The chapter library is in good order, and contains some very fine editions of Greek and Latin works: a Bible belonging to St. Isidore; the works of St. Gregory; a fine illuminated Bible given by St. Louis; a missal of Charles V.; a fine Talmud and Koran; and some very interesting MSS. In the ante-room are some good pictures.
The palace of the archbishop is exactly opposite the west front of the cathedral. No one has played a more important part in the history of his country of late years than the present Archbishop of Toledo. High in the favor and counsels of the queen, he at one time determined, for political reasons, to leave Spain and settle himself in Italy, but was recalled by the voice of both queen and people, and remains, beloved and honored by all; and although upward of eighty years of age, and rather deaf, is still a perfect lion of intellectual and physical strength. He received our travellers most kindly, and in a fatherly manner invited them to breakfast, and afterward to be present at a private confirmation in the little chapel of his palace, at which ceremony they gladly assisted. He afterward sent his secretary, a most clever and agreeable person, who spoke Italian with fluency, to show the ladies the convent of Sta. Teresa, situated in the lower part of the town. This convent was started, like all the rest of the saint's foundations, amidst discouragements and difficulties of all kinds. The house which had been promised her before her arrival was refused through the intrigues of a relative of the donor; then the vicar-general withdrew his license; and St. Theresa began to fear that she would have to leave Toledo without accomplishing her object. Through the intervention of a poor man, however, she at last heard of a tiny lodging where she and her sisters could be received. It was a very humble place, and there was but one room in it which could be turned into a chapel; but that was duly prepared for mass, and dedicated to St. Joseph. Poor and meagre as the sanctuary was, it struck a little child who was passing by, by its bright and cared-for appearance, and she exclaimed: "Blessed be God! how beautiful and clean it looks!" St. Theresa said directly to her sisters: "I account myself well repaid for all the troubles which have attended this foundation by that little angel's one 'Glory to God.'"
Afterward, all difficulties were smoothed; a larger house was built; and the poor Carmelites, from being despised and rejected by all, and in want of the commonest necessaries of life, were overwhelmed with supplies of all kinds, so that one of them, in sorrow, exclaimed to St. Theresa: "What are we to do, Mother? for now it seems that we are no longer poor!"
It was this very house which our travellers now visited, and a far cheerier and brighter one it is than that of Seville. It contains twenty-four sisters: among their treasures are the MS. copy of St. Theresa's Way of Perfection, corrected by the saint herself, and with a short preface written in her own hand; a quantity of her autograph letters; a long letter from Sister Ann of St. Bartholomew; St. Theresa's seal, of which the ladies were given an impression; the habit she had worn in the house, etc., etc. But the most curious thing was the picture, painted by desire of the saint, of the death of one of the community. We will tell the story in her own words: "One of our sisters fell dangerously ill, and I went to pray for her before the Blessed Sacrament, beseeching our Lord to give her a happy death. I then came back to her cell to stay with her, and on my entrance distinctly saw a figure like the representations of our Lord, at the bed's head, with His arms outspread as if protecting her, and he said to me: 'Be assured that in like manner I will protect all the nuns who shall die in these monasteries, so that they shall not fear any temptation at the hour of death.' A short time after, I spoke to her, when she said to me: 'Mother, what great things I am about to see!' and with these words she expired, like an angel." St. Theresa had this subject represented in a fresco, which is still on the wall of the cell. Here also she completed the narrative of her life, now in the Escurial, by command of Padre Ibañez, and here is her breviary, with the words (which we will give in English) written by herself on the fly-leaf:
"Let nothing disturb thee;
Let nothing affright thee;
All passeth away;
God only shall stay.
Patience wins all.
Who hath God needeth nothing.
For God is his All."
Leaving this interesting convent, our travellers proceeded to San Juan de los Reyes, so called because built by Ferdinand and Isabella, and dedicated to St. John. It was a magnificent Gothic building; but the only thing in the church spared by the French are two exquisite "palcos" or balconies overlooking the high altar, in the finest Gothic carving, from whence Ferdinand and Isabella used to hear mass: their ciphers are beautifully wrought in stone underneath. Outside this church hang the chains which were taken off the Christian prisoners when they were released from the Moors. Adjoining is the convent, now deserted, and the palace of Cardinal Ximenes, of which the staircase and one long low room alone remain. But the gem of the whole are the cloisters. Never was anything half so beautiful or so delicate as the Moorish tracery and exquisite patterns of grape-vine, thistle, and acanthus, carved round each quaint-shaped arch and window and door-way. Festoons of real passion flowers, in full bloom, hung over the arches from the "patio" in the centre, in which a few fine cypresses and pomegranates were also growing, the dark foliage standing out against the bright blue sky overhead, and beautifully contrasting with the delicate white marble tracery of this exquisite double cloister. It is a place where an artist might revel for a month.
