III Architectural Arabesques
Preliminaries
The different periods mentioned in the preceding chapter are characterized by a corresponding art-movement.
The germs of these movements came invariably from abroad. In Spain they lingered, were localized and grew up, a species of hybrid plants in which the foreign element was still visible, though it had undergone a series of changes, due either to the addition of other elements, to the inventive genius of the artist-architect, or else peculiar to the locality in which the building was erected.
Other conclusive remarks arrived at in the foregoing study help to explain the evolution of church architecture. Five were the conclusions: (1) The power and wealth of the Church, (2) the influence exerted by foreigners on the country’s fate, (3) the individualistic spirit of the clanspeople, (4) the short duration of a Spanish nation, nipped in the bud before it could bloom, and (5) the formation of an oligarchy (caciquismo) which hindered the establishment of an educated bourgeoisie.
The first of the above conclusive observations needs no further remarks, considering that we are studying church architecture. It suffices to indicate the great number of cathedrals, churches, hermitages, monasteries, convents, cloisters, and episcopal palaces to be convinced of the Church’s influence on the country and on the purses of the inhabitants.
The Spaniard, psychologically speaking, is no artist; it is doubtful if illiterate and uneducated people are, and the average inhabitant of Spain forms no exception to this rule. His artistic talents are exclusively limited to music, for which he has an excessively fine ear. But beauty in the plastic arts and architecture leave him cold and indifferent; he is influenced by mass, weight, and quantity rather than by elegance or lightness, and consequently it is the same to him whether a cathedral be Gothic or Romanesque, as long as it be dedicated to the deity of his choice.
The difference between Italian and Iberian is therefore very marked. Even the landscapes in each country prove it beyond a doubt. In Italy they are composed of soft rolling lines; the colours are varied,—green, red, and blue; the soil is damp and fruitful. In Spain, on the contrary, everything is dry, arid, and savage; blue is the sky, red the brick houses, and grayish golden the soil; the inhabitants are as savage as the country, and the proverbial “ma é piu bello” of the Italian does not bother the former in the slightest.
All of which goes to explain the Spaniard’s insensibility to the plastic arts, as well as (for instance) the universal use of huge retablos or altar-pieces, in which size and bright colours are all that is required and the greater the size, the more clashing the colours, the better.
Neither is it surprising that the Spaniard created no architectural school of his own. All he possesses is borrowed from abroad. His love of Byzantine grotesqueness and of Moorish geometrical arabesques is inherited, the one from the Visigoths, and the other directly from the Moors. The remaining styles are northern and Italian, and were introduced into the country by such foreigners—monks and artists—as crowded to Spain in search of Spanish gold.
These artists (it is true that some, and perhaps the best of them, were Spaniards) did not work for the people, for there was no bourgeoisie. They worked for the wealthy prelates, for the aristocracy, and for the caciques. These latter had sumptuous chapels decorated, dedicated an altar to such and such a deity, and erected a magnificent sepulchre or series of sepulchres for themselves and their families.
This peculiar phenomenon explains the wealth of Spanish churches in lateral chapels. Not a cathedral but has about twenty of them; not a church but possesses its half a dozen. Moreover, some of the very finest examples of sepulchral art are not to be found in cathedrals, but in out-of-the-way village churches, where some cacique or other laid his bones to rest and had his effigy carved on a gorgeous marble tomb.
These chapels are built in all possible styles and in all degrees of splendour and magnificence, according to the generosity of the donor. Here they bulge out, deforming the regular plan of the church, or else they take up an important part of the interior of the building. There they are Renaissance jewels in a Gothic temple, or else ogival marvels in a Romanesque building. They are, as it were, small churches—or important annexes like that of the Condestable in Burgos, possessing a dome of its own—absolutely independent of the cathedral itself, rich in decorative details, luxurious in the use of polished stone and metal, of agate and golden accessories, of gilded friezes, low reliefs, and painted retablos. They constitute one of the most characteristic features of Spanish religious architecture and art in general, and it is above all due to them that Iberia’s cathedrals are museums rather than solemn places of worship.
