Chapter IX: Excursion to Toledo (2)

Overhead, on each side of a long corridor, are ranged, like the cells in a beehive, the deserted cells of the monks, who have long since disappeared: they are all exactly similar to one another, and all covered with white stucco. This whiteness diminishes the poetical effect a great deal, by preventing monsters and other bugbears of the imagination from hiding themselves in the dark holes and corners. The interior of the church and cloisters is also whitewashed; this gives them a sort of new and recent appearance, which forms a strong contrast with the style of the architecture and the state of the edifice. The absence of humidity and the great heat have not allowed any plants or weeds to spring up between the interstices of the stones or of the rubbish; and these remains are not enveloped in the green ivy mantle which Time throws over our northern ruins. We wandered about the abandoned edifice for a long time, going up and down a succession of break-neck staircases, exactly like Anne Radcliffe's heroes, except that we saw nothing in the way of phantoms save two poor lizards, that made their escape as quickly as they possibly could, being, doubtless, ignorant, in their character of Spaniards, of the French proverb, "The lizard is the friend of man." A stroll of this kind through the veins and limbs of a large building, from which all life has fled, is one of the most vivid pleasures that can be conceived; you expect, every moment, to meet at the turn of some gallery or other one of the old monks, with his glossy forehead and his eyes sunk in shade, walking gravely along with his arms folded on his breast, as he proceeds to take part in some mysterious service in the desecrated and deserted church.

We now left, for we had seen everything that was worth seeing, even the kitchens, down to which our guide conducted us with a Voltairean smile that a subscriber to the _Constitutionnel_ would not have disowned. The church and cloisters are uncommonly magnificent; the rest of the place displays the strictest simplicity; everything was for the soul, nothing for the body.

At a short distance from San Juan de los Reyes, you observe, or rather, you do not observe, the celebrated mosque-like synagogue; for, unless you have a guide, you might pass by it twenty times without once suspecting that such a building existed. Our _keeper_ knocked at a door cut in a wall formed of reddish clay, and presenting the most insignificant appearance. After waiting some time--for Spaniards are never in a hurry--the door was opened, and we were asked if we came to see the synagogue. On our answering in the affirmative, we were introduced into a kind of courtyard, filled with wild vegetation, in the midst of which stood a mangrove-tree, with its deeply serrated leaves, of a deep green, and as shining as if they had been varnished. At the back was a sort of wretched hovel, without the least pretension to any peculiar character, and looking more like a barn than anything else. We were shown into this hovel. Never was any one more surprised than we were: we found ourselves suddenly transplanted to the East, and beheld slender columns with spreading capitals like turbans, Turkish arches, verses of the Koran, a flat ceiling divided into compartments of cedar-wood, the day streaming in from above--in a word, nothing was wanting to sustain the illusion. The remains of old illuminated subjects, almost effaced, covered the walls with their strange hues, and increased the singular effect of the whole. This synagogue, which the Arabs turned into a mosque, and the Christians into a church, serves, at present, as the residence and workshop of a joiner. The joiner's bench now occupies the place of the altar. This act of profanation is of recent date. Vestiges of the _retablo_ are still remaining, as well as the inscription, in black marble, commemorating the consecration of the edifice for Roman Catholic worship.

Talking of synagogues, I will here relate the following curious anecdote. The Jews of Toledo, probably with a view of diminishing the feeling of horror entertained for them by the Christians, asserted that they had not consented to the death of our Saviour; and made the following statement in support of their assertion:--When our Saviour was brought up for judgment, the council of priests, of which Caiaphas was president, sent round to each of the tribes to know whether our Saviour should be set free or put to death. The question was put to the Jews of Spain, and the synagogue of Toledo pronounced in favour of his acquittal. This particular tribe, therefore, according to them, is not covered with the blood of the Redeemer, and does not deserve the execration incurred by those Jews who voted against the Son of God. The original copy of the answer given by the Jews of Toledo, with a Latin translation of the Hebrew text, is--so says the report--preserved in the archives of the Vatican. In consideration of their conduct, they were allowed to erect this synagogue, which is, I believe, the only one ever tolerated in Spain.

