Wanderings in Spain

by Théophile Gautier

The sacristies and capitular rooms in the Cathedral of Toledo are of more than royal magnificence. Nothing can be more noble and picturesque than these vast halls decorated in that solid and severe style of luxury that the Church alone understands. They present an endless succession of carved walnut-wood or black oak, tapestry, or Indian damask curtains hanging down before the doors, brocade drapery with large massive folds, figured tapestry, Persian carpets, and fresco paintings. We will not attempt to describe all these things in detail, we will merely mention one room ornamented with admirable frescoes representing sacred subjects, in the German style, of which the Spaniards have produced such successful imitations. These frescoes are said to have been painted by Berruguete's nephew, if not by Berruguete himself, for these prodigious geniuses were great in all three branches of art. We will also mention an immense ceiling by Luca Giordana, filled with a countless multitude of angels and allegorical personages in attitudes that offer the most extraordinary instances of foreshortening. It is also remarkable for a singular optical illusion. A ray of light issues from the middle of the roof, and although painted on a simple flat surface, seems to fall perpendicularly on your head, whichever way you turn.

Here is kept the treasure, that is to say, the beautiful capes of brocade, cloth of gold, and silver damask; the marvellous guipures, the silver-gilt reliquaries, the diamond monstrances, the gigantic silver candlesticks, the embroidered banners, and, in fact, all the decorations and accessories used in the representation of the drama called the mass.

In the cupboards of one of these rooms is kept the wardrobe of the Holy Virgin, for naked statues of marble or alabaster are not sufficient for the passionate piety of these natives of the South. In their devout enthusiasm, they load the object of their veneration with ornaments of the most extraordinary richness; nothing is good, or brilliant, or expensive enough; the form of the figure and the materials of which it is made disappear completely under this mass of valuables; but the Spaniards trouble themselves very little about that. The great thing is that it should be a physical impossibility to hang one pearl more on the ears of the marble idol, to fix a larger diamond in its golden crown, or form another pattern of precious stones on its brocade robe.

Never did a queen of ancient times, not even Cleopatra, who used to drink pearls, never did an empress of the Lower Empire, never did a duchess in the Middle Ages, never did a Venetian courtesan in the time of Titian, possess more brilliant jewels or a richer assortment of clothes than Our Lady of Toledo. We were shown some of her gowns. There is one of them which defies all your efforts to say of what material it is composed, so completely is it covered with flowers and arabesques of fine pearls, among which there are some of a size beyond all price; there are also several rows of black pearls which are very rare indeed. Suns and stars of precious stones also adorn this prodigious gown, which is so brilliant that the eye can scarcely support its splendour. It is worth some millions of francs.

We terminated our visit by going up into the spire, the top of which is reached by a succession of rather steep but not very enticing ladders placed one above the other. About halfway, in a kind of store-room that we were obliged to traverse, we saw a number of gigantic coloured figures, dressed in the style of the last century and used in some procession or other.

The magnificent view that bursts upon you when you have reached the summit of the spire, repays you most amply for all the trouble of clambering up. The whole town is presented to your gaze with all the sharpness and precision of the cork models exhibited by Monsieur Pelet, and so greatly admired at the Exposition at Paris. This comparison will appear, doubtless, very prosaic, and not at all picturesque; but, in sober truth, I could not hit upon a better or more appropriate one. The dwarfish, misshapen rocks of blue granite, which shut in the Tagus on both sides, and constitute a portion of the horizon of Toledo, add still more to the singularity of the landscape, which is bathed and inundated by torrents of crude, pitiless, blinding light, not mitigated by the least reflection, but on the contrary, increased by a cloudless, vapourless sky that has become white from the intense heat, like iron in a furnace.

The heat was, indeed, atrocious, fully equalling that of a lime-kiln; and nothing but the most insatiable curiosity could have prevented us from renouncing all sight-seeing in such a Senegambian temperature; but we were still full of all the savage ardour of Parisian tourists, overflowing with enthusiasm for local colour. Nothing disheartened us: we only stopped to drink, for our throats were more parched than the sands of Africa, and we absorbed water like a couple of dry sponges. I really do not know how we avoided becoming dropsical; for, exclusive of wine and ices, we consumed seven or eight jars of water a day. Agua! Agua! was our unceasing cry; and a chain of muchachos, passing the jars to one another, from our room to the kitchen, was hardly capable of quenching the fire that raged within us. Had it not been for this never-ending inundation, we should have been reduced to dust, like a sculptor's clay models when he forgets to moisten them.

After having visited the cathedral, we resolved, in spite of our thirst, to proceed to the church of San Juan de los Reyes; but it was only after a very long parley that we succeeded in obtaining the keys, for the church itself has been shut for the last seven or eight years, and the convent, of which it forms part, is abandoned and falling into ruins.

San Juan de los Reyes is situated on the banks of the Tagus, close to the bridge of San Martin. Its walls are of that beautiful orange colour which distinguishes old buildings in countries where it never rains. A collection of royal statues, of very imposing appearance and in noble and chivalresque attitudes, decorates the exterior; but this is not the most remarkable feature about the church of San Juan de los Reyes, for all mediæval churches are peopled with statues. An immense number of chains suspended on hooks decorate the walls from top to bottom: they are the fetters of the Christian captives who were delivered at the conquest of Granada. These chains, thus hung up in the guise of ornaments and votive offerings, give the church somewhat of the air of a prison, which is rather strange and repulsive.

I was told an anecdote connected with this subject, which I will insert here, as it is both short and characteristic. The dream of every jefe politico in Spain is to possess an alameda, as that of every prefect in France is to have a Rue de Rivoli in his town. The dream of the jefe politico of Toledo was, therefore, to procure the population committed to his government the pleasures of a public promenade. The site was chosen, and, thanks to the co-operation of the inmates of the Presidio, the necessary levellings were soon completed. All the promenade now wanted was trees, but trees cannot be improvised, and the jefe politico very judiciously resolved to substitute for them short posts, connected with iron chains. As money, however, is very scarce in Spain, the ingenious official, who certainly possessed a fertile imagination, if any one ever did, thought of the historical chains of San Juan de los Reyes, and said to himself, "They are exactly what I want, and are all ready to my hand!" Accordingly, the chains of the captives set free by Ferdinand and Isabella the Catholic, were hung on the posts of the alameda, while each of the smiths who had done the work received a few armfuls of the heroic metal for his trouble. Certain intelligent persons (you are sure to find some everywhere) said that it was an act of Vandalism, and the chains were taken back to the church. As for those which had been given in payment to the workmen, they had long since been forged into ploughshares, mules' shoes, and other utensils. This story is perhaps a piece of calumny, but it has all the air of probability; I give it as I heard it related. But let us return to our church. The key turned with difficulty in the rusty lock, but as soon as this slight obstacle was surmounted, we entered the dilapidated but most elegant and admirable cloisters. Slender columns supported on their florid capitals a number of arches adorned with the most delicate nervures and embellishments, while all along the walls ran long inscriptions in praise of Ferdinand and Isabella, in Gothic characters, intertwined with flowers, a Christian imitation of the sentences and verses from the Koran employed by the Moors as an architectural ornament. What a pity it is that so precious an edifice should be thus abandoned!