The multitudes of pilgrims and scholars who resorted to Cordova hastened, without delay, to pay their devotions at its shrine. The Arab recognized in the sweep of its arches, the graceful curves of the palm groves of Nejd and Yemen, mementos of the Desert immortalized by the conceptions of the architect, ever mindful of the life and habits of his Bedouin ancestry. The polished Syrian viewed with admiring rapture the rich stuccoes, whose complex and gorgeous patterns surpassed in beauty the brocades of Damascus and the decorations which covered the palaces of the monarchs of Asia. In the carvings of its lattices was to be traced the peculiar form of the Indian cross, a symbol whose origin is unknown to the most ancient tradition, and which appears sculptured upon the venerable altars of Ceylon and Hindustan. Even the emblem of a sect most obnoxious to Islam was appropriated, and, by a singular inconsistency, compelled to assist in the adornment of the most gorgeous mosque of the Moslem world. The cresting of the walls, originally painted scarlet, is typical of flame, and, brought from Persia, symbolized the faith of the Ghebers, the detested worshippers of fire. Thus were concentrated in this unique structure the ideas, the materials, the devices, the ornamentation of many epochs and of many races. Each visit to its hallowed precincts imparted fresh inspiration to the theologian, to the artist, to the poet, to the student, to the antiquary. The reverence it claimed as a seat of pilgrimage invested its shrine with attributes possessed by none of the famous oracles of antiquity, and shared by few of the fanes of any contemporaneous religious faith. It was, moreover, justly regarded as the peculiar creation of a people whom its erection had greatly contributed to form and amalgamate, and who were entitled to credit for the admiration which its magnificence and its beauty elicited. Every city and province of the empire had contributed to the pious undertaking. Cordova paid the army of laborers employed. Merida furnished columns and other materials, ready for the mason, from the temples and the amphitheatre which had embellished the seat of Roman power in ancient Lusitania. From the quarries of Almeria and Granada came great quantities of jasper, marble, and alabaster. From the forests of the Sierras was obtained the larch for the ceiling, whose remarkable preservation in buildings not subjected to the destructive consequences of ecclesiastical avarice attest its extraordinary exemption from the attacks of insects and the ravages of decay. The princes of Mauritania and the Byzantine vassals or allies of the khalifs, prompted by feelings of piety or friendship, bestowed upon the rising temple the most valuable relics of ancient art to be found in their dominions. A fifth of the spoils of battle—in a single instance amounting to the sum of forty-five thousand pieces of gold—was appropriated to defray the enormous expense which, notwithstanding the drafts on the treasury and the generous donations of the people, was constantly increasing. In the successive enlargements of the building demanded by the growing population, the owners of adjacent property, the purchase of which became indispensable, were rewarded for the sacrifice of their homes with unstinted generosity. Arab estimates have placed the entire cost of the Djalma—whose construction and alterations embraced, from first to last, a period of more than two centuries, under nine princes of the House of Ommeyah—at fifteen million pieces of gold. The Mosque, as completed, comprised an area of six hundred and twenty by four hundred and forty feet, running with the cardinal points of the compass. About one-third of this enclosure was occupied by a spacious court surrounded by arcades, planted with oranges, pomegranates, and palms, and refreshed with the spray of many fountains. The walls, thirty feet high on the northern side, increased in altitude with the approach to the river—the land rapidly descending in that direction—until they rose to the commanding height of seventy feet above the banks of the Guadalquivir. The roof was protected by plates of lead nearly an inch in thickness, whose sale in subsequent times yielded a magnificent sum to priestly depredators. The building, massive and imposing in its exterior, presented a strong resemblance to a fortress, a resemblance not inappropriate when the martial traditions of the religion to which it was dedicated are recalled. Immense buttresses, necessitated by the weight of the walls and the pressure of the arcades, were placed at frequent intervals, like flanking towers in the defences of a citadel. The summits of wall and tower were fringed with battlements. Access was obtained to the interior by means of twenty-one horseshoe archways, three of which opened into the court-yard, and nine on the east and west sides respectively, three, in all, being reserved for the especial use of women. These archways were decorated with terra-cotta mosaics in red and yellow, relieved by inscriptions in gold on a ground of blue and scarlet. The doors were covered with plates of burnished brass, and provided with rings and knockers of huge dimensions and curious workmanship.