We had heard of the ruins of an ancient Moorish country-house, called Galiana's Palace. On leaving the synagogue, we ordered our guide to conduct us thither, in spite of our fatigue, for our time was precious, as we had to set out again the next day for Madrid.

Galiana's Palace is situated outside the town, in the plain of the Vega; and in order to reach it, you have to cross the bridge of Alcantara. After a quarter of an hour's walk through fields irrigated by a thousand little canals, we came to a cluster of extraordinarily green trees, at the foot of which a water-wheel of the most antique and Egyptian simplicity was at work. Earthen jars, fixed to the spokes of the wheel by means of cords made of reeds, first drew up the water from the stream, and then emptied it into a canal of concave tiles, conducting to a reservoir, whence it was directed without difficulty, through small trenches, to whatever point had to be watered.

The dilapidated outline of a mass of reddish bricks rose up behind the foliage of the trees: this was Galiana's Palace. We made our way, through a low doorway, into this heap of ruins, that was inhabited by a family of peasants. It is impossible to conceive anything more black, more smoky, more sepulchral, or more dirty. The Troglodytes were lodged like princes in comparison; and yet the charming Galiana, the Moorish maiden with her long eyelashes tinged with henna, and her brocade jacket, covered with pearls, had once pressed the uneven floor with her little slippers, and once leant out at that window to look at the Moorish cavaliers who were exercising themselves in throwing the djerrid, at some distance away in the plain of the Vega.

We valiantly continued our researches, ascending to the upper parts of the building by means of crazy old ladders, and grasping hold of the tufts of dry weeds, which hung like a beard to the crabbed chin of the ancient walls. When we had arrived at the summit, we became aware of a strange phenomenon. We had entered the place with white trousers, and we left it with black ones; but the black tint was no ordinary black, it was alive, moving, skipping about; we were covered with imperceptible little fleas, who had precipitated themselves upon us in compact masses, attracted by the coldness of our northern blood. I never should have thought that there were so many fleas in the whole world.

A few pipes for conveying water into the hot baths are the only vestiges of magnificence which time has spared: the glass and enamelled porcelain mosaics; the slender marble columns with their gilt capitals, ornamented with carving and verses from the Koran; the alabaster basins; the stones pierced in a thousand different places in order to allow the perfumes to filter through;--all, all had disappeared. All that is left is the carcass of the principal walls, and heaps of bricks rapidly crumbling to dust; for these marvellous edifices, which remind the spectator of the fairy palaces in the "Arabian Nights," are unfortunately only built of bricks or clay, crusted over with stucco or plaster. All the lacework, all the arabesques, are not, as is generally believed, carved in marble or stone, but merely moulded in plaster, by which method they can be reproduced without end and without any great cost. Had it not been for the extraordinarily conservative quality of the climate of Spain, all these edifices erected of such slight materials would never have remained standing at the present day.

The legend of Galiana is more successfully preserved than her palace. She was the daughter of king Galafre, who loved her more than aught else in the world, and had built for her in the plain of the Vega a country-house, with delicious gardens, kiosks, baths, fountains, and cascades, which rose and fell exactly as the moon increased or waned, either by means of magic, or by one of those hydraulic artifices so familiar to the Arabs. Idolized by her father, Galiana lived in this charming retreat in the most agreeable manner, amusing herself with music, poetry, and dancing. Her hardest task was to escape the importunities of her admirers. The most troublesome and the most determined of them all was a certain petty king of Guadalajara, called Bradamant, a gigantic, valiant, and ferocious Moor. Galiana could not bear him, and, as the chronicler says, "What avails it that the cavalier be all fire, if the lady be all ice?" The Moor, however, was not to be rebuffed, and his delight at seeing and speaking to Galiana was so intense that he caused a subterranean passage to be dug from Guadalajara to Toledo, and through this passage he came to visit her every day.

