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LETTER X.
CAFÉS. WEDDING CEREMONY. CATHEDRAL CONTINUED. ALCAZAR HOSPITAL OF SANTA CRUZ. CONVENT OF LA CONCEPTION. MYSTERIOUS CAVERN. CONVENT OF SANTA FE, OR OF SANTIAGO. SONS-IN-LAW OF THE CID

Toledo.

One of the first contrasts between this and other countries, which forces itself on the observation, is the amalgamation of the different classes of society in public places of resort. The grandee is far too sure of his personal importance and consideration, to entertain any fear of its being diminished by contact with those of inferior rank; and the peasant is far too proud to importune his superiors by any indiscreet efforts at familiarity.

At Burgos I found the Gefe politico, or governor of the province, sipping his lemonade in the evening at the café; his elbow brushing the back of a mayoral of a diligence, and surrounded by an assemblage of all classes of the male inhabitants of the town. These cafés are curious establishments; they are divided into two classes—the Café, properly so called, and the Botilleria—in which tea and coffee are not usually called for, but all the other refreshments of the café; such as helados (frozen beverages of all sorts), sorbetes (ices), liqueurs, wines, etc. These latter are the resort, in some towns, of both sexes, and indeed the cafés also in a less degree. But the etiquette in these things differs in the different provinces.

At Madrid, where foreign customs first penetrate, ladies are rarely seen in these resorts; by which they are considerable losers. No doubt, were the attractions of French cafés sufficiently powerful, your sex would not have withered them, by their disdain, into the uncivilized dens which they are. You are not of course invited by the billiard tables, or by the allurements of black coffee and cognac; but were the waiters to set before you a tumbler of frozen lemonade after a July evening's dusty walk, you would speedily bring such habits into fashion.

Much as the refreshments of Spanish cafés have been celebrated, their fame is surpassed by the reality. It is only when you have panted through a southern summer's day, and breathed an atmosphere of fire, that you are disposed to receive the illustration of the full sense of the word refreshment; and it is then they hand you a brobdignag goblet, brim full of frozen orange-water or lemonade, or snow-white orgeat—which, from the imperceptible inroads made by the teaspoon on its closing-up surface, appears likely to last you the whole night. These and other similar luxuries, including the ices, at which those of a Grange or Tortoni would melt with jealousy, are plentiful in second and third-rate towns, and rank among the necessaries of life, rather than as objects of indulgence. They are of course cheap, or it would not answer.

The poor apply to the distributors of iced barley-water, who carry about a sort of cask, strapped between their shoulders, and containing ice in the centre, to maintain the frigidity of the beverage. By lowering and advancing the left shoulder, the vendor pours the contents of the cask through a small neck or pipe into the glasses, which he carries in a flat basket with cellaret partitions. A tumbler of this costs a halfpenny; its imbibing occupies two or three minutes, and assuages for hours the sufferings of the thirstiest palate.

At Madrid, the cafés have each its political colour; except that called del Principe, after the adjoining theatre. In this, politics are less characterised, literature having here taken up her quarters. It is probable that she is a less profitable customer, being habitually less thirsty. Accordingly, on putting your head into the door, you see a saloon far more brilliantly lighted up than the others; but the peripatetic doctrines seem to prevail. Few persons are seated at the tables; and instead of the more profitable wear and tear of broken glasses, the proprietor probably finds substituted a thankless annual item for worn out floors. In the same street there is a club; but this is an exotic importation and on the exclusive plan, not quite of London, but of the Paris cercles.

In the cafés of Toledo, on the days of fiesta, the fair sex predominates, especially in summer. The great resort is, however, the Zocodover, from nine to ten in the evening. This little irregularly formed plaza is crowded like an assembly-room, and possesses its rows of trees, although a respectable oak would almost fill it.

A soirée has occasionally been known to be given in Toledo, but it is an occurrence of much rarity, and mostly occasioned by some unusual event,—the arrival of a public singer, or, still more unusual, a newly made fortune. The other evening I was admitted to one, the pretext for which was a wedding. This ceremony takes place at the residence of the bride, and although a subsequent formality is necessary in the Church, its delay does not defer the validity of the union, nor its consummation. The wedding-day arrived, the families and friends of both parties assemble at eight in the evening.

