CHAPTER III

CORDOVA

"They say the Lion and the Lizard keep The Courts where Jamshyd gloried and drank deep."

The sands of Asia are strewn with the ruins of cities once the gorgeous capitals of mighty empires. Here in Spain the followers of the Prophet raised a metropolis as splendid as any of the new Babylons of the East; and its fall has been wellnigh as great as theirs. We need not credit all the assertions of the Arabian writers (for the scribes of that nation, as Cervantes remarks, are not a little addicted to fiction). We can hardly believe that Cordova in its prime contained 300,000 inhabitants, 600 mosques, 50 hospitals, 800 public schools, 900 baths, 600 inns, and a library of 600,000 volumes; but there is evidence enough to satisfy us that this was in the tenth century the most magnificent and populous city in Europe, Byzantium alone excepted. Now it is a small provincial capital, bright, white, and coquettish, utterly without the solemnity and majesty which should invest the seats of vanished empires. Here greatness has been swallowed up in insignificance, not in desolation. The Court of the Khalifas, the Western Mecca, does not lie in lordly ruin like a fallen Colossus, but has sunk into mere pettiness.

Victor Hugo draws, as only he knew how, in a couple of lines, a picturesque sketch of Cordova, but this hardly corresponds to the impressions of the modern traveller. The houses may be old (some of them certainly are), but in their coats of dazzling whitewash they look brand-new. Gautier very sensibly remarks that, thanks to whitewash, the wall which was erected a century ago cannot be distinguished from that which was erected yesterday. Its general application "imparts a uniform tint to all buildings, fills up the architectural lines, effaces all their delicate ornamentation, and does not allow you to read their age." Cordova, which was formerly a centre of Arabian civilization, is now nothing more than a confused mass of small white houses, above which rise a few mangrove trees, with their metallic green foliage, or some palm trees with their branches spread out like the claws of a crab; while the whole town is divided by narrow passages into a number of separate blocks, where it would be difficult for two mules to pass abreast. Such is Cordova to-day, and I doubt very much if its external aspect was a whit more splendid or by any means as pleasing in the days of its glory. Some authors write as if they imagined the Mohammedans built their capitals on the lines of Paris and Washington. A visit to Constantinople or to Cairo would remove that impression. Imagine Cordova covering three or four times its present area, its windows obscured with lattices, its walls less white, its streets filled with a noisy mob of beshawled and beturbaned men--black, brown, and white--with noble mosques and elegant minarets here and there, and you will have a fair picture of the capital of the Western Khalifate.

Of its outward seeming only. Its culture and refined social life merited for Cordova the title of the Athens of the West. When all Europe was sunk in barbarism, medicine and chemistry, the natural sciences, the arts and philosophy, all found a refuge here. Culture was diffused through all classes of the population, if only very superficially, to an extent never perhaps equalled elsewhere. And though there was little initiative or originality about the scholars at Cordova, their labours contributed to keep alive a taste for the humanities which otherwise would never have revived in Europe. The comforts and amenities of life were carefully studied in the Western Khalifate. All the products which minister to luxury were at that time the almost exclusive property of the Moslem world, and to the bazaars of Cordova were brought the choicest spoils of Egypt, Persia, Arabia, and Hindostan. And at the head of this urbane and flourishing commonwealth sat the great Umeyyad khalifa, emulous of the glories of Bagdad and Cairo, and eager to surpass them in elegance and splendour.

Of those great days all that remains is the Mezquita--and that is much. Next to St. Peter's it is the largest of Christian temples, and certainly among the most ancient. As a Mohammedan place of worship, it ranked in sanctity with the Mosque of Omar at Jerusalem, immediately after Mecca, which it was indeed designed to eclipse. It was Abd-ur-Rahman's ambition to focus all the interests of Islam at this point within his own dominions. Spanish Moslems were taught that a pilgrimage to the "Zeka" of Cordova was in all respects equivalent to a pilgrimage to Mecca. Hence Sancho Panza's saying, "Andar de Zeca en Mecca." That the Umeyyad khalifa succeeded in diverting the Faithful from the old shrine to the new is doubtful, but he and his successors spared no pains to render their mosque one of the wonders of the world. In the year 786, seized, it is said, by a sudden inspiration, Abd-ur-Rahman convoked his council and declared his intention of raising a temple to Allah on the site of a Christian church. The Moslems had already appropriated half of the Basilica of San Vicente to their use, suffering the Christians to perform their rites in the adjoining portion. The khattib was commanded to approach the unbelievers to negotiate the purchase of the whole edifice. The Christians stood out for a high price, and got it. They received a sum equal to £400,000 of our money, and permission, moreover, to rebuild all their churches in the city that had existed at the time of the Conquest. When we remember the violent seizure and "purification" of the Church of St. Sophia by the Turks, seven hundred years later, we can see how little Islam had learnt of toleration in the meantime.