It was at this epoch, that Charlemagne, the son of Pepin, came to Toledo, whither he had been sent by his father to assist Galafre against Abderahaman, king of Cordova. Galafre lodged him in Galiana's own palace, for the Moors willingly allowed illustrious and important personages to see their daughters. Charlemagne possessed a soft heart underneath his steel cuirass, and very soon became desperately enamoured of the Moorish princess. He at first endured Bradamant's assiduities, as he was not sure of having made an impression upon the fair one's heart; but as Galiana, despite her reserve and modesty, could not conceal from him any longer the preference she secretly felt for him in her soul, he began to give signs of jealousy, and required that his sunburnt rival should be promptly suppressed. Galiana, who was already a Frenchwoman up to her very eyes, says the chronicler, and who, besides that, hated the petty king of Guadalajara, gave the prince to understand that both she and her father were heartily sick of the Moor's importunities, and that she should be gratified by his being summarily disposed of. Charlemagne did not require telling twice; he challenged Bradamant to single combat, and, although the Moor was a giant, overcame him. He then cut off his head and presented it to Galiana, who thought the present a remarkable proof of delicate attention. This little act of politeness advanced the prince considerably in the good graces of the beautiful Moorish maiden, and the love of both of them continuing to increase, Galiana promised to embrace Christianity in order that Charlemagne might be enabled to marry her. No difficulty was thrown in her way, as Galafre was delighted at the idea of bestowing his daughter's hand on so great a prince. Meanwhile Pepin died, and Charlemagne returned to France, bringing with him Galiana, who was crowned Queen, and received with great rejoicings. It is thus that a Moorish maiden succeeded in becoming a Christian queen, "and the remembrance of this story, although connected with an old building, is worthy of being preserved in Toledo," adds the chronicler, as a sort of final moral reflection.

It was now absolutely necessary, before we did anything else, that we should rid ourselves of the microscopic multitudes, whose bites had spotted our ex-white trousers with blood. Fortunately, the Tagus was not far off, and thither did we immediately conduct the Princess Galiana's fleas, employing the method patronised by foxes, who plunge up to the nose in water, holding between their teeth a piece of cork, which they commit to the stream as soon as they find it is manned by a sufficiently numerous crew, for the confounded little insects run up and crowd into it as soon as they feel themselves touched by the water. We trust our fair readers will pardon us for these animalcular and _picaresque_ details, which would be more suited, perhaps, to the life of Lazarillo de Tormes or of Guzman d'Alfarache; but a book of travels in Spain would not be complete without them, and we hope to be excused in consideration of the local colouring.

The banks of the Tagus, at this point, are lined with peaked and almost inaccessible rocks, and it was not without some difficulty that we succeeded in making our way down to the spot where the grand sacrifice was to be accomplished. I began swimming out and displaying the greatest possible amount of artistic precision in order to prove myself worthy of bathing in so celebrated and respectable a river as the Tagus, when, after going some few yards I reached the ruins of some building or other that had fallen down, and left its shapeless remains of masonry projecting only a foot or two from the surface of the stream. On the bank exactly opposite, was an old ruined tower with a semicircular arcade, where some linen was drying very prosaically in the sun on clotheslines that had been hung there by the washerwomen.

I was simply in the _baño de la Cava_, which, I may as well say for the benefit of my readers, means Florinda's Bath, and the tower opposite me was the tower of King Rodrigo. It was from the balcony of that window and concealed behind a curtain, that Rodrigo watched the young maidens as they were bathing, and perceived the lovely Florinda measuring her leg[9] and those of her companions, in order to see whose was the roundest and best shaped. From what trifles do great events spring. Had Florinda possessed an ill-shapen leg or an ugly knee, the Arabs would never have come to Spain. Unfortunately, Florinda had a tiny foot, a delicate ankle, and the whitest and best shaped leg in the world. Rodrigo became enamoured of the thoughtless bather, and seduced her. Count Juliano, Florinda's father, furious at this outrage, betrayed his country in order to obtain revenge, and called in the aid of the Moors. Rodrigo lost the famous battle so often mentioned in the _romanceros_, and perished miserably in a coffin filled with vipers, in which he had placed himself to make atonement for his crime. Poor Florinda, branded with the ignominious name of _la Cava_, remained bowed down beneath the execration of all Spain; but then, what a ridiculous and strange idea it was to place a bathing-place for young maidens exactly before the tower of a young king.