The bride was distinguishable by a white veil or mantilla in the middle seat of a sofa, between her mother and sister, who rose to receive the guests. A narrow table had been dressed up into a temporary altar, and furnished with a crucifix and candles. All the party being arrived, a priest left his chair, and entered an adjoining room to robe; on his reappearance the company rose and flocked round the bride and bridegroom, who stood together before the priest, doing penance each with a long wax-light in the right hand, held in a muslin handkerchief.

The ceremony lasts about ten minutes without any change of posture. The priest departs to unrobe; the miserable bride and blushing bridegroom receive felicitations; and all resume their seats, and look at each other.

Presently chocolate was handed round, and an attempt at conversational murmur commenced, afterwards ices. And now the minister took a formal leave of the company, after complimenting the bride. Two or three other holy men, obedient to the signal, carried out their interminable hats before them: when a sudden revolution broke out. At the closing of the door on the hindmost ecclesiastic the bridegroom rushed to the altar, and grasping with one hand the crucifix, and with the other two of the candlesticks, ran to the apartment that had assumed the character of vestry, and deposited them there, followed by officious friends bearing the remaining articles, until every awe-compelling symbol had disappeared. One or two guitars were extracted from their hiding-places under sofas, and sent forth careless but lively preludes. The men stood up and circulated; the women talked and laughed; a quadrille was speedily formed, and concluded; waltzing followed, and forfeits, and whatever you like, and—"the arrangements were on a scale of costly magnificence, and the festivities were prolonged, &c."

But these events are rare in Toledo. The every-day amusements consist in an infamous theatre, and the promenade; this is only on Saints' days; but these are almost every day. On six or seven occasions in the year, these promenades are absolute events, and much looked forward to. It is necessary to inquire which is the promenade patronised by the saint of the great day, whoever he is, and take your place in the tide, for no one absents himself.

Dresses for these celebrations are things pre-meditated; and the effect produced, and all the little events and rencontres of the day form for each belle, thrilling subjects of retrospection. Mantillas may be trimmed, and innocent plots woven for these occasions, without danger of disappointment by clouds or storms; and instead of the Virgin being implored that the sun may shine, who never disappoints them, she is sometimes requested to inspire some ruse for a momentary escape from his too searching effulgence.

Here may fair foreigners feast their eyes on fawn-coloured majos, whose every step (although no more exalted beings than butchers, postilions, horsedealers, and such like) would be envied by Antinous and Apollo. I should advise no veils, nor winkings, nor blinkings on these occasions, but eyes wide open—for never more (the Pyrenees once repassed) will their orbits expand to the forms and costumes of blackguards half so beautiful.

But these are subjects slightly unsuited to the interior of the cathedral, of our presence in which we are evidently forgetful. The Mozarabic Chapel, founded by Cardinal Ximenes de Cisneros, is situated under the southern tower, and contains a Virgin and Child executed in Mosaic, and a curious old fresco painting, representing the battle of Oran, at which the Cardinal was victorious over the Arabs. This chapel is set apart for the performance of the Mozarabic ritual, still retained by a portion of the population of Toledo, and the exercise of which was continued in several churches, until the closing of some of them at the recent revolution.

The Arab conquerors of Spain exercised towards the religion of the country, the most complete and liberal tolerance. All who preferred remaining in the conquered towns to flight and exile, were allowed to retain a sufficient number of places of worship for the free exercise of their religion. On the subsequent introduction of the Italian missal, those who retained the ancient gothic forms were called Mozarabes (mixti Arabes, according to some, from their service being the same as that in use during the co-existence together of the two creeds). A more probable origin is attributed to the expression by some antiquaries, who derive it from Muza, the name of the Moorish general. The mass of the Christians who had taken refuge in the Asturias, applied the term to their brethren, who preferred accepting from the Arabs what they considered a degrading tolerance. The following singular mode of decision was adopted for the purpose of settling the question between the two missals.