But the Spanish people did not erect them; they were commanded by vain and death-fearing caciques, and erected by artists—generally foreigners, though often natives. The people did not care nor take any interest in the matter; so long as the village saint was not insulted, nor their individual liberty (fuero) infringed upon, the world, its artists and caciques, could do as it liked.
This insensibility helped to hinder the formation of a national style. Besides, as the duration of the Spanish nation was so exceedingly short, there was no time at hand to develop a national art school. In certain localities, as in Galicia, a prevailing type or style was in common use, and was slowly evolving into something strictly local and excellent. These types, together with Moorish art, and above all Mudejar work, might have evolved still further and produced a national style. But the nation fell to pieces like a dried-up barrel whose hoops are broken, and the nation’s style was never formed.
Besides, contemporary with the birth of the nation was the advent of the Renaissance movement. This was the coup de grâce, the final blow to any germs of a Spanish style, of a style composed of Christian and Islam principles and ideals:
“Es wär zu schön gewesen,
Es hätt’ nicht sollen sein!”
Under the circumstances, the art student in Spain, however enthusiastic or one-sided he may be, cannot claim to discover a national school. He must necessarily limit his studies to the analysis of the foreign art waves which inundated the land; he must observe how they became localized and were modified, how they were united both wisely and ridiculously, and he must point out the reasons or causes of these medleys and transformations. There his task ends.
One peculiarity will strike him: the peninsula possesses no pure Gothic, Romanesque, or Renaissance building. The same might almost be stated as regards Moorish art. The capitals of the pillars in the mezquita of Cordoba are Latin-Romanesque, torn from a previous building by the invading Arab to adorn his own temple. The Alhambra, likewise, shows animal arabesques which are Byzantine and not Moorish. Nevertheless, Arab art is, on the whole, purer in style than Christian art.
This transformation of foreign styles proves: (1) That though the Spanish artist lacked creative genius, he was no base imitator, but sought to combine; he sought to give the temple he had to construct that heavy, massive, strong, and sombre aspect so well in harmony with the religious and warlike spirit of the different clanspeople; and (2) that the same artist failed completely to understand the ideal of soaring ogival, of simple Renaissance, or of pure Romanesque (this latter he understood better than either of the others). For him, they—as well as Islam art—were but elements to be made use of. Apart from their constructive use, they were superfluous, and the artist-architect was blind to their ethical object or æsthetical value. With their aid he built architectural wonders, but hybrid marvels, complex, grand, luxurious, and magnificent.
Be it plainly understood, nevertheless, that in the above paragraphs no contempt for Spanish cathedrals is either felt or implied. Facts are stated, but no personal opinion is emitted as to which is better, a pure Gothic or a complicated Spanish Gothic. In art there is really no better; besides, comparisons are odious and here they are utterly superfluous.
Cathedral Churches
Before accompanying the art student in his task of determining the different foreign styles, we will do well to examine certain general characteristics common to all Spanish cathedrals. We will then be able to understand with greater ease the causes of the changes introduced into pure styles.
The exterior aspect of all cathedrals is severe and massive, even naked and solemn. Neither windows nor flying buttresses are used in such profusion as in French cathedrals, and the height of the aisles is greater. The object is doubtless to impart an idea of strength to the exterior walls by raising them in a compact mass. An even greater effect is obtained by square, heavy towers instead of elegant spires. (Compare, however, chapters on Leon, Oviedo, Burgos, etc.) The use of domes (cimborios, lanterns, and cupolas) is also frequent, most of them being decidedly Oriental in appearance. The apse is prominent and generally five-sided, warlike in its severe outline. Stone is invariably used as the principal constructive element,—granite, berroqueña (a soft white stone turning deep gray with age and exposure), and sillar or silleria (a red sandstone cut into similar slabs of the size and aspect of brick). Where red sandstone is used, the weaker parts of the buildings are very often constructed in brick, and it is these last-named cathedrals that are most Oriental in appearance, especially when the brick surface is carved into Mudejar reliefs.