Since we have begun to talk about Rodrigo, we may as well mention the legend of the Grotto of Hercules, which is fatally connected with the history of this unfortunate Gothic prince. The Grotto of Hercules is a subterranean cave, which, according to the general report, extends three leagues beyond the city walls: the entrance, carefully shut and padlocked, is in the church of San Gines, which stands on the highest ground in the whole city. On this spot there was formerly a palace founded by Tubal, which Hercules restored and enlarged. Here, too, he established his laboratory and his school of magic; for Hercules, of whom the Greeks subsequently made a god, was at first a powerful cabalist. By means of his art, he constructed an enchanted tower, with talismans and inscriptions to the effect, that whenever any one should penetrate the limits of the magical edifice, a ferocious and barbarous nation should invade Spain.

Fearful of seeing this fatal prediction accomplished, all the kings, and especially the Gothic kings, placed more locks and more padlocks on the mysterious door; not that they actually put faith in the prophecy, but, like sensible persons as they were, they had no wish to be mixed up with these magical charms and spells. Rodrigo, who was more curious or more needy, for his debauched and prodigal course of life had exhausted all his money, resolved on venturing into the enchanted cave, in the hopes of finding some considerable treasures there. He directed his steps towards the grotto at the head of some few determined followers, provided with torches, lanterns, and cords, and reached the doorway cut in the living rock, and closed by an iron door secured by a great number of padlocks. On the door was a tablet with this inscription in Greek characters: _The king who shall open this subterranean vault, and succeed in discovering the marvels which it contains, shall experience good and evil._ The former kings had been frightened at the alternative, and had not dared to proceed; but Rodrigo, chancing the evil to obtain the good, ordered the padlocks to be broken, the locks to be forced, and the door to be opened. Those who boasted of possessing most courage went down first, but soon returned, with their torches extinguished, all trembling, pale, and terror-stricken; those that could speak said that they had been frightened by a most horrible vision. This, however, did not induce Rodrigo to renounce his project of breaking the spell. He caused the torches to be arranged in such a manner that the wind which issued from the cavern could not extinguish them; and then, placing himself at the head of his followers, advanced boldly into the grotto. He soon reached a square chamber of great architectural richness, in the middle of which was a tall bronze statue, of terrible aspect. This statue had its feet placed upon a column three cubits high, and held in its hand a mace, with which it kept striking the floor, thereby producing the noise and wind which had so frightened those who entered first. Rodrigo, as brave as a Goth, and as determined as a Christian who has confidence in his religion, and is not astonished by the magic arts of Pagans, went straight up to the colossus, and asked permission to examine the marvels which were in the grotto.

The brazen warrior intimated that he assented to the request, by ceasing to strike the earth with his mace. It was now easy to see the various objects in the chamber, and, before long, a chest was found with the following inscription on the lid:--"He who opens me will behold marvels." Seeing the quietness of the statue, the king's companions, having recovered from their fright, and being encouraged by the inscription, which seemed to promise well, began making ready their pockets and mantles, under the idea that they should fill them with gold; but all they found in the chest was a roll of cloth. On it were painted troops of Arabs, some on horseback and others on foot, with turbans on their heads, and shields and lances in their hands. There was also an inscription to the following effect:--"He who penetrates thus far, and opens the chest, will lose Spain, and be vanquished by nations similar to this one." King Rodrigo attempted to conceal the disagreeable impression produced on him, in order not to augment the sadness of his followers, and continued his search, in the hope of finding something to compensate him for this disastrous prophecy. On raising his eyes, Rodrigo perceived on the wall, to the left of the statue, a cartouche, on which were the words, "Poor king! To your misfortune is it that you have entered here!" and to the right there was another, with the words, "You will be ejected from your possessions by foreign nations, and your people will be heavily chastised!" Behind the statue there was written, "I invoke the Arabs," and before it, "I do my duty."

The king and his courtiers withdrew, filled with anxiety and gloomy presentiments. The very same night there was a furious tempest, and the ruins of the Tower of Hercules fell to the ground with the most awful noise. It was not long before the prophecies of the magic grotto were borne out by circumstances; the Arabs painted on the roll of cloth in the chest really did show their strange-shaped turbans, shields, and lances, on the unhappy soil of Spain, and all because Rodrigo looked at Florinda's leg, and went down into a cavern.