No church in Christendom could offer to the eyes of the worshipper such a scene of beauty as that enjoyed by the Moslem as he passed from the thronged and dusty streets of the city into the spacious Court of the Oranges. The latter bore the fascinating and voluptuous aspect of a tropical garden. The atmosphere was fragrant with the perfume of orange, rose, and jasmine. The foliage of the palm, recalling the famous groves of Medina and transporting the pilgrim in imagination to scenes in the distant Orient, rose majestically above the smaller but not less attractive orange-trees, with their glossy leaves, golden fruit, and snowy blossoms. Exquisite flowers, arranged in beds of fantastic patterns, bloomed along the borders of the arcades. Four great basins, each a monolith, supplied the water for the ceremonial lustration enjoined by the law of Islam. From the fountains the vast throng, clad in white robes, moved silently towards the temple and into the doors, which, looking upon the court, were closed by curtains of stamped and gilded leather. Within, the eye was bewildered by the forest of columns,—more than fourteen hundred in number,—stretching far away to an apparently interminable distance. They were destitute of bases, and their capitals were entirely covered with gold. Above, tiers of double arches, in red and white, sustained the ceiling glittering with arabesques entwined with texts from the Koran. The divisions of the latter were formed by medallions oval, hexagonal, and circular, bearing a general resemblance to each other, yet widely differing in distribution of colors and details of ornamentation. The floor was composed of many-colored marble, arranged in designs of simple but pleasing character. Lattices of alabaster, carved in patterns no two of which were identical, admitted in mellowed radiance the diminished splendor of a tropical sun. At the southern extremity was the Kiblah, or point facing Mecca, towards which every devout Moslem turns five times a day in prayer. It was designated by the Mihrab, a diminutive chapel corresponding in some respects to the Holy of Holies of the synagogue, and facing the principal nave of the Mosque. Constructed by Al-Hakem II., the richness of its decoration was unparalleled, and the tracery of its design unique. Engrailed, interlacing arches of peculiar form supported the dome of the vestibule. The entrance to the Mihrab or sanctuary—a marble chamber octagonal in form, and fifteen feet in diameter as well as in height—was flanked by two similar doorways leading into apartments of smaller dimensions. Four slender columns of verde-antique and lapis-lazuli sustained the sweeping horseshoe arch of entrance. The slabs of marble which lined the Mihrab were carved and gilded. The ceiling was composed of a single block, which the skill of the sculptor had fashioned into the exact representation of a gigantic shell. In the vestibule, over portal and wall, upon spandrel and dome, sparkled elaborate and fantastic creations in Byzantine mosaic, wrought by the most cunning artificers of Constantinople. It was a condition of the treaty between Constantine and Abd-al-Rahman that the latter should be furnished with all the mosaic he required for his buildings. In a single vessel despatched from the Bosphorus, under direction of the Emperor, during the reign of Al-Hakem, were sixteen tons of this precious material.
The legends in the Cufic character, whose forms so readily lend themselves to mural decoration, were always of gold. The groundwork was of different colors,—scarlet, black, blue, green, and crimson,—disposed in harmonious combinations most agreeable to the eye. The elegant curves of the arabesques formed a charming contrast with the angular letters of the inscriptions. Composed of minute cubes of glass, scores of which were necessary to cover a square inch of surface, the patience and skill required for a work of such magnitude and delicacy can scarcely be even imagined. Years were employed in its completion, and its durability was such that, where the mosaics have escaped the destructive touch of the Christian vandal, their solidity and lustre remain to-day unimpaired, after the changes, the neglect, and the depredations of more than eleven centuries.
Within the enclosure of the Mihrab was kept the pulpit built under the direction of Al-Hakem II., and destined for the use of the sovereign, when, in the capacity of Successor of the Prophet, he addressed the multitude congregated in the Mosque. It was made of minute pieces of costly woods combined with ivory, tortoise-shell, and mother of pearl, put together with gold and silver nails. Seven years were consumed in the production of this admirable specimen of the joiner’s art. The carvings with which it was covered were of the most exquisite character. Its intrinsic value was greatly enhanced by the jewels with which it was enriched, and the precious metals used in its construction. Inside of this pulpit, and enclosed in a case of cloth of gold studded with rubies and pearls, was preserved the famous Koran of the Khalif Othman, which he was reading at the time of his assassination, and whose leaves were said to have been discolored with his blood. A memento of the relentless persecution of the Ommeyades, no relic, even of the Prophet himself, was regarded by the adherents of the Abbaside and Fatimite dynasties with greater veneration than was this precious souvenir by the princes and the people of the Andalusian empire. It was at once the talisman of their security, the glory of their ritual, the emblem of imperial and theocratical power. Deposited upon a lectern of aloe wood profusely inlaid with gold, it was borne in state on Fridays to the tribune, where the customary service was read from its pages. Four men were required to carry the ponderous volume and its accessories. The cortege was preceded by the imam and his assistants, and accompanied with the pomp of lamps and incense. The magnificent processions of the Roman Catholic Church, during the period of its greatest ecclesiastical and temporal grandeur, could boast no spectacle more impressive than this ceremonial, celebrated every week in the presence of twelve thousand worshippers.