Taken all in all, the whole building often resembles a castle or fortress rather than a temple, in harmony with the austere, arid landscape, and the fierce, passionate, and idolatrous character of the clanspeople or inhabitants of the different regions.
The principal entrance is usually small in comparison to the height and great mass of the building. The pointed arch—or series of arches—which crowns the portal, is timid in its structure, or, in other words, is but slightly pointed or not at all.
The interior aspect of the church is totally different. As bare and naked as was the outside, so luxurious and magnificent is the inside. Involuntarily mediæval Spanish palaces come to our mind: their gloomy appearance from the outside, and the gay patio or courtyard behind the heavy, uninviting panels of the doors. The Moors even to this day employ this system of architecture; its origin, even in the case of Christian churches, is Oriental.
Leaving aside all architectural considerations, which will be referred to in the chapters dedicated to the description of the various cathedrals, let us examine the general disposition of some of the most interesting parts of the Spanish church.
The aisles are, as a rule, high and dark, buried in perpetual shadow. The lightest and airiest part of the building is beneath the croisée (intersection of nave and transept), which is often crowned by a handsome cimborio.
The nave is the most important member of the church, and the most impressive view is obtained by the visitor standing beneath the croisée.
To the east of him, the nave terminates in a semicircular chapel, the farther end of which boasts of an immense retablo; to the west, the choir, with its stalls and organs, interrupts likewise the continuity of the nave. Both choir and altar are rich in decorative details.
Behind the high altar runs the ambulatory, joining the aisles and separating the former from the apse and its chapels. The rear wall of the high altar (in the ambulatory) is called the trasaltar, where a small altar is generally situated in a recess and dedicated to the patron saint, that is, if the cathedral itself be dedicated to the Virgin, as generally happens.
Sometimes an oval window pierces the wall of the trasaltar and lets the light from the apsidal windows enter the high altar; this arrangement is called a transparente.
The choir, as wide as the nave and often as high, is rectangular; an altar-table generally stands in the western extremity, which is closed off by a wall. The rear of this wall (facing the western entrance to the temple) is called the trascoro, and contains the altar or a chapel; the lateral walls are also pierced by low rooms or niches which serve either as chapels or as altar-frames.
The placing of the choir in the very centre of the church, its width and height, and its enclosure on the western end by a wall, render impossible a view of the whole building such as occurs in Northern cathedrals, and upon which the impression of architectural grandeur and majesty largely depends. It was as though Spanish architects were utterly foreign to the latter impression, or wilfully murdered it by substituting another more to their taste, namely, that of magnificence and sumptuousness. Nowhere—to the author’s knowledge—is this impression more acutely felt than in a Spanish cathedral, viewed from beneath the croisée.
Glittering brilliancy, dazzling gold, silver, or gilt, polished marble, agate, and jasper, and a luxuriance of vivid colours meet the visitor’s eyes when standing there. The effect is theatrical, doubtless, but it impresses the humble true believer as Oriental splendour; and what, in other countries, might be considered as grotesque and unhealthy art, must in Spain be regarded as the very essence of the country’s worship, the very raison d’être of the cathedral. Neither can it be considered as unhealthy: with us in the North, our religious awe is produced by the solemn majesty of rising shafts and long, high, and narrow aisles; this fails to impress the Iberian of to-day; and yet, the same sentiment of religious awe, of the terrible unknown, be it saint, Saviour, Virgin, or God, is imparted to him by this brilliant display of incalculable wealth.
