Wanderings in Spain

by Théophile Gautier

MOSQUE, CORDOVA.

In the time of the Caliphs, eight hundred silver lamps, filled with aromatic oils, illuminated these long naves, caused the porphyry and polished jasper of the columns to sparkle, spangled with light the gilt stars of the ceiling, and showed, in the shade, the crystal mosaics and the verses of the Koran wreathed with arabesques and flowers. Among their lamps were the bells of Saint Jago de Compostella, which the Moors had won in battle; turned upside down, and suspended to the roof by silver chains, they illuminated the temple of Allah and his Prophet, and were, no doubt, greatly astonished at being changed from Catholic bells into Mahomedan lamps. At that period, the eye could wander in perfect liberty under the long colonnades, and, from the extremity of the temple, look at the orange-trees in blossom and the gushing fountains of the patio, inundated by a torrent of light, rendered still more dazzling by the half-day inside. Unfortunately, this magnificent view is at present destroyed by the Roman-catholic church, which is a heavy, massive building squeezed into the very heart of the Arabian mosque. A number of retablos, chapels, and sacristies crowd the place and destroy its general symmetry. This parasitical church, this enormous stone mushroom, this architectural wart on the back of the Arabian edifice, was erected after the designs of Hernán Ruiz. As a building it is not destitute of merit, and would be admired anywhere else, but it is ever to be regretted that it occupies the place it does. It was built, in spite of the resistance of the ayuntamiento, by the chapter, in virtue of an order cunningly obtained from the emperor Charles V., who had not seen the mosque. Having visited it, some years later, he said—"Had I known this, I should never have permitted you to touch the old building; you have put what can be seen anywhere in the place of what is seen nowhere." This just reproach caused the members of the chapter to hang down their heads in confusion, but the evil was done. In the choir we admired an immense carving, in massive mahogany, representing subjects of the Old Testament. It is the work of Don Pedro Duque Cornejo, who spent ten years of his life on this prodigious undertaking, as may be seen by the inscription on the poor artist's tomb; he lies stretched upon a slab some few paces distant from his work. Talking of tombs, we noticed a very remarkable one, shaped like a trunk and fastened by three padlocks, let into the wall. How will the corpse, so carefully locked up, manage on the day of judgment, in order to open the stone locks of his coffin, and how will he find the keys in the midst of the general confusion?

Until the middle of the eighteenth century, the original ceiling, built by Abderama, of cedar and larch, was preserved with all its compartments, soffits, lozenges, and oriental magnificence; it has now been replaced by arches and half-cupolas, of a very mediocre effect. The old slabs have disappeared under a brick pavement, which has raised the ground, partly concealed the shafts of the pillars, and rendered still more evident the building, which is too low for its size.

All these acts of profanation, however, do not prevent the mosque of Cordova from still being one of the most marvellous buildings in the world. To make us feel, as it were, still more bitterly the mutilations of the rest, one portion, called the Mirah, has been preserved as if by a miracle, in a state of the most scrupulous integrity.

CHAPEL IN MOSQUE, CORDOVA.

The wooden roof, carved and gilt, with its median aranja, spangled with stars, the open windowshafts, garnished with railings which render the light so soft and mellow, the gallery of small trefoiled columns, the mosaic tablets of coloured glass, and the verses from the Koran, formed of gilt crystal letters, and wreathed about with the most gracefully complicated ornaments and arabesques, compose a picture which, for richness, beauty, and fairy elegance, is to be equalled nowhere save in the "Thousand-and-One Nights," and could not be improved by any effort of art. Never were lines better chosen or colours better combined; even those found in the most capricious and delicate specimens of Gothic architecture have something poor, weakly and emaciated about them which betrays the infancy of the art. The architecture of the Mirah, on the contrary, is an instance of a state of civilization which has reached its greatest development, of art arrived at its culminating point; all beyond it is nothing but a retrogression. Nothing is wanting, neither proportion, harmony, richness, nor gracefulness. On leaving this chapel, you enter a little sanctuary profusely ornamented, the ceiling of which is formed of a single block of marble, scooped out in the form of a shell, and carved with infinite delicacy. This was probably the sanctum sanctorum, the dread and sacred place where the presence of the Deity was supposed to be more palpable than anywhere else.

Another chapel called Capilla de los Reyes Moros, where the caliphs used to pray apart from the common herd of the Faithful, also offers some curious and charming details; but it has not been so fortunate as the Mirah, its colours having disappeared under an ignoble coating of whitewash.

The sacristies are overflowing with treasures; they are literally crammed full of monstrances glittering with precious stones, silver reliquaries of enormous weight and incredible workmanship, and as large as small cathedrals, candlesticks, gold crucifixes, and copes embroidered with pearls, the whole forming a collection that is more than royal, and altogether Asiatic.