Spain, v. 2 (of 2)

by Edmondo De Amicis

The principal door of the enclosure is north of the point where rises the minaret of Abdurrahman, from whose summit floated the Mohammedan standard. We entered: I expected to see at once the interior of the mosque, but found myself in a garden full of orange trees, cypresses, and palms, surrounded on three sides by a very beautiful portico and closed on the fourth side by the façade of the mosque. In the midst of this garden there was, in the time of the Moors, the fountain for their ablutions, and in the shade of these trees the faithful refreshed themselves before entering the sanctuary.

I stood for some moments looking around and breathing in the fresh odorous air with the liveliest sense of pleasure, and my heart leaped at the thought of the famous mosque standing there before me, and I felt myself impelled toward the door by a boundless curiosity, and at the same time restrained by I know not what feeling of childish hesitation.

"Let us enter," said my companions. "One moment more," I replied: "let me thoroughly enjoy the delight of anticipation." Finally I moved forward and entered, without so much as looking at the marvellous doorway which my companions pointed out.

What I did or said on entering I do not know, but some strange exclamation must surely have escaped me or I must have made an odd gesture, for some persons who were just then coming toward me began to laugh and turned again to look around, as if to discover the reason of the profound emotion which I had manifested.

Imagine a forest and suppose yourself in the thickest part, where you see only the trunks of trees. So in the mosque wherever you turn your gaze is lost among the columns. It is a forest of marble whose boundaries one cannot discover. One follows with the eye, one by one, those lengthening rows of columns crossed at every step by innumerable other rows, and perceives a dimly-lighted background in which one seems to see the gleaming of still other columns. There are nineteen naves which extend in the direction in which you enter, crossed by thirty-three other naves, and supported, in all, by more than nine hundred columns of porphyry, jasper, onyx, and marble of every color. Each column is surmounted by a pilaster, and between one column and the next bends an arch, and a second arch above the first extends from pilaster to pilaster, both of them in the form of a horseshoe; and so, imagining the columns to be the trunks of so many trees and the arches to represent the branches, the resemblance of the mosque to a forest is complete.

The central nave, much larger than the others, leads to the Maksura, the most sacred part of the temple, where they worshipped the Koran. Here from the vaulted windows steals a faint ray of light which glides along a row of columns; there a dark place, and yonder another ray pierces the gloom of another nave. It is impossible to express the feeling of mystical wonder which fills one's mind at this spectacle. It is like the sudden revelation of a religion, a nature, and a life unknown, leading the fancy captive among the delights of that paradise of love and pleasure where the blessed, sitting in the shade of leafy plane trees and of thornless roses, drink from crystal beakers wine gleaming like pearls, mixed by immortal children, and repose in the embrace of lovely virgins with great dark eyes! All the images of that external pleasure, eager, warm, and glowing, which the Koran promises to the faithful, crowd upon the mind at the first sight of the mosque, and give one a delicious moment of intoxication which leaves in the heart an indescribable feeling of gentle melancholy. A brief tumult in the mind and a rapid thrill which goes tingling through the veins,—such is one's first sensation on entering the cathedral of Cordova.

We began to wander from passage to passage, examining everything minutely. What a variety in that edifice which at first sight appears so uniform! The proportions of the columns, the design of the capitals, the form of the arches change, one may say, at every step. The greater part of the columns are old and were taken by the Moors from Northern Spain, Gaul, and Roman Africa, and one is said to have belonged to a temple of Janus, upon whose ruins stood the church which the Arabians destroyed to build the mosque. On several of the capitals one may still see the traces of the crosses carved upon them, which the Arabians broke off with their hammers. In some of the columns iron rings are fastened to which it is said the Arabians bound the Christians, and among the others there is one pointed out to which the popular tradition narrates a Christian was bound for many years, and in that time, by continually scratching with his nails, he succeeded in engraving a cross on the stone, which the guides show with profound veneration.

We entered the Maksura, which is the most perfect and marvellous work of Moorish art of the twelfth century. At the entrance there are three continuous chapels, with vaulted roofs formed by indented arches, and walls covered with magnificent mosaics which represent wreaths and flowers and passages from the Koran. At the back of the middle chapel is the principal mihrab, the holy place, where dwelt the Spirit of God. It is a niche with an octagonal base enclosed above by a colossal marble shell. In the mihrab was kept the Koran written by the hands of the caliph Othman, covered with gold, adorned with pearls, suspended above a seat of aloe-wood; and here came thousands of the faithful to make the circuit of it seven times on their knees. On approaching the wall I felt the pavement slipping from under me: the marble had been worn hollow!

On leaving the niche I stood a long time contemplating the vault and the walls of the principal chapel, the only part of the mosque which has been preserved almost intact. It is a dazzling flash of crystals of a thousand colors, an interweaving of arabesques which confuse the mind, a mingling of bas-reliefs, gilding, ornaments, and minute details of design and coloring of a delicacy, grace, and perfection which would prove the despair of the most patient artist. It is impossible to retain in one's mind any part of that prodigious work: you might return a hundred times to look at it, but in reality it would only remain before your eyes as a tantalizing blur of blue, red, green, golden, and luminous shades of colors, or a very intricate piece of embroidery continually and rapidly changing in color and design. Only from the ardent and tireless imagination of the Moors could such a miracle of art have issued.