To produce this magnificence in choir and high altar, decorative and industrial art were given a free hand, and together wrought those wonders of the fifteenth, sixteenth, and seventeenth centuries which placed Spain in a prominent position in the history of art. Goldsmiths and silversmiths, masters of ironcraft, sculptors in stone and wood, painters and estofadores, together with a legion of other artists and artisans of all classes and nationalities, worked together in unison to create both choir and high altar.
Therefore, from an artistic point of view, the Spanish cathedral is for the foreigner a museum, a collection of art objects, pertaining, most of them, to the country’s industrial arts, for which Iberia was first among all nations.
Choir Stalls.—Space cannot allow us to classify this most important accessory of Spanish cathedrals. Carved in walnut or oak, now simple and severe, now rich and florid, this branch of graphic art in low relief constitutes one of Spain’s most legitimate glories. It is strange that no illustrated work dedicated exclusively to choir stalls should have been published in any language. The tourist’s attention must nevertheless be drawn to this part of religious buildings; it must not escape his observation when visiting cathedral and parish churches, and above all, monastical churches.
Retablo.—The above remarks hold good here as well, when speaking about the huge and imposing altar-pieces so universally characteristic of Spain.
The eastern wall of the holy chapel in a cathedral is entirely hidden from top to bottom by the retablo, a painted wooden structure resembling a huge honeycomb. It consists of niches flanked by gilded columns. According to the construction of these columns, now Gothic shafts, now Greek or composite, now simple and severe, the period to which the retablo belongs is determined.
Generally pyramidically superimposed, these niches, of the height, breadth, and depth of an average man, contain life-size statues of apostle or saint, painted and decorated by the estofadores in brilliant colours (of course, as they are intended to be seen from a distance!), in which red and blue are predominant, and which produce a gorgeous effect rehaussé by the gilt columns of the niches. (Compare with the Oriental taste of Mudejar work in ceilings or artesonados.)
The whole retablo, in the low reliefs which form the base, and in the statues or groups in the niches, represents graphically the life of the Saviour or the Virgin, of the patron saint or an apostle; some of them are of exquisite execution and of great variety and movement; in others, greater attention has been paid to the decoration of the columns or shafts by original floral garlands, etc. Foment, Juni, and Berruguete are among the most noted retablo sculptors, but space will not permit of a more prolific classification or analysis.
Gold and Silversmiths.—The vessels used on the altar-table, effigies of saints, processional crosses, etc., in beaten gold and silver, are well worth examination. So is also the cathedral treasure, in some cases of an immense value, both artistic and intrinsic. Cloths, woven in coloured silks, gold, and precious stones, are beautiful enough to make any art lover envious.
The central niche of the retablo, immediately above the altar-table, is generally occupied by a massive beaten silver effigy, the artistic value of which is unluckily partially concealed beneath a heap of valuable cloths and jewels.
But where the silversmith’s art is purest and most lavishly pronounced is in the sagrarios. These are solid silver carved pyramids about two or three feet high: they represent miniature temples or thrones with shafts or columns supporting arches, windows, pinnacles, and cupolas. In the interior, an effigy of the saint, or the Virgin, etc., to whom the cathedral is dedicated, is to be seen seated on a throne.
In all cases the workmanship of these miniature temples is exquisite, and has brought just fame to Spain’s fifteenth and sixteenth century silversmiths.
Ironcraft.—Last to be mentioned, but not least in importance, are the artisans who worked in iron. They brought their trade up to the height of a fine art of universal fame; their artistic window rejas, in the houses and palaces of the rich, are the wonder of all art lovers, and so also are the immense rejas or grilles which close off the high altar and the choir from the transept, or the entrance to chapels from the aisles. Though this art has completely degenerated to-day, nevertheless, a just remark was made in the author’s hearing by an Englishman, who said:
“Even to-day, Spaniards are unable to make a bad reja.”
The reader’s and tourist’s attention has been called to the salient artistic points of a Spanish cathedral. They must be examined one by one, and they will be admired; the view of the ensemble will puzzle and amaze him, yet it will be wise for him not to criticize harshly the lack of unity of style. Frequently the choir stalls are ogival, the retablo Renaissance, the rejas plateresque, and the general decoration of columns, etc., of the most lavish grotesque.
