But the vision of St. Ildefonso is specially commemorated on the spot where it occurred by a beautiful little temple of open Gothic work on one side of the nave. Here the whole legend is admirably told by Vigarny in a series of bas-reliefs in marble. In the outer wall is inserted
the slab on which the Virgin’s feet rested, protected by an iron grating. Both the grate and slab are worn by the fingers of the devout. No one passes without thrusting his hands through the grating to touch the stone, after which he kisses the tips of his fingers and makes the sign of the cross.
The Capilla mayor is of excessive richness. Jasper steps lead up to the high altar. The retable, covered with countless sculptures, rises almost to the arches, alive with scenes from the life of our Saviour amid innumerable pinnacles, and niches, and statues of most elaborate workmanship. Around are the tombs of the ancient kings of Spain, and among them that of the celebrated Cardinal Mendoza, the tertius rex, who took so prominent a part in the government in the time of Ferdinand and Isabella—a tomb in the Plateresco style, and worthy, not only of that great prelate, but of the marvellous chapel in which it stands. Near by is the effigy of the Alfaqui, who interposed in favor of Queen Constanza and Archbishop Bernard, and opposite is a statue of San Isidro, who led Alfonso VIII. to victory at Navas de Tolosa, as well as one of that king himself in a niche. There is certainly nothing grander in all Christendom than this chapel—nothing more in harmony with the imposing rites of the church, which are here celebrated with a majesty that is infinitely impressive.
The chapel of the Sagrario contains the celebrated statue of the Virgin so honored by the Goths, said to have been saved from the Moors by an Englishman. It is of wood, black with age, but entirely plated with silver, excepting the face and hands. This Madonna
stands in a blaze of light from the numerous lamps, and is absolutely sparkling with jewels. One of her mantles is of silver tissue embroidered with gold thread (that required three hundred ounces of gold to make) and thousands of pearls weighing nearly as much. There is scarcely room for the rubies, emeralds, and diamonds suspended on this mantle. That of the Child is similar in style, and took nine persons over a year to embroider.
Near by, in the chapel of Santa Marina, is a tombstone over the re-mains of Cardinal de Carrero, the king-maker of Philip the Fifth’s time, with its Hic jacet pulvis, cinis, et nihil!—sublime cry of Christian humility.
Every chapel in this cathedral is worthy of interest. One bears the curious name of the Christo de las Cucharas, or of Spoons, from the armes parlantes of Diego Lopez de Padilla emblazoned here—three padillas, or little paddles in the form of a spoon. It was a lady of this family who, in some civil contest, stripped the statues in the cathedral of their valuable ornaments as a means of defraying the expenses of the war, but first kneeling before them to beg the saints’ pardon for the liberty she was about to take.
Then there is the beautiful chapel of Los Reyes Nuevos, lined with rich tombs in sculptured recesses, each with its recumbent effigy, among which is that of a daughter of John of Gaunt, “time-honored Lancaster,” who married a Spanish prince.
The chapel of Santiago, in the flamboyant style, was built before the discovery of America, by Alvaro de Luna, grand-master of the Knights of Santiago. On every side are scallop-shells, emblem of the tutelar, and the crescent, cognizance
of the Luna family. The tomb of the founder is in the centre, with knights, cut in alabaster, keeping eternal watch and ward around their chief, who is lying on his tomb; while monks and nuns that have turned to stone seem to pray for ever around that of his wife.