Directly in front of the Mihrab was the Maksurah, an enclosure reserved for the Khalif, the princes of the blood, and the higher ministers of the Mohammedan religion. It occupied a portion of the seven central naves, and was terminated on the south by the vestibule of the Mihrab. It measured one hundred and twelve by thirty-three feet, and was formed by a lofty screen or lattice elaborately carved, composed, for the most part, of odoriferous woods enriched with beautiful ornaments. Despite the numerous interstices with which it was provided, the interior was not visible to those outside, and its resemblance to a wall was increased by its towering height of fifty feet, as well as by the gilded battlements with which it was crowned. The pavement was of silver tiles, and the central door, destined for the passage of the Khalif, was heavily plated with gold. During his attendance at the services of the Mosque, the Commander of the Faithful was rarely seen by his subjects. From the adjoining palace he crossed the street by a covered bridge, and, traversing a secret passage contrived in the southern wall of the Mosque, entered the vestibule of the Mihrab, and thence proceeded to his post in the elevated tribune of the Maksurah. This passage contained eight doors, at each of which a sentinel was posted. These opened alternately towards the east and west, thus, in case of treachery, precluding the possibility of concert among the guards, one of whom, if faithful, could, unaided, readily defend the passage against the combined efforts of the remaining seven. The entrance of the Khalif was the occasion of a magnificent display. A silken carpet, interwoven with silver, was spread from the palace gate to the Maksurah. Black and white eunuchs in splendid costumes preceded and followed the royal party. The body-guard of the sovereign was composed of members of his family, carrying drawn scimetars, and sheathed in shining mail. These precautions were considered necessary on account of the melancholy experience of former Successors of the Prophet. The sacred character investing Omar, Othman, Ali, and Muavia had not preserved them from the assassin’s dagger; and the populace of Cordova, notorious for its daring criminals and fanatics, excited well-grounded fears in the mind of a monarch whose formidable army was sometimes insufficient to restrain its revolutionary spirit, fostered by turbulent adventurers collected from every nation subject to the code of Islam. On the western side of the temple, and facing the royal palace, was the Chamber of Alms, where the charity of the Khalif was daily dispensed in accordance with the injunctions of his faith.
The interior of the Mosque, by reason of its vast extent and its comparatively low ceiling, was more or less obscure, even at noon-day, and lamps were kept constantly burning in its aisles. Two hundred and eighty chandeliers of brass and silver were suspended from its arches, the oil used in them being perfumed with costly essences. The largest of these contained fourteen hundred and fifty-four lamps, and measured thirty-eight feet in circumference. Its reflector contained thirty-six thousand pieces of silver fastened with rivets of gold. Its beauty was enhanced by the gems with which it was studded, and, by the combined effect of the mirrors, the light was increased to nine times its original intensity. During the entire month of Ramadhan the Mosque was illuminated with twenty thousand lights. An enormous taper, weighing sixty pounds, was placed in the Maksurah. Its dimensions were calculated with such accuracy that the wax was completely consumed during the last hour of the last day of the festival.
A deep and mysterious significance has always attached to the celebration of the feast of Ramadhan in the Mohammedan world, but nowhere were its rules observed with such solemnity, and its ceremonies performed with such splendor, as in the capital of Mohammedan Spain. It corresponded in many respects to the Lent of the Christian Church. From dawn to dark not a mouthful of food, not a drop of water, could pass the lips of the consistent believer. After sunset he was, in a measure, recompensed for his privations during the day. Lamps were hung from tower and minaret. The tinkle of the mandolin and the mellow notes of the lute were heard from latticed balconies. The sounds of boisterous revelry rose faintly on the midnight air from retired court-yards and the distant apartments of majestic palaces. Crowds in the most picturesque of costumes swept through the streets. Dancing-girls and story-tellers, surrounded by appreciative audiences, plied their several vocations in the squares, under the glistening foliage of lemon- and orange-trees. The Koranic prohibition of indulgence in wine was too often forgotten, and the indignation of the abstemious Moslem was frequently aroused by the sight of transgressors in every stage of intoxication. On all sides were the evidences of joy, carelessness, and festivity.