This in itself is no sin, neither artistic nor ethical, as long as the religious awe comes home to the Spaniard, for whom these cathedrals are intended. Besides, it is an open question whether the monotony of a pure style be nobler than a luxurious moulding together of all styles. The whole question is, do the different parts harmonize, or do they produce a criard impression.
The answer in all cases is purely personal. Yet, even if unfavourable, the utility of the art demonstration must be borne in mind and considered as well. And as regards the Spaniard, the utility does exist beyond a doubt.
Architectural Styles
Let us now follow the art student in his task. He will determine the different styles, and, to make the matter clearer, he will employ a rhetorical figure:
There is an island in the sea. Huge breakers roar on the beach and dash against the rocky cliffs. Second, third, and fourth breakers of varying strength and energy race with the first, and are in their turn pushed relentlessly on from behind until they ripple in dying surf on the golden sands and boil in white spray in hidden clifts and caves. With the years that roll along the island is shaped according to the will of the waves.
Spain, figuratively speaking, is that island, or a peninsula off the southwestern coast of the Old World, barred from France by the impassable Pyrenees, and forming the link between Africa and Europe: the first stepping-stone for the former in its northern march, the last extremity or the rear-guard of the latter.
The breakers represent the different art movements which, born in countries where compact nations were fighting energetically for an existence and for an ideal, flooded with terrible force the civilized lands of the middle ages, and sought to outdo and conquer their rivals.
These breakers were: from the east, early Christian (both Latin-Lombard and Byzantine); from the north, Gothic; from the south, Arab, or, to be more accurate, Moorish. The first two were advocates of one civilization, the Christian or Occidental; the latter was the propagandist of another, the Neo-Oriental or Mohammedan.
The Renaissance was but a second or third breaker coming from the east, which breathed new life into antiquated constructive and decorative elements by adapting them to a new religion or faith.
Later architectural forms were but the periodical revival or combination of one or another of the already existing elements.
Spain, thanks to her unique position, was the point where all these contradictory waves met in a final endeavour to crush their opponents. In Spain, Byzantine pillars fought against Lombard shafts, and Gothic pinnacles rose haughtily beside the horseshoe arch and the arc brisé. In Spain Christianity grappled with the Islam faith and sent it bleeding back to the wilds of Africa; in Spain the polygon, circle, and square struggled for supremacy and lost their personality in the complex blending of the one with the other, and minarets, cupolas, and spires combined in bizarre fantasy and richness of decoration to serve the ambitions of mighty prelates, fanatic kings, and death-fearing noblemen.
Such is, rhetorically speaking, the history of architecture of Spain. Cathedrals had a cachet of their own, either national (in certain characteristics) or else local. But the elements of which they were composed were foreign. That is, excepting in the case of Spanish-Moorish art.
Moorish art! In the second volume (Southern Spain), the author of these lines will dedicate several paragraphs to the art of the Moors in Spain. Suffice to assert in the present chapter the following statements.
(1) Moorish art in Spain is peculiar to the Arabs who inhabited the peninsula during seven hundred years. Consequently this art, born on Iberian soil, cannot be regarded as foreign.
(2) Much of what is called Moorish art owes its existence to the Christians, to the Muzarabs and Jews who inhabited cities which were dependent upon or belonged to the Moors. In the same way, much of the Oriental taste of the Spanish Christians was inherited from the Moors and received in Spain the generic name of Mudejar.
(3) The art of the Moors, though largely used in Spain, especially in the south, rarely entered into cathedral structures, though often noticeable in churches, cloisters, and in decorative motives.
(4) The Moors learnt more art motives in Spain than they introduced into the country.
These and many other points of interest will have to be neglected in the present chapter. For the cathedrals of the north are (as regards the ideal which brought about their erection) radically opposed to Moorish art.
