contain the remains of the constable Alvaro de Luna and his wife; in the chapel of San Ildefonso, the tomb of the cardinal Gil Carrillo de Albornoz; in the chapel of the "New Kings," the tombs of Henry II., John II., and Henry III.; in the chapel of the sacristy, a stupendous group of statues and busts of marble, silver, ivory, and gold, and a collection of crosses and relics of inestimable value, the remains of Saint Leucadia and Saint Eugenia preserved in two silver caskets exquisitely chased.

The Chapel Mozarabe, which is under the tower of the church, and was erected to perpetuate the tradition of the primitive Christian rite, is probably the most worthy of attention. One of its walls is entirely covered with a fresco, in the Gothic style, representing a conflict between the Moors and the Toledans—marvellously preserved, even to the most delicate lines. It is a painting worth a volume of history. In it one sees the Toledo of those times with all its walls and its houses; the habiliments of the two armies; the arms, faces, everything portrayed with an admirable finish and an unspeakable harmony of color which answers perfectly to the vague and fantastic idea which one may have formed of those centuries and those races. Two other frescoes on either side of the first represent the fleet which bore the Arabs into Spain, and they offer a thousand minute details of the mediæval marine and the very air of those times, if one may so speak, which makes one think of and see a thousand things not represented in the painting, as one hears distant music on looking at a landscape.

After the chapels one goes to see the sacristy, where are gathered enough riches to restore the finances of Spain to a sound basis. There is, among others, a vast room on the ceiling of which one sees a fresco by Luca Giordano, which represents a vision of paradise, with a myriad of angels, saints, and allegorical figures floating in the air or standing out like statues from the cornices of the walls in a thousand bold attitudes, with so much action and foreshortening that one is bewildered. The guide, pointing out this miracle of imagination and genius, which in the estimation of all artists, to use a very curious Spanish expression, is a work of merito atroz (of atrocious merit),—the guide bids you to look attentively at the ray of light which falls upon the walls from the centre of the vaulted ceiling. You look at it and then make a circuit of the room, and wherever you find yourself that ray of light is falling directly upon your head.

From this hall you pass into a room which is also beautifully painted in fresco by the nephew of Berruguete, and from it into a third, where a sacristan lays the treasures of the cathedral before your eyes—the enormous silver candlesticks; the pyxes flashing with rubies; the golden stands for the elevation of the Host, studded with diamonds; the damask vestments, embroidered in gold; the robes of the Virgin, covered with arabesques, garlands of flowers, and stars of pearl, which at every motion of the cloth flash forth in a thousand rays and colors and quite dazzle one's eyes. A hour is scarcely sufficient to see hurriedly all that display of treasures, which would certainly satisfy the ambition of ten queens and enrich the altars of ten cathedrals; and when, after he has shown you everything, the sacristan looks in your eyes for an expression of surprise, he finds only astonishment and stupefaction, which give evidence of an imagination wandering in far distant regions—in the realms of the Arabian legends where the kindly genii gather all the riches dreamed of by the glowing fancy of enamored sultans.

It was the eve of Corpus Domini, and in the sacristy they were preparing the robes for the processional. Nothing can be more unpleasant or more at variance with the quiet and noble sadness of the church than the theatrical hurry-scurry which one sees on such occasions. It is like being behind the scenes on the evening of a dress rehearsal. From one room of the sacristy to another half-dressed boys were coming and going with a great clatter, carrying armfuls of surplices, stoles, and capes; here a sour-tempered sacristan was opening and banging the doors of a wardrobe; there a priest, all red in the face, was calling angrily to a chorister who did not hear him; yonder other priests were running through the room with their robes partly on their backs and partly trailing behind them; some laughing, some screaming, and some shouting from one room to another at the top of their voices; everywhere one heard a swish of skirts, a breathless panting, and an indescribable stamping and tramping.

I went to see the cloister, but, as the door was open through which one reaches it from the church, I saw it before entering. From the middle of the church one gets a glimpse of a part of the cloister-garden, a group of fine leafy trees, a little grove, a mass of luxuriant plants which seem to close the doorway and look as though they are framed beneath a graceful arch and between the two slender columns of the portico which extends all around. It is a beautiful sight, which makes one think of Oriental gardens encircled by the columns of a mosque. The cloister, which is very large, is surrounded by a colonnade, graceful, though severe in form; the walls covered with great frescoes. The guide advised me to rest here a little while before ascending to the campanile. I leaned against a low wall in the shade of a tree, and remained there until I felt able to make another expedition, as the expression is. Meanwhile, my commander extolled in bombastic language the glories of Toledo, carrying his impudence so far, in his patriotism, as to call it "a great commercial city" which could buy and sell Barcelona and Valencia, and a city strong enough, if need be, to withstand ten German armies and a thousand batteries of Krupp guns. After each of his exaggerations I kept spurring him on, and the good man enjoyed himself to the full. What pleasure there is in knowing how to make others talk! Finally, when the proud Toledan was so swollen with glory that the cloister could no longer hold him, he said to me, "We may go now," and led the way toward the door of the campanile.

When we were halfway up we stopped to take breath. The guide knocked at a little door, and out came a swaggering little sacristan, who opened another door, and made me enter a corridor where I saw a collection of gigantic puppets in very strange attire. Four of them, the guide told me, represented Europe, Asia, America, and Africa, and two others Faith and Religion; and they were so made that a man could hide in them and raise them from the ground.

"They take them out on the occasions of the royal fêtes," the sacristan added, "and carry them around through the city;" and, to show me how it was done, he crept in under the robes of Asia. Then he led me to a corner where there was an enormous monster which when touched, I know not where, stretched out a very long neck and a horrible head and made a dreadful noise. But he could not tell me what this ugly creature signified, and so invited me instead to admire the marvellous imagination of the Spaniards, which creates so "many new things" to sell in all the known world. I admired, paid, and continued the ascent with my Toledan cuttle-fish. From the top of the tower one enjoys a splendid view—the city, the hills, the river, a vast horizon, and, below, the great mass of the cathedral, which seems like a mountain of granite. But there is another elevation, a short distance away, from which one sees everything to a better advantage, and consequently I remained in the campanile only a few moments, especially as at that hour the sun was shining very strongly, confusing all the colors of the city and country in a flood of light.

From the cathedral my guide led me to see the famous church of San Juan de los Reyes, situated on the banks of the Tagus. My mind is still confused when I think of the windings and turnings which we were obliged to make in order to reach it. It was mid-day, the streets were deserted; gradually, as we went farther from the centre of the city, the solitude became more depressing; not a door or window was open, not the slightest sound was heard. For a moment I suspected that the guide was in league with some assassin to entice me into an out-of-the-way place and rob me; he had a suspicious face, and then he kept glancing here and there with a suspicious air, like one meditating a crime.