Inside the Mosque a far different scene presented itself to the eye of the delighted spectator. From the lofty gallery of the minaret,—whose centre was veiled in obscurity, but whose gilded crest glittered with the magical play of a hundred colored lanterns,—the piercing voice of the muezzin was calling the people to prayer. Through every doorway an endless living stream poured into the temple. Among the worshippers, but keeping aloof from the surging mass, were numbers of strangely muffled figures, accompanied by gigantic blacks attired in robes of silk and gold. These were the ladies of the harems, whom the liberal ideas of Andalusian society usually permitted to dispense with the veil, but which, assumed on this occasion from choice, became a convenient disguise and an invaluable aid to intrigue. The interior suggested a vision of enchantment. Myriads of lights illumined every corner of the vast edifice, rivalling in their intolerable brilliancy the blinding glare of the meridian sun. Their rays were reflected and multiplied by the gleaming walls; by the ceiling, with its broad inscriptions and its bewildering arabesques; by the metallic foliage of a thousand capitals; by the portal of the Maksurah with its scales of polished gold. The air was heavy with the smoke of amber, aloes, and ambergris. Far away through long vistas of columns, the beautiful Mihrab, whose vitreous surface sparkled with the radiance of countless jewels of every conceivable hue, pointed out to the believer the location of the Kiblah. Following the example of the imam, visible from his lofty station in the mimbar, the innumerable multitude, as if actuated by a single impulse, raised its voice in prayer, and moved in unison through the repeated prostrations prescribed by the Mohammedan ritual. Of such a fascinating character was the sight to be witnessed during every night of the festival, in the most sumptuous temple of Islam, enriched by the munificence and the piety of the most enlightened sovereigns of the age, whose appointments surpassed, in their incredible magnificence, alike the boasted decorations of Pagan antiquity and the luxurious creations inspired by the wild imagination of the Orient; where gold and silver, where rare woods and precious gems were employed, like the commonest materials, in lavish profusion; where trophies of victory, ostentatiously displayed, reminded the zealot of the triumphs of the Faith; where the excited senses of the worshipper were soothed by the costliest odors from jewelled censers; and where, disposed in silver chandeliers and candelabras, rows upon rows of perfumed tapers diffused through the endless colonnades their lustre and their fragrance.
On the north side of the Court of the Oranges stood the stately minaret erected during the reign of Abd-al-Rahman III. A master-piece of architecture, and, in every respect, appropriate to the sumptuous building for whose use it was intended, it was universally conceded to be without a rival in the world. It was twenty-seven feet square and one hundred and eight feet high. Constructed of polished freestone brought from Africa, its sides were carved in elegant tracery, whose gilded patterns were projected upon a ground of ultramarine and vermilion. It was lighted by windows forming graceful arches, supported by diminutive columns of red and white jasper. Half of the windows had two openings, and the remainder, three, and disposed alternately amidst the maze of varied and brilliant decorative designs, they produced a charming effect. The interior contained two stairways, so contrived that a person ascending or descending either was invisible to any one upon the other. A gallery, eighty-one feet from the ground, was used by the muezzin for the duties of his sacred office. Another and a smaller structure, corresponding in style with the one upon which it was superimposed, rose to the additional height of twelve feet, and was furnished with battlements similar to those of the Mosque. Its summit was adorned with three huge balls, two of gold and one of silver, encircled by lilies of the latter metal, crowned with a pomegranate of burnished gold. Three hundred persons of all ranks—many of whom, like the servitors of the Kaaba, were eunuchs—were employed in the various offices of the Great Mosque, the menials being lodged within its walls. A guard was constantly maintained, day and night, in the vicinity of the Maksurah, under whose floor were vaults for the custody of the candlesticks and the various sacred vessels used in the ceremonies of festivals.
Such was the superb temple of Cordova, once the pride of Islam, and one of the noblest monuments of superstition and policy ever conceived by human genius or erected by human power. Its completion made possible the grand achievements of the Ommeyade dynasty, whose influence, acting indirectly upon Christian nations, greatly facilitated the emancipation of the human intellect, long confined by the galling bonds of ecclesiastical intolerance and heathen tradition. The inspiration of its architects was derived from many sources; in its plan it exhibited the conformation of the synagogue and the tabernacle; in its decoration were displayed the luxurious adornments of the Greek cathedral; its tapers and its incense recalled the Latin ceremonial, in its turn borrowed from the pompous ritual of Pagan sacrifice. Even in its present dilapidated state, the original purposes of its institution are apparent at every step; and nothing short of its entire destruction could eradicate the enthusiastic impressions excited by the first view of its singular interior, with its forest of columns, and its tarnished and mutilated vestiges of Oriental splendor. It is eminently typical of the civilization of a vanished race, whose deeds are written in something more enduring than brass or marble, and serves to indicate to posterity the sublimity of the spirit that could contrive, and the skill and resources that could execute, an undertaking of such grandeur and magnificence.