Prehistoric Roman and Visigothic (?) art are equally unimportant in this study, as neither the one nor the other constructed any Christian temple standing to-day. That is to say, cathedral; for Visigothic or early Latin and Byzantine Romanesque churches do exist in Asturias, and a notable specimen in Venta de Baños. They are peculiarly strange edifices, and it is to be regretted that they are not cathedrals, for their study would be most interesting, not only as regards Iberian art, but above all as regards the history of art in the middle ages. So far, they have been completely neglected, and, unfortunately, are but little known abroad.
Romanesque.—The origin of Romanesque is greatly discussed. Some attribute it to Italy, others to France; others again are of the conviction that all Christian (religious) art previous to the birth of Gothic is Romanesque, etc., etc. The most plausible theory is that the style in question evolved out of the early Latin-Christian (basilique) style, at the same time borrowing many decorative details from the Byzantine-Christian style.
In Spain, pre-Romanesque Christian architecture (or Visigothic) shows decided Byzantine influence, more so, probably, than in any other European country. This peculiarity influences also Romanesque, both early and late. It is not strange, either, considering that an important colony of Bizantinos (Christians) settled in Eastern Andalusia during the Visigothic period.
In the tenth century churches, and in the eleventh cathedrals, commenced to be erected in Northern Spain. Byzantine influence was very marked in the earlier monuments.
Was Romanesque a foreign style? Was it introduced from Italy or France, or was it a natural outcome or evolutionary product of decadent early Christian architecture? In the latter case there is no saying where it evolved, possibly to the north or to the south of the Pyrenees, possibly to the east or to the west of the Alps. What is more, the Pyrenees in those days did not serve as a strict frontier line like to-day; on the contrary, both Navarra and Aragon extended beyond the mountainous wall, and the dukes of Southern France occasionally possessed immense territories and cities to the south of the Pyrenees.
Be that as it may, Romanesque, as a style, first dawned in Spain in the tenth and eleventh centuries. Its birth coincided with that of the popular religious crusade against the Moor who had inhabited the peninsula during four centuries; it coincided also with the great church-erecting period of Northern Spanish history, when the Alfonsos of Castile created bishoprics (to aid them in their political ambitions) as easily as they broke inconvenient treaties and savagely murdered friends, relatives, and foes alike. Consequently, many were the Romanesque cathedrals erected, and though the greater part were destroyed later and replaced by Gothic structures, several fine specimens of the former style are still to be seen.
Needless to say, Romanesque became localized; in other words, it acquired certain characteristics restricted to determined regions. Galician Romanesque and that of Western Castile, for instance, are almost totally different in aspect: the former is exceedingly poetical and possesses carved wall decorations both rich and excellent; the latter is intensely strong and warlike, and the decorations, if employed at all, are Byzantine, or at least Oriental in taste.
Transition.—Many of the cathedrals of Galicia belong, according to several authors, to this period in which Romanesque strength evolved into primitive Gothic or ogival airiness. In another chapter a personal opinion has been emitted denying the accuracy of the above remark.
There is no typical example of Transition in Spain. Ogival changes introduced at a later date into Romanesque churches, a very common occurrence, cannot justify the classification of the buildings as Transition monuments.
Nor is it surprising that such buildings should be lacking in Spain. For Gothic did not evolve from Romanesque in the peninsula, but was introduced from France. A short time after its first appearance it swept all before it, thanks to the Cluny monks, and was exclusively used in church-building. In a strict sense it stands, moreover, to reason that the former (Transition) can only exist there where a new style emerges from an old without being introduced from abroad.
Ogival Art.—The thirteenth, fourteenth, and fifteenth centuries are, properly speaking, those of the great northern art wave which spread rapidly through the peninsula, bending all before its irresistible will. Romanesque churches were destroyed or modified (the introduction of an ambulatory in almost all Romanesque buildings), and new cathedrals sprung up, called into existence by the needs and requirements of a new people, a conquering, Christian people, driving the infidel out of the land, and raising the Holy Cross on the sacred monuments of the Islam religion.