Their guide then took them to see the synagogues, now converted into Christian churches, but originally mosques. Exquisite Saracenic carvings remain on the walls and roofs, with fine old Moorish capitals to the pillars, of their favorite pine apple pattern, and beautiful colored "azulejos" (tiles) on the floors and seats. Several of the private houses which they afterward visited at Toledo might literally have been taken up at Damascus and set down in this quaint old Spanish town, so identical are they in design, in decorations, and in general character. The nails on the doors are specially quaint, mostly of the shape of big mushrooms, and the knockers are also wonderful. Could the fashion, once in vogue among "fast" men in England, of wrenching such articles from the doors, be introduced into Spain, what art treasures one could get! but scarcely anything of the sort is to be bought in Toledo. After trying in vain to swallow some of the food prepared for them at the "fonda," in which it was hard to say whether garlic or rancid oil most predominated, our travellers toiled again in the burning sun up the steep hill leading to the Alcazar, the ancient palace, now a ruin, but still retaining its fine old staircase and court-yard with very ancient Roman pillars. From hence there is a beautiful view of the town, of the Tagus flowing round it, and of the picturesque one-arched bridge which spans the river in the approach from Madrid, with the ruins of the older Roman bridge and forts below. The Tagus here rushes down a rapid with a fine fall, looking like a salmon-leap, where there ought to be first-rate pools and beautiful fishing; and then flows swiftly and silently along through a grand gorge of rocks to the left. By the river-side was the Turkish water-wheel, or "sakeel," worked by mules. The whole thing was thoroughly Eastern; and the red, barren, arid look of the rocks and of the whole surrounding country reminded one more of Syria than of anything European. Our travellers were leaning over the parapet of the little terrace-garden, looking on this glorious view, when a group of women who were sitting in the sun near the palace-gates called to their guide, and asked if the lady of the party were an Englishwoman, "as she walked so fast." The guide replied in the affirmative. One of them answered, "O! qué peccado! (what a pity!) I liked her face, and yet she is an infidel." The guide indignantly pointed to a little crucifix which hung on a rosary by the lady's side, at which the speaker, springing from her seat, impulsively kissed both the cross and the lady. This is only a specimen of the faith of these people, who cannot understand anything Christian that is not Catholic, and confound all Protestants with Jews or Moors.
Going down the hill, stopping only for a few moments at a curiosity shop where, however, nothing really old could be obtained—they came to the Church of La Cruz, built on the site of the martyrdom of St. Leocadia. It is now turned into a military college; but the magnificent Gothic portal and facade remain. The streets are as narrow and dirty in this part of the town as in the filthiest eastern city; but at every turn there is a beautiful doorway, as at Cairo, through which you peep into a cool "patio," with its usual fountain and orange-trees; while a double cloister runs round the quadrangle, and generally a picturesque side staircase, with a beautifully carved balustrade, leading up to the cloisters above, with their delicate tracery and varied arches. The beauty of the towers and "campanile" is also very striking. They are generally thoroughly Roman in their character, being built of that narrow brick (or rather tile) so common for the purpose in Italy, but with the horse-shoe arch: that of S. Romano is the most perfect. There is also a lovely little mosque, with a well in the court-yard near the entrance, which has now been converted into a church under the title of "Sta. Cruz de la Luz," with a wonderful intersection of horse-shoe arches, like a miniature of the cathedral at Cordova. Toledo certainly does not lack churches or convents; but those who served and prayed in them, where are they? The terrible want of instruction for the people, caused by the closing of all the male religious houses, which were the centre of all missionary work, is felt throughout Spain; but nowhere more than in this grand old town, which is absolutely dead. The children are neglected, the poor without a friend, the widow and orphan are desolate, and all seek in vain for a helper or a guide.
On the opposite side of the Tagus, and not far from the railway station, are the ruins of a curious old chateau, to which a legend is attached, so characteristic of the tone of thought of the people that it is given verbatim here. [Footnote 250]