But night is setting in; we must return to the _fonda_, sup, and retire to bed, for we leave to-morrow evening, and have yet to visit the Hospital of the Cardinal Don Pedro Gonzales de Mendoza, the Manufactory of Arms, the remains of the Roman Amphitheatre, and a thousand other curiosities. As for myself, I am so fatigued by the diamond-edged pavement, that I feel inclined to reverse my position, and walk about a little upon my hands, like the clowns, in order to rest my aching feet. O hackney-coaches of civilization! omnibuses of progress! I called upon you with a sinking heart--but then of what use would you have been in the streets of Toledo?

The cardinal's Hospital is a large building, of broad and severe proportions, which would take too long for me to describe here. We will cross rapidly over the courtyard, surrounded by columns and arcades, and containing nothing remarkable save two air-shafts, with white marble kerbs, and at once enter the church, to examine the cardinal's tomb, executed in alabaster by that prodigy, Berruguete, who lived more than eighty years, covering his country with masterpieces in various styles, but all equally perfect. The cardinal is stretched out upon his tomb in his pontifical habits. Death has pinched his nose with its skinny fingers, and the last contraction of the muscles, in their endeavour to retain the soul about to leave the body for ever, puckers up the corners of the mouth, and lengthens the chin: never was there a cast taken after death more horribly true; and yet the beauty of the work is such, that you forget any amount of repulsiveness that the subject may possess. Little children in attitudes of grief support the plinth and the cardinal's coat of arms. The most supple and softest clay could not be more easy, or more pliant; it is not carved, it is kneaded!

There are also in this church two pictures by Domenico Theotocopouli, called El Greco, an extraordinary and strange artist, who is scarcely known, save in Spain. He was absurdly afraid, as you are aware, of being accused of imitating Titian, whose pupil he had been; this fear of his caused him to have recourse to the strangest expedients and caprices.

One of these pictures, that which represents the "Holy Family," must have made the poor Greco very miserable, for, at first sight, it would be taken for a genuine Titian. The ardent colouring, the vivid tone of the drapery, and that beautiful reflex of yellow amber, which imparts warmth even to the coolest shades of the Venetian artist, all concur to deceive the most practised eye; the touch alone is less bold and less broad. The little reason that El Greco still possessed must have been altogether swallowed up in the sombre ocean of madness, after he had completed this masterpiece. There are not many artists, now-a-days, capable of going mad for a similar reason.

The other picture, the subject of which is, the "Baptism of our Saviour," belongs entirely to El Greco's second style. It is remarkable for the abuse of black and white in it, for its violent contrasts, singular tints, laboured attitudes, and abrupt, sharp disposition of the drapery, but there is a certain air of depraved energy, a sort of morbid power about it, which reveals the great artist and the madman of genius. Very few paintings interest me so much as those of El Greco, for his very worst have always something unexpected, something that exceeds the bounds of possibility, that causes astonishment, and affords matter for reflection.

From the Hospital, we proceeded to the Manufactory of Arms, which is a vast, symmetrical, and pleasing edifice, founded by Charles III., whose name is to be found on all buildings of public utility. It is erected close to the Tagus, the water of that stream being used to temper the sword-blades and move the machinery. The workshops run along a large courtyard, surrounded by porticoes and arcades, like almost all the courtyards in Spain. In one room the iron is heated, in another it is submitted to the hammer, while farther on it is tempered. In one place are the stones for sharpening and grinding, in another are made the sheaths and handles. We will not extend the investigation further, as it would not teach our readers anything peculiarly new; we will only state that these blades, so justly celebrated, are partly manufactured out of the old shoes of horses and mules, that are carefully collected for the purpose.

To convince us that the Toledo blades were still worthy of their ancient reputation, we were conducted to the proving-room, where a workman, of commanding stature and colossal strength, took a weapon of the most ordinary kind, a straight cavalry sabre, fixed the point in a pig of lead fastened to the wall, and made the blade bend about in every possible way, like a switch, so that the handle almost touched the hilt; the elasticity and suppleness of the steel were such that it was able to stand this test without snapping. The man then placed himself opposite an anvil, and gave so vigorous a blow that the blade entered about half an inch; this feat of strength made me think of the scene in one of Sir Walter Scott's novels, where Richard Cœur-de-Lion and king Saladin amuse themselves by cutting pillows and iron bars.