The changements introduced into the new style tended to give it a more severe and defiant exterior appearance than in northern churches,—a scarcity of windows and flying buttresses, timidly pointed arches, and solid towers. Besides, round-headed arches (vaultings and horizontal lines) were indiscriminately used to break the vertical tendency of pure ogival; so also were Byzantine cupolas and domes.
The solemn, cold, and naked cathedral church of Alcalá de Henares is a fine example of the above. Few people would consider it to belong to the same class as the eloquent cathedral of Leon and the no less imposing see of Burgos. Nevertheless, it is, every inch of it, as pure Gothic as the last named, only, it is essentially Spanish, the other two being French; it bears the sombre cachet of the age of Spanish Inquisition, of the fanatic intolerant age of the Catholic kings.
Later Styles.—Toward the end of the fifteenth and the beginning of the sixteenth centuries, Italian Renaissance entered the country and drove Gothic architecture out of the minds of artists and patronizing prelates.
But Italian Renaissance failed to impress the Spaniard, whose character was opposed to that of his Mediterranean cousin; so also was the general aspect of his country different from that of Italy. Consequently, it is not surprising that we should find very few pure Renaissance monuments on the peninsula. On the other hand, Spanish Renaissance—a florid form of the Italian—is frequently to be met with; in its severest form it is called plateresco.
In the times of Philip II., Juan Herrero created his style (Escorial), of which symmetry, grandeur in size, and poverty in decoration were the leading characteristics. The reaction came, however, quickly, and Churriguera introduced the most astounding and theatrical grotesque imaginable.
The later history of Spanish architecture is similar to that of the rest of Europe. As it is, the period which above all interests us here is that reaching from the eleventh to the sixteenth centuries, embracing Romanesque, ogival, and plateresque styles. Of the cathedrals treated of in this volume, all belong to either of the two first named architectural schools, excepting those of Valladolid, Madrid, and, to a certain extent, the new cathedral of Salamanca and that of Segovia.
Mudejar Art.—Previous to the advent of Italian Renaissance in Spain, a new art had been created which was purely national, having been born on the peninsula as the complex product of Christian and Islam elements. This art, known by the generic name of Mudejar, received a mortal blow at the hands of the new Italian art movement. Consequently, the only school which might have been regarded as Spanish, degenerated sadly, sharing the fate of the new-born nation. Rather than a constructive style, the Mudejar or Spanish style is decorative. With admirable variety and profusion it ornamented brick surfaces by covering them with reliefs, either geometrical (Moorish) or Gothic, either sunk into the wall or else the latter cut around the former.
The aspect of these Mudejar buildings is peculiar. In a ruddy plain beneath a dazzling blue sky, these red brick churches gleam thirstily from afar. Shadows play among the reliefs, lending them strength and vigour; the alminar tower stands forth prominently against the sky and contrasts delightfully with the cupola raised on the apse or on the croisée.
Among the finest examples of Mudejar art, must be counted the brilliantly coloured ceilings, such as are to be seen in Alcalá, Toledo, and elsewhere. These artesonados, without being Moorish, are, nevertheless, of a pronounced Oriental taste. A geometrical pattern is carved on the wood of the ceiling and brilliantly painted. Prominent surfaces are preferably golden in hue, and such as are sunk beneath the level are red or blue. The effect is dazzling.
Unluckily, but little attention has been paid out of Spain to Mudejar art, and it is but little known. Even Spanish critics do not agree as to the national significance of this art, and it is a great pity, as unfortunately the country can point to no other art phenomena and claim them to be Spanish. How can it, when the nation had not as yet been born, and, once born, was to die almost simultaneously, like a moth that flies blindly and headlong into an intense flame?