The King, Alonzo the Sixth, the Archbishop Don Bernardo, and the court, were among the advocates of the new missal, which, being adopted in Rome, they were very desirous of establishing on the occasion of the restoration of the Christian supremacy at Toledo. The mass of the people were attached to their ancient forms. It was resolved that the question should be decided by an appeal to a sort of neutral power; and Mars was selected, probably on account of his being a person disinterested in the affair. A champion was chosen by each party, and a day appointed for settling the difference by single combat. Accordingly, the court, the clergy, and the people being assembled, the representatives of the two missals took their station, lance in rest, and on the appointed signal spurred to the encounter. The ancient missal was approved of by the warlike god; but the King and his party were dissatisfied with the result, and resolved on another trial. A large fire was lighted in the principal plaza, and the two missals were thrown into it.

Again the ancient forms conquered, the rival parchment having caught the flame and being drawn out in a blaze. The populace now commenced a cry of triumph; but, to their great disappointment, the King, in his quality of umpire, pronounced a judgment which he might as easily have put in execution before the trials: namely, that considering that the Roman Missal, although on fire, was not consumed, they were both equally agreeable to the deity—they should therefore both be preserved, and that some of the more ancient churches should continue the exercise of the Mozarabic service, while the Roman ritual should be established in the metropolitan temple, and in the greater number of the parishes.

Before we leave the cathedral, the cloister claims our attention. It is a spacious and handsome quadrangle, inclosing a garden. The eastern wall is adorned with excellent frescos of comparatively modern date, and all bearing the same signature—Francisco Bayeu. There are seven subjects on that side, being the number of intervals corresponding with the arcades, and three more continuing down another side. The best are two, taken from the history of Saint Casilda; and three from that of San Eugenio, first archbishop of Toledo, martyrised in France. The arcades on the east side are shut in by large pieces of sail-cloth, in order to protect the paintings against the sun's rays.

The library of manuscripts belonging to this cathedral is distinguished rather by the quality than the quantity of its contents. It is approached by a staircase communicating with the cloister, and is a handsome room. It contains a copy of the Talmud on the papyrus leaves, and in the Coptic dialect. The following are also among its treasures: The Book of Esther in Hebrew, on a single piece of parchment; two bibles of the seventh century, one of which belonged to St. Isidore; the missal used by Charles the Fifth in the monastery of Yuste; the poems of Dante, manuscript of the poet's time, with illustrations; the laws of Alonso the Tenth (surnamed the wise), and a volume of his poetical works, with the music opposite those intended to be sung: two ancient Chinese volumes, one on botany, the other on natural history, both illustrated.

The next edifice I visited was the Alcazar, the largest and most conspicuous building in Toledo. I expected to find there some Arab and Roman remains, having so read in more than one tour. It was not until some time after my visit that I obtained the information that the Moorish palace occupied a different site. The present comparatively modern building is principally of two epochs. On the east is the original portion erected by Alonzo the Sixth. The entire north and south fronts are probably additions of Philip the Second. The whole partakes of a divided character between castle and palace: it is not remarkable for any architectural merit, possessing neither beauty as a palace, nor solidity as a fortress; and having been occupied as a military position during the war of the succession, and more recently in that of independence, its being already a ruin, before its modern appearance would seem to legitimize such a state, causes no surprise. But its position is superb. Occupying the most elevated point of the town, it far exceeds the whole by the immense height of its walls, and commands an admirable view of the surrounding country. The only object deserving notice in this ruin is a colossal staircase, which occupies an entire side of the court,—a length of about two hundred and fifty feet,—and is ornamented by a light and elegant colonnade. This edifice ceased to be a palace on the final establishment of the court at Madrid, and after some time became the manufactory whence issued the famous silk and velvet brocades, the fabrication of which has now ceased, but with which Toledo formerly supplied the wardrobes of the court, and the well-garnished sacristies of Spain's wealthiest cathedrals.