The old basilica was accordingly demolished and the mosque begun. The khalifa set apart a portion of his revenues for the work, and laboured himself upon it for an hour each day. Thus encouraged, his subjects of all ranks made it a point of honour to contribute either their personal labour or their money to the great work. Though most of the columns came from the marble quarries of the neighbouring town of Cabra, as many as possible were brought from the most distant parts of the Mohammedan empire, from the works of civilizations which Islam had subdued. The mosque was to be a monument to the triumph of the Crescent. Its dimensions as projected by the founder were four times less than those of the existing building.

The successors of Abd-ur-Rahman obtained the assistance of Byzantine craftsmen, and embellished the mosque with rich mosaics. Almost a quarter of the actual building was added by Al Hakem II., and the eastern half by Al Mansûr. To effect this last expansion, a cottage beneath a palm tree had to be acquired. The old lady to whom it belonged refused to budge till an exactly similar abode was found for her. This was done at last, after a diligent search, and a liberal donation made to her to boot.

Thus was reared this mighty temple of Islam on European soil, at a time when the state of the Christian world went far to justify the exultant words of the khalifa: "Let us build the Kaaba of the West upon the site of a Christian temple, which we will destroy, so that we may set forth how the Cross shall fall and become abased before the True Prophet. Allah will never place the world beneath the feet of those who make themselves the slaves of drink and sensuality, while they preach penitence and the joys of chastity, and while extolling poverty, enrich themselves to the loss of their neighbours. For these, the sad and silent cloister; for us, the crystalline fountain and the shady grove; for them, the rude and unsocial life of dungeon-like strongholds; for us, the charm of social life and culture; for them, intolerance and tyranny; for us, a ruler who is our father; for them, the darkness of ignorance; for us, letters and instruction widespread as our creed; for them, the wilderness, celibacy, and the doom of the false martyr; for us, plenty, love, brotherhood and eternal joy."

The face of the world has changed somewhat in ten centuries.

It must, I think, be admitted that the Mezquita, to European eyes, is fantastic and interesting rather than beautiful. It may be compared to a forest of columns or to a seemingly endless series of parallel aisles spanned by low horseshoe arches. It does in truth remind one, as one writer observes, of a gigantic crypt. The additions of Al Mansûr, may be distinguished by the pointed arches. Otherwise there is little of the variety insured in Christian churches by the distribution of the parts. It is only in the columns themselves that we find any relief from the prevailing uniformity. There are interesting differences in their capitals, and in their bases also, which are, however, buried underground. In the ruder carving is seen an attempt on the part of the Moorish masons to copy the work of the more skilled craftsmen of Rome and Byzantium. The mean vaulting overhead is modern. It is gradually being taken down and replaced by the beautiful carved ceiling of white larchwood which Murphy described a hundred years ago. He says: "Above the first arch is placed a second, considerably narrower and connecting it with the square pillars that support the timber work of the roof, which is not less curious in its execution than are the other parts of the building. It was put together in the time of Abd-ur-Rahman I., and subsists to this day unimpaired, though partially concealed by the plaster-work of the modern arches. The beams contain many thousands of cubic feet; the bottoms and side of the cross beams have been carved and painted with different figures; the rafters also are painted red. Such parts as retain the paint are untouched by worms: the other parts, where the paint no longer remains, are so little affected that the decay of a thousand years is scarcely perceptible; and, what is rarely to be seen in an edifice of such antiquity, no cobwebs whatever are to be traced here. The timber work of the roof is further covered with lead; and the whole has been executed with such precision and taste, that it may justly be pronounced a _chef-d'œuvre_ of art, both with respect to the arrangement of the different parts, as well as to the extent and solidity of the whole."

