So our trip to Toledo—one of the best of our Spanish adventures—came about. We cancelled all engagements, gave up seats for the opera, and the very next day started with little Don Luis for Toledo. The train took us past a small hillock, on which stands a church marking the exact geographical centre of Spain. Toledo is a walled town, built, like Rome, on seven hills. It stands high above the plain, surrounded on three sides by the Tagus, a rushing yellow river (Martial says its sands are of gold) that girdles the city, and keeps the vega around it a lovely green oasis in the arid Castilian plain. The road from the station passes through a rocky gorge and leads to the imposing bridge of Alcantara. From here the view of the stern fortress city is superb. We drove round the walls (Wamba’s walls) and saw the towers, the splendid gates, with the portcullis in more than one still perfect; and finally climbed the height, to the commanding ruin of the Alcazar.
The hill of the Alcazar dominates Toledo, as the Acropolis dominates Athens. The Alcazar is an immense square building, with four towers surmounted by pointed roofs. Time, the supreme colorist, has laid on his matchless glazes of sun and shadow; the darker parts are rich saffron, the lightest, mellow gold. Seen from the distance, it is a broad imposing mass, simple, strong, overpowering all other architectural features of the city by its size and its situation. When you enter the splendid ruin, and stand in the patio with its fine double arcade of Corinthian columns, you are reminded of the courtyard of the Farnese palace in Rome, designed by Michaelangelo.
“If we could know the history of this old ruin,” said Patsy, “we should know the history of Toledo. Here, where we stand, on the very highest point of this granite rock, the Romans built their castellum. From its ruins rose the Visigoths’ citadel, and, still later, the Moors’ Alcazar! The word means the palace of Cæsar: that shows the Moors did not forget! Kaiser means Cæsar, too; how many other things did the great Julius give his name to? I wonder. Think of the people who have lived between these four walls, and have looked out upon this glorious view! The Cid, Ferdinand and Isabel, Charles V and Philip II, just to mention a few stars.”
As in some families the youngest child who can speak “asks the blessing,” it fell to Patsy, youngest and most ardent of the party, to impart all inevitable information. The plan worked well, in spite of J.’s occasional restive “Use your eyes!” It was never necessary to tell him what to look at.
“That,” said Patsy, map in hand, pointing to the lower levels of the town, “is the Bridge of Alcantara, literally the bridge of the bridge.”
The great bridge leaps boldly across the river, supported by one large and one small arch. There
TOLEDO BY MOONLIGHT.