Descending from the Alcazar through the Plaza de Zocodover, and thence towards the bridge of Alcantara, a few yards from the Plaza bring us in view of the façade of the Hospital of Santa Cruz, or "de los niños expositos,"—foundling hospital. The institution owes its origin to the Archbishop, Don Pedro Gonzalez de Mendoza, called the Great Cardinal of Spain. Although death prevented his witnessing the execution of his project, his fortune, administered by his next relatives and executors,—the Queen Isabella, and the Duke of Infantado,—was employed in the erection of the buildings, and in the endowment of the establishment. The plans and conditions were not even drawn up until after the Cardinal's death; and they were never entirely put in execution. The church consists of one nave, of a length out of all proportion to its width and elevation. It was to have been crossed by another of the same proportions, with the exception of the elevation, which was to have been eighty feet in both. This combined with the length—about three hundred and fifty feet, as is seen in the existing nave,—would have rendered the edifice one of the most extraordinary in existence. The altar was to have stood in the centre of the intersection of the two naves. As it is, the long bare interior looks as though it had been destined for a picture gallery or library, but rather for the latter from the low-coved roof of cedar, and from the inadequate distribution of light. To the left of the altar is seen a portrait of the founder; and on the opposite side, about a hundred feet further down the nave, a large Adoration,—a superior painting, especially with regard to the colouring: the author unknown.

There are two large courts surrounded by arcades: one of them is a model of lightness and beauty, and contains in one of its angles an admirably ornamented staircase. The architect of the Santa Cruz was Enrique Egas, who also built the celebrated hospital of the same name at Valladolid. He designed the whole according to the style then introduced, after the pointed style had been abandoned, and which in Spain received vulgarly the appellation of Plateresco, from the ornaments resembling the embossing of a silversmith. It is also confounded with the Renacimiento. The Plateresco style, from the too great liberty it afforded the architect, of setting aside the classic models, and following his own inventions, has produced in Spain, more than in any other country, (from there being at that period more wealth devoted to the construction of public monuments there than elsewhere,) the evil effects resulting from ill-guided and unrestrained powers of imagination. Fortunately, however, a few architects existed whose more correct taste kept them within some bounds; and who, in deserting the old models, replaced them by a style, if less pure, yet by no means inelegant. The architect Egas appears to have partaken of both natures at different moments; for, while his court above-mentioned is a specimen of consummate grace and good taste, the entrance front of the building is one of the bad examples of the style of the period.

The establishment covers a large space, about half the extent occupied by the double palace of the Arab kings of Toledo. The remainder of the site contains two convents,—that of Santiago, and that of the Conception. The hospital was conducted formerly on a scale proportionate to the extent of its accommodation; but it is now no more than a reminiscence; the revenues having probably been incorporated in the recent registrations of national property. The number of inmates at present enjoying the benefits of the foundation amounts to fourteen only.

The Convent of la Conception adjoins the hospital of Santa Cruz. From the exterior are seen two churches, placed in close parallel contact, and each composed of a single nave. Both are evidently very ancient, one being in the Arab style; but the form of the other renders it probable that it is the more ancient of the two. You are disappointed after being shown this last, on being informed that the Moorish portion is forbidden ground, being appropriated by the nuns to their private use, and possessing no communication with the adjoining edifice, but a curtained grating, through which its secluded inmates assist at religious services. In the public church, a singular ornament figures on a conspicuous part of the wall near the entrance; it is the carcass of a large crocodile, fixed high enough to be out of reach, although no one would be likely to purloin so unwieldy a curiosity. We are told the animal frequented the neighbourhood of Toledo; where, under cover of the pine forests, which formerly extended far over this mountainous region, its existence had long filled with terror the few travellers whom their mercantile pursuits compelled to pass within its accustomed haunts: that at length a knight (it was in the reign of Ferdinand and Isabella) clothed in a full suit of armour, rode forth from Toledo, fully resolved to try conclusions with the monster, in order if possible to immortalize his name throughout the surrounding regions, by ridding them of so dire a scourge. The battle took place, and victory declaring for the knight, whose name unfortunately does not figure in the legend,—he assembled the peasants, and had his enemy's carcass borne in triumph to Toledo, where he made a present of it to the convent.