But what must have lent so much of beauty to the building originally was that, instead of being enclosed with walls as it is at present, its long arcades opened into the groves of orange trees without, which were simply their natural continuation--a graceful and symmetrical plan which one would like to see attempted in modern times. Though, too, every Mohammedan temple is necessarily simple in plan and can never approach the Christian churches in elaboration and gorgeousness, here Moslem art exhausted its ingenuity on the embellishment of those more sacred parts of the building such as the Sanctuary and the Maksurrah.

The Sanctuary or Zeka has been spared to us. It is a little heptagonal recess, paved with white marble and roofed with a shell-like cupola of marble of a single block. The sides are formed by dentated horseshoe arches which interlace and enclose each other in a beautiful complication. Here in the southern wall is the recess which indicated the direction of Mecca, and towards which the worshippers turned; it is adorned with exquisite mosaic work and with inscriptions from the Koran and the names of the architects. In the Sanctuary was preserved for several centuries after the Reconquest the superb "mimbar" or pulpit of Al Hakem II. "It was of marble," says Señor de Madrazo, "and of the most precious woods, such as ebony, red sandal-wood, bakam, Julian aloe, etc.; it cost 35,000 dineros and 3 adirames. It had nine steps." We are told that it was composed of 36,000 pieces of wood, joined with pins of silver and gold, and encrusted with precious stones. Its construction lasted seven years, eight artificers being employed upon it daily. This tribune was reserved for the khalifa, and in it was deposited the principal object of the veneration of the Moslems of Andalusia and Al Moghreb--a copy of the Koran supposed to have been written by Othman and stained with his precious blood. This treasure was preserved in a binding of cloth-of-gold sewn with pearls and rubies, covered with the richest red silk, and placed on a lectern of aloe-wood with nails of gold. Its weight was extraordinary, and two men could carry it only with difficulty. It was placed in the mimbar, when the imam read from it the prayer of the Azulah, and was then placed in the treasury with the gold and silver vessels used in the ceremonies of the "Ramadan."

The Maksurrah is now transformed into the chapel of Villa Viciosa. Here sat the khalifa when not officiating as imam. Little is visible of the original decoration, except the cupola, similar to that of the Sanctuary. Adjacent to this chapel another has been discovered which it is thought will prove to be the treasury to which Madrazo refers.

When Cordova was taken by St. Ferdinand in 1236, the mosque was reconsecrated as a Christian cathedral, but little alteration was made in the original structure. It was in 1523 that the unfortunate idea possessed the bishop, Don Alfonso Manrique, to build a new church in the middle of the Mohammedan temple. So proud were the Cordovans of their great monument, that the municipality threatened the innovators with death if they ventured to carry the project into execution. However, this decree was overridden by an order from Charles V., who knew so little what he was about that on visiting Cordova a few years later, he bitterly expressed his regret at having allowed the mosque to be interfered with. Two hundred columns had been swept away to make room for the existing chancel, choir, and lateral chapels. Though we resent their appearance here, these parts of the church are not wanting in taste and richness. The reredos of jasper and bronze is painted by Antonio Palomino, and flanks a sumptuous and beautifully moulded tabernacle. Not so much praise can be bestowed on the choir, where, however, the stalls by Pedro Duque Cornejo reveal skilful workmanship. Lope de Rueda, the Spanish Molière, is entombed here. In the Cathedral is also buried the poet Gongora, whose style is aptly compared by Mme. Dieulafoy to that of Churriguera in architecture. A more interesting grave is that of Doña Maria de Guzman de Paredes, a lady celebrated for her wit and wisdom in the days of Philip II., and who won every degree it was in the power of the University of Alcalá to confer. Duque Cornejo is also buried here.

In the Sacristy is a fine monstrance by Juan de Arfe. The chapels do not call for particular examination.