The Toledo blades of the present day are therefore quite equal to those of former times; the secret of tempering them is not lost, but merely the secret of their form; this little thing, so despised by Progress people, is all that is wanting to enable modern works to sustain a comparison with those of antiquity. A modern sword is merely an instrument; a sword of the sixteenth century is at once an instrument and a gem.

We thought that we should find at Toledo a few old weapons, such as daggers, poniards, rapiers, and other curiosities, to be hung up as trophies on the wall, or laid out upon a shelf; and we had learnt by heart, for this purpose, the names and marks of the sixty armourers of Toledo, collected by Achille Jubinal; but we had not an opportunity of putting our knowledge to the test, for there are no more swords at Toledo than leather at Cordova, lace at Mechlin, oysters at Ostend, or _Pâtés de Foie Gras_ at Strasburg; all curiosities are confined to Paris, and if you happen to meet a few abroad they are sure to have come from the shop of Mademoiselle Delaunay, on the Quai Voltaire.

We were likewise shown the remains of the Roman Amphitheatre and of the Naumachia, which look exactly like a ploughed field, as do all Roman ruins. I am not imaginative enough to go into ecstasies at the sight of such problematical nonentities; this is an amusement that I leave to antiquaries; for my own part, I prefer talking of the walls of Toledo, which are visible to the naked eye and admirably picturesque. They accord extremely well with the undulating surface of the ground, and it is often very difficult to say where the rock ends and where the rampart begins. Each epoch of civilization has had a hand in the work; that piece of wall is Roman, that tower is Gothic, those battlements are Arabic. All the portion which extends from the Puerta Cambron to the Puerta Visagra (_via sacra_) was built by the Gothic king Wamba. There is a story attached to each of these stones, and if we wished to relate them all we should require a whole volume instead of a single chapter. But there is one thing we can do which is strictly in accordance with our character of travellers, and that is, to mention once more the noble effect produced on the horizon by Toledo seated on her rocky throne, with her girdle of towers and her diadem of churches. It is impossible to conceive a bolder or severer outline, clothed in a richer colour, or one in which the physiognomy of the Middle Ages is more faithfully preserved. I remained for more than an hour plunged in contemplation, trying to satiate my eyes, and engrave on my memory the recollection of this admirable view. Night closed in, alas! too soon, and we were obliged to think of retiring to rest, for we were to set off at one o'clock in the morning in order to avoid the midday heat.

At midnight our calesero arrived, punctual to his time, and we clambered up, in a state of unmistakable somnambulism, on to the meagre cushions of our vehicle. The horrible jolting caused by the abominable pavement of Toledo soon woke us sufficiently to enable us to enjoy the fantastic appearance of our caravan. The carriage, with its scarlet wheels and extravagant body, seemed--so close together were the walls--to divide the houses, which closed again like waves after it had passed! A bare-legged _sereno_, with the flowing drawers and variegated handkerchief of the Valencians, walked before us, bearing at the end of his lance a lantern, whose flickering light produced all kinds of singular effects of light and shade, such as Rembrandt would not have disdained to introduce into some of his fine etchings of night-watches and patroles. The only noise we heard was the silver tinkling of the bells on the neck of our mule and the creaking of the axletrees. The inhabitants were buried in as deep a sleep as the statues in the chapel of _los Reyes Nuevos_. From time to time, our _sereno_ poked his lantern under the nose of some vagabond who lay slumbering across the street, and pushed him on one side with the handle of his lance; for whenever any one feels sleepy in Spain, he stretches out his cloak upon the ground and lies down with the most perfect and philosophical calmness. Before the gate, which was not yet open, and where we were kept waiting two hours, the ground was strewed with sleepers, who were snoring away in every possible variety of tone; for the street is the only bedroom which is not infected with insects; to enter an alcove, you must possess all the resignation of an Indian Fakir. At last the confounded gate swung back upon its hinges, and we returned by the same road we had come.