While on the subject of traditions, it is worth while adverting to a cavern, the entrance of which exists in this part of the town; and which is said to extend to a distance of eight miles, passing under the Tagus. It is related that somewhat less than a century back, the government ordered this cavern to be explored; but the exploring party was met at the commencement of the descent by so violent a gust of wind, as to extinguish all the torches, and the courage of the explorers, for the attempt was never resumed. The failure by no means contributed to diminish the mysterious qualities attributed to the cavern, on the subject of which the wildest notions are currently entertained.

A worthy and excellent native of Toledo, to whose antiquarian enthusiasm (a quality doubly valuable here from its scarcity) I am indebted for some information and much entertainment, undertook one day to enlighten me with regard to the origin of this subterranean curiosity. Commencing by warning my credulity against the innumerable fables current on the subject, and which only resembled each other in their absurdity and impossibility, he added, "The real fact is this,—the cavern is the work of Hercules, who excavated it for the accommodation of the assemblies of the people, whom he instructed in the elements of magic."

The convent of Santiago, or of Santa Fé, or of Las monjas santiagistas, or Las cavalleras, occupies the portion of the ancient Moorish alcazar, remaining from the site of the two last-mentioned buildings. It is built round two courts, one of which is divided into planted parterres, intersected with brick-paved walks. The architecture of this first court is very simple; it consists of a plain arcade of semicircular arches supported on square piers, and a repetition of the same on the first story. From this court opens the parlour of the Commendadora or abbess, and the choir, which forms a continuation of the public chapel. There is also under the arcade a folding door, which, when opened exhibits a collection of small pictures attached to it, as on the leaves of an album, and others suspended against the portion of wall it encloses. The centre painting of these last represents the Mater dolorosa weeping over the dead body of her Son. It has much of the manner of Alonzo Cano, and is an admirable painting, more especially the dead body: the superior, however, did not know the name of the artist. She complained bitterly of the loss of a first-rate picture of the Divino Morales, which formerly occupied the place of her little collection, and which was taken possession of by Marshal Soult.

The second court is highly ornamental owing to the elegance of its architecture, and its magnificent proportions; it is a long quadrangle; the pillars below are very lofty, and support the gallery above without intermediate arches. They are not of a pure design, the shafts being too long for their diameter: in other respects they imitate the Tuscan order. Those of the arcade above are Ionic; but the effect here is destroyed by walls and windows, which have been constructed in their intervals, for the purpose of converting the open gallery into a warmer corridor. The walls below are clothed to the height of about four feet with the azulejos, or porcelain mosaic, of the sort originally employed by the Arabs, and from which the ornament took its name, being blue and white, without any other colour.

Opening from this court is the Sala Capitular a handsome saloon used on occasions of elections of the Commendadora, or other solemnities, which do not take place in the church. It contains a portrait of the sister of St. Ferdinand,—a member of the community; and a curious picture of St. Iago leading to victory the christian army of Don Ramiro the First. In fulfilment of a promise made to the king the night preceding the battle of Albayde, the apostle, according to the historians, led the army in person, mounted on a milk-white charger, which cantered along at a sufficient elevation over the heads of the combatants, to be visible to all; thus inspiring, simultaneously, his protégés with confidence, and the Moors with terror. From that victory the Spanish war-cry of Santiago is said to derive its origin.

The buildings on the north side of the large court stand on the brink of a perpendicular rock, overhanging the faubourg on the Madrid side of Toledo, and commanding right and left the luxuriant vega, to an extent of from forty to fifty miles. Over the highest story of this portion of the building, and forming a continuation of the rock, a Belvidere has been constructed, the roof of which is supported by piers, leaving all the sides open: it forms a promenade of about a hundred feet in length, by twenty-five in width.