If the Mezquita is strange within, it is eminently picturesque without. The massive walls are crenellated and supported by stout square buttresses. Between these are horseshoe arches, richly decorated, and forming originally sixteen entrances, most of which are now blocked up. The Puerta del Perdon has been adorned with the arms of Castile and Leon, and is secured by bronze doors of an interesting type. An inscription upon it runs:--"On the 2nd day of the month of March of the era of Cæsar 1415 (1577 A.D.), in the reign of the Most High and Mighty Don Enrique, King of Castile."

Of the minaret, once equal to the Giralda and, like it, once surmounted by great metal globes, only the lowest storey remains, an earthquake having thrown down the superstructure in the sixteenth century. And the famous Court of the Orange Trees, on to which the aisles at one time opened, has lost much of its charm. The trees are stunted and withered, and the soil covered with coarse grass and weeds. On three sides the court is surrounded by a gallery, on the fourth by the buildings of the chapter. The basin was placed here in 945 by Abd-ur-Rahman, and might with advantage be used for its original purpose by some of the habitués of the patio. Two Roman columns at the entrance to the Cathedral announce the distance to Gades (114 miles) from the Temple of Janus, which stood on this site.

On the whole the far-famed Mezquita may be pronounced disappointing. It must always be so with the simply planned temples of Islam, when they are stripped of the innumerable lamps, the rich carpets and handsome furniture, still to be seen in them at Cairo, Constantinople, and Smyrna.

Of the magnificent Palace of the Khalifas, the wonderful domain of Az Zahara, no trace remains. It was built by a Byzantine architect on the flanks of a hill, three miles north-east of Cordova, which the khalifa at one time thought of levelling. Arab writers declare this to have been the largest palace, as of course it was the most magnificent, ever raised by the hand of man. The harem (_credat Judæus_) could accommodate 6,000 women, 3,790 eunuchs, and 1,500 guards. Marble appears to have been freely used in the construction, from which it would seem that the building bore little resemblance to the Alcazar of a later day. There were, of course, thousands--tens of thousands--of columns brought from Rome and Tunis, and probably from Carthage, and fine fragments of terra-cotta are still unearthed on the site. Aqueducts conducted sweet waters to every chamber in the palace, and fountains cooled the air in the luxuriantly planted gardens. We are told of the Hall of Ceremonial, with its brilliant mosaics and its ceiling of scented wood, in the centre of which was set an immense pearl, the gift of the Emperor Constantinos Porphyrogenitos. And we hear in addition of basins filled with quicksilver for the amusement of the odalisques.

This gorgeous pile owes its existence to a favourite of the Khalifa An Nasir, who at her death directed that her immense wealth should be employed in ransoming Moslem prisoners in the clutch of the Christian. The bereaved potentate sent east, west, north and south in order to execute this pious request, only to find to his joy that no such thing as a Moslem captive was anywhere to be found. The happy thought then came to him to expend the money on the erection of a palace to be named after a new favourite, Zahara, whose name it should perpetuate, and in whose society he might hope to forget the deceased. This seems to us a somewhat queer application of the legacy. The work occupied ten thousand men daily for many years, and cost during An Nasir's reign alone seven and a half millions of dineros or pieces of gold.

The palace seems to have excited, as well it might, the cupidity of neighbouring monarchs. Alfonso VI., the conqueror of Toledo, demanded it of the Amir Al Mutamed, as a residence for his queen, Doña Constancia, whose accouchement he suggested might take place in the mosque. It was the Moor's rejection of this original proposal that led to hostilities, and threw the Spanish Moslems into the arms of the terrible Almorávides. Those fierce sectaries seem to have entirely neglected Az Zahara, and under the puritanical Almohades we can easily imagine it would be suffered to decay. How little was left of it when Ferdinand took the place is shown by his referring to it merely as Cordova la Vieja (Old Cordova).

