The Plateresque Is
Young And Modest, And Seeks To Please In This Splendid Monument By
Allying The Innovating Forms With The Traditions Of A School Outgrown.
There Is An Exquisite And Touching Reminiscence Of The Gothic In The
Superb Portal And The Matchless Group Of The Invention Of The Cross.
All
this fine facade is by that true and genuine artist, Enrique de Egas,
the same who carved the grand Gate of the Lions, for which may the gate
of paradise be open to him.
The inner court is surrounded by two stories of airy arcades, supported
by slim Corinthian columns. In one corner is the most elaborate
staircase in Spain. All the elegance and fancy of Arab and Renaissance
art have been lavished upon this masterly work.
Santa Cruz was built for a hospital by that haughty Cardinal Mendoza,
the Tertius Rex of Ferdinand and Isabella. It is now occupied by the
military school, which receives six hundred cadets. They are under the
charge of an inspector-general and a numerous staff of professors. They
pay forty cents a day for their board. The instruction is gratuitous and
comprehends a curriculum almost identical with that of West Point. It
occupies, however, only three years.
The most considerable Renaissance structure in Toledo is the Royal
Alcazar. It covers with its vast bulk the highest hilltop in the city.
From the earliest antiquity this spot has been occupied by a royal
palace or fortress. But the present structure was built by Charles V.
and completed by Herrera for Philip II. Its north and south facades are
very fine. The Alcazar seems to have been marked by fate. The Portuguese
burned it in the last century, and Charles III. restored it just in time
for the French to destroy it anew. Its indestructible walls alone
remain. Now, after many years of ruinous neglect, the government has
begun the work of restoration. The vast quadrangle is one mass of
scaffolding and plaster dust. The grand staircase is almost finished
again. In the course of a few years we may expect to see the Alcazar in
a state worthy of its name and history. We would hope it might never
again shelter a king. They have had their day there. Their line goes
back so far into the mists of time that its beginning eludes our utmost
search. The Roman drove out the unnamed chiefs of Iberia. The
fair-haired Goth dispossessed the Italian. The Berber destroyed the
Gothic monarchy. Castile and Leon fought their way down inch by inch
through three centuries from Covadonga to Toledo, halfway in time and
territory to Granada and the Midland Sea. And since then how many royal
feet have trodden this breezy crest, - Sanchos and Henrys and
Ferdinands, - the line broken now and then by a usurping uncle or a
fratricide brother, - a red-handed bastard of Trastamara, a star-gazing
Alonso, a plotting and praying Charles, and, after Philip, the dwindling
scions of Austria and the nullities of Bourbon.
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