The regulations of this convent are much less strict than those observed by all other religious communities. It would not otherwise have been possible to obtain permission to visit the establishment in detail. The monjas cavalleras (knight-nuns) of the military order of Santiago, take the white veil only, and not the black. If a nun inherits a property, she obtains permission from the council of military orders, sitting at Madrid, to absent herself from the convent for the purpose of transacting all necessary business. The same permission may be obtained in cases of illness. In taking the vows there is no prostration beneath the veil. The novice crosses her hands in a kneeling posture, and takes the oath on the Gospel. One is struck by something invincibly puzzling in this amalgamation of military regulation with religious hierarchy and female seclusion. They call themselves knights; their abbess, commander. The king, as Grand Master of the military orders (since Ferdinand the Fifth) of Calatrava, Alcantara, and Santiago, is their recognised chief; and whenever military mass is required to be performed, the troops march into their chapel to beat of drum.

I was even assured that these recluses are not obliged to refuse a hand offered for a waltz, if it belongs to an arm having an epaulette at its other extremity; and that such scenes are known to occur in the presence of the commandress herself.

Our party, formed for the visit to this convent, having been presented to the superior, she gave directions to a nun to show us every part of the establishment. This sister, who, we were told, bore the title and rank of serjeantess (sargenta), possessed the remains of great beauty, and her (probably) forty summers had not injured her commanding and graceful figure. No sooner had she ushered us into the choir than she left us for an instant, and returned with her mantle of ceremony,—the costume in which they take the vow, and in which they appear on all occasions of solemnity. It was with evident satisfaction that she performed this part of her duties of cicerone; nor was it to be wondered at. No costume could have been invented better calculated to set off her natural advantages. It is composed of a sort of white serge, and appears to have no seam. Attached round the shoulders it sweeps the ground with a train of four or five feet. A cross of scarlet cloth, bound with dark brown edges, and of a graceful form, figures on the portion which covers the left arm from the shoulder to the elbow. The white cap, gathered all over into minute plaits, rises into two parallel ridges, which passing over to the back of the head, imitate the form of a helmet. Two large lappets descend to the shoulders and complete the costume, which is entirely white, with the exception of the cross. In walking round the choir to display to us the effect of this dress, the fair santiagista was a model of majesty and grace.

To judge from her replies to our questions, it would appear that the system of softening the severity of monastic seclusion, and of partial and occasional communication with the beings of the outer world, instead of producing more contentment in the minds of the recluses, may possibly tend to unsettle them, and render them more dissatisfied with their lot. When asked how long she had inhabited the convent, she replied with an unrestrained and most pathetic inflation of the chest, more eloquent than the loudest complaint—"A very long time; nearly twenty years." The white mantle, she told us, was an object the sight of which always gave birth to serious reflections; since it was destined not even to quit her after death, but to serve also for her shroud.

COSTUME OF A MILITARY NUN.

The nun's choir is entirely separated from the public chapel, with the exception of two gratings, which admit to the latter the sound of the organ, and through which the nuns have a better view of the church than the public can obtain of the choir, this being less lighted, and on a lower level. Near the choir a small oratory of no greater dimensions than about seven feet square, appears to be the only remains extant of the Arab buildings, which occupied the site. The ceiling is hemispherical, and ornamented in the Arab style; and one of the walls contains a niche surrounded by Arab tracery. I should mention likewise a fountain in the garden, which bears a similar character.

These nuns live less in community with each other than those of other convents; in fact, their life resembles in many respects that of independent single ladies. Each inhabits her own suite of apartments, and keeps her own servant. Her solitary repasts are prepared in her own separate kitchen, and at the hour chosen by herself. Once a-year only, on the occasion of the festival of the patron Apostle, the community assembles at dinner. The common refectory is at present let to strangers, together with other portions of the convent. The novice who wishes to enter this convent must be of good family, (proof of noble descent being demanded up to grand-fathers and grandmothers inclusive) and possessed of property. Of the entrance of the present commendadora into the convent thirty years since, a romantic story is related. She belongs to a family of rank in the province of La Mancha,—and it is worth mentioning, that she recollects Espartero's father, who, as she states, served a neighbouring family in the capacity of cowherd.