Men who lived in such comfort and luxury might be supposed to have regarded their less fortunate fellows with easy good nature and tolerance, and according to most historians the khalifas of Cordova were benevolent despots, even towards their Christian subjects. Some Spanish writers, however, paint the lot of these last in gloomy colours, though, if we accept their accounts _in toto_, without the least reservation, there can be no question that the lot of the Christian under the Moor was very much better than the lot of the Moor under the Christian. But that standpoint would not be that of the historians in question. They are frankly partisans. The Mohammedans, they would argue, deserved what they got, because they worshipped the false Prophet; the Christians were in the right. It is more difficult to understand their vehement condemnation of the Bishop Recafred, because he forbade his flock to seek voluntary martyrdom by publicly cursing Mohammed. To curse the Arabian Prophet or anyone else is nowhere laid down as a Christian's duty, and on merely prudential grounds the prelate was surely justified in dissuading his people from pursuing a course which must finally have resulted in their complete extermination. Probably in disgust at the ingratitude and imbecility of his flock, Recafred embraced the creed of Islam, and died cursed and abominated by the people whose utter extinction he had averted. The history of the martyrs of Cordova is a curious chapter in the annals of religion.

It was recently remarked of Italy that there was not enough faith to generate a heresy, and by a parity of reasoning the lamp of faith must have burnt very brightly in the Christian community of Cordova. The Saracen authorities were bewildered by the multitude of sects and factions which claimed to represent the Church of Christ, and to administer its temporalities. Councils of the Christian prelates were frequently convoked by the khalifas, but by the defeated side their decisions were always branded as schismatical or heretical. Religious debate is the favourite occupation of a decaying State, and the Mohammedans themselves had their divisions. The doctors of the law, who congregated in a special quarter of the capital, constituted themselves the critics of their rulers and of public morals. They considered culture and luxury incompatible with morality, and preached the creed of the Uncomfortable and the Unlovely with the zest of an English Puritan. One day there arose a sovereign (Hakem) more sensitive of censure than his predecessors. He burnt out the Puritan quarter and forced the zealots to take refuge in distant parts where their peculiar talents were more in demand.

The more human side of Islam found an embodiment in the illustrious Ziryab, the favourite of Abd-ur-Rahman II. In his case, I suppose, as in all else, it is necessary to discount by fifty per cent. all the appreciations of Arabic writers; yet through all the cobwebs of exaggeration and tradition, we can discern the outlines of a very remarkable personality. Ziryab was the Admirable Crichton of his age. He combined the attributes of Leonardo da Vinci and Beau Nash. He alone could decide on the proper method of eating asparagus and on the planning of a city. He could pronounce with finality on the wisdom of a move at chess and a far-reaching treaty of state. He had views on the organization of armies and aviaries; he was listened to with equal respect by statesmen and scullery-maids. And (wonderful to relate) this authority on everybody's business was loved by everyone!

The history of Cordova, like that of most capitals, belongs to the nation at large, and cannot be more than touched upon here. Memorials of ancient days are the picturesque Moorish walls with their flanking towers and the grand old bridge of sixteen arches, built by the khalifas. It marked the limit of navigation in Roman days, whereas now no boat can ascend the Guadalquivir above Seville. The bridge is defended on the south side by a very picturesque _tête du pont_ called Calahorra, a fine specimen of the medieval barbican. Here a strange scene was witnessed in the year 1394, when the prototype of Don Quixote, Don Martin de la Barbuda, Grand Master of Calatrava, appeared at the head of a few knights and a fanatical rabble on his way to fight the Moors of Granada. His enterprise was directly counter to the king's orders; the two countries were at peace. The royal officers assembled on the bridge expostulated and threatened the crusaders in vain. The Grand Master was accompanied by a hermit, who exhorted him to proceed and promised him that his victory should be purchased without the loss of a single Christian life. The officials were swept aside, and the wild cavalcade went on its way to destruction. None of the knights ever returned alive across the bridge of Cordova.

During the four centuries following the Reconquest, the city boasted that it was the home of the finest flower of the European aristocracy. Their old mansions have for the most part disappeared, but the name of the most distinguished member of the order is treasured in Cordova and honoured far beyond the limits of Spain. Gonzalo Hernandez de Aguilar y de Cordova, "the Great Captain," is the hero of the city. The principal street is named after him, as indeed one might suppose the town to have been, from the reverence in which he is held. On the whole, he was the greatest soldier this country has produced. With forces hardly superior to those with which Cortes and Pizarro conquered a savage foe, he vanquished the best equipped troops in Christendom and matched his strength successfully against the most brilliant warriors of his day. His reward, it is hardly necessary to say of the servant of a fifteenth-century king, was ingratitude and neglect. When the odious Ferdinand V. demanded from him a statement of his military expenditure, he responded with the famous "Cuentas del Gran Capitan," which silenced even the venal monarch. The statement ran:

"200,736 ducats and 9 reals paid to the clergy and the poor who prayed for the victory of the arms of Spain.

"100 millions in pikes, bullets, and entrenching tools; 100,000 in powder and cannon-balls, 10,000 ducats in scented gloves to preserve the troops from the odour of the enemies' dead left on the battlefield; 100,000 ducats spent in the repair of the bells completely worn out by every day announcing fresh victories gained over our enemies; 50,000 ducats in 'aguardiente' for the troops, on the eve of battle. A million and a half for the safeguarding prisoners and wounded.

"One million for Masses of Thanksgiving, 700,494 ducats for secret service, etc.

"And one hundred millions for the patience with which I have listened to the King, who demands an account from the man who has presented him with a kingdom"!

This singular balance-sheet sufficiently shows the temper of the grandees of Spain even in the days of the New Monarchy. Cordova has reason to be proud of her eponymous hero. She has not been very fruitful in great men. She has produced no painters of eminence, unless Pablo de Cespedes may be classed among such; but Mme. Dieulafoy reminds us that to Juan de Mena, a native of the place and a courtier of Juan II., Spanish poetry is deeply indebted:

"His great work, 'The Labyrinth,' may in a measure be compared with that part of the 'Divina Commedia' where the Florentine places himself under the protection of Beatrice. Accompanied by a beautiful young woman personifying Providence, the poet witnesses the apparition of the worthies of History and Legend, and amuses himself in sketching their portraits. At times the style becomes heavy and pedantic, at others the touches of the pencil have a vigour and simplicity altogether Dantesque. Before Juan de Mena, the Castilian muse had never taken so daring a flight; and in spite of the defects of the general scheme, the untasteful phraseology, and the measure, 'The Labyrinth' abounds in conceptions and episodes where energy blended with beauty reveals a genius of the first order."

From poetry to leather the transition may seem abrupt, but it is to be feared that our city has derived more renown from the latter than the former. The stamped and gilded leather of Cordova was highly esteemed all over the civilized world from the fifteenth century to the eighteenth. Whether the industry was introduced by the Moors it is idle to inquire; long after their departure it formed the principal business and source of revenue of the Spaniards of the city. A powerful guild laid down strict rules as to apprenticeship, and regulated the quality and quantity of the manufacture. Terrible penalties were enforced against the tanner who made use of the hides of animals that had died of disease. The kings of Spain considered trunks or other objects bound in Cordova leather gifts very suitable for their fellow-princes. The Catholic kings, absurdly enough, forbade its exportation to the New World, not wishing to deprive the mother-country of goods of such price. With protection on this scale, we are not surprised to learn that the industry began to decline. Cordova was at length surpassed in its own line by Venice and other cities. The rich specimens of its work which adorned the mansions of its old noblesse were sold and dispersed all over the world, upon the general impoverishment of the kingdom in the eighteenth century. Then came the sack of the city, a hundred years ago, by the army of Dupont. Time has spared the famous race of Cordovan horses, and many a poor hidalgo rides into the town on a steed which if sold in London might redeem his shattered fortunes.

I have said a great deal about Cordova and its titles to remembrance; but it must be confessed that there is little enough to see in it. The churches present no features of interest, except the Colegiata de San Hipolito, modernized in 1729, which contains the tombs of Ferdinand IV. and Alfonso XI. Nor is walking through the city an exercise altogether pleasing, as the streets which were the first paved in Europe, in 850, might also claim to be the worst paved in the world. The stones are so sharp and pointed that in parts you have to skip from one to the other, like a bear dancing on hot iron--an original but ungraceful method of locomotion. A drive in the surrounding country is productive of more pleasure. The neighbourhood is a Paradise of fertility, and sets one wondering what becomes of all the money that this must bring in and represent. Spain and Greece are very poor countries, but I do not think that Spaniards and Greeks are